Blazing the Trail

by Phil Morgan

  Chapter Two

  North Carolina had it all, beaches and mountains, small towns and cities teeming with every modern convenience. The way a person saw North Carolina told more about the person than it did North Carolina.

  What this state had more of than anything else was forest. Miles and miles of trees and underbrush, animals and some things that didn’t even come close to being classified as animal. True Olde world nature, as red in tooth and claw as the ancient forests of days long past.

  I barreled down the highway, quickly leaving the shining lights and generally civilized atmosphere of Raleigh in my wake. Clara sat in the passenger seat, her youthful exuberance bolstered by the hard driving sound of the music blaring from my radio.

  Soon enough, we were travelling down a solitary road. Tall trees formed an impenetrable wall on both sides, blocking out the feeble light of the false dawn. Clara, to her credit, obeyed my instructions and hadn’t said a word since the trip began. I found that to be as annoying as I did when she was talking.

  “You’re allowed to speak, you know.”

  “You asked me to be quiet. I didn’t want to over step my bounds.” she responded after a moment. “So, I never asked. Where are we going?”

  “If you hadn’t noticed from the all the driving uphill and the popping in your ears, we are headed deep into the mountains.” I responded, not a little bit condescendingly.

  “You know what I mean.” She replied with a hint of her own arrogance.

  “We are looking for Draven the Stalker.” I relented.

  “Never heard of him.” She said.

  “Have you heard of anybody?” You are surprisingly uninformed for an adventurer.” I said.

  “I’ve heard of Harry van Helsing. He’s dreamy.” She grinned at me.

  “And a whore.” I said flatly.

  “Sounds like you know from personal experience.”

  “Who doesn’t know about Harry from personal experience?” I shot back.

  “Who is this Draven and why are we after him?” she asked.

  “He’s a big Richard Connell fan.”

  “You aren’t making any sense. Who is Richard Connell?” she said with exasperation in her voice.

  “He wrote a short story about humans hunting other humans and how man was the most dangerous game. I could have also used Hemingway. He once said “there is no hunting like the hunting of a man. You are really going to have to work on your witty banter, Ms. Adventurer. If you don’t drop at least one obscure reference per soliloquy, you are doing it wrong.” I couldn’t help ribbing the kid a little. She was such an easy target. Seeing she still wasn’t getting my meaning, I explained simply. “Draven is a hunter of men, specifically people with power. People like us.”

  “And now we are hunting him? That doesn’t sound like a very smart thing to do.” She said, dubious of the whole notion.

  “Sounds just like most of the things I do.” I muttered.

  I had nothing else to say, a little conversation went a long way. Clara seemed to agree. We rode in silence as the sun rose sedately over the horizon. To the untrained eye, the light pushed back the oppressive gloom of the forest surrounding us. To the trained eye, it only gave sight to the many creatures peering suspiciously at us as we passed. The supernatural was always, it seemed, drawn to the supernatural.

  Through the trees, I saw redcap goblins hunkered among the leaves. Their dull eyes shining hungrily as we passed. There were always recap goblins around, they were well-known for being border-jumpers.

  A flight of winged sprites zipped through the gaps in the vast, green, canopy. Teasingly, they sped down from the treetops and circled my car, just to let us know they were there. Sprites were notorious attention whores.

  For a moment, I thought I saw a Bigfoot but I tried to convince myself otherwise. The last thing I needed was one of them involved. If any supernatural species was to be avoided at all costs? It was the Bigfoots.

  “What was that?” Clara demanded.

  “What was what?” I replied, seemingly innocent.

  “It was tall, dark, hairy, and suspicious looking.”

  “Figment of your imagination.” I said.

  “It looked like a Big…” she began.

  “You won’t finish that sentence, if you are smart.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Some things are best left alone.” I said with a hint of steel in my voice.

  “Whatever you say, boss.” She shot back and I realized why Eric hated being called boss.

  Whatever clever retort I had planned (at least I hoped it was clever, whatever it ended up being) was halted by us arriving at our destination. It was an unmarked dirt road, full of deep potholes and tall grass growing down its center. I stared at it dubiously. There was no way I was taking my baby down that path. She would have never made it. She was designed for flying down highways, not four-wheeling in the sticks.

  I pulled off the edge of the road near the entrance of the path. Turning off the car, I sat quietly for a moment as the slowly cooling engine clicked. I could hear Clara thinking, could hear the questions in her mind. I wasn’t in any mood to answer any questions.

  I climbed out and Clara did the same, thankfully not asking me anything. She was smart enough, it seemed, to not press her luck. Or maybe she was patient enough to wait out my angry silence. Or maybe she had seen the future and knew not to talk. This is why I hated working with pre-cogs.

  “I can’t take my car down that road. We are on foot for the rest of this hunt.”

  “I don’t like the idea of walking around looking for some crazy, big game hunter.” Clara said. “Particularly when I am the big game and we are on his home turf.”

  “You? You’re the sidekick. I’m the big game in this relationship.” I said dismissively.

  “If you say so, boss.”

  I gave her one of my patented fiery glances and turned on my heel. Setting a brisk pace, I walked down the dirt road, Clara silently padding along behind me. We walked for an indeterminate amount of time, but it felt like an eternity.

  All around us was silence. Where we should have been hearing the buzzing of insects or the heavy crunching of squirrels stomping through the underbrush, instead we heard an oppressive lack of sound.

  “I know I am a city girl at heart but shouldn’t we be hearing nature sounds? You know, crickets getting it on and birds arguing over the best worms?” Clara asked, her voice a whisper that boomed in the eerie silence.

  “Draven is a hunter and one of the best. I have no doubt he has hunted everything around here, from the biggest bear to the tiniest bug. For all intents and purposes, we are walking in a dead zone.” I answered, my own whisper sounding far too loud in the silence.

  “Great, as if this nature walk wasn’t creepy enough already.”

  “Don’t worry, rookie. You’ll get used to creepy if you keep adventuring.” I grinned.

  “That’s what I am afraid of.”

  I started to say something when an odd look appeared on Clara’s face. She froze mid-stride and her eyes became vacant. Her mouth hung open, as if she were brain dead. She made no move, except for a slight tremble and twitch in her fingers. Then, just as suddenly, she returned to normal. At least, she returned to what passed for normal for her.

  She looked at me for a second and then strode right off the trail and into the forest. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed. Who was I to argue with an oracle?

  “We are almost there.” She said slowly, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. She tossed it back to me and I deftly caught it. “You are going to need this.”

  “Why?” I asked as we stepped into a clearing and then it hit me.

  The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was sickly sweet, cloying, cutting deep into my nose. It was the smell of sickness and death, of offal and rot, of blood - hot and coppery. I heard a harsh rasping, a painful wheeze, a whimper of unendurable pain. My eyes followed the sound a
nd I saw him.

  At first, I didn’t recognize what I was seeing, didn’t comprehend the tableau spread out before me. I saw vast splashes of red, as if a mad artist had been channeling Jackson Pollack wielding a bottle of ketchup. There was a great mound of sun-browned flesh surrounded by many smaller mounds of brown and grey and purple.

  I looked closer, leaning forward despite the rising sense of horror and dread I felt. The mound turned and looked at me and my stomach lurched.

  I spun away and was sick. I could hear Clara making a strained mewling sound in the back of her throat, a scream too terrified to be born. I wiped my face with the handkerchief Clara had just given me. Have I mentioned how much I hate pre-cogs?

  “My god.” Clara rasped. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It’s Draven the Stalker. Somebody eviscerated him.”

  “Is he still alive?” Clara demanded, her voice rising to a frantic pitch. “How can he still be alive? His fucking organs are staked around him in a circle! He can’t be alive. He can’t.”

  I took a step towards her. The last thing I needed was for her to get hysterical, because then I would get hysterical and that wouldn’t help anybody. I hauled off and landed a ringing slap across her face. Her eyes flared for a second.

  “Didn’t see that coming, did you?” I grinned sickly.

  “No, I didn’t.” she whispered. “But I needed it. Thank you.”

  “To answer your question, I’m still alive but I really wish I wasn’t.” the quivering mass of flesh that used to be Draven said in a ravaged whisper. A bubble of blood formed and then popped on what used to be his lips. “I’m hoping you will do something to change that Cassidy.”

  “You know me?”

  “Cassidy Blaze, member of a Cerberus Triad, and a level one pyrokinetic. Go ahead, use your power. Incinerate me, put me out of my misery.” he begged.

  “Who did this to you?” Clara demanded.

  “Not who, what.” He groaned. “I won’t be a part of their hunt. I only hunted the biggest, the strongest. What they intend is slaughter, a massacre and I won’t have anything to do with it. Please don’t make me. Please.”

  “Tell us who!” I demanded.

  “The mad ones. The Forest God and his insane court. Come to reclaim this world and any other that stands in their way. Please, end it. Please.” Bloody tears ran down the remnants of a human face.

  “Do it.” Clara said, quietly.

  I flipped open my lighter and spun the wheel. The flame danced before my eyes and I reached out to it. Draven was a killer, a monster in human form who had hunted down and killed thousands of unsuspecting beings. Still, nobody deserved to live like that, nobody deserved an eternity of pain, torture, and misery.

  I gestured sadly and the flame leapt to consume his dissected body. He didn’t scream, didn’t flinch away. If anything, I think he smiled. I know Clara and I didn’t.