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HOLD

Page 10

by Duane P. Craig


  Beth and I ha­ve be­en get­ting so­me things to­get­her to ma­ke the jo­ur­ney. We sho­uld ha­ve plenty of snacks and drinks to ta­ke. Sid sho­uld easily le­ad us to Char­lie. We’ll just le­ash him and let him fol­low the scent. Beth is op­ti­mis­tic we may find sur­vi­vors. I’m kind of ho­ping we just find so­me re­al am­mu­ni­ti­on, tho­ugh the pla­ce pro­bably only has blanks for the­ir sta­ged shows.

  DAY - 55

  I'm fin­ding myself to be mo­re ar­ro­gant to­wards this hell we are apart of. I loc­ked the do­ors to the bu­il­ding, of co­ur­se, as we left out be­fo­re sun­ri­se this mor­ning and at­tac­hed the keys to one of my ot­her belt lo­ops. They ha­ve be­en jing­ling all day. I didn't ca­re one bit that I was gi­ving away our po­si­ti­on to wha­te­ver might lurk in the fo­rest. I was ac­tu­al­ly ho­ping so­met­hing wo­uld co­me to us. I re­al­ly didn't want us sne­aking up on so­met­hing. With Sid on his le­ash and Beth and I lug­ging stuff with us, I just didn't li­ke the idea of be­ing ca­ught in a po­si­ti­on ne­eding qu­ick ref­lex. That and the fact that we may grow ti­red of hi­king wo­uld be our de­mi­se sho­uld we co­me upon an unex­pec­ted fight. The jing­ling keys wo­uld ha­ve bro­ught anyt­hing with amp­le he­aring out eno­ugh in the open to gi­ve us mo­re re­ac­ti­on ti­me. Aga­in, this was pu­re ar­ro­gan­ce, and as­ha­medly, I ad­mit it cost us.

  I gu­ess it was abo­ut no­on when we had all re­ac­hed the bot­tom of the mo­un­ta­in and had be­gun to sca­le the next one. The new mo­un­ta­in pro­ved to ha­ve mo­re of a rocky ter­ra­in and was much har­der to climb. It ma­de us slo­wer and now­he­re in any po­si­ti­on to re­act to any kind of thre­at. The jing­ling of the keys had unk­no­wingly led to us a mo­re ef­fi­ci­ent thre­at than we had yet to en­co­un­ter - a bet­ter hun­ter and a much wor­se gho­ul of an ani­mal - a bob­cat. It wa­ited un­til we fo­und our­sel­ves all atop a ni­ce, flat 3 fo­ot rid­ge in the rock, and then it at­tac­ked us. It was in much bet­ter sha­pe than most of the ani­mal gho­uls we had se­en so far. The bob­cat was still nimb­le des­pi­te the cold - may­be it had just re­cently tur­ned. It was everyt­hing Beth and I co­uld do to ke­ep our ba­lan­ce on that rid­ge. Sid, ho­we­ver, was much mo­re nimb­le, and he yan­ked the le­ash from Beth and fi­nal­ly disp­la­yed the co­ura­ge he had pro­bably al­ways had in him. He to­ok to grow­ling, bar­king and gnas­hing his te­eth for our sa­fety. Had Sid be­en just a bit less co­ura­ge­o­us, eit­her Beth or myself co­uld ha­ve ta­ken out the bob­cat in one shot. Sid was just too clo­se. The bob­cat kept clo­se be­ing com­ba­ti­ve al­so. Fi­nal­ly, the two to­re in­to each ot­her. Sid was pin­ned down at one po­int to whe­re I got a shot off that comp­le­tely to­re the bob­cat’s he­ad in half and sent it rol­ling down the mo­un­ta­in.

  Beth has be­en crying ever sin­ce. I usu­al­ly we­ar a few t-shirts at on­ce, so I to­ok one off and ma­de so­me ban­da­ges for Sid.

  We ha­ve be­en strug­gling to bring him up the mo­un­ta­in and ha­ve fi­nal­ly re­ac­hed the sa­fest part of the pe­ak that le­vels off a bit. I star­ted a camp­fi­re qu­ite a whi­le ago and ho­pe it won’t bring us any­mo­re un­wan­ted gu­ests. Sid’s bre­at­hing is he­avy, and he isn’t mo­ving much at all. Beth and I are ba­si­cal­ly let­ting Sid suf­fer - not that we re­al­ly want to, but we don’t want to re­al­ly let go. I think we’re both still full of fal­se ho­pes for any dif­fe­rent an out­co­me.

  DAY - 56

  So­me­how Beth and I fo­und our­sel­ves fal­ling as­le­ep last night.

  Ne­it­her of us in­ten­ded to. I es­pe­ci­al­ly fe­ared fal­ling as­le­ep for the me­re tho­ught of Sid tur­ning as so­on as I did fall as­le­ep. I wo­uld ha­ve be­en an easy me­al - le­aving the sa­me fa­te to Beth, pro­bably. But this mor­ning we awo­ke to a dying fi­re of mostly hot em­bers and no Sid in sight. He’s go­ne. My first tho­ughts we­re that most ani­mals do tend to wan­der off when they know it’s the­ir ti­me. I’ve al­ways won­de­red why, but it has ne­ver be­en exp­la­ined to my know­led­ge. I gu­ess they sen­se that a cle­aner go­odb­ye is mo­re ap­prop­ri­ate - a walk off in­to the sun­set, sort of.

  Beth wan­ted to find him, and I strug­gled with her for qu­ite so­me ti­me to ke­ep her from do­ing so. I do fe­el her pa­in, but I al­so sen­se so­met­hing much mo­re un­com­for­tab­le abo­ut it. I me­an, what if Sid has only set a trap for us by lo­oking for him? He wo­uld ne­ver in­ten­ti­onal­ly do so, but it co­uld turn out that way. I even­tu­al­ly got Beth on track with what we ne­eded to do, and as we to­ok our first day­light vi­ew over the ot­her si­de of the mo­un­ta­in, things got a go­od bit mo­re comp­li­ca­ted. We saw over two ot­her smal­ler mo­un­ta­ins in­to a val­ley - the val­ley with the old west, ghost town at­trac­ti­on.

  My eyes aren’t per­fect, but I co­uld see so­met­hing mo­ving the­re. I told Beth that we co­uld eit­her go back to our sa­fe bu­il­ding or press on to that pla­ce which de­fi­ni­tely has thre­ats to de­al with. Beth simply wal­ked away from me and down the mo­un­ta­in, still on pa­ce to re­ach the old west town. I know that I ke­ep qu­es­ti­oning her strength in cer­ta­in si­tu­ati­ons, but I do it out of res­pect and for her sa­fety - and she ke­eps stun­ning me with her con­fi­den­ce and grit. I lo­ve her. I’d lo­ve her any­way, but I’m pas­si­ona­te abo­ut her will to be­at our every odds li­ned aga­inst us.

  Just be­fo­re dark, we spot­ted Char­lie. We ac­tu­al­ly trac­ked his mo­ve­ment thro­ugh the fo­rest be­fo­re we cle­arly saw him. In do­ing so, he ac­tu­al­ly led us aro­und one of the smal­ler mo­un­ta­ins on a path of sorts and up to a mid-pe­ak ro­un­ding of the se­cond mo­un­ta­in. Just as we ro­un­ded the se­cond mo­un­ta­in, the en­ti­re old west town was much mo­re vi­sib­le at an ang­led birds-eye vi­ew. The la­yo­ut is qu­ite li­ke tho­se in the mo­vi­es - just one stre­et, re­al­ly - pro­bably only 20 bu­il­dings in all. My bra­in be­gan de­vi­sing a plan ins­tantly. Beth then de­ci­ded that she was go­ing to at­tempt get­ting clo­ser to Char­lie for on­ce. I’ll be dam­ned, she ac­tu­al­ly just wal­ked up to him, grab­bed his re­igns and ti­ed them off to a tree.

  I’ve star­ted a camp­fi­re aga­in, and ac­tu­al­ly, I used the last two matc­hes I had to do so. Beth has be­en sit­ting up­right on a rock In­di­an-style, just sta­ring at Char­lie with her hands grip­ped firm on her shot­gun lying ac­ross her lap. I’ve tri­ed to ma­ke her co­me lie down, but she is be­ing eit­her stub­born or psycho­tic in sta­ying put. So­met­hing is on her mind, but I can’t fi­gu­re it out. I’m go­ing to shar­pen the sword up just for the hell of it. I’ve got a town to cle­an up to­mor­row.

  DAY - 57

  I re­al­ly ha­ve to get a sle­eping ha­bit that’s sa­fe. I awo­ke to a shot­gun blast from Beth. Sid had trac­ked down Char­lie and at­tac­ked him. Beth shot twi­ce mo­re be­fo­re I was re­ady for figh­ting, and she had ta­ken off one of Sid’s front legs and furt­her wo­un­ded Char­lie. I scre­amed for her to stop and ra­ced in front of Sid as he was ba­rely drag­ging him­self to­wards us on the gro­und. Beth lo­oked very dis­tant. She cle­arly only wan­ted to kill him and be do­ne with it. I wan­ted to send him off dif­fe­rently, tho­ugh. I just ne­eded a go­od mo­ment to lo­ok at him in that hor­rib­le sta­te to con­vin­ce myself that he ne­eded to be put out of his mi­sery. I ma­de it a qu­ick be­he­ading with the sword. Beth then wal­ked up to Char­lie and po­int blank shot him in the fa­ce. Char­lie hit the gro­und qu­ick - blo­od everyw­he­re be­hind him. The­re was ab­so­lu­tely no com­pas­si­on on Beth’s fa­ce. I ma­de it a po­int very qu­ickly to con­so­le her.

  She didn’t se­em to res­pond to anyt­hing I sa­id or did un­til I kis­sed her long and hard. I ne­eded her to ke­ep it to­get­her. I ne­ed her to stay sa­ne, or el­se I’m not far b
e­hind her.

  By la­te mor­ning, we we­re fi­nal­ly do­ne with Sid’s ma­kes­hift gra­ve. Beth fi­nal­ly bro­ke down in­to te­ars. I shed a few myself. I’m go­ing to miss him. So­on af­ter, we be­gan sco­ping out the town from our bird-eye vi­ew. I told Beth that with the wi­de, dirt stre­ets we co­uld ha­ve it pretty easy. The snow is mel­ted qu­ite well, the dirt stre­ets we­re mo­re than li­kely thick mud and the­re sho­uld be plenty of re­ac­ti­on ti­me for us. Wha­te­ver gho­uls we­re the­re wo­uld al­most de­fi­ni­tely co­me af­ter us - out of the wo­od­work for a me­al.

  We fi­nal­ly step­ped fo­ot on­to the muddy stre­et of the old west town. We had our guns re­ady and our bla­des re­ady as well. I swe­ar we sto­od firm for the lon­gest ti­me. Not­hing was co­ming. I was mo­re wor­ri­ed than I had ever be­en be­ca­use I knew the­re was so­met­hing he­re. Fi­nal­ly I just led us to what was a hard­wa­re sto­re. It was truly set up li­ke the old west, but it had re­al items on the shel­ves. I got mo­re matc­hes. They ha­ve so­me can­ned fo­ods and can­di­es. The­re are even so­me very or­na­te hun­ting kni­ves in­si­de a ni­ce glass ca­se - it was a ni­ce ca­se, but then I bro­ke it to poc­ket a few of the kni­ves. We ha­ve sin­ce be­en in­si­de this one sto­re, and alt­ho­ugh the struc­tu­re of the do­or and win­dows didn’t se­em even half­way se­cu­re, we we­re warm in he­re and be­gan eating li­ke pigs.

  Then a gho­ul ca­me stumb­ling up to the do­or. It was dres­sed in full wes­tern we­ar mi­nus the hat. The thing lo­oked slow but had a re­al me­tal pis­tol in its hand and was abo­ut to start hit­ting the win­dow with it. Ins­te­ad of ma­king our pre­sen­ce fully known in the dark­ness that had set in for ot­hers to co­me our way, I de­ci­ded to open the do­or and let the thing lum­ber in­si­de the sto­re. Beth un­ders­to­od my re­asons, too. She re­adi­ed her­self with one of the new kni­ves and her hatc­het. I was abo­ut to pull my sword un­til so­met­hing han­ging on the wall ca­ught my eye. I may be just sa­dis­tic or comp­le­tely lo­sing it, but the tho­ught of using an axe se­emed to ap­pe­al to me. I grab­bed the axe and be­gan to chop away at the gho­ul, which pro­ved to be a to­ugh job - li­ke chop­ping fro­zen me­at aga­in. Beth hel­ped me kick the pi­eces of it back out­si­de. I don’t plan on sle­eping much at all to­night.

  DAY - 58

  As much fun as the axe was, I didn’t grab it this mor­ning when I awo­ke to two gho­uls le­aning and lo­oking in thro­ugh the sto­re’s bay win­dow. I grab­bed my sword and mo­ved slowly to the do­or. Beth was so­und as­le­ep, or so I tho­ught. As so­on as I went to open the do­or and dis­po­se of the gho­uls, which we­re wo­men dres­sed li­ke old scho­ol mar­me’s, Beth fi­red twi­ce from her shot­gun. Her aim, de­adly ac­cu­ra­te, shat­te­red the­ir he­ads and the win­dow everyw­he­re. I yel­led at her for fi­ring from be­hind me aga­in. She didn’t ca­re - just star­ted get­ting mo­re clot­hes on for warmth and gat­he­red her things.

  Her fa­ce dis­tant and emo­ti­on­less, is be­co­ming less hu­man to me. We ne­ed out of this pla­ce - to go back to our mo­un­ta­in lo­oko­ut and hold up whe­re I can ta­ke much ne­eded ti­me to con­so­le her. I ma­de has­te in get­ting my ot­her clot­hes on and things to­get­her. I fe­ared the shot­gun blasts wo­uld just be a din­ner bell for ot­her gho­uls. We to­ok to the stre­et - the gro­und much dryer. The sun was be­aring down a lot, and I swe­ar the tem­pe­ra­tu­re was a go­od 20 deg­re­es abo­ve yes­ter­day. I was get­ting warm in all of my clot­hes. Beth then de­ci­ded she wo­uld just walk stra­ight to the end of the stre­et. She se­emed to be ta­un­ting anyt­hing that wo­uld be ne­ar. She ma­de it, tho­ugh. Not­hing sho­wed it­self at first, as I sto­od a go­od hund­red yards away from her. She just sto­od the­re and tur­ned to me with that blank lo­ok on her fa­ce. Then they ca­me. The­re we­re mo­re than eit­her of us ca­red to co­unt, we emp­ti­ed our shot­guns all too fast, and then we drop­ped them to run. Beth ret­re­ated in­to what lo­oked li­ke a stab­le. I to­ok off to my left. The gho­uls se­pa­ra­ted bet­we­en us - two me­als to cho­ose from. I en­ded up in the town’s mock sa­lo­on. It has the swin­ging do­ors and everyt­hing - wholly aut­hen­tic to old west de­ta­ils. I be­gan knoc­king over the wo­oden cha­irs and tab­les and threw them over to one si­de of the hu­ge ro­om. I was wor­ri­ed abo­ut the hu­ge win­dows of the sa­lo­on, but the gho­uls all still ca­me thro­ugh the do­ors ins­te­ad. I sprang upon the bar and be­gan ta­king golf swings at the fuc­kers. So­on eno­ugh I had to jump back be­hind the bar and start swin­ging si­de­ways for the­ir he­ads. For every he­ad that I ma­na­ged to se­pa­ra­te, I got the qu­ick ple­asu­re of se­e­ing them roll off down the bar li­ke bow­ling balls on a la­ne. So­on eno­ugh I was ta­king a qu­ick co­unt of ele­ven gho­uls that I had ma­de a mess of. I ma­de my way to my shot­gun out in the stre­et and re­mo­ved my last 3 shells to lo­ad it. I to­ok off for Beth at the stab­le. Now, Beth isn’t the kind of girl that I ever wo­uld ha­ve had the ple­asu­re of da­ting. I say that not to be mo­dest, but be­ca­use she is so to­ugh that I lo­ok less li­ke the man so­me­ti­mes - the in­ti­mi­da­ti­on wo­uld ha­ve kept me away. But my girl, Beth had easily ma­de her way up to the loft of the stab­le. Just as I en­te­red the stab­le I saw her toss down a pitch­fork in­to one of the gho­uls he­ad ta­king it down. She saw me, and then stop­ped. She just smi­led. The­re we­re only two mo­re gho­uls that she had yet to ta­ke out. I re­adi­ed my sword and let the two co­me a bit clo­ser than usu­al, but I swung as hard as I co­uld and cut de­eply thro­ugh the­ir necks. The gho­uls fell down, still squ­ir­ming un­til I kic­ked the­ir he­ads nu­me­ro­us ti­mes to fully rip the­ir spi­nal ner­ves apart. Beth ca­me down from the loft and be­gan sho­wing me how she had dis­patc­hed 13 gho­uls her­self. She had tos­sed down a shit­lo­ad of ste­el hor­ses­ho­es at the­ir he­ads and the re­sults we­re li­ke tos­sing me­lons from a three story win­dow - messy. As dark set in, we both de­ci­ded that the loft was a ni­ce pla­ce to sle­ep to­night.

  Beth is let­ting me hold her, and I’m ho­ping it’s not just for warmth.

  DAY - 59

  Day­light re­ac­hes the stab­le loft a bit la­ter than I am used to.

  This val­ley that the old west town is set in re­al­ly do­esn’t get much de­cent light un­til what se­ems to be la­ter in the mor­ning. Ca­se in po­int, we awo­ke at what se­emed a la­ter ti­me this mor­ning, but it was ni­ce. Then the he­at of the day re­al­ly star­ted to kick in. I’ll bet that it was abo­ut 70 deg­re­es or war­mer. Beth and I ac­tu­al­ly strip­ped down to just pants and T-shirts. And then, the he­at star­ted get­ting to the de­ad bo­di­es of the gho­uls. The smell was just a lit­tle bad, but we knew it wo­uld so­on get wor­se, es­pe­ci­al­ly if this type of a he­at wa­ve was to ke­ep up. I de­ci­ded the smar­test thing for us to do was to fully ins­pect the town, ma­ke su­re we to­ok out every gho­ul and then find a way to start ta­king everyt­hing we co­uld use back to our lo­oko­ut bu­il­ding.

  La­te af­ter­no­on se­emed to co­me qu­ick, but at the pri­ce of se­e­ing no mo­re gho­uls, it didn’t bot­her me as much. Beth ca­me run­ning from one di­rec­ti­on she had chec­ked. She was very ex­ci­ted and al­most drag­ged me whe­re she wan­ted me to go.

  She then stop­ped be­hind the wes­tern most si­de of town be­hind the bu­il­dings and po­in­ted up to the mo­un­ta­in­si­de. The­re was the mi­ning ca­ve that was in the broc­hu­re abo­ut this pla­ce.

  Bet­ter yet, she grab­bed my he­ad trying to di­rect my eyes in cer­ta­in di­rec­ti­ons un­til I fi­nal­ly saw exactly what she wan­ted me to. The­re is a rocky, dirt ro­ad that so­mew­hat as­cends the mo­un­ta­in from be­hind it and then to the mi­ning ca­ve. Upon furt­her fo­cus, I ma­de out what lo­oks to be the top of a truck or SUV just over the
mo­un­ta­in par­ked on the ot­her si­de of the ma­kes­hift ro­ad. The lo­ok on her fa­ce told me that she was mo­re than ga­me to trek up the mo­un­ta­in­si­de to that ve­hic­le.

  We gat­her a lot of can­ned go­ods, so­me snack crac­kers and small, wrap­ped fo­ods from the town sto­re that I think must ha­ve re­al­ly be­en ser­ving as the snack bar/de­li for to­urists, and we al­so grab­bed the kni­ves and a few to­ols that lo­oked so­mew­hat help­ful. Our back­packs and so­me old, bur­lap po­ta­to sacks now held our sup­pli­es. To sa­ve on lug­ging so much we­ight aro­und, I de­ci­ded to part with my shot­gun and stick to my sword - still easily han­ging in my belt lo­op. Beth gladly to­ok my shot­gun shells for her own as she still had abo­ut 7 mo­re her­self. She still has her hatc­het, too.

  We re­ac­hed the mo­un­ta­in ro­ad and that par­ti­cu­lar crest of the mo­un­ta­in to wit­ness a be­a­uti­ful sun­set over mo­un­ta­ins as far as our eyes co­uld see. The light oran­ges and pinks co­lo­red the few clo­uds that we­re in the sky. Beth was­ted no ti­me in chec­king out the ve­hic­le - a Je­ep SUV. We fo­und our­sel­ves lucky aga­in. The Je­ep had keys in the ig­ni­ti­on but wasn’t tur­ned for­ward any. Had it be­en dif­fe­rent, we co­uld be sit­ting still with a de­ad bat­tery. As it turns out, tho­ugh, Beth dro­ve us from this mo­un­ta­in­si­de ro­ad back on­to a one­la­ne high­way. We’re still he­ading west, but at le­ast this se­ems li­ke a ma­j­or ro­ad. I re­al­ly ha­ven’t pa­id any at­ten­ti­on to ro­ad signs yet. We’re do­ing well on gas so far, but with this ro­ad the­re are su­re to be so­me gas sta­ti­ons clo­se. I’m ac­tu­al­ly not min­ding the tho­ught of sip­ho­ning fu­el. What is do­ing me in right now is that I had for­got­ten how re­ading and wri­ting whi­le in a mo­ving car can ma­ke you fe­el na­use­o­us.

 

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