The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (7 page)

             
Lifting the gun slowly towards the shadow I took aim and awaited for a perfect shot. My finger pressed firmly upon the cold steel trigger as my heart began to laboriously pound in my chest. It was that moment that I realized this land was quickly falling into the abyss. Never before have I had so many encounters with the dead, and I fear that it may no longer be safe here.

             
“Where's the rest of your necrotic pack?” I whispered.

             
Without warning it pounced out into the remaining light, and I jumped back onto my ass in shock. I gasped for air but was quickly relieved at the sight of the small immature wolf pup. It scurried back into the shadows just as scared of me, as I of it. The poor little beast was all alone, an orphan, just like the girl back at my cabin. What were the chances?

             
Chuckling, I holstered my gun, and swooped up my knife which lay in the snow. Carefully I sliced off a generous chunk off of the liver and tossed it over towards the tangle of brush that shaded the shy little pup. I laughed again at its cowardice, even the most lethal of creatures can be timid and naive at such a young age.

             
Slowly it shuffled back towards me upon its stomach and cautiously snatched up the piece of nutritious meat. It swallowed ever so swiftly, without even chewing before it shuffled a few inches closer. Its bright blue eyes stared up at me begging for more as she let out a short and pitiful howl.

             
Darkness was growing ever closer and I had little time for this, but how could I leave it behind. I was becoming soft in my loneliness, and am liable to get myself killed. Yet, regretfully I cut off another piece and held it out. She cocked her head to the side, her bright blue eyes staring up at me as if saying, “Are you crazy, throw it to me.”

             
But her hunger gave way and she stood up and slowly inched closer. She stopped about a foot away, stretching her neck out as far as she possibly could and snatched the liver from my hand with such grace. The slice of fresh liver was devoured even faster than the first and she resumed her innocent begging pose. This time I placed a thick, more desirable, slice upon my knee and waited quietly. It took a few moments for her to dig up the courage before she gingerly rushed forward and inhaled the bloody grub.

             
Swift yet ever so gently I reached out and pet her soft head as she licked her lips in satisfaction. Surprisingly she did not retreat, instead she hopped up onto my chest and began licking my face. I laughed as I scratched her back and she desperately lapped at my beard, leaving behind a thick slime. For a moment, she reminded me of a domestic dog, she showed almost no sign of a feral nature.

             
After playing with her for just a few minutes, I scattered a few more pieces of liver around the area for her. Satisfying her natural instinct to hunt was a perfect distraction as she search for the meat within the snow. It provided me the time to finishing dressing the deer, we had to get moving soon, before the night cast its icy cloud upon us.

             
Dragging the deer back through the forest turned out to be a more exhausting task than I had expected. The young wolf-pup had decided to slow me down by nipping and pouncing on the carcass as if it was her own kill. Every couple of steps I would be rudely halted by the added weight as she attempted to play tug of war.

             
“This is not working.” I grumbled.

             
Kneeling back down I handed her another piece of liver which she swallowed quickly. Before she could turn back to attack the deer again, I snatched her up and stuffed her under my arm to keep her from mangling my hard earned dinner. She struggled for a moment to free herself from my grasp, but soon settle after a quick scratch behind her ear eased the natural panic from within.

             
With deer in tow, wolf-pup under arm, I now moved with much more ease. The pup struggled little as we made our way back towards the cabin, she was probably just as tired as I. Soon we would be filling our bellies then falling into deep a coma for the night. I could hardly wait.

             
The sun had disappeared completely over the mountain and the sky was now a dark gray. Night had already set in. Through the trees I could see the cabin, the dim flicker of a candle burned peacefully through the dusty windows. I sighed with relief, a sight for sore eyes. We were finally safe, and thankfully the girl was still there, and had made herself at home.

             
My enthusiasm however was premature and soon washed away by the sound of an ear piercing scream that echoed out from within the cabin. A loud racket rang throughout the trees, not loud like the crack of a gun-shot, more like something heavy slamming against the cabin door. This was formidably followed by a menacing growl and the gurgling howl of blood-filled lungs.

             
“Jesus!” I exclaimed.

             
The pup became frantic under my arms, struggling to free herself from my tight and fearful embrace. Digging and scratching her sharp claws into my ribs, adding to my already long list of injuries. I let go of the deer and dropped the pup who instantly darted off into the darkness towards the cabin. I pulled out my gun and made my way carefully forward, crouched low in an attempt to hide myself among the trees.

             
I could just barely make out the girl in the window as I entered the yard. She desperately braced the door shut as a necrotic wolf scratched and bit at the termite weakened wood, then lunging its heavy rotten corpse flat against it in an attempt to break it down. I did not wait long before I dashed forward and fired two shots right to the head, a perfect hit. The undead canine slumped down onto the ground with a loud thud.

             
“You forgot to huff-and-puff!” I said whimsically as I stood over the body in triumph, its gray fur was now matted thick with black blood and a septic gash lay upon its neck. I could almost imagine the wolf jumping up at a Slug, only to be caught in iron fists and its throat torn out in an instant. The wolf must have bled out fast too, this was its only wound. The infected tend to avoid dead or infected flesh, which is probably why the cities were over-run so quickly.

             
Darkness pummeled into me and I fell to the ground with a hard thump, it was as if I had been hit in the back with a two-by-four. I spun over quickly and pushed back against the large furry mass that assaulted me, sharp blood-stained teeth lunged towards my face. My gun had fallen from my grip and now lay just a couple of feet away.

             
The necro-wolf's mouth snapped ferociously, and a putrid stank filled my nose. Rotten flesh still clung between its infectious teeth, and a thick white foam collected and dripped from the corners of its mouth. Just like a rabid dog. With what little strength I had left I grabbed the wolf by the neck with my left hand and pushed up hard, pain once again shot down from my shoulder and back into my arm.

             
Holding tight, my right hand released the knife from its sheath and with great force I buried up through the canine's neck and into its brain. The beast instantly slumped down atop of me as its blackened blood began to trickle down over my face. The wolf's lungs deflated with a mucousy hiss and its legs twitched for a few moments before it slowly fell completely still.

             
Frantically I rolled the carcass off of me and desperately scooped up clumps of hard-packed snow from the ground. Icy pins and needles pierced into my skin as I vigorously scrubbed my face to clean the infected blood away from both my eyes and mouth. The snow works surprisingly well, and not just for cleaning, it has a multitude of survival uses. Shelter, meat-storage, trapping, and even drying clothes.

             
Satisfied, I stopped and scanned the area to ensure no other wolves lurked behind the darkness. But there was nothing, not even the whimpers of the orphaned pup. With haste I made my way to the cabin, tossing the other wolf aside and desperately forcing the door open. The girl tried to brace it shut, too scared and frantic to realize that it was just me. As soon as I breached the door I rushed in and cradled her in my arms.

             
“It's okay, they're dead,” I reassured her.

             
Quietly I laid there, dead-tired with the girl buried into my chest, panting heavily like a dog. She didn't struggle, she didn't fight. She melted into my arms in some sort of shock, eyes wide and glassy, but no life behind them. I could even feel myself drifting away, no thoughts of any kind, no contemplations, my brain was depleted and within moments - I was asleep.

              When I opened my crusty eyes this morning, an unbearable sharp and agonizing burn consumed my shoulder. In actuality it was almost mid-day. The sun was high and the Gray-Jays created quite a racket as they sung their mystical songs all about the forest. I gritted my teeth through the suffering as I pulled myself up from my pathetic fetal position and rubbed the crust away.

             
For a moment it seemed like the night before had just been some horrid dream, until I noticed the blackened gore that caked my hands. My head was in a daze, like waking up after an entire night of binge-drinking. My thoughts were as foggy as the eyes of the dead, and for a moment, I had even forgotten about the girl.

             
Soon though, my senses came back and I realized that she was not in the cabin and the front door had been left slightly ajar. Stumbling to my feet I made my way outside and into the yard where my eyes instinctively snapped shut. The sun's excruciating blaze reflected with menace off the pristine snow. Immediately I raise my hands up to shade the blinding rays and scan the area, but there was no sign of her. All that was to be found was the lifeless remains of two virulent wolves.

             
“She couldn't have gone far.” I thought to myself.

             
Repeatedly I whistled out, however the only response was the high-pitch chitter-chatter of woodland critters. Waiting in place, I listened with great intent, as my eyes gazed down upon the grisly mess around me. The infectious blood had already saturate the snow, which shoveling it all away would prove difficult.

             
There was no point in waiting any long to clean up the corpses, so while continuing to whistle out, I grabbed hold of their tails and dragged them over to the fire-pit. Today though it would be a cremation pit, and I planned on burning all day. One can never be too careful.

             
Strategically I stacked some dry wood and kindling around bodies, building a sort of satanic funeral-pyre. The more wood the better, I had to be sure that every trace of the virus was destroyed. When satisfied with my stack I headed for the work-shed and grabbed a small container of my special sauce. A deadly concoction, similar to that of napalm, but with a red-neck twist.

             
Five parts old motor oil, five parts gasoline, twenty parts Styrofoam, twenty parts soap, and of course a good dose of my home-made moonshine. Mix it up slowly until you get a slick and sticky sludge and you have my Special Sauce which will burn long and very - very hot. Slowly I drizzled a few cups over the heap, ensuring I covered the entire pyre. The goo dripped down over their fur and clung to the wood like molasses. Carefully I sealed the sauce container then lit up a cigarette. The mentholated tobacco and cool winter air soothed my dry and scratchy throat.

             
“I hope I’m not getting sick,” I muttered.

             
With a quick flick, the still burning match landed into a small puddle of my fiery mixture. There was only a momentary pause where the match fizzled almost to nothing as it sunk down into the much. Then, in a billowing explosion, Feu-de-Décès.              

             
A big cloud of black smoke rose up into the sky like the shadow of the devil rising from the depths of hell. The intense heat from the fire washed over me so fast I had to quickly back away from its raging inferno. Yet, the warmth was also comforting, and almost made me loose myself in a daze. Until the rancid smell of burning rotten flesh hit my nostrils like a freight-train. The stench was reminiscent of a dumpster on a hot-summers day, fermented garbage juice and roasted maggots.

             
Repulsed and nauseated I walked away and headed out into the woods to see what was left of last night’s kill. Surprisingly the deer was untouched, all the commotion the night before must have warded off starving scavengers. With my shoulder still aching, I dragged the partially frozen carcass back into the yard and to my game stand.

             
The deer must have weighed a good hundred pounds, normally not an issue, but my inflamed shoulder made it much more difficult of a task hoisting it up into the stand. Tying it off proved even harder as I had to hold it in place with my injured arm and secure the knot with my other. Over the past few years I have never been this battered and bruised, it's what I get for letting down my guard.

             
Just as it was secured I heard the faint sound of laughter coming from the far side of the yard, and quickly getting closer. It was thankfully the girl smiling and prancing back through the snow-covered forest and into sight. It was a relief, especially to finally see her smiling, there is hope for her yet.

             
However, she was not alone, a small dark figure closed in from behind, charging ferociously towards her. She couldn't hear it coming, and without hesitation I bolted out into her direction, ready to yell, “WATCH OUT!” but it was too late. The figure broke into the clearing and lunged for her, she tumbled down into to the snow squealing and laughing as the menacing beast pounced onto her back.

             
“I see you made a new friend,” I said in relief.

             
The little pup had survived the night, and as happy as can be, excessively licking the girls face over and over. Chuckling I knelt down and scratched the pup behind her ears, her innocent bright-blue eyes peered up at me as it panted in total content. I smiled at the girl who was also grinning from ear to ear.

             
“She's yours, take good care of her.” I said.

             
She warmly wrapped her arms around the pup and began to rock back and forth like a school-girl on her birthday. It felt good, not just seeing the girl so happy, but seeing anyone that happy. It reminded me of the old world, children always smiling, in spite of their sometimes tragic situations.

             
“Who wants breakfast?”

             
I asked as I slowly sauntered back into the cabin. I stoked the fireplace, adding a few more logs to get the cast iron pan nice and hot. Next I plopped a generous scoop of rendered wild duck fat into the pan, something that I normally use sparingly. Wild duck has little fat, and rendering it is a long messy process which produces little results. My rations were getting thin, and the duck population up here is dangerously low.

             
As the fat quickly melted, I began to tend to the large liver, cutting off a few generous chunk for all three of us. The girl and her new friend had sauntered back into the cabin as the smoky smell of the fat permeated the room. Just like the smell of crispy, salty bacon, an indulgence that I miss the most.

             
In the past I have attempted to reproduce that old world favorite, but with failed attempts. Moose, deer, even salmon but with no success. One year I was lucky enough to come across a small drove of wild-hogs and successfully killed one. However wild pig fat leaves a nasty, gamy film on the palette which lingers for half the day. Duck fat however, is more like farm raised duck, with just a hint of rankness.

             
After the liver was sliced up, I tossed the chunks into the scorching pan which instantly roared up with a hot sizzle and splatter. The irony meat immediately stiffened and shrunk as it turned gray upon the searing pan. Using a wooden spoon I rigorously stirred them around, ensuring all sides of the meat cooked thoroughly. The smell was amazing, so much that the girl did not hesitate to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard and set the table. The only thing that would have made the smell even better would be a few diced wild onions.

             
Satisfied with the livers seared complexion, I quickly scooped the feast into a bowl and set it down on the table. Both the girl and I sat together, and immediately began to shovel mounds of the sliced organ into our plates and then instantly into our mouths. An orgasm of flavor overpowered our senses and we were lost within our feast.

             
We had almost consumed the entire entree before we realized the wolf-pup had not yet had her share and I graciously placed the bowl with the remaining scraps onto the floor. And like any dog, she woofed it all down without taking a single moment to enjoy the taste. It seemed like such a waste of good meat, but taste aside, the pup needed the nutrients as did we.

             
The feast was almost as good as a Thanksgiving dinner - almost. The liver cooked to perfection, seared on the outside, still cool and raw on the inside. Each bite producing a slight snap, and the mixture of rich smokiness and irony blood tasted like heaven. It might just be the best meal in years.             

             
“It's going to be a long day of cutting and preserving,” I said under my breath as I peered out the window at the fresh venison lifeless in the yard.   “I got to cut back.” I grumbled as I lit another cigarette and headed back outside and towards my kill. My couple smokes a month has turned into a few a day over the last week, and I could already feel the muddled ache in my lungs.

             
While working on the deer, the girl cleaned up from breakfast before heading out with the pup to play around the yard. Together they ran back and forth, playing fetch, and even hide and seek. She was an intelligent pup, for within an hour the girl had taught her to sit and shake hands with simple hand gestures, never once did she say a word or provide a treat. I was amazed that a wild animal could learn just as fast - maybe faster - than any domestic dog.

             
The lifeless infected wolves cremated for the rest of the day as I continued to add more wood and special sauce to keep the flames burning hot. The inferno had slowly burned away that god-forsaken smell, but there was still a hint of it over the scent of smoldering oil. I continued to stoke the fire until the carcasses were reduced to nothing more than ash.

             
Once the deer bones were scraped clean of the meat, I began the process of smoking a few large roasts in my home-made smoker and the rest I began to seal into canning jars, allowing them to slowly cook during the water-bathing process. Every so often I would throw a piece to the pup, even the girl and I enjoyed a few thin slices fried up here and there.

             
Aside from the needed protein, the taste was also a great energy boost. For a moment I forgot about the gaminess and actually thought I was eating a tender and juicy rib-eye at that little steak-house my father use to take me too. Sadly I no longer recall the name of the establishment, “The Pit” I believe. There are a lot of things I fail to remember of the old world, sadly even the face of my own father.

             
During breaks we would sit out in the yard, munching away on chunks of deer and stale crackers. The gray-jays chirped wildly, pleading and waiting for us to drop even the smallest crumb onto the ground. Which reminded me of one of my father’s old camping tricks. Without the girl noticing I crushed up a cracker in my hand and slow leaned forward, placing the pile of crumbs gently on the girls head.

             
“Hush, stay still.” I whispered and sat back in my seat. She held still and quiet, unsure as to what I was doing. Within moments her eyes rose to the trees at the sounds of excited gray-jays circled us rapidly. They squawked and screech to each other as they worked as one to calculate a point of attack.

             
Without warning one dove towards the girls head with such grace and precision, landing ever so softly onto her blond spiked hair. Quickly, the semi-social bird snatched up a few pieces of cracker crumbs before fluttering back into the trees. The girl screeched slightly then giggled with excitement as another jay swooped down, landing just as gently as the first.               This one, however did not retreat immediately, instead it made sure it cleaned up every bit of crumb before sailing back into the trees. The girl eagerly gestured for another cracker, which she quickly crumbled it in the palm of her hand and held it out in front of her. Forcefully I held back the pup from devouring the bounty laid teasingly before her.

             
It didn't take long for a Jay to land in her hand, grasping the girl’s fingers with its small talons. She tried hard to hold back the giggles, as it took back off and another landed right behind it. One after the other they landed and flew off until every crumb was devoured. Then, just as soon as they had had their fill, they were gone like ghosts in the trees.

             
I'll never understand why Gray-Jays are the only birds around here that hold such trust in humans. Maybe it is not trust, maybe they are simply greedy scavengers like Seagulls. Yet, Gray Jays possess more personality and grace then those damned rats with wings.

             
The sun had all but sunk behind the mountain as I finished the canning process. The rest would sit in the smoker for the next couple of days. It was a good kill, the meat should last us throughout the spring and part of the summer. My long-lost optimism was finally returning, and my insistent fear was slowly fading away.

             
“We need to name her,” I said gesturing to the pup.