by AJ Powers
He finally settled the holographic sight on the animal’s head. Headshots were typically avoided by most hunters, but with a bullet so small and such a close shot, Clay felt it was his best option. He took another deep breath in, but before he could exhale, he heard a woman’s scream come from the highway. Clay whipped his head around, then turned back just in time to watch the deer bolt. Without hesitation, Clay ran towards the highway. He approached the road cautiously and heard voices cursing and laughing. As he got closer, it became overwhelmingly clear.
Screamers.
Instinct told him to flee, but his conscience demanded he stay. He knew he wouldn’t sleep for months if he ran away and allowed an innocent woman suffer the violent pleasures of the Screamers.
“Please, let me go!” she begged. “I didn’t do anything, and I don’t have anything.”
Her cries for mercy amused them. It was as if the more their victims begged, the more satisfaction they got out of the kill. The lady didn’t have much time left. Staying low, Clay ran behind an overturned tractor trailer. His concealed position gave him a clear line of sight to the attack; his suspicions were confirmed: Screamers; three of them.
There were many tales about what the screamers looked like. Since they almost exclusively came out after dark, very few people got a good look at them. Those that did never walked away to talk about it. The rumors of their appearance, however, were surprisingly accurate. Their skin was covered in tribal tattoos, their heads shaven except for short Mohawks, and piercings all over their faces.
Then there was the body armor. Their bodies were protected by Kevlar vests, and other makeshift armor adorned their arms and legs. Where they had obtained such tactical equipment was anyone’s guess, but it further enhanced the fear.
One man was shirtless, had only a few tattoos and no visible piercings. A stark contrast to the other two men who fit the Screamer stereotype perfectly. Clay found the whole thing strange. He wondered if this was some sort of hazing ritual, like a rite of passage for a new recruit.
More than anything, their daytime appearance perplexed Clay. It wasn’t even dusk yet; it was still late afternoon. What were they doing out so early? he questioned. Perhaps they were allowing the recruit to see his kill in all its gruesomeness so that he wouldn’t miss a single gory detail that seemed to feed their merciless hearts.
He stopped trying to figure out the why and began psyching himself up for the how. He knew he was about to take a man’s life; justified or not, it always made him feel sick afterwards. His heart was pounding, his mind racing.
The woman continued to beg, her voice filled with terror. Clay moved behind a car and crouched down. He moved stealthily down the side of the car and then peeked over the trunk. The two men with vests flanked either side of the shirtless man. They both had machetes, and the one had a six-shooter in an old leather pouch.
“It’s time, brother,” the man with the gun said to the recruit. “Feed your flesh!”
The men in the vests began to scream the terrible sound that Clay so often heard in the distance. Those screams, he realized, were the prologue to a grisly murder. The man in the middle remained silent, as if he had not yet earned the right to scream.
Clay stood up and took aim at the man on the right—the one armed with the pistol. Just as the shirtless man raised a baseball bat, Clay fired a single shot, striking the armed man in the chest. The vest did its job and prevented the soft point bullet from penetrating, but no doubt broke a few ribs in the process. The man stumbled backwards several feet before falling to the ground, screaming in pain.
The other two men jumped back and looked at their wounded friend in confusion. Clay set his sights on the man in the middle and applied pressure on the trigger until he felt resistance. He was ready to unleash a more devastating shot in the blink of an eye—though he hoped he wouldn’t have to. Clay had the advantage; he was mostly covered by the car in front of him, and his targets were unarmed—those still standing anyway.
“Why don’t y’all just walk away; live to fight another day,” Clay shouted while keeping his sights trained on the shirtless man.
The recruit looked at the man on the left for confirmation. He simply nodded. The recruit turned back to the woman with a sinister grin.
“Don’t do it,” Clay said under his breath.
The man raised his bat once again. Before he could get his arms over his head, Clay had dispatched two more bullets. The first was a perfect hit right around his heart, the second went a bit high and to the side, striking his shoulder. The recruit was dead before he hit the ground. Clay rapidly transitioned his attention to the third man—the only one left uninjured. The Screamer stared at Clay with hatred and fear in his eyes. He slowly helped his wounded friend to his feet, never breaking eye contact with Clay.
“Go on now,” Clay said, “or I’m gonna start aiming a bit higher.”
Both men glared at Clay, a challenge in their eyes; however, after a few moments, they backed away from the girl and began to jog away.
Clay’s stomach was in knots. It had been around six months since he had shot another man, and he wasn’t even certain he had killed that one. There was no doubt this time around. Though the man he shot was lying on the asphalt behind a car, Clay could see the pool of blood growing beyond the fender. He swallowed the bile that had crept up his throat and pulled himself together. Clay rose to his feet and approached the woman, his weapon still shouldered until he could assess their safety. A soft whimpering grew louder as clay approached the woman. At least she was still alive. He first saw the recruit’s body on the ground; the man wasn’t moving. Confident there were no more threats, he lowered his rifle and walked around the front of the car.
Clay saw her leaning up against the car door. She was staring down at the pavement refusing to look at him. Her dark black hair was disheveled and matted as it dangled in front of her face like curtains shielding her from danger. She was holding her left knee. She continued to whimper as she reached up to wipe tears from her face. The pool of blood from her attacker had reached the cuff of her pants and began to saturate the cloth. She hadn’t even noticed.
Clay approached slowly and stuck out his hand, “My name is Clay.”
She looked up slightly and saw the dead body in front of her. She stared at it for a moment before she looked up at Clay. Instinctively, she leaned away from him, a subtle gesture of distrust. Clay didn’t blame her for that.
“It’s okay. I want to help,” he said, softening his voice.
She looked at the lifeless man again, then back at Clay. “My name is Kelsey,” she said with a beautiful, soft voice, her strong southern accent ringing through.
Clay was charmed by her beauty. He was captivated by her green eyes and dark, long lashes. She had the faintest hint of freckles on her cheeks near her nose, and Clay wondered if they were brighter when her face was freshly washed. Her radiant presence distracted him from the dangerous situation they faced. He forced himself to focus. It was no time to be sidetracked.
She looked down at her knee and then back up at him. “I don’t think I can walk,” she said, wincing as she tried to flex her knee.
“Let me help you up,” Clay said as he stuck his hand out. “We should have left five minutes ago. These guys don’t retreat; they regroup.”
Kelsey shuddered at the thought of seeing their ghastly faces again. “Okay,” she said as she nodded and reached for his hand. Clay helped her to her feet, and the movement made her gasp in pain.
Her knee was starting to swell. Clay was immediately aware they would have to seek shelter for the night. Both home and the cabin were too far away, but they were only about two miles from his hunting grounds in the woods. The cave would be their best bet. Clay had explored it when he first found the sacred spot, and he knew it was pretty deep; at least 1,500 feet with several turns. It would provide them a safe shelter as they waited for day.
The two hobbled off the road and towards the tree line. Clay ha
d switched his rifle for his pistol so he could more easily support Kelsey, but after a mile, Kelsey asked if they could rest for a minute. It was against Clay’s better judgment, but he conceded. They found a large rock for Kelsey to sit on and she grimaced as she sat down, doing her best to stifle her cries. Clay handed her the straw from his hydration pack. She looked at him as if he had read her mind. A small smile began to play at the corners of her lips accentuating her soft dimples and round cheeks. She took the straw and drank deeply from the pack, only pausing once for some air.
“Thanks,” she said as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
Clay found himself lost in her deep, green eyes again. Even though he had just met her and they were being chased by a pack of ravenous psychopaths, he struggled to maintain focus on the problems at hand. Kelsey noticed the glances of admiration and blushed a little, though it was hidden beneath a layer of dirt and scrapes.
“Okay,” Kelsey said after only a moment, hoping to redirect Clay’s attention from her. She hopped off the rock onto her good leg. “I think I’m ready.”
Their pace had significantly slowed. Kelsey was giving it all she had, but each step she took was excruciating, and Clay could see it in her face. They were about half a mile away from the cave when they heard the screams in the distance. There was only about 20 minutes left of sunlight, and they still had some distance to travel; the odds were not in their favor. Clay stopped and looked at Kelsey.
“What?” she asked.
He holstered his pistol and reached down, placing one arm behind her knees. He scooped her up and without saying a word, began to walk at a fast pace, Kelsey in his arms. After a few minutes, Clay’s pace increased to a jog. It was difficult, but he tried to be as light on his feet as he could. The crunch of dead leaves beneath each of Clay’s steps quietly echoed around them, but hopefully the Screamers were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear.
Clay’s breathing became labored. Even though Kelsey couldn’t have been an ounce over 110 pounds, his exhaustion from the day’s hike made each step increasingly more difficult. The repetitive hits from the muzzle of his M4 against his leg had gone from annoying to painful, but he didn’t let that show. On a couple of occasions, Clay caught Kelsey closing her eyes and smiling ever so slightly. He hadn’t realized just how poetic the evening had become. A damsel in distress. A heroic rescue. A daring escape. It was the scene from a romantic novel, not a day in post-apocalyptic America.
The screams in the distance had faded. It sounded like the vicious night dwellers had gone a different direction, but there was a good chance the group split up and could still be tracking Clay and Kelsey. The sight of the cave a few hundred yards away eased Clay’s perturbation, which was all the more reason he needed to stay alert. He couldn’t let his guard down. He gradually returned to a walking pace as they approached the cave.
“I think we’ll be safe here for the night.”
Kelsey gave a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said.
Chapter 6
Clay returned Kelsey to her feet, careful not to hurt her in the process, and he supported her as they limped their way through the cave. Once the light from the entrance had faded, Clay turned on his flashlight. After a few minutes, the cave narrowed, becoming only wide enough for the trickling stream.
“I guess this is the end of the line,” Clay said as he helped Kelsey to the ground.
“I’ll take it,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from of her face.
Clay placed his pack on the ground and cracked a chem light. After a few good shakes, the light intensified, giving off a bright but soft green glow. He set it on the ground just in front of Kelsey.
“We need to get a fire going. I am going to go collect some tinder and wood.” He paused for a moment as he wrestled with what he was about to do next. “I know this is probably a stupid question to ask, but do you know how to use a gun?”
Kelsey smiled as she recalled a fond memory. She had a beautiful smile. “Yeah, my grandfather taught me when I was pretty young. I haven’t shot one in a while, but I think I can remember how if I need to.”
He hesitated, red flags flying inside his head. It went against every fiber of his being to give his gun to someone he just met, but his gut was overriding all concern. He knew if something happened to him while he was outside, she would be completely defenseless. If someone found and killed him, it wouldn’t take long for them to find her. He didn’t want her to be prey, again.
He withdrew the gun from the holster and handed it to her. “There’s a round already chambered. There’s no safety, and it’s double action. If you see someone other than me, all you have to do is aim and squeeze.”
She took the gun from him, and he immediately noticed a level of respect she had for firearms in the way she handled it. She pointed the gun towards the ground and made sure to keep her finger off the trigger. Clay appreciated the proper protocol being followed. Accidents can kill, especially in a world without advanced medical treatment.
“Be back in a little bit,” he said and headed down the tunnel with his flashlight and rifle.
As Clay walked, he felt for his magazine pouch. Whether fleeing from bandits or just hiking through the woods, experience told him his mags could become dislodged at any point. His compulsion to check his pouch regularly—especially before entering unknown or dangerous situations—became almost an obsession. The three spare mags were snugly contained in the pouch as they should be. With the magazine already in his rifle—minus the three rounds from the earlier encounter with the Screamers—Clay knew he had exactly 117 shots total. He wasn’t sure if that was sufficient should the Screamers find their camp. It would be best if he never had to find out.
But Clay’s more immediate concern was provisions for the night, so he returned his attention to gathering some sticks and twigs. He even snatched a few crayfish out of the stream; he was now carrying his catch in his sock. He looked around for a little longer but couldn’t find anything of use for the night. With darkness overtaking the sky, Clay returned to the cave.
“Clay?” Kelsey said with a hint of panic in her voice. “Is that you, Clay?” She had the gun at the ready.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said as he shined the light on his face and then back down at the ground.
Relieved, she placed the gun down on the ground by her side. It wasn’t that she hated guns; she just wasn’t familiar enough with them to feel comfortable handling them. She was always afraid she would accidentally shoot somebody.
Kelsey had started collecting the rocks that she could reach from where she sat and had begun constructing a fire pit. As if they had discussed the plan already, Clay placed the sticks and kindling on the ground next to her fixture and searched for a few more stones to finish the enclosure. Most of them were wet from the nearby stream, but that didn’t matter. After he completed the fire pit, he carefully placed the kindling inside the stones.
Clay always kept some survival supplies in his pack in case he found himself in a situation just like this. There wasn’t much, but what was there would be crucial to staying alive for the night, especially once the cold set in. He looked around in the pocket for a few moments and came back with a nine volt battery and a sandwich bag containing steel wool.
“What is that?” Kelsey asked curiously.
“Our heat for the night.”
She was confused.
Clay pulled a large chunk of the steel wool out of the bag—along with some dried tinder—and carefully positioned it under the neatly arranged kindling. He pressed the battery terminals up to the tuft of wool, and once the connection had been made, the wool near the battery began to glow. The hot, metal fibers quickly ignited the dried tinder. A few moments later, the fire had spread to the twigs and dry grass Clay had collected outside. Within seconds, the kindling was fully engulfed, and Clay started adding some larger sticks every few minutes until it became a slow and steady burn.
The sight of the fire allevia
ted much of the anxiety plaguing both of them. Kelsey clapped her hands quickly, but quietly, and cheered him on. “My hero,” she added.
Hoping the light from the fire wasn’t bright enough to reveal his blushing, Clay responded, “And I have dinner.” He picked up the sock with the crayfish.
Her eyes got big when she saw the soiled, dripping wet sock dangling in front of his face. “Ooookaaaaay?” she said, a smile visible through her perplexed expression.
“What can I say? I spare no expense.” He untied the sock and showed her the contents inside. He looked for something to cook the crayfish in but to no avail. Then he got an idea. He unzipped his bag again and pulled out the can of deviled ham. “May I interest you in a devilishly delightful appetizer?” he said as he waved the can.
She chuckled at his lame pun. “Sounds delicious.”
He opened the can with his knife and was relieved to find the contents inside had not spoiled. It was far less appetizing than he remembered, but that could be because it was five years past the sell-by date. Maybe it was because he was 10 the last time he had eaten it. Either way, it was food, and they were grateful to have it. They spread it on a few stale crackers and devoured the food in mere moments.
After their snack, Clay filled the can with water and placed it on the fire. Once the water was boiling, he tossed the crayfish inside. Cooking quicker than Clay had expected; the crayfish turned red after only a couple of minutes. He dumped them out onto a smooth stone and separated them. There were five of them. He gave Kelsey three and kept two for himself. Neither of them had eaten crayfish before, or craw daddies, as Kelsey called them. Clay felt foolish that he had never thought to collect them in the past, especially with how many times he had been there to hunt.
