HYBRID KILLERS

by Will Decker

  Again, I’m sure I should recognize this town, this little community, just as I’m sure I should’ve recognized the wedding couple. And I would have, if I’d just seen their faces.

  There’s no fear of hitting the roof that I’m spiraling rapidly down toward, the same, as you have no fear when you’re watching a movie. The camera is taking the picture from the driver’s seat of the car as it crashes over the cliff, but you don’t fear for your life. That’s the way I felt now, watching the roof rushing up at me.

  With all the ease of a spirit, I sail through the roof, and suddenly find myself floating near the ceiling in a room that is unmistakably a child’s nursery. There’s a small child in a crib below me, playing contentedly. It’s a very beautiful child, and I can tell that it senses my presence in the room. And though I’m unable to see its face, I still know that it’s a very beautiful child.

  Ever so slowly, it turns to look up at me. I feel a moment of excitement at the prospect of seeing its face. But then, once again, I am violently heaved upward and away. I find myself not wanting to leave this child as it sits in its crib. But my attempts to resist the pull are futile.

  As I’m carried away against my will, I feel a deep sense of loss and regret. But the feeling subsides, and a new awareness takes hold. This time, I’m on a journey through a dark and forbidding place. Also, for the first time since setting out on this surreal journey, I’m aware of my body. The air is turning colder by the minute, and I’m acutely aware that I don’t have the right clothes on to be here. I’m not dressed for such extreme temperatures, and I can feel the bite of the cold all the way to the pit of my stomach and beyond. It feels as if it’s penetrating right into my soul.

  I’ve come to the end of my journey. Although I don’t know how I know it, I am very certain of it.

  **11**

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the cold seeps outward. In its wake, a void is left in my body, which is quickly filled with glowing warmth and love.

  My eyes suddenly snap open, but the light is dim, making it difficult to see. Still, the room looks familiar, and it takes me only a moment to recognize the common layout. Yet, I’m not sure if it’s my cabin or Sandy’s. Fighting a stiffness that has lodged in my neck and upper torso, I slowly turn my head from side to side, studying the interior of the cabin.

  The first thing of importance that I see is the cot, still setting across the room where Sandy had dragged it earlier. But even though it looks as if it’s been slept in, and remains unmade, there’s no sign of Sandy.

  Should I be worried, I ask myself. My mouth is dry and I’m extremely thirsty.

  “Sandy,” I try calling out, but am barely able to generate a hoarse whisper.

  Only then, do I remember the wolves and the inherent danger she might be in, if she ventured outside again. Feebly, my heart starting to race, I try to get up. It suddenly seems imperative that I find her. She may be in danger, or worse, and in need of me.

  As my head rises shakily from the pillow, I’m vaguely aware that the blankets laying over me, as well as the pillow, are saturated with sweat. But before I can contemplate it further, and what it means with regard to my situation, a rocket explodes in the back of my skull, and I quickly drop back against the soggy bedding. My head feels as if it’s splitting open, and beads of sweat are breaking out anew on my forehead. My breathing is shallow but steady, as I lay motionless, waiting for the pain in my head to subside.

  In my present condition, I sadly realized that even if Sandy desperately needed my help, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do for her. I wasn’t in any shape to help myself, much less her. The sooner I resign myself to that fact, and quit fighting the urge to get up, the sooner the pain will subside, and I’ll be able to think clearly.

  While I lay motionless, listening intently for any sound that might give me a clue to her whereabouts, I try to take stock of my physical condition. From my position on the table, I have a clear view of the turned down lantern, and I notice for the first time just how black the chimney has grown. If I could just remember how black it’d been the last time I’d seen it, I could draw a time line that would reveal how much time has slipped away from me. Thinking back to the last time that I’d seen it, I’m suddenly sure that I remember it being much cleaner, almost as if it had recently been taken apart and cleaned.

  The thought brought a smile to my emaciated face, as I envisioned Sandy doing domestic chores around the cabin. It would be just like her to keep the place spotless, even when she wasn’t expecting visitors. Gazing at the kerosene lantern, and noting the thick buildup of black lining the glass chimney, I couldn’t help but wonder how long I’d been unconscious; it appeared to be many days’ worth of buildup.

  With that realization, it suddenly became very important to see my feet. In my earlier anxiety over Sandy’s absence, I’d forgotten all about the main reason for feeling the way that I was. My feet were lower than my head, and thus, below my line of vision, making it impossible for me to see them without raising my head. I was afraid of what would happen if I tried to sit up again, so I resigned myself to being content with the fact that they weren’t hurting.

  Another, more chilling thought came to mind; it was possible that I couldn’t see my feet because Sandy resorted to amputation as a last means of saving my life.

  Just as quickly, as the thought entered my mind, I rejected it. When I was last conscious, she was only going to puncture the bloated skin and relieve the building pressure by draining the backup of fluids. There wasn’t any reason to believe things had progressed beyond that until I talked to Sandy and she told me otherwise. In the meantime, I will resign myself to not worrying about it. When the time comes, I will cross that bridge, and with Sandy’s help, I will face up to the consequences that come to bear. If giving up my feet will bring Amy back, I thought morosely, then I would gladly go without a limb or two. There were many worse fates in life, and losing Sandy was one of them.

  Careful not to move very fast, I rolled my head from one side to the other, taking in as much of the cabin’s interior as possible. I was worried about Sandy and looking for clues as to her whereabouts. The first thing I noticed after the lantern was the wood stacked by the side of the cookstove. It was dry from the heat radiating through the cast iron sides, and all evidence of melted snow was gone. Moreover, there looked to be an amount sufficient for at least a day’s worth of heat. So, unless she went into the woods to cut more, there wasn’t any pressing need to go out for firewood. But if she’d gone out to cut more wood, I should be hearing either a chainsaw running, or the thumping of the axe splitting through logs. I heard neither sound.

  Of course, there were two other options that I hadn’t considered. It was possible that she’d already cut and split the firewood, and was in the process of carrying it back to the cabin, which meant that she should be back anytime.

  The other option wasn’t quite as optimistic, and I decided not to dwell on it. It involved her going out for firewood, and being caught off guard by the wolves.

  However, this latter thought brought a new dilemma to mind: why hadn’t the wolves approached her cabin during her first month here?

  As quickly as I pondered it, reasons leaped to mind. The first, and most obvious reason being, that the wolves were working their way along the line of cabins, and Sandy’s was the last cabin in line before Fred retrieved them and returned them to the shed at his base camp.

  For a brief while, I contemplated these new ideas, seeing how they fit into the overall scheme that I’d painted of Fred and his wife. The package of raw meat that he’d taken into the shed was only a small part of what he wanted to keep concealed. In addition to food, he took personal items of his new tenants so that the beasts of prey would have out scent when he turned them loose later that same day. With the aid of the snow tractor, Fred could easily have gone back to base camp and loaded up the wolf pack, already primed and raring to get started.

  But the thoughts were brief, before t
hey once again returned to worrying about the missing Sandy. Because the temperature in the cabin was still relatively warm, I didn’t believe she’d been gone for long. Through the cracks around the plywood covering the windows, I could further tell that it was indeed daylight outside, and the sun was shining brightly. It was just the kind of day an adventurous woman would want to be outdoors.

  Moving stiffly, I craned my head around until I could see the fireplace. Much to my relief, I noted that the skis and snowshoes still hung where they’d always hung. Wherever she’d gone, it wasn’t with the intention of going far.

  “Sandy!” I croaked through my parched throat. “Please God, don’t let anything happen to her,” I pleaded aloud.

  I suddenly jumped, as I heard the unmistakable sound of stamping snow off boots. Someone was about to enter the cabin, and although I was sure that it had to be Sandy, I was careful to keep an open mind. There was always the possibility that Fred was making sure his wolf pack had done their job before bringing new tenants.

  Just as quickly, I scolded myself for being paranoid, the only person that would stamp snow off their boots before entering an old mountain cabin would have to be Sandy. No one else would give a shit about a little snow being dropped on the rough plank floors.

  As the door swung inward, my eyes squinted against the glare from the bright sun reflecting off all the snow surrounding the front of the cabin. For just a moment, a dark shadow blocked out the brightness, and I worried that I’d been wrong, and it wasn’t Sandy. Then she stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind her. In the dim light of the interior of the cabin, she was as blind as a man with a white-tipped cane. But while it would take her eyes a few minutes to adjust before she’d notice that I was awake, I could see her clearly, and my heart started beating faster.

  She took off her hat, briskly shaking the powdery snow off it, and hung it on a hook by the door next to where my own snowsuit was hanging. Still unaware that she was being watched, she unzipped her suit and stepped out of it, also hanging it there. Only then, did she turn and see me watching her.

  She froze in her tracks, the deeply engraved lines of weariness that were etched into her face, abruptly vanishing and being replaced by a vibrant smile, as she called out my name, “Oh John!”

  She came running around the wood piled just inside the door and next to the cook stove, excitedly crying out, “Oh John, oh John. You have no idea how many times I thought I’d lost you. Thank God you’re still alive!”

  Grabbing my head in her arms, I weakly manage to lift my hands to her face. As our lips find each other, I’m acutely aware of the softness of her skin, still cool from the outside air. We kiss passionately, as two young lovers that have found themselves together again after having been too long apart.

  When our lips slowly and begrudgingly part, I whisper through parched lips, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, John, more than you will ever know.”

  For a long time, we held each other tightly, grateful for the opportunity that we thought we’d never have again. And though I wanted it to last forever, I couldn’t keep down my rising trepidation. Did I still have feet, or did Sandy resort to amputation to save my life. And if I still had my feet, would I ever walk again?

  Looking deeply into her eyes, I search for the answers to my questions, hoping to spare both of us the pain of having to ask, and the agony of an answer. She quickly averts her gaze from my own, and I’m suddenly certain that she knows what is coming next. Deep in my heart, I sense that she is putting off the inevitable. Steeling myself for the inevitable, I take solace in the fact that I have my life to spend with her, if not my feet and the ability to walk.

  “My feet, Sandy. You have to tell me, do I still have my feet?” I rasped, my words shaking with anxiety.

  In response, she nods her head briskly in the affirmative, followed by an onslaught of tears. Loudly, her dammed up anxiety breaking forth, she cries against my chest, “Yes! Oh yes, you still have your feet! And yes, John, you will walk on them again!”

  Grabbing her shoulders, I kiss her hair, her head, and I break down with emotion, crying with relief while blabbering, “Oh thank God, Sandy, thank you.”

  For a long moment, I lose control of my emotions, and cry uncontrollably. We hold each other and let the sobs run their course before she hesitantly pulls away.

  When she’s ready to talk, she says softly, still dabbing at her red and swollen eyes with the back of her hand, “I have to admit that it wasn’t very easy for me. At one point, I even thought that if I didn’t amputate, I was going to lose you altogether.” She hesitated, taking a deep breath and swallowing before she continued. “There was a moment when I stood over you with the butcher knife, looking down on your feet, and I asked God for the strength to do what needed doing.” She paused again, swallowing back her tears before continuing. “I can’t begin to tell you how glad I am that I didn’t find the strength to do what I mistakenly thought needed doing. But you should also know that if you had died because of my inaction, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  “It’s all right,” I say consolingly. “You did the right thing no matter the reason why. It’s all working out for the better, now, isn’t it? I have my life, my feet, and most important, we have each other. Whatever else has happened is irrelevant, as long as we go forward from here, and don’t dwell too deeply on the past. We’ve both done enough of that for a life time.”

  “Yes,” she softly agreed. “Yes we have.”

  After a moment of silence, I said, “I’m dying of thirst. Would it be too much trouble to get a cup of coffee?”

  “No, not at all,” she responded lightly before flippantly adding, “Just as long as you’re aware of who’s going to be waiting on who, once you’re feeling better, and can get up and around again. Life doesn’t just revolve around you, you know.”

  “Tell me, how long has it been since I lost consciousness? I feel as weak as a new born kitten.”

  My voice was dry and raspy, but at least, I could talk.

  Sounding both tired and resigned, she spoke over her shoulder as she set up the coffee pot, “You’ve been on the table for twelve days now. Most of that time, it’s been touch and go, and I’ve been afraid to leave you. But then, this morning, you were snoring softly, and your temperature was down. So I took advantage of the break, and snuck out for some fresh air.”

  “You didn’t have enough firewood stacked by the cabin for that long of a stay, did you?” I asked with concern.

  “Oh, heavens no!” she gasped. “I’ve been doing a lot of wood cutting in order to keep this place warm. I’ll be glad to let it cool off a little now that you’re over the worst of it.” She glanced at me and smiled, before adding, “I was beginning to wonder if your fever was ever going to break.”

  Apprehensively, I asked, “What about the wolves?”

  “I haven’t seen hide or hair of them since you first arrived. Not even any howling at night. I haven’t let my guard down, mind you. I did however find the gun in your snowsuit. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve gotten into the habit of taking it with me every time I go outside,” she answered with an air of confidence, almost bragging. “By the way, you don’t happen to have any more ammunition for it, do you?”

  “No, unfortunately that’s all there is. When it’s gone, it’s gone.”

  “Too bad,” she mumbled to herself.

  When she didn’t expound on her thoughts, I was forced to pry. “Would you mind sharing that thought with me?”

  “Oh,” she said, startled from her thoughts. “I was just thinking that when you’re up to it, we could hike out of here. Between the skis and the snowshoes, we could make good time. But with only four rounds left for the magnum, if we got caught out in the open, we wouldn’t stand much of a chance against that wolf pack.”

  In an effort to see the calendar on the wall, I rolled my head to the side. I was hoping that if I could see it, I could calculate what day
it was, and from there determine when Fred was due back with supplies. It wouldn’t take many bullets to hijack the snow tractor from Fred and commandeer it back to civilization. We’d probably have to take Fred as our prisoner, since I’m sure Sandy wouldn’t let me turn him loose in hopes that the wolves take care of him. Of course, they probably wouldn’t turn on him anyway, if my suspicions regarding their upbringing were correct. But at least with the snow tractor, we wouldn’t have to worry about the wolves, or the elements.

  Sandy turned back from the stove just then and followed my gaze to the calendar on the wall. She must have had the same thought as myself, as she said, “He’s not due for another nine days. But I’ll be very surprised if he shows up. The wolves have been up to something for the past two weeks that’s keeping them away from here. We may not know what it is, but I’ll bet you old Fred our landlord does. Furthermore, he’s probably behind whatever it is they’re up to.”

  “I have a sinking feeling that within the next nine days that wolf pack is going to be back. If you have to go outside, try to keep it to daylight hours, and by all means, please be careful.”

  “I always am my love,” she answered in a serious tone of voice before lightly adding, “Are you ready for your coffee while I fix us some soup. We need to get your strength up, and I don’t think your teeth are up to anything more substantial just yet.”

  “My throat either, for that matter,” I lightly rasped. But because of the dried-leather quality of my throat, everything I said came out sounding the same, at least to my ears.

  She lifted my head and bunched the pillow up under it so that I could drink from the mug without further assistance. The coffee burned all the way down my throat, and she quickly brought me a cup of cold water to sooth it. Holding the cup to my mouth while I drank, she waited until it was empty before handing back the mug of coffee. Feeling refreshed, I listened to her working at the stove. The old familiar sounds of kettles knocking together and such, as was customary of someone fixing a meal, made for a relaxing atmosphere. It seemed to take all the strength I could muster just to raise the coffee mug to my lips, so I held it in my hands, but in essence, was only balancing it to keep it from spilling; it needed to cool some before I could drink it anyway.