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HOLD

Page 7

by Duane P. Craig


  It’s swol­len and very red, but the dark spot hadn’t grown any big­ger. All the pa­in lo­oks to be worth it so far.

  We en­co­un­te­red a few gho­uls on­ce we hit the ma­in stre­et.

  They ca­me from bet­we­en so­me of the small bu­il­dings, but as so­on as they sho­wed the­ir fa­ces, Beth to­ok aim and blew the­ir fa­ces cle­an off. It was no ti­me be­fo­re we re­ac­hed our tra­in. In even less ti­me Beth ag­re­ed to my new plan. She grab­bed the most sup­pli­es she co­uld carry, and al­lo­wed me to carry the ot­her shot­gun, pis­tol and our am­mo. I think it to­ok only a mat­ter of an ho­ur be­fo­re we re­ac­hed a car lot. I chec­ked all of the ne­wer ve­hic­les - just trucks and SUV’s - se­e­ing which ones had full tanks of gas. I de­ci­ded on a black, Hon­da CR-V.

  They get go­od gas mi­le­age and ha­ve plenty of spa­ce for us.

  Plus, this one had a de­ad per­son’s che­wed off hand on the gro­und be­si­de it with the ve­hic­le’s keys - what luck. We ma­de our­sel­ves com­for­tab­le in the Hon­da and dro­ve furt­her down the ma­in stre­et. Our only stop be­fo­re he­ading out of town was a gro­cery sto­re. We left Sid in the Hon­da. Beth and I burst in­to the sto­re with a gro­cery cart. The­re we­re may­be only a hand­ful of gho­uls in­si­de. They we­re very stiff and ba­rely mo­ved. One was in­si­de a small, cel­lu­lar pho­ne bo­oth and was trying to eat one of the pho­nes. A few we­re be­hind the de­li co­un­ter and lo­oked to ha­ve be­en samp­ling all the me­ats in the disp­lay ca­se - ba­si­cal­ly the­re we­re no re­al thre­ats. We sta­yed to­get­her and grab­bed can­ned so­ups, be­ans and the li­ke. I ma­de it a po­int to smack the gho­ul in the cell pho­ne bo­oth and ta­ke so­me of the pho­nes. I will see if I get any ser­vi­ce from them. May­be I can con­tact ot­her sur­vi­vors - di­al un­til I get an ans­wer, I gu­ess.

  Beth and I ma­de has­te in lo­ading up the Hon­da. We we­re just as so­on on our way dri­ving to­wards the mo­un­ta­ins.

  DAY - 40

  Barr La­ke Sta­te Park is whe­re we are. The pla­ce is an ama­zingly hu­ge area of flat­lands that still lo­oks un­to­uc­hed by the cor­po­ra­te mac­hi­ne. It’s sup­po­sedly a comp­le­te wild­li­fe re­ser­ve. The tho­ught of many in­fec­ted ani­mals isn’t ap­pe­aling, but the lack of pe­op­le and a wi­de-open path to the vi­sib­le mo­un­ta­in ran­ge ahe­ad of us is very ap­pe­aling. We’ll ta­ke the Hon­da as far as the gas tank al­lows and walk the rest of the way. Our only prob­lem sho­uld be the fact that we’re go­ing to miss the con­ve­ni­en­ce that is plum­bing.

  It was ne­ar dark when the gas tank ran dry and we we­re for­ced to he­ad out on fo­ot. My hand still burns qu­ite a bit, but with the cold air out­si­de, I fi­gu­red I wo­uld carry wha­te­ver it ta­kes. Beth car­ri­ed qu­ite a bit, too. We let Sid off of his le­ash. He was fi­ne, po­un­cing aro­und for a whi­le but fi­nal­ly stic­king ne­ar us and ke­eping pa­ce.

  As dark had fal­len, so had our strength. Beth and I we­re at the po­int to whe­re we we­re drag­ging our sup­pli­es in our ma­kes­hift bag­ga­ge along the gro­und. We had fi­nal­ly re­ac­hed the ba­se of the mo­un­ta­in ran­ge we had be­en stri­ving for. It was then that we spot­ted a pla­ce to hold up. It’s a sta­ti­on of so­me sort that has an an­ten­na on it. Atop the an­ten­na was a blin­king, red light that at­trac­ted us. We­re it not dark we pro­bably wo­uld ha­ve just star­ted sca­ling the mo­un­ta­in­si­de and wo­uld ha­ve ne­ver se­en it. We fo­und re­ser­ve energy and re­ac­hed the sta­ti­on qu­ite qu­ickly. The sta­ti­on is no mo­re than a mo­bi­le ho­me with ste­el walls - bet­ter than the shitty wo­od most tra­ilers are ma­de with, so I ha­ve no comp­la­ints. The do­or to the sta­ti­on was wi­de open, and the in­si­de lo­oked li­ke one hell of a fight had ta­ken pla­ce. I se­arc­hed the en­ti­re sta­ti­on to find no gho­uls. They pro­bably left in se­arch of mo­re fo­od.

  As Beth and I got set­tled in, got Sid set­tled and loc­ked our­sel­ves in­si­de we be­gan to see thro­ugh the win­dows that it was star­ting to snow out­si­de. This ti­me the snow se­emed so­met­hing of a com­fort and a be­a­uti­ful sight to stop and watch. I rum­ma­ged aro­und a bit mo­re in the sta­ti­on and fo­und the pla­ce to be vo­id of elect­ri­city ex­cept for ha­ving to use a ge­ne­ra­tor in the back. The­re’s no way I’m tur­ning it on.

  It’ll be lo­ud and at­tract too much at­ten­ti­on. The light on the an­ten­na is run off of a hu­ge bat­tery - li­ke for a car. Ex­cept for so­me equ­ip­ment in the back, the only thing I re­al­ly re­cog­ni­zed was a lap­top left on a desk in the ma­in ro­om whe­re we de­ci­ded to sle­ep. I did find so­me ni­ce, thick blan­kets in a clo­set, tho­ugh, which is help­ful as I fo­re­see a night of hud­dling to­get­her for warmth.

  DAY - 41

  Sid wo­ke Beth and I this mor­ning. He was yel­ping up a storm and star­ting to growl a bit. Beth and I jum­ped up and each grab­bed a shot­gun. We to­ok to lo­oking out all of the win­dows trying to find out what had Sid in such dist­ress.

  Tho­ugh my hand still hurt, I lo­aded my shot­gun rat­her fast.

  Beth stom­ped her fo­ot a few ti­mes to let me know she fo­und so­met­hing from the win­dow she had be­en lo­oking out of. I jo­ined her in ga­zing out at the snowy, fo­res­ted mo­un­ta­in­si­de.

  Off in the dis­tan­ce the­re was a hul­king mess of a Grizzly be­ar. It se­emed to be he­aded our way - per­haps fol­lo­wing the so­und of Sid’s an­xi­ety.

  I bro­ught Beth down to sit on the flo­or with me be­low the win­dow. We mo­ti­oned for Sid to co­me over to us. Sid ca­me and Beth star­ted pet­ting him to calm him down and qu­i­et him. I to­ok the ti­me to study my left hand. The purp­le spot was go­ing away - tur­ning gre­en and yel­low - signs of he­aling, li­ke with a black eye. It ga­ve me a fe­eling of con­fi­den­ce I had lac­ked for a whi­le. Beth smi­led, ack­now­led­ging the sa­me ex­ci­te­ment for my ap­pa­rent fin­ding of a cu­re. It di­rectly went to my he­ad - kno­wing that I had an ans­wer for the na­no-infec­ti­on. My ad­re­na­li­ne kic­ked in. I told Beth that the be­ar wo­uldn’t be le­aving so­on. It was lo­oking for fo­od, pro­bably, and ac­ting upon ins­tinct wo­uld ha­ve it han­ging aro­und for a whi­le - es­pe­ci­al­ly if it co­uld still smell well. I’m su­re Sid’s scent wo­uld be a ca­talyst for the hungry, un­de­ad be­ar.

  Beth tri­ed to get me to calm down and re­mind me abo­ut my fo­ot - how I was la­me. I co­uldn’t do it, tho­ugh. I got up and de­ci­ded to go hun­ting. Beth se­emed re­luc­tantly fol­lo­wing me and sta­ying ten yards be­hind me. I tri­ed my best to sne­ak abo­ut from tree to tree in or­der to re­ach clo­se ran­ge for sho­oting the be­ar. I was may­be thirty yards from it when it star­ted to char­ge us. I qu­ickly ra­ised my shot­gun - right hand on the trig­ger - top of my left arm to ste­ady my shot. I co­uld al­so see Beth ta­ke off to my right, and then kne­el down, aim and ste­ady her shot­gun. The be­ar so­on clo­sed to wit­hin ten fe­et of us, and we both un­lo­aded on it. The bulk of our shots to­re thro­ugh what re­ma­ined of the be­ar’s he­ad and neck.

  It fell limp and its mo­men­tum had it tumb­le past us a bit brus­hing up snow off of the gro­und. A path of blac­kish blo­od ru­ined so­me of the be­a­uti­ful snow. Beth and I ma­de our way back in­to the sta­ti­on. Sid was go­ing nuts for a bit be­ca­use of the lo­ud shots. We cal­med him down, and he se­emed less une­asy. Beth and I watc­hed out the win­dows for the re­ma­in­der of the day. We ate so­me of the last of our can­ned fo­ods for din­ner - al­most ti­me to start hun­ting our fo­od aga­in. Sid sho­uld enj­oy that.

  As we shall hud­dle aga­in un­der blan­kets aga­in to­night, I am left with a tho­ught I can’t get out of my he­ad. The be­ar will le­ave a smell for anyt­hing el­se in the area to pick up on. I just ho­pe we ha­ven’t
sent out a sig­nal, ba­si­cal­ly sa­ying, “ co­me and get it.”

  DAY - 42

  I awo­ke very early. I im­me­di­ately lo­oked out­si­de to see if any ot­her ani­mals had co­me be­ca­use of the be­ar’s car­cass. I saw not­hing. In fact, the snow had co­ve­red the be­ar in the night. I then chec­ked out my hand aga­in. It’s de­fi­ni­tely he­aling. The dark spot con­ti­nu­es to fa­de, and the swel­ling is abo­ut go­ne, tho­ugh the skin is star­ting to fla­ke li­ke from sun­burn.

  I be­ca­me very im­pa­ti­ent sit­ting aro­und wa­iting for Beth or Sid to wa­ke up. I de­ci­ded to ta­ke a qu­ick step out­si­de - with the shot­gun and my sword, of co­ur­se. I just wan­ted to be out­si­de. Mo­ments la­ter and I fo­und myself wan­de­ring off up the mo­un­ta­in­si­de. I kept glan­cing back at the sta­ti­on to see if I ne­eded to go back and let Beth know what my in­ten­ti­ons we­re - with the who­le area be­ing a wild­li­fe re­ser­ve the­re had to be eno­ugh ani­mals aro­und for fo­od. Su­rely so­me of them we­ren’t af­fec­ted. I sho­uld ha­ve pro­bably wo­ken up Sid and bro­ught him along, but I kept go­ing. Af­ter se­ve­ral hund­red fe­et I ca­me upon a rocky led­ge that le­ve­led off qu­ite a bit. In front of me past the led­ge was a ca­ve ent­ran­ce. It was big eno­ugh for a small car to ha­ve en­te­red, and it lo­oked very dark past the first twenty fe­et or so. The be­ar ins­tantly ca­me to mind. I ra­ised my gun in ca­se this was a den for ot­hers or per­haps, wor­se pre­da­tors. I to­ok a go­od lo­ok back down to the sta­ti­on - still no one stir­ring abo­ut. Cu­ri­osity got the bet­ter of me, and I so­on fo­und myself ta­king a slow walk in­to the ca­ve. I only went as fast as my eyes wo­uld adj­ust to the dark­ness. I was slowly star­ting to ma­ke out the true depth of the ca­ve when I wit­nes­sed many bats, de­ad and torn apart, just la­ying all over the ca­ve flo­or. So­met­hing had be­en eating rat­her well. That so­met­hing star­ted co­ming out of the sha­dows for me. I tur­ned qu­ickly and lim­ped as fast as I co­uld to exit the ca­ve. I had just abo­ut exi­ted comp­le­tely when I felt a hu­ge push that sent me to the rocky gro­und. I rol­led over qu­ickly to see a mang­led gho­ul - a hi­ker, still we­aring hi­king ge­ar and a hu­ge back­pack. The gho­ul knoc­ked away my shot­gun as so­on as I tri­ed to aim it, and then grab­bed my right hand re­ady to ta­ke a ni­ce bi­te out of me. In a pu­re ra­ge of ad­re­na­li­ne I used my left hand to rip my sword thro­ugh my belt lo­op and bury the bla­de in­to the gho­ul’s jaw. It let go of me and star­ted to stumb­le aro­und li­ke all the ot­her gho­uls - only con­fu­sed as to why it co­uldn’t se­em to fully clo­se its mo­uth. It lo­oked li­ke it was trying to bi­te thro­ugh the bla­de. I yan­ked the bla­de out with both hands and to­ok a stron­ger swing. I was ab­le to cut de­ep in­to the gho­ul’s he­ad drop­ping it, tho­ugh still wrig­gling. I grab­bed the shot­gun and fi­nis­hed the job. I snatc­hed the hi­ker’s back­pack and ma­de my way back to the sta­ti­on whe­re Beth and Sid we­re now awa­ke and wi­de-eyed at me.

  In the back­pack we fo­und matc­hes, a de­ta­iled map of the area, a fla­re gun, a hun­ting kni­fe, so­me warm clot­hing, a com­pass, and a ca­len­dar. I chec­ked the ca­len­dar with the num­ber of ent­ri­es I ha­ve writ­ten. It’s al­re­ady Feb­ru­ary. In fact, to­mor­row is Va­len­ti­nes Day. Beth smi­led at the re­ve­la­ti­on and then ga­ve me a long kiss. The lo­ok in her eyes has me a bit sha­ken. She has held me tigh­ter this eve­ning. I fe­el we may find our­sel­ves suc­cum­bing to our hor­mo­nes so­on.

  As it stands, I’m surp­ri­sed I ha­ven’t ma­de a mo­ve be­fo­re. I re­al­ly res­pect her. I think I may fi­nal­ly know lo­ve.

  DAY - 43

  Last night I had a long con­ver­sa­ti­on with Beth. I told her that kis­sing me alo­ne co­uld ha­ve trans­fer­red any re­ma­ining na­no­tech, we­re they not all dest­ro­yed by the elect­ric cur­rent. I wan­ted her to be be­yond ca­uti­o­us and very mind­ful of what co­uld hap­pen sho­uld we gi­ve in to our hor­mo­nes. I can truly say that it stop­ped her for a mat­ter of mi­nu­tes in de­ep tho­ught. Then the ine­vi­tab­le hap­pe­ned any­way. I re­al­ly don’t even re­mem­ber the last ti­me or if ever I had such ani­ma­lis­tic ac­ti­ons to­wards a girl. At the risk of em­bar­ras­sing Beth, she was qu­ite fe­ro­ci­o­us as well. It dro­ve ho­me the fact that it is pu­rely hu­man na­tu­re to re­act se­xu­al­ly when you find that con­nec­ti­on. It’s not li­ke we co­uld ever wa­it to find a Mi­nis­ter to marry us. Of co­ur­se, I al­so re­mem­ber so­met­hing my brot­her had sa­id many ye­ars ago - “ you don’t buy the car wit­ho­ut test dri­ving it first. “ So cru­de, but oh, so true. I’d li­ke to think my brot­her is ali­ve and well so­mew­he­re, too, but I’d ne­ver know with him be­ing such a hip­pie and go­ing pla­ce to pla­ce wit­ho­ut con­tact for months. It’s al­so pos­sib­le the drugs he had be­en known to do may ha­ve be­en his de­mi­se and wo­uld pro­bably ha­ve ma­de him a slow and easy me­al.

  Aro­und mid­day Beth wo­ke up. I had al­re­ady bro­ught in Sid from cha­ining him up to a desk in the back ro­om so he wo­uldn’t bot­her us last night. The two of them just sta­red at me for a whi­le as I was de­ep in tho­ught lo­oking over the map from the back­pack. I fi­nal­ly spo­ke up abo­ut what I had be­en thin­king - that the­re was a big, red circ­le on the map for an area only a mi­le away. It must ha­ve be­en whe­re the hi­ker was he­aded. Just the sa­me, it co­uld easily be whe­re he ma­de a men­tal no­te to ne­ver re­turn. I exp­res­sed my cu­ri­osity, tho­ugh and that I wo­uldn’t mind ris­king a lo­ok at the area. Of co­ur­se, with the day half over, I wo­uld much rat­her wa­it un­til early to­mor­row. The hi­ke the­re and back co­uld easily ta­ke a full day’s light.

  La­te af­ter­no­on bro­ught anot­her snows­torm. It wasn’t bad eno­ugh that it ham­pe­red vi­si­bi­lity, so Beth, Sid and I to­ok out­si­de to enj­oy our­sel­ves - shot­guns in tow, of co­ur­se - just in ca­se. I fo­und a Pi­ne Tree that lo­oked fit for clim­bing and pic­ked a Pi­ne Co­ne for Beth. I told her that it was the best I co­uld do - no way wo­uld I ha­ve fo­und her any ro­ses. She ac­cep­ted it with the smi­le that is be­co­ming my fa­vo­ri­te re­ason to still be ali­ve.

  As so­on as eve­ning ap­pro­ac­hed, the so­unds of how­ling be­gan to bre­ak the si­len­ce of the fo­rest. Sid was yel­ping alo­ud and grow­ling. He was no help at all, as he was ba­si­cal­ly le­ading the howls our di­rec­ti­on. Beth de­ci­ded to hold Sid still and pet him to calm him down. I to­ok out­si­de and back in­to the tree I clim­bed ear­li­er. I wa­ited for a whi­le to get a cle­ar vi­ew of two wol­ves that lo­oked very torn apart, yet very in­tent on fe­eding.

  I fi­red one shot ta­king off one of the wol­ves’ he­ad, but at the sa­me ti­me the branch I was stan­ding on ga­ve way sen­ding me to the gro­und. Luc­kily it wasn’t that far of a fall, but it still hurt li­ke hell. I was ab­le to ke­ep a hand­le on my shot­gun and ta­ke out the ot­her wolf that was run­ning for me. Beth ca­me run­ning to help me up, and Sid dar­ted over to the wol­ves’ corp­ses. Sid didn’t get too clo­se to the de­ad wol­ves, but he got ne­ar eno­ugh to hi­ke his leg and piss on them. I re­al­ly don’t un­ders­tand that dog.

  DAY - 44

  Sid fo­und him­self in the back ro­om aga­in last night. I fo­und myself a sco­ring mac­hi­ne aga­in. I didn’t sle­ep too well af­ter­wards this ti­me, tho­ugh. I had evil dre­ams of what ra­ising a child in this world wo­uld be li­ke. In that re­gard, I am damn ne­ar bet­ter off alo­ne. The da­ma­ge co­uld al­re­ady be do­ne, tho­ugh. It wor­ked that way for my pa­rents - they we­re in tro­ub­le se­ven we­eks af­ter they first met. I’m not su­re how yet, but I ne­ed to exp­la­in it to Beth. I’m su­re she will ag­ree when the re­ality of it sets in.

  It was be­fo­re sun­ri­se when Sid be­gan grow­ling at the
back wall of the sta­ti­on. Tho­ugh it’s me­tal on the out­si­de of the sta­ti­on, the walls are still li­ke any ot­her bu­il­ding in­si­de, and Sid was trying to scratch his way thro­ugh the drywall. Beth and I cal­med him down to ne­ar comp­le­te si­len­ce so as to lis­ten for what was bug­ging him. We then he­ard it. The­re we­re scur­rying so­unds and scratc­hing so­unds co­ming from wit­hin the wall. My first tho­ught was mi­ce. Beth ma­de hand ges­tu­res sho­wing me she tho­ught it was mo­re li­kely rats. I didn’t li­ke eit­her tho­ught. I ha­ve a pho­bia of ro­dents. A mo­use bit me when I was ele­ven ye­ars old. You’d think at that age I wo­uldn’t be sus­cep­tib­le to pho­bi­as, but af­ter ha­ving a ra­bi­es sca­re and a se­ri­es of ra­bi­es shots so­on af­ter be­ca­use it was a wild ani­mal - a com­mon fi­eld mo­use - it just left a las­ting tor­ment in me. I am qu­ite qu­ick to set mo­uset­raps - we just don’t ha­ve any. I’m pro­bably li­kely to start sho­oting if I get ir­ked eno­ugh. Wha­te­ver they are, tho­ugh, they’re sa­fe for now. The last things we ne­ed are ho­les in the wall as it’s cold eno­ugh in he­re.

  My hi­king plans we­re al­re­ady pus­hed back a day from de­aling with Sid for se­ve­ral ho­urs. By eve­ning Beth and I had fi­nal­ly ma­na­ged to get Sid to stop grow­ling or yel­ping any - he was la­ying on his back in the front ro­om with his legs in the air. I do va­lue his he­igh­te­ned sen­ses, but his ani­mal ins­tinc­ti­ve re­ac­ti­ons are eno­ugh to dri­ve an­yo­ne crazy. I wo­uld try to stuff so­me cot­ton from a pil­low or so­met­hing in his ears, but I’m su­re he’d just scratch it out and then chew on it.

 

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