Dead Fall

by Joseph Xand

  He did see one squirrel jumping from branch to branch at a fast pace, and even though Turtleman gave it a good chase, he eventually lost track of it.

  His search eventually led him to a small lake, or maybe a pond, about a half mile behind the house he'd been staying in. He decided to take a seat on a fallen tree and rest his neck, which pinched after craning it upward for so long.

  And that's when he found something. Something much better than any stupid squirrel.

  He was taking the opportunity to load more BBs into the air rifle when he heard someone laughing. A woman laughing.

  His first thought was, Can squirrels do that? But then he turned. Behind him, across the lake, he saw a couple outside a small tent. It was hard to tell what they were doing from this distance, but it was possible the man was stacking material for a fire.

  Staying low while moving off his perch, Turtleman decided to go in for a closer look.

  He moved as cautiously and stealthily as his overweight frame and graceless demeanor allowed. As he moved counter-clockwise around the water, he kept his eyes in the general direction of the couple's camp, expecting them at any second to detect his approach and start packing up. Although he occasionally lost sight of them as obstacles in his path led him away from the shoreline, eventually, he found his way back to shore, and they would still be there.

  At one point he saw a rabbit plodding along a thicket, and Turtleman reflexively lifted his air rifle and pulled back the slide to load a BB before he realized where he was going and that shooting at the rabbit might betray his presence to the couple at the camp.

  He put the rifle back on his shoulder and looked around, unconsciously scouting for landmarks that might lead him back to the rabbit later, but knowing deep down he would never see it again.

  Do rabbits scream, too? he wondered. But he wouldn't find out today. He moved on.

  Finally, he emerged into a small clearing, the entrance to which was blocked by an impressive pile of graying deadfall. He carefully stepped up onto the pile and peered over the top of it.

  Amazingly he was less than seventy-five feet from them, and they still didn't know he was there. Turtleman, wearing a red shirt, stayed crouched, afraid he'd stick out easily among the trees and brush.

  Their camp was on the other side of the clearing in the shade. They'd anchored a two-person tent, blue with a rounded top, between a pair of trees. About ten feet from it, a hole was encircled by rocks, their inner edges darkened by burned-off carbon. Inside the hole lingered the cold, charred remains of several campfires. The man busied himself building a small pyramid of sticks on top of those remains, preparing their next blaze.

  The man was shirtless and physically fit, in his early- to mid-thirties by Turtleman's best guess. He wore sunglasses and probably half a week's stubble on his face, giving him a rough, chiseled look Turtleman knew women loved.

  Turtleman hated him instantly. The man had on some long shorts, khaki with an overabundance of pockets. His feet were bare; his hiking boots stood at attention at the entrance to the tent, socks peeking out the top.

  But Turtleman barely noticed the man. The man's wife or girlfriend held Turtleman's undivided attention. She was gorgeous. Blonde, probably late-twenties. A cheerleader body topped off with ample breasts wrapped in a tight, white t-shirt that cut off short of her navel. Her shorts were also khaki, but much, much shorter, snugly hugging her shapely bottom.

  She sat on a log that rested between the tent and the benign fire, her bare toes digging into the soft dirt, as she watched her man work. Finally, he stood up and joined her on the log.

  "How long do you think we should stay here?" she asked him.

  The man shrugged. "I don't know. A few more days at least. It's a pretty nice place, don't you think?"

  "Seems so."

  "Pretty secure, too. Save for the two doornails over there." The man nodded towards some trees to his left and only then did Turtleman notice two corpses piled up in the shadows on the other side of a tree. Obviously, both had been permanently put down. "And they weren't a problem," the man said.

  "They still scared the shit out of me."

  "Yeah, but that's gonna happen occasionally, no matter how deep we go into the woods. But we can handle them." The man waved a hand towards the area behind the tent. "So far I've strung up cans about two-thirds of the way around us, and that's worked well so far. I've got to finish stringing on our east side," he pointed a finger vaguely in Turtleman's direction, "and re-string what they tore down," again he motioned towards the corpses, "which I'll try to do today, but all in all, dead people are not my concern. It's the living, breathing humans I'm worried about."

  "And we haven't seen any sign of them," the girl said.

  "Not in days."

  "Not since we got here."

  "And maybe it'll stay that way. We keep quiet, stay under the trees as much as we can. The pond isn't much, but it's a water source and there's fish in it. If we do our best to cook only at night so no one sees the smoke…" He stopped and regarded the tent, then looked back at the girl. "We should consider moving the camp a little further from the shore, but other than that, I really like the spot."

  "Me, too."

  "Well, then, that settles it," he put an arm around her and she leaned into him. "We'll stick around until we've worn out our welcome. If we see other people have set up camp nearby, we'll move on. Until then, this is home."

  She smiled, and he moved in quickly to intercept with a kiss. She kissed him back with a hand on his knee. He turned slightly to face her, rested his hand on her side and swiftly moved his hand up to cup and squeeze one of her breasts. Laughing through the kiss, she pushed his hand down and pulled away.

  "No, no. Not right now mister. I'm yucky and sweaty and smelly from gathering wood."

  "Let's see if we can get you even sweatier," he said as he tried to move in for another kiss.

  She dodged it playfully. "Don't you need to re-string the perimeter or something?"

  "It can wait." He leaned in again, and this time was rewarded. The kiss was long and passionate and he was just moving his hand in for another feel when she pulled away slightly.

  "You're sure you're not too busy?" she teased.

  "I think I can move some things around."

  They kissed again, and this time when his hand found her breast, she let it stay there.

  Holy shit! Turtleman thought. He's going to fuck her! Right now! He imagined it was him with her instead of this prick. It could be Turtleman playing with those boobs…fucking her.

  She'd have to find your dick first, a familiar voice said.

  For a moment Turtleman forgot about the two people making out in front of him. He hadn't heard the voice in a while. Not since he made his escape from the roadside billboard and began his journey. Not since he began his new life as Turtleman.

  The man put his hand under the girl's shirt and squeezed her breast. Her moan brought Turtleman back to the scene playing out in front of him.

  You could never make her feel that good, the voice chided. Not with your fat fingers. Not with your baby dick.

  Shut up! he thought. He remembered the girl on the billboard. Those giant, piercing eyes. That high-pitched grating voice. He looked back at the couple when the girl moaned again. If that prick wasn't here…if I was the only guy around…. Turtleman pondered the possibilities.

  Even if you were the last man on earth, she wouldn't touch your fat ass. You're too disgusting.

  Fuck you. If he weren't around…she'd do that to me, too. I could make her.

  For a moment, the voice was silenced. Then, Hmmm. If he were gone…if you made him gone…then, maybe, I could see it. If you showed her how strong you were. How you could take care of her…

  Turtleman felt himself growing bolder at the prospects. For once, the voice was telling him something useful. He looked at his air rifle. He considered how many BBs it took to kill a squirrel. It would be worthless against the man. His hand tapp
ed the machete at his side.

  Turtleman grew in other ways when the girl reached out and began rubbing the man's crotch.

  Of course, she'd probably rather die than touch your fat rolls.

  SHUT THE FUCK UP!

  Turtleman fixed his eyes on the couple and anger burned through him. If they knew he was here, they'd make fun of him.

  They certainly would, the voice agreed.

  They'd call him names. The man would pull out his dick and shake it in his face and call him a queer bait.

  That's guaranteed…queer bait.

  The girl would tease Turtleman with her body and let the prick touch all over her, but wouldn't let Turtleman come close.

  Not in a million years.

  Just a couple of Reg Rollinses. That's all they were. They were just like him.

  But I can touch her. I can make her do things to me. I can hurt her if she doesn't. Just gotta get rid of him, and then she would be mine.

  Turtleman leaned forward, thinking of the possibilities, drawn unconsciously closer as his mind swarmed. When he did, a branch snapped. Then he lost his footing and the rifle slid off his shoulder and bounced loudly down the pile of fallen trees. Turtleman ducked out of sight.

  The couple stopped making out and glared in the direction of the downed timber.

  "What was that?" she whimpered.

  "I don't know."

  Turtleman was afraid to breathe. He listened for movement, expecting the man to appear over the top of the deadfall at any moment.

  "Maybe we should—" the woman began.

  "Shhh."

  Turtleman reached down for his air rifle. He lifted it slowly and rested it horizontally across his knees.

  He heard the man shuffle. Probably sliding off the rock.

  Turtleman took two quick, deep breaths.

  Then he bolted.

  Trying to keep the pile of dead trees between him and the couple so they would hopefully not get a good look at him, he plunged back into the forest, ducking below low-hanging branches and scratching up his arms and legs on the lower, thorned brush.

  It hurt, but he kept running.

  Bumbling clumsily along, he didn't stop running.

  * * * * *

  Turtleman eventually wove his way back to the abandoned house and collapsed on the lawn of the back yard. As far as he knew, the man at the camp never tried to give chase. He laid on the grass for a long time while the shadows lengthened around him. In the course of time, the day forfeited to the night.

  Still, he laid there.

  Even when a small group of corpses strolled within twenty feet of where he was sprawled, smelling their presence long before they actually arrived, Turtleman did not move.

  He thought of one thing exclusively—the girl at the camp and all the things he wanted to do to her.

  Why did he run? Why had he been afraid of the man who was, at the moment, unarmed? Turtleman had a machete. He could have chopped the man to pieces. He could be doing things to the girl right now.

  Because you're a pussy, the voice said flatly.

  Turtleman didn't respond. There was no arguing the point.

  Finally, when the full moon fixed itself directly above him, Turtleman sat up, his stomach grumbling.

  He would have to go back. Tonight. He'd try to catch them while they were sleeping. Sneak up on the man while they slumbered and sever his head with one swift swipe of the machete.

  After that, she'd do anything Turtleman wanted. She'd be too scared not to. She'd belong to him completely.

  Coming to his feet and ignoring his hunger, he walked back into the dark woods, leaving the air rifle on the ground where he'd just lain.

  Occasionally he'd take the penlight out of his pocket and shine it into the blackest shadows to prevent him from tripping over something or from being ambushed by one of the dead (or living, for that matter). But for the most part, he kept the small flashlight extinguished, especially as he neared the pond, to best conceal his approach. He tried to rely almost entirely on moonlight.

  Since he hadn't paid attention to the route between the couple's camp to the house, he made his way instead to the side of the pond where he was when he first saw them. From there, he'd maneuver around the pond again, taking heed of what he'd learned as to cans strung around the perimeter. How he'd circumvent them without the use of the penlight was a problem he'd not worked out yet in his head.

  Of course, the man's early warning system hadn't been strung up yet when Turtleman went to the camp the first time. Maybe it still wouldn't be. But since they were aware they'd been watched, Turtleman knew he should expect the booby traps to be there.

  It took him nearly an hour to reach his previous spot at the pond in the dark. Retrieving the backpack he'd left there earlier, he pulled out a can of ravioli and the can opener and stared across the pond. Even with the help of the full moon, he couldn't make out anything.

  Keeping his eyes fixed in that direction, Turtleman spun the top off the can and spooned the ravioli into his mouth with his fingers. Inhaling the entire can in just over a minute, he tossed the empty container aside and washed his hands off in the pond.

  That done, his heart pounding, he tapped the machete tapped next to his thigh, reassuring himself it was still there, although he knew beyond all doubt it was.

  With a deep breath, he started towards the camp, doing his best to tread quietly. He didn't try to keep the camp in sight as he'd done before, knowing it would be impossible through the darkness.

  His progress was slow but steady, and when landmarks, those he'd originally spied so he'd be able to find the rabbit from before, told him he was nearing the area of the deadfall he'd hidden behind earlier, he pulled out the penlight, but pointed it downward, lighting only the first few feet in front of him so he might avoid running into the strung-up cans.

  But he reached the pile of fallen trees without incident. When he did, he sat down on one of the downed logs and breathed slowly, trying to catch his breath and calm his nerves. He reached down and ran a finger down the long blade of the machete. Then grabbing the handle, he inched it gradually from inside his belt.

  Once it was out and his breathing was steady, he snapped on the penlight and shined it along the deadfall, trying to discover the best route around it. The tops of the trees to his left extended several feet across the water. Some of the trees disappeared below the water's surface. He would have to circle around the base of the trees that vanished into the woods. He turned the penlight off.

  Finally, he stood and moved in that direction. After crossing back into the tree line, he clicked the penlight to life again. He wandered another fifty feet or so before he happened upon the jagged ends of the trees, each one ripped raggedly from the tall stumps that stood still and pointed upward abrasively. Other fallen trees were strewn in other directions. They'd all toppled years ago, likely victims of the same drought or disease.

  Turtleman rounded the trees and headed back cautiously towards the camp. He kept a sharp eye. If the cans were strung up anywhere, they'd be here. To his surprise, he never found any.

  And when he reached the clearing he discovered why.

  The tent was gone.

  At first, he thought maybe he couldn't see clearly in the darkness, but he reluctantly chanced shining the penlight at the spot where the tent should have been.

  Nothing.

  He walked towards that area, circling the long-stifled fire pit. On the log where he'd watched the couple making out, a piece of paper was impaled on a small limb and flapped against the bark in the breeze.

  Turtleman ripped it free and doused it with his small flashlight. At first, he didn't understand the significance of it. It was a title page from a book. The Descent by Jeff Long. Wasn't that a movie or something?

  Then he turned the piece of paper over. There he found a hastily written note nestled obviously among the book's copyright information.

  Hey Perv,

  Hope you enjoyed the show, ASSHOLE!


  So long!

  Turtleman stared at the note for a long time. Reading it over and over. Turning it over and back again, he re-read it. He kept expecting, hoping beyond hope, the terse message would change. Or disappear altogether.

  Then the voice began to laugh. It had been silent since he left the camp before. Now it laughed a high-pitched cackle.

  "No," he said quietly.

  Yes, the voice corrected.

  He held the page up to the full moon, trying to look through it, as if the lunar glow might reveal a hidden communication, such as a map showing where the couple had gone, or a simple, "Just kidding." But of course, there was nothing but the stabbing words and the sinking feeling that comes with a missed opportunity.

  Perv…ASSHOLE!…So long!

  "Noooo!" he screamed. He wadded up the page and tossed it on the ground. Then he stomped on it repeatedly and ground it into the dirt.

  He hefted the machete and brought it down onto the log in front of him, then chopped at it over and over again, sending chunks of lifeless wood flying all around the clearing, punctuating each slice with a loud, defiant cry of "NO!"

  Not until a large chunk of the log was pulverized did he stop. He stood with the machete at his side, his breathing labored. Above him, the edge of the full moon was just touching the tops of the trees overhead.

  A noise, the snapping of a twig followed by a shuffle of leaves, brought Turtleman out of his stupor.

  He turned to see a zombie, arms extended, shambling out of the woods towards him. Normally Turtleman would have run. But this time, without thinking, he ran immediately towards it, then past it as he chopped at its left knee.

  The leg severed and the creature collapsed to the ground. Oblivious, the corpse pawed the ground, turning itself in Turtleman's direction, shoving its own leg out of the way as it did.

  Turtleman stood over it, watching it advance. When its hand touched its shoe, he chopped it off. When an arm reached up towards him, he severed that, too.

  Finally, he stared down at the thing with an eerie, misplaced hatred.