The Path
by
Jeff Dosser
Dust swirled around the Jeep in a gray tornado as Tanner’s Cherokee bounded into the gravel parking lot at the end of the long, dirt track. He dropped it into park and waited for the dust to settle before swinging open the door and stepping into the dry mountain air. Finally, their vacation had started. He turned in a slow arc, taking in the wonder of towering pines and cloudless blue sky. He breathed deeply of the earthy scents of evergreen and rich forest floor, and let the tension of the workweek flow out in a slow, relaxing exhalation.
His daughter, Stacy, wriggled free of her safety belt and stared out of the window with a gap-toothed grin. Tanner clicked open the door and she sprang out in excitement.
“Let’s go daddy! Let’s go daddy! Let’s goooo!” she shouted, jumping up and down.
Hands on hips, Tanner shared a knowing grin with his wife before looking down on his daughter in mock disapproval. Stacy was his and Mary’s only child, and at six years old she was the joy of Tanner’s life. Her thick, red hair bounced on her shoulders as she danced about, her delicate white complexion kissed by just the right number of freckles.
“Hold on, kiddo,” Tanner scolded. “You and Mom have to put on lotion so you don’t get burned. We’re going to be walking for a long time.”
Mary rounded the rear of the Jeep and unzipped her pack. She foraged inside and withdrew an industrial-sized tube of sunscreen. They shared a smile when Stacy spotted the tube and assumed the standard “sunscreen application stance.” Arms held wide, legs apart, and chin raised, she waited patiently for Mary to slather her with lotion. Mary spread a thin white film across arms and legs and ended with a dot on her nose.
“Hey! Cut it out.” Stacy laughed and swiped away the glop of cream.
As Mary applied the lotion to her own arms, neck, and face, Tanner stood a moment admiring his wife. “You know, next time we come out here,” he said as he moved closer and wrapped an arm seductively around her waist, “maybe it could be just you and me. I’ll bring a blanket and some wine. But you’ll need a lot more sunscreen. What with all the skin that will be exposed.”
“In your dreams,” she laughed and hip-bumped him away.
Tanner dragged his backpack from the rear seat and slung it over his shoulders. Then he hit the button on the key fob and locked the doors. The Jeep chirped noisily, and for the first time he noticed the oppressive quiet. There were no sounds of birds or breeze, just the scrunch of gravel beneath their feet.
Mary glanced at a dirt-covered pickup parked in the corner of the parking lot. “Are there other hikers on the trail?” she asked.
“Could be,” Tanner replied. He marched over to the truck and ran a finger across the dirty hood. It exposed a streak of dark blue paint beneath a thin layer of silt. “Based on the amount of dust, it looks like this one’s been here for days. It probably broke down.”
Tanner checked his water bottles and then shrugged on the pack and followed his wife to the trailhead.
“So will it be extra hot because of the drought?” Mary asked.
“No, it hasn’t been much hotter than usual,” Tanner said, “just no rain. The drought’s been bad the last couple of years, but this summer has been the worst on record.”
He’d hiked this trail many times but never seen the undergrowth look so scraggly … and dry. “We’ll need to watch out for fires, but otherwise everything will be fine. A wildfire in these conditions could be dangerous. But we’ll stay close to the car. Besides, Stacy can’t walk too far.”
“You think we’ll see animals?” Stacy asked.
Tanner squinted into the woods, troubled by the preternatural silence. “I’m sure we will, honey. There are birds, and chipmunks, and elk all around.”
“But where were they?” Mary asked. “Do you think they’re having trouble finding food and water because of the drought?”
“What’s a drought?” Stacy asked. She looked at him questioningly with her deep green eyes.
“A drought is when it doesn’t rain enough,” Tanner explained. “And the mountains have been very hot and dry for a long time.”
”It’s caused by climate change, honey,” Mary added. “Too much pollution can make the air stay hot too long.”
Stacy’s brows beetled in confusion but she nodded her assent.
“Okay, then. Enough talk,” Tanner said. “Let’s get started.“ He looped his thumbs beneath the straps and led them onto the trail.
Stacy rushed past, giggling, as Mary stepped up beside him. They followed the path as it twisted away into the coniferous woods, but it soon lost itself behind a large boulder far ahead. To either side, the underbrush was cut back four or five feet, but, beyond that, the tangled plants grew thick and wild. The normally lush leaves were brown-edged and brittle.
Tanner guessed they’d hiked almost three miles when Stacy suddenly dashed ahead.
“When do you think we should stop for lunch?” Mary asked.
Tanner watched his daughter round a tangled deadfall and disappear from sight. He was uncomfortable losing sight of her. Although you heard nightmare stories of cougars grabbing children, he knew it was statistically almost impossible. Yet, there were bears out here. And that abandoned truck.
When Stacy’s frightened squeal echoed thorough the silent trunks, Tanner’s heart leapt into his throat. He had taken two running steps along the trail when she darted into view and raced back toward them. She skidded to a halt and gripped Tanner’s leg. Breathlessly, she pointed a tiny finger up the trail.
“Daddy! There’s … something … dead … in … the bushes.”
Stacy took several gulps of air as Mary ran a calming hand over her daughter’s head. “Slow down baby, slow down,” Mary cooed.
“And it smells really bad!”
Tanner took a deep breath and whistled it out. “Boy, you had me goin’,” he smiled. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Not uncommon to find a dead deer or opossum along the trail, especially given the heat conditions.”
Tanner busied his daughter with a water bottle and squinted up the trail. “You two stay here,” he said. Mary regarded him with concern but she nodded in agreement.
Just a deer or opossum, he reassured himself. He strode up the trail into the sickly sweet stench of summer-rotted flesh. Where the path rounded the deadfall, he spotted the ravaged body of a large dog. The air was alive with the buzz of black flies that crawled and flitted across the carcass. The animal still wore its bright red collar, and a nylon leash dangled in the skeletal branches.
It was clear something had fed on the body, as its innards and muscles were scavenged to the bone. Now the maggots feasted on the hanging remains decomposing in the arid, August heat.
Poor creature must have escaped its owners. Gotten lost in the woods, Tanner mused. When its leash got snagged in the deadfall, it was all over. In this heat it wouldn’t last two days.
Tanner turned and scanned the woods. A few steps beyond the body, a bright-blue tennis shoe lay in the tall grass. Although it was eerily quiet, nothing else seemed out of place.
“Come on down,” he called to the girls. “But hurry past. It’s a dead dog and it’s pretty stinky.”
Mary and Stacy rushed past. Stacy held her nose dramatically and shot frightened glances toward the spot that Tanner tried to block with his body. When they were well past he jogged up to join them. Yet something tugged at his mind. He was missing a detail about the scene. He turned and stared back toward the carcass.
“You two go on ahead,” he called with a wave. “I’ll be right there.”
“You sure?” Mary asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just want to check that dog.”
Stacy was already skipping up the path, singing, as Mary turned to follow.
Tanner stepped up to the body and circled the scene slowly. The brush near the carcass was broken and trampled but that could be explained by the scavengers coming to eat. Glops of dried, dark fluid
dotted the ground among the fallen needles and tree trunks. Kneeling, he picked up the shoe and examined the dried red speckles on the toe. Then Stacy’s scream broke him from his reverie. The shoe dropped from his fingers and he looked up in surprise. A second panicked cry sent him running along the trail. Ahead, Mary called his name in a gale of anguish.
Rounding a large boulder, he found Mary at the edge of the trail, staring into the brush. “What happened? Where’s Stacy?” he yelled.
Mary turned, her eyes dark pools of fear. She pointed a shaky finger toward the woods. “An animal! An animal took her! It came from the woods and it took her.”
Tanner dropped his pack and ran into the brush. He followed the sound of Stacy’s high-pitched cries and thrashing bushes.
“I’m coming, Stacy!” The thorny branches and dry bramble snapped and whipped across his face as he tore through the scrub. “Fight it, girl! Fight!”
Tanner chased his daughter’s frantic cries into a clearing. “Stacy!” She was nowhere to be seen. Her screams had ended. He scrambled atop a boulder for a better view. Where was she? He turned this way and that, the slow fingers of panic wending their way around his heart.
“Daddy.” The call was gasping and weak. He glanced to his right and caught a glimpse of creamy white legs before they were dragged behind a tree.
Roaring in rage, Tanner leapt down, crashed into the bushes where he’d seen her disappear. He shoved his way into another clearing and found one of her shoes. He picked it up. It was warm from her foot. His eyes flicked across the trees and rocks. Which way! Where is she!
In frustration, he tore through the thick bramble, shouting her name until he halted in horror. There, on the ground, lying in a splatter of thick black blood, was a tiny white finger.
Tanner gaped in uncomprehending horror. He bent to pick it up and his hand froze. If I pick this up I make it real. This cannot be real, none of this is real. “This can’t be … real!” he shouted. Anguish and impotent fury exploded in his breast, “Stacy! Where are you!”
Tanner crawled along the ground searching for any signs of where she could have gone. He found nothing. No trail. No trace. Around him, he could hear movement in the bushes, but when he followed, the sounds fled before him into the thicket.
Then, faint and far away, he heard Mary’s cry. He cocked his head toward the sound. He hesitated before pushing farther into the brush. He was not ready to surrender his daughter, not ever. Around him, the tall pines gave way to tangled junipers and thorny wild roses. His progress slowed as the branches tugged and snagged.
Again, Mary’s cry echoed through the woods; this time louder. He could make out the words.
“Oh, my God! Tanner! Tanner!”
Maybe Stacy’s back. She must be back. She ran back to her mother. But she’s hurt. There was so much blood. She must be hurt. He turned and ran toward the sounds of panic. Shoving through the woods, he became unsure of his way. Then he heard Mary again. She was no longer calling his name. She was screaming, shrieks of gut-wrenching pain that left no question of direction.
Tanner turned and ran. Heedless of the branches and thorns that snapped and bit, he broke free of the woods and onto the trail. The screams stopped.
“Mary! Where are you?” His eyes flitted up and down the dry path, unsure of the way. Above, the bright sun beat down from the cloudless blue sky. From his left, he heard a sharp growl and a barking snap.
“I’m coming!” he roared, and flew toward the sound. As he ran, he noted for the first time that shadowy forms ran in the bramble beside him. They seemed to be paralleling his flight along the trail.
When he rounded the turn, he came upon a scene that shook him to his knees. There, on the ground, was Mary. Or it had to be her. He recognized the pale legs kicking weakly from beneath a pack of coyotes.
There were twenty or thirty of the carnivores roaming about. Most were gathered around Mary’s head and torso, gnawing on chunks of savaged flesh. The gaunt creatures were two feet tall with long brownish fur and the protruding ribs of starvation. Dozens of smaller coyotes slunk here and there around the larger animals, whose heads were bent to feed. As he stared in paralyzed shock, they lifted their bloody muzzles in ones and twos and glared at him with hungry malice. One held a dangling strand of red meat, which Tanner mistook for sausage. Then horror widened his eyes as the truth sank in. It was intestines the creature ate, his wife’s intestines.
A wave of madness overtook Tanner. He bellowed in pain. Then he rushed them. Those who didn’t flee he kicked and smashed away. One larger animal stood his ground but Tanner yanked it from its feet and slammed it into the trunk of a pine. The creature yelped in pain and crumpled to the ground. The others fled into the woods.
He tumbled to his knees beside his wife’s torn body. He stared in confusion, his breath coming in short panicked gasps. Mary’s chest was ripped open, her innards roller-coastered onto the dusty ground. Thick gore pooled in the dirt and seeped into the knees of his jeans.
Mary turned her head, green eyes fluttering open, considering him with a faraway expression. Then she lifted her hand and placed it on his forearm. He flinched away when he saw her grip held him with mangled stubs.
“Stacy,” she gurgled through bloody lips.
“I couldn’t find her,” Tanner sobbed. He met her fading gaze. “I couldn’t find her.”
Tanner held her damaged hand and stared into her eyes. It was several heartbeats before he realized she was gone.
Around him, the hungry pack began to close. Several crept out of the shadows of trees and onto the trail. Heads down, their eyes glared as they circled. Tanner spotted dozens of dark forms moving here and there through the thicker woods.
A howl rent the air. It was joined by others. They were all around. A primal dread deeper than any he had known seized him as their yapping cries built to a crescendo. That fear catapulted him to his feet and sent him sprinting down the trail. The one rational spark that he grasped onto was the car. The only hope was to get to the car. To get help.
Ahead, the coyotes on the trail scattered into the woods while the ones behind him followed at a lope.
Panting in exhaustion, Tanner risked a look over his shoulder. He did not see the coyote rush in from the side and between his churning legs. With a grunt, he cartwheeled to the ground. He rolled from the trail and slid to a stop in the tall grass.
They descended upon him. Jaws flashed and pain exploded in his shoulder, his bicep, his calf as vicious fangs sank into his flesh. He threw the clinging animals aside and struggled to his feet, but was driven down again as a larger beast dove in and snapped its teeth across his Achilles tendon. Hot agony shot up his leg and tumbled him to the ground.
Again the starved predators attacked. With a howl of adrenaline-fueled rage, Tanner flung them aside. Kicking and punching, his blows landing with thudding, deadly effect. Bodies flew. Some hit the ground, immobile; others yelped and fled into the woods. But for every animal he felled, two more took its place.
Mad with fear, Tanner kicked a hole in the savage circle. He sprang through the opening and limped off as fast as he could. But there was no escape. This time, they did not falter. This time, they closed ranks. Ears laid back, the snarling circle tightened.
“Help! Help!” Tanner yelled in breathless desperation. His voice fell flat among the dusty pines.
When the attack came, Tanner kicked away the first assault. More followed. Ripping fangs slashed at joint and tendon and brought him to his knees. Tanner punched and raged. He raised himself up but fangs sank deep into his neck and he heard, more than felt, the crackling snap of his spine.
The animal pulled him over, pines tumbling across his vision. He lay on his back, the majestic trees rising above him like huge, green arrows. Around him, the shaggy brown forms surged and yammered. He heard the ripping and tearing of clothing and flesh but felt no pain.
He tried to move, but the attempt was futile. Eyes wide in disbelief, he watched as the horde s
napped and fought over his dark organs. The thick, iron smell of blood mixed with the scent of pine and dust and filled his panting lungs.
One animal raised his head from the feast and met Tanner’s eyes. It licked the blood from its snout. Then it lunged, ending Tanner’s silent scream.
Jeff spent several years as an IT developer before making the next logical step in his career and joining the Tulsa, Oklahoma, police department. For the next eighteen years, he relished working the night shift in the worst parts of that southern town. Jeff has returned to the software field and spends his free time writing, hanging out with his fantastic wife and kids, and contemplating the horrors prowling the woods behind his rural home.
Jeff’s stories can be found in several magazines, including Shotgun Honey, Bewildering Stories, Down in the Dirt and Yellow Mama.
Stones are Breathing Tonight
by
Russell Hemmell
I met Ellen and Shaun in Canongate, in an Edinburgh devastated by the Iron Plague. When I first saw them, coming out of the South Grey’s Close like ghouls from another age, I almost pulled the trigger. My hesitation saved us both—Ellen and me. She was on the point of shooting back.
Shaun laughed and walked in between us, extending his hand. “Peace and love, mate. It’s not us you have to fear. Lower your gun. You too, sis.”
“I guess you’re right,” I conceded.
We shook hands, while Ellen acknowledged me with a nod.
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