At first, the dying animal fought back.

A guttural whine escaped from the badger's throat when it was awakened by sharp teeth piercing its leg. It kicked blindly into the dark with a back claw as the pain jolted through its already torn body. When his claw found purchase, it kicked frantically, slicing into soft, yielding flesh. In the darkness, the animal could just make out the head and shoulders of a dark figure as it drew back for a moment, holding the flap of skin that hung down its face.

The badger wasted no time making his retreat into the darker reaches of the cavern as the figure fell back on his haunches, fascinated with the slick warmth of the wound in its face. He traced the bloody line of the wound with a pale finger while listening to the animal's scratching claws as it dragged itself along the wet cave floor. The blood pooled on his fingers so he sucked on a jagged fingernail, savoring the warm saltiness filling his mouth. A shiver went up his spine, diverting his attention from the hunt. He straightened up, craning his head to listen for his prey's ragged breathing as it bounced off the cave walls.

It was trying to get away.

Instead of jumping to his feet to give chase, the figure calmly sat down and tore off what little sinews were still connecting the flap of skin that used to be its cheek. Folding it into his mouth, he chewed on it like gum as he waited and listened to the panicked breathing of his prey. He had hunted like this many times before. The caves were his home, and he knew the animal could not find its way out. It would get lost, panic and lose its strength trying to escape. When that happened, all he had to do was follow the death rattle deeper into the cavern. The animal would be too wasted and close to death to fight back, making it a simple matter of twisting its neck in two.

That was his favorite part: the blood pouring from its neck while he suckled at it like a newborn at a teat.

Depending on the size of the animal, there was usually more blood than he could drink and it would pulse down in waves over his body. He especially liked the slick feel of the blood as he rubbed it into his pale skin. For a few short minutes, his hand roamed his pale, sunken chest in the dark as he remembered the feel of it.

Rocking back up on his haunches with a grunt, he swallowed the rubbery flesh of his cheek in one gulp. His ragged claw disturbed the earth around his feet as he felt around the floor. He didn't need any light to find a nearby rock. He tested the weight of it after tracing the sharp edge with a finger, grunting in satisfaction when he felt the familiar bloodstain. He had used this rock before.

Gauging the animals breathing with a crooked head, he huffed in impatience and sat back down. He knew the game had just begun, and had a while to wait before heading out to claim his prize. The animal had seemed big, and its breathing wasn't shallow and panicked enough. It was not time. Still, he was unable to stop the anxious whine that escaped his lips.

He was hungry.

Closing his eyes, he pictured the progression of hunt, struggle and the crackling twist of the creature's neck. He languished in the rich memory of blood coursing down his chest and couldn't help but touch himself. Swaying back and forth in the darkness, he whined in pleasure as he waited.

When he was done, he shook the semen off his hand and listened carefully. The animal hadn't made it very far, but that wasn't what he was listening for. He smiled when he heard the shallow breath that he had waited so patiently for. Grunting as he sat back up, he reached for the rock again. His stomach growled in agreement and he patted it absentmindedly, wiping away the last bit of semen that had landed there.

Confident that the animal couldn't escape, he let his claws grate against the rock as he hurried, his dirty fingernails making a sound like nails on a chalkboard. Usually, he would creep along in the darkness and surprise his prey, relishing their surprised howl. But now he just wanted to reach the animal while it was still alive. Stopping to listen, he heard its breathing coming in shorter gasps.

Scurrying deeper into the cave, he silently hoped it was still alive enough to squeal when he twisted its head off. It wasn't as much fun if they didn't squeal. Laughing in the back of his throat, he continued on his way, gripping the blood stained rock harder in his hand as he grinned in the dark. His laughter bubbled up from within, belching from his mouth in obscene anticipation.

He knew how to find the animals in the dark of the cave, even if he couldn't hear their labored breathing. There was no light this far into the cave, but his eyes were used to using any light it could to his advantage. The fear in his prey's eyes seemed to give off a preternatural luminescence, as if the terror in its soul was shining through. His simple brain tried to wrestle around this fact as he shuffled closer to the sound of ragged breathing up ahead. He didn't need to see the illuminated fear in its eyes to find this one. Its breathing was quick and short now.

Bringing the rock down on its head, he held back, not wanting to kill it. He dropped the rock aside and crouched over his prize, relieved to hear a delicate breath still escaping from the slumped body. Picking up the head from the wet stone floor, he caressed it in his naked arms for a moment, petting it like the delicate petals of a flower.

The embrace awakened the panicked badger, who squealed, long and high, before its neck was twisted apart with a satisfying crunch. Its head hung forgotten, swung back on sinewy strands when the torrent of gore began pumping through the tangle of shredded skin from its torn neck. He drank greedily from the coursing river of blood, the sound and smell of hot blood splashing onto the cave floor setting fire to his lust. When the thrill was gone and its heart had slowed, he ripped its hanging head from its sinewy moors and tossed it aside. Holding the animal up by its back claws, he squeezed the animal's blood from its veins with a free hand. The blood was getting cooler, recovering from the fire of adrenaline and life. He closed his eyes as he experienced the last beats of the animal's heart through the slowing waves of blood coursing down his throat. Gasping from the unending stream, he rubbed the blood already dripping down his chin into his neck and chest, sliding it across his pale body in ecstasy.

When he was done, he tossed the dismembered head and broken carcass into a corner of the cave. He lay down with a grunt, patting his bloated stomach, and was soon dreaming of a river of blood that echoed the drip-drip of water falling in the dark of the cave.

Chapter One


Tom didn't know how long he'd been staring at the list.

The check marks on it were thick, leaving a deep impression carved into the paper after going over them countless times. The paper fluttered like a leaf in his shaking hands as he started again, moving his way down, item by item, checking them off one by one. At his feet lay different half-crumpled versions of the checklist that he tossed as he spotted the flaws along the way. He'd decided to group the items different ways as he'd went along. He didn't want, say, the tent pegs to be listed next to the toilet paper; that just didn't make any sense.

Pretty soon he realized he couldn't make anymore checkmarks or he would rip the paper. He unconsciously began rubbing the paper between thumb and forefinger as he went through the list, picturing each item in his mind instead.

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Tent? Check. Tent Pegs? Check. Hammer? Check.

Then off to a new category: Bedding. As he checked off the sleeping bag and pillow in his mind, he stopped to wonder about Chloe. Would there be enough room for them both in his zero-rated bag? He wasn't sure she would want to now. She'd become distant in the past few weeks. Maybe she's just nervous about the trip. Tom had to laugh at himself at that idea. I don't think anyone's as nervous as I am.

It had been several weeks since she'd wanted to even hold hands, let alone lead him into the bedroom. Tom wasn't sure that this trip would change any of that. Still, that didn't stop him from thinking how it would be to lay out their bags as blankets, both of them snug inside the tent. He could almost feel the heat their naked bodies would generate as it spread across his skin. Tom had forgotten how much it had put him at ease to just touch her skin. He closed his eyes and remembered what it had felt like to run his hand up and down her naked back.

Opening his eyes, the list stared up at him, expectantly. How could I have forgotten you? He sighed and placed the list on the coffee table, keeping his eyes on it, as if it contained a deep secret that only he could make out. His hands made a trip through his blonde hair, and he sat back on his couch, feeling the complaints from the muscles in his hunched back. He had been sitting there too long, he decided.

Getting up to make a pot of coffee, he saw the computer monitor's shine and thought of his research and some of the tips he'd read on the internet about camping. The plastic coffee container he hauled out reminded him of a tip he'd read, and it made him smile as he scooped the dark cupful into the filter. Apparently, a plastic coffee container was an ideal place to store your toilet paper. He'd read this late last night on a random camping forum on the internet. It was from a poster named WoodsLuvr2008 who lived in Colorado.

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Tom chuckled as he waited for the carafe to fill with water form the sink, remembering Woodsluvr2008's profile picture. The picture was of a slight man posing with his young boy, a huge rifle in one hand, his other arm around his son. At their feet lie a huge twelve-point buck. The antlers were being held up by the boy, who couldn't have been more than ten years old, and it looked like a struggle for him. Tom had stared at the proud look on the father's face, trying to picture himself in this other man's shoes. He would have to decide if he even wanted to look like that, first.

I doubt camouflage is my color.

Tom shook his head in answer as he poked the 'on' button on the coffeemaker. He certainly wouldn't be the type to kill an animal, and wasn't at all familiar with guns, so that was out. In fact, getting through these three camping days would be the starting point that he decided would really start the change he so desperately wanted. There had been a time when the thought of going into the woods had never even crossed his mind. Hell, there was a time I shuddered at the thought of leaving the house. He chuckled at himself as he took down a ceramic cup from the cupboard. I guess it's time to change that.

Hooking a finger into the handle of the ceramic cup, the phone rang and his hand jumped, sending the cup crashing to the floor. After a cursory damn it, he glanced at the damage before heading back to the front room, being careful to take a wide berth around the crushed bits of ceramic cup. Snatching the phone off the base, he noticed his hand was shaking, so he sat down on the couch just as the third ring started, before the voicemail could kick in. He straightened the list on the table and took a deep breath as an extra precaution before speaking. "Hel-l-o-o?"

"Hey babe, how's my junior mountaineer doing?" Chloe laughed and the air from her mouth came through as a white noise wind over the handset. Her voice was high in pitch; which bothered Tom. He had endured her good natured, yet daily patronizing ever since he'd suggested the trip. He supposed this time would be no different.

"Well, I've just been going over my list, you know, checking it twice, three, maybe twenty times by now, who knows?" The deep throated laughter that came over the phone made him smile and he could feel his nerves lighten, muscles unraveling. I love hearing your laugh, he thought, not voicing this intimate detail.

"That's great Tom. That's what they first taught me in Scouts: you never can be too prepared." She took a moment before continuing, her voice dropped down an octave or two. "I know it's been two years, but I...worry about you."

He was surprised to find himself smiling in a patronizing manner and immediately willed it to leave his face. The last thing he wanted to happen before their trip was to have a big argument with her. Besides, I really don't mind her worrying. "I know, love. But with a guide like you, anything is possible. Hell," Tom took a chest cleansing sigh, "I feel like we could climb Mount-fricking-Everest."

For a moment or two, her laughter, like music, made him genuinely smile into the plastic phone. "Well, it sounds like you're the eager beaver, aren't you?" She growled, cat-like into the phone, then sighed. "I guess I don't have anything to argue about. When you were coming to me, I never had the success What's His Face seems to have had with you."

This was an old, even ancient drama with them, and Tom didn't know what to say, so he just listened. He was determined not to get caught up in it this time. Sometimes Chloe just needs to prattle on.

"Look, don't get me wrong, Tom. I'm so very glad that he's been able to help you; it's just that I wasn't able to. I mean, what if you relapse while we're out there? What then? I doubt that I'd be able to help you, and that scares me to no end." She was winding herself up, making a little mewling noise in the back of her throat Tom recognized as the beginning of tears.

Pinching his forehead, Tom tried to iron out the wrinkle folding his brow. "Chloe, it's going to be fine. Please don't worry. I want to do this with you, it's important to me. Really, it'll be fine." Even though Chloe couldn't see it, Tom turned the palm of his hand up to emphasize his words.

She sniffled into the phone. "Really?" Her voice sounded thoughtful, as if carefully considering it.

It's not like we haven't gone over this for what seems like a thousand times.

"You really would do this for me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course I would, and we will, sweetheart. I love you and I want to be able to share this part of your life." She didn't know it, but Tom had to wind himself up to sound enthusiastic as well. "I don't want to be the couple that spends vacation time apart from one another. I want to learn to love what you love." All she could do was sniffle into her end of the phone. "I knew when I first stepped foot in your office that I had to have you. You, on the other hand, were only hoping I wouldn't have a panic attack in your office."

Chloe half sobbed and laughed into the phone. After a few moments of decompression, she went on. "I really do love you, Tom. But I want you to know that if you feel like backing out at all, I would completely understand. I don't want to force you to do something you'd be afraid of doing."

"Honey, it's going to be fine, I promise. Look...otherwise, I wouldn't have suggested it."

Chloe took a few heavy moments of silence before responding. "You're right, of course." She breathed a shaky, cleansing breath that crackled over the phone line. "OK, dear, I'll let you get back to your list then. To be honest, I still have some packing to do as well."

"OK, sweetheart. I love you and I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Bye babe, I love you too."

Hanging up the phone, Tom put his hand to his throat, trying to massage the ball that was forming there. He went back into the kitchen, ignoring the popping coffeemaker as he sidestepped the shattered cup. Filling up a glass of water instead, he reached into his pocket and shook out a tiny white tablet, waiting with eyes shut as the pill slid down his throat.

He felt bad about not being able to be there for her, up on that mountain. Not being able to imagine what it would have been like, he decided to simply shake the idea from his head. I never want to know what that would have been like.

Chapter Two

When Chloe had been rescued off of McKinley, the first thing she did, even while in bed, was to train her fist jam. After all, it was this grip that had led to her fall. Even now, setting the phone back on its base, she stared at the solid grip her fist made. She knew they wouldn't be doing any face-climbing on this trip, but just the action of practicing the grip stopped her hands from shaking.

She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, allowing herself one big sigh before focusing back on her pack. What's wrong with me lately? She stuffed the freshly laundered clothes into the pack but couldn't help talking to herself. Of course I know what's wrong. I'm going into the woods with my agoraphobic boyfriend. She laughed at herself, but behind her laughter, she felt something was missing. Could it be the feeling I've had about this trip?

Chloe had spent most of her life refusing to admit it, but she had a sixth sense about these things. She'd first had that feeling when her father had gone on that trip with his little brother. It was his first ice fishing trip, and she could still remember the tired look on Robert's face when he and their father had walked out into the cold air that morning.

Her father had been up early that morning, sipping on a steaming cup of coffee in the plaid easy chair she always remembered when she got the whiff of pipe tobacco, even now. She had stumbled down the still-dark hallway in her nightgown, squinting through the light from the 40-watt bulb burning in the nearby table lamp. She didn't know why, but when she saw the smiling ruddy face of her father, she ran across the hardwood floor and buried her face into her father's scratchy red checkered jacket. When she looked up into his quizzical eyes, tears were streaming down her face. Her father didn't know why she was crying, and neither did she, so they just sat there for a while, until her brother came stumbling out of the bathroom, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. She had simply gotten up from dad's lap and hugged her brother as hard as she could before he started to complain, catching a kiss on his cheek as he pulled away. She went back to bed, and listened to them leave in that big rusty truck they'd had, but could only stare at the cracks in the ceiling until the morning sun peeked through the curtains in her window.

She knew why she'd acted the way she did after she heard the phone ring in the late afternoon and heard her mother's cry of anguish, like a wounded animal; desperate with grief.

Other bad things had happened over the years, and she had learned to pay attention to what her instincts told her. Sometimes it was like a deafening roar of feelings that she couldn't ignore, other times it was a nagging feeling, like a mosquito circling her neck. One thing she made sure to do, especially after the death of her brother, was to go with her dad on his treks in the outdoors. Dad was confused at first, as she had never expressed an interest in it, but he was glad to have her, and she remembered the time spent with him out in the woods with a smile. Chloe hated to admit it, but at first, she was hoping that she would die out there in the woods, just like her brother. It was the first time that she'd learned that life sometimes wasn't fair.

More than anything, though, the time spent with her father in the wilderness pulled her out of the spiraling depression caused by the loss of her brother, and she suspected that it had helped her father as well. There were a few trips where dad couldn't sleep and had guarded the campsite all night, and once she thought she heard him crying softly at night, his weeping punctuated by the snapping of the fire. Through it all, though, they had learned more about each other. She laughed all day at him when she found out he refused to hook a squirming worm around her hook, or when he had cradled that dying bird inside his thermal jacket.

Chloe smiled and laughed now, thinking all of these things while stuffing her pack. I wonder if Tom and I can share that bond now that he seems better. Being his therapist had made it difficult, because she had known, once upon a time, the extent of his phobia. She had held his hand through the panic attacks he suffered during the exposure therapy. There was even a time when she had to come to his apartment when he had missed two of their sessions, right in a row.

At first, she pushed back the attraction she felt for Tom, and reminded herself that she was here to help him, not take advantage of him. She sometimes wondered if her attraction to him had blindsided her therapy, as he only seemed to get worse while under her care. She could still remember the crushed look in his eyes when she had handed him the referral slip.

She couldn't help herself, though. There were times where she would lie awake at night, thinking how the next day's therapy would go with him. Sure it always started off like that, but as she lay there in bed, Rogerian therapy notwithstanding, her thoughts would wander off to his eyes and his hair. Pretty soon she would find her hand running errantly across herself, closing her eyes in pleasure. This had never happened to her before, with any patient. Afterwards, she would feel like a lovesick adolescent. She chastised herself for not only her unprofessional feelings but also for not being able to control it.

It had all worked out for the better, though, and some time later they had bumped into each other at the open air market. He seemed relaxed and had asked her to dinner that night. She found it hard to refuse when afterwards he had asked her inside, and found it equally hard to refuse when he had led her to his bed.

Chloe smiled to herself, thinking how long ago that seemed. Lately, they were lucky to find one night a month to sleep together. She sighed, pushing away the thought like chasing a dust bunny with an old broom. There, that bag's all packed. There's only one more thing I'm forgetting.

Cinching up the bag and tossing it on the couch, she made her way into the bedroom. Standing on her tip toes, she searched with one hand, pushing away an old shoebox and the old sunhat her aunt Maybelle had given her. There you are. Her hand brushed across a hard plastic case, and she nudged it towards the edge, reaching up with both hands when it was close enough.

Opening the case on the bed, she made sure the gun wasn't loaded before slipping it into an inside compartment in her duffel bag. She would have never have thought to bring along a gun to the woods before her accident. Being alone and hurt up there on that mountain had done something to her. She had always thought of the outdoors as something to be enjoyed, like how an outing with her father had been. But now, that familiar, cryptic feeling in the pit of her stomach told her otherwise. She had the feeling that it was going to be like when her brother had died, trapped under the ice, but this time, she was going to be there to do something about it.

Going back to the closet shelf, she took down the old shoebox, the shells rolling around as she pulled it down with both hands. She counted out twelve shells which she also stuffed into the bottom of the duffel bag. That should stop them from clanging around. She tested it by cinching up the bag again and hefting it up and down. Nodding to herself, she felt satisfied with her hiding spot. Am I really hiding this gun? Why not tell Tom I'm bringing it along? She took a big sigh, staring at the duffel bag. He would probably understand, given his fear of the outdoors.

Chloe thought of the ways that she could bring it up casually. "Dear, you don't mind if I bring along my Glock, do you?" She laughed at herself, but when it faded she couldn't shake the guilty feeling this was giving her. I can't think of any situation where telling him would end up going well. Besides, I probably won't even have to use it.

She picked up the duffel bag and gingerly placed it by the front door. Although she hadn't done so in a long while, she fingered the old bottle of scotch down from the high cabinet over the stove and poured herself a drink. She sat on the couch for the better part of the night, nursing several scotch and waters, staring at the duffel bag by the front door.

Chapter Three

Tom's dreams brought back feelings he hadn't felt in a long time. Like most dreams, though, there was also a strange disjointed feeling. For one thing, he'd never had a dog growing up. Here he was though, ten years old again, this time with a beautiful golden retriever at his feet, sitting next to the fire. He reached down to pet him, the dog turning its head in gratitude under Tom's hand.

He felt the same way he had when he'd first got his hand down May Thompson's shirt in the tenth grade. Tom eased down in the pleasant feeling; drunk with pleasure and excitement. He had always wanted a dog growing up, but he and his mom had always lived in low-rent apartments downtown. They barely had enough to eat, she had lectured, let alone pay an extra pet deposit.

Scratching the dog behind the ears, he felt the heat of the fireplace bring a ruddy warmth to his face and hands. At least that was something familiar in his dream. The winter nights in Flagstaff demanded it, and by the looks of it, this was one of those winters that mom had a boyfriend who owned a chainsaw. There were stacks of wood piled up, overflowing from the familiar wrought iron wood basket. But there was something gone from the red bricks of the fireplace. The small red hand axe that he had used to cut up so much kindling growing up was missing.

Beside him, the dog barked. Looking down to pat the dog, he realized he was holding the little red axe in one hand. Tom dropped the familiar axe as if it were on fire, burning his hand. He also looked down at the stump of a log he was sitting on, jumping off when he realized where he was. The dog at his feet jumped with him, casting a weary eye before running off into the woods, barking as he went.

Tom was surprised to find himself in a leaf strewn clearing, surrounded by trees. He guessed it was close to fall, as most of the leaves were turning a burnt orange and bright yellow. It reminded him of going out with Roy, one of mom's boyfriends. Turning around, there was indeed the old truck that he remembered Roy had driven. The trees around him formed an enclosed space, like a cage made out of spruce and birch.

Off in the distance, he could still hear the strange dog, its bark fading as it made its way off to attack an unseen prey. He was about to sit back down on the stump to figure out what to do, when a new sound tore through the chilly mountain air. At first, it sounded like a choking animal, a rattling death cough stuck in its throat. But when it changed into one long, droning growl, Tom recognized it as a chainsaw. Its whine picked up in pitch as the dog's barking became frantic, filled with menace. Tom unconsciously grabbed his chest, and stared down at his hand when he saw it was the hand of a small boy.

He was pulled out of his trance when the dog's bark became a series of high pitched whines, desperate yelps that could only mean it was hurt, and hurt bad. Without thinking, Tom grabbed the axe from a bed of bright leaves and rushed off into the woods, toward the chainsaw sound. Dodging between Christmas tree pines and white birch trees, his small feet dragged along the wet leaves blanketing the ground. His knuckles turned white when his grip on the axe unconsciously tightened as the pitch of the chainsaw rose in volume.

When the roar of the chainsaw stopped, he paused to listen as his quick breath clouding the air like smoke. He knew the direction he was going was right, but wanted to hear if there were any telltale sounds from what he supposed was Roy. Now that the chainsaw no longer covered the sound of his approach, he crept along the crisp leaves as best as he could, trying not to give himself away.

A few meters ahead, he stopped and crouched behind a sprawling pine when he saw movement and listened. There was a dragging sound and a few grunts up ahead, and he gripped the axe with both hands as he listened, his eyes wide. When the dragging sound stopped, he carefully placed the axe against an upshot of the pine's root escaping the bed of leaves on the ground. Still crouched down, he shifted around, one hand supporting him on the ground as he peeked around the massive tree trunk.

He was met with a face that resembled Roy's but had a menacing snarl across it. In one hand, the Roy thing had a hold of the limp dog's carcass, and all Tom could do was stare at the steady stream of blood streaming from its neck, staining and mixing with the crimson leaves. When Tom's mind finally registered the horror of what he was seeing, he turned and stumbled, scrambling to his feet to get away from the Roy thing.

"Boy! I told you to wait in the truck." The imaginary Roy emphasized the last sentence through labored breath. Getting to his feet, Tom stole a glance at the hate filled glare on Roy's face as he made his way towards Tom. "Just wait 'till I tell your mama about this." As Tom's small boots pounded the leafy ground, Roy began laughing a mocking, knowing laugh that gave Tom's limbs enough motivation to move faster.

Reaching the clearing again, the first thing Tom did was open the rusted door on Roy's truck. He remembered he had a gun rack attached to the back window of the truck, which had fascinated him as a boy. Tom groaned when he saw the empty rack, and jumped as he heard Roy's voice boom into the clearing. "How many times do I gotta tell 'ya boy, stay away from my truck!" Not taking the chance to turn and see where Roy was, he dropped to the ground as the roar of the shotgun filled the air and the sound of buckshot peppered the steel tailgate of the truck. Tom rolled under the truck, sludging through wet mud to avoid another blast from the shotgun. He tried to hold his breath as he searched for a pair of feet coming towards him, in from the clearing. All he could do was watch and wait, not wanting to jump up and be caught in the chest with a shot from Roy's Remington.

When the dog's limp bloody carcass flopped down beside the truck, he couldn't contain the scream that leaped from his throat. Tom scrambled out from the truck, unable to contain his fear, his heart threatening to burst through his chest. He gulped whole lungfuls of air, choking on the ragged gulps of frigid air as he pulled himself up from the bottom of the truck. He didn't dare turn around and concentrated only on pumping his arms and legs faster, but that seemed to have the opposite effect. His legs were slowing, as if they were encased in molasses. Tom had the feeling that if Roy wanted to, he could just walk up to him and shoot him in the back of the head. He focused on the wall of trees nearest to him and willed the forest to come nearer; for his limbs to move faster.

By the time he reached the trees, he had to glance back on an elastic neck, but was surprised when he didn't see Roy anywhere in sight. Still, his fear kept his arms and legs pumping until the acidic adrenaline strained at his muscles. When he looked back where he was headed, he yelped in surprise as he dug his heels into the dirt. In front of him was a cliff that dropped off into nothingness. He had a moment in slow motion where his heels dug into the ground, his face clenched in disbelief as his forward momentum flung him over the side. He was falling.

The fall lifted him up and seemed to suspend him in the air, and his panic reached a crescendo as the sickening feeling of falling hit him, and he let loose with a scream that shook his entire body. The feeling of falling and the rushing air transformed his body into a shivering mass of panic.

When Tom woke up, it took him a few seconds to shake that falling feeling, as his heart threatened to burst in his chest. He was still screaming when he sat bolt upright in bed, tangled up in his sheets, his face dripping sweat. The feeling of falling stayed with him for the better part of the sleepless morning.

Chapter Four

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"I just don't think it's a good idea is all."

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James turned to face Tom after pitching the bungee cord over the top of the ski rack. "It'll be fine, Tom. That's what the rack was made for." He clasped Tom's shoulder and Tom smiled back, but still discontent. "Well, if you say so, I'd just hate to lose the only thing that's gonna keep us sane on this trip." He patted the bright blue cooler filled with cans of Coors.

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Sighing with his hands lifting an invisible weight, James said: "Tell me about it. Cynthia has been driving me nuts, getting ready for this. You'd think we were gearing up for the end of the world." James was feeling him out, fully aware of Tom's phobia. Still a little nervous for his friend, he covered it up by reaching in the truck and grabbing one of the tall cups of coffee in the tray and handed the steaming cup to Tom. "Meanwhile, here's some coffee to buck you up for the long drive."

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"Thanks, man. I was trying to figure out how I can bribe Chloe to do the driving up there. I hate these long drives." He sipped on the steaming coffee.

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"Yep, " his hand slapped Tom's sweater, "better you than me, buddy. Those roads can be a pain, especially if you've got someone like Cynthia," he jerked his thumb, "gasping at every turn, peering over the guardrail." He imitated someone peering out with fright over a ledge. When Cynthia came out of the lobby door, huffing and puffing, dragging a large suitcase, James lowered his voice and spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Speak of the devil."

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Chloe was behind her, shouldering a black duffle bag. Tom met Chloe's eyes and she gave a laugh, shrugging her shoulders. James hurried to grab the other end of the suitcase just as Cynthia dropped her end, blowing the hair out of her flushed face.

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"Well, it's about time, Prince Charming. I was about to have a hernia lugging this thing around."

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"And just what do I get in return for doin' all this work?" James was really playing it up now, practically presenting his face to be smacked. This was what he and Tom referred to as a set of skits they regularly called: "Drunk Redneck." It worked for a lot of situations. Like last weekend shopping for Christmas, they'd hat a contest to point out how many "Drunk Rednecks" they could find. As usual, James won.

>

Pulling the handle out and wheeling the suitcase past Cynthia, James laughed at her but was wise enough to point out her mistake. He gestured her on to the car with the sweep of one hand. "Get a move on, little lady, I'll take care of this for 'ya. But I will expect something in return." He smacked her backside and she jumped, laughing as she turned to stick her tongue out at her husband. Chloe rolled her eyes at them and Tom tried not to look nervous as he smiled back, taking her duffel bag from her hands. Chloe gave him a quick peck on the cheek before they moved to the truck parked at the curb. She took the coffee cup from Tom's free hand and sipped with caution.

>

The SUV's backside was layered with Tom & Chloe's bags. Blankets were the cement that held the bricks of luggage together, and the two men scratched their heads on where to lay these new bricks. It all had to have a certain logic, to fit into the mold they wanted it to be.

>

Chloe sauntered up to James holding the biggest bag up, his face set in hesitation. "Now's when all of those hours playing Tetris will come in handy, huh buddy?"

Cynthia's laugh came back from the front of the SUV, holding her own cup of steaming coffee. She called out: "Yeah, but he isn't sitting on the couch in his underwear with a controller in his hand, either, so he's kind of out of his element."

>

James made an exaggerated put-upon face. "Damn it, if Miss Trump hadn't brought the entire family jewels, maybe we could have had the beer cooler within easier reach, like inside the truck." He shrugged and dropped the bag down onto the carpeted storage space, jockeying it into place.

>

Cynthia turned the corner and grabbed James's crotch with a surprising quickness. "Yeah, and if your not careful, I'll take back the family jewels and display them as a new hunting trophy on our trip." She squeezed the handful for emphasis, and James jumped back laughing, wincing for effect.

>

"You two can have plenty of time discussing family jewels when you put up your own private tent at the campsite; hopefully out of earshot from us." Tom squeezed Chloe's hand. "Besides, we're planning on stirring up a few ruffles in Mother Nature's hair too."

>

"Speaking of stirring stuff up, I think I'd kill for a bite before we hit the road." Chloe didn't mention the pounding in her head from the scotch she'd drank the night before, but she figured the food might help with that too.

>

"That sounds good to me. Babe, would you mind doing the honors?" Tom held out the keys to her and she snatched them out of his hand with a mischievous look.

>

"That's fine, I'll drive to the diner," she touched him on the nose with her index finger, "and you can drive up to the campgrounds." He crooked his head at her as she passed him by, heading for the passengers seat, but wasn't fast enough to avoid his hand against her backside.

>

--------------------

>

"I don't believe it; we're going to the guys' hangout. What about us girls, don't we have a say?" From the backseat, Cynthia banged Chloe's headrest to rouse up some solidarity.

>

"Well, if it were up to you gals, we'd be sipping mimosas and having some pimply-faced kid make us a twenty dollar omelet."

>

Chloe finally found her voice. "And what's wrong with that? How about a little class before we get completely down and dirty in the woods?"

>

Cynthia voiced her agreement: "Yeah, I'm not even gonna be able to have my morning Starbucks, either."

>

"Calm down, girls, we brought plenty of 'gourmet' items with us, ain't that right, Tom?" James smacked Tom's headrest, much the same way Cynthia had. "Besides, us men are going to need our strength if we're going to be defending you defenseless damsels in distress from the raw power of nature."

>

Cynthia groaned and rolled her eyes. "Good God, OK clearly us damsels are being manhandled here. We'd better dissent, Chloe."

>

Tom pulled into their favorite sports bar, right next to highway 40 so they could get right on the road after they ate. They got lucky, finding an empty spot in front of the rows of paper vending machines and the front door. Cynthia stayed behind to smoke, leaning against the SUV, as the rest walked in. They loitering at the empty hostess podium before a chubby blonde with large hair walked out from the hallway connecting the bathrooms and the kitchen. She immediately locked eyes onto Tom and started with surprise, eyeing all three at once.

>

"Well, if it isn't the three amigos?" Walking up to the podium she grabbed three menus from underneath as she spoke. "Where's your wife, James? Or are you going to make my day and tell me you came just to see me?" She batted her painted lashes at James.

>

"No such luck, Arlene. I'm still stuck with the big goof." Cynthia blew the last cloud of smoke out the the door behind her before it slammed on her.

>

"Ah, there's the lucky lady. No disrespect, but you gotta take better care of this one, or I'm gonna have to snatch him for myself." Arlene squeezed James' bicep before turning on her heel, leading an embarrassed James and three snickering followers along behind.

>

When they settled into their corner booth, they all waved off the menus, already knowing what they wanted. Cynthia took on her best French accent ordering Eggs Benedict, giving up after only a smattering of laughs, while the rest agreed on settling for eggs, bacon and hash browns.

>

Tom turned Chloe's ceramic cup right side up next to his ready cup. He reminded Arlene before she left the table, "Lots of coffee, please dear."

_____________

"So I know we planned on going out to the lake, but what else did we have planned?" James said through a mouthful of eggs. They all looked instinctively at Chloe, knowing she was the most experienced outdoorsman among them.

>

"Well, I had you bring your fishing poles for a reason. If anything, I figure we can at least catch a buzz if we don't catch any fish. Other than that, I remember it had a hiking trail that I'd like to take us on, if that's OK?"

>

They all shook their heads in agreement, and when she looked at Tom expectantly, he shook his head up and down. "Yeah, no problem. I was just thinking..." he pointed an accusatory finger at Chloe, but his smirk gave it away. "I knew there was a reason you bought me those nice boots for my birthday."

>

"Hey, don't knock the boots, you're gonna need the traction while we're both naked in our tents, right?" Chloe grabbed Tom's leg under the booth and he gave the international sign for being goosed.

>

"That's it, I'm tired of being treated like a sex object." Tom waited a beat before crooking his head, firing a tongue out at Chloe. "I'm going to go pee, and I hope you all, especially you there," he pointed to Chloe "improve your manners by the time I get back."

>

"Oooooh burn." She made a face, then flipped him the middle finger as he got up.

>

This time Cynthia reached out and smacked Tom's backside as he left for the bathroom. When they all looked back at her, a mixture of shock and smiles, she said: "Hey, somebody's gotta teach 'em their place." Tom just shook his butt at his friend's wife and laughed along with them as he made his way to the bathroom.

>

After zipping up, Tom checked his face in the cracked bathroom mirror. He pulled each eye open in turn, checking to see if his raccoon eyes were as noticable as he seemed to think. After he seemed satisfied, he reached into his pocket and placed one of the tiny white tablets on his tongue. Cupping his hand under the water faucet, he jerked back enough water to swallow. He tried to avoid looking at himself in the mirror as he was drying his hands, afraid he might see the guilt reflected there, in his eyes.

Chapter Five

>

>

Tom had thought about asking Chloe to at least drive to Mormon Lake, but the pills had never made him that drowsy, so he wasn't too worried.  As an extra precaution, he'd opened the window, leaning out as he'd pulled back onto Highway 40.  The rush of cold air slapped his face as he yelled "Off we go, into the wild blue yonder!"

>

Rubbing the cold from his hands in the back seat, James said: "Yeah, it's about goddamned time.  We've drank ourselves silly just about everywhere else; the woods was the only place left!"  James slapped Tom's shoulder from the back.

>

"No, I could think of a lot of places we haven't gotten sloshed at."  Tom considered it.  "We have not drunk ourselves silly everywhere."

>

"OK, let's see...there was the roof of the student union hall."  James began counting on his fingers.

>

"Check."

>

"Then there was the bathroom of our dorm."

>

"Oh god, I hated that RA.  I offered him a swig once and his head practically spun around in a circle."

>

"Now the Mackafee dorm's advisor was classic; he could drink with the best of them.  You remember him, Tom?"

>

"Remember him?  He practically guaranteed my A in creative writing with all of the dope he supplied us with."

>

"Ah, those were the days, weren't they?

>

Chloe crooked her head sideways at Tom with a surprised look.  "You two, doing drugs?  I find that hard to believe."

>

"Oh yeah, my man Jim turned me onto my first joint, remember that?"

>

"Yeah, that was the best.  That was in..." James fingers snapped, "Kotex Karla's dorm room, wasn't it"

>

"Yep, it sure was," stated Tom matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural statement in the world.

>

Cynthia held up both hands then made a capital 'T', signaling for a time out.  ""Wait, wait, wait, time out.   You cannot go any further until you explain to me who Kotex Karla was and why she was called that."

>

Tom looked at James' smiling face through the rearview mirror and James nodded his approval to go on.  "Well, it was our first year, when we were in Vista hall, both freshmen."

>

Cynthia leaned forward and touched Chloe's arm in confidence.  "You have no idea how well I can picture these two as geeky, friendless losers," Cynthia got out in between laughs.

>

"Hey, we did OK, all things considered. Anyways, James and I were in a couple of classes together, one of which was English 102.  Long story short, there was this chick named Karla."

>

"Kotex Karla."

>

"Right, right, Kotex Karla," Tom went on.  "Both James and I were hot for her; mainly because she was the only one who would ever take a second glance at either of us.  That and she was a sophomore."

>

James took over the conversation from the backseat.  "I had just gone back to Phoenix for the weekend to visit my parents, and one of my cousins had scored me some primo stuff, real mind-blowing, right?  So after class, I figured I'd make my move with Karla, talking her up on what good weed I had.  Turned out she was totally into it, and invited me up to her room that night.  Well, old Tom was within earshot and came on with...uh, what was it that you'd said, Tom?"  James laughed, waiting for Tom's answer.

>

"I said: 'Can I get some action on that doobie?'"  Everyone laughed out loud at his deadpan delivery.

>

James continued, barely able to talk over his own giggling.  "I know, can you just imagine Tom ten years ago, asking that?" 

>

Chloe looked Tom up and down from the passenger seat, as if seeing him for the first time.  Her laughter was less infectious than the rest.  "No, I can't honestly say that I can picture that."

>

"I know, right?  So anyways, we both met up at her dorm room, and smoked the biggest spliff ever.  Of course I had to light it about 10 times, not knowing jack about rolling.  If she only knew I practiced my rolling technique all weekend for her, my Karla." James sighed and shook his head for effect.

>

"Kotex Karla."

>

"Right.  So we proceed to get good and baked, listening to her new wave records on the floor.  Tom can't stop laughing at everything, just giggling like a ninny.  I was embarassed for the guy, so I put him in charge of the music and pretty soon he was lost in a corner, trippin' out on a Devo album cover."

>

Chloe turned in her seat, laughing as she focused on Tom with a half-hearted laugh.  "Oh, this is only getting better and better."

>

James went on.  "So with Tom taken care of, I made the moves on Karla, asking if she wanted a backrub; you know the technique."

>

"Why yes, I know that move well."  Cynthia consented before punching James in the arm.

>

James went on unperturbed.  "So pretty soon I just go for it and start to kiss her neck.  Then my hands start rubbing down the front of her shirt, tracing her cleavage.  She didn't say anything, so I reached under her shirt, and grabbed her enormous boobs from behind."

>

Cynthia laughed but hit him in the arm again.  "You jerk!"

>

"I know, right?"  He had to wait for a bout of laughing to pass before going on.  "So anyways, I think she was bothered by how fast things were moving, and the fact that Tom was sitting with his back to us..."

>

"Just tell them the truth, man." Tom straightened out the rearview mirror, making sure James saw his eyes move in emphasis.  "She always wanted me, not you."  Tom cracked up, watching James from the rearview mirror.

>

"Yeah, as far as I was concerned, you could have her.  So she gets up, and moves over to the turntable, turning up the volume, saying how she loved this song before rubbing her chest all over Tom's back.  Well, this got Tom's attention again, and now that she's got both of our attention, she starts dancing around.  She was pretty clumsy with it, taking off her clothes, one by one, but we were so stoned and mesmerized, it didn't matter."

>

Tom took over telling the story, craning his head sideways.  "She had this way of moving her arms together, bunching up her chest and arching her back."  Chloe gasped next to him, putting her hand over her mouth, a smile curling up behind it.  "So she got her blouse off, revealing this huge double D sling of a bra.  She was wearing a skirt too, which was a little too short, so it wasn't a huge leap for her to throw that off next.  So off it went.  She was getting really into it, gyrating to the beat of the song, and she gave us this great crotch shot, putting her leg up on a chair, moving her hips and twirling her hair."

>

James couldn't help but jump back in for the punch line.  "When we saw it, we both turned our heads, looking at each other's faces.  The thing was, when Karla had taken off her skirt, it gave us the perfect view of a Kotex pull-string hanging out from the side of her underwear."

>

Cynthia laughed a great hearty lungful, while Chloe just groaned.  When the laughs had died down, Chloe asked: "Well, I suppose you're going to tell us what happened then?" 

>

"Funny enough, we both decided we were way too stoned, and beat cheeks out of there.  We came up with some quick, obvious excuse to leave.  I think she must have realized something was up."

>

"Yeah, the dead give away must have been our spastic laughing.  I think it must have taken the wind out of her sails, to put it lightly.  We both avoided her after that, calling her Kotex Karla amongst ourselves.  We never meant to be so mean to her, but the nickname just stuck, and soon she was known as Kotex Karla by pretty much everyone on campus."

>

"What happened to her? Didn't she drop out after that semester?"

>

"I think she did, in fact.  I remember seeing her working at the local Dairy Queen a few years later.  She looked a little older, a little fatter, but I could tell it was still our good 'ole Karla."

>

"Nice.  So you guys seduced this girl, got her stoned, then made fun of her because she forgot she was menstruating.  I think you guys were bitter because neither of you were going to get lucky."

>

Tom looked over at Chloe, who was trying to hide her stone gaze by looking out the front window.  "Well, granted we were pretty mean to her, especially with the nickname, but you know how it is in college.  School was more of an excuse to try and get laid than about anything else."

>

"I wouldn't know.  I had to pay for all of my own courses, working full time to pay for my classes.  I didn't have time to get stoned or laid."

>

"Aww, come on Chloe, it was all in good fun, besides we were all kids once, right?"  Cynthia slipped her hand onto Chloe's shoulder from the back seat.

>

"I guess you're right.  Everyone's got their skeletons in their closets.  I know I do."  Chloe turned to Tom, sitting in the driver's seat, and put her hand on his thigh.  She gave him a light squeeze before smiling.  "I guess I just hate drugs."  She shrugged her shoulders before going on, giving it some thought.  "The hardest part of my job is dealing with patients that expect just a quick fix.  I hate to give out drugs just like they're candy.  Even the seriously ill patients, I have a hard time prescribing anything.  I think we're just a society hooked on pills."  She shrugged again, catching herself before she went on any further.   "Anyways, I'll step down from my soapbox now."

>

"It's OK dear; we know what a hard time you've gone through because of drugs.  What your mother did to you was definitely unfair."  Cynthia gave Chloe a pat on the shoulder again.

>

"Yeah, I don't like talking about it, but after my brother died, we were all pretty messed up, you know?"  Chloe sniffled and wiped at her eyes.  "Like I said, I have my own share of skeletons in my closet.  Anyways..." she took a second to search for something, her hands roaming across the console before pulling out a CD case. "Who wants a little traveling music?   I could use some upbeat music right about now."  She zipped open the little vinyl circle that held her shiny CDs.

>

After that, the air in the SUV had gone cold, so Tom cranked up the heater and no one said much of anything.  Chloe shuffled through the CD holder, plucking out one after another.  With each new set of CD's, she fiddled with the knobs, turning up the volume just enough so it would be difficult to talk.  They stared out at the passing countryside, James soon falling asleep with his head on Cynthia's shoulder.  Chloe made a play at trying to sleep, sitting on her feet and drawing up a lap blanket, her head snug on a pillow bunched up on the window.  Tom concentrated on the road, secretly wishing that he could take another white pill and pass out in the backseat like his friend James.

Chapter Six

>

By the time Tom had seen the first sign for turnoff 163, Chloe had given up trying to sleep beside him.  She had put the pillow behind the gearshift and leaned towards Tom,  taking his hand into her own and resting their hands on the pillow between them.  "How 'ya holdin' up, sweetie?"  Chloe whispered to Tom, trying not to wake up James or Cynthia in the backseat.

>

"I'm fine, although the lines on the road are kind of blurring together.  Plus my feet are freezing."

>

"Here, take my blanket.  I've got these thick socks on anyways."  She kicked her feet out of the blanket, then draped it over Tom's lap as if she were setting a table.  Reaching over, she pulled it further across his lap, tucking it into his hip on the other side of the seat.  As she did so, she felt the stirring in his lap, and taking a surreptitious look at the dozing couple in the backseat, moved closer to Tom.  She slipped one hand under the blanket and reached for his crotch.  Tom sat up straight, sucking in his gut so that she could undo his belt buckle.  After Chloe had pulled down his zipper with some difficulty, he reached for the lever at the side of his seat and eased the seat back a couple of inches.  Tom closed his eyes for a moment when Chloe grabbed a hold of him, her hands colder than the hot rush of blood within.  He sucked in a shallow mouthful of air, as she pulled him out, her hand warming up.  The ring on her finger was like an ice-cold band of steel against his sensitive skin.  Tom set the cruise control on the wheel, stretching out his legs past the pedals.  Chloe stroked slowly at first, until he was fully hard, then she took out her hand, again looking at the still-dozing couple in the backseat before sticking a finger in her mouth.  She did this to all four of her fingers, staring at Tom with a wanton look in her eye.  When she carefully put her hand back into the blanket, her wet fingers sluiced up and down on Tom, making his eyes roll back into his head.

>

Tom was shook from his trance by a horn honking, looking up in shock as he realized he was riding the center line.  He jerked the SUV back into his own lane, overcompensating a bit, sending the back wheel skidding into the dirt of the shoulder.  While Tom wrestled with the wheel, Chloe jerked her hand from the blanket, and James and Cynthia awoke with a gasp in the back seat.  The truck going in the opposite direction skirted the side of the road as it passed, the driver extending his hand and pressing his middle finger onto the driver's side window.

>

"Whoa, are you doing OK, man?"  James grabbed the back of Tom's seat, pulling himself closer to Tom while getting a better look out the front window.  His bloodshot eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to get a handle on where they were.

>

Tom took a deep breath before answering.  "Yeah, I guess we should try to take a break.  Sorry about that, you guys."  He smirked at Chloe and she gave him a mischievous grin.  Spying the backseat through the rear-view mirror, James ran a hand through his hair while Cynthia rifled through her purse.

>

"I'd love to stop and have a cigarette.  Plus my shoulder is sore from having Romeo here use me as his personal pillow."  James only yawned in response.

>

"We're about halfway down 168; in a few miles we'll hit a rest stop."  Tom pointed at the green sign studded with glow in the dark decals.  It announced there were restrooms and snacks available.

>

"Oh thank God, I hope they have a vending machine.  Better yet, a full espresso bar would definitely hit the spot right now."  Cynthia whined from the backseat.

>

"Oh geez, sixty miles out of town and you're already complaining about the lack of civilization."  Chloe turned in her seat.  "You two better get used to roughing it.  It's gonna be a rough few days if you don't get used to the idea of being in the great outdoors."

>

"Don't worry about me, dear.  I brought Mr. Feelgood to make me happy and all he needs are a few batteries to make me happy."  She patted the purse in her lap.  "Do you wanna see it, Chloe?  It's a real unique design" Chloe waved her hands in dissent, stumbling over words muffled by incoherent laughter.

>

Tom laughed and put in: "Careful Cynthia, you're going to give James a complex.  I mean, how many guys can vibrate as well as staying rock hard?  I think I'm doing well as long as I can last longer than five minutes."

>

James' short laugh blended well with the condescending rolling of his eyes.  "Oh I couldn't ever dream of keeping up with this nymphomaniac."  He poked his finger in and out of a circle made by his thumb and index finger, so Cynthia smacked him in the arm.  James rubbed his arm as Tom slowed down, preparing to turn into the rest stop.

>

The stop was like so many others littering the Arizona landscape.  There were trees planted here not usually seen in Arizona, cared for by the orange suited state workers.  They fell out of the SUV, Tom discreetly buckling back up as Cynthia made a beeline for the restrooms.  James stretched out beside his open door, while Tom and Chloe held hands, making their way to the vending machines.  "We should get you some coffee or something, sweetie.  I wouldn't want you to get us in an accident or anything."  She gave him an impish, innocent stare.

>

"Then I would suggest you stop being such a wanton slut and let me drive, dear."  He pulled her close, ignoring her laugh, and kissed her, stopping where they were.  Instead of pulling away, he lingered for a moment on her lips, breathing into her mouth before delving into her once again.

>

She pulled away and pushed her hair back, looking at him with one eyebrow raised.  "Wow, I guess I should play naughty more often."  She looked down and grabbed the bulge in his pants.  "It looks like that seemed to do the trick, huh?" He smiled at her before taking her hand again, making their way to the bank of vending machines adjacent to the restrooms.

>

Tom took notice of the rumbling engines that were closer to this part of the rest stop.  On the other side of the parking lot, the larger spots housed a few idling trucks.  There was a long haired truck driver at the Coke machine who grunted, bending his girth in half to grab the plastic jug of soda.  It made a dull thud in the silver tray of the machine.  Straightening up, he turned, eyebrows shifting against the brow of his cowboy hat.  With a curt nod of his cap to Tom and Chloe, he waddled over to a picnic table closer to the restrooms, hefting himself onto the table, his feet resting on the seat.  Twisting the top off, Tom had to shake the idea that the trucker's Coke bottle was hissing at them.

>

"Oh thank God, they've got a cold Starbucks mocha with my name on it.  Let's see, A-14."  Chloe poked in the numbers, watching the bottle fall.  Before she plucked her hand in to retrieve it, she asked, "Do you want one too, honey?"  Her hair hung in a curtain across her face, one tentative hand already reaching for her drink.

>

"Sure, babe, that'd be great."

>

She straightened up and pushed more coins into the machine, reciting "A-14" again.  After she'd grabbed the cold drinks from the trough at the bottom, Tom moved in front of the machine.

>

"Here, let me show you a little trick."  He fed a few more dollars into the machine, poking C-12, waiting for the thud, then poked C-12 again, and stooped to dredge them out once the second one thudded down.  "OK, open yours and take a good long swig."

>

"Mmmm, gladly sir."  She popped open the lid and gulped down the creamy liquid, beads of condensation falling of the end of the bottle.  When she finished, she let out an "Aaaah" and a look of ecstasy crossed her face.  "Now what?"

>

Tom pulled the tab on the small can of double shot espresso, taking Chloe's mocha in one hand, dumping the double shot into the empty space in the bottle.  When he handed it back to Chloe, she held it up in the light, which made marbled dark trails of espresso through the glass.  "Go ahead, try it."  Tom took his own gulp and did the same thing to his drink as Chloe took another pull.

>

"Tom Anderson, you never cease to amaze me."  Her body fell hard onto his as she looked up with a drunk look on her smiling face.

>

"You know, I can't take total credit for that.  I read in Cosmo that caffeine makes women horny."  She laughed at him and he wrapped his arm around her waist, kissing her softly on the lips.  Chloe looked into his eyes, and then turned, aware of the truck driver nearby staring at them.  The man pretended to study his bottle of soda in embarrassment.  Chloe downed the mocha drink in two gulps as they watched James approach.

>

"Good God, can't you two stop sucking face for five minutes?"  James sidled up to them, still stretching his body and yawning forcefully.  "I've gotta hit the head, and then as soon as we get there, do me a favor and do all that lovey-dovey stuff in your tent?  I'll even help you put up your own personal love nest.  Because pretty soon Cynthia's gonna be giving me the 'why don't you look at me like that anymore' deal."

>

"OK, it's a deal, good buddy."  Tom smiled at James, a smile that made him remember what it was like, once upon a time, to be a third wheel.  James wandered away to the restrooms, out of earshot of Chloe and Tom.  "Hmmm, love nest, huh?  I guess it's a good thing I brought along the scented candle and the 'ole 'magic fingers.'"  Tom made his hands into makeshift claws, wiggling them around before tickling Chloe's ribs.  She broke away from his grasp, passing James and laughing even as she almost ran into Cynthia and the opening door of the women's restroom.

>

"Jesus Chloe, you in hurry or something?"  She laughed as Chloe stepped aside and let Cynthia pass, chucking the empty mocha bottle into the trash as she pulled the closing bathroom door back open.  Cynthia shook her head as she smacked the top of her cigarette pack and shook a thin brown cigarette out as Tom and James moved to their side of the restrooms.  The truck driver's eyes took it all in under his webbed cap, his eyes lost in the shadow of his bill.

>

Chloe took the farthest stall, the one with the handicapped sign affixed to it, and without ceremony, pulled down her pants and panties all in one push.  She considered just suspending her ass over the seat, but the restrooms looked pretty clean, so she plopped down onto the cold seat, a shiver going up her spine as the coldness slapped her backside.  Looking over the usual toilet graffiti, she sniggered at the familiar limerick there, noting that they left out the few final lines.  Unable to stop herself, she had to whisper the next lines to herself before she could fully relax.  I guess I'm just a gifted storyteller.  She sniggered before pulling off a few squares of toilet paper.  Standing up, she wiped and turned to throw the paper into the toilet and noticed a head sticking up over the toilet stall.  Her hands went down to cover what her unzipped jeans exposed.  "Jesus!  What the hell do you think you're doing?"  The painted eyes of the stranger registered shock at being caught before the shaggy blonde head disappeared down into the other stall with a jerk.

>

A voice came droning across from the other stall, as if she were talking into her hand.  "I'm awful sorry, miss.  I ain't no pervert or anything, but I heard you all carryin' on outside, and well, it sounded like you were havin' a good time, like you were goin' on vacation, or something."

>

Chloe pulled up her pants in a huff.  "What difference does it make if we're taking a vacation or not?  That's no excuse to peek over stalls."  The toilet automatically flushed as she moved out of the stall, the door banging on the metal clasp as she turned to face the occupied stall of the peeper.  She crossed her arms, waiting for the woman to exit.

>

Instead, all that came out was an apologetic, small voice.  "I know it, and I'm sorry.  I know it don't make no difference none, but I just wanted to see your face, just in case."

>

"Just in case?  In case of what?"

>

"Well, me and the hubby happen to go through this part of the highway often, and I like to get a good picture of the people travelling along these roads."  Chloe crooked her head as she listened, posting her fists on her hips, an angry look still on her face.  "I guess you could call it a hobby of mine, but I like to look at the missing persons reports at all of the rest stops.  I guess it's kind of a...whatchamacallit, an obsession of mine."

>

Chloe was suddenly aware that she was all alone in the restroom with her, the woman's words echoing off of the bare concrete walls.  Unfolding her arms, she backed up from the row of stalls until her backside met the porcelain sink.

>

"'Ya see, we've been up this part of the country quite a few times, and I've always wondered why this part of the highway has so many missing persons reports posted."  Chloe felt a shiver of ice cold fear shoot up her spine before turning on one heel and bolting from the bathroom, the rubber sole of her hiking shoes squeaking on the wet concrete as she hurried.  The woman's voice went up in pitch and volume, wanting to get in one last word before Chloe beat a hasty retreat.  "If'n 'ya don't believe me, just look at the board out there!"

>

Chloe slammed into the door, throwing it open; relieved to feel the hot Arizona wind hit her face.  She felt the beating of her heart and slumped against the cool door of the restroom, the sudden change in atmosphere surreal.  Shaking her head before walking into the sun, she saw the SUV not far off, with all of them loitering around it, waiting for her.  To her right, the truck driver still sat on the picnic bench, the now empty Coke bottle swinging between the fingers of one hand.  She tried not to look at him or the waving stack of papers posted to the bulletin board as she passed, but she couldn't help but feel an ice cold shiver of fear run up her spine.  Hurrying on to the SUV, she parted her hair in an effort to control the adrenaline pumping through her veins.  I shouldn't have had all that caffeine, she reasoned.

>

They watched her approach and she threw her arms around Tom, kissing him quickly before asking, "So, do you want me to drive the rest of the way?  It'd give my man a chance to rest, and you know, not kill all of us in an accident."

>

Cynthia raised her hand.  "I'd be all for that.  I'm kind of fond of this life, 'ya know?"

>

"OK, OK," Tom raised his hands in submission, "that'd be great, actually."

>

"Good, because this caffeine concoction you made me really got me revved up, if 'ya know what I mean."  She winked at Tom and snatched the keys from his hand before he could answer.  Tom breathed a sigh of relief, as he'd started to feel a little woozy already from the second little white pill he'd taken.

As Tom wrestled with the map in the back seat, Chloe unsnapped her bra under her shirt while asking James to take the wheel.  The outstretched map revealed Tom's face, looking at Chloe's eyes superimposed on the rearview mirror.  She met his eyes and caught his questioning glance.

>

"Sorry guys, I guess that caffeine worked a little too well.  I'm sweating in this stupid bra."  She smirked back at Tom.  "I guess wearing my pushup bra into the wilderness was a bad idea."  James took a hold of the wheel, watching Chloe's hands struggle within her shirt.

>

Before Tom could come up with his own snide remark, James beat him to the punch.  "Even though I'm too young to remember it, I've always been a staunch supporter for feminists burning their bras."

>

"Yeah, that's about the only thing you like about feminism."  Cynthia punched James' shoulder from the back.

>

"It's my fault; I shouldn't even have put it on this morning.  I always like to feel free in the outdoors, ya know?"  She pulled a strap around her elbow, pulling out her bra and tossing it into the backseat, towards the general direction of Tom.  As luck would have it, it landed right on his face.  Cynthia exploded in laughter, with James and Chloe following suit as soon as they craned their necks to look back at Tom.  Tom played up the part, doing a little dance in his seat as they laughed.

>

When he did finally take off the bra, he saw James giving the wheel back to Chloe.  He also saw the surreptitious, drawn out stare he'd given Chloe's chest before settling back into his seat.

>

Tom also noticed the sun, high in the sky, as it shone in, piercing the side window, illuminating Chloe's chest.

>

"Isn't this the turnoff, Tom?"

>

Tom didn't get a chance to look at the crumpled up map, as they were shuffled in their seats from the sharp turn Chloe made onto the dirt road.  "I dunno, I was so transfixed on your breasts after the ritual burning of the bra that I missed it."

>

"It's OK, this has gotta be it."  The SUV continued to rock back and forth as Chloe decreased her speed, the wheels still getting used to the well-worn grooves in the trail.

>

"I'll take your word for it."  They were all hanging onto something as the SUV calmed down, like a bull after a charge.  Tom still had his eyes on Chloe's chest, as her breasts shook and jiggled under her flimsy cotton shirt.  The sun caught the curve of her cleavage, making it gleam bright and making the rest of the shirt transparent.  He couldn't pull his eyes away from the shaking of the bottom curve of her breast in the midmorning light.

>

"Tom, if you could take your eyes away from my boobs, can you tell me how many miles does it look like rural route 113 goes?"  Tom looked up into the rearview mirror, and Chloe winked at him, her eyes showing a hint of a smile.

>

The shaking of the SUV brought his attention back to the map in front of him, and he refolded it, smoothing out the wrinkles in order to read it.  "Let's see here, J-13 is the square.  Well, this tiny broken line is about a fourth of an inch, which is…about 10 miles."

>

The grass lined road ahead of them veered into switchbacks and loops, humps in the road slowing their progress.  About halfway in, a felled tree lay across the road and James volunteered to jump out.  As he hefted it, he was surprised at its lack of weight, and he shrugged back at the SUV before dragging it off, tossing it into the woods.  Jumping back into the SUV, he caught his breath, wiping an errant bead of sweat from his forehead.  "Did you see how old that branch was?  It was practically deadwood; it almost disintegrated in my hands."

>

"When was the last time you came to this spot, Chloe?"  Cynthia sounded serious for the first time this morning.

>

"It was a long time ago with my dad, right before he died.  It's got a really nice lake; great for fishing.  I suppose you could say this place has some sentimental value for me."

>

No one knew what to say after that, so the inside of the SUV was silent as Chloe manhandled the road.  She leaned into the corners, downshifting just at the right time.  The untamed road spit out errant young branches, scraping the sides of the SUV as they careened into the turns.  Chloe sat up straight, concentrating on the road, not paying attention to the wayward strands of brown hair that trailed down her head.  Tom even noticed a bead of sweat crawl down her neck as it made a home in the back of her shirt.

>

"Hey, ease up on the throttle there, Parnelli."  Cynthia rocked back into her seat, tossing about like a ragdoll after firing off a comment to the front seats.  Tom and James simply sat ramrod straight in their seats, holding onto the handle above their heads, eyes fixed on the helter skelter road.

>

"No worries guys, just a few more miles to go."  Chloe kept her face trained on the road, her neck muscles tightening like piano wire when she talked.  "There's a bridge right before the trail to the lake we have to cross.  Once we see that, we'll…"  Chloe almost stood up in her seat as she stamped down onto the brake.  The SUV shuddered along with the wheel in her hands.  She grunted, her arms a tight bundle of muscles as she wrestled with the wheel.  James and Tom stuck out protective arms, stopping them from smacking their heads, but Cynthia screamed in the back seat as she bounced off the back of Chloe's seat.  When she landed back into her seat, she groaned and held her head.

>

After the initial shock, they all looked at Chloe, then through the windshield.  Ahead of them, a wide crevice was decorated with the smashed remains of a wooden bridge.  The heavy rope supports swayed in the wind like flags.

>

"Shit.  Remember that bridge I was telling you guys about?"

>

Cynthia smacked Chloe's headrest in anger.  "You just about took my head off, Chloe."  She pulled her hand away from her face, a shocked look on her face as she stuck her hand out.  There was blood on her fingertips, and she used the heel of her hand to wipe at the trail of blood leaking down onto her lips.  "Shit, I'm fucking bleeding!"

>

James made soothing sounds from the front seat as he searched his pockets for something to mop up Cynthia's face.  As he handed her a handkerchief, Chloe popped the door, signaling the internal beeping of the SUV and lighting up the cab with the small light from overhead.   Tom followed suit, catching the concerned look from James in the front seat before jumping down, stumbling in his boots as he landed down on the scant gravel tossed about the dirt road.

>

Chloe was standing on the wooden planks that started the bridge and cocked her hips as she looked down into the steep valley below.  Tom's boots clunked down onto the planks, and he grabbed an errant rope swinging from a support as he looked down into the valley along with Chloe.  "I guess it really has been a long time since you've been here, huh?"

>

"Yeah, I guess so.  I remember this bridge being as solid as a rock when dad and I crossed it.  Of course, that was probably about 20 years ago."  Chloe's face was stock still as she spoke, lost in her thoughts as she looked down into the crevice.

>

"It doesn't look that deep; I suppose we could still make it across."

>

"Yeah, dad told me that when he was a kid, there had been a little creek here, but by the time he'd taken me here, it was long gone."

>

"Lucky for us.  Looks like enough rocks and dirt has piled up since then."  He pointed over to the side, pointing out a mound of dirt.  "We might be able to cross there."  They moved off the planks and waded through some short bush to get a better look.  Behind them, the door of the SUV slammed shut, James making his way over.

>

"Look, there's a little path right there."  He pointed to a slight scuffed line traversing the dirt, leading off over and disappearing into the woods.  James' trainers crunched onto the dry brush as he made his way over.  Tom looked back at him, catching the irritated look on his face.

>

"So what's up, guys?  Is there a way around?"  He searched Chloe's face, expecting her to answer.

>

"Yeah, we found a little trail where we can cross, but we'll have to do it on foot."  Tom waved in the general direction of the path.

>

"How's Cynthia doing?"  Chloe rubbed her arms for warmth even though the air was warming up in the midmorning sun.

>

"Oh, she'll live, I think" James smiled a mischievous smirk.  "She's just got to complain once in a while, which, I have to warn you both," he pointed a finger at Chloe and Tom, "she'll be doing plenty of complaining on this trip."

>

Tom let out a small laugh, kicking at a clod of dirt between them.  "We're all well aware of Cynthia's dislike for nature."

>

"Come on," Chloe waved them both on, "let's go survey the damage."

It was no mistake that both James and Tom began by unstrapping the bungee cords that held down the cooler from the rack.  They shouldered down the blue container before sifting through the slushy ice, pulling out ice cold beers.   Tom took a moment to pick ice from the top of the can, but James couldn't wait.  Water sluiced down from the cans as James, then Tom, popped the tops and took a long swig.  The water slid down James' can and stained the collar of his white t-shirt.

>

Cynthia stood off to the side, pulling on a ski jacket and rubbing her arms in the shadow of a birch tree overhanging the road.  She started over to the rear of the SUV as Chloe pulled on the handle of the rear, exposing the innards of the storage space.  Chloe pulled out their aluminum framed backpacks first, sizing up their supplies and figuring who would haul in what.

>

"Hey Chloe, think fast."  She looked over just in time as James tossed a beercan in her direction.  She bent her knees as she caught the can, cradling it with both hands as it landed in the bottom of her shirt, concaving her chest to prevent it from dropping.  Chloe gasped from the ice cold water as it washed out, staining her white shirt.

>

"Damn it, James."  She laughed despite herself, picking the cold shirt from her stomach so it wouldn't stick.  "You got me with that one."

>

"Well, I figure we should christen this trip before we head out.  Call it a good luck charm, blessing our trip with a nice cool brewskie."

>

Tom noticed James staring at Chloe's wet midsection as he took another long pull on the cold can.  He wiped his lips with the back of his arm.  "Well, I think we should all take a drink," he pulled a can out from the cooler, handing it to Cynthia, "and drink a toast for good luck."

>

Cynthia smiled and popped the top on the silver can.  "Well, when in Rome."  She took a long pull, closing her eyes as she gulped down the beer.

>

"So how far of a hike are we looking at from here?"

>

"If I remember right, it's a few good miles out to the lake.  Hopefully the trail is still there." Chloe looked embarrassed for a moment, looking down at the ground before setting her beer down on the tailgate and resuming with unpacking. 

>

Tom pretended to grab something from the cab of the SUV, slipping his hand into his pants, pulling another small white pill out and downing it with a healthy swig from the beer.  He tried to contain his nervousness when Chloe sidled up to him and ran her hand across his thigh; dangerously close to the remaining pills in his pocket.  "So how's my baby, doing?

>

He gave a short laugh, meeting her eyes for a moment.  "Doing good, so far.  But…" he pretended to study the carpeted floor on the front seat floor.

>

She grabbed his hand and moved closer into his field of vision, concern twisting her face.  "What's the matter, honey?"

>

"It's nothing, just the usual camping worries cropping up.  You know, like worrying about running out of booze."  His eyes lit up, remembering and then popping open the glove compartment.  He smiled as he fished out the silver flask he'd hidden there; glad to have an excuse for coming up front to the cab.

>

"Aaaah, well it's good to see that we're well stocked."  She grabbed the flask from him, unscrewing the top before taking an exploratory sip.  Smacking her lips, she tasted the brown liquor before taking a deeper pull.  When she kissed him her breath fumed down into his face before lightly pecking at his pursed lips.  She gave him back the flack before lightly slapping his thigh, saying: "OK, now let's get to work."

>

Cynthia sat down on a nearby log as they all hauled out the supplies, piling it up in separate piles.  Chloe helped them as they worked, inspecting their packs and cinching down bags until everything fit.  She felt for her gun in the bottom of her duffel bag, patting it for comfort before they head out.  When they all shouldered their packs, James and Tom both grabbed one end of the cooler as they followed Chloe's lead, with Cynthia trailing behind.

>

They made it over the dirt mound, having to crabwalk across some of the rougher parts.  Cynthia made it a point to take the longest, making a short panicked huff in the back of her throat as they waited on the other side of the crevice for her.  James offered her his hand, but she swatted it away in disgust before jumping over to the other side.

>

Luckily, the trail was still readable, but was much less so than the dirt road they'd rode in on, as if other campers had given up before they had, not venturing any further.  They stomped over patches of anemic grass growing across spots of the trail.  The trail narrowed and twisted as the incline of the trail steepened, slowing their progress.  Cool, crisp air nearly froze the air they inhaled more rapidly at the new pace.  Cynthia fell behind once or twice, dragging her feet along the trail, taking her time.

>

When they had gone around a sharp curve, James looked back, waiting for Cynthia to turn the corner.  He held up one hand when he didn't see her when he expected her to come stumbling around the corner.  "Hold on, you guys.  I don't see Cynthia."  He set his end of the cooler down in the middle of the grassy path, Tom following suit.

>

"I think this is as good a place as any to take a break."  She shouldered her pack off, laying it against the incline of rock next to the path.  "Besides, she'll come around that corner any second and be thankful for the chance to rest."

>

"I'm gonna go back down the path just to make sure."

>

Tom felt a surprising tension in his chest; a mild sense of a lump forming in his chest.  He stood there, leaning against the same rock Chloe was on, waiting for the lump to travel up his chest and take residence in his throat.  Realizing he was worrying over nothing, he grabbed Chloe's hand to cover up the momentary panic he felt.  He looked up into her eyes, upturning his face for her to get a better look at him. 

>

Chloe's eyes narrowed slightly, one eyebrow coming up slightly.  She whispered into his face.  "I'm really glad that we're doing this."  She put her hand on his chest, looking up at the trees overhead, covering their path, as she took a deep breath, closing her eyes.  "I love the smell of the outdoors.  The crisp, clean air is like drinking a fine wine."

>

He took a deep breath of the mountain air, looking into her eyes.  "Having you here, seeing you happy and in my arms is better than any wine I've ever had."  She looked into his eyes again before slipping a thin hand behind his head, playing with the fringe of his hair before leaning down into a kiss.  Their kiss was interrupted by the alarm in James' voice, coming up from beyond the bend.

>

Tom wrestled himself out of his pack, following behind Chloe as she skidded sideways down the incline, hurrying to the corner of the trail.  Tom had to stop and almost smacked into Chloe's back after lunging sideways around the bend.  He stuck a fist on his hip as he tried to catch his breath from the short sprint while surveying the trail.  Below them, Cynthia was sitting in the middle of the trail with James attending to her on bended knee.  He was touching and squeezing her feet and legs with care.  Chloe and Tom took leisurely steps down the slope as they approached.

>

"What happened Cynthia?  Are you OK?"  Tom adopted the same pose as James, squatting down on her other side as he searched James' face for an explanation.

>

Cynthia spoke up instead, waving away Tom and James.  "Oh Jesus, I feel like a cow right now.  It's nothing really, I just slipped and fell on the path."

>

"Well, you scared the bajesus 'outta me."  James touched her shoulder, trying not to sound as concerned as he first did.  Cynthia moved each foot in a circle, testing for sprains.

>

When she said nothing, James held out a hand for her.  She pulled herself up, brushing off her backside, avoiding looking at the rest of the group.  "God, do I feel like a complete idiot."

>

Chloe stepped forward.  "I'm sorry, I feel like it's partly my fault."  She pointed to Cynthia's dusty trainers.  "I should have told you to bring along hiking boots."  She gave a short, uncomfortable laugh.  "You know, there's always something you forget to pack when you go camping."

>

Cynthia seemed relieved when Chloe wrapped her arm into the crook of her arm, guiding her along the path and around the bend they'd come from.  James took Cynthia's other arm and they all followed Tom ahead of them.  When they reached the cooler and the other packs leaning against the rock, they all stopped for a break.  After Cynthia took off her pack, she reached into the cooler and pulled out water, taking a long pull.  James and Tom pulled out another beer and Chloe un-wrapped a package of crackers and passed them around.

>

"I think the path should level out soon and then we'll only have a short way to go before we hit the lake."

>

"That'd be great.  I don't know how much more hiking I can do in my Nikes."

>

"That's OK, I don't think it's much further, and then we can put on our bikinis and take a swim in the lake while the boys set up camp."

>

"Well, that's not very fair."  James thought about it for a moment.  "Unless we get to see you two frolic in a skimpy bathing suit.  On second thought, I wouldn't mind taking up the role of male protector, especially if it means getting a good look at Chloe's gams."

>

"Hey, asshole."  Tom pretended to put up his dukes and play-punched James' shoulder.  "That's my woman's gams you're talking about."  He put down his fists as he turned to consider Chloe leaning against the rock, her eyebrows raised.  "I guess I can't blame you, looking at her gams gets me in the mood for pitching my own tent."  Tom sidled up and wrapped his arm around Chloe's waist, giving her a quick kiss before taking another long pull on the ice cold beer.

>

Cynthia voiced her displeasure with a good natured laugh.  "Oh geez, get a room you two."

>

"The ironic thing is that I'm sure Cynthia brought along her best bikini, but forgot to bring a pair of hiking boots."  James laughed, looking at his wife for annoyance.  He wasn't disappointed and Cynthia rolled her eyes at him, pushing him away as he tried to wrap his arm around her.

>

Tom poured out the foamy suds onto the dirt, crushing the can and tossing it into the open lid of the cooler.  "I don't know about you guys, but we better get to the lake soon before I get any more buzzed."

>

"I know what you mean good buddy.  You'd better save that whiskey you're hiding in your jacket too, man."  He smiled brightly at Tom, sharing years of drinking habits together.

>

"What the hell?  How did you know?"

>

"Oh, I saw Chloe take a drink from it when you two were making out in the front seat, before we took off."

>

"Jesus, you need to dry out a bit there, romeo."  Cynthia smacked James' chest before she walked over and began pulling on her pack.

>

They all fell back and let Cynthia take the lead, and she took up a brisk pace, perhaps to make up for her fall.  Tom noticed a few times when Chloe held up her hands, as if to catch Cynthia in case she fell.  Tom and James exchanged knowing looks as they took up the rear, hauling the heavy ice chest.  The water dissolving inside of it moved the ice back and forth, making a shooshing sound as it rocked back and forth.

He had been up the tree so long, he was tempted to stretch out his legs and undo the cramps that were starting.  But he knew, in the back of his head, that he couldn't.  He couldn't do that because he was the leader.  If the bald one or the skinny one had done that, he knew what his duty would be as leader.  He'd have to pick up his spear and hurt them, maybe bash them across the chest, making them fall.

>

They'd sitting silently on the tree branches for some time now, and he groaned inwardly at the thought of wasting another hunting trip.  If one of them moved, at this point, he'd probably just remember the transgression and punish them after the hunt.  That was his choice after all, as leader.

>

The only movement that was allowed when they hunted these animals was scratching, which he did now, not because he had an itch, but to relieve his boredom.  His unkempt body hair was matted around his feet, and he itched the tuft of hair around his calf.  There was still some traces of mud caked on his feet from their ritual of wiping away their scent.  They had started the hunt with the ritual orgy, grabbing the few mates they had left and taking them until their flesh had had enough.  They knew they could be gone a long time, so they took what they could, sating their lust over and over in anticipation of their long hunt.

>

Then, when the women could hardly stand, and far after they had started whimpering in pain, the men gathered together.  They grabbed their spears and made the trek to the lake, wading into the water.  This was the only time the men willingly washed themselves, and he liked the cool, bracing feeling of the water on his skin.  Some of the others disliked it, that's why he waited until they were all in the water before wading in himself.  They knew not to disobey him.

>

Now, sitting on his limb, his back against the trunk of the tree, he began picking at the caked mud left over on his feet.  He glanced over at the other four men, all sitting alert on their limbs, spears laying over their laps as they sat in a lotus position.  They still looked alert after two days of tracking the herd of boars.  Each year it seemed as if the wildlife reached farther out into the forest, just as the line on the lake seemed to go down every year as well.  This was a troubling thing for him, because it was getting harder and harder to keep the men in line on the longer trips.  Luckily he knew each man's weakness, and had to exploit those weaknesses when he heard their unhappy grunts and looks of dissention.

>

His favorite method of keeping them in line was to hurt and humiliate them in front of the women.

>

His lips snarled in an imitation of a smile as he took a momentary pleasure to remember hurting them.  The bald one still bore a fresh scar on his chest, which he rubbed now as they waited.  He nodded his head at the bald one, touching the coveted axe that hung at his side; a reminder that he was their leader and the power he held over them.

>

The rustling in the brush off to their right gave him cause to slip the axe from his thong.  He held it aloft, his sharp eyes scoping the forest before them.  They all tensed, craning their necks and holding their spears at the ready, knowing to wait for the first blow from the leader.

>

There, just beyond a small bush.  He pointed them out to the rest.

>

They foraged for the offal they had placed earlier; the innards of a rabbit the skinny one had caught.  The biggest boar snorted his authority at the four smaller ones as he munched at the bloody innards.  It allowed them to sniff the blood from his tusks though, in a gesture of kindness towards his subordinates.  The leader could appreciate that, and chuckled to himself as he prepared the axe.  They were close enough now.

>

The only warning of their attack was the whistling of the axe head as it spun end over end before splitting the head of the leader boar.  A moment later, there were four other spears piercing the air, catching one boar in the foot, while it eviscerated another.  The other two smaller ones bolted, unharmed.  As the men jumped down from their perch, the limping boar tried to join the others escaping, blood pouring from his foot.  The other boar squealed and squirmed on the spear holding it to the ground.  It stretched the wound piercing it's belly with all of the struggle it was putting up, and the stench of its innards wafted up to the men as they approached their kill.

>

The men took a moment to identify their spears, the leader clapping the skinny man on the back after seeing his mark on the spear skewering the struggling boar.  The skinny man smiled before kneeling down, placing a wooden bowl under the boar's head as he slit it's throat.  Hot visceral blood poured into the bowl, staining the leaves as well, as it spurted in an arterial spray.  The skinny man offered the stained oak bowl to the leader, which he accepted.  He took one gulp, blood staining his lips and dripping onto his chin before he passed it back to the skinny man, all of them gulping and passing.

>

The leader rooted one mud covered foot on the boar's neck before pulling out his axe with a quick tug.  The once mighty boar's body only shook against its will; it had died instantly.  Its curly tail still moved like a worm skewered on a hook.  Rubbing the boar's thick tusks with his thumb, he admired what would undoubtedly be a new addition to the necklace around his neck.  He was pleased.

>

Pointing to the fat one and the bald one, he set them to work on carving up the boars they had.  He then nodded at the two other men before turning on his heel in pursuit of the injured boar.  The men behind him kicking up leaves as they ran, dodging the odd tree in their path.  He knew they wouldn't get far.

After a few more uphill miles, the trail eased out into a more manageable hike.  Tom and James were huffing and puffing at the top of the incline, and they dropped the cooler to stretch their muscles.  Chloe and Cynthia both sat on a rock lying on the trail while they guys caught their breath.

>

Cynthia held her head cradled in the palm of one hand.  "Are we there ye-e-e-t?"

>

"Almost there.  I figure it's about another mile or so; not far at all.  At least the hard part is over with."

>

James' flushed face pinched as he struggled to talk, his hands on his knees.  "This damned cooler is gonna be the death of me."  He kicked the side of the cooler before straightening up, lacing his hands behind his head, spreading his chest for more air.

>

"I hear ya."  Tom panted for a moment before going on, pointing at the girls.  "And these two want to relax while we set up camp when we get there."

>

"Awww, relax honey."  Chloe narrowed her eyes at Tom as she stood up, sauntering over to where he stood.  Despite being out of breath, Tom found it hard not to stare at her hips as she catwalked over to him.  "I'm sure us women can find an extra special way to entertain our big, strong men."  She grabbed Tom's bicep, moving down to his forearm as her eyes lit up in surprise, her mouth making a small 'o' in a wanton display of feminine wiles.  Her hand slid onto his chest, staring him in the eyes, crooking one eyebrow while she slipped her hand in his jacket, pulling out the silver flask in a quick movement.  "I think I might need a little liquid encouragement to perform, though."  After spinning the cap off and taking a sip, she put the flask up to his lips and tipped some of the liquor into his mouth.

>

After gulping his ration down, Tom laughed, his own eyebrows crooked in amusement.  "Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?"

>

"No dear, only get you drunk so that I can take advantage of you."  She grabbed his crotch, making him flinch.  Turning the cap back on the flask, she turned on her heel, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand.  She tossed the flask to Cynthia, still resting on the rock.  As Cynthia untwisted the cap, and took a pull, Chloe turned again and addressed the wheezing James.  "I'd offer you some James, but you don't look so good at the moment."

>

James waved on Chloe with one hand.  "It's alright; I'll be doing my fair share of drinking this trip."

>

Tom backhanded James in the chest.  "You and me both, buddy.  We'll need to if we're expected to put up with these two."  They chuckled in unison as the girls rolled their eyes.  "You ready, man?"

>

"Yeah, let's get this over with."

>

Not only did the path level out, but it seemed to go straight as well.  It shot out like an arrow towards the lake, and they were all glad to have such an easy path to follow.  Even Cynthia seemed to pull out of her funk, and started skipping along the trail as they went.  Higher up, the air seemed brisk and colder, which was a welcome change for them.  The cool breeze kicked up the tops of the trees and wafted the scent of wildflowers onto the path.  Cynthia squealed when she saw them, venturing off the path to pick a handful of red and yellow flowers.  She pushed a few stems of them in both her own and Chloe's hair.  She tried to put some in James' hair, put he slapped her hand as she approached.  Cynthia pretended to be hurt before turning and skipping the remaining way to the lake.

>

They heard rather than saw the lake first.  At first, the sound puzzled them, and Cynthia looked around in front of them, looking around for the source.  Figuring it out, she squealed again and ran through the brush to their right, peeking through a curtain of pine to reveal the shimmering lake.  It made a soft, liquid sloshing sound as it lapped against the bigger rocks surrounding this part of the shore.

>

"You guys should see this; it's really a beautiful sight."  Cynthia called back to the group stopped on the path.

>

"Come on Cynthia, we just have to go around this bend for our spot.  We can't camp over here."  Chloe pointed down the path while shouting at her.

>

"Oh, OK.  Sorry, I couldn't wait to see it."  Her trainers crunched on the brush as she made her way back.  "I guess I was getting sick of seeing this dirty trail."  She looked apologetic, smiling before resuming the lead.

>

Cynthia gasped when the trail went around the bend and the curtain of pines thinned out to reveal a beach-like spot that gently eased into the lapping surf of the lake.  The rocks containing the lake thinned out at the shore, revealing a gentle slope that seemed to invite them to wade out into the cool water.  They all stopped for a moment, taking in the beauty of the spot.

>

"Wow," was all that Tom could say.

>

Chloe smiled back at him, glad that Tom was enjoying the view.  It was just as she had remembered it, except for all of the brush that overtook the spot.  She kicked at it as she followed Cynthia out to the lip of the lake.  There was the makeshift fire ring, also overgrown by the creeping brush.  She kneeled down and started grabbing handfuls of it, cleaning off the bigger rocks to reveal the pit.  "Here's the pit that dad and I had used."  She waved her hand down at it after standing.  "It sure doesn't look like anyone's been here recently, though."  Her brow crinkled for a moment as she surveyed the spot.  "Well, that just means we'll have this place all to ourselves."  She smiled with a radiance that matched the reflection of the sun on the lake behind her as she walked over to Tom, putting her arms around his neck.  She kissed him before whispering, "Well, what do you think, honey?"

>

"I think it's beautiful and I'm glad that we came."

>

She turned and joined Cynthia who was crouched down, fanning the water with her hand.  When Tom turned, James saw the panic in his face and watched him wrestle into his pocket, pulling out a pill and swallowing it before reaching into the cooler for another cold beer to wash it down with.

>

James figured Tom didn't see him do it, or he simply didn't care if he saw him, but either way he chose not to mention it.  Instead, he clasped Tom on the back and called out loud enough so the girls could hear.  "Should we get started then?"

>

------------------------------------

>

The first thing they put up was the tents.  Chloe instructed Tom how to put it up, which he found surprisingly easy.   She put the first support together, snapping the interlocking supports together with ease.  Tom got down on his hands and knees, rolling out the bulk of the nylon tent.  She handed him the first support, which he slipped into the first set of diagonal clips, just like she had explained.  With the second support snapped together, he clipped it on the other diagonal, and then bent the supports, slipping them into the bottom pocket attached to the tent itself.  The middle of the tent lifted with the bending of the supports, and Tom grunted upon recognizing the now familiar look of the tent.  As he put together the third and final support, Chloe began unpacking the various bags and pouches from her own aluminum frame pack, until she pulled out and unfolded a vinyl pouch, setting it inside the tent.

>

Inserting a battery operated pump inside a hidden flap, she flipped it on, pumping air into the mattress, as she sat back on her haunches, watching it fill up.  The drone of the air pump was a comforting sound to them; the sound of civilization.  Tom began smacking the requisite tent stakes into the soil, moving quickly around the tent.  Coming back around to the front of the tent, he saw James standing proud next to his already constructed tent, the silhouette of Cynthia moving inside of it.

>

"We got one of those tents that go up with a flick of the wrist," James said by way of explanation.   He pointed to the moving form of Cynthia inside it.  "She couldn't wait to put the air mattress down.  Had to get into her bikini first."

>

Inside the tent Cynthia grunted as she moved with a mad speed.  When the front of their tent unzipped open, she stepped out.  "I can't wait to get into that beautiful water."

>

Tom couldn't help but stare at Cynthia's body as she rubbed SPF 30 over her legs; bent at the waist.  Her pale skin was unmarked, but waved with cellulite around her thighs and arms.  He stopped staring at her as she approached Chloe, who was still crouched next to their tent, supervising the air pumps progress.

>

She tapped Chloe's shoulder and raised her voice to be heard over the pump.  "Be a dear and give us a hit off of that flask, dear."

>

Chloe pulled it out of her back pocket and handed it to Cynthia.  "It's actually Tom's flask; maybe you should be asking him."  Cynthia only laughed and waved away Tom as she undid the lid.  She arched her back, taking a long pull, as she tipped her head back.  She gave a little shudder when she swallowed, handing the flask back to Tom.  He turned to James, shaking the flask in his direction, but he shook his head no, so Tom screwed the cap back on.

>

The sound of the air pump stopping left the air around them thick with silence.  Chloe plugged up the air mattress, testing it with one hand before crawling in, testing it with her own weight.  "Be a dear and hand me that blue pack, will you Tom?"

>

As Tom grabbed the bag, she had a rising moment of panic as she realized that was the bag that had the secret handbag stashed at the bottom of it.  Tom didn't seem to notice, and only smiled as he tossed it in, landing between Chloe's outstretched legs.  "Thanks babe, now shut the flap and I'll treat you to a surprise."  She uncinched the bag, reaching into the bag and pulled out a tiny, two-piece bikini."

>

Instead of displaying lust like she'd anticipated, Tom whined, "You mean that's all the help you two are going to give us in setting up?"  She stuck her tongue out at him before reaching over and zipping down the tent's flap herself.

>

She got her appreciative whistle when she came out of the tent, but not from Tom.  James leered at her as Tom busied himself with the cooler.  It was almost like James was waiting for her to come out, and Chloe placed her hand over her chest protectively.  When Tom turned around to see her, she took away her hand, posing for them.  "Well, I can see what James thinks, but what do you think Tom?"

>

He gave her his own whistle, eyeing her up and down.

>

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."  Cynthia glopped a puddle of her lotion into her hand before wiping it down Chloe's back.  Chloe gasped at the unexpected cold of her hands and the lotion.  "Enough with the gawking, I wanna take a dip already."

>

"OK, OK, let's go."  Chloe dissented with upturned hands, getting Cynthia to stop from rubbing her all over.  She showed the way with one hand, signaling for Cynthia to go first.  That was all the encouragement she needed, and Cynthia ran for the shore, yelling out a gleeful war cry, preparing for the bracing cold of the lake.

When the fat one had come running into the cave, the first thing she did was grab her spear.  The leader had presented it to her after whittling it down with his axe himself.  The two other women both had their ideas why he had made it for her, but the newborn male child was the most obvious choice.  After grabbing the spear, she had pointed to the skinny girl and then to her child before running off. 

>

The tall one trailed the fat one and watched the special spear bob up and down next to the gyrating flab spilling out of her matted clothes as they both ran to the lake's shore.  She recognized the thick plaid shirt the fat one was wearing as what they had pilfered from the last campers had come through here, some time ago.  The tall one licked her lips, thinking of the tender meat they had cooked from the female they'd caught.  The leader naturally had been given the first bowl of the male camper's blood, as well as the heart.  But the woman had been tossed aside as if she weren't worth the men's trouble.  They had probably taken her before smashing her head in, so she was of no use to them anymore.  The women had fawned over her though, especially the younger skinny girl, who was fascinated with her painted nails and sweet-smelling skin, even though most of it was sticky with blood.

>

Dodging a sapling, the tall one set her mind to keeping within the path instead of daydreaming.  The way the fat one was running, the tall one knew that she had found something important.  The last time she'd seen her move like that was when they'd found those other campers.  Still, she didn't want to get her hopes up though, so she wiped the drool forming on her lips and watched the fat one's feet pound the dirt in front of her.  She whimpered when she realized she forgot to bring her spear, but figured it didn't matter anyways, as the women wouldn't be the ones to attack the campers, if that was indeed what they were chasing after.

>

They could tell they were getting closer to the water's edge as the rocks became larger and they had to hop down, crisscrossing along the flat pads of the rocks.  This slowed their progress, but gave the fat one to try and catch her breath.  The tall one's lips curled in disgust as her panting distracted her jumping from rock to rock. The fat one put her hand up as she parted the curtain of high grass and pine bordering the lake.  She crept up and crouched next to her lumpy thighs, peeking through the grass.

>

Knowing that the fat one wouldn't be able to see that well, she looked up at her to see if she was able to see the four campers across the shore.  The fat one was missing one eye, partly due to her stubborn nature and also due to a harsh disciplining from the leader.   The tall one shrugged, and supposed that even if she were unable to see the campers, she wouldn't have looked for confirmation from her anyways, due to her proud nature.

>

Turning back to the campers, she parted the weeds in front of her to get a better look.  The one female that was wading out towards the middle of the lake, although submerged in the water, had black hair and pale skin.  She looked like she was struggling in swimming and made her way back towards the shore, closer to the other female that was waist deep in the water.  This one looked more trim and had smaller breasts, with short brown hair.  She moved with an economy of motion, as if she was comfortable with her own body.  The tall one craned her head, trying to get a better look at the other female as she emerged from the water, her skimpy bathing suit leeching water as she flipped her hair back.  She laughed as she said something to the two men standing beyond the shore, moving over to a flat rock beside their camp.  Laying out on the rock, the sun overhead glistened off her wet skin as she lay back and closed her eyes.  The tall one moved her hand down towards her crotch as she got a better look.

>

Even though the trim female was swimming closer to them, the tall one couldn't keep her eyes off of the female sunbathing on the far shore.  Her pale skin accentuated her many curves, and her wet, dark hair fanned out across the rock like fallen leaves.  She arched her back as she reached out for the water bottle that one of the men brought her, her heavy breasts jiggling as she did so. 

>

The fat one's spear smacked her side when she whimpered in lust.

>

She ignored the fat one's disgusted look, not wanting to miss seeing the man as he leaned down to kiss the sunbathing female.  The fat one jerked at her arm, though, gesturing at the trim female who was coming dangerously close to their hiding spot.  The tall one got up with a sigh, not wanting to miss anymore, but also not wanting to bring the fat one's wrath down on her.  She could hear the splash of the trim female's stroke nearby and figured she had better follow.

>

On the way back to the cave, she wondered if the men would find the campers before making their way back to the cave, or if they would have to tell them about their find.  The fat one would only take over, even if they did have to tell the men, and would flap her flabby arms about, telling the men about the campers.  She always had to be the one to greet them first, to show them what they had collected, or to present her backside for sex at night.  There were days that the tall one hated her dramatic nature.  But she figured it could be worse, as the fat one usually took the brunt of the men's wrath.  The missing eye was an example of this.  Still, the tall one rubbed the raised scar on her leg, feeling it without thought as they trotted back to the cave.  It was more of a nervous tic, but always brought back the memory of being hit, over and over again with the leader's spear.

>

Besides, she hoped the men wouldn't find the campers before making it back home because, this time, she wanted to watch.  She wondered what it would be like to grab the pale female's hair, and run the leader's axe across her throat, her blood staining the same rock she'd been laying on.  The tall one wondered if the female's screams would change after having her throat cut, just like the boars did when she had to kill the ones that the men brought home.

After Chloe and Cynthia had toweled off and dressed, they sent James and Tom on a mission.  They came back with handfuls of dead wood and Tom hadn't even had to use the camp axe that dangled from his belt.  The woods seemed untouched, and he would have rather seen trash strewn about, clinging to chain link fences like at the city park. It all seemed just too pristine, which made Tom's stomach burn.  He hoped that it was hunger that made his belly ache and not the four white pills he'd already taken that morning.  The bacon and eggs he'd eaten were long gone.

>

Tom dropped his armload next to the fire pit as Chloe was swiping at the fire pit, gathering the dead pine needles with her hand.  He put his hand gently on hers, stopping her mid-sweep.  "Hey babe, would you mind if I took over here?"

>

She stared at his face, not understanding first, then followed his eyes down to the fire pit and back again.  "Oh, well, by all means.  I wouldn't want to keep you from putting in your fair share of work."  Standing up, she watched him gather pine needles for a moment before turning on her heel.  "You can work up your hunger; I've got a really good lunch planned.  Meanwhile," she groaned as she sat in her folding chair, "I've got some catching up to do."  Reaching into the cooler next to the chair, she pulled out a can of beer and popped the top.  "Cheers."  Cynthia raised her own silver can to Chloe and laughed at her.

>

Chloe watched Tom assemble the fire out of the corner of her eye.  He piled up the dead pine leaves in the center, making sure there were no errant leaves laying around the border of the pit.  Then he began selecting smaller pieces of wood and stacked them into a pyramid.  As an afterthought, he gathered another handful of dead pine leaves and tufted it onto the top of the pyramid.  Chloe held her tongue and also her breath as Tom took out his lighter and lit the bottom of the pile.  The fire licked up to the top of the pile quickly, igniting the small limbs and also the dead leaves lying atop it.  A wind picked up the leaves on top, sending ash and burning leaves into the air.  They all laughed at the sight of Tom, stomping at the cinders that had landed nearby.  Chloe was glad to see that when he turned, his face was flushed but smiling.

>

Tom seemed to perk up after the success of the fire.  He'd worried over it like it would go out at any minute, poking it here and there, almost sticking his hand in to get it just right.

 Once it was going well, he put one of the larger slabs of wood on top of the pile and sat down on his folding chair, next to Chloe.  He pretended to relax, but Chloe noticed he kept his eyes peeled on the fire pit.  She squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

>

"Well, thanks to Tom's fire, I think I can start making our lunch now."

>

Tom finally seemed to relax and sank back into his chair.  "Great, then I can stop worrying about the fire and you can take over.  Then we can blame you when it goes out."  He reached into the cooler and his hand swam in the river of ice, pulling up another can of beer.

>

Chloe stood up and tipped her head back, finishing off her can with a long pull.  She smacked her lips, pulling her neck into her chest before belting out a huge belch.  It was so unlike Chloe that everyone laughed with raised eyebrows.  To her credit, Chloe pretended to look embarrassed before laughing herself.

>

Crouching on the ground, she set to work, opening up her mess kit bag and pulling out a metal grate that looked like it had seen some use.  She balanced it on the surrounding rocks around the pit, carefully moving it into place with little jabs of her fingers.  Satisfied with her setup, she filled a pan with water from a water bottle, setting it onto the grate.  As the water heated, she opened a can of gravy and a can of roast beef with a clunky can opener, pouring and mixing it into another pan, crowding the now warm pan of water.  When the water started to boil, she pulled out a package of camp noodles, pouring the water right into the pack and sealing it up to cook.  Setting that aside, she stirred the beef mixture until hot.

>

By this time, they had all gathered around the fire, moving their chairs around the pit, warming their cold hands even as the cold cans of beer cooled them down again.  They seemed mesmerized by Chloe's efficient cooking and stared alternately at the fire and the now steaming pot on the grate.  Tom passed out the paper plates and plastic forks as Chloe drained the water from the noodles and dumped out the noodles onto their plates, one by one around the circle of the pit.  When they all had noodles, she scooped out the meat and poured gravy into each of their plates.  She set out little pepper and salt shakers on the biggest rock around the fire before sitting down to eat.

>

They all ate in silence, only breaking the sounds of the woods around them with occasional slurping noises and grunts to tell Chloe they were enjoying the food.  Chloe took it all in, nodding her head in quiet agreement after she'd taken her first bite.  She put up her feet on a rock around the pit; gloating over her campfire skills.

>

James was the first to finish and broke the reverie by downing his beer and letting out a long belch.  Tom had to spit out a noodle onto his plate to stop from spewing it into the fire with his laughter.  James stood up, rubbing his belly.  "I think I need to take a little walk to try and work this food off."  He stretched his arms out to the sky, groaning in contentment.  "It was great, but it feels like a huge lump in my stomach."  He nodded at his wife, and slapped Chloe on the shoulder before walking off, his crunching trainers tracing his steps as he vanished behind a stand of trees.

>

"What was that all about?"  Chloe looked puzzled and looked at Cynthia for an explanation.

>

"I tried to talk him out of it, but he likes to do it once in a while.  I'm sorry, Chloe."

>

"Sorry for what?"  She set down her plate and turned in her, following the path that James had made.  "What's he doing out there?"

>

"He's…smoking."

>

"Oh, well he can smoke over here, I don't mind the smell.  I'd hate to have his cigarette start a fire over there.  I'll go tell him it's OK."  She started to get up, her arms bent on the hand rests of the folding chair."

>

"Chloe…he's not smoking a cigarette."  Cynthia cringed after saying this.

>

Chloe's face stood frozen before understanding hit her in a flash, moving her into action.  She pushed herself up from the chair, toppling it onto it's side, as she marched towards James in the woods.  Tom and Cynthia followed behind like whipped dogs, the spicy aroma of a joint wafting through the trees.

>

When they found James he looked surprised and tried to cup the joint in the palm of his hand.   He laughed nervously when he saw Chloe's face and looked at the beaten faces of Tom and Chloe before his own face collapsed.  "Look, I'm so sorry Chloe.  I had no idea…"

>

"You're sorry?  I'm the one who's sorry for bringing you up here.  To think of all the planning Tom and I have done; what this trip means to both of us, and to have you come along and ruin it for the both of us, just makes me sick."  She spat out the last word before stomping back to their tents.

>

Neither James, nor Cynthia, nor Tom talked to one another on the way back to their campsite.  It was as if a group of teenagers had been caught being bad and were paying for their misdeeds with remorse.  James looked the worst, his head hung down, chin touching his chest.  He stopped just outside the campsite when they got closer; not wanting to invade Chloe's sobbing noises coming from inside the tent.  Cynthia grabbed Tom's hand and squeezed it as if to say "I'll take care of it," before quietly calling for Chloe outside of the tent, and then zipping it open and then closed again.  All Tom and James could do was hang back and wait.

>

When Chloe came back out, her face was washed with red, her eyes bloodshot, as if she had been the one smoking a joint.  "I'm sorry for what I said back there, James.  I shouldn't have said the things that I did.  I am glad that you two came with us and I wouldn't have it any other way."

>

"I really am sorry Chloe.  I assumed and you know what happens when you assume."

>

They all answered in unison.  "You make an ass out of you and me."

>

Chloe threw her arms around James and he clapped her back before giving her a kiss on the cheek.  She looked him in the eyes, saying: "Can I ask that we give up the smoking on this trip?"

>

"Sure thing, Chloe."  He kept his eyes downturned in embarrassment.

>

"I'll confiscate it and make sure of that, no worries guys."  Cynthia smacked James on the arm, putting emphasis in her words to show that she wasn't kidding around.

>

That seemed to be enough for Chloe, and she smiled at James again before breaking their embrace.  "Well, now that that awkward bit has passed, should we go for that hike?"  She sniffled, wiping any remaining tears from her eyes.

Tom waited until Chloe went out to douse the fire before slipping the prescription pill bottle into his backpack. He shoved the orange pill bottle into a ball around the extra windbreaker, making sure it wouldn't shake around. Peeking out from the tent flap, he nervously checked in on Chloe, who was squatted down next to the fire, stirring the water around with a stick. Cynthia sat in her folding chair, smoking a cigarette, perhaps trying to relieve her own tension.

James and Tom both emerged from their respective tents at the same time, except Tom pulled on his backpack, and James fitted a black fanny pack around his waist. Tom couldn't help but laugh, pointing at James' midsection. James flipped him his middle finger by way of response.

The creak of the lid on the cooler being pulled back got both of their attention, Tom calling: "Hey babe, how about one more cold one for the road?"

Chloe stood up, wiping her hands on her pants. She regarded the both of them before bending at the waist again, fishing into the cooler. "Here 'ya go, big shots." She tossed two wet water bottles to Tom and James, fat droplets sluicing down the plastic as they arced in the air.

"Hey, what gives, I asked for beer." Tom put the plastic bottle up to his face and shook it. "This is water, darling."

Chloe closed the lid with another creek, strutting over to them holding two more water bottles by the cap with one hand. "Yeah, I know that. Those are for the hike up there. You never know what can happen on a hike, so it's always best to come prepared for anything." She put her own backpack on a folding chair, unzipping it and dropping her water bottle inside. "Cynthia dear, did you bring a windbreaker or a jacket? You're gonna need it."

Cynthia leaned in her chair, snubbing out the cigarette in the dirt by her feet before flicking it over into the smoldering firepit. "Sure, I brought a windbreaker, why?" She held her upturned palm to the sky, as if to test for rain. "Do you think we'll need it?"

"Well, like I said, on a hike it's best to be prepared for anything. You especially don't want to be caught without protection against a rainstorm."

"See, that's why you're the tour guide and we're the tourons." Tom gestured at the group, Cynthia giving him a look before disappearing into her tent.

Chloe laughed, but James had to ask: "Uh, I guess I'm not up on camping lingo; what in the heck is a touron?"

"A touron is what a local camper would call a combination of a tourist and a moron."

Understanding crossed James' face, and he gave a little nod.

"Let's do this thing, if everyone's ready then." Chloe clasped her hands in anticipation, rounding the troops together.

"So I guess your present company would be completely made up of tourons, right?" Cynthia emerged from the tent, slipping her windbreaker over her bright yellow tank top. "Like Cynthia here not knowing to bring along a windbreaker, or us forgetting water on our hike?"

"Naw, those are pretty forgiveable offenses. A couple of seasons ago out on Bridal Falls, my friend and I came across what you'd call a classic touron. There's a place on the trail where you have to cross a wire bridge, and also the lookout onto the falls can get pretty slippery. There have even been some people who've fell to their death on the algae up there." Chloe gesticulated with her hands as they walked around the lake, the incline increasing as they went.

"So on the way down, after seeing the falls, which is a glorious sight by the way, we see this guy. He looks like he barely took the time to get sober, had a can of beer in his hand. But that wasn't the worst part. He's wearing nothing but a wife beater, a pair of cut-off jeans and flip flops. That's it. We tried to stop him and tell him that he wouldn't get very far, and might even get hurt, but he wouldn't hear of it. He glared at us as he pushed past, muttering something when we were out of earshot. Now that's a touron."

"Yeah, I could have been that guy if I hadn't have read up on camping tips on the internet. It turns out safety doesn't come as second nature to humans, but stupidity sure does." Tom made a gun out of his index finger and thumb and pretended to shoot himself in the head, his eyes crossed.

"Naw, you just need a little professional guidance, dear." Chloe slapped his butt from behind. She wanted to stay behind them as they got higher, to keep an eye on them.

Cynthia was the first one who saw it, on their way up. Off to their right was a small shack that looked so old that nature had seemed to reclaim it. There was brush climbing the walls of the cabin, staining the wood. The wind that picked up from the valley below scraped a branch across its face, making a screeching sound like an angry bird.

"Probably an old abandoned cabin." Chloe shrugged. "They're not all that uncommon out here."

Their boots dug into the gravel on the path as the trail went up, all of them falling silent as they climbed. The tops of the trees were falling below the trail and the air felt thinner by the minute. Tom looked back to see the lake far off behind them, and seeing Chloe's eyes, she smiled at him.

Tom silently cursed himself for not taking a pill before coming up here, as the path got thinner and they could all see above the trees, a long landscape of trees stretching out far into the distance. He eyed a stick lying on the ground just off of the path, and stepped out from the trail to pick it up.

Chloe rushed to his side, taking a hold of his arm before he could get far. "Tom, what's up? How come you're leaving the trail?" Her face was etched in concern.

"Oh, I just saw this piece of deadwood and thought it might make a good walking stick, 'ya know? He pointed at the stick partially hidden by some high grass.

"OK, that's fine, but it's just dangerous to leave the path. You don't know what kind of things could be there." She gestured with her hand beyond a shrub to their side. "There could be a three-hundred foot drop past this, and you wouldn't know it until you were freefalling."

"Ah, OK gotcha. Well, you're the boss." Tom smiled at Chloe before moving back onto the patch, eager to hide his face. The thought of almost falling to his death gave him a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Again, he wished he had taken a pill before coming up here, or at least been smart enough to stick a few in the change pocket of his pants.

As they made their way up even higher, the tops of the trees faded into the long distance. The trail made several switchbacks, hiding the view and engulfing them in trees once more. The air stung their noses and the back of their throats as they ascended. Tom was thankful he didn't have the view to his right and the promise of an unknown drop here. All about them, they could hear wildlife creeping, and Cynthia squealed at something that turned out to be a squirrel scurrying over a nearby log. The tree tops silhouetted the falling sunlight, creating a tapestry of light and shadow around them. Tom took a deep breath, breathing easier in this enclosed space.

That changed soon enough, however, as the path straightened out and jutted up at a harsh angle. There were larger rocks placed in the middle of the path as well, as if they had fallen from the skies. They had to traverse the rocks, slowing them down as they climbed, hopped and lurched across them.

Chloe checked their progress and kept a weary eye on their footing in front of her. She wished she could see Tom better, up in the lead. "How are we all doin'?" She raised her voice, her query mainly meant for Tom.

"Fine," James panted.

"Doin' OK, but right now I wish I didn't smoke."

When Tom didn't answer, she raised her voice, unable to keep out the hint of concern. "Tom? How are you doing, dear?" He turned just as he was making his way to the crest of the topmost rock. "Do you want me to take the lead now?"

His face folded in sideways in disgust, trying hard not to let the butterfly fluttering in his stomach show through as concern in his face. He waved Chloe's concern away with one hand as if it were a mosquito bothering him. "I'm fine."

Pulling himself up, he kept his eyes on the footing in front of him. His eyes led out over to a short landing and then followed it all the way down the steep incline of the cliff.

He was standing before perhaps a hundred foot drop.

The butterfly in his stomach multiplied into thousands, traveling up his spine, his windpipe, his bowels. He had a moment where he felt as if he were floating, and thought: I'm going to fall right over the edge, and pictured himself doing just that, free-falling through the air, his arms wind-milling and his face gone pale. Instead, he screamed a primal shriek of abject fear and fell back, clutching at the rock he'd just climbed. His leg flung out and smacked James on the shoulder behind him, but he was deaf to his friend's cry. All he could do was clench his fingernails into the dirt and stone, his heart beating unnaturally fast in his chest. Seeing the abyss fade in front of him, he turned and slipped down the ragged rocks, not feeling his flesh sliding off through the bass of his panicked heart. Clutching his chest, he could barely make out Chloe's screams through the thumping reverberating through his eardrums.

Everything moved in slower than usual motion as they gathered around him, confusion overtaking their faces. Tom closed his eyes and pursed his lips, trying to slow his panic. His heart went on hammering like an incessant drum in his chest.

"My pack…" he said through short breaths, clutching at the pack that was hanging off of one arm now. Chloe didn't bother taking it off him, and instead unzipped the pack, unfolding his windbreaker to cover him with. As she did so, his prescription bottle flew out, flipping in the air between them, coming to rest in the dirt in between two rocks.

Tom's hand shot out, reaching for the bottle, his shaky hands grabbing the bottle with the weary hand of a drunk on a bottle of booze. He tore the lid off, and shook out several pills, not caring how many, and dry swallowed three of them at once, closing his eyes as they went down harsh. The feeling of the pills on their hard descent slowed down his heart's pace, so he opened his eyes in relief. What he saw was Chloe, glowering over him, her faced pinched with a look of disgust and betrayal.

Before he could even try and respond, Chloe's hand shot out and slapped the prescription bottle from his hand, sending it sailing through the sky; up and over the edge of the cliff. Her face turned crimson and she slapped him, hard, across the face. She seemed beyond words, but managed it after a few false starts of sputtering rage. "How in the fuck could you do this? You…how could you not tell me this?" Her face folded in shock, eyelids blinking back sudden pools of angry tears. She jerked her arm and legs back from him, as if he were all of a sudden red hot and lecherous.

"How could you do this to me?" She stumbled on the path as she turned, half drunk with rage as she ran down the steep incline back to camp, leaving the group behind, wailing as she went.

The leader had to give the injured boar credit. It was a worthy foe after all, making it all the way out to the collapsed bridge. The leader grunted in satisfaction as he stopped following the blood trail leading to the pig, which was sniffing for a way over the gorge. The bald man snapped a twig, coming to a halt in a rush to avoid bumping into the leader. The boar's ears twitched up in alarm, sensing their presence. It squealed in panic, following the gorge, it's hooves tapping nervously before the broken midsection of the bridge.

Nodding his head in either direction, they took the leader's cue, and the bald man went south, while the fat man went north, trapping the boar. The leader spread out his spear wide in front of him with one hand, his other hand ready on the axe in his belt. If the boar bolted, he knew he could split it's skull at this range. But the boar did what he hoped it would: it panicked and jumped down into the gorge, twisting it's hoof while squealing in frustration.

He took his time, savoring the look of panic in the boar's eye before spearing it. The spear pierced its belly, and the smell of spilt panic and shit wafted up to his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, ancient pleasures of the hunt filling all of his senses. Pointing down to the boar, the fat man and the bald man jumped down in obedience. As the men unsheathed their crude knives below, the leader looked for the other boars. This part of the forest made him nervous, as he knew the bridge to be something foreign, unknown.

That's when he saw it.

At first, he had to rub his eyes, to ensure that his eyes weren't deceiving him. When his eyes focused again, he could make out the glint of the descending sun from the chrome on the front of the truck. He did not understand what this could be, but it was his duty as leader to see if it was a threat.

He hopped down on a nearby boulder, the men still making sloshing noises as they worked with the boar's innards. Ignoring their work, he hopped up to the other side, noting the trampled weeds on this side as well. He picked up a few of the bent weeds, sniffing them. Something big had been through here, maybe several things.

Crouching down behind a nearby pine tree, he inspected the hulking thing. It was black in color and seem to shine from every surface. It looked like the shining stones that the women sometimes unearthed and polished, making jewelry for him to wear. He held his own necklace aloft, comparing the green jeweled stone there to the gleaming black of the thing. There was no comparison.

Grabbing a nearby stone, and holding his spear aloft, he pitched the exploratory rock, dinging the surface of its side, making a dent. This gave him a bit of confidence, but he still observed it with a crooked head. Behind him, the fat man and then the bald man's head peeked out above the crevice, questions in their eyes as they too; saw the thing for the first time. The leader grabbed another rock and threw it at them in anger.

He threw his chest out and approached the thing, his hand at the ready, near his axe. Tapping the roof of the thing with his spear, he was surprised at the sound it made; not like the earth or stone or trees that surrounded them. He dragged the sharp end of the spear across the smooth surface, leaving a long scratch. This encouraged him, and he walked the length of it, poking as he went. This only confused him further, and he stopped briefly to touch each surface when his stick made a different sound.

Out of curiosity he switched the spear to his other hand and took up his axe, banging the same surfaces. When he stooped and tested the black round things at the bottom, he was surprised when it yielded to the sharp blade, leaving a small gash. He fingered the cut with his hand, feeling the bumpy patterns in the thing before raising the axe above his head, sinking the axe into the spongy black thing.

The axe head sunk up to the hilt, and there was an immediate hissing sound, as if it were taunting him. He struggled to take out the axe, moving it up and down until it was released. The men had jumped from the pit, their spears at the ready with a questioning look. The leader pointed to the other spongy black thing closest to the fat man, who jabbed his spear from the waist, while the leader went to the other side to see if there were any more of these hissing things that taunted him and his people.

Tom hesitated, his hand just inches from the zipper on their closed tent.  He could hear Chloe sobbing softly inside, and she must have heard them come down the trail behind her.  Cynthia and James were talking softly out of earshot, hands to faces etched with concern.

>

No one had known but me, why didn't I at least tell Chloe?  Tom didn't know the answer to that, but he wasn't going to give up.  He'd actually been using the relaxation techniques that Chloe had taught him a long time ago, which he'd never told her either.  In fact, he'd used the breathing exercises up at the end of the trail to calm himself down, as Chloe tore off down the trail.  Perhaps I've kept this from her too long.

>

Wiping the doubtful look from his face, he zipped up the flap tent and peered inside.  Chloe was sitting with her back to tent opening, her shoulders shaking.  Tom sat just inside the entrance before reaching back and zipping the tent back up.  He had no idea why he did this, other than to give them some privacy, which was impossible anyways.  Perhaps it was a gesture meant more for Chloe than for himself; to hide her grief.  He was more concerned about her right now than he was about himself and the relapse he'd had up on the trail.

>

Hesitating with his hand before making contact with her trembling back, he thought better of it and put his hand back down in his lap.  He watched his hand move as if by its own accord.  Closing his eyes for a moment, he straightened up a bit before speaking.   He knew anything that came out of his mouth now would sound clichéd and insincere, but he had to try.  "Chloe, dear, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry and that I don't know why I kept this from you."  He waited a beat to see if she would respond.  When she didn't, he continued.  "Things had been going so well, I didn't want to mess anything up."  He dreaded telling her, but the answer finally came to him.  "Yes, I knew from the beginning how you felt about drugs, but I..." his mouth twisted, stopping the words from spilling from his mouth.  "I didn't want you to think that you were a bad therapist for not being able to help me."  Now that it was out, he kept going, his thoughts finally catching up with how he really felt.  "To tell you the truth, I was devastated when you first referred me to Dr. Wisenstein."

>

Chloe finally turned around, still keeping her distance, but wiping at her eyes, trying to look at Tom's face.

>

"In fact, I still use some of the techniques you taught me way back when.  Its how I was able to calm down up there on the trail when you left."

>

Fresh tears pooled in her reddened eyes when he said this, her lip quivering.  He waited for her to say something, but all she did was throw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his chest.  A new wave of tears and sobs racked her body, and she convulsed against him,  Tom made sure that he held her back, telling her with his arms that he was here for her, for them both.

>

After the wave of grief passed, she looked him in the eyes, searching them as she put her hands into the back of his hair and neck.  He reached around and wiped the trail of tears down her cheek with the heel of his hand, moving on to wipe at a new tear spilling out of one eye with a fingertip.  Brushing her hair back and searching her face, he began to speak, but Chloe brought one hand to his lips, shaking her head.

>

"No, it's OK.  You don't have to say anything else, you've said it all and I love you for it.  I should be the one apologizing to you, because I've also kept something from you."  She looked down at her lap and he leaned forward, their foreheads connecting.  He stared at her eyes, inches apart until she was able to look at him.

>

"Looks like we both have our share of secrets."  He snickered more in relief of his sense of being temporarily off the hook.  "Whatever it is, I already forgive you."

>

She smiled back at him, and straightened up, looking down as she told him.  "What I never told you is that I didn't refer you to Dr. Wisenstein because I didn't think my therapy was working for you, I did it because I couldn't get you out of my mind."  Tom crooked his neck, not understanding.

>

"I never thought I would fall for one of my patients, but the day that you walked into my office, I knew."  She laughed nervously, looking at his face, checking his reaction.  "At first, I thought it would pass, but I began to think of you at home, even just doing mundane tasks you'd pop into my mind."  He took her hand and squeezed it, encouraging her to go on.  "I guess my feelings for you scared me, so I did what I always did when I got too close to someone: I pushed you away."  Her face collapsed and she tried to hide it with one hand, but he pushed it away and grabbed her face by the chin.

>

"Are you kidding me?  I felt the same way when we first met."  He smiled at her as a father might smile at a child.  "How could I not, seeing this gorgeous, intelligent and successful woman.  I was embarrassed having those feelings for you, because I was an emotional wreck.  But that doesn't matter anymore, at all."   He shook his head from side to side for emphasis.  "What matters is that we got through it, and that we love each other, right?"

>

She smiled and put her forehead back on his, shaking her head up in down in agreement.  "I've been such a fool Tom, can you forgive me?"

>

"Of course I will, as long as you can forgive my drug-addled ways."

>

She kissed him by way of a response.  It was soft at first, the saltiness of her tears awakening the taste buds on his tongue.  He grabbed the back of her neck, softly at first, then harder as they explored each other's mouth with their tongues.  They both felt something break loose from within, and they sat there panting but happy.  Not wanting to move, Chloe took both of his hands and squeezed them, caressing the veins on the top of them.

>

After a while, they could smell and hear the fire popping outside their tent in the waning light. Tom kissed her lips softly and asked: "ready?"  She nodded and wiped her sleeve across her eyes for good measure.  When Tom zipped up and folded back the tent flap, they were greeted with the cautious faces of James and Cynthia.  Tom smiled at them, reassuring them with just a look.

>

"Well, there's the two anti-socialites.  We were beginning to wonder if we should give you two some privacy."

>

James nudged Cynthia in the arm.  "Actually that was Cynthia's idea.  I wanted to stick around and listen to your makeup monkey sex."

>

Tom and Chloe held their hands fast together as they took their places around the fire.  James handed them both Styrofoam cups filled with hot chocolate.  Taking a sip after taking a cautionary blow to the skin steaming the top of the cup, Tom recognized the sweet taste of Peppermint Schnapps lingering with the hot chocolate.  "Mmmm, it's been years since I've had this.  Thanks, this is really hitting the spot you guys."

>

"Cheers."  James held up his cup with a smile, tipping it towards Tom and Chloe before taking the last gulp.  He smacked his lips together before smacking his own leg.  "Ah, that does hit the spot.  So, do we still want to brave out this ill-forsaken trip or should we head back to civilization tomorrow?"  The question was aimed towards Chloe, and no one spoke until she did.

>

"Oh yeah, we should stick it out."  James and Cynthia shook their head in agreement and Tom squeezed her hand.  "I mean, we made it all the way up here, it'd be a shame if we didn't at least cast our poles into the lake."  Her face squinted in a mischievous glare, one eyebrow rising for effect.  "As long as you druggies don't try and corrupt me with your free loving ways."  Tom and James exchanged nervous looks and uncomfortable laughs.

>

Chloe placed her hand on Tom's forearm.  "But, the choice should really be up to Tom.  He's the recovering agoraphobic stuck in the outdoors."

>

"Well, granted, I did have that panic attack back on the trail, but so far I feel alright.  Hell, this trip may be just the excuse to tell Dr. Wisenstein to take his pills and shove 'em."

>

Chloe looked dubious.  "Well, I can see that you've made a lot of progress, but..."  She lowered her head in a moment of insecurity.  "I'm just worried about you, is all."

>

"I think I'll be fine.  I'll tell 'ya what, let's just play it by ear.  As long as you don't force me on a death march to face down a cliff again, I think I can manage."

>

Chloe put her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the laugh.  "Oh my god, I am so sorry.  I had no idea that was there.  So much for bringing along the experienced outdoors-person, right?"

>

"It's OK.  It turned out alright."  Tom slipped an arm behind Chloe's back and she leaned into him as they watched the fire, sipping their hot chocolates as the sun went down over the hills.  Tom did his best to smile, but couldn't shake the image of facing down that cliff again.  He shivered once in his chair, then blamed it on the encroaching cold, getting up to throw another log onto the fire as Chloe busied herself with making dinner.

In the women's chamber of the cave, the tall one kept herself busy in the hopes that the other two would fall asleep, having nothing to do.  She even took the girl's duties for the night, pushing her away from the fire when she tried to tend to it.  There were still flesh stripped bones floating in the pot that hung over the fire, so she fished one out and pretended to gnaw on it in front of the fire.  It gave her something to do while she waited.

>

The girl had eyed her nervously at first, from her crevice in the cave, unsure if her taking over her mundane duties were a sign of compassion or impatience.  She must have given up trying to think about it, because the tall one could hear her snoring softly after a time.  That left just the fat one, who got bored and was now stomping about the men's chamber.  She'd gone in there every night since the men had gone.  Normally they weren't allowed in there, so the tall one figured she was taking the men's hunt as her chance to rummage through this forbidden area.  It was her way to do it brazenly in front of the other women, as she would most likely kill them if they attempted to tell the men, and they knew it.  The fat one had her place here, and so did they.

>

The tall one tossed the bone into the greasy, bloody pile of animal guts, tired of pretending to be engrossed in it.  She was almost tempted to peek around into the other chamber, to see what was taking the fat one so long.  Imagining the fat one sniffing the leader's things, maybe even rubbing his pelt over her body, she made a face.  She hated the fat one and her ways, and not just because they didn't get along.  Her body was short and squat, her heavy breasts hanging, her thick thighs rippled with fat.  The fat one disgusted her.

>

She was so different from the fat one.  Her legs and stomach were slender, her hair long.  The men seemed to prefer the excited sex that they had with the fat one, pulling on her pendulous breasts as they pushed roughly into her, enjoying both her cries of pleasure and pain.  That was just as well for the tall one, as she enjoyed neither the pleasure nor the pain all that much.  She usually lay passively, only putting forth an effort when she was ready to get it over with.  It seemed that they never got enough, though, and so most of the time she resigned herself to it.  The ritual before the hunt was the worst.

>

Instead of thinking about the men and their ugly desires, she lay back on the cave wall and let her mind fly.  Closing her eyes, she remembered following the fat one to the lake, and the sense of urgency, the unknown that had caused her to run with the blood flowing freely in her veins.  She savored the image of the pale girl emerging from the lake, her long hair streaming water that fled down her back as she crouched, laying down on the rock.  Her heavy breasts parted to either side of her chest and the tall one imagined the nipples hard through the thin clothes she wore.  She bit her lip, sitting silhouetted by the fire, but was completely transfixed, in another world completely of her imagination and spurred on by her need for this girl.

>

Hearing the fat one stumble back into the women's chamber, she kept her eyes shut, pretending to have fallen asleep.  Her appearance both annoyed her, as it interrupted her thoughts of the pale girl down by the lake, but also excited her.  She was getting closer to the time that she could escape into the night, to see what the pale girl was doing.  Getting back to her daydream, she remembered the smack the fat one had given her, and was annoyed again, even as she listened to the fat one settle down now into her bedding.  The smack of her spear down by the shore had hurt. 

>

This time, though, she imagined it happening a different way.

>

She pictured herself standing up tall, looking down at the fat one, and ripping the rough spear from her hand.  The fat one's face would have filled with anger, as it always did, but this time, instead of cowering to her, she would shove the spear into the fat one's midsection, skewering her.  She pictured the look of horror on the fat one's face as blood trickled down her chin, her insides spilling out as she withdrew the spear.  Then she would resume watching the pale girl from afar, kicking the fat one's body aside to get a better look.

>

The tall one kept the image of the pale girl in her mind, well after she heard the fat one's booming snore invade the small space of the cave.  She wanted to make sure she would be undetected in her spying.  Her crotch was throbbing, thinking about the pale girl's body, and it was soon enough that she could stand it no more.  She could wait no longer.

>

Fortunately the fire was burning brightly and the crackling helped to mask the sounds of her feet.  Moving around to the entrance of their cave, the light from the fire was muted here, and she almost tripped over a spear propped up against a wall.  She caught it as it made contact with her thigh, and was going to lean it back on the cave wall, but thought better of it.  She might need it where she was going.

>

Stepping her bare feet outside of the cave, she allowed herself a big breath, fogging the cold night air with the release of her tension.  She had made it out undetected, and she smiled as she trotted down the path, careful to miss the rocks lying in wait.  Her anticipation gave her a light feeling in her limbs, and her smile was pasted on her smudged face, lit up by the moon.  She could hardly wait.

>

Instead of taking the path they'd taken earlier today, she veered off to the right, wanting to get a closer look at the campers.  This path would follow the curve of the lake, and she knew it well, stopping and searching out the difficult parts rather than stumbling and falling.  She had to clamp down the surge in her blood that urged her on.

>

It was easy enough to spot where they had camped, as there was still a roaring fire that illuminated all she needed to see.  There were some bare spots in the high grass that she had to stop and wait at, studying the figures to see if they would detect her.  She took her time.

>

When she got to a stand of pine just close enough, she set the spear down next to her, crouching down into a clear space before fixing her eyes on what lay lit up by the yellow light of the fire.  What she saw there fascinated her at first, her hand moving down to touch herself.  Soon her baser instincts took over, her face and limbs tightened up with jealousy.  She grabbed the spear by her side, not caring if she was heard as she approached.

They decided on a stress-free, fun dinner that night, sticking weenies onto coat hangers and hanging them over the fire.  Chloe had to point out that patience was key in making a perfect camping dog, but Tom insisted on sticking the dog right next to the coals.  It came out smoking and had a thick black crust on it.  He tried not to make a face when eating his, but Chloe elbowed him in the ribs, almost making him cough out his dog in laughter.

>

"Is everyone up for some S'mores?"  Chloe pulled out a bag of marshmallows and stuck one on a fresh hanger.  Everyone nodded, so she passed out graham crackers and chocolate.  Showing his peculiar cooking technique, Tom's marshmallow ignited and glowed red until he could blow it out.  Smoke billowed from the charred marshmallow.

>

"Uh, as much as I do love charcoal in my sweets, do you think I can have another marshmallow, dear?"  Chloe handed him one and Tom let his burnt marshmallow slide off the hot metal, to land sizzling in the hot coals.  It sputtered and hissed as it died on the fire.

>

"Mmm...there's nothing more therapeutic than chocolate on a stressful day."  Cynthia laughed as a bit of chocolate dribbled down her chin, wiping it away with a finger tip.

>

"Chocolate's good, but I prefer fourteen year old scotch, myself."  James leaned over, fishing in his pack, to produce a bottle full of thick brown liquid.  Tom gave an appreciative whistle.  "See, it even has a cork in it" James pointed to it as proof, then look around, confused, searching his pockets.  "Oh crap, umm, Chloe you didn't happen to bring a corkscrew, did you?"

>

"A good camper is prepared for anything."  She smiled as she whipped out the Swiss army knife from her pocket.  She tossed it over the fire, and James caught it in his other hand.  "Nice catch."

>

"Is everybody going to have some?"  James said as he struggled with the cork, the bottle straddled between his legs.

>

"Well, I'm not sure how well S'mores go with scotch, but I'll have a snort, I suppose."    "Besides, those beers make me feel like farting." Cynthia patted her belly.

>

"Yeah, me too."  Tom raised his leg and did just that.  It reverberated off of his seat, producing a deep bass that everyone laughed at.

>

Chloe jumped up out of her seat, waving the air around.  She coughed for effect.  "Gross!"  She tried to get closer to her seat, holding her nose.   When she released it, she coughed again, hitting Tom before retreating again.  "Ughh, I think I'll go get the cups."

>

When Chloe passed out the cups, she reserved the double shots for both James and Tom, while measuring out a liberal dose for herself and Cynthia.  They sat around the fire, listening to the wind skate the tops of the trees while watching the fire dance, their faces illuminated a bright orange. 

>

Chloe could only sip at the scotch, making a face and shivering, while Chloe took her time, but didn't make a face.  Tom was smacking his lips in enjoyment.  "Wow, this is good.  You can tell it's been aged because it hits your taste buds in the middle of your tongue, rather than the front."

>

"I can kind of taste that, but it's hard to get over the harsh alcohol flavor."  Chloe made another face as she sipped.

>

James laughed at her and raised his cup.  "But that's exactly what it is, alcohol."

>

"Well, I think I'll stick with beer, thanks."  She handed Tom her cup and he emptied the contents into his cup, fitting Chloe's cup under his and continued sipping.  Chloe got up and the cooler groaned off in the darkness.  When she returned, she popped the top and foam slithered down the side, wetting her hand.  She flung the foam off her hand into the fire, which popped and sizzled on the coals.  "I have to warn you guys, I don't think I'm going to last very long tonight."  She took a long pull on the beer.

>

"I hear 'ya.  I've had enough excitement for one day.  I'm pretty eager to hit the sack too."  Tom put his hand on Chloe's and smiled.

>

"Oh, I know that look, honey, you'd better watch yourself Chloe," Cynthia warned.

>

"Would it help if I told you I have a headache, Tom?"  Chloe looked at Tom with a smirk, but she also squeezed his hand on the hand rest, a promise for another time.

>

"That's fine, sweetie.  I don't think my ticker could take that much excitement in one day anyways."  He got up from his chair, stretching his arm out and shaking his empty cup at James, who popped the cork and filled it halfway.  "Thanks pal."

>

"No problemo."  He poured himself more and raised his eyebrows at Cynthia who shook her head.  She was done for the night.  "You can't hit the hay with out us having at least one good campfire story, though."

>

Chloe laughed.  "Is there such a thing as a good campfire tale?  I mean, they've all been done before, and they're so predictable.  It's either a hook on a car door, or giving a ride to a ghost."  She saw James' raised eyebrow and asked: "Why, do you have a good one for us, James?"

>

"I believe that I just may."  He spoke in his spookiest baritone, adding a sinister laugh for effect.

>

"Oh brother, I think I may need a beer for this."

>

Chloe signaled for Cynthia to sit back down, the groan of the cooler going off as she disappeared into the dark, returning with a cold beer.  She passed it to Tom who reached over and handed it to Cynthia.

>

James waited a few beats, gathering himself up by taking a sizeable sip of scotch, studying the cup before starting.  His studied expression and the crackling fire added volumes to the silence around them.

>

"My aunt used to run this bed and breakfast in Mendocino County, up in the wine country of California.  Her name was Aunt Dorothy, and I always remember her making these pancakes that would melt in your mouth like butter.  There were a couple of summers where my mom sent me and my sister out there to stay with auntie.  It was OK, the country was definitely beautiful, and auntie always made sure that we were always well fed.  The only problem was that she was one of the most religious people I'd ever met.  We had to go to church on Sundays and on Thursdays, too.  Before every meal we had to say grace and read a selection from the Bible that she chose special for us every night."

>

"So that's why you're such a heathen, huh?"  Cynthia swatted at James' chest.

>

James gave her a small laugh before setting his face and continuing with his story.  "Don't get me wrong, she was a sweet old lady, but there's a reason we only got to spend a few summers with her.  She sold off the B&B when I was about fifteen, and for good reason."  He took another sip of scotch before going on.

>

"One summer, on a day a lot like today was, a woman came into town.  Only there was something pretty peculiar about her.  She strode into town, almost as naked as a jaybird.  In fact, on the way in, she almost caused a lot of accidents, because people couldn't believe the sight of this woman walking naked alongside the gravel of the highway.  She was wearing just a flimsy thong, and it didn't leave much to the imagination.  Her ratted hair came down and covered her breasts, but she didn't wear a top at all.  So you can imagine the sight of this woman, walking along the road, just an old backpack strapped to her back, her butt hanging out, and wild hair coming down in tufts over her chest."

>

Cynthia scoffed at James, but he went on unperturbed.  "Well, it just so happened that she stopped into my aunt's B&B that afternoon, asking for a place to stay the night.  After my aunt shooed us into the kitchen, she told the woman she didn't have any vacancies, which I knew was true.  She asked the woman why she was walking around without any clothes on, to which she just shrugged and said, 'It's comfortable and I got hot.'  Well, my aunt being my aunt, tried to sway her on the morals of walking around naked, starting to quote Bible verses and the like.  The woman wanted no part of it and asked her if she could just stay on the floor somewhere for the night.  My aunt, being a little worldly, decided to test her, and asked her what her name was.  She refused, simply saying, 'call me whatever you'd like.'  Well, this made my aunt understandably suspicious, and who could blame her?  The woman obviously had a screw loose.  She told her to hike down to the closest town, which was about a mile away and try there, but not before giving her one of her oversized T-shirts and some jogging pants.  The woman didn't put them on, just thanked my aunt and made her way into town.  Being the pre-pubescent boy that I was, I pouted the whole night at my aunt for not letting the naked lady stay with us."

>

"That night, I stayed up thinking about her, and I had this feeling that something bad would happen to her.  Boy was I wrong.  When we got up the next morning, auntie asked us to go with her into town to pick up some groceries for the weekend, and we gladly accepted as it was a rare treat and she always bought us a bag of candy to eat when we did go.  Well, on the way there, we had to pull over to avoid being practically run over by the local Sheriff.  He raced past us on the highway as if the devil himself were chasing us.  We figured something major was happening in town, and we were right.  In the car, we were all guessing what it could be: a bank robbery, an escaped convict, or a terrible car accident.  Our imaginations were focused on the most tremendous things happenings in town that we barely noticed the hatchback cordoned off by the side of the road before town.  There were people surrounding a car there, taking pictures and muttering to one another with their eyes downturned and their heads shaking."

>

"Well, we weren't disappointed when we made it into town.  The grocery store we were going to go into was swimming with police cars.  As we pulled into the parking lot we were surprised to see so many officers with their guns drawn.  By this point, poor auntie was trying just to get out of that parking lot, to go home and out of harm's way.  But as we pulled around, an officer waved her on nervously, shouting at her.  Auntie thought he was trying to tell her something, so she stopped and rolled down her window."

>

"'You'd better get out of here quick, Dorothy.  There's a mad woman half naked that we're trying to take into custody.  She was trying to bum food off of people at the market.' My aunt covered her mouth in shock, but had the wherewithal to ask what she'd done.  'She...mutilated a few kids that had picked her up, trying to put the moves on her.  I guess I can't blame her, walking around naked like that, but I guess she wasn't having any part of it.'  The officer put on a pained face, perhaps feeling like he'd said enough already.  'You'd better get out of here, Dorothy.  We'll take it from here."

>

"My poor aunt high-tailed it out of there right quick, her white knuckles gripping the vinyl steering wheel.  On the way back, we all remembered seeing the cordoned off car, and saw body bags stacked up on a stretcher, as if they were cuts of meat, wrapped in butcher's block."

>

James sat back in his chair, taking another sip before delivering the punch line.  "No one knows just how she mutilated those two boys, but it had to have been awful, just by judging how many body bags there was.  So just remember that if you see a good looking hitch hiker with a strap of her blouse hanging, or a skirt being hiked up.  You just might end up being piled up like so much meat in a slaughterhouse."

"They never did find all of the pieces of those two teenagers.  Some say that she hadn't eaten for days, and was found with a half-eaten finger in her pack."

>

"Oh why did I have to eat so many of those hot dogs?" Chloe complained.

>

"I'll never be able to eat another one without thinking about the half-naked hitchhiker.  Thanks for that, James." Cynthia backhanded James in the chest.

>

"Well, as much as I hate to, I think I'm going to hit the hay.  We've gotta get up pretty early if we want to catch the fish biting."  Chloe stretched her arms to the sky as she stood, moving towards their tent.

>

"I think I wanna have another shot of this scotch, and then I'll join you, sweetie."  Tom extended his arm and wiggled the Styrofoam cup in James' direction.

>

Cynthia swatted at Tom's hand in front of him.  "You drunks have a good time.  I think I'm with Chloe, I'm beat."  Cynthia weaved a little as she stood, and James put up a protective hand to steady her.  She kicked her shoes off without any preamble before crawling into her tent, not bothering to zip the flap up.  Her feet stuck out of the opening, but she didn't seem to care.

>

"I guess mixing beer and scotch wasn't too good of an idea."  Chloe pointed to Cynthia in the tent as she undid the laces on her boots, her head and feet visible just outside of her tent's flap.

>

"I heard that," came the muffled reply from Cynthia.

>

Chloe shook her head, kicking off the other shoe before disappearing into the tent and zipping up the flap.  Tom scooted his chair over closer to James and waggled his cup again.  James uncorked the bottle and poured himself and Tom another double.  It was uncomfortable for a few minutes as they both knew the girls could hear them, so they just stared at the rising and falling of the flames in the pit.  The combination of the warm fire, the hypnotic flames and warm scotch put Tom into a comfortable numbness, the panic attack a distant memory.  He held the scotch in his mouth, waiting for his taste buds to respond, then swallowed, savoring the burn as it went down.  Licking his lips, he ran a bead of scotch still lingering on his tongue and it made his lips go numb.  He sat back in his chair and studied the night sky.

>

"This is some really good stuff, huh?"  James said something just to break the silence more than anything.

>

"Yeah, it must have cost you a pretty penny."

>

"Naw, it was worth it, just to have this with my best frat buddy."  James held up his cup and Tom obliged by touching the rim of his cup to James'.

>

"Cheers, buddy."

>

"Cheers.  Here's to a better day tomorrow."

>

"I don't see how it could get any worse."  They both laughed, nervously eyeing the two tents still within earshot.  "I guess we'll just have to see."  Tom got up from his chair after tilting his head back, downing the rest of his scotch.  "I'll catch 'ya tomorrow, alright buddy?"  James nodded at Tom.  "Are you gonna stay up?"

>

"Yeah, maybe have another drink, keep an eye on the fire.  Plus I doubt I'll be getting lucky with her tonight."  He thumbed in the direction of Cynthia's feet still hanging out of their tent.  One of them twitched in consideration, and they both chuckled.

>

>

Tom kicked off his boots before carefully unzipping the flap, slowly at first, then quickly, figuring he was making more noise doing it that way.  He zipped it closed just as fast, getting it over with.  Trying not to make waves on the air bed, he did the best he could to take off his pants and shirt before snuggling under the covers, spooning with a drowsy Chloe.  He moved his hand up her thigh and kissed her cheek, testing her responsiveness.  She barely stirred and mumbled a goodnight.  Tom sighed under the guise of contentment, but fell asleep despite himself.

>

---------------------------------

>

James waited until he was sure that everyone had fallen asleep.  He hadn't brought his watch with him, but figured it had been a good forty-five minutes.  Fishing around in his pack, he found the aluminum cylinder wrapped in a handkerchief.  He also took out the pack of wooden emergency matches, foregoing the zippo, which Cynthia had confiscated anyways.  Thank God I packed this before we left.  In a modicum of caution, he even held the match to a small flame in the pit, lighting it without striking it against the sandpaper on the side of the box.  It flared up in a burst of phosphorous, and James cupped it against one hand as he held it to the pipe, drawing in the smoke, his chest expanding.  He flicked the match back into the fire and sat back; holding the hit as he watched what remained of the match burn in the fire.  Surprised that he didn't cough, he took a small sip of the scotch to sooth his throat before sliding open the matchbox and procuring another wooden match.

>

A rustling of vinyl got his attention, and he slipped the matchbox and the pipe into his chest pocket.  Looking up, he saw Cynthia sitting up in their tent, rubbing her head.  James didn't want to call out for her and wake the others, so he gave her the time to stand and walk over.  She seemed to be walking a little steadier, but showed her fatigue when she plopped down in the chair beside him.

>

She reached a hand out to him.  "Give me a hit of that, would you dear?"

>

James laughed, nodding his head in disbelief.  How had she known?  He handed the warm pipe to her, and she took his zippo out of her pocket and took a small hit.  Cynthia never was one to smoke that often, and didn't bother to hold it in long either.  Still it was always odd to watch her smoke, and James followed the blue smoke as it blew out and dissipated over the smoke of the fire.

>

"Couldn't sleep?"

>

She gave a small cough before answering.  "I did for a little bit, but that ground is damned hard."  When she looked at him, her eyes were puffy as if she hadn't slept at all.  "James, was that story that you told us true?"

>

"Well, I did embellish it a bit, but yeah, there was a pair of teenagers that were murdered in their car.  They never found out who did it, but...well, there was a nudist colony nearby and you know what active imaginations boys can have."

>

"Yeah, especially when it comes to naked women."

>

"Exactly.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't spend as much time as I could trying to find naked women roaming the trails in the hills."  James took another hit, using the match he'd cupped in his hand when he'd heard her coming.  He didn't bother using the fire to light it, and struck it against the side of the box.

>

While he held the hit in, he watched Cynthia take a blanket from her pack and spread it out on a blanket of pine needles by the fire.  James could make out the crisscross pattern of colors intersecting the tartan blanket.  Cynthia kneeled on the blanket, getting closer to the fire and rubbing her hands together in front of it.  Rubbing her warmed hands up and down her forearms, she then turned to warm her back against the fire, her back straightening against the fire like a cats.  She held up her hair to warm her neck, tying it in a tail with a rubber band from her wrist.  This wasn't enough, so she gripped her shirt at the waist and pulled it up over her head.  She wasn't wearing a bra and James watched the shadows and light dance across her back and the hint of breast that peeked around the corner of her chest.  Her back shivered in delight, as did James' crotch, and he pushed against the delicious tightening there, watching her in the orange light of the fire.

>

Sensing him looking at her, she turned halfway, giving him an impish smile.  She saw his hand on his crotch and raised one eyebrow.  Turning towards him, his eyes were rapt upon her heavy breasts silhouetted by the fire light.  Her nipples stood out from facing the cold air.  She held them out to the fire, her back straightening up as she began rubbing her neck and the tops of her breasts.  "James, would you mind getting the lotion out of the front pocket of my pack."  Cynthia rubbed one shoulder with a pout.  "My back hurts."

>

James bent down without a word and fumbled with the pocket on her pack, taking what seemed like ages to procure the lotion.  When he finally found it, he held it up in the light for her to see with a smile before moving around to her back, his boots crunching on pine needles in the cold night air.  Kneeling down behind her, he tapped the lotion bottle against the heel of one hand before lifting the cap and squeezing out a palmful of lotion.  He forgot to rub it in between his hands to warm it, and she shivered when he palmed the glob onto her bare back.  She looked back at him for a moment with irritation, but then turned around, making small mewing noises as he worked the lotion in.

>

He used his thumbs to trace her shoulder blades, rubbing across the top of her shoulders and up her neck.  Feeling Cynthia relax, he moved on, running the left over lotion from in between his fingers onto her arms with long strokes.  She felt like putty in his hands, and she fell back onto his chest when he stopped to put more lotion on his hands.  He tossed the lotion aside and cupped her breasts with slick hands as Cynthia moaned with pleasure.  Watching over her shoulder, he caught the way the fire light danced on her now glistening breasts, playing with her taut nipples now.

>

Even though her neck smelled like Jasmine from the lotion, he kissed it just the same, tonguing the depression between her shoulder and neck.  She strained against him, and reached around to grab his crotch.  Stroking him for a few moments, she could no longer stand it, and turned to face him.  They kissed, both of their hands pulling at each others hair in lust.  Finally she pushed him back onto the blanket and began undoing his pants.  He slipped his shirt off without undoing the buttons and began working on her pants.  She threw his aside before standing up to step out of hers, then pushed him back, naked on the blanket.  Cynthia lay against him, feeling the warmth of his skin against her nipples before positioning herself over him, gasping when they made contact, taking it slow at first.  Tom was watching the look on her face as she eased up and down, her breasts heaving, backlit by the fire light.

>

He didn't hear the crunching leaves and heavy breathing rush up from behind until it was too late.

Her limbs felt as if they were on fire from the hot adrenaline coursing through her veins.  She seemed to cross the distance to the fire in a moment, her feet flying over the dry pine needles and fallen limbs.  All she could do was stare at the pale girl's heaving chest and watch in horror as she moved up and down on the man.  The longer she watched it, the more of a jealous rage built up inside her, until she could no longer bottle it up.  She screamed in primal, jealous rage as she ran nearer.

>

All she wanted to do was to get her off of him, but the intensity of her anger demanded that it be done quickly, even if it meant violence.  She swung the spear out sidearm as she approached, yelling like a banshee.  The pale girl had just enough time to look up, the sick drunken look of passion still on her face.  That changed as she saw the tall one, a brief look of shock taking over her features.  The spear made contact with her face, breaking in half as it slapped her cheek, throwing the pale girl off of the man.  She tumbled into a mess of arms and legs with the folding chairs, knocking the wind out of her.

>

The tall one watched all of this with a certain sense of satisfaction, and the rush of air that escaped the pale girls chest relieved her rage somewhat.  But she soon found a new outlet for her wrath, as James had opened his eyes and was staring at her, upside down.  Even though his face wasn't right side up, the light coming from the fire illuminated the confusion and horror etched there.  It was a look far different than the one she imagined him having as the pale girl rode on top of him.  She was horrible to him, but more importantly, he had taken the pale girl from her. 

>

The tall one decided right then and there that he had to die.

>

She raised the torn spear and jabbed the broken end of it into his chest, just below his rib cage.  It slid in like butter, making a sickening liquid sound as the smell of his wrecked innards wafted up to her.  He was still looking at her face, confused, but when he saw her nod in contentment, he looked down at himself, not even realizing he'd been hurt.  He grabbed at the stake, his hands catching splinters, so she rammed the palm of one hand onto the top of the stake, driving it home.  The man's body went rigid and his eyes looked as if they would pop out of his head in shock.  Blood began pouring from the wound.

>

A muffled cry to the tall one's side brought her back to the present, as did movement from her other side.  The pale girl sat with a face scored with disbelieving terror, her arms and legs still wrapped up in the chairs, but still able to see what had happened.  From the strange looking hut to her other side; a face appeared out of the darkness, framed by the light of the fire.  It was a man's face, and he unfolded to his full height as he emerged from the hut.  A confused looking woman looked over his shoulder through the flap in the hut.

>

The tall one was defenseless, her only weapon broken off in the now twitching man at her feet.  She looked briefly at the pale girl, still caught up in the chairs, before turning on her heel.  There was nothing she could do but turn and run.

>

A hand from the impaled man shot out and grabbed at her leg, grazing her ankle.  It was just enough to make her thud down on all fours on the pine needles, scraping her knee on a rock.  She grunted in pain before rolling out of reach of the man's hand.  Feeling for the rock that she'd slid on, she picked it up as she took off like a sprinter out of the gate.  She didn't hear any footsteps follow her, but she still held onto the rock, savoring the heavy feel of it in her hand, pumping her legs for good measure.

>

A quarter of the way along the path, she stopped for a moment when a piercing scream broke the silence of the cold night air.  Listening to the night, her heart thudded like a jackhammer in her chest.  She resumed her way along the path, dropping the rock as she slowed down to a jog now, listening to the chorus of screams coming from the others.

>

------------------------

>

Cynthia kicked at the chairs, trying to extricate herself while being unable to contain mewling sobs from her escaping her mouth.  In Tom's stupor, he was barely aware that Chloe ducked back inside the tent, rummaging through her pack for something.  When Cynthia was free, she crawled her way over the dirt to a shaking James, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.  His gaze showed no recognition as Cynthia brushed the hair out of his eyes.  Her eyes folded in grief for a moment before showing a resolution borne of survival.  She had to help him.

>

Gripping the stake with a tentative grasp, she started pulling, but James let out a yell of pure agony.  She put her hands to her face, matching his scream in intensity and volume.  Pulling her own hair, she tipped her face up to the sky, baying in grief like a wolf to the midnight sky, their screams reaching a crescendo.  She lay spent, crying on James' naked chest as the last of his lifeblood poured out onto the dirt.

>

Tom watched the tableau as if he were above himself, looking down at a scene that was unreal in its complete horror.  Chloe pushed past his immobile form, emerging from the tent with what looked like a pistol in her hand.  Her thumb clicked off the safety before she pointed it into the darkness of the woods.  Not taking her eyes off of the darkness, the gun still pointed in the direction where the girl had fled, she crept over to James prostate form.  She tried not to look at the foam mixing with the blood dribbling out of his mouth.  Chloe had her doubts, but she still felt for a pulse on his outstretched hand.  There was a pulse there, but it was weak and slow.

>

She looked back at Tom, seeing the slack look of shock there.  "Tom...Tom, can you hear me?"  Chloe snapped her fingers in the air, trying to get his attention.  "Tom I really need your help right now.  Tom!"  His eyes seemed to stare right through James' prone body.

>

Chloe rubbed Cynthia's back, whispering her name.  "Cynthia, I need your help."  Cynthia's head raised her head off of James' chest, her face streaked with tears, but she blinked her eyes in understanding.  Chloe spoke as clear as she could, even though she could feel her hands shaking on the gun.  "Cynthia, I need you to hold the gun while I get the first-aid kit for James.  Do you think you can do that for me?"  Cynthia shook her head in response, so Chloe carefully placed the steel gun in her outstretched hand.  She took a moment to watch Cynthia prop herself up with one hand, moving her gun hand towards the darkness with her other hand.

>

Brushing past Tom, she moved quickly into the tent, feeling around in the dark for her pack.  When her hands found the plastic first aid box, she bounded out of the tent, turning towards James.  She started trying to talk to James as she threw open the kit.  "James...James can you hear me?  Hang on OK, James?  You're going to be fine, we're going to get you out of here."  She hoped she sounded convincing.

>

Rolling the ball of gauze out, she placed it on his chest before reaching for James' pants rolled up by the fire pit.  She whipped the belt off the loops in his jeans, and tucked it under his back.  Chloe gulped in the back of her throat when she saw that the stake left a space between the dirt floor so that she could slide the belt to the other side.  He had been skewered.

>

She gently placed both hands on the stake, watching James' face for any reaction.  "OK James, on the count of three you're going to feel some pain, alright?  It'll just be for a moment though, and it'll be all over."  Cynthia looked down at James' face for a moment, tamping down her sobs as she turned back to the darkness, the gun shaking visibly in her hand now.

>

"OK, ready?"  Chloe didn't wait for a response, but took a long, shaky breath before starting to count.  "One.  Two.  Three."  She pulled on the stake, her forearms gripping it like a vice.  Channeling all of her strength into her fingers and hands, the stake slid out of James' chest with a sluicing wet sound.  His face twitched and more bloody foam exited his mouth as the pole was finally pulled free with a primal groan from Chloe.

>

Cynthia forgot the gun and turned her face just as the stink of his intestines rose up, slapping her in the face.  As Chloe fumbled with the belt, Cynthia turned to the side and threw up, her vomit mixing with the tears coursing down her face.  Chloe had to push a bit of James' intestine back into the wound before cinching the belt closed around his waist.  She was too intent on what she was doing to look back at Tom, who fell to his knees behind her.  Cynthia was sobbing now, not wanting to look back at the mess that had once been her husband's stomach.

>

Chloe put her ear up to James' open mouth, then checked the pulse in his arm again.  She tried to will his heart to work, telling herself that she didn't have a good enough grip on the vein in his wrist.  Moving the tips of her fingers around, she gave herself several minutes of hoping before giving up.  The hand she put on Cynthia's back only worsened the choked sobs that were pulled up from the depths of her grief.

>

Behind her, Tom started hyperventilating, his face still a mask of disbelief.  His hand was wrapped around his own throat in a grim imitation of a choke hold.  The vice-like grip showed his determination to try and control the situation, which he must have known was hopeless.  Chloe had the thought cross her mind to get up and help him, but all she could do was bow her head and pound a useless fist on James' chest before breaking down into tears, joining Cynthia's wounded cries of sorrow.

When the tall one came in view of the cave, she could see the silhouette of the fat one framed by the fire from within.  From the tense muscles standing out in her folded arms and the wide stance of her legs, she figured the fat one must have heard their cries.  She had been waiting for her return.

>

Making her approach to the mouth of the cave, she lowered her head in submission.  Seeing a spray of blood splashed across one hand, she rubbed at it with her fingers.  She expected to see her own blood flow at the hands of the fat woman before the sun rose.  Her hands fell at her side as she approached, knowing it was best not to fight back.

>

The fat one landed a flattened palm against her ear, sending her sprawling to the floor of the cave, her ear ringing.  Her instincts told her to grab the ear, to make the pain go away, but instead she gritted her teeth and rolled, missing the fat one's kick by inches.  When she sat up with her back against the cave wall, she permitted herself the luxury of rubbing her ringing ear, the fat one's legs shuffling into focus.

>

Her first reaction was to bring her other hand up to protect her head, but jumped in shock on the ground of the cave, after a thick leg connected with the side of her stomach.  Doubling over in pain, the fat one took advantage of this and leaned over to pound on the back of her head with a closed fist.  Behind her clenched eyes, lightning bolts of pain surged up and exploded in brilliant flashes of light.  The fat one stopped for a moment, bending down to put a concrete hand on her wrist, pulling her along into the back of the cave.  As the pain cleared from her head, she knew there was no fighting the fact that she was going to the back of the cave, in the special chamber off the women's sleeping quarters.  In a fit of rage, she clenched her jaw, resolute on taking advantage of the bent over form of the fat one.

>

Planting her feet on the floor of the cave, she squared up her shoulders, pulling back a fist and meeting the shocked face of the fat one with an uppercut.  Blood arced in the air as the fat one fell back, one hand grabbing at air as she fell.  The tall one ripped her hand from her grasp and bolted for the back of the cave.  Before she got there, she could hear the fat one's groan and the sound of sand sliding across the cave floor as she got to her feet behind her.  The skinny girl lay up in her bed and watched with bug eyes as the tall one sat on her bedding, crossing her arms in defiance as she watched the sluggish form of the fat one rise and make her way over.

>

The tall one cut the air with a wave of her hand, signaling for an end to their fight, but the fat one's face was set in anger.  She wasn't having any of it.  Jerking her head in the skinny girl's direction, the fat one pointed at a nearby spear and then waved to herself.  The skinny girl looked down at the floor for a moment, a look of apprehension coming over her face as she saw the fear in the tall one's eyes in the corner.  She knew not to disobey though, and moved over to retrieve the spear.  The tall one moaned before she handed it over, so the fat one grabbed it from her hand, shooing her away with a half-hearted backhand.  The skinny one scurried away back to her bed.

>

Pointing the spear right at the tall one's face, she motioned to the back room with a nod of her head, her nest of curls atop her head moving like snakes.  The tall one stood slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements as she shuffled across the cave floor.  The stink of the back room assaulted her senses even before entering.  What little light flickered in from the fire was enough to illuminate the rotting piles of flesh that littered the pockets of rock.

>

This was where the bones and carcasses were thrown after a meal, along with any meat that was waiting to be cooked.  There was a splatter of blood against the far wall, where the bloody flesh was discarded.  Rivulets of blood from the splattered wall led down to a pile of putrid flesh and bones.  The tall one was thankful that the shadows didn't allow her to see what was moving among the pile of carrion, but she knew if she looked hard enough, she'd see maggots crawling in waves along the surface.

>

The fat one smacked her back, and she looked back at her while rubbing the welt that was raising up on her back.  The spear pointed to the ropes hung at the end of the wall, just as the tall one had suspected.  Last winter, a big buck had wandered down to their camp, too hungry to ignore it's instinct to avoid anything human.  They had lost the skinny man that time, and remembered his steaming blood as it poured upon the melting snow.  One of the deer's horns had broken off in the deepest gash, and his life blood poured out when they pulled it out.

>

It had been worth it, though.  They had eaten off that animal for weeks, and had tied it to the rope that hung here, carving off flesh as they went.  The other rope had been put in place when the new leader had succeeded the old leader.  The tall one remembered his old body sagging, both his arms held up by the ropes.  Now the tall one was to be hung here, in place of the animal and the old leader. 

>

The rope was stiff with dried blood and she had to push her hand into the hole held fast by the clumsy knot.  She looked at the fat one when her one hand was held fast, hoping that this would be enough for her.  But no, she smacked the tall one's chest and gestured to the other rope, so she pushed her other hand into the stiff loop of rope there.  She looked into the eyes of the fat one, shrugging her shoulders, getting a feel for her bondage.

>

The fat one set the spear aside as she stretched her thick arms up to tighten the loops around her wrists.  The tall one glanced at the spear, only inches away from her, but with no way to grab it.  She only sighed at the pain from the sandpaper vice grip of the ropes.  When the fat one was satisfied with her handiwork, she grunted and picked up the spear, leaving the tall one to rot in the darkness.

When Tom awoke, the first thing he saw was the faint twilight that made the sheer walls of the tent seem to glow in the early morning air.  Then he remembered, and felt an overwhelming sense of shame.  He didn't want to come out of the tent, but wondered what the two girls were doing out there.  Their shoes scuffed the dirt ground of their site outside.

>

He was ashamed of how he'd acted last night, but he couldn't have helped it.  The whole mess had happened as if he were only an observer; unable to do or say anything in the face of all the horror that had happened.  When the reality had finally hit him, it was like a punch to his gut, his breathing coming in shallow bursts as his heart worked in time with his growing sense of panic.  All he could do was make sure breath came in through his neck as he kept a finger on his neck, feeling the steady rise of his pulse.  In the end, all he could do was crawl back into the tent and immerse himself in the safety of darkness, covering his ears against the wails of the women outside.

>

Having to talk himself down, he hoped whispering "it's going to be OK," would have helped, but it seemed like ages before his heart stopped pounding in his chest.  Sometime during the night, as he kept track of his own panic, he must have fallen asleep.  It must have been an uneasy sleep though, as he stretched out complaining muscles against the harsh morning air.

>

Chloe must have heard him stirring, because she unzipped the tent flap and peeked her head inside.  Her face was set in a mask of determined control, but Tom imagined seeing a glimpse of hopelessness there.  Just seeing her face and the morning light beyond her head made his heart pound in increasing volume. 

>

When she spoke it seemed to be completely devoid of any warmth, just a harsh matter-of-factness.  "We're getting out of here, Tom.  We've got to get someone up here to take care of James' body."  She must have seen something on Tom's face as her harshness went down a notch, a softness finding its way across her eyes.  "I think Cynthia and I can take care of breaking camp out here."  Her hand entered the tent and found his knee underneath the sleeping bag, giving it a gentle squeeze.  "Take your time, Tom.  Let me know if you need any...help coming out here, OK babe?"  She looked into Tom's eyes with concern, searching for understanding there.  Tom shook his head up and down and Chloe's head disappeared with a rustle.  She only zipped the tent flap halfway down, in hopes that he'd come out with out a hitch.  Tom buried his face in his hands, trying not to think that they were all going to die out here.

>

------------------------

>

For a while Tom took comfort in the busy sounds coming from outside of the tent.  He knew that they were still breaking camp, and secretly hoped that the sounds wouldn't stop.  When it did, he knew it would be time for him to crawl out of the tent.  He didn't want to leave the comforting confines of the tent to face the unknown out there.  Concentrating on tamping down his panic, he kept two fingers on the pulse at his wrist as he waited for them to finish outside.

>

It wasn't long before Chloe's head peeked through the flaps again.  After taking a look at Tom still hidden beneath his sleeping bag, she pushed aside the flap, stepping through before sitting cross-legged before him.  Tom refused to look at her face, knowing what was coming.  Chloe grimaced before grabbing Tom's hand, rubbing it softly in some type of simple consideration.

>

"Tom, do you think you can make it out?"

>

"I...I don't know."  He lifted his face, his tired eyes meeting hers.  "Chloe, what in the hell is going on here?"

>

Chloe shook her head in dismay.  "I don't know, Tom.  Cynthia was the only one who got a good look at whoever it was.  She said that...I know it sounds crazy, but she said it looked like a Neanderthal woman.  Something out of a life sized diorama, like what you'd see in a museum, only this one was real."

>

"Do you think she's the only one out there?"

>

"I'm not sure, but I've got this for insurance."  She patted the holster attached to her hip.  "Whoever is out there is going to get an awful surprise if they try anything with us."

>

"I just wish we knew what those things are out there."

>

Chloe knew that the root of Tom's problem lie in the feeling of loss of control.  I just have to reassure him that everything's under control.  "Tom, everything's going to be OK.  I won't let anything else happen to us."

>

Chloe's rubbing on his hand accelerated, raising Tom's ire.  "Just like we were able to protect Cynthia and James?  If that had been you and I out there..."  Tom withdrew his hand from hers.

>

"But it wasn't, honey.  And now that we know that she's out there, we can protect ourselves.  The only reason James is dead is because she was able to sneak up on them."  Chloe took a hold of Tom's chin with a thumb and forefinger.  "I promise that I won't let anything else happen to us." 

>

Tom gave a half hearted nod of his head, sighing before throwing off the cover of the sleeping bag.  "OK.  I guess I'll just have to trust you."  Chloe couldn't help but throw her arms around him, patting his back to comfort him.  She felt another sigh run through his body, and she kissed his cheek as she unwrapped her arms from around his shoulders.  Holding his hand, she led him out of the tent in a crouch.

>

>

The early morning light assaulted his senses, and he held a hand over his brow as he straightened up.  Cynthia lay cross legged next to the covered body of James.  There was a crimson stain in the middle of the sheet that spread into a rusty brown the further it was from the middle of his wound.  Tom averted his eyes, trying desperately to tamp down the ball of tension forming in his throat.  He pursed his lips as he breathed; the rolling nausea in the pit of his stomach almost a welcome change from the incapacitating panic.

>

"How are you doing, Tom?"

>

Tom felt guilty looking her in the eyes and seeing a blank stare, almost as if she had given up already.  He crossed his arms, rubbing the hair on his forearms in an attempt to quell so many emotions hitting him all at once.  "I think I'll be fine, thanks.  It can't get any worse, can it?"  Cynthia smiled out of courtesy, turning her head to take a drag of the burning cigarette in her hand.  Tom cringed inside when he remembered that he'd said the same thing to James last night.

>

Behind them, Chloe started to break down the tent, thinking out loud just to break the silence.  "We'll leave some things here, mainly the cooler, because it'd be too heavy to take, and it'll only slow us down.  But we may need this second tent, just in case."

>

Tom surveyed the campsite, noting the lonely space where Cynthia and James' tent once was.  Cynthia flicked the smoldering butt of her cigarette into the muddy fire pit.  He kneeled next to the pit and swirled the wet ashes around with a green stick sticking out of the pit like a rough spoon stirring soup in a pot.

>

When Chloe had slipped the collapsed tent into her pack, she stood up and gazed at the campsite, mentally going over anything she might have missed.  When she was satisfied, she nodded down at Tom and Cynthia.  "Alright, I guess that's everything.  Come on, let's head out."

>

Cynthia looked down at James' body, fresh tears springing in her eyes.  She kissed her fingers and placed her hand down on James' chest, just above the blood stain.  Sighing, she stood and slipped her arms into her pack.  She nodded to Chloe, signaling that she was ready.

>

Making their way out of the camp, Chloe kicked the cooler under the eave of a nearby pine, picking up a branch and covering it for good measure.  Tom and Cynthia waited and watched as she came back to the group.  She put her hands out and they walked out of the camp together, squeezing each other's hands.

Tom figured now was as good a time as any as he patted the metal flask in the chest pocket of his jacket.  Just feeling the cool steel against his fingers was reassuring in its own way.  Chloe looked back at him when she heard him unscrewing the top off.  He raised his eyebrows and shook the flask, but she shook her head so he took a pull.  It made him cough and when his throat soothed into a dull ache he displayed the flask over his shoulder without even looking around.  Behind him, Cynthia's fingers grazed his as she took it without preamble.  She set it on his shoulder after taking a gulp, but he just waved her hand away.  He figured she was going to need it more than he was.

>

Chloe paused at the head of the steep part of the trail and they all fell into line.  She turned, one hand against her hip.  "Cynthia, do you want to go first just in case you fall again?"

>

Cynthia waved her on.  "No, it's OK.  I'll just holler if I see a mad cave lady coming from behind."  No one laughed but Cynthia made a half hearted attempt at a smile.

>

Chloe just nodded at her, looking her dead in the eyes.  What a tough broad you've turned out to be, she thought to herself.   She unholstered her gun, pointing it up to the sky, her index finger resting lightly on the trigger guard.  "Don't worry, no one in their right mind is gonna mess with us as long as I have this."

>

Tom exhaled to purge the thought of more death, more danger, to quell the sudden rush of adrenaline through his veins.  "Maybe I will take another shot from that flask, Cynthia."  He laughed at his own nerves, and Cynthia smiled with what looked like a genuine smile all morning.  She unscrewed the top off before handing it over.  He paused before taking a sip.  "Here's to an uneventful morning."  He passed it back to Cynthia as he wiped his numb lips with the sleeve of his jacket.  Cynthia was glad that he'd passed it back; she didn't want him to self medicate and become sloppy.  She knew there were more of these people out there, and they would need to have all of their wits about them.

>

When Cynthia had slipped the flask into her wind breaker, Chloe signaled towards the trail with the business end of the pistol.  "Well, now is as good a time as any."  She turned back onto the trail, taking the lead.  She held the pistol loosely at her side, taking a studied look into the forest on either side of them every few seconds.  Tom and Cynthia followed her steps and took comfort in her vigilance.

>

There were a few steep bits on the path where they had to turn sideways, their boots digging into the packed earth.  No one said anything, as they were afraid to spoil the good luck they'd had so far.  All eyes pretended to be concentrated on the trail, but none of them were willing to admit they had the unquenchable urge to watch the forest on either side of them.  Even the sound of the wind rushing through the trees gave off a menacing howl in their fevered state of mind.

>

-----------------------------

>

The leader had heard their clumsy approach along the path and he held up his hand, signaling for silence as he stopped on the path.  His ears had been trained from days of lying in wait on the hunt.  Counting the shuffling steps in the distance, his mind raced.  In a moment, he knew what to do. 

>

He would use the same tactic they had used to catch the boars.

>

He didn't hesitate as he pointed at the fat one and the bald one, signaling for them to drop the weight of the pigs from their shoulders.  The two men didn't question him, but took their end of the pole containing the three skewered pigs and dropped their prize onto the dusty trail.  The leader pointed out each position they should take, watching them scurry off with hardly a sound before taking his position behind a large boulder just off the path.

>

-------------------------

>

Coming around a bend in the trail, Chloe could have sworn she had heard a rustling from up ahead.  Come on girl, don't start shooting at squirrels just yet.  Still, her gun hand tightened up until she looked back and saw that Tom and Cynthia were still following.  She realized why the rustling bothered her, as it was the first normal forest sound she'd heard since starting their trek back to the truck.  Why weren't we hearing birds or the odd rodent?  Searching the forest on either side for the answer, she heard a gasp from Tom behind her, and not bothering to search his face for an answer, she scanned the path until she found the answer.

>

There in the middle of the trail in front of them lay three pigs skewered on a long pole.  There were already flies buzzing around the stench, filling the air with the sound of danger while the stink of death filled their lungs.  Tom and Cynthia could do nothing but stop in their tracks, while Chloe thumbed off the safety as she took a shooter's pose, scanning the forest with the tip of the pistol.

>

"Jesus H. fucking Christ," came the shocked reply from Cynthia.

>

Tom talked over her, his words blurring into a rambling string of rising panic.  "Chloe, Chloe, what's that?  Why would that be in the middle of the trail, Chloe?  Holy shit, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.  We've got to..."

>

Chloe raised her voice over theirs, taking control.  "What we've got to do is shut the fuck up while I can think.  OK,  Tom and Cynthia listen to me very carefully.  What we've just run into is a trap.  Whatever, whoever did this is expecting it to confuse us, to let our guard down so they can take advantage of that.  What we need to do is stay calm and keep our eyes open."  All eyes opened up to the forest around them in a frightened but aware gaze.  "OK Tom, I want..."  Chloe took one hand off of the gun to snap her fingers to get his attention.  Tom's eyes locked onto Chloe's in a look not unlike a deer caught in a pair of headlights.  "Tom, I'm going to step around the boars in the path, and then I want you to follow me. Cynthia, follow Tom just like we are now.  We'll all keep ourselves in a tight single file line, do both of you understand?"

Both Cynthia and Tom nodded their heads.  Chloe waved them on with a jerk of the pistol.  "Don't worry, I've got us all covered."  She wondered if she sounded convincing as she moved at a crouch, hardly looking at the bloody mess of the pigs in the middle of the path.

>

She hadn't realized that she was holding her breath until they had all cleared the skewered boars in the road.  They continued to move at a snails pace, expecting an ambush at any moment.  "Cynthia, how are your legs feeling?"

>

"Fine, but what does..."

>

"We're going to make a run for it.  We need to get away from this place as soon as possible.  On the count of three, I want both of you to run on ahead and I'll cover our rear."   Tom started to argue, but he shut up when he saw the look on her face.  "More than likely there's someone really close to the trap, so we've gotta put some distance between that and ourselves.  Ready?"

>

They both nodded and tensed for the moment, even before Chloe had begun counting.

>

"One."

>

"Two."

>

"Three...go!"

>

Chloe's eyes frantically searched the area behind them, and had only caught a glimpse of the figure emerging from behind her before it was too late.  Cynthia's forward momentum wouldn't allow her to stop, and she ran right into the tip of the spear that the man held in a firm grip.  Tom ran into her back, shoving her further up the spear and scraping his arm with her blood and gristle.  The man's face was set in a grimace of primal glee, enjoying the surprise on Cynthia's face.  A trickle of blood leaked from Cynthia's shocked mouth, and she could only make a gurgling sound in the back of her throat.

>

"No!" was all Chloe could say as she tried to get a bead on the man, but she was afraid of hitting either Cynthia or Tom.  She tried to sidestep off the path to get a better view but stopped when she heard a rustling of leaves to her side.  Rushing out from behind a stand of pines was a bald man with a spear held high.  When they locked eyes, he let out a primeval scream that hit the highest octave his scant frame would allow.  Chloe squared her shoulders up to him before aiming and then squeezing the trigger.  A burst of red exploded in the middle of the man's chest, knocking him back and off his feet.  She waited to see if he would try and get up before turning back to the scene on the path.

>

Cynthia was trying to grip the spear with both hands, while the man lifted her up onto her tiptoes, taking the fight out of her.  Her arms went limp at her sides with a shaking sigh.  Behind her, Tom's breathing was coming in faster and faster waves, his body unable to move, his eyes stuck on something behind the man with the spear.  About twenty paces behind them, another fatter man was jogging up the incline, spear at the ready.

>

Chloe knew at that moment she had to get herself and Tom out of there.

>

Grabbing Tom by the wrist, she twisted him around, and when that wasn't enough, she smacked the side of his face.  "Tom, get out of here.  Run!"  She pushed him back up the trail as she backed up, her gun trained on the back of Cynthia's limp, crucified form.

The leader laughed at the half hearted attempt the fat one made in chasing the man and the woman up the trail.  He had stopped at the bend, going down on one knee to catch his breath.  As the fat one came back with downturned eyes, the leader tossed the skewered girl off to the side.  Her limp body shook as it thudded down onto a bed of dead leaves, the hole in her chest making a sluicing sound as she slid off the spear.

>

Bending to inspect the girl, he touched a bloody thumb to her cheek, making a crimson smudge as he traced her jaw line.  He stuck his index finger into the cleavage poking out from her windbreaker, feeling the silky softness there.  The fat one's breath lay fetid and hot on his shoulder as he grabbed at her breast, so in a fit of rage he picked up a rock and threw it at his companion with a primal grunt.  The fat one scurried a safe distance away, his fleshy belly quivering as he backpedaled out of reach.

>

Trudging through dew covered leaves, the leader made his way over to the bald one.  He lay on his back, staring at the light coming through the ceiling of tree branches, his breath coming in ragged, liquid gasps.  The leader could see the panic in his eyes as the bald one's eyes moved in his sockets, taking him in.  Sitting back on his haunches, the leader didn't hesitate to pull the cloth aside to look at the man's wound, and the bald man shuddered when the sticky cloth pulled away from his skin.  Fresh blood poured from the wound, tides of it washing over drying waves splashed across his chest.  The leader stuck a finger in the hole, pulling it open further with a questioning look on his face.  The bald one's body went slack in sudden pain and he choked on blood, some of it splashing up into the face of the leader.

>

He wiped the red spray from his face and threw the cloth shirt back over the man's gaping wound.  Slipping the stone knife from the bald one's makeshift belt, all the dying man could do was watch with sad eyes as his keepsake was taken from him.  The leader cut the necklace from his neck as an afterthought, slipping it into a bag hanging from his belt.

>

The bald one had been with him on many hunts, and they had shared women before, so before he slipped the knife into his own belt, he leaned over, placing the edge of the blade below one ear.  With a quick draw of the knife, the leader did him the favor of slitting his throat.  Blood pooled across the slit before sheeting down in waves.  The bald one's mouth stiffened like a caught fish as he drew his few final choking breaths.  The leader wiped the blade off on the man's shirt before hanging it from his own belt.

>

He gave a grunt of appreciation to the dead man before pushing up on his knees to stand.

>

Turning on his heel, his feet kicked up dead leaves as he made his way back to the prostrate girl.  Taking in all of her now, he decided to shrug off the bag on her back and leave the rest for their return back.   Watching her breasts move in her shirt, he folded her arms out from the bag's straps, her body a limp, lifeless thing.  When he slid the pack out from under her, her body turned, one arm extended, her index finger pointing out in a morbid accusation.

>

The fat one was still standing a way off, a stupid look on his face, so he waved him back over, pointing to one end of the pole that held the boars.  As the fat one made his way over, he slipped both straps from the dead girl's pack onto the pole.  When they were both ready, they hefted their end of the pole, setting the weight down on their shoulders before continuing back up the trail.  Neither of them rushed as they negotiated the climb back.

>

The fat one looked at the corpse of the girl with a longing gaze out of the corner of his eye as they moved on.

Tom's blood ran ragged through his system, the panic competing with the physical exertion of running along the path.  He had to lean against a boulder in the path before going any further, his heart beating against his chest like a jackhammer.  Behind him, Chloe bumped into him and she was sent sprawling to the dirt floor.  She didn't take her eyes or the gun off of the trail behind her, even as she sat down hard on the packed dirt, grunting through clenched teeth.

>

She glanced up at Tom for a moment, not willing to take her eyes from the path for more than a moment.  "Why have we stopped, Tom?"

>

He answered her question by wheezing and clutching his chest.

>

"Tom, I don't have to tell you that we have to keep moving, right?  I mean, we do have a group of homicidal maniacs following us."  When he didn't answer, she looked up again at Tom and the seriousness of his condition finally hit her.  She pushed herself up from the ground before turning to Tom, placing a protective hand against his back.

>

"Sweetie, do you remember those relaxation techniques I taught you?"  Tom nodded his head, unable to devote any breath to his answer.  "Good.  What I want you to do is to count your breath for me."  He nodded his head again, but she counted for him, one on the first inhalation, two for the first exhalation.  When they had counted to ten, she started over, repeating the cycle several times, until she had slowed down in counting, his breath slowing down along with her count.

>

Tom was still breathing through his mouth, so she grabbed his hand, rubbing it with both of hers.  "Tom, I don't need to tell you what's after us because you saw it too.  What's important now is to put some distance between ourselves and those people."

>

He was finally able to wheeze out a reply.  "I know...we need to keep moving...but my heart."   Grimacing at the tightness in his chest, he groped himself in an effort to stop the pain.

>

"Tom, listen to me.  What I want you to do is to keep counting your breath as we walk.  Pay attention to your steps, too.  Feel the ground underneath your feet as we walk."  She was throwing every relaxation technique in the book at him now, in a desperate attempt to get him moving.  "Everything will be OK, just as long as we can keep moving, and I can keep my eyes on the trail."

>

He nodded again before taking a deep, cleansing breath as he took another step along the trail.

>

She cheered him on even as she turned to peel her eyes onto the path behind them, raising the gun to meet anything that moved.  Her gun arm was beginning to burn, but she gritted her teeth against the pain, keeping it up by pure will alone.  I won't have Tom die out here, not like my brother, or James, or Cynthia.  She had a moment where her guilt at leaving Cynthia to die at the side of the trail below almost got the best of her.  Her eyes misted up against her will, thinking about the way the spear had skewered her back.  She shook her head against the image in her mind and concentrated on the path below, blinking the tears from her eyes.  I don't have any time right now to grieve for Cynthia.  Besides, there was nothing we could have done for her without putting our lives at risk too. 

>

From behind her, she was encouraged by Tom counting his own steps in time with his breath.  His voice sounded less shaky than it had been which encouraged Cynthia to gain a better grip on the gun, giving her hope that they just might survive this after all.  Come on your fuckers, just step into the path and we'll just see who gets the best of whom. 

>

Finally the reached the apex of the trail, and the dirt path finally leveled out onto a less strenuous incline.  They both relaxed somewhat as they recognized the last part of the hike they'd made yesterday before making camp by the lake.  Both of their chests stopped burning from the cold morning air, and they took some comfort they'd made it this far without coming upon any of those other people.

>

The brief respite wasn't enough for them to stop moving, though, so they both kept at it.  Chloe was feeling hopeful, so she began talking to Tom, to keep him moving.  She knew they were almost at their campsite by the lake, and she also knew that they were getting closer to the corpse of James.  Not wanting that to stop their progress she encouraged Tom in what she hoped wasn't a transparent ploy to continue.  "Alright honey, we're just getting past where they can track us.  Once we get past here, they won't be able to tell where we've gone, and we'll be safe."  She kept talking off of the top of her head, just speaking whatever thought came into her head in an effort to tamp down Tom's ever present threat of an incoming panic attack.  "Once we get past the camp, they'll have nothing to go on, because the scent of the camp will be far too strong.  They may even have to double back, second guessing themselves.  Meanwhile we'll be well on our way to freedom.  They'll never find us once we get past here."

 

Her voice went up in tone when she turned to see their campsite to the left.  James' body lay in plain view, the white sheet covering him making his body seem all that more ghoulish in appearance.  Chloe had a moment where she expected his body to arise, the sheet still covering his body, outstretched arms pointing an accusing finger at her.  She wished they had at least tried to move the body out of plain sight, but it was far too late for that.

>

"Wait.  Take a break for a second, honey."

>

She turned in surprise at him, the gun falling to her side.  "But they'll still be on the trail, and they'll catch us by surprise."

>

Tom turned, noting the bug-eyed surprise in Chloe's face before putting a hand up to her shoulder to rein her in.  When he spoke, it was in a soft, understanding tone.  "Honey, I think I may not be the only one to be panicking here."  He didn't wait for her rebuttal, but kept on talking.  He was still aware enough to know that time was still of the essence.  "Let's just take a second to find the cooler and get some water and food.  You were the one that told me a good camper should be prepared for anything, right?" 

>

His smile melted the hardened cast of her panic stricken face, and she nodded, waving him on with the gun.  "OK, go ahead, its right over there."  She pointed with one hand before turning back to the trail with her gun hand.  "I'll watch for them while you do that."

>

Trotting over to their hiding spot, he couldn't help but cringe when the cooler's lid groaned again when he pulled it open.  Oh well, nothing to be done about it now, he figured, and reached into the still cold water, pulling out water bottles and food, stuffing them into his pack.  When he had filled his pack up, he trotted back over to a stiff Chloe as they jogged back up the path in an effort to make up any lost time.

Putting a hand on Chloe's back, trying his best to smile, Tom noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.  It came from their abandoned campsite, but when they both looked over, everything was as they had left it.  They glanced at each other for confirmation that they'd both just seen something move.

>

They were reluctant to spend anymore time here, and Chloe kept watch on the trail as Tom walked back over to the empty site.  She almost grabbed at his hand to urge them on, but let him go despite her instincts.  Holding the gun out towards the path gave her some measure of comfort.

>

Tom stopped in his tracks as he saw in which direction the movement had come from.  He stared in horror as James' corpse jiggled and shifted underneath the sheet.  Despite his rising blood pressure, he crept up closer to the corpse and stared at it in confusion.  On the sheet, a new and fresh blood stain crept across the white fabric.  There was only silence as Tom stared in confusion, the air thick with caution.

>

Frantic scuffling rustled the sheet, and James' pale bloated arm jumped out from beneath the sheet.  Tom jumped a foot back as a small brown animal slipped its head out from underneath the sheet, its maw muddled with blood and gore.  It hissed at Tom, retreating from its hiding place underneath the sheet, keeping its beady eyes set on Tom.  When Tom took a step further towards the corpse, it lashed out at him with a claw, upsetting the sheet and folding it in half across James' chest and face, revealing a pale and stiffening imitation of the James he had known.  James' mouth was set in an evil grimace, his lips pulled up, revealing rows of teeth in a sick imitation of a smile.

>

Tom hadn't realized his voice was rising in his chest until it reached a crescendo, waving his arms to his side as he yelled at the creature.  It scurried off as he approached and even so, Tom fell to his knees, reaching across James' legs to reach for the animal.  He had a momentary compulsion to strangle the little thing until its eyes popped out of its skull.  Instead, he grabbed something, anything to throw at it as it scurried into a nearby bush.  The rock went wide, hitting the base of a nearby pine, but it was enough to get the animal to retreat further into the woods.

>

He jumped at the feel of Chloe's hand on his shoulder.   She spoke in a soft, comforting tone, trying to keep eye contact with Tom's blood shot, roving eyes.  "Tom, we can't help James anymore, but we can still try and save ourselves."

>

Instead of responding, Tom looked at James partially uncovered corpse and instantly wished he hadn't.  The animal had made short work of James' insides, as Tom looked on with revulsion at the mess of blood and intestines spilling out in a wide swath of gore from the corpse's side.  Tom yelped and broke Chloe's grip on his shoulder by crab walking away from the corpse in a panic.  His boots kicked up a cloud of dust and when he stopped, he panted as the cloud settled over his panic stricken face.

>

Chloe rushed into the cloud of dust, not waiting for it to settle.  "Tom, this has gone on far too long...we've got to get out of here now, before they come back."  She looked into his eyes, and seeing his gaze go right through her, she lost her composure, pulling back a hand and slapping Tom hard across his cheek.  In an instant, he was back with her, looking into her face as comprehension came back into focus.  "Let's get going, Tom."  He nodded, picking himself up from the floor, heading towards the trail.

>

She had a sudden flash of intuition, and waved him on.  "Keep going, I'll be right behind you."  Rushing over to James' corpse, she took off both of his sneakers, tossing one into the lake.  It made a sound like plopping a stone into water.  Chloe gripped the other sneaker in her off hand as she raised the gun back down towards the trail.  Tom turned back around onto the trail as she made his way behind him.  "Keep moving, they won't be able to find us now."

>

"Chloe, what are you doing?"

>

She could hear his shaky voice and rapid breath, but simply didn't have the time to help him.  They were coming up on the fork in the path and she had to move quickly now.  Her mind was working a mile a minute as they hurried up the path.  "Just trust me, Tom."

She pushed the back of his pack now, turning around to make better time, foregoing keeping the gun trained on the trail behind them.  If they were right behind us, it'd be too late anyways, she figured.

>

Tom wasn't going fast enough for her, so she sprinted past him, stopping before the fork in the path.  One fork led around the lake, and the other went up to the trail they'd traveled on yesterday.  She grabbed a lazy branch from a nearby pine, grunting as she used all of her strength to tear it away from the tree.  Setting the branch down onto the trail, she clapped her hands to wipe any sap from them.

>

"Chloe, come on...talk to me.  What's going on?"

>

She ignored his question and set about her work.  "Tom, walk up the left fork, the way we'd gone on the hike."  When he didn't move, she yelled at him and instantly felt a pang of regret..  "Move it, Tom!"  Tom trotted with a pathetic, defeated gait to the trail.  She pushed aside any emotions that came up now, her primal survival instinct kicking in.

>

Chloe turned her back to the trail, stepping backwards into the footprints she'd already made coming up the trail.  After she went down a few feet, she made a new set of tracks leading off the trail and into the woods.  She didn't have any time to have Tom go through his tracks and she prayed that it wouldn't make a difference.  Making sure her new tracks were prominent in the dirt, she made sure to rustle a patch of leaves off the trail, making it seem as if she'd fallen.  She set James' sneaker in the middle of the disturbed leaves, and set a few more prints in the dead leaves before jumping back onto the trail.  Bending over to pick up the pine branch she'd ripped off the tree, she grabbed a handful of dirt and gravel, walking up to the new set of tracks she'd made.  She waved the branch into the dirt, tossing gravel over the sweep marks, concealing their true path up the trail.  Almost bumping right into Tom, she yelled at him again, this time not feeling as guilty as she felt like they had accomplished something here.

>

Her guilt soon began to rise again as Tom's breathing came in faster waves, making a pathetic mewling sound as she alternately brushed and tossed the dirt behind them, moving up the path.

Tom's breathing had become more erratic, but to his credit, he didn't stop along the trail.  Chloe began talking to him again as she kept at her work.  "Let's count your breath again Tom."  She hoped that she didn't sound condescending, but she didn't have the time to insert her best therapist's voice into their conversation at the moment.  When he didn't answer, her voice went up an octave in concern.  "Tom, are you there?"

>

"Yeah...just trying to count..."

>

"Good."  She looked back at the trail and could no longer see the fork from around the bend they'd just turned.  "OK Tom, I think it's safe now."  Straightening up, she tossed the pine branch aside, wiping her hands on her jeans.  She'd long since run out of dirt to toss on the trail.  "Well, it's all done now."  Tom stopped to catch his breath, turning to face Chloe, who had stopped on the trail to survey her work.  "All we can do is hope that they'll fall for it and leave us alone."

>

Tom put his hands on his thighs, bending over with a grimace as he looked up at her.  "What...what are we gonna do now?"

>

"We've got to keep going."  She finally turned and knew the time had come to take care of Tom.  He didn't look well; his face pale from over exertion.  "Do you remember that cabin we'd seen off in the distance yesterday from the trail?  It looked pretty beaten in, but it'd give us some shelter and it might relieve your panic attacks."

>

He nodded at her through clenched teeth.  "Yeah, I...I remember it.  I hope it has running water...I could use...a nice hot bath."  His laugh brought a smile to Chloe's face that was short lived as his laugh soon turned into a coughing fit.  Chloe wrapped an arm around his back as they turned to move on, giving him support as they climbed the steep trail.

>

Even though his breathing was still ragged, he tried his best to talk.  "What are we going...to do about Cynthia?  Do you think she's...still alive?"

>

She shushed at him, still concerned about his condition.  "Try not to talk, honey.  You're taxing your heart enough by going up this trail."  After a few beats she answered him.  "I don't know what happened to Cynthia.  I hope for her sake that she's resting peacefully."

>

Tom looked at her with hooded, suspicious eyes.  "'Resting peacefully?'  I hope she's alive and got away from those...people."

 

Chloe pursed her lips, picturing in her mind what they might do to her if she did live.  Shaking the horrible image from her mind, she simply said: "Yeah, you're right; I hope she's still alive, just as long as they don't get their hands on her."  Tom glanced down at his feet, getting her meaning and going silent as he pictured a fate worse than death for their friend.

>

They didn't talk anymore until they came upon a familiar bend in the trail, Chloe shielding her eyes to get a better view of the slight cabin off in the distance.  "Oh thank God," she pointed off into the woods for Tom's benefit. "There it is."  Tom huffed in relief through a mask of pain as they limped off of the trail, rustling leaves as they went, as there was no discernable trail to speak of.

>

Coming up to the wooden shack, an odd sense of reverence came over them.  It was as if the structure had been claimed by nature sometime ago and they were encroaching on Mother Nature's claim on it.  There were thick trees growing close enough to it to imagine thick roots coming up in the floor inside, perhaps enveloping it entirely in a decade with a whole new copse of trees.  The only giveaway that it had once belonged to humans was the metal sheets rusting on its top like an old brown hat, a bit of silver showing through here and there like stitching, reminiscent of its previous glory.  There were no windows to speak of, but a green growth spread across one outside wall in a parody of a misshapen windowpane.  Green ivy competed with the mold, crawling up all four sides of the ancient dwelling.

>

When they approached the back end, they both breathed a sigh of relief to see that the door was still on its hinges.  There was no doorknob, just an empty hole that whistled when the wind kicked up.  The door was held static by the growth encroaching around it, creeping in and out of the sides as if the greenery couldn't make up it's mind to come in or out.

>

Chloe let go of Tom's side and breathed a sigh of relief as she noticed his breath was slowing down considerably now.  They hadn't even entered the shack yet, and things were already looking up.  She smiled at him before stepping up to the door.  He even chuckled in response to her smiling face.

>

Digging her fingers into the side of the door, one by one, she competed with the vine growing there.  Testing her grip with one hand, the door only shuddered in response, so she pushed her other hand into the crack.  Squaring her shoulders off, she moved her legs apart for more leverage, jerking the door open by inches.  The old wood groaned in its complaint and also as a warning not to test its strength.  It looked weathered enough, so Chloe took it slowly.

>

Tom couldn't help himself, positioning his face in the crack made by Chloe's prying hands.  The stench inside hit his face full on, and he choked before moving away from the door.  From what he'd seen inside, the shack had had plenty of time to ferment in its own contrived darkness.  Chloe laughed at him as she kept pulling on the door.  "Maybe it'd be a good thing to take the door full off, huh?"  All Tom could do was cough and wave the air in front of his face, shaking his head from side to side.

>

Chloe kicked at the carpet of leaves and ivy that was now wedged against the door, having been pushed aside by their unplanned protrusion into nature.  She kept a hand against her mouth as she looked inside, not wanting to start coughing when she breathed in the moldy fumes.  The two foot wide gap in the door must have been enough ventilation to purge the shack, as she didn't feel a tickling at her throat, so she entered the shack with one foot, testing the ground inside first.  To her surprise, the ground held underneath her foot, so she pulled in her other foot, fully entering the shack for the first time.  She had to take a moment to let her eyes adjust, as she could only see the light creeping through the gaps in the wooden walls.  As she stood stock still, Tom entered, his hand still held cautiously up to his face.

>

When Chloe was finally able to see, she was surprised to see basic furnishings set up.  Of course, there was a fine layer of silty mold covering everything, but all of the basic comforts of home were here.  She made an amazed "huh" sound as she walked into the middle of the room, Tom following up with a "wow" a moment later.  At the far end of the shack, a cast iron stove was camouflaged by a grassy growth, but some of the coal blackness of the stove shown through in defiance.  Shoved to either side of the stove were two beds that looked unmade as they were wrapped wholly in a green blanket of moss.  Still, the green pillows looked fluffy, and Tom had the sudden urge to lie down on the right bed in a fit of exhaustion.  Just in front of the stove was an old rocking chair, its sledded bottom seemingly incapable of functioning anymore.  Chloe stepped forward, testing it, and to her surprise it rocked back and forth in response to her fingers.

>

Tom turned to his immediate left, wiping the mold from the top of an ancient desk that still had an old oil lamp perched on it.  The modest wooden chair scraped against the wooden floor as pulled it out to get a better look at the fragile papers organized on the top of the desk.  His fingers dragged across the stained papers and weathered envelopes.  Dust jumped from the paper as they flicked back into position, bouncing off of his searching fingers.

>

They both looked at each other in amazement as Chloe crossed the floor to check out a bank of shelves behind the door.  "There's actually canned goods still here on this shelf."  She picked one up at random, staring at the can as if it would give up some ancient secret.  The shriveled paper around the can reminded her of the old arty advertisements California farmers had once used to label their goods.  "These have got to be pretty old.  I'm not sure if they'd still be good."

>

"Check this out."  Chloe turned to see Tom wave an introduction to the desk.  He pointed to the spectacles lying at the edge.  "It looks like the man of the house was courteous enough to leave his glasses here for us to use."

>

She walked over to him as if gliding on a cloud.  "Tom, this is...this is really something.  It's almost like something out of a museum, you know, like untouched.  Everything is in its place, unmoved after God knows how many decades of neglect."

>

"Yeah, it's definitely strange, like we're walking into somebody's most private dwelling."  He walked over to the stove, brushing off some green growth with his palm before opening the black metal grating in front.  It squeaked on hinges that complained of its disregard.  "Jesus, there's even ashes still here in the stove."  He looked over at Chloe with hope ringing his eyes.  "Should we light her up, see if she still works?"

"I'm not sure that'd be such a good idea."  She hiked a thumb over to her right.  "They might see the smoke and figure out where we were hiding."  Noting the dejected look on Tom's face she tried to keep his spirits up, talking faster now.  "But we wouldn't want to breathe too much of this mold in, 'ya know?  Maybe you could prop the door open while we air out some of these things, huh?"  She smiled at him, offering him some encouragement to keep moving as she sidles up to him.  Her lids were thick and she bumped her hip against his.  "Who knows, maybe we can even share a communal bed together?"  She winked at him as he laughed, smacking his rear as he moved to the door.

Moving slowly up the trail, it wasn't hard for the leader and the fat one to keep track of where the girl and the man had gone.  The leader had stared at the strange patterns left behind by their tracks that they were no longer strange to him.  The tracks had been wide and erratic in the beginning, but as they neared the lake, they became even and predictable.

>

When the lake came into view behind a gap in the trees, both the leader and the fat one looked for their cave up in the hills, eager to be home.  The leader slowed down his pace as he looked for the telltale smoke coming from the cave, sniffing the air.  What he smelled wasn't smoke, but something unexpected yet not altogether unfamiliar:  the stench of death.  The first thought in his head was that one of the pursued had died, so he waved the fat one on, eager to pick up the pace.  When they got closer her changed his mind; this was a death of a different flavor.  If it had been either the girl or the man, the smell of curdled blood and rotten insides wouldn't have been as sharp on his sensitive nose.  This wasn't a fresh kill.

>

There were many confused tracks here, and following them, they came on a site that was a mess of footprints and the smell of a tamped fire.  The leader's eyes found where the stench came from and signaled for the fat one to put their burden down.  When they had shifted the weight of the boars down, he picked up a rock, sidearming it towards the furry rodent feasting on the corpse.  It scurried off into the brush as they both approached, sizing up the condition of the corpse with a grim fascination born of necessity.  If the body's poisons had built up too much, the corpse wouldn't be much good for eating.

>

Poking the corpse's blue skin with a finger, the leader grunted before standing up, further surveying the ground around the campsite.  He felt a palm to the ashes in the fireplace, not feeling any heat there.  The freshest pair of tracks led off to an area that wasn't touched, and following them with his eyes, noticed the bit of blue peeking from a bush.

>

Lifting off the branch used to conceal it, he stared at the cooler for a minute before testing it with his hand.  The outside was nubby, yet somehow smooth to the touch.   He had never felt this material before and scratched his head in confusion as to its purpose.  Sighing from exhaustion and confusion he signaled for the fat one to pick up the load again. 

>

There was much to do and they were both eager to get home.

>

Still, it was the leader's job to keep all of this in his head, and he watched the line of the tracks as they made their way around the bend toward home.  He knew it was only a matter of time until they found the girl and the man, though, and he noted with dull eyes where the tracks had gone off the trail into the woods.  They would be back soon enough to pick up the trail again.  He pointed at the direction the tracks had taken to the fat one behind him, grunting in consideration.  The fat man nodded his head, his eyes blinking against the sweat pouring down his face.  They took the right path, the one towards home, glad to have this leg of the journey almost done.

>

As they got closer to their cave, the sound of rushing feet prompted him to put a hand to his belt, feeling for his axe.  He was almost ready to drop his end of the load until a familiar sight came around the bend: the fat girl.  Noting the panicked look in her pockmarked face, he tried to control his own revulsion for her, but was unable to, his face sneering at her arrival.  She must have seen this, and backed off, deciding to wait until they reached the cave to show him.  Stepping off the trail, she bowed her head at the men in deferment as they passed along the trail.  She did glance up at the boars skewered on the spear when the stench of them invaded her senses, bringing a smile to her face and saliva into her mouth.  They had a good hunt this time.

>

Walking behind them, she was slow to realize the bald one was not with them.  Not wanting to raise the ire of the men, she held her tongue.  Besides, they had the tall one to deal with back in the cave first.

>

She waited for the men to drop their load before entering in behind them.  A pocket of gas escaped from one of the skewered boars when they set it down.  The leader sighed, wanting to get this over with.   He waved her into the cave, sensing that she wouldn't give the men any peace, and he was too tired to beat her.  She pointed to the back room, and they trudged back into the dark room, the smell of rotten flesh and death hitting their nostrils.

>

The tall one stood listless against the cold cave wall, a dribble of blood leaking from one corner of her bruised lip.  Her hair lay in greasy piles atop her head and her eyes were mere slits in her head.  The leader was too tired to give into the sudden rush of anger, only grunting and signaling for the fat one to take her down and bring her to the communal room.  He sighed again as both men shuffled back to warm their hands and feet on the fire.

>

The fat one fed the fire until it rose, and the leader rubbed the muscles in his legs to keep them from cramping up.  He watched the fat girl shove the tall one towards the men and she sat with a thud by the fire.  They left the spot open where the fat girl had already laid down a carpet of dirt, a stick laying nearby.

>

Before sticking the stick into the blank canvas of the dirt, she looked into all of their faces, making sure she had an attentive audience.  The skinny girl hung back in the shadows, preferring to stay out of this.  The tall girl simply rubbed at her raw wrists as they waited, the sound of the stick scraping the rock floor.  Jabbing the stick in the dirt for emphasis, the fat girl finished up her drawing, and then stood, appraising her work before stepping back.

>

The leader stood with a groan, already feeling his muscles relax and twist up at the same time.  He sat on his haunches, the glow of the growing fire acting as his reading light.  He rubbed at his scraggly chin, studying the picture, and understood where the corpse down by the lake had come from.  Glancing up at the tall one, he tried on his best look of disgust, but couldn't completely hide the glint of mischievous pride that came to his eyes.  The tall girl could be just as lustful as the fat girl sometimes.

>

Still, he had a role to play and he was well aware of this as he stood.  Arching his back, he loosened up his shoulders, preparing to mete out her punishment.  His sore joints complained and his back cracked, which freed up his body for what he must do. 

>

He disappeared into the men's quarters, returning with a thick leather whip used especially for this purpose.

>

The tall girl had cunning, and used every trick she had at her disposal.  She began wailing softly into her hands even as she presented her back to the leader.  The fat girl scoffed, seeing through her display.  She had seen just how tough the tall girl was, and this was a small punishment by her account.  Still, the fat one relished the repeated slaps against the tall one's back, tracing the welts that came up with her eyes, willing them to burn. 

>

She couldn't help but feel cheated when the leader stopped after a while, tossing aside the whip and motioning for the tall one to do her crying in the women's quarters.  She got up, limping as she went, sucking in air through her teeth to overplay the sting on her back.  The fat one watched with furious eyes, her mouth pursed in anger.  She knew not to meet the leader's eyes now, so she only watched her own feet, afraid that she'd be beat if he saw her anger.  Hearing him groan as he sat back down to the fire, she knew he didn't have the strength to do so.  Still, she did her best to wipe off the bitter anger in her heart as she rose to his call for food and drink.

The first thing she felt was confusion and then a lightning bolt of pain shoot through her side.  Rolling herself in a ball, she gritted her teeth through the pain until she could breathe again.  It had been like waking up after being hit by a truck, but she remembered that wasn't what had happened to her.  She remembered looking down at the trail after being skewered and raised off her feet. 

>

Touching her chest through the jacket, she felt a sharp pain when her fingers came across the wound.  She had to peel the jacket from her skin and couldn't help screaming out in utmost pain when the scab was torn from the gaping wound.  When the wound hit the air, it whistled in time with her breathing, drawing up a cold icicle of pain that burned its way through her lungs.  Fresh blood pooled at the wound even as she let her jacket fall over the wound again, writhing in pain.

>

Knowing she had to put a proper dressing on her chest, she concentrated on breathing through pursed lips as her hands went to work, slipping herself out of the jacket and shirt she wore, her limbs gone numb with the shock of the cold air and the damp embrace of dead leaves below her.  Her backpack was gone, so she had no choice but to rip her long sleeved shirt into one long shred and tie it around her chest, doubling up an extra patch of cloth on the wound.

>

She barely had enough strength to slip her arms back into the sticky jacket before passing out on the soft cushion of crusted leaves beneath her.  Her will faded, finding comfort in the patch of sun that caressed her through the canopy of trees.  The ground felt as comfortable as her bed at home, and she slipped into unconsciousness in a deluded state of happiness.

>

Waking up, however, was a shock into the cruel reality that had brought her here now, shivering and alone on a bed made of leaves and mud.  The shotgun pain in her side redoubled as she tried to sit up, falling back again and whimpering in the back of her throat until the pain subsided.  She hadn't been able to close the jacket before she'd last passed out, and the sun had moved onto another patch of leaves, so she reached down slowly to zip the windbreaker up.  She didn't want to inspect the wound, expecting the worst, but she did get a glance and saw that blood hadn't completely soaked through.

>

Zipping up the vinyl jacket, she felt a strange coldness touch her chest and felt a flutter of hope, remembering the flask that Tom had let her keep.  She pulled it out, trying to measure the splash inside before twisting off the top and taking a greedy gulp.  Grateful for the burning sensation as it travelled down her throat, she lay still, waiting for the dulled sensations while staring at the mosaic of light shining through the tops of the trees.

>

When her eyes started to close, she sighed before pushing up on the hard ground, testing the twisting pain in her chest.  It still hurt like hell, but she kept going anyways, through sheer force of will.  Fully sitting up now, she had no choice but to grip her chest in an effort to stop the fresh blood from leaking, but also in a vain attempt to quell the wave of aching pain.  With a shaky hand, she reached down and took another swig of whiskey before screwing the cap back on and slipping it back into her jacket.  She might need to dull the pain again, later on.  She had no idea where she was or how long she would be out here, but she was pretty sure she was on her own now.  Hoping that Tom and Chloe had made it out of here and were going for help, she couldn't count on that.  She had to get moving.  Who knows it those people would be back for her?

 

Her left arm shook in convulsions as it supported her body, favoring that side as she got her feet under her.  Once her sneakers could handle the brunt of her weight, it was easier going, and the wound on her chest thanked her for easing up on the pressure, easing into a barely tolerable ache as she straightened up.  Her breathing could only take in small gasps, and she found herself wishing that the escaped cloud of air that misted the morning air would stay in her lungs.  She began to see stars and had to reach for a nearby boulder, leaning on it for support.

>

When she saw the corpse of one of those things, she tried to scream, but the pain stopped her like a slap in the face.

>

All she could do was whimper at the pain in her overworked lungs and the horror of seeing one of the things dead.  When the light headed shock wore off, she saw the bullet hole in the center of his chest, and she felt a grim smile and a warm satisfaction come over her.  Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, you bastard.  She knew this wasn't the one that had killed her James, but it was comforting to know one of their numbers had died, and that there was a possibility that Tom and Chloe had made it out without being killed.

>

There was a noise behind her, from the direction of the trail, and she stumbled away as best she could, off into the woods to hide from these people.  She had to stay alive and out of site.  If they found her again, they would finish the job they had already started.  Cynthia only wished she knew where she was headed.

Pulling the green carpeted cover off the bed, Tom grabbed Chloe's arm as she dragged it across the floor, heading outside with the bundle of ancient coverings.  "You're not going out there, are you?"  Tom lowered his eyes and also his tone when he spoke again, letting go of her arm.  "I mean, what if they're waiting for us out there?"

>

She put a protective hand up to his face.  "Honey, I'll be OK.  Remember," she patted the gun in its holster, "I have this for protection."

>

"Right, well I hope you don't mind if I stay in here."  Not waiting for her answer, he smiled sheepishly, turning suddenly in embarrassment.  He got right back to work, lifting the crowbar that they'd found tucked behind the big cast iron stove.  They'd also noticed a strange square of light that peeked out from hastily placed boards on the west wall.  The boarded up window would face the morning sun, and they both agreed their haven could use a little light, so Tom had set to work.  Slipping the crowbar between the cracks, he felt a little more useful when he heard the boards creaking under the strength of his muscles.  Besides, he had no desire to go outside, green fungus or not.

>

The second board hadn't come off as clean as the first, breaking in half.  Tom figured he was anxious to have his safe haven feel more attractive, more like home.  The last nails groaned out of the frame, and he stood back to inspect his handiwork, panting at the cloud of dust and grime he'd stirred up.

>

From behind, Chloe's voice started him, and he gripped the other end of the crowbar with his other hand.  "Wow, that sure does spread some light on things, doesn't it?"  She ignored the tension that had gathered in his arms and sauntered in, leaving the door ajar behind her, sunlight streaking across the floor.

>

"Yeah, the sun already passed the window this morning, but tomorrow it'll come in bright to wake us."  He looked thoughtfully at the window, trying to ignore the trees moving with the wind beyond them.  Turning back to face her, the look he gave her was pinched, and his eyebrows went up in embarrassment.  "Hey, I know this is going to sound stupid, but do you think we can close the front door now?  I'm sure most of the fungus has left, and I was going to see if I can open this window for air."  Instead of admitting to his fear, he squared his shoulders up to the window frame, hiding his face as he searched for a lock.

>

Chloe took slow steps up to him and placed a gentle hand on the small of his back, then reached up and intertwined his searching fingers with hers.  He turned to her, knowing what was coming.  "Honey, you do know that you're not well, right?"

>

He laughed a short, dry laugh.  "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I figured that out when I thought I was going to die or go crazy in panic on the way here."  He lowered his head, shaking it in derision.  When he raised his head to meet her eyes, she could see tears crowding his eyelids.  "I've...I've never felt that out of control, Chloe.  Not even when I couldn't leave the house for those few weeks.  I've never been this...scared."  With that, his face collapsed and he buried it into her neck, taking a few moments to sob without abandon.  Chloe stroked his back and gave him a few moments after he had straightened back out, stifling his tears with swipes of his sleeve.

>

She kept her voice low and soothing.  "I know, Tom.  I was really scared for you too."  Waiting a few beats before dropping the bombshell, she couldn't help but grimace.  "That's why you have to stay here while I go and get help."  Instead of waiting for his response, she filled the awkward silence with her own thoughts.  "I don't think you'd make it back there," she shook her head in emphasis, "not with the way your panic attacks are getting steadily worse.  Not only that, but if there are any more of those people out there, you'd be an easy target, and you'd put both of us at risk of being killed." 

>

Tom refused to meet her eyes, so she lifted his chin in her hand, surprised to see a look of relief etched on his face.  "I'm so glad that you feel that way, Chloe.  I don't want you to think that I won't be there for you."  His eyes threatened to resume his sobbing in impotence.  "But I really am just a useless, sad person."  He broke their embrace and held up a hand to stop her disagreement.  "I know in normal life, it'd be a different story, but up here," he waved his arms to encompass the entire woods, "I'm too afraid.  I just have this feeling that we're completely alone up here, that we're too far removed from being safe, and that's a really scary thought, you know?"

>

She walked back into his arms, shoving her chest back into his.  "I know that, honey, that's why I want you to stay here while I get help."  She searched his eyes, knowing that it was important for his ego to believe this.  "I can take care of myself, and nothing is going to happen to me, OK?  This is all just going to seem like a distant memory soon."  She pounded a fist into his chest, hoping to beat home the idea of their safety.  "I promise."

>

------------------------------

>

Tom woke up to the sound of Chloe's boots hitting the raw wood of the cabin floor.  She was fully dressed, settling her other foot into the seat of her boot as she stood from the stool.  He kept his eyes in slits as he watched from the bed, not wanting to move, but still feeling comfortable, naked under the covers of the small bed, his sleeping bag smooth against his skin.

>

A warm pleasure, addictive like an opiate, flooded his veins as he remembered them making love here.  They had been gentle, but urgent with one another, the unknown danger outside creating some strange aphrodisiac that demanded that they take all they could, while they could.  Neither one knew if they would see each other, let alone make love to one another, ever again.

>

Even when he watched her slip on her pack, cinching the strap at her waist, he didn't stir.  He didn't trust himself to come fully awake, afraid of what he'd say, so he only lay there, pretending not to feel the kiss she gave him on the cheek.  Listening to the sound of her boots on the floor, and the door being shoved aside, he had to call out to her, saying, "I love you, Chloe Sinclair."

>

She paused in the doorway, the midday light outlining her tousled hair.  Pausing for a moment, finding her breath, she called out in turn.  "I love you, Tom Brooks, and I'll be back for you."

>

He watched the empty space in the door that she'd left for what seemed like an eternity before getting up to bar the door closed.

The only thing that had slowed Chloe down was keeping her tracks hidden until she got to the bend in the trail.  She made a wide berth off the path, making sure there weren't any prints in the trail that were swept clean by her beforehand.  When she made it to the crossroads, she smiled at James' sneaker still lying there, making sure to step in the same prints in the leaves and onto the trail.  She made a point of not turning to look at James' corpse as she passed.

>

From then on, it was smooth sailing and she had made good time.  She didn't have anyone else to worry about, so she sailed around the bends, keeping one hand on the pistol at her belt.  Feeling the jangling keys to the SUV in her pocket gave her wings and she ignored the clouds of dust she was kicking up.  It felt unreal to think that she was almost out of this mess, and could get help for at least herself and Tom.  She wasn't so sure about Cynthia though, especially as she rounded the familiar curve where they'd been ambushed.

>

The dead giveaway was the cloud of insects hovering over the person she'd shot; the one that had tried to double back on her.  She decided not to have a look at his body, crinkling her nose when she caught the scent of rotting flesh.  What she was really interested in was finding any trace of Cynthia, and she pulled her gun from the holster as she slowed down, easing into the blanket of leaves by the side of the trail.  Walking as if on eggshells, she looked for a sign, any sign and found it near the boulder where she'd been skewered.  The trail of blood led from the trail into a deep depression made in the leaves, pooling there in the middle of what Chloe figured must have been where she lay for a while, judging by the amount of blood.  Either she died, or she lived, but they still must have taken her away, she reasoned.  Allowing herself an audible "Fuck," she bent down and placed a hand where she figured her friend's head had lay on the bed of leaves. Standing up, she hurried back on the path before she gave herself time to feel any emotion.  I'm not going to give these primal apes or whatever they are, a chance to catch me, she counseled herself.  Besides, if I do get caught, there's nothing I can do to help Tom or Cynthia, even if she is still alive.

>

Chloe pumped her arms, her breath coming in white clouds as it met with the cold mountain air.  She was pushing her body to make it out of there, down the trail and to the safety of her SUV.  Whether it was from fear or sheer will didn't matter to her anymore, and she blocked everything out but the beating of her heart and the trail beneath her boots.

>

She paused to holster her gun again when she was through with her panic fit, surveying the woods around her before snapping the thin leather strap around the butt of the gun.  I'm almost there, and they've lost us anyways.  There's no way they'd catch up to me now. 

>

Still, there was a small, primal part of her that told her to keep moving, but she slowed down to a walk, her legs and lungs eager for a rest.  She wrapped her palms behind her head, opening her chest up to try and catch her breath.  Watching the cold cloud of her breath slow down helped her to relax, and soon the stitch in her side had gone.  She gave herself a moment to recover with her hands on her knees, bent over but still listening to the woods, watching for any movement.

>

Rounding a few more bends, she almost gave in and sprinted to the familiar broken bridge.  Her elation at seeing the bridge made her heart race, which she tried to keep down, but she did nothing to stop the smile that grew across her face.  She was almost there, and she pumped a fist into the air when she saw the black smear of her SUV in the distance.

>

She remembered they had to cross the dried up stream by hopping here and there on errant boulders set in the crevice, and she dropped down where she figured they had crossed before.  Setting her body to the task, she climbed and jumped and almost fell when she first smelled it.  The awful smell of death hit her like a wall and she scrambled for purchase, hugging the rock she'd almost fallen from, peering down into a flat part uninterrupted by any boulders.  She couldn't say what had happened in that spot, but she was sure it wasn't anything pleasant.  There was blood dripped there in a gelatinous pool, a pattern of death and slaughter.  Chloe watched the way it dripped off here in there, expecting it to reveal some answer to an unknown question she had. 

>

Instead of getting an answer, her own emotions took over and a sense of foreboding trouble possessed her.  It was a sense that no matter what she would do, she would never leave here alive.  That sense put a panic into her head and her limbs responded in kind.  She leaped over the bloody mess in a frantic bid to outrun her fate, wide-eyed and mad.  Her arms and legs wouldn't work fast enough for her, and she had the feeling as if she was in a dream; unable to move fast enough to outrun the danger.  She began chanting, "No, no, no..." in some semblance of control over her situation, pausing only as she reached the top of the bank, pulling herself up.

>

Running to the SUV, her eyes registered the beaten vehicle before her mind could comprehend it.  She stopped in the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on the gouges taken out of her SUV.  Touching the black metal, she traced the gouges in the sides, bending to feel the deflated rubber of the wheels in disbelief.  This can't be happening.

>

Her fists rained down on the ruined door as she fell to her knees, a frustrated yell erupting from her throat.  She only stopped yelling when her throat burned and her head threatened to implode.  The veins in her neck stuck out like wire before she collapsed and broke down, crying into the slashed tread of a ruined tire.

After they'd had time to rest, the leader kicked the snoring fat one, his eyes blinking in confusion.  Not giving an explanation, he only signaled for him to rouse himself.  They still had work to do.  The young girl was in the rear of the cave, slicing up a boars haunch with a dull blade, while the tall girl and the fat girl took turns glaring at one another across the fire.  The leader had tended to the spit, turning the fleshy thigh of the biggest boar, its fat sizzling over the heat.

>

Now he took his knife and slipped the knife into the thigh, the flesh falling off the bone.  He dug his teeth into the juiciest part while holding out the skewer to the fat one.  The fat one glanced at the leader, trying to judge just how much he should take.  The leader sensed this, and only pushed the thigh into his knife, urging him to take what he wanted.  The fat one didn't hesitate, ripping off a thick muscle, grease running down his quivering chins.

>

What was left from the skewer was thrown in the dirt between the tall girl and the fat girl.  The tall girl hesitated and the fat girl reached out, sucking on the bone with a triumphant grin directed at the tall girl.  It was just as well, as the tall girl reasoned her size was the only thing that gave her an edge over the fat girl.  Besides, there was plenty of boar to be shared among themselves.  The men had done well.

>

Cupping water from a bowl, the leader slurped his fill before motioning the fat man and the fat girl to the cave entrance.  The fat man groaned as he got up, his bones complaining.  The fat girl had a confused look on her face, but she did as she was told, not daring to question the leader's decisions.  They all grabbed spears before setting out on the trail again.

>

Without explanation, they set out on the path, the leader keeping a weary eye out for the man and woman.  He knew they had to be here somewhere; it was just a matter of finding them and surprising them.  They had moved like large, dumb animals not using stealth at all, and the leader figured that would be to their advantage.  He eyed the same tracks that veered off into the forest by the crossroads, eager to get on with the chase. 

>

First they had some cleaning up to do.

>

As they reached the abandoned campsite by the lake, they were all met with the swampy smell of the decomposing corpse.  The fat girl choked at first, but tamped down her disgust with a stern look from the leader.  He regarded her with distaste, one hand cocked on his hip in judgment of her, the other hand gripping the spear.  She averted her eyes, and said nothing, waiting for a blow upon her head or the smack of the spear to bruise a leg.  When nothing came, she looked back up at the leader, waiting for something, anything than just silence.  The way he was looking at her told her nothing, until a spark lighted in her mind, the wheels slowly turning in her brain.

>

She cried out within herself, not wanting anything to do with the corpse.  Her eyes searched the ground frantically in empathy of the struggle that went on within her.  Looking over at the corpse, she felt a wave of revulsion travel up and down her spine, thinking about having to touch the maggot ridden corpse.  She looked up at the leader, searching his face, and he nodded slowly.  Before she had time to sulk, the leader pointed up to the adjoining trail, where the other lay.  She followed his finger, but knew that he was pointing to the cave where the one-that-was-hidden lay.  It was time for a feeding.

>

The fat girl couldn't help showing her displeasure, sighing a deep sigh, her heavy head sinking into her thick chest.  The leader picked up his spear, aiming for her thighs, when his hand was stayed by the sound of leaves being rustled up the trail.  Signaling for the two to hide, they moved behind a thick stand of pines, waiting as the leader looked on through a small split in the green branches.  The leader relaxed his grip on the spear, knowing that the smell of the corpse would cover any scent they had brought down with them.

>

Still, the leader was surprised that the woman skipped right past the campsite, not even turning to look.  This was what he was waiting for: a chance to surprise their prey.  He was confused but pleased that the girl wasn't with the man any longer, so that should make stalking her easier.  The leader considered the path they should use to follow as they listened to her footsteps fade into the distance.  They stood stock still until the leader moved from their hiding spot, the others following carefully behind. 

>

Nodding at the fat man to follow, he again pointed at the fat girl, then at the corpse, and finally at the other path.  The path where the one-that-was-hidden lay, making sure to flex the muscles in his arm, jutting out his command with a firm finger.  She nodded with her head bowed, distracting herself with the senseless patterns of sweeps and swirls in the dirt.  She didn't want to upset the leader and add to the collection of bruises on her legs.

>

--------------------

>

The leader and the fat one left without haste, perhaps in a bid to avoid the fat girls petulant whining.  They all knew the task of feeding the one-that-was-hidden was a punishment, and he felt sure that she was becoming too headstrong.  The way that she had bound the tall girl and passed judgment on her had infuriated him, and he meant to take her down a few notches.  The tall one hadn't misbehaved in his opinion.

>

He shook the thoughts of his duties from his head, and concentrated on the hunt.  Sniffing the air and moving with an economy of motion, they both listened for any sign of the girl traveling ahead of them.  Judging the pace the girl had been moving at, the leader slowed down when he figured they were getting close.  He wore the memory of this trail as if it were the fine edge of his well-used axe.

>

Sure enough, when they reached the bend where the bald one had been killed and her companion had been skewered, they heard her boots scrape across dry leaves off the path.  Holding up a hand to signal a stop, the leader looked with bemusement at his spear, noticing this was the same spear he'd used to kill the girl on this path.  His smirk was pasted on his face as they listened, trying to decipher her movements.

>

They both heard the word "fuck" spat out from the girl below, and the leader and fat one looked at each other, unsure what was happening.  Their questioning looks were soon replaced with tense limbs and perked ears as they caught the sound of the girl's boots slapping the dirt, her breath coming in panicked gasps as she moved away from them down the path.

>

Moving at a good pace, they also moved with caution, not wanting to lose the element of surprise.  She was leaving a thick trail of footprints and panic along the trail, so there was little chance they would lose her.  Hearing her boots slap the dirt helped to gauge when the leader could speed up or slow down.

>

Now he signaled for the fat man to slow down in time with him, as he didn't smell the acidic smell of fear downwind, and her boot steps were swallowed by the dusty dirt.  Still, the blood in his veins were pumping, knowing they were getting closer to the bridge that marked the outer limits of their territory.  They had to make a move soon.

>

Hiding behind a few thick trees, they crouched down, watching for signs of the girl making her way across the broken bridge.  Once they left this hiding place, they would be out in the open, and the leader wanted to make sure they would still have the advantage when they did so.  The seconds ticked off with a maddening slowness, both the leader and the fat man sweating in anticipation.

>

From up ahead, they could hear the words "No, no, no..." being repeated, but the girl was nowhere in sight.  The leader's grip on his spear tightened and he pursed his lips, fighting the urge to break their cover.  Finally, a hand shot up from the crevice to the right of the bridge, and they saw the girl pulling herself up, still chanting as she went.  The leader waved behind him as they broke cover, crouching over as they made their way over the dirt.

>

The girl hadn't looked back as she approached the big black thing they had destroyed before, so they both slipped down into the protection of the crevice.  They moved with a silent grace over the boulders in their path, their limbs energized by a sudden rush of adrenaline.  

>

The chase was on.

>

Once the leader peeked over the edge, he didn't bother to signal, but jumped out, the spear pumping in his hand as he ran.  The fat one followed behind him, his gasping breath hot on the leader's shoulder as they ran.  Up ahead the girl collapsed against the ruined frame of the machine, which matched his war yell and disguised their approach.

Tom had managed to find the middle ground of being asleep and drowsing off, but could never seem to fully relax in the empty cabin.  Even though it seemed hidden, like it was  a natural part of the woods, he still felt like any minute now he'd be found and would have to leave his haven, here in the woods.  Just thinking like that made the muscles in his legs and arms contract, and he had to lie there, massaging sore muscles when he wasn't undoing them, all that afternoon.

>

Not only that, but the cabin was old, and had many complaints of its own; age old wood creaking in the wind.  Try as he might, Tom couldn't help but jump a little in his bed each time the floorboards belched or the walls groaned.  The window was propped open, and the s-s-s-s-h-h-h-h sound of the wind on the trees sang a lazy background sound to his paranoia. 

>

The window game him a little ventilation, moving things that were probably glad to have it after so much solitude.  Letters on the desk flapped when the wind blew in time to the shushing sounds outside.  He still felt as if the air was thick with malice, and he was trapped, trapped here without any help for God knows how long?  Feeling that familiar ball of tension form in his throat, he threw aside the vinyl of the sleeping bag, bracing against the air hitting his sweaty body.  The sharp wetness hit him and made him forget all about his anxiety.

>

He could hear Chloe's voice, even now, telling him to drink more water.  Trying to picture her face, he walked over to his pack and unscrewed the top from a plastic bottle of water.  Drinking deeply, her realized he had probably needed that as he wiped the water from his lips with the back of his sleeve.

>

The papers from the corner of the room waved at him again, and he went to hear what tale they would tell him.  Among the obvious sales receipts, the ink fading right along with the withered and yellow paper was a leather bound pocketbook.  Tom had found it walking his fingers across the back set of papers, plucking it out and reading a page of the diary from the middle of the entries.

>

-----------------------

>

Dated:  October 13th, 1952

>

Jacob is coming around, I am sure of it.  He seems to be less lethargic and depressed, and I kicked the ball around with him outside for a time.  Jeremy, on the other hand, was up to his usual tricks, so he had to be chained to the floor of the cabin again. 

>

This will make it the third night in a row. 

>

I'm concerned that this is the most he's had consecutively, but I believe it'll just be a matter of time.  We had almost made it a full week with out having to restrain him. 

>

I'm going to have to step up the amount and volume of shocks, daily.

>

--------------------

>

Tom sat down, entranced and engrossed in the flowing script of the diary.  He felt at once ashamed to be reading someone's diary, but also the heady forbidden pleasure of discovering someone's secret life revealed before you.  His head felt light as he turned the page, shaking his head as if in a drunken haze.   He  tried to take in all of the the looping f's exaggerated tails of p's all at once, and had to blink before starting at the top.   It was overwhelming to take in, all at once, the slanted gait of someone's most personal thoughts.

>

--------------------

>

Dated October 14th, 1952

>

This will be the fifth day that I had to restrain Jeremy to the chain post.  Angela seemed drained today, and I think I know why now that I had to spend almost an entire day with him.  I try not to judge my son, but I did not like the looks that he gave me.  So, knowing what all small boys will eventually find out, I started to beat him, until he cried for me to stop.  Sometimes they have to be taught wrong from right.

>

When Jacob and Angela had come in, flush from the sun, I basked in a time in their happiness, which struck me to be as pretty as the sunny day.  That is, until they settled into the mood, thick as it was in the air, like soot.  I realized that is what Angela and I have to endure when we have to be alone with Jeremy.

>

The shock treatments were performed as scheduled.

>

--------------------

>

Dated October 18th, 1952

>

I usually don't go as long as four days not writing here, but it seems as if Jeremy and I have been busy.  Now I know it was a mistake not to restrain him last night, as we awoke to bloody pajamas again.  From the fur underneath his fingernails and teeth, it looked like it may have been several rabbits this time.

>

Watching Jeremy is really taking its toll and Angela and I.  We were talking about making another shack, just for Jeremy, but I didn't have the heart to tell Angela I'd lost that money back in Atlanta.

>

I'll have to figure something out.

>

--------------------

>

By this time, Tom's eyes were strained from squinting and his back bent over the pages in the book.  Using his thumb as a bookmark, he picked up the steel and sat perched beneath the light of the window.  Trying to keep his back straight, he felt his back bow in his interest to read the diary.  The cool air whipped at his neck, but he didn't care as long as he could continue reading.

>

----------------------

>

Dated: October 25th, 1952

>

I have to apologize for the lack of entries here.  Angela and I have, well, just been in a kind of funk lately.  Even little Jacob's eyes were worried for us, and he seems to spend more and more time outside the shack.  I can't say that I blame him.

>

But, Angela and I have decided, for you own sanity, and for the sanity of Jacob as well, to keep Jeremy in the cave up the hill.  I'm going to start building his restrains tomorrow.  The good Lord help us.

>

----------------------

>

Dated: October 27th, 1952

>

The restraints are holding up fine, and Jacob is all set to spend his first night in the cave.  Against my advice, mother left him a burning candle and his favorite teddy bear.  I knew that we wouldn't be able to keep up that kind of attention, and I didn't want the boy to get used to it.

>

I'll never forget the walk up to the cave; it was like a death walk.  What made it worse was having to watch Jeremy's eyes light up in excitement as if we were out on a rare stroll, like we had done in the old days.  Angela and I stayed stolid the entire trip and everyone stayed happy until we chained in Jeremy.  The way his face changed from happiness to madness will haunt me forever.

>

Good Lord help us.

>

--------------------

>

When Tom turned the page, his eyes were assaulted with a blue pen that was scrawled across the page in an economy of motion.  This was not the original authors writing.  With a puzzled face, he turned the next page to see if this was indeed, the final entry in the journal, and it was.  He began reading bent over the page, sure to catch every detail, knowing that he'd end up reading it over and over eventually.  That did nothing for the excitement he felt know, taking a moment to cover his pounding heart with his palm before starting.

>

----------------------

>

Dated: November 13th, 1952

>

I don't know why I'm doing this, or if it will make any difference at all, but I guess I wanted to cover all of my bases, before I head out to get help.  I may never return and then what would happen to Jacob, let alone Jeremy's victims if he was ever able to get loose from his restrains.

>

I wish there had been something I could have done about father, but he wouldn't have listened to me even if I had given him warning.  Maybe he was blind to the look of hate Jeremy gave him everytime he came around, which seemed a lot more frequent nowadays.  It was just inevitable.

>

Being too frightened to get near him anymore, I don't know what happened to his corpse.  I saw it happen; or rather I saw father slip away at Jeremy's feet, answering his calls for help.  By the time I got there, I knew there was nothing I could have done for him.  I'm ashamed to say I did nothing to help him, either, just kneeled out of Jeremy's reach and buried my face in my hands.  Taking Jacob's hand as he wobbled up on toddlers legs to his brother was the only thing I could manage to do.

>

Jacob is coming with me to get out of here before the snows start.  I'm hoping to make it to the air force base out on the highway.  God help me, I only want my child to survive.  Whatever Nathan and I did to that boy we deserve to get back in spades, but please be kind to my son.

>

In your Name I pray,

>

Angela J. Scopella

The tall one bit her lip; it was hell not knowing what the leader had taken the fat girl for.  It was also hard to concentrate on lighting the end of the burning log she had perched over the heat.  Her apprehension changed to a hopeful grin when she pulled the torch out of the fire; happy it had stayed lit.

>

She did cover the flame with her hand though, walking through the drafty cave.  The tall one kept a weary eye on the dancing flame.  Breathing a sigh of relief, she saw the sleeping face of the young girl, framed against the shadow from her hand and the wall of the cave behind.

>

Instead of hurrying right out of the mouth of the cave, she stopped, searching for any clue from below the valley.  All she needed was some sort of movement or noise to get her legs moving.  Her thighs ached in anticipation, her eyes scanning shapes in the distance.   She was rewarded with a loud bleating that almost faded completely into a white noise just behind the horizon.  It sounded like the ducks she remembered circled the lake, before we killed and ate them all.  Memories of torturing the animals wafted over her head like poison gas, and she inhaled the madness deeply from her caustic remembrances.

>

Her thighs twitched and the grip on her spear tightened as she jumped down from the stone entrance.  She took a low pose as she walked along the trail, ears and eyes alert.  The late afternoon sun drew across at a diagonal to the high grass at her side, so she stuck to the shadows.  Clouds gathered above her, and she watched a front of black come in with her eyes shielded to the sun.

>

When the little, almost secret path opened up, she decided to take the chance.  The fire on the torch wasn't burning as bright, it seemed, out here.  Still, she didn't want to take the chance, so she shoved it into the butt of a tree trunk.  Her back was illuminated from the backlit fire, creating a strange illusion on the tall grass before she pushed it aside.  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but she saw movement and waited for her eyes to catch up.  The grunt the fat girl made as she pulled at something on the ground helped too.  The tall one tried in vain to decipher what the fat girl was doing, so she gave up, closing the curtain of grass to get a better look.

>

Considering leaving the torch here or putting it out, her hand lay motionless over the tree stump when she jerked out the torch after a moment.  The defiance in her face pulled her smirk to the side, thinking what it would be like to jam the fire into the fat girl's face.  She jogged back to the path, torch in hand as her bare feet skipped across the dusty trail.

>

Seeing the little crossroads up ahead, she stopped in her realization of just how close she was to the campground and the eyes of the fat girl.  Taking her time, she crept up onto the side of the trail, backtracking around to hide her flame and get a better look at the fat one.  She kept reminding herself to stay away from the caves up here, as the leader had instructed them to.  They had never seen the one-who-must-be-hidden, only dumped off the leftover offal and gristle from their hunts.  She didn't know what it was, but was glad that she didn't know.  Right now, though, the more immediate threat of the fat girl was the biggest of her worries.

>

Stepping over the next adjoining trail, she moved with stealth away from the trails, covering the flame from her torch.  Moving sideways like a crab, she almost missed the blue sneaker lying on its side just off the path.  Checking the path first, she crouched down to hop over and retrieve it.  She plucked it from the wet leaves, careful to crabwalk back across into the woods before inspecting it.

>

Crouching behind a bushy pine, she lay her spear down as she turned the plastic shoe over and over in her hands.  Sniffing it, she caught a scent of cotton and feet, and...something else she couldn't put her finger on.  Not realizing that scent was the lingering stench of death, she tossed the shoe aside, thinking only of whom it might belong to.

>

Those thoughts got her to thinking, and she scanned behind her just for good measure.  She remembered that the sacred place was nearby, trying to get her bearings just off the trail.  Wandering back into the trail behind her, she scanned for the shack in the distance, and was rewarded with a view of it when she stood out in front of a stand of trees.

>

She also took note of the stumbling figure approaching it, gripping her spear and crouching down as she approached.

Chloe woke up with bells going off in her ears that jarred her vision.  Blinking hard, she shook her head in an effort to see straight. She felt the blast of the ruined SUV's car alarm shake above her before she could see.  At least there's something that wasn't broken.

>

Her heart dropped in her chest as soon as she was able to focus after the fall..

>

The grimy, venomous smirk in front of her face belonged to that thing that had taken Cynthia.  Behind him, a fat leering giant of a man watched timidly, almost as if he were planning which part of a meal he'd like to start with.  Chloe jumped back in fright, pumping her arms uselessly as she struggled against the rope tied to her hands and feet.  They had hog-tied her.

>

In a way, the silence was welcome once the SUV's alarm stopped bleating, but it was also a distraction that she didn't have at her disposal now.  Taking stock of her situation, her eyes frantically searched for something, anything to fight back with.  The leader's spear was set into the sand just a small foot from her hands, so she arched her back and made a grab for the spear.  Her hands were awkward in grabbing it, but still, Chloe took some gratification in the shocked look the leader had given her before yanking the spear from her furtive grasp.  Chloe's shoulders sagged and she had to fight the tears that would signal her defeat.

>

The tears did indeed come when the man in her face back handed her hard, across the cheek.

>

Her whole body gave up, and her limbs went slack, resting her arms and legs.  She was hoping her pounding heart would follow suite and stop beating so hard against her chest.  Staring at the treetops, she willed her heart to slow, but found it hard to do so now, when she saw the one that seemed to be above the fat one reach for a long sturdy pole.  He tested it's strength by smacking one end against his palm, then bent to slip the pole between her legs and through her arms.  She began crying again as she felt them lifting her up onto their shoulders, her body swinging back and forth.  All that she could do was hang there, unable to do anything as her arms and legs felt as if they'd come out of their sockets.  Gritting through her tear streaked face, she hugged the pole to try and alleviate the pain.  Every time she went limp it felt as if she were being drawn and quartered.  Blood rushed to her head as she sobbed, every muscle in her body compaining to her.  She decided to try and concentrate and take the pain head on, her muscles standing out on her arms, her buttocks flexed.

>

She got through many head-on moments, but managed to go for what seemed like miles before she started screaming.  The two men only laughed at her pain, which brought her to a whole level of humiliation coupled with her pain. Her throat hurt too much and soon, she couldn't scream anymore.  What came out of her mouth were sobbing wails combined with weak pleas for help and mercy through the tears and snot that bubbled up on her face.

>

The men took her off of their shoulders, depositing her onto the side of the trail, scraping the spear across her wrists and ankles as they slipped the spear from her.  They casually walked off, and she could see half of their bodies if she strained her eyes upside down.  One of them got on his haunches, studying something lying in the leaves.  He seemed to be lost in thought as he stroked his beard.

>

When he had come out of the trance, he pointed and threw a cloth at the fat man's belly, both of them bending over out of her sight.  They stayed busy at it for a few minutes and she was finally able to catch her breath.  She found watching the tops of the trees above her helped.  I wish my hands were free to at least rub the feeling back into my arms, she thought.

>

Looking back at her captors, she saw them both testing the weight of the corpse, testing the same kinds of knots holding her arms and legs.  She didn't make the connection until they started hauling the stinking corpse over to her, setting him down next to her.  They ignored her screams while the fat man crossed the corpse's bound hands over hers.  The leader did the same thing with their feet, and  stood back to study their work.  As an afterthought, the leader stuffed something leather and wet into her mouth, then tied it over her mouth.  When he stood and was satisfied, he slipped two spears through both her and the corpses arms and legs.

>

Pulling them up onto their shoulders, the corpse bounced off her side, the stench from the bullet hole wafting up and assaulting all of her sense.  It seemed like she could not only smell, but feel the greasiness and taste its essence pouring from the bullet hole like a spouted geyser.

>

All she could do was scream as she thrashed up against the corpse.

>

Her screams soon degenerated into sobbing wails when the enormity of her capture hit her full force.  She was unable to beat it head on, this time.  All she could do was squint her eyes hard as she sobbed with her entire being.

The fat girl now understood why the leader made her fetch the rope at the back of the cave.  She'd had to slip out an entire boar's leg and hindquarters to get the one she now bent down to slip on the corpse's hand.  Using her peripheral vision, she worked with the rotting corpse for her hip; unwilling to face the putrid death in front of her.  She could hear slimy slippery things on the body, and tried not to picture what they were doing to the body.

>

The body's hand was bloated already, that much she couldn't avoid seeing, as she tightened the knot on the corpse's hand.  It had a fishy grey quality that reminded the fat girl of the piles of meat that went bad in the back of the cave.  She rubbed her nose into the sleeve of her crusty shirt in irritation, as she took one last tug on the knot.  She was glad to be done touching the thing's flesh.

>

Just as she was done thinking the worst was over, a backwind caught the stink of the corpse right into her face, making her eyes water.  She had to bend over to stop from gagging and staggered away from the corpse; unwilling to take another assault like that so soon.  After catching her breath, she pushed up from her knees again and didn't mean to, but looked at the corpse, full on.

>

She saw the side mauled, the torso almost completely in half now, its innards spilling out in a long ropy trail.  A substance that appeared green like bright leaves leaked out from a torn organ, crested by pools of blood that filled the sand like a lake.  The grey intestines were the worst, punctured her and there, and trailing a long line of reek behind the body.

>

Her mouth filled with that morning's half-chewed greasy pig, and she choked on the chunky pieces that flew from her throat.  In the back of her mind, she wished she hadn't have been so greedy and ate so much of it.  It splattered along the edge of the campsite and almost hit the side of the blue cooler half covered by strands of pine branches.  Falling to her knees, and emptying what was left in her stomach, she placed a hand on the side of the cooler.  Spitting the remaining spittle from her lips, she noticed the fresh chill of the cooler, and placed both of her arms along the top, resting her flushed cheeks on the stubby cool plastic nubs of the cooler.  Waiting for her head to come back around, her hands felt for the sides of the cooler, fumbling with the top handles.

>

She lifted the lid after rubbing the handholds for a few moments in reassurance.  The lid creaked and she jumped, looking up, then down the path.  The water was still sloshing inside the cooler when she found her way back, so she stuck her hand in it.  Feeling the fresh water made her forget her stomach felt bad, so she leaned inside and splashed her face, rubbing it in to shock away her nausea.

>

After a few sips of the water, she stood and took big breaths while being careful not to look at the body directly again.  She spat into the sand bordering the lake, keeping her eyes far away from the body next to her.  It took a few moments for her head to stop spinning, but it did, she was able to focus on some movement coming from across the lake.  Shaking her head clear, she looked again and saw nothing.  She decided to forget about it, reasoning it was probably a deer or some creature; probably attracted by the death scent of the corpse.

>

She sighed again, to clear her chest, to fight off remembering the corpse beside her.  She could not get rid of the smell of the corpse now that she'd taken it in.  It would infest her hair, her clothes and her skin for days afterwards, she knew. 

>

Sitting back down, she swallowed in an effort to get the gorge to go back down into her throat.  Having already thrown up most of her breakfast, she spat up the bile that threatened to come back up in streams of liquid.  Slamming her fist into her thigh in frustration, she fought the tears when they did come, instead only brushing off the sweat from her upper lip and forehead.  She did take some comfort as the sweat from the cooler soaked up a wet spot into the back of her crusty shirt.  The cool wind spread the chilled water over her flushed skin in little detonations of cool pleasure.  Holding her head in her hands, she spat over and over onto the ground in front of her, trying to figure out how to do this.

>

Remembering what the leader had often done when venturing into the slaughter room, she fished for the rag in her pocket.  She remembered him placing the cloth up to his face, and she tested it by holding it up to her face and trying to breath through it.  The smell of the fabric invaded her nose, which was good, but she still frowned down at the bundle in her hand.  She didn't like the idea of having to give up one hand, so she spread the rag out, hand rolling it on the ground.  It took several tries, but she managed to tie the rag around her face, matting it into her fuzzy blonde hair in a thick knot.  She was glad that she'd studied the leader's knots too.

>

She stood up, still testing out the mask, her hands flitting over her face, shifting cloth here and there until she was happy with the fit.  The cloth smelled distinctly of the burning ash and black smoke of the fire from inside their cave.  Breathing it in deeply, she moved around the corpse, watching from the side of her eyes for the rope around the corpse's bloated hand.  When she did find the dirty rope, she took another big breath of home in the rag before wrapping the rope around her fist.  Preparing to shifting her weight to her front leg for a big yank up the path, she stopped and lifted her head when the scream ripped the air from up ahead.

Cynthia didn't care where she was going, just as long as she could get away from the trail.  She wasn't sure how long ago it was, but she'd woken up to a lazy river trailing around her body, shaping the dead leaves.  Turning on her side, she cupped the water in disbelief, watching the flotsam float by in a stagnant trail when she'd heard movement, below.  Although she wasn't completely sure it was someone on the trail, she got to her knees just the same, crawling along until she was simply no longer able to stand the burning in her chest.

>

She knew she was in big trouble when the clouds had started gathering over her head.

>

Knowing she had to get to higher ground, she gathered herself one last time before walking on all fours, scanning the forest around her with wary eyes.  There.   Her mind reminded her limbs where to go, as she grunted in anticipation, eager to scrape the mud from her hands.  If only she could stay conscious enough to make it.

>

She cried through the pain and met it head on, tensing her shoulders as she crawled along.

>

The first touch of her hand on the cold stone of the narrow cave was like ice, but to her it was like a comforting pain.  Even as she collapsed on her side in the small, dry space, the cold leeching from stone walls was a welcome shock.  She was just glad that could concentrate on the drip drip drip of the water from the mouth of the cave, instead of fading in and out of consciousness.  Knowing it probably wouldn't help, she slipped Tom's flask from the inside pocket of her jacket anyways.  She winced when she saw a fresh stain of blood on her bandage, but ignored it, instead focusing on the antiseptic burn from the whiskey as it rolled down her throat.  It hurt to move so she just lay there, feeling the dulling of both the alcohol and the cold stone of the cave easing her pain.

>

Waking up to a scrabbling above her head and clods of dirt falling to her clean cave floor, she sighed in resignation.  She knew this could have only lasted so long here, and sure enough she'd been found.  Grabbing at the stick she'd kept at her side, she groaned as she sat up, her face folding in pain for a moment.  From above she heard a growl, and was certain that she'd been spotted; even though she couldn't twist her neck that far to see.

>

The coyote obliged by jumping down onto the rain soaked tufts of dirt and grass in front of her.

>

Cynthia made a sound like a suppressed cry of alarm, tamped down by her determination to survive.  She moved her hands out, whipping out the stick for effect.  It worked.  The coyote jumped back, a half yelp, half bark snapping from its grim smile.  The wild animal licked its chops, smelling blood but sensing danger.  The hair on its mane stuck up, and the ears were pasted down to the narrow skull.  It made a few more half hearted attempts at bravery, but in the end they both stared at each other in embarrassment.  The dog seemed to look around for an answer as the sun peeked through the curtain of dark clouds.  It bounded to its feet and trotted off after hefting its tongue in and out in an apologetic pant, judging Cynthia more of a hassle than a prize.  Cynthia laughed and then cried after it had bounded out of sight, behind the stand of trees.

>

The sun had been short lived but had given her enough hope to try and gather her strength.   She would sleep, and gather her energy here while it kept raining outside, and keep moving when it cleared up.  Losing count of the stops and starts of her nap, she tired of the dull ache of lying down and pushed herself up, breathing through the pain.

>

After a while the pain left but a dull ache in her side that was better, for the moment, than sleeping on the hard stone.  In front of the cave, the drops of water clung from hanging moss before plinking into a stream collecting at the mouth of the cave.  For lack of having anything better to do, Cynthia watched the bits float in and out of the pool, trying to decipher what each bit was.  Her hand trailed down to her side as she stuck an exploratory finger in the stagnant water.  For a few moments she traced circles in the skin of the water, watching the trail of her finger, before the surface of the small puddle burst up into her face.  She jabbed her hand back in the cave, sticking it under her behind for comfort.  Watching the pool for what seemed like a long time, she watched it until she found it.  The giveaway had been the pair of antennae peaking out from the other branches amongst the puddle.  She watched its strange movements through the glass window of the puddle before moving her hand back beside her and the muggy pool.

>

Cynthia couldn't help but flinch when her cold clammy fingers met the hard shell of what she was now forced herself to think of as just shrimp.  The thing flapped its tail, thrashing the water in a bid for escape.  She leaned over, not thinking of her pain, and trapped it with both hands.  It squirmed in her palms, and she pushed down her revulsion. 

>

She had to eat.

>

Keeping the thing still with one hand, she reached for the stick and bashed at what looked like the thing's head.  It made a few more flops, including one big whack of its tail in one last bid effort for escape.  When Cynthia took her hand away from the thing, she kept expecting it to jump up and back into the puddle, but it stayed there, motionless.  She kept the stick handy in one hand as she picked at the shell of the thing, peeling away layers of shell and grit.  The white flesh looked edible enough, but Chloe wasn't taking any chances and still held her nose while swallowing.  She didn't chew on the first bite, which was good, because on the second bite her teeth scraped against shell and grit and she gagged, emptying her first bite into her mouth.  She closed her eyes and swallowed half a dozen times more before picking at the thing its just a shrimp again. Glad that there wasn't anything left to eat on the shell, she tossed the thing beyond the pool at the mouth of the cave.  It landed softly on the bank, near the rushing water, staring back at her.

>

When she woke up again, the shrimp thing was still staring at her from across the bank.  A streak of anger for the stupid shrimp corpse came in one fell swoop as she felt her stomach twisting and rolling.  Another part of herself wanted to blame herself for doing such a stupid thing, but the pain got most of her attention.  It felt like knives were bisecting her middle.  The pain was too much, so she had to push herself up and out of the cave to stand up straight.  But standing up that tall twisted something deep inside of her; it felt like some vital organ being pulled like taffy, so she could only move crouched over, glad for the nearby rocks to give her some balance.

>

Walk it off? Isn't that what all of the coaches say to do?  She groaned at the fresh stain across her chest as she took away a protective hand stretched across her stomach.  I'm still losing blood.  She laughed in a moment of weakness, allowing her a moment of indulgence before moving.  I've got to find help or I'm not going to make it.

 

Pushing off the thought of being defeated, she continued waddling, halfway bent over as if struck, her shoes dragging across blankets of crispy leaves. 

>

Using her hands when she could, she grabbed at the rocks peppering the landscape for support.  She had no idea where she was going, only that she needed to keep moving.  Keeping track of how far she'd come, she remembered how many times the hills rose and fell.  They came, one after another, until she stopped counting with her fingers and just echoed it in her mind.  It served mainly to pass the time, to distract her from the growing feeling that she would die out here.  The more hills she came across however, the harder it was to stop that nagging voice in the back of her head.

>

The voice was silenced as soon as she saw the shack for the first time.  She hesitated to celebrate though, so she had to squint her eyes before she could believe it was really there.  The hope that swelled into her chest brought tears to her eyes, and she stumbled on the thick carpet of leaves. 

>

She let her limbs go loose, all of the pain and uncertainty gone now that she was here.  Reaching for the cabin door, she forgot about her feet and tumbled onto the bed of leaves packed up in front of the door, her hand still raised to knock.  As her fingers scratched at the splintered wood of the cabin's door, she couldn't stop the flow of tears as they rolled down her cheeks.

>

>

-------------------------

>

Tom had been lost for so long in tracing back time through the letters that he had lost all track of time.  At first, he had simply begun by stacking all of the letters that talked about the one they hid, but it branched out easily from there.  There were receipts of sale, over there, longer and thinner with the letters stamped into the paper.  Some of the paper had been water stained, so he had to be careful.  Whoever the desk belonged to, Tom had to give it to him; he was organized.  Organized and meticulous. 

>

He came across a series of letters tucked in fine envelopes and Tom raked his finger across the paper like it was a bare canvas before pulling out the first and reading the pen script.

>

>

>

February Twenty First, 1953

>

To: Mr. and Mrs. Nathan A. Scopello

>

"A Robinson Christmas Tale"

>

"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

>

Not a creature was stirring,..." 

>

Tom turned over the pages, and after inspecting them, started a new pile on the desk for the fat Christmas updates on the yellowing parchment paper.  Digging into a new topic, he grabbed the next in the series, but a sound stopped his hand just above the lip of the envelope.  He stopped moving to listen, only moving his eyes towards the front door.  Tom felt his heart beat faster in his chest as he decided it wasn't the wind making the dragging noises through the leaves.  It sounded like feet, human feet.  Maybe it's Chloe sprang into his mind before it was squashed by his oncoming sense of doom.  Dropping the letter in his hands, he backed away from the window on the wall, watching the front door the entire time.  He didn't even bother to look, but just grabbed for the crowbar behind the stove, not taking his eyes off the small hole where the doorknob should have been.  The wind stopped whistling through the hole when Tom could make out movement.  Maybe that was just my imagination again?  He moved to the front door on crouched knees, the crowbar in hand.

>

Looking through the two inch hole in the door, he couldn't see anything but the green of the trees and a vine covered wood floor.  He noticed he had been holding his breath, so he blinked as he sucked in a big cleansing breath when a scratch came from the door right in front of his face.  When Tom opened his eyes again, there were fingers peeking from the hole in the door.  Tom jumped back on instinct, swinging the crowbar down onto the door to pry loose the fingers from the door.  The crowbar bounced off of the fingers as if they were made of jelly.

>

Beyond the door, a cry of raw animal pain made Tom blink as he cringed behind the flimsy wood.  He waited, crouched there, and was rewarded with a sound that was hard to make out at first.  After a few moments Tom recognized it as a sad sobbing noise that bespoke of pain and loss.  Tom felt giddiness like a rush to the head as he touched the thin panel of wood between them.  "Cynthia?"  He whispered into the hole, hope raising his pitch up a buoyant octave or two.  There was a shuffling from beyond the door, and Tom backed up.

>

"Tom, is that you?"

>

His face fell as soon as he heard the froggy timbre of her voice.  It was a voice that sounded too close to death.  He rushed over to the door, the crowbar limp at his side now.  He stuck three fingers in the hole to push it out, but stopped at hearing the urgency in Cynthia's voice now.  What she said didn't make sense either.  He leaned his ear against the door, crouching to get a better look out of the hole.

>

"Please, what do you want from us?"  Tom could see Cynthia raising her arms in submission through the hole.

>

Shit, its one of them!  Tom gripped the crowbar behind the door, his muscles tense and waiting.  What sounded like a growl came from beyond the door, and there were several punctuated grunts that sounded like instructions to Cynthia.  Tom cursed not being able to see what this one was doing with her hands.  The mountain girl's grunts started in another pattern of more aggressive and frustrated grunts, and Tom figured this was a good a time as any, so he pushed open the door, fingers near the hole.  Not wanting to breathe, he only raised his eyebrows in surprise that the door hadn't given him away.  He lifted the crowbar as he took the short step it took to come up behind the girl and knock her on the back of the head.  She went down lifeless and limp and Tom had to steel his nerves against a fit of remorse for hitting the girl.  Its either them or us.

>

Cynthia looked just as remorseful and horrified looking at the blood ooze out of the back of the girl's head, but she still ran to Tom's side when he stretched out a hand.  She was never happier to see anyone more than at that moment.  Stopping halfway to Tom's outstretched arms, she stopped dead in her tracks, seeing the fat one bounding down the path towards them, a spear raised like a baseball bat.

Tom tapped the only weapon he had against his thigh as he considered his options.  The crowbar was only good for close range and this person, whatever she is, showed the upper hand by jabbing the spear, inches from his chest.  She's at least four feet too far away.  He tried to will her to direct the spear onto Cynthia so that he could make his move, but she wasn't budging.  If he threw the crowbar at her, there'd be little chance that it would knock her out, and then he'd be weaponless against her.  A second later it didn't matter as the woman pointed to the crowbar in his hand with a grunt.  When Tom hesitated, she set the point of the spear into his sternum, looking up at him over her brow in a challenge.  Tom shivered at the look he gave her; it reminded him of the misplaced look of fascination a child might appraise a dying fly, tearing off its wings.

>

When he dropped the crowbar it sang against the ground, landing next to a puddle of the other woman's blood.  It oozed in a molasses slow spread, the rich earth eager to take in the red life that poured from the back of her head.  The fat woman's face screwed up in confusion before realization hit her and erased all of her features and replaced them with a sudden giddiness.  For a moment there, Tom thought he saw joy flit across her features.

>

The woman took the spear from Tom's chest and he gulped in a huge breath as if he was drowning.  She waved them on with another explanatory grunt, and Cynthia looked him in the eyes before they both stepped back, their boots crunching down on broken leaves.  Keeping a wary eye on her two captives, she crept up to the body, lodging a foot under her hip.  The skinnier woman's body complied with the fat one's dimpled leg, rolling over with her hair covering her head like a veil.  Just underneath a curl of her dark tresses, a vacant eye stared out at nothingness.

>

>

The fat one laughed a short yip of surprise, mixed in with what seemed a personal joke.

>

Her chuckle disturbed Cynthia, and she reached out with a hand.  Tom took it eagerly, ignoring the caked on mud and grit between her fingers.  In his nervousness, he began stroking with his thumb, releasing crumbled bits of earth from her hands.  Cynthia watched the dirt crumbs fall from her hand in a trance, ignoring the shuffling of their captor's feet.  The fat one's face had gone through so many changes that Tom stopped trying to decipher them, but it looked like an expression that she didn't wear too often.  Her eyes roamed in her head as she seemed to move within herself, talking in a whisper to herself, the spear aimed limply at their feet now.

>

Again, Tom considered his options, seeing the spear drop almost to the earth.  He sized up the woman's dimpled legs and barreled chest, deciding that he'd easily be able to outrun her.  Now would be the perfect time, too.  Cynthia's hand rubbed against his as she watched his eyes, seeing something going on there.  Tom saw Cynthia as she was for the first time, and his mind picked up the novelty of seeing his prissy friend covered in blood and muck.  She leaned to her side, towards Tom, with a protective hand on her chest.  She'd never be able to keep up.  

>

Tom sighed, frustrated at his inability to do anything.  His groan snapped the fat woman out of her stupor, and Cynthia whimpered when the spear came back up, aimed at her chest now.  Tom noticed the crimson patch soaked through her jacket and felt his veins light on fire, wanting to knock the spear from this woman's hand, or run, or scream, or fight or anything just so long as it wasn't standing here, accepting whatever fate this person had in store for them.  His hands trembled as he pictured how easy it would be to grab the spear and twist it out of the woman's hands.  The thought was so vivid in his mind, but Tom knew it wasn't the right thing to do, so he decided to file it away for later.  You'll get yours after all of this is over.  That is, if we're still alive when this is all over.

 

The fat woman backed up, her eyes steady on them as she took one hand off the spear to take the wrist of the fallen girl in one hand, then straightened up, pointing at Tom, then repeating the process with the girl's other hand, and then pointing to Cynthia.  She wanted them to drag the body.  Tom just shrugged at Cynthia's wrinkled brow.  When he spoke it was in a half-whisper, out of the side of his mouth.  "Just do what she says."

>

His words caught her off guard, and she jumped at them, her shock simmering into anger.  She didn't like what she couldn't understand and she let Tom know that by giving him a look filled with promised menace.  Pointing the spear at them again, she loosed one hefty arm and gestured for them to pull the body.  She backed up in time with Tom and Cynthia's advance.

>

The carpet of dead leaves made it a smooth ride so far, the body gliding across the thick dank layer of mulch.  When they hit the trail going up into the hills, the woman's head rolled down to look at the trail below as they hauled her onto the rough rocks and packed earth of the trail.  Tom saw her vacant eyes staring out at nothing, so he kept his eyes on a space of trail just above her head, concentrating on the passing earth instead.

>

Up ahead, Tom recognized the spot they'd stopped a few days earlier, when he'd almost gone off the path, and Chloe had chastised him for it.  Chloe, where are you?  Shoving the thought from his mind, he raised his head and saw the tendons in Cynthia's arms push through her skin as she grunted with her heavy burden.  The zipper on the jacket she was wearing had unzipped, revealing drops of sweat rolling down into her bloody cleavage.  He looked away quickly, noticing instead a fresh red stain blooming on the side of the already crusty and blackened jacket.

>

"Cynthia, are you going to be OK?"  He kept his voice down, but the fat one still heard, and growled in her throat, poking the spear at his chest for emphasis.  Cynthia didn't answer, but only shook her head up and down when she met Tom's eyes.  They both set their heels in, getting a better grip on the woman's body before resuming their slow march up the trail.

>

Tom was worried about Cynthia, but his mind kept flitting back to his own anxiety like a moth married to a flame.  His heart rate was up, and so was his breathing, but it wasn't accompanied by the out of control feeling he'd had before on this path.  He allowed himself a moment of mental ease, giving thanks that he was in control.  Then he remembered the abyss he'd stumbled on, the wide open space lay in front of him, taunting him with the promise of death.  If I never see this path again it'll be too soon.  It's like a...a death march.

>

He couldn't remember where he'd last heard this phrase, but for some reason it stuck out in his mind, and he circled around it in his mind, not quite sure what it meant.  Then, he remembered.  The diary!  Whoever lived in that shack and wrote those letters had mentioned a death march, but in what context?  Tom let the thought lie dormant at the front of his mind as he pulled the corpse along the trail, waiting patiently for his synapses to make the leap and reveal its secret.

>

When it did hit him, he almost stopped in his tracks in shock.  They had mentioned taking their boy Jacob up this trail...on a death march.  He knew he'd catch a dirty look from the fat woman, but he just had to do it.  "Cynthia, I think there's something about this trail."  He looked back at the fat woman, who shoved her spear in his direction.  "Back in that cabin, I found a diary."   Cynthia dropped her portion of the body, turning to look at Tom.  The fat woman's face looked as if it were about to explode in anger, and she stepped on the body's thigh as she approached with her raised spear.  The body went rigid, and Tom dropped her hand in shock as a scream erupted from the woman's lips.  The fat one stumbled, trying to keep her eyes on both the path and the woman's body as she came to life.

>

Circling around her body, they watched in shocked apathy as the woman spat blood from her lips before pushing one arm on the ground, pulling herself up.  She winced and touched the back of her head, an appraising look crinkling her brow as she inspected the slick blood that appeared at her fingertips.  Her fingers played with the liquid as she seemed to think, her eyes moving in their sockets, then above her, from one face to another.  When her eyes came upon Cynthia, something seemed to snap in the focus of her eyes, and she swiveled her accusing face to the fat one as she struggled to stand.

>

They all stood back to give her room as she stood

The fat Neanderthal staring at Chloe was almost as bad as having to smell the corpse wedged against her body.  His sweaty, bloated face was all she could make out when she craned her head, so she settled on focusing on the clouds above her.  In the back of her mind she prayed that the path didn't tip at a sharper angle.  Her hands were tilted up and she was afraid of her body sliding down the pole into the smiling chubby face of the fat one.  I hope my feet slide right into that stupid grin of his.

 

Gas farted from the bullet hole of the filthy corpse wedged against her, and she tried not to feel the waxiness of its hand resting against hers.  She focused on the mass of black clouds gathering above her to keep her mind off of it.  The stink was almost palpable beside her, though, and her mind fluttered kept fluttering back like a fly would to the corpse beside her.  Chloe had to breathe through her mouth in order to keep the stench from overwhelming all of her senses.  She glanced sideways at him, expecting to feel a wave of nausea overtake her, but instead her chest filled with a warm sense of pride.  I did that to him.  He's dead because I shot him.  Chloe had time to remember the flash from the muzzle and the satisfying thud of the bullet that had put him down.  My fingers still smell like cordite, she thought, noticing that her hands were dusted with the black dust as well.  The smell of it comforted her, and she saved that emotion and gathered it inside her.  I'm going to need it to stay ready to kill you both.  She couldn't help herself, and glanced back down at the fat one's face below her, his smirk pasted onto his flushed fat face.  The hate that sprang up in her chest was saved for later use as well.

>

She felt her body straighten up, and her head swam for a moment, getting accustomed to the new angle of the path.  We must be getting closer to the lake.  Chloe felt her lips curl into a smile; she realized this path was becoming as familiar as the proverbial back of her hand.  If we ever get out of here, it'll be too short a time if I never see this place again.  The laugh, although cold comfort, was welcome in her current situation.

>

The horror of was happening was pushed into her face again when a shrill scream broke the silence of the woods.  It reverberated off the trees and was lost in the sky above her, her eyes searching for some sign while she listened.  She felt the leader grunt in front of her, and she noted it was tinged with a questioning lilt.

>

Chloe wasn't prepared for the fall when the two men dropped her from their shoulders.  Her breath rushed from her chest in time with her groan of pain and she clenched her face to meet the pain.  She thought of the stupid grin on the fat one and the smell of the bullet leaving the gun and it comforted her.  The leader pulled the pole down to rest on the dirt path, making Chloe spoon the corpse in front of her.  Catching his putrid stench for a moment, she panted for air with an open mouth like a fish out of water.

>

The men's feet scrabbled around on the dirt for a few moments until the leader's face came into focus above hers.  His greasy hair framed his curious grin as he knelt above her.  Putting a hand on his knee to push himself upright, he brought down a fist into Chloe's cheekbone almost as an afterthought.

---------------------------------------------

>

The leader flexed his fist to relieve the pain as they trotted up the dirt path, the other hand resting on the axe at his side.  He judged the scream to have come from far up above, near the caves.  The scream didn't sound like it came from the fat woman, but he knew she was up there to feed the corpse to he-who-must-be-hidden.  The leader's feet moved faster up the path as they sidestepped the rotting corpse lying in the middle of the path, its entrails trailing behind it.  He guessed the corpse had only gone a few feet as he noted the short trail in the dirt from the corpse's feet.  Its arm was raised above its head and the rope was cinched around the bloody wrist. 

>

Waving his hand in impatience, the leader waited for the panting fat one to catch up as he inspected the shoe lying just off the path.  He wrinkled his brow, sniffing the shoe before tossing it onto the dead leaves.  The fat one was glad for the leaders instruction to slow down as he held up a hand and crouched as they creeped along the path.  The leader smelled death in the shoe and his confusion prompted him to move as slowly as he could.  His hand shot up when he saw the vomit and blood mixed into the dirt and leaves of the trail.

>

He was too engrossed in his confusion to be irritated by the fat one's heavy breathing.  Behind him, the mass of his comrade collapsed in a heap of quivering flesh as his breathing slowed down.  Sticking a finger in the blood, he rolled it dry in between two fingers, testing to see how fresh it was.  He sniffed at the pile of vomit before swirling a finger in it, tasting the familiar smokiness of the boar they'd eaten.

>

Unable to contain his irritation any longer, he slapped the fat one's pale shoulder before stalking off further down the path.  He kept crouched to the ground, careful to avoid crunching any stiff leaves in his path.  The fat one's feet scraped across the ground and he felt his irritation rise, but figured there was nothing to be done about it as they came in view of the stand of rocks that marked the caves.

>

All of the muscles in the leader's body stood at attention when another scream ripped through the air.  Keeping his eye on the spot where it had come from, he rushed through the leaves now, not caring about the crush of leaves underfoot and the panting from the fat one.  He heard heavy breathing coming from the other side of the maze of rocks, so he pulled his axe from the leather belt from his waist, using his offhand to push off the rocks as he shouldered past them.

>

The fat woman was the first to see him, as she turned a heel in the dirt to see him approach from behind.  Her face was a mixture of surprise and shock, not expecting him and the fat one here and now.  The leader's eyes darted over all of the details, lingering over the prostrate form of the tall one before moving on to the sobbing Cynthia and Tom passed out in the dirt next to her.  Beyond them, the chain dangled in the wind like a wind chime. 

>

Raising her hands palm first in front of her, the fat one took tiny steps toward the leader.  Her head was bowed in supplication, but the leader saw her eyes peek up at him below her brow.  She must have seen the storm of anger on his face because she stopped moving towards him and began to kneel down, getting ready to prepare tears to spring from her eyes.

>

The leader moved with a quick grace, closing the gap between them as he raised the axe above his head.  The fat woman presented one hand meant to stop him, but it flew from her wrist as the axe swiped down at it.  The hand bounced off a rock before being painted by a stream of blood from the stump of her arm.  She clutched it, pinching off the end with her other hand as she stared at it with a look of incomprehension.  The blood flowed freely from her wrist as she fell to both knees, the blood coating her dismembered hand.  She picked up the hand and tried to thumb off the paste of blood and dirt from the bone before tossing it aside with a primeval wail.

The leader walked back a few steps as he wiped the bloody edge of his axe against his thigh.  The fat woman's cry abraded against their ears, borne as it was of complete desperation and unbearable pain.  This did nothing to halt the leader's anger at the fat woman's deed, and he spat on the ground in front of him, gesturing to the fat one behind him.  The leader jammed a stern finger at the fat blubbering mass of the prostrate woman and the fat man hesitated, looking from the growing pool of blood gathering at her feet and back to the leader.  It didn't help that the captive woman, the one that had been speared, was screaming at the top of her lungs now, trying to rouse the man beside her.  The quivering lip of the fat man boiled the leader's blood even further, and his hand reached for his axe as he turned towards his indecisive servant.

>

Still, he was able to loosen his grip on the axe blade, containing the ebb and flow of his own anger. He could respect the fat one's hesitation to murder his favorite mate.  He pointed the same rigid finger in the general direction of the now sobbing heap of the fat woman, still cradling her stump of an arm.  With an audible gulp, the fat one unsheathed his crude knife, stealing one last glance at the leader, just in case.  The storm etched on the leader's face left no question, so the hulking man waddled over to the pathetic fat woman, her shoulders shaking with grief.

>

The fat man's face fell as he approached her, assuming her sobs and the way she was bent in half signaled her defeat.  His expression changed from pity to shock as the woman straightened up, producing a knife from her belt.  The look on her face was what he'd seen on many a desperate animals face before, just before the moment he'd slit its throat.  Tears fell from bloodshot, wide awake eyes that made the fat man hesitate.  She wasn't going to go down without a fight.

>

The fat man stepped back one step as the woman struggled to her feet, slipping in her own gore with one bare foot.  A growl vibrated the leader's throat behind them, and the fat man was too afraid to look back at him, so he pursed his lips and grabbed the woman's greasy tuft of hair as she stood, jerking her head back.  She screamed into the sky, her mouth open as wide as it would go as the fat one slipped the knife towards the pale exposed flesh of her neck.

>

Behind them, Cynthia's scream melded with the tortured yell from the woman, grabbing everyone's attention.  The fat man hesitated with the knife blade pressed against the sternum of the woman as he turned to look at the frantic face of Cynthia.  Her scream dissolved into loud sobs as she continued to shake Tom.

>

It was just enough time for the woman to reach around with her own knife and stab him in the chest.

>

He yelped in pain and surprise at the cold sharpened stone cutting his flesh, and his own knife drew across her throat.  Blood spurted out in waves, beyond the puddle she stood in, and a gurgling cough found its way to her lips.  A wave of blood fell on the fat man's arm and he withdrew it in shock, letting the limp form of the woman fall into her own puddle of blood with a splash.  She quivered on the ground as blood poured in slower streams of crimson, the dirt eagerly soaking up her life.  Her lips tried to form words, but she only looked like a fish trying to take in water.  When it seemed there couldn't be any more blood to pour out from her body, her head went limp, splashing into the puddle of her own lifeblood.

>

The fat one seemed to find himself again, straightening up and wincing with the pain in his side.  As he fingered the cut in his side, Cynthia screamed again from behind.  When the fat one looked back again, he saw Tom's eyes fluttering open, joining Cynthia's look of shock at the amount of blood painting the ground before them.

>

"Jesus fucking Christ," was all he could say as Cynthia pulled on his arm between sobs.

>

"Tom, get up!  We have to get out of here!"

>

Both the leader and the fat one now turned towards them with wary eyes, and Tom snapped out of his shock when he saw the lack of emotion apparent in their expressions.  He stumbled to his feet, moving backwards with Cynthia until her thigh brushed against the chains dangling from the post at the mouth of the cave.  She yelped in surprise, shooting an arm out for support, only to find the mounted skull atop the post.  The flies standing sentry there attacked her hand in turn, and Cynthia waved her arms in a frantic gesture.  The arm that had been pulling Tom along swatted at her face, her hair, the air in front of her.

>

She gave one last hysterical scream before turning and running into the mouth of the cave.

>

"Cynthia, don't..." was all Tom could get out as he watched the darkness of the cave swallow her whole.  The flies gathered like a halo around her hair before retreating back to their post, unwilling to enter the stench of the cave.  Tom didn't take the time to look back at the two Neanderthals behind him before plunging into the depths of the cave, his heart straining against the panic in his chest.

>

Behind him, the leader yelled in frustration as the fat one rushed in after them.

Tom drew Cynthia back to the fringe of grass bordering the trail, not liking how the fat one held the spear out towards the shaking tall woman as she stood on rubber legs.  Still, he almost put out a protective hand to catch the tall one as she stood.  This could be the person who killed James.  Instead, he gulped and stared at the blooming patch of blood on the back of her shirt.  Backing away to a safe distance, he heard a whimper escape the back of Cynthia's throat, squeezing back on her filthy hand to tell her he was here with her.

>

When the tall woman made it upright, she grabbed at the back of her head as if finally reacting to the crowbar hit from Tom.  She swayed back and forth, her hand swatted at empty air in a vain attempt for support; struggling to hold onto consciousness.  Bending over at the waist, her shoulders tightened as the splatter of vomit mixed with the dusty path at her feet.   Cynthia gasped beside Tom, and all he could do was squeeze her hand again, until this drama had played out. 

>

As the tall woman spat out the last unproductive results of a few dry heaves, she moaned, her knees shaking from the effort of emptying her stomach.  Still, they were all amazed to see her still standing.  Just a few moments ago, they had been carrying a lifeless body that was now coming back to life.  No words were spoken, perhaps out of raw surprise.  The tall woman's head rose slightly with her hands on her knees.  Only the fat one could see it, though.  The hate that poured out from beneath the tall one's eyebrows was reserved solely for the fat one, who braced her bulk on the path, leveling the spear at the injured woman's face.

>

Wiping a trailing stream of spittle from her chin, the tall one managed to stand again, this time without wobbling.  She was so pleased with herself that she smiled at the fat one, despite having a spear shoved in her general direction.  The tall woman was pleased with the mask of fear that set on the fat one's face, and she smiled through bloody teeth and gums before gathering herself together.  She let loose a primal wail as she rushed down the path, black hair streaming out behind her, her primitive rage blinding her.

>

The spear punched into the tall one's belly as if it were butter.  It was accompanied by a rush of air violently leaving the tall one's chest, as if her soul was carried upon that last bit of breath.  The two women's eyes met, and this time, it was the fat woman's face that held a smile.  She was pleased to see the look of shock and dread on the tall one's face as the color drained from her cheeks and lips.  Twisting the spear in her hand, the fat one laughed at her primal scream and the hands that dug uselessly at the spear.

>

When the fat one began pushing the eviscerated woman back up the path, Tom and Cynthia backed up to avoid the steady stream of blood coming from the other end of the spear.  The tall one slipped on her own vomit as she moved back, grabbing the spear while shrieking.  It was an ancient scream of torture and unbearable pain, and even the birds and the trees themselves seemed to take notice as branches shivered from hiding creatures.  These wild animals knew the primal scream of pain, and wanted no part in it.

>

Tom didn't want to end up like that either, so they obediently walked backwards when the fat woman waved them on with a wave of her chunky hand.  Looking back every so often, Tom remembered what Chloe had told him about straying from the path.  His fear took possession of him in a quick entrance, his heart sore but still pounding in his chest as the skewered woman started choking in front of them.  She coughed from the depths of her blood laden chest, and Tom felt his legs start to go numb as he saw a spray of blood paint the air in front of the tall one's face.

>

Cynthia brought him back to the shuffling feet and cracking leaves underfoot by gently squeezing his hand.  She released his hand, turning and offering her other hand so that they could walk without having to see the tall one die in front of their eyes.  The look she gave him as they turned bespoke of concern, but Tom noticed fear take its place again as they concentrated on the overgrown path.  Tom tried to breathe through pursed lips and squeezed Cynthia's hand whenever the unbearable panic became too much.

>

They made their way up at a steady angle, trying to ignore the death rattles coming from behind them.  Tom made a game of following his feet along the side of the path, trying to ease into his panic and distract himself from his debilitating fear.  The path inclined higher and higher until they had to slow their pace.  From behind, the fat one began making noises of her own, grunting in exertion.  She's probably carrying most of the tall one's weight by now.  Turning to look, sure enough, the tall woman's body lie folded in half over the spear, the tips of her toes dragging across the leaves and twigs in the path.  The fat one's face was flushed with the effort, and she pushed the air she was holding in her cheeks when she saw him, nodding her head at him to keep on moving with an impatient jolt of her neck.  The tendons in her arms stood out like cables and she used her ample shelf of breasts to anchor the spear to her body.

>

Turning back around, Tom noticed a range of small rocks going up almost vertical behind a stand of trees.  It framed the blue sky above, and he had to stare at his shoes for a few moments to catch his breath.  We must be getting close.  Studying the rocks ahead of them, he knew exactly where it was when he saw it.  He'd never expected to see it up close, but here it was.  The heavy duty post hammered into the mouth of the cave was what had confirmed it for him.  The light glinted off the rings and chains hanging from it, like obscene jewelry.

>

The ground graduated from a dusty, thin trail to rocks littered here and there.  The last few feet was strewn with boulders like slumbering giants and they had to zig zag around them to go into the mouth of the cave.  For a moment, they lost sight of the skewered tall one and the fat one as Tom and Cynthia entered the maze of rocks at the mouth of the cave.  The thought to run flitted across Tom's mind again, but was replaced with an incessant droning sound, coming from the mouth of the cave.  Cynthia stopped at the mouth of the cave first and buried her face in Tom's chest.

>

The chains on the post swung lazily on the warm wind coming from the cave as Tom looked at the tableau presented before them.  Fallen beside the post were assorted bones tossed here and there.  Some shone a proud white, bleached by the sun, but some were still covered by remnants of blood soaked clothes.  There was a pile of bundled up clothes off to the side, complete with a skeletal foot swimming in an empty sneaker.  The stench coming from the mouth of the cave was like smelling the rancid smell of death on the lips of evil itself.  The droning of the carpets of skittering flies reverberated and echoed down into the deep cave.  On top of the post, lie a skull with black skin still stuck to the dome of it's head, here and there.   When the soft internal wind of the cave moved the rusty chain again, the flies buzzed back and forth, moving the black carpet of flies over the skull.  They moved hyperactively between the pile of clothes and bones to the top of the post, moving in and out of the gaping skeletal mouth of the skull.

>

Tom's panic reached a crescendo, and his clawed hand grasped his chest, feeling the jackhammer of his heart.  Cynthia looked up into his face with a question on her lips, but the look of terror etched on Tom's face seemed to answer her.  Tom's mind swam in his thoughts, racing past his consciousness in a rapid fire torture of panic.  His mind could only take so much, so his legs followed suite, giving out on him.  Cynthia dropped down to one knee to catch his unconscious body before he fell on his face in the dirt of the cave's mouth.

>

Behind them, the fat one grunted as she hefted the skewered corpse up towards them.  The lifeless eyes of the body met Cynthia's eyes as she looked at what had landed at her feet.  She screamed at the top of her lungs, dropping Tom and kicking her feet out, crawling towards the cold stone of the cave.  The fat one watched her panic in a bemused amazement as a child might watch a wingless fly in its last moments.

Tom knew he didn't have the time to, but couldn't help but grasp his breast in an effort to stop his heart from pounding.  The darkness of the cave was total and demanded his full attention, so he had to use both arms to feel around in the dark.  He followed the splish-splash of Cynthia's footfalls against the slick floor of the cave.  The cave walls were slick with algae, but Tom's hands still dragged across it, eager for some direction in the black of the cave.  His foot was swallowed whole into a puddle, water soaking his boot and jeans.  He cursed at himself under his breath as he pulled his boot from the mud.

>

Up ahead, Cynthia's footfalls stopped and Tom knew it was no use, but had to look into the blank darkness for some sign of her.  Maybe she's come to her senses, he thought.  Or maybe the monster they called Jeremy found her.  The thought spurred him on further, as did a sudden shout from up ahead in the darkness.

>

"Tom, where are you?"

>

He pinpointed the spot from where she had yelled in his mind before answering.  "Behind you!"  Moving with hands held out into the dark, he moved towards where he imagined her to be.  His eyes could make out faint silhouettes of the cave walls as if they were etched with coal, so he quickened his step.

>

"Stay where you are, Cynthia, I'm coming."

>

"Oh God, hurr-y-y-y Tom!"  Her voice was shaken with panic and Tom felt a wave of confidence rush over him, taking solace in the tight walls of the cave.  We're going to make it out of here.

 

Up ahead, the cave gradually curved to the left and for a moment all Tom could make out was the cave wall, outlined in a blue black haze.  "Cynthia, I need to hear your voice.  Where are you?"

>

"Hurry, Tom I can't...huh?  Tom!"  Her scream seemed to echo off of every wall in the cave, coming from every direction.  It made a buzzing in Tom's ear that lingered even after it was cut off with a choking and gurgling from ahead.

>

Tom's body tensed in anticipation of danger, crouching instinctively in the dark with his hands held out in a defensive posture.  His eyes searched in the darkness for some sign of Cynthia but he could only make out the faint outline of rock in front of his face.  Concentrating, he willed his ears to collect any faint sound they could in the darkness.  Instead, the acrid smell of blood and offal invaded his nostrils before shuffling sounds came from both in front and behind him.  I've got to hide.

>

Picking up his boots an inch at a time, he backed into a crevice etched into the wall of the cave, just before the wall bent out to the left.  His heart lurched in his chest, so he closed his eyes and concentrated, blocking out the smell, sound and taste of the dank cave.  In his mind, he saw himself safely enclosed in a tight space where no harm could come to him.  He imagined a small house in which he could live, shut away from everything.  Yeah, that's it.  The walls around him were thick, far away from the outside world and the madness around him.  In his minds eye he saw a place where he could live safely in his own secret, personal space, unfettered by anything out of his control.  Over in that corner, food and water stacked for a lifetime of sustenance.  Here, was the most comfortable bed and chair looking out to a wall made up entirely of a big screen TV and a neat bookshelf filled with books.  I'll be safe here, he thought, noticing his heart slowing and his breath barely audible.  Yeah, I'll be safe until that thing finds me.

 

Sure enough, a dragging sound came from the imaginary TV in front of him, invading his small space.  He struggled to stay in his own personal hideaway in his mind as a sloughing shuffle invaded his hearing back in the dank cave.  The smell of blood and shit came next, practically setting the hairs in his nose on fire.  Sweat began beading on his forehead and he clenched his fist to stay in control.

>

The thing dragging Cynthia's broken body stopped at the bend, smelling Tom's fear almost as palpably as the spilled blood that trailed along the wet floor of the cave.  It's head lifted in the darkness to smell and listen, it's eyes long since useless in their inactivity.  A taloned claw scraped along the rock of the cave as it pulled itself closer to Tom's hiding spot.  Its pale foot splashed in an errant puddle as it settled back on its haunches, inches from Tom's now quivering body.

>

When Tom opened his eyes, he broke the spell of his personal hideaway, and almost yelped in fear at seeing the pale, hunched body of Jacob in front of him.  Tom's eyes were now illuminated, and Jacob hissed at the air, lashing out with a taloned claw in surprise.  The sharp fingernails of his hand raked across Tom's shirt, etching a stinging pain that Tom countered by sucking in air and bringing up his arms for the next blow.

>

Only the next blow never came.

>

Rushing from behind them, the fat one's feet slapped against the wet floor of the cave, stopping only when he came in contact with the crouched figure of Jacob in the middle of the cave.  His bulk slid off the slight figure of Jacob before thudding against the cave floor, half of his body making a tidal wave of a splash that sprayed them all.

>

The monster hissed and scrambled onto the fat one's chest, its slick pale skin sliding across the fat one's chest as they wrestled in the dark.  Tom could only squint his eyes shut and listen to the grunts and thuds they made from his hiding place.  Jacob must have hurt the fat one because a high pitched scream bounded off the walls of the cave before a a rush of air flew past Tom's face and a heavy thud shook the air.  The fat one's feet slid across the floor as he got to his feet, the monster now hissing from the back of the cave.  Splashes of water came and went as the fat one bounded back towards the entrance of the cave.  Tom held his breath, only releasing it when he heard the click-clack of the monsters claws in pursuit.

>

The chase was on.

Chloe waited for the feeling to come back into her face before she started struggling against the bonds.  The punch from the leader made the left side of her face throb in time with the blood in her veins.  I'll probably have a black eye there.  Just as long as it doesn't swell up so you can't see, she counseled herself.  Your looks are the least of your worries right now.

 

She twisted her wrists against the knots of the cloth bonds, pursing her lips as her hands rubbed against the waxy corpse's lifeless hands.  His body twitched along in time with her struggling as she twisted against the pole keeping them together, so she grabbed the pole with one bound hand and began inching it down.  When it cleared her wrists, she pushed away from the stinking corpse and took a gulp of air.  Their legs were still touching, so she bent in half to pitch the pole from between her ankles as well.

>

Rolling off the path, she tried to ignore the rocks biting into her sides, not stopping her roll until her vision was blocked by tall grass.  I'd better work fast before they get back.  She took a moment to feel the reassuring hardness of the pistol still in its holster.  Thank God those fucks don't know what a gun is.

>

Propping herself up on one elbow, she studied the knot before sinking her teeth into the smudged cloth binding her wrists.  It smelled of the earth and had a hit of smoke that reached back and grabbed the back of her taste buds.  Gagging against her wrists, she swallowed back the bile that came up in the back of her throat before going back to biting the knots.  She loosened up one end of the ball in the knot and pulled her head back, the tendons in her neck standing out and tears springing in her eyes.  Chloe willed the knot to give with a frustrated grunt and was rewarded with enough play in the knot to wiggle one hand free.

>

Her laugh was one of triumph and freedom.

>

Not bothering to take the cloth off of her other wrist, she reached for the snap on the holster, drawing the gun and pointing it towards the path as she sat up.  Just wait until I catch up to you, you sick bastards.  She glanced down at the bonds on her feet for a moment, one hand working at the strings of a boot while the other hand kept the gun trained on the path.  The knot held though, so she dropped the gun onto the grass beside her and leaned over with both hands as she picked at the top of her boot.  Loosening the two top loops with her index fingers, she slipped her foot out of the boot and then dipped it right back in, the cloth hanging off her other ankle.

>

When she had tied up again, and had the gun back in one sweaty hand, she stood up to a crouch, surveying the path.  She had to switch the gun to her left hand to wipe the sweat on her gun hand onto her jeans.  Before she had taken a step back onto the trail, she clicked off the safety with her thumb.  The click seemed loud in the silence of the woods and she searched side to side for any movement.  Seeing none, she hissed in air when she felt her cheek with her free hand, the swelling crowding into her vision already.

>

She was moving slowly along the path, crouched over in a defensive posture when a shrill scream broke the air.  Mentally marking the spot where it had come from in her mind, she picked up her pace, not caring if her boots pounded against the earth.  She didn't care if the leaves rustled at her feet either, when she took the detour from the trail, spotting the sneaker lying amongst a carpet of rotting leaves.

>

The scream from up ahead was joined with another female scream but was different from the first.  The first scream told of absolute, unbearable pain, while this scream was lower in tone and volume.  Just keep occupied until I get there, you Neanderthal fucks.  The more rational part of her brain told her that at least it wasn't Tom screaming.  Thank God for that.

>

The screams had stopped by the time the stand of rocks came into view, so she slowed down as she made her approach.  When she made it to the first boulder in her path, she put a shaky hand against it as she stopped and listened.  She relished the cool roughness of the rock before pushing off it, making her way into the maze of rocks.

>

Tiptoeing around the corners, she was able to focus all of her senses until she rounded the final boulder.  The shock took a moment to register when she first saw the widening pool of blood and the corpse laying in it.  A severed hand lay disconnected just past the stump of an arm, as if it were trying to drag itself along the ground.

>

Her sharp intake of air made the leader turn his attention from the mouth of the cave.  Chloe saw him and the look of surprise on his face when he turned, and was pulled from her shock the look on his brow was replaced with anger.  She raised the gun and squeezed the trigger, the report of the gun stopping the leader's approach even as a puff of dust appeared on the rock beside him.  He ignored the next loud report of the gun, raising the axe he held in one hand high above his head.  Chloe was able to get one more shot off, which went over the leader's head, pinging off the rock at the mouth of the cave.

>

Her eyes trained on the axe, she was able to turn before it came at her chest.  It turned over and over before slicing into her shoulder, the momentum of it spinning her around while the axe head kept going past her.  The gun flew from her hand, lost amid the cloud of dust she had kicked up.  Even as she pounded into the dirt, the pain slicing into her shoulder, she kept her eye on the falling axe.

>

The breath escaped from her lungs in a huff and she squirmed in the dirt against the pain.  From behind her, the leader whooped in delight at his lucky shot, laughing at her prone body as she wriggled around like a worm, her eyes clenched.  Get past the pain, she prodded herself, feeling for purchase on the path with her palms.  Don't let this motherfucker take you!  Move!  She screamed in her mind, willing her abused limbs to work.

>

Instead of getting up to face him, she scrambled down the path and grabbed his axe from the path.  Getting a good grip on the handle, she pushed herself up with her other hand before pushing off like a sprinter.  The leader was still laughing, but stopped when she came at him.  She grabbed the handle with both hands, swinging it behind her and over her head as she ran.  Her scream was primal, and matched the furious look in her eyes as she her boots pounded up the path.  "Eat this motherfucker!"

>

She swung down towards his head when she reached him.  He moved back and to the side, his shoulder hitting the rock of the mouth of the cave.   The head of the axe ricocheted off the rock, a spark catching in the air before bouncing off the gray stone.  Chloe managed to take the wild axe, keeping her grip on the handle with both hands.  When she bent over to heft the heavy axe again, the leader walked up and planted a firm kick that connected with her chin.

>

Chloe lost not only the axe from her hand as she rolled back down the path, but she also lost consciousness.

>

------------------------

>

It was easy to find the blood stink coming from the person who was running from him.  He followed it, gauging the richness of it as he bounded down the cave on all fours, scraping rock as his hands found purchase.  When he got closer, the panicked breathing of the runner filled his ears, and he timed his jump when the sound and smell of the person got close enough.  The creature's sensitive eyes squinted against the faint light coming from the mouth of the cave as he jumped on the hairy back of the person, clawing at his throat with its taloned claws.  The fat one flailed useless hands behind him.  They slid off of the pale slick skin of the creature, unable to find any purchase.

>

The fat one wasn't even able to scream before the thing tore his throat out with one hand.

>

Falling down to his knees, the fat one watched the steaming stream of arterial blood jettisoning from his throat with wide eyes.  It landed with a splash and quickly collected into a pool, illuminated by the weak light from around the bend.  The creature stepped off the fat one's back, coming around to face him.  The fat one's hand felt the sheets of blood pouring down his neck in amazement before looking up at the thing.  A gurgle collected at his throat, but his eyes registered that if he were capable, he would be screaming.

>

The creature leaned down and bit into the soft flesh of the fat one's quivering face, cradling the back of his head with a pale hand.

The only sense that Tom trusted now, here in the dark, was his hearing.  The small, dark confines of the cave were overwhelmed with darkness and the ripe tang of Cynthia's broken body.  He stared into the darkness, head bent over to catch some noise, something to tell him what had happened, so he could unfurl his clenched fist from the raw wounds on his chest.

>

When nothing came, he relaxed the talon-like grip in his arms, standing straight in the dark.  Feeling his way along the wall with one hand, his other hand searched the ground in front of him.  Using his sense of smell to guide him, he inched closer to the smell of Cynthia's spilt blood.  I have to see if she's really dead.

 

Despite himself, Tom flinched when his fingers came in contact with Cynthia's wiry hair.  He scooped up a length of it with one hand, crouching down and feeling for her face with his other hand.

>

His fingers slid across wet meat, shredded skin replacing what was once Cynthia's nose.

>

Tom felt tears gather in his lids as his face fell, but fought off the temptation to cry.  His hand reached the bare bone of her chin, so he placed two fingers on her neck, trying to ignore the flap of skin hanging from her cheek.  Holding his breath, he searched for a pulse, however weak it may be.  He shifted the fingers to several places, his palm sliding along her slick blood.  Nothing.  Leaning over, he placed his ear against where he imagined her mouth to be.  Come on Cynthia, don't die, not in here.  In his mind's eye he tried to will her to breath by picturing her chest heaving up and down.

>

The only thing Tom could feel was the light breeze that ran down into the depths of the cave and the drip-drip of puddles forming on the rocks around him.  There's nothing else I can do for her.  All he could manage was to sit back on his haunches and cave in to the tidal wave of emotions that crashed over him.  He held his face in his hands, not bothering to wipe off Cynthia's blood when the cold slickness of it pasted his face.  The tears running down his cheeks tickled their way across the fresh blood, so he smudged at his eyes with his other hand as he stood.

>

That should be me down there.  I should have made her stop and tell her about the monster in here.  My own fear stopped me from yelling out, though.  A more rational part of his mind reminded him that he had at least tried.

>

I'll probably die in here anyways, after that thing is finished with that man.  It'll come back and make short work of me, even if I am able to stand stock still in here.  This is his home, after all, and I'm just a visitor.  Tom laughed a dry laugh devoid of humor as he stood up.  Well, if I'm going to die, I may as well try and fight back.  That's it, go out in a blaze of glory, he answered to himself.

>

Wiping Cynthia's blood off on the wall of the cave, he felt his way back.  The other hand scraped across the stone floor until he found what he was looking for: a heavy rock.  It rolled into a puddle, and he stopped to pick it up, hefting it with one hand.  His fingers dragged across the jagged surface until he felt a sharp tip at one end. 

>

This'll have to do.  Tom breathed a heavy sigh before continuing back from where he'd come.  If I die, at least I'll know I went down with a fight.  He took what comfort he could from the heavy weight of the rock in his free hand as he felt his way along.

>

---------------------------

>

The creature looked up from feasting on the face of the fat one when he heard laughing just beyond the bend.  It cocked a questioning head before letting go of the half-devoured face, the body falling back with a thud.  Squinting into the light, he moved on all fours to look out into the mouth of the cave.

>

It squatted down on it's haunches, shielding the light with one claw.  When he could squint through the bright tinge of light, he saw a figure that he recognized.  It was one of those that kept him fed from a distance.  He had always watched with curiosity after they'd left him a fresh corpse or critter, as they'd walked down the trail away from him.

This one was making a sound he'd never heard before, throwing back his head and grabbing his stomach.  The sound hurt his sensitive ears, producing a sustained ringing that grew in his head.

>

Sitting up, he twitched through the blinding light to sidle up closer.  Dragging an exploratory claw across the figure's leg, it waited for the buzzing drone in its head to stop.

>

Instead, the man's screams pierced his ears, driving a sharp needle of pain into his head.

>

The monster drew up to full height as the leader turned, matching the man's scream with a shrill echo of pain.  The leader had just enough time to see the monster with shocked eyes before the thing reached back with a taloned claw and slashed out at his neck.

>

The blow was meant to take out the source of the leader's screams, but succeeded only in breaking his jaw.  The force of the blow pushed him against the side of the cave's wall, the monster watching with curiosity as he slid down.  A sob of pain choked out from the leader's twisted jaw, flaps of skin hanging down, replaced by a sheet of blood.  His limbs wouldn't work, but his mind was fully aware as he saw the monster crawl over to him.

>

Lapping up the blood leaking from the leader's face, the thing climbed onto his chest, it's claws biting through his flesh as his nails found purchase on his body, holding him in a morbid embrace.  The leader's eyes bulged out and a scream gargled its way up through his ruined jaw.  The thing jerked back it's head, looking at the leader before leaning down and chewing out his vocal cords.  Sinew and blood poured from the hole left in his throat, the thing chewing on stringy, ragged flesh.

>

It sat chewing, as if contemplating something, as the final breath of life left the leader in a spastic shudder.

When Chloe regained consciousness, she could only stare at the congealing blood as it dripped from her hand.  Turning it over, she remembered where she was and what had happened.  The fat woman's body lay next to her, her blank eyes staring past Chloe.  The axe, where is it and what about him?  She pictured him standing over her, raising the axe high over his head and slamming it into her back with a dull thud.  When the thought had left, part of her mind told her to stay down and lie still.  Maybe he won't hurt you if he thinks you're still passed out.

Lying there, she listened for any movement above her on the path, while her eyes searched the dusty path, trying to ignore the dead woman and her disconnected hand beside her.  For a moment, she pictured the hand moving of its own accord, searching for her throat, the fingers throttling her windpipe.  Ignoring the thought, she looked up the path, but couldn't see any sign of the man or the axe.  She listened and could only hear a wet tearing and noisy chewing sound above her.  Is someone eating?  It doesn't matter, just find the damned axe!

Chloe eased her head up from the ground, and slowly turned her head to look down at her feet and the rest of the path.  Among the rocky remains of the path she couldn't make out the axe, but caught a glimpse of sun glint off of a shiny compact metal tube, half covered with dust.  The gun!

Tamping down her excitement, she listened for any movement, any sign that the man was watching her.  Nothing came, except for the wet splashing noises from above.  It's probably just the drip of water dropping from the roof of the cave.  Still, she moved slowly, careful not to drag her boots across the grit of the path.  Her shoulder screamed out in pain when she put her weight down on it, but she gritted her teeth and scrunched up her face against the pain, not making a sound.

>

She didn't dare look behind her, but crab walked down to the gun as fast and as quietly as she could manage.  Her boot scraped across the path, making her heart jump in her chest, so she scooped up the gun before rolling over her good shoulder, her fingers fumbling to fit into the gun as she looked up the path.  The confusion on her face still didn't leave even after her mind registered that the path was empty.  What happened to him?  I wasn't out that long, was I?

Still being careful not to make any noise, she pushed up with one palm, gritting her teeth again at the pain shooting past her shoulder into her entire left side.  Crouched down at the bottom of the path, she still couldn't see the mouth of the cave to see what was making the slurping, wet sounds, so she moved slowly up the path.  Whatever's making that noise must be close.

Standing up to her full height, she could only shake her head in confusion, her mind not able to make sense of what she saw.

In front of her, a pale creature stared over his shoulder at her, a bloody sinew hanging out of its mouth.  Its eyes were the color of pale winter, tinged with a hint of blue.  Nothing registered in them as he squinted at her, but just kept chewing like a cow at its cud.  Disinterested in Chloe, he turned back to the bloody mess that she now recognized to be the man with the axe.  His throat was torn out, and there was a vacant look in his dead eyes.  He was pinned against the mouth of the cave by the creature, who reached into the bloody mess of the man's exposed stomach.  It pulled out a rich red organ, staring at it before stuffing it into its blood-pasted mouth.

Chloe stared at the thing, unable to take her eyes off its strange appearance.  Blue veins trailed around its naked body like a map, contrasted by its albino flesh.  It sat on it's haunches as it fed, the naked curve in his spine making the points in his spine stick out like a prehistoric lizard.  His body was hairless, except for the drooping scrotum that hung down between his feet.  The scant hairs there were completely white.  Looking back over his shoulder at Chloe, she realized he also had a white line of eyebrows above his pale eyes, and the eyelashes were also winter white.

When the creature started and dropped the liver it was holding, Chloe realized that her gun was no longer trained on it.  She didn't have time to bring it up, as the thing bounded back into the cave on all fours.

Happy to see the thing go, she paused before turning, looking at the mess of entrails spilling out of the man's belly.  What in the hell just happened?  Are you crazy, now's your chance to get the hell out of here, she told herself.  But that scream, what if that was Tom?

Almost in answer to her thought, she heard a male yell from just inside the cave.  Her leg muscles burned with adrenaline when she heard Tom, not thinking as she bounded into the cave.

>

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>

When Tom saw the torn face and smelled the now familiar scent of blood hanging around the corpse of the fat man, he almost turned back into the comforting dark of the cave behind him.  I can hide back there, and he'll never find me.  As soon as he thought it, he felt the wrongness of it as soon as it came.  I'd never last back there.

His fate was decided for him when he saw the shadow block out what little light came in from the outside.  Tom thought it was some type of animal, attracted by a free meal of blood and entrails.  Standing stock still, though, he could fully see the pale slender form of the creature in front of him, strong muscles flexing beneath white skin as it stood.  It squinted into the darkness of the cave and put a blood spattered claw up to its brow, struggling to see.

I guess now's as good a time as any to die, he mused before lifting the rock above his head.  A primal yell left his lips as his feet pounded against the rock, a look of hate illuminating his face as he came into the partial light.

Instead of reaching out and attacking, the creature balled up within itself, grabbing his ears in pain.  Tom brought down the rock, missing its head as his forward momentum kept him going over the slimy shoulder of the creature.  He landed hard on the stone floor, his breath leaving his lungs with a huff.

Trying to blink away the stars in his vision, he felt the creature pin him down with sharp talons.  He yelled out and when he had unclenched his eyes, he saw the pale blue eyes of the creature looking down at him.  It crooked its head down at Tom as a drop of blood fell from his chin.  The blood soaked lips curled into a sneer as the thing moved closer to Tom's neck.  Tom closed his eyes in anticipation.  Well, at least I tried.

When his throat wasn't torn out, Tom looked up at the creature who was coiling up its muscles above him, preparing to pounce off.  The claws punctured his skin, and he began screaming.

His cry was cut short by two gunshots, loud in the tight cave.

Even as the creature rolled off of Tom, he heard clicks of a hammer clicking down on an empty chamber.  Scrambling away from the thing, Tom felt a boot under him and stopped.  Above him, Chloe's eyes were still fixed on the writhing creature, but when she saw him, her face lit up in pure joy.

"Tom!"

All Tom could do was grip her leg as tears rolled down his face.  When Chloe dropped the gun, he pushed her hands away, resolve setting in his face like quick dry cement.  He stood, ignoring all of the cuts and bruises and found the rock that he'd been carrying.  Taking a moment to finger the sharp end, he walked over to the shuddering form of the creature, pausing to find its head.  With both hands, Tom brought the rock down again and again on the creature's head until all that was left was a bloody pulp splattered against the wall of the cave.  The half light showed the splattered drops as they rolled down the cave wall.

Chloe tried to contain the shock she felt when Tom turned to her.  His face was spattered with a crimson mask, broken only by the white of his smile.

"Come on, let's get out of here," he said before taking her hand and guiding her into the big, bright woods.

The young one watched as he-who-must-be-hid had feasted on the leader from just off the path.  Tears rolled down cheeks that still held youth, but now only showed sorrow; sorrow for her favorite lover, who lay torn and dead in front of the cave.  Through the mist of tears obscuring her vision, she committed his face to memory before turning.

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She wanted to remember his face, not as she was seeing it: broken and torn, but strong and confident, as it had once been.  Her emotions gave flight to her limbs, and she ran.  Sobbing as she went, she put a protective hand to her belly, wary of a fall.  Her vision was obscured, and she didn't want to fall among the rocks and rotted tree limbs scattered among the leaves.

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The young one had the leader's child to think about now.