The Surviving Son (Valkyrie Book 2) (15 page)

Almost a whole month of never ending dry heat, unbearable
gives no respect to the unrelenting swelter that has choked this land.
The brook nearby the cabin is now just a damp and rocky channel
with random pools of cold water, and each fading puddle containing
many trapped fish, which has been a gift for Steph and I both.
However, the forest around us is now arid and brittle, for which it
appears all wildlife have fled this plight for soggier wetlands deeper
into this mountain range. The slightest hot ash from a campfire, a
lightning strike, or even a miniscule spark from a ricocheted bullet
could set off an unstoppable inferno.

Prematurely I mentioned the idea of Abel returning to Maribel
with Steph and me, but the suggestion was met with a scowl of
warning, and I knew to ease off. Technically I was already in breach
of the agreement, but the boy did not appear to be annoyed that we
have still stuck around. I believe he fears to be alone again, and he
seems to have become socially dependent on us. Or, maybe it is his
infatuation with Steph that makes our stay more welcome. Still, each
day he works me into my grave with laborious chores that he is fully
capable of doing himself. But, I was not longer a slave, I followed
his requests by my own accord.

As Steph sat under a tree with Abel, teaching him how to read
his father’s journal, I decided to head up the mountain to try my luck
at a little brook fishing with Adam’s old pole. Such gear was
unneeded seeing that I could just reach in and scoop out the crowded
fish, but in honor of Adam, I chose to be a bit more conservative.
Allowing the fish a chance to escape, to survive, and eventually be
free when the rains return one day.

I hadn’t traveled far before stumbling upon a large deep hole
with and adjacent ledge, once a cascading waterfall, but now just
bone-dry stone. With a swift flick of my wrist I cast the line out into
the middle and let the ratty hand-tied fly float peacefully as I
slumped down beneath a large hemlock in exhaustion. I was in no
rush to catch the little buggers, and so I relaxed, closed my eyes, and
waited for a much needed nap to take hold.

However, the sanctity of sleep hadn’t even set in before the line
tugged violently, and as my eyes reopened I caught the quick splash
of a large trout falling back into the crystalline water. Quickly I
reeled in the monster, excited like a little boy catching his first fish.
It took a little bit of a struggle, more than usual for a brook trout,
before I realized why. Once upon shore I saw what a monster it was,
as big as the whale that swallowed Jonah, would be my big-fish tale.
But in reality, I was looking at a good fourteen inch fish, desperately
flopping about the embankment. Not an uncommon size for this
species, but very uncommon for a small stream like this.

I wondered how long this beast has sat in the depths of this one
hole, gobbling up juicy morsels as they flowed down stream as well
as eating its own, in order to pack on so much weight. Something
that could survive so efficiently in such a small habitat is something
that should continue to survive in all its glory. So giving in to guilt,
I removed the hook from his jaw, and slowly lowered the beast back
into the cool mountain waters to live out the rest of his days. Ihadn’t
even eased up on my grip before it struggled free with a burst of
energy and disappeared into the darkness below.

No time was wasted before I tossed my line back into the water,
this time further into the shallows as to not re-catch that magnificent
creature. Instantly the sparkling pool came alive with a feeding
frenzy of small fry’s to adults no more than a foot long. Ultimately
their precision strikes quickly stripped the hook of all its thread and
feathers requiring me to reel it in and tie another on. My nap,
decidedly, would wait as I became as excited as those fish before
me.

Yet, just as I positioned the pole for another cast, a recognizable
and feared sound swept through the forest. Clicks, chitters, and
clucks, none of which belonged in this barren landscape. No, this
was the unmistakable sound of the Prowler, circling me as it gained
confidence to pounce. As my heart began to pound with intensity
and but gut tightened into knots, I dreadfully realized that my gun
was left back at the cabin, not that it would have done much against
the agility and stealth of these nefarious demons, but I would have
had a better chance..

Dropping the pole I bolted down the mountain, knowing I could
not out run them, but what other choice did I have. Unfortunately I
did not make it far before my foot snagged a mass of tangled roots,
and with a loud thud I slammed down, my head bouncing off a rock
with a loud crack. Immediately my eyes blurred with tears and the
forest began to spin violently around me as three dark Prowler’s
slowly stepped out from the cover of the forest and surrounded me.
Desperately I tried to catch my breath and blinked repeatedly in an
attempt to ease my disoriented vision.

The lanky beings stood above me, cocking their heads side to
side, watching as I flailed helplessly upon the earth like a fish out of
water. Occasionally one would chitter at another, who would
respond with a series of phlegmy clucks. Their scaly skin,
shimmering with elegance like a smooth slab of obsidian in the
afternoon sun, and their daunting musk filled the sweet mountain air
with that of putrid death. As the forest continued to spin, so did my
stomach, and before long I expelled its contents all over myself.

The
Prowler’s backed off, as if to avoid some unforeseen attack,
then stepped forward in rage, lashing out and yanking my arms and
legs as if to taunt me. My head began to clear, and the spins slowed,
but I feared it was too late. For sure I would become yet another
mountain-side buffet, as Adam would have said. Where if luck was
with me, I’d be consumed beyond survival, instead of slightly
nibbled so that Valkyrie could take hold. And even with eminent
death staring me down, my mind wondered to our first encounter
just after the chopper crash. How Garrison’s man rose from their
bite as a Primordial Necrotic, and not a Fledgling Prowler. Which
would it be for me?

One of the fiends, the Alpha I presume, knelt down before me,
his ashen eyes gazing over his prey like that of a serial-killer. So
much human, and yet all too animal, both driven by an insatiable
hunger. Although most of his nose seemed caved-in, or maybe just
rotted away, I could still see the ebonized muscles within pulsating
as it sniffed the air, drawing in my own sweaty incense. Slowly its
tongue, blight-ridden a greenish-black, traced the remains of its
scabbed lips.

As he examined me, his master-at-arms stepped forward,
anxious for the order to strike. Unlike the Alpha, I could see clearly
that this was once a woman. Her hair had long been shed, leaving
behind a barren charcoal scalp riddled with cracks and oozing with
putridness. Her breasts, however, were less to be desired, the left
one had either been torn away or simply fell off from rot. Her right
however was intact, but not the perky plaything and old man like me
might hope for. It too was dark and scaly, as well as dried-tough like
that of jerky. At one time it hung low and swung freely with each
step, but now it remained stiff and permanently seemed with scartissue to the rest of her body, as if chiseled into a tall slab of coal.
Harder to decipher was her lower nether-region, an ancient tomb
forever sealed by black-magic, a small creased down the center was
its only identifiable trait.

Impatiently she lunged for me only to be answered with the
Alpha’s backhand, which knocked her back into submission. But his
intervention was not for my own well-being, but instead to maintain
his position atop of the pecking order, for he would be the first to
kill and to eat. Slowly it rose back up, towering over me and blotting
out the sun, which gave and eerie aureole which surrounded its
shadowy form, like that of an angel greeting me from the afterlife.
But as it readied to strike, Abel’s leaped over a nearby boulder and
huddle above me, protecting me from the rancid beasts.

“BACK!” He
squawked, waiving a large stick around. “BACK
I SAY!”
And they did, but only a few steps before they stopped and
raised their spindly arms high as they arched their backs and glared
at him in disapproval. One of them stepped forward, attempting to
maneuver to Abel’s rear before lashing out and snatching up my hair
as it pulled me back a foot or two with ease. Abel spun about face
and plunged the sharpened edge of the stick into its head and sending
the body and a splattering of black sludge down upon me. The others
screeched in rage as I rolled with panic into the stream, fumbling
towards a small pool and rigorously splashed water to wash the
infectious blood away. Abel did not hesitate to step towards the
other two, raising his mighty spear above his head and unleashing a
volley of insults and commands.
“SMELLY BUFFOONS! GO AWAY!”He cried. “GO NOW!”
The remaining Prowler’s cocked their heads at each other, then
looked back at Abel before the Alpha let loose a shrilling chatter.
Unlike the Necrotic’s back down on old route twenty-seven, the
Prowler’s were not as obedient and tested the boy’s resolve. Abel
responded with a hoarse growl, and the she-beast lunged at him with
unruly viciousness, and yet purposely missing his chest. However,
like obedient wolf pups, they soon bowed their heads and shuffled
offinto the forest like twospoiled children who hadn’t got their way.
Darkly amusing now that I can think back on it. As they vanished
into the brush, Abel turned his attention upon me as I flopped about
like a beached whale.
“Stupid Oaf.” He taunted with a smile.

“They’re
not the same.” Abel muttered as he bandaged the gash
in the back of my head.
“The Prowler’s?” I asked.
“Prowler? The dark ones?”
“Yes, you’ve never seen them before?”
“Once, they no listen well, not like the others.” He paused for a
moment as he tightened the ragaround myhead. “They no like you.”
“As opposed to anyone else?” I asked, but received no answer,
I wasn’t sure if his young mind even understood. “Why did they
hesitate? They had plenty of time to kill me.”
“You just laid there.” Abel answered. “Dark Ones hunt, they
want to chase.”
“Did they say anything?” I asked.
“No, but they were scared.”
“Scared? Of you?”
“No. Of you.”
“Why are they scared of me?” I said with a chuckle.
“They are aware. They know what you come for.”
“How is that possible?” I asked, but Abel simply shrugged.
I always knew that these mutations were self-aware to some
degree, but no more than that of a wolf pack or a pride of lions. Just
enough to organize for the hunt, but to have cognitive thoughts and
emotions, it was just too farfetched. But so wasn’t the boy’s
condition. Either way it was a state of intelligence that was
unprecedented, but for all the fear they have rained down upon the
world, I was amused with the thought that that fear goes both ways.
But, this could still be a miniscule connection in the brain, a
glimmering spark between the disease and the person. Maybe, just
maybe, the fear they feel is not their own, but that of the soul trapped
within. Still, it gives me comfort in knowing the balance of terror
was turning, mankind was still a threat to them.
“I’m going to walk up and take some samples.” Steph said as
she stepped out of the cabin with a pack of supplies.
“No!” Abel protested. “Too dangerous.”
“Abel, we need to study them.” Steph advised.
“Go with her.” I suggested.
His seriousness faded to joy as he instantly forgot my injuries
and proceeded to follow her up the mountain. I remained, sitting by
the dwindling fire, and closed my eyes to finally enjoy that nap.
However, sleep never came as visions of the Prowler’s flooded my
mind. My heart pounded rapidly with anxiety as a loud chitter
echoed in my ears and in an instant my eyes were open and I was on
my feet.
My head twisted and turned as I searched the area, waiting for
the assault, waiting for my demise. Sweat poured down my forehead
and into my eyes, but I ignored the sting, holding my breath as I
sought the devil that approached. But there was nothing, just an
empty and dry forest landscape. Then, as if appearing out of thin air,
a small figure caught my eye. An insignificant red-squirrel,
munching on a desiccated acorn while flicking its tail at me and
randomly chittering out to others that a ferocious beast was nearby.
But his calls of warning would not be answered, as he was all of his
kind that had chosen to remain. As I breathed deep, and calmed my
pained chest, I couldn’t help but chuckle out loud.
“Damn you.” I muttered.
* * * * *

Steph and Abel return not long after with the samples, and the
two of us immediately got to work, eager for what discoveries we
might find. Blood, Skin, Saliva, and even Stool were all collected
and we worked feverishly to get slides prepared for study. Of course
we broke out masks and gloves as each and every specimen was
highly infectious. And even though Abel just watched, and surely
would be immune to any contagion, I made sure that he was also
protected.

The first sample I slid underneath the microscope was from the
skin, a small sliver of the scaly scar tissue, but it did not provide any
more information than I had already obtained. Much like the
Necrotics, it was simple, dense and calcified tissue, the only
difference was a reflective sheen upon its surface rather than the
dullness that is generally portrayed. The blood and saliva too was
not much different, brimming with Valkyrie’s minions, similar in
appearance to all the other strains, but definitely show a noticeable
transition as two primary characteristics stood out above all others.
First, the cytoplasm which normally takes on a glowing purple hue,
was now more of a red and flickered faster than normal. The second
was within its nucleus, which had become more complex, and not
much different than that of a reptilian brain, only at a microscopic
scale. It was unexplainable, biologically impossible, and yet all too
believable.