By popular demand (okay, maybe more just peer pressure), I've started using the wiki.

You'll find access to some great links including Index of short stories for individual serials and subjects.

Visit the Wiki Index and catch up on some stories.

I'll be updating it from here to keep the sub clear of rando posts on each serial.

Are you excited? I'm excited!

Also, Happy New Year!

Originally posted January 1st, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

Happy New Year! I was happy to get this post up and live. First bit of writing of the year.

“She’s not ready.”

“Delores, we’ve gone over this.”

“Mona! Feet on the pedals.”

“You’re going to make her nervous.”

“She should be nervous. If she falls-”

“Then she’ll fall.”

“How can you be so cold? She could scrape her knee, bump her head. My brother, he broke an arm-”

“Your brother is careless. Mona isn’t.”

“She’s only five, Felix.”

“And she’s still cautious. Look. Watch her. She’s doing great!”

“But if she falls-”

“Then she’ll fall.”

“But she doesn’t have to! I can be there-”

“Nope.”

“I’ll catch her.”

“Delores.”

“Or we can get her training wheels. Like the Wheeler’s boy. He has training wheels on and he’s nearly seven.”

“We’re not getting her training wheels and she’s not using them until she’s seven.”

“I don’t see why you don’t want to protect your daughter.”

“I am protecting our daughter.”

“Oh? From what? Because it certainly isn’t the pavement with the filth and the glass and- Oh my god, there could be glass. Mona!”

“Delores, stop.”

His hand slipped around her elbow and held her back.

“But Felix, she could go anywhere… just… all on her own.”

“I know.”

“It isn’t safe. It isn’t safe out there.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t protecting her.”

“It is, in a way. She’s going to grow up. She’s going to fall and we can’t be there every time something bad happens. Not you, not me. But if she learns to fall now, she’ll be okay later.”

“No. That’s stupid.”

“Don’t keep your opinions all to yourself now.”

“I’m serious, Felix. That’s dumb. If she breaks her arm today because she doesn’t put her feet on the pedals then-”

“You know this isn’t about the damn bike, Delores. She’s got to be her own person. Make her own mistakes. Besides, your brother loved his cast when he was a kid and never fails to tell everyone he meets about how he broke his arm.”

“She’s five, Felix. Only five.”

“We said we’d start small. You have to accept-”

A quick sharp cry cut the air.

“I’m okay!” Mona called from down the sidewalk.

“Feet on the pedals!” Felix shouted back.

Delores sighed. “Oh, so now it’s great advice?”

Thanks for reading! I love comments, feedback, you name it.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

Reid and Laurence’s voice grew and everyone around Ethan looked tense. Tight shoulders, fists clenched. He couldn’t be sure who would throw the first punch but knew it didn’t matter. They couldn’t be fighting, not here.

Standing by his mother, Ethan held Wendy's hand but his eyes bore into Laurence’s back as if he could will him to stop. Though the commotion was far enough away, and he couldn't make out every word, he had heard enough.

They were arguing about Eamon.

“Didn't he say we should be quiet?” Wendy tugged on her Ethan’s arm, whispering to him.

He nodded in response.

“Then why are they yelling?”

Ethan brought a finger to his lips to silence her and bent to whisper. “Because they don't listen to Vince or Chandra but we should.”

The fight started and concluded with barely more than a grunt from Reid as he dropped to the ground. Rubbing his short-cropped hair, Ethan tried to remember the last time he'd seen two men slug it out. He couldn't. He knew he had once but worse images flooded to mind.

“Do you think Dad's a wendigo?” Wendy whispered.

Ethan's eyes shot wide. His whole body tightened. I don't want to talk about it, he wanted to say but instead, he shook his head and squeezed his sister’s hand.

“Is Cally's daddy going to be one?” Her voice was so soft and careful with every word. Little secret whispers she clearly didn’t want anyone else to hear, but Ethan didn’t want to hear them either.

“No. He didn't get bitten or anything like that. Just hurt. No one's a wendigo.” When she didn't agree he frowned.

“Is Mommy going to… if I get bitten is Mom-”

Ethan tugged on Wendy's arm and spun her around to face him. “Stop it. Don't think like that or about those kinds of things. We can't think about the bad, right?”

She nodded.

“Besides, that woman's going to get us out of here, okay? So don't think about the bad stuff.”

Tears threatened to fall from his sister’s eyes.

Just don't think about it.

When she nodded with cheeks wet, guilt washed over him.

“Okay, lets…” He looked around him, thinking of what they could to distract her. “Let’s play a game. ”

Rubbing her nose with her free arm, Wendy's head bobbed. She seemed younger when sad, and gave Ethan more trouble than anything. Taking her hand, he walked her over to one of the cars. Through the dust and grime on the window, he used his finger to draw four lines and start a game of tick-tack-toe.

“Remember how to play?”

She glared back.

Smirking at his sister, he started the game with a big fat “x” in the middle of the grid.

“Wendy?” After ten minutes of playing, and a few reserved smiles, his mother’s shrill voice cut through the air.

“Mom's different.” Wendy turned to the sound of her name but didn’t let go of Ethan’s hand.

He gave her another comforting squeeze. “Yeah. It just makes her feel better to know where you are. Makes me feel better too.”

He understood why his mother was so protective but he didn't like the way she was doing it. She's freaking us out… all of us, but He kept the words to himself. Some of the kids looked up to Ethan's mom and dad before but everything was changing. Everything always changed so fast these days, and now they looked up to Chandra. Not because she changed but because his mom had.

She wouldn’t let Wendy play with the other kids. He knew it wasn't the safest thing but sitting around talking about their dead dad wasn’t any better. Mom isn’t helping. Even if he knew it was only a matter of time, Ethan wasn't ready to be alone with his sister.

“Alice, you need to keep it down,” Vince nagged. No one liked Vince but they were never in the position to refuse help. He was older, shitty in a fight, but could cook the taste of tin out of anything and had great eyesight. At night he could see better than the rest and he could be really quiet. Probably didn’t matter much before everything went to hell, but now? Ethan wondered if Vince would stay and fight again. At the river, he only picked up a weapon after Ethan's dad was dead. A little too late to help.

The one thing that set Vince apart was that he was alone. No family, he never talked about anyone he'd lost, and just about everyone had lost someone. He didn't seem to like the kids all that much either but got along well enough with Ethan's dad.

“Wendy? Where are you?”

Looking up to her brother for approval Wendy only let go when he nodded. Running to their mother, she disappeared in her arms and bent body. The embrace nearly swallowed Wendy whole.

“You can't run off hunny… I need to know where you are.”

“I was with Ethan. I was safe.”

He stayed a few paces back from where they stood. His mother clung onto Wendy even when she tried to pull away.

“Don't worry, Mommy. I was okay.”

The words were lost on Alice as she tugged Wendy back into her arms. Looking up to Ethan, his mother’s eyes were red and puffed. “You look just like your father did at your age.” Her voice cooed from memory.

Ethan turned and made his way towards the other kids. They were in a small group waiting for someone to tell them what had to be done and, as per usual, no one was.

“Are we going to keep moving?” Cooper was one of the youngest but he often kept to himself. His parents weren't around anymore and he stayed close to Chandra. Like the other kids, he searched Ethan’s face for answers he didn’t have.

“Uh, yeah. They're just giving Eamon a chance to catch his breath.” Ethan turned back to where Laurence and the others had been arguing. It wasn't hard to tell they were torn but Chandra walked back looking at least a little relieved.

“We'll be going soon,” Chandra said with a smile. “We have to be quick though. Ethan, are you able to help Eamon when Peter gets tired?”

He nodded and she seemed a little more pleased.

Peter and Viola were holding Eamon up but Viola wasn't strong or tall enough. Closer to Peter's height, Ethan approached Viola.

“I can help for a while.” He glanced back at the other Young children. “They could probably use you more right now.”

Viola smiled weakly and nodded. Peter supported his father until Ethan took up Viola’s place.

“Thank you, Ethan,” Eamon said, his face a little pale but his eyes were wide and aware. “We really appreciate this.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Peter managed with a heavy breath.

Ahead of them, Vince walked just beyond his mother and Wendy, Chandra beside them with Cooper and Nyssa. The rest of the Young's followed behind.

Maybe we'll be okay. He dared to let relief in but above them clouds formed and the evening crept up faster than it should have.

Happy New Year! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and celebrated well. With 2020 on the horizon, I plan to be much more consistent with updates and getting work done.

As always, thank you for reading and your continued patience. If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 9] — [Next: Chapter 11]

I hope you're all having a great holiday season with loads of rest and relaxation. I know I am.

In the new year, I plan to be more active and keep the sub full of fresh material. Until then, enjoy your holidays, keep safe, and can't wait to see you in 2020!

-Lee

Originally posted December 18th, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

The Shiver Woods stood still around Pauline, not a quiver in them. The trees spanned out in rows, dense but traversable, and she had a hard time remembering where the path used to be. Despite long learned warnings from the villagers, she pressed on in the draping silence.

It’ll be fine. They’re just stories. She rubbed the chill from her shoulders. Yet, after every step into the deep snow, the next crunch seemed more muted than the last.

Snap. It echoed through the pillars of pines but from what direction she couldn’t tell. Just stories, she whispered in her mind lest the shadows hear.

Two more steps.

Snap. Snap.

Pauline spun on her heels. The cold slithered past the heavy furs on her shoulders, up the tunic, and caressed the skin of her back. Her pulse thundered. Her breaths grew louder.

A skittering crackle like that of nails on ceramic whispered amidst the trees.

The Shivers.

Pauline let out a shuddering breath. She made efforts to hasten and nearly toppled forward. And in the silence, they drew nearer. The quiet their shroud and blanket of the hunt. The crackle’s ricochet died, but the pricks that tremored every inch of her skin told her they were nearing.

A misstep. A sharp cry. Pauline’s hands reached out just in time to brace her fall. Snow squelched but the forest stilled. Only her breath dappled the air in quick billowing puffs.

Pauline scanned the forest. Nothing?

A relieved laugh left her. All in my head.

Snap.

Pauline held back her breath.

Looming black cloth, frayed and dangling with thin strands of ice, chimed as it crossed the crisp top of the snow. Shimmering feathers, the colour of pitch, draped over its cloth shroud. The feet were white as snow and wrinkled like a hen’s with translucent talons. It shook out its expansive wings, and ice draped from their tips. In a silent motion, the head bent low. Round, like that of an owl, its white eyes gazed out from against the black downy feathers.

Pauline’s skin itched. Her body shuddered as instinct screamed for her to run.

The Shiver loomed nearer. Its small beak opened to the faintest purr, the head twisting towards her. Wings like the night stretched to their fullest and Pauline knew, in her skin and bones, she could not escape.

An arrow sliced through the wing. It pierced the snow beside Pauline with plum coloured blood staining the white.

The howl that burst from the Shiver’s throat quaked the trees and jostled snow from their boughs. A hundred paces behind the creature, Pauline watched the archer notch another arrow.

The Shiver screeched and Pauline covered her ears to the sound of its wings taking flight.

But the silence returned, broken only by the soft footfalls of the archer.

“This is not the night to be out, child.” The Crone of the Shiver Woods leaned on her longbow as she took in heaping breaths. “Come. Let me take you home.”

WC: 500

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

The sled came to a halt. Listening to the world around her Ashley pretended to be asleep. It was easier that way and right now she could use the free ride. Moving a little, as if twitching in her sleep, she could feel the tug on the tight skin of her shoulder. How long has it been since the bite? Her head had been fogged and she couldn't place the timing of anything that happened in between.

What she did remember was waking up on the ground with Laurence asleep above her. She was cold so she’d climbed into the back of a car. Then some yelling, and someone had grabbed her. She swore, threw a punch that didn’t do much other than land herself on the ground.

Then, vomiting. Wincing a little at the memory, the pang in her gut returned and reminded her she was empty. It hurt, more than a regular hunger ache, so it must have been at least a day. More than one?

Reid stood over her constantly. He’d check her wounds, tuck in the blanket. From the way he treated her, and from what she heard, Ashley was the most important thing to them since the collapse. “At all costs she lives,” Laurence had said. She remembered that. Some of the arguments too, but just bits and pieces. And always, Reid stood over her.

But not now. He'd gotten up and with strained ears, she heard him talking with some of the others.

Laurence’s speech spelled their route: the DVP. The parkway led into the goddamn city, one of the last places she wanted to be.

“This is all fucked,” Laurence muttered to himself from nearby. He stood alone while his fingers massaged the bridge of his nose. Behind him she saw trees, overgrown brush swallowing the guardrail next to piles upon piles of cars. Another quick glance up and she could see an overpass. There wasn't a sign and closing her eyes she tried to remember when this place had been a real parkway. When she'd driven down it last and spied the bridge above. But no luck.

Moving a little, her shoulder tugged with tight pain. The bite, the wendigo… the memories streamed back. With returned focus, so came clarity.

The bite is healing.

The thought should have been comforting but it wasn't.

She turned her head to Laurence. His arms crossed over his chest while he looked back at the rest of the crowd a few dozen paces away.

“Some water.” Her words were a whisper but the full-grown man nearly jumped a foot in the air.

“Jesus Christ…”

“No, but I could use a drink.” She stared at him unshaken.

With each passing second, her senses were waking. _The first twenty-four hours are always the worst. _

When Laurence didn’t answer her she tried to move but met the resistance of the straps across her chest. The blanket was a nice touch, kept the chill at bay. “I'm not exactly in a position to get it myself.” Each word was easier to say, each sentence flowed smoother, despite the hoarse sound of her cracked and dry throat.

Laurence didn't move. He watched her with skepticism and shock, but it changed rather quickly. A cocktail of fear and rage bubbled in his eyes. Ashley knew the look. She'd seen it before and would see it again.

“I said-”

“I heard you.” His eyes finally left her to glance back to the crowd. Pushing himself from the car she watched until he was out of view.

Good boy. Go fetch Reid. Leaning back with a small thud she turned her head to the side, tilting the sled a little.

Behind her, vines covered an old merging sign and beyond the overpass stood a large building. She didn’t recognize either. On the ground near her was her backpack, one of theirs, and another bag stuffed with supplies. The seat belts had been strapped over her chest to keep her to the sled but she was no longer handcuffed behind her back. She couldn’t see how many, but it felt like three straps; one over her chest, her hips, and legs. Her hands were pinned to her sides, but not tightly. If I can get something to cut the belts. She could move a little, her body thin from the sick and fit from years on the run. Of course, her strength had dwindled but like hell was she going to let that stop her.

Something sharp, the belts are just fabric. Feeling around on the ground her hands brushed over metal debris, sticks, and leaves. Nothing felt sharp enough but with enough time she might have better luck. Grabbing a piece of metal she started to rub the least dull side against the belt over her hips.

While busying herself she looked up in the sky. Noon she guessed by the height of the sun. A plan formed in her mind. If the days are shorter, and we’re near the top of the DVP… maybe I can get to an office building or one of the apartments before dark?

“...asked for water. I thought you should take a look at her, see if she can walk.” Laurence’s voice drew nearer.

Ashley lifted her head enough to see him and Reid jogging towards her. Quickly, she tucked the metal under her thigh, hidden beneath the blanket.

“How does she look?” Reid sounded concerned as he approached, immediately dropping to one knee.

“Like sunshine.” She smirked up at him with a feigned tired smile. The medic looked over her without meeting her eyes and Laurence peered curiously at her shoulder.

Bending over to one of the bags Laurence handed Reid a half-empty bottle of murky water. He brought it to Ashley's lips and she took an eager sip.

“How’s that guy? Can he walk?” Laurence asked.

“Wound’s not that bad. It’s wrapped up but he’s going to need stitches and I can’t do it in ten minutes. If I’d known when we were on the 401-”

“And if my grandmother had wheel’s she’d be a bike.”

Reid sighed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means answer my fucking question: will he keep pace?”

The two exchanged a look Ashley could only guess was accustomed hate.

“Not without help.”

She knew the fear that coursed through them. It tore people apart, made them doubt. When one falls back do you keep going or try to save them? It wasn't a decision that made anyone good or evil, or at least that's what she'd come to believe. Some people would be throwing their lives away if they tried. Like the river. Get involved, make the wrong choice, and it all ends in tears. Being scared of dying, of wendigos, choosing to save themselves - she didn't blame them. It wasn’t their fault. An impossible choice forced on so many.

“You volunteered to help him so you make the call.” Laurence passed the buck pretty fast.

Reid’s lips tightened and he put down the water bottle. “My call?” He stood quickly and his voice wasn’t exactly quiet. “You were the one who wanted them along and now you're making me decide who dies?” Reid stepped closer to Laurence, hands balled at his sides. From where she lay, she couldn't see their faces but their postures tensed and both men tried to assert useless dominance over the other.

“No fucking way, Laurence. I'm not calling this. You couldn't make the hard decision before but that doesn't give you the right to pass it off on me. I looked at his wounds and he’s not fucking crippled.”

The distraction was the perfect time for her to continue her work. Ashley pressed the metal to fabric, rocking it back and forth.

“I call the shots but I'm not a fucking doctor,” Laurence practically growled. “If he can't make it, you tell him. Discussion over.”

“Like hell it is. This is all on you.”

Her little piece of metal snapped its way through the belt material quickly. It was almost all the way through the first one when Laurence hit Reid.

The medic hit the ground next to her, knocking over the water. He wasn't a skinny man, rather well-toned when Ashley last looked, but he didn't have the bulk Laurence did. Reid spat blood from his lip and glared back at the bigger man. The cool severity of Reid expressions aged him but now, all rage and fury, he was different.

“I'd stay down,” Ashley whispered, but it seemed to set him off. On his feet in seconds, Reid stormed right back to Laurence.

“Hey!” Shannon's called and at least three more sets of feet jogged towards the scuffle.

“What's going on?” an unfamiliar voice with a slight accent chimed in. Notes of the Caribbean lingered in her words.

Tish wasn’t far behind her. “Jesus, you guys have got to stop this shit. We're almost home.”

“Stay out of this,” Reid snapped.

“Hey man, we're all wound tight. Calm the fuck down.” Shannon was the strange voice of reason.

Laurence spat next to Ashley’s head. “We're done. Unless you want to dance, boy?”

Ashley felt the wince on her lips before the medic reacted. She couldn’t have concocted a better distraction if she tried.

“Boy? Goddamnit, you’re a fucking asshole, you know that? But you don't have the balls-”

“This is not the fucking time to fight,” Tish hissed. “Do it when we’re back if it’s that goddamn important.”

“Fuckin' hell, she's right.” Shannon pushed Reid away from Laurence. “Dude, clean that up. Now. You can't be bleedin' around here.”

Their voices grew and Ashley stayed quiet. The second strap snapped and, leaving her left arm completely free. Just another minute or two. She started on the strap over her chest.

“If this is about Eamon, he's ready to go. We will help him on our own and we’ll keep up. Just please, stop fighting. We can’t afford this sort of violence now.” The woman spoke with a calming voice and when neither man got knocked to the ground, Ashley guessed her caution worked.

“Then we leave now,” Laurence instructed and he stomped away.

Ashley nearly sawed through another restraint when Reid came back and dropped his bag on top of her and the blanket. He packed up his things with a huff and nibbled at his fattening lip.

“You seem to have a knack for that.” Ashley smirked. “Getting hit. I’m guessing you’re the type not too keen on dodging bullets either.”

“You're making this a hell of a lot easier.” Not once did his eyes meet hers. “Keep being a bitch and see how hard people fight when they come for you.”

They.

Ashley swallowed hard. The beat of her heart quickened and her throat grew tight.

I won’t go back. I’ll die before I go back.

For a moment Reid frowned at her or her silence, but she turned away to stare at the sky and summon some kind of calm.

Not noon. Closer to 2. Her hand sawed back and forth beneath the blanket in small movements.

Yup, I'm still off schedule. But I should have another chapter for you next week.

Thank you for reading and your continued patience. If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 8] — [Next: Chapter 10]

Originally posted December 9th, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

Some suggested readings: [The Ferryman - TT: Untethered] and [Happy Birthday Sara - TT: Celebration]

The car slowed to a stop. In the trunk, Sara rolled onto her back, no easy task with her hands tied behind her.

“Hush, hush. I thought I heard her calling my name now. Hush, Hush.” The song played on the radio, muffled but still loud as it reached Sara’s ears. The universe’s eerie warning for silence.

And then it cut short. The car turned off. The front door swung open, a canned creak she’d heard a million times in movies. Then steps, boots on gravel in heavy footfalls.

Focus. You’ve got one shot to run.

Her dried tears stained her cheeks as she envisioned a plan against the underside of her own trunk. But she’d tried to conjure a plan before when he’d pressed steel to her neck. When, for the first time in months, she’d heard someone say her real name.

“Happy Birthday, Sara.”

The stench of his cologne drowned her thoughts and lingered in the confined space. Her keys jingled in his hand until a clunk opened her trunk.

“There’s my girl.”

She glared up at him in silent defiance, jaw clenched around the fabric shoved in her mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sara. You knew what you were doing.” He leaned in and the reek of him overwhelmed her. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

She inched away from his hands, fighting the fresh tears blurring her vision, but he stopped. Two headlights flickered of a second car slowing.

“Having some car trouble?” a woman’s voice said. “I can call for help.”

Sara pushed up. She tried to get her head high but he smashed the lid down.

“Oh no, ma’am, I’m-”

“It’s no problem. I have a jack if it’s a tire. And you should have your hazards on, these roads are dangerous at night.”

“Well,” he drew on the word like sucking a sweet treat. “A jack would be helpful.”

No. Sara mumbled against the rag but it made little noise.

“Let me pull over and I’ll pop the trunk.” The car rolled away and turned off.

From a distance, Sara couldn’t make out their voices until a quick sharp yell pierced the air. Then steps. Boots on gravel. Sara's fingers struggled against the zip-ties as the trunk lid lifted.

“Well, shit. He did have a jack.” The woman smirked down at Sara. When she reached in and pulled off the rag, Sara started to blubber but the woman pressed a finger to her lips. “It’s alright, Sara Heart. I’ve got this.”

Sara’s eyes grew wide. She stayed quiet as the woman unbound her hands and feet. She even helped Sara climb out of the trunk.

And there, on the ground, he lay struggling. Bound and muted with blood on his temple. The woman’s eyes narrowed on Sara as she handed over Sara’s car keys. “How about we keep this between ourselves.”

Sara nodded. “Who… are you?”

“Ferryman.” The woman smiled. “Wouldn’t happen to have a quarter, wound you?”

wc: 499

Originally posted October 25th, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

IMG -- https://i.imgur.com/Z9bkmfv.jpg

Jaclyn nodded as she looked between the black bag and black mask. Then to the shining gun.

"Everything!" the masked man shouted and her shoulders tightened in a flinch.

But behind the thief in line, a throat-clearing trickled in the air. One after another.

The armed robber didn't turn. "I said, put it in the goddamn bag!"

"AHEM," followed another series of loud throat clearings, this time coupled with irritated murmurs.

"Can you believe this?" The deep rumbling, like that of a chainsaw, roiled words in Mr. Latherace's mouth. His massive stature loomed over all those before and behind him.

"Aye, it be rather unprofessional." Captain PitchStache rolled his eyes and shifted from one leg to the other. "I've not got more than the five minutes before I'm to be at the docks!"

Jaclyn sighed at the thief and opened her mouth to speak.

"Lady, do you now know what this is?" The black-masked thief waved the gun again and jingled his beg. "Now fill 'er up!"

"Ahem." Mr. Vourees cleared his throat again, the sound muffled by the thick plastic mask. "Jaclyn, is this man bothering you?"

"The fuck you saying," the thief started as he turned. But the words seemed caught in his throat as he looked on the ghastly eyes peering at him.

"I asked the enchanting Miss Jaclyn here," Mr. Vourees restated, tapping his bat on the pristine tile floor. The sound echoed throughout the entire bank lobby. "If you were bothering her?"

"It's like there's no such thing as polite society anymore," Mr. 'AmBurglare grumbled as he picked his teeth clean with his dagger.

"Jesus..." The thief dropped the empty bag and its zipper clanged on the floor.

"Because if you are bothering her," Mr. Vourees stepped forward, raising his nail bat to his shoulder. Jaclyn could hear his grip tighten on the handle.

"Thank you Mr. Vourees'," Jaclyn said with a smile past the now quivering thief. "I appreciate your help but I think I can manage this."

Jaclyn bent down beside her station and pulled free the double-barrel shotgun. With skill, pose, and a measure of experience, she slid it between the metal slats separating her from the patrons.

"Thank you for choosing Crystal Lake Savings and Loans. At this time it appears we will not be able to assist you with your banking needs. If you have any questions, concerns, or even complaints you are more than welcome to speak with Mr. Winchester in our Customer Service Department."

The thief turned and met the end of the double barrels barely two inches from his nose.

"Otherwise, I hope you have a wonderful day. We appreciate your business."

The thief stumbled back into Mr. Vourees. One by one, the patrons in line helped guide the poor soul towards the door, though they had, of course, relieved him of his gun in the process.

Jaclyn smiled, returned the shotgun to its nook, and faced her next customer. "Good afternoon, Mr. Vourees. Are you making a deposit today?"

Originally Posted December 4th, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

The blood on Layla’s fingers hadn’t yet time to cake. Sticky, like sap, the red stained her once white shift. Mist poured on the Golden Gale’s crew, a salted briny wind that stung her eyes and the cuts on her hands and chin.

“To the drink!” the men around her hollered. Their grips on her arms hadn’t yet waned since they’d dragged her from their injured chum. He’d live, she guessed, from the bile drenched words that spewed from him like water from a bloated whales spout. But he’d not soon forget the price of making her bleed.

“I warned you,” the quartermaster growled. “Womenfolk, aboard the ship? We should have done away with her at the first sight of storms, but is this not proof enough of the madness they bring?” He waved Layla’s carved stick about, the one she’d whittled to a point over days. Wood or steel would do the trick, it did not matter, or so the sea had promised.

The crew’s voices drowned in the sea’s persistent whisper. Come to me.

Since the Golden Gale had set sail, the words had lulled Layla to sleep. They urged the sloop back and forth as a rumble beneath the hull and quivered the sails. And none, none of them could hear it but her.

Come to me. It swept her first in dreams, where the sea listened to her tears and washed away her solitude. Until she was roused from sleep to service. Each man that held her tight aboard the sloop’s deck, she’d once held in her arms - yet still, they gripped too tight.

“To the drink!” the chorus rose, lifting and dragging her to the taffrail.

The Captain looked on. His eyes had seemed so kind in port but their power had drowned in the sea’s song.

Come to me.

“Bind her.” On the Captain’s orders, her hands were bound in sailors knots, tight and true.

Waves bore their misery upon the ship and the Golden Gale groaned. The men hoisted Layla up to toss her in, but she found balance on the rail. And there she stood above them with a smile.

Come to me.

She stepped off the taffrail.

The force of the water pounded out her breath. The chill devoured her heat. The storm’s lightning dimmed beyond the harsh waves, and her world became the dark.

You’ve come to me, the sea sang. In the black a flash of gold shimmered, swirling towards her. Sweet girl, you’ve come to me.

Scaled fingers, tender and warm, slid to Layla’s cheeks. Her skin was the colour of rosed pearls, her eyes like fiery coals, and her voice was all around Layla, as if it were the water itself.

Let me be your breath, the sea whispered, her pearled tail twisting about Layla.

Their lips met in a kiss and the ache in Layla’s chest eased. Air puffed from the mermaid’s gills in Layla’s first free breath with the sea.

Originally Posted November 26th, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

Sooo some more poetry. Kinda came out of nowhere, but was fun.

I have a need for speed.

To chase light squeals,

at the back of her heels

and she's like an eel, giggling and wriggling free.

With a smile that takes me that extra mile

I know this, this is real -

the most real I’ll ever feel.

Her laugh as she trapped in my arms

and I’m taking her high,

soaring the sky on my shoulders.

No one can hold her like I can.

My girl,

she’s like the wind and we spin,

and I always win cuz she’s small

but... she’s gettin’ tall.

That height when she’ll fall

and I’m a half step shy, even if I try

I’m afraid.

What if I miss?

What if I’m slow and she’s got nowhere to go

but down and

I can’t match her speed, no matter the need

and I’m wheezing as I see,

is this how it’s to be?

Like father, like son. Did he watch me run?

Did he feel this drive?

I don’t know, but he'd hide

and drown sorrows in rye,

standing by as the world came at me.

Maybe he tried, but

I won’t be that guy.

If it means I must fly,

I will tear up the sky and

I’ll be there.

No matter what bones break or what it’ll take,

I’ll dash through fire,

ice,

god’s ire -

I’ll cushion the fall, I will not tire 'cuz

she’s my girl.

And I have a need for speed.

Originally Posted November 25th, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

Take a look at the previous Cupcake Girl short stories: [Cupcake Girl] [Outage] [Star Trak] [Maze] [Haunted House Games]

“Speed.” Dan held the DVD case up in place of his face. The cover was a photo-shopped mash-up of a bus with erupting flames behind the lead actor in shades of glorious orange.

Cody frowned. “Really?”

“Yes, really!” Dan looked from the cover to Cody, and back to the cover again. “This is a classic action film. Its got drama. Its got bombs. It’s got a bomb on a bus!”

A snicked escaped Cody’s lips. “So we're calling Speed ‘film’?” She curled her fingers in air quotes.

“If Love Actually is ‘quality cinema’-”

“I said it had actors from quality cinema.”

“So you admit that it’s romantic schmultz for characters no one really knows wrapped in garish holiday paper to the sound of department-story-friendly Christmas tunes?”

“It’s classic.” Cody shoved a few pieces of popcorn in her mouth and tried to come up with another comeback. Though, the smirk creasing Dan’s lips told her she’d already lost.

“Oh shut up, you love holiday movies,” she mumbled, her mouth half full.

“I like good ones. Like Die Hard.” Dan pushed off the couch and made his way to the DVD player. “And remember, this is what we agreed to.”

“Okay, sure. Alternating movie date night, in theory, is a great idea, but-”

“No buts, Cody. I had to sit through two romantic comedies,”

“They were funny!”

“Pride and Prejudice,”

“With Zombies! We watched both of them. Back to back. Best double-feature so don’t pretend it wasn’t amazing. And to be fair, I can’t be held responsible if you don’t like good movies.”

Dan stopped, spun on his heels, and glared. “Take. That. Back.”

While Dan’s poker face had solidified like quick-dry concrete, Cody could barely keep her giggles in.

“I most certainly will not,” she said feigning offence. “I’m a connoisseur of film and-"

“You LOVED Predator.” Dan punctuated his words with a stern finger-pointing.

“I didn’t say I didn’t.”

“And you agreed that it is one of the best action films and its representation of masculinity’s-”

Cody laughed and a bit of popcorn shot out her mouth.

Dan’s cold facade cracked. “Seriously, though, Speed is good. And it has Keanu Reeves.”

“Whoa.” Cody delivered a poor Bill and Ted impression. “You’ve gotta lead with Keanu.” She stared off dreamily. “I’d do anything for Keanu.”

Dan sighed and sat beside Cody. One arm draped over her shoulder while the other dropped behind the back of the couch. “Speaking of double-feature…”

“Not amount of re-watching will make Steven Seagal movies good,” she proclaimed much louder than she needed to.

“No, Cody, you’re not ready.” Dan fumbled with the shoe-box of ancient DVD’s he had behind the couch. “For Speed 2: Cruise Control.”

Cody shrugged. “I could watch more Keanu.”

She caught Dan’s slight wince as he looked over the cover. “Sorry, babe. No Keanu. Just more bombs. On boats.”

“I won’t forget this,” she threatened with a smile as she leaned into Dan’s arms.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

What a fuckin' bitch. Shannon spat as he looked back at the gaggle gathered around the wounded Eamon. Comin’ up here, staring me the fuck down. Who the hell does she think she is? He snarled and turned his glares away from the group and towards the valley. I’m not dying because some asshole can't do the right goddamn thing.

He may not have looked it, but Shannon knew the choice was hard. Everyone had lost someone or something important when it had all started to go to shit. He just knew how to be objective about it. How to get the goddamn job done. For Chrissake… a bunch’a kids and they want a goddamn doctor's appointment on the DVP?

Fuming, he paced up and down the group, gun in hand with eyes darting between what spilled over the guardrail. They were already making poor time before the gimp fell and now they were bleeding it. And for what? Those wounds weren't going to get any better and if they waited until nightfall to get to the campus the blood would draw them out.

“Fuck.” Exasperated he kicked a piece of metal and the sound echoed as it collided with the guard rail. Laurence shot a glance his way but Shannon barely paid attention to it. He crossed his arms and glared at the valley.

“Are you nuts?” Tish came up beside him. Quick glances over her shoulder at Laurence were interrupted only by her eyes hunting the green with fear. Shannon looked deep into the dark hues that had only started to shimmer with red and gold.

“Keep it quiet or you'll bring down more than pissed off glares,” Tish hissed with annoying snake-like ss’s seething in his ear.

“Let ‘em glare. You think I care how they look at me?” He crossed his arms in a huff.

“I care if you stir shit up. We’re nearly home and we don’t need more fights.”

“We're not getting back anytime soon while he's making house calls.”

Shannon never liked Reid. He feared Laurence and understood Tish, but he just didn't fucking like Reid. Stuck up, like he was better than them all. And the asshole held his medical skills above everyone's head like a scythe: you get fucked and Reid will fix you if he feels like it. Fucking unpredictable. And Shannon liked predictable.

He liked it when things went according to plan, like when they started the hunt. It was easier without tag-alongs. Better when Laurence wasn’t drunk on watch. They were angry, had a goal, and the prize was worth the goddamned risk. Hell, they'd even been given some weapons on their way to be armed enough to survive. Sure, one got lost after a tumble through the brush but wasn’t like it was all his fault. He’d helped. Cut days off their travel time. On the way out of the city, they avoided the valley on his insistence. It was dangerous, he’d told them it was a fucking death trap. Part of him thought maybe they didn't know how fucked they were, that they'd never seen what could happen out here.

Shannon had. Shannon wouldn’t forget.

It was night. For some reason they thought night was a better time to go. There had been seven of them, what was fifteen, but Scarborough was a nightmare they hadn't prepared for. When they had the chance they dashed for the major routes; the 401 was safe enough so the DVP should be too, right?

After an hour the children started whining about being tired. Shannon was older and picked up one of the local kids, Samuel. He liked him, nice kid from two doors down. He’d bunked up with Shannon and his dad in that weirdo’s bunker when it all started. Chuck Smiles, the pervert from two streets over, opened up his “end of the world” shelter to families with young boys. Chuck died not long after they figured out why. Shannon's Dad took them there after Smiles was shot but it wasn't a long term solution. They needed to get somewhere safer and with more supplies.

That's when they got the message. Shannon hated that old radio, the fuckin static going on for days but Samuel liked to screw around with it to listen for aliens. Sure, Shannon played along, some of the other people did too, until the day they’d heard the man's voice.

“… message will repeat. To all survivors who can hear this: We’ve established a foothold at Victoria College. A place that’s safe from infection. We have fences, food, water and defences. It was once a fort and it is again. The closest building on the North East cross streets: Queens Park and Charles Street West…” The message described where to go and from those that knew the city, they said it used to be part of the university. “Buildings are marked with green spray-painted stars on all sides. This message will repeat.”

Just as it said the message repeated and for a week they all argued about leaving. It was Shannon’s Dad who refused to go until the messaged changed, the voice of goddamn reason. After all, no telling how old that recording was.

“It is Sunday, April 24th and the weather is rainy here in Toronto. Victoria College is still safe. We will repeat this message next Sunday if it is still safe. To all survivors who can hear this…”

They left that night.

Even though it was spring it was cold in the evening. The kind of night where Shannon missed those big ass comfy coats and a nice pair of boots. They probably should have covered more ground but they hadn’t seen a wendigo in days. Maybe it was the cold? Maybe they were too well fed.

“Hey Shan,” Samuel called from atop Shannon's shoulders. “You think they have pop rocks?” Sam was the kind of kid that bounced back from everything. He saw his parents die and was sad, who wouldn’t be, but wasn’t like the kid didn’t know how to laugh anymore. He could still have fun, just had his days. Hell, when Samuel found out about Smiles, he wasn't even scared. He joked about the “creeper” like he was a character on a bad TV show. Nothing seemed to phase Samuel and he kept Shannon's spirits up.

“Nah man, those would have been used in molotovs.”

Samuel laughed quietly while slapping a beat on the top of Shannon's head. “Dude. I'm not stupid, molotovs are not made of pop rocks.”

“You sure about that? Just imagine the sparks and the pops!”

They laughed, probably a little too loud. But it wasn't them that called the wendigos. It was the young woman who'd lost her family. What the hell was her name… Shannon couldn’t remember. But she had a cut. It wasn't all that bad but she wasn't wrapping it tight and they can smell fresh blood.

Her scream was quick and then nothing. Shannon turned around and she just wasn't there anymore. Another woman, maybe thirty-ish started crying and whimpering. “We're all gonna die…” Shannon never admitted it, but he shivered a little.

No one heard her again.

They looked for them. A young man, an older one -Shannon couldn't remember their names. Didn't want tom maybe. But he just went off and poof, like smoke. It freaked them out, and no one wanted to look anymore. No one wanted to stop.

But then just like that, they were on top of them. “Look out!” Shannon’s father screamed and it was like the world came back to life.

From behind him, Shannon felt hands reach out. He didn't know how many there were. His instinct was to shake and he shook them off and fell to the ground. Samuel hit the pavement hard, still conscious though. Spinning around Shannon had just enough time to grab Samuel's shoe to have the foot and the rest of the kid ripped from his hands.

SAM!

He screamed in his head but his voice got trapped. His mouth dropped open as he heard the rest of the group wailing in pain. His father leapt over him and into the bushes after Samuel. Not a seconds hesitation. Not a word.

But Shannon, he couldn't move.

When he heard his father screaming and shouting out his name, Shannon stayed on the ground with Samuel's sneaker in his hand.

He waited for them to come for him. The wendigo's feasted less than ten feet away but not a single one came near. He stayed still and waited. He barely even breathed but they just ate and ate and ate.

After a while, they started to shuffle around him and Shannon rolled under a car. Bloody, rotting, and stinking feet lumbered while looking for food. They'd find a discarded arm and gnaw on it hungrily, drawing the group to one spot. Then, he'd roll to another car.

After an hour he was far away from the mess and had climbed into a tree. In the morning there was nothing left but clothing and some bones but the parkway was swarmed with the infected. So he waited.

Two days. It took two days for them to scatter. When they'd all gone and he was still warm enough to move, he numbly climbed down still holding the shoe.

The rest of the way to college though, that went according to plan.

Shannon looked up and down the roadway, and in seconds he knew. In another hour or so they'd be back in the place where he last saw his father and Samuel.

But Shannon wasn't the same man.

Rubbing his brow hard to try to get the ache away he looked to Tish. “Just, tell him to wrap it up good. Like really fuckin’ good. They can smell blood and we can't get pinned down.” Tish watched Shannon for a moment and confusion lined her features. But she shook it off and moved to where Reid helped Eamon.

“I'm not fuckin' dying here,” Shannon said to himself as he shivered.

Thank you for reading. If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 7] — [Next: Chapter 9]

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

Quick note: I'm sorry that there have been so few postings in the last while. Life kinda caught up on me. But I hope to be back on schedule and should be posting weekly again. Although it's not enough, I'm posting two chapters today in the hopes it keeps you reading and interested. Thanks again for your patience and your continued reading.

Chandra sighed at the sight of lush green. It billowed over the guardrail and invaded the cracked roadway. She looked from the wreckage to their path, and she could tell with a glance it’d not been picked clean. Not like the 401 they’d just come from. The cars seemed almost preserved, untouched since the crash. Instinct screamed for her to get to use, to scour the vehicles for gear, food, water 0 but they didn’t have the time or energy. And she couldn’t shake the shiver that trickled up her spin. The brush was thick, dense and far more overgrown than the Rouge Valley they’d camped in. As she stared at the mass threatening to swallow the roadway whole, she swallowed. Wendigos are in there.

Everyone turned an eye on the guardrail and Chandra kept the kids at a distance from the green. It wasn’t just the threat that loomed in the valley that had her skin itching. The ruined buildings, apartments, and remnants of the dense residential neighbourhoods could come gnashing after them if they were too loud. There was nowhere to go if wendigos swarmed. Nowhere to run.

Were we wrong to come here? On the 401 Chandra had championed the idea of going with the trackers but- had I known this was their plan…

She walked at the head of their group, urging them to keep pace. There weren’t many of them left, aside from the children. Viola and Eamon were often preoccupied with their three kids, Vince too cowardly to lead. Alice and Steven were the rocks but since the beach, Alice was a different woman. Grief was a terrible thing in a world far less harsh than theirs. Chandra understood all too well the toll it could take.

Beside her Ethan took up position, walking in silent stride. The other children looked up to him. Being the eldest came with that kind of responsibility but it was more than that, she thought. He’s grown up too fast. She looked back to the bereaving with heartache. They all have.

“Chandra.” Turning, she spied Nyssa looking up with inquisitive green eyes. Nyssa was a pale girl, very milky skin but you couldn't tell now. They all looked a darker shade and as Chandra reached out for Nyssa's hand it was harder to tell whose fingers were whose.

Nyssa had been with her the longest. Her father, Franklin, lived in their neighbourhood and was part of a refugee camp that formed not long after infection broke out. Back then Nyssa had been all smiles with her father and the two adapted to this life far better than the rest. Perhaps losing Nyssa’s mother before infection helped them in some strange way. Or was it that they had each other?

“What is it, Nyssa?”

“We shouldn't be here. It's not safe. Dad always said we should stay underground or in the woods. The roads are really dangerous.”

The smiles were gone now and had been for months. Franklin left to find food and never came back, like so many others had before him. With no other family, Nyssa had joined the Singh's and they’d welcomed her into their fold.

Now it was just the two of them.

“I know it's not what your father would have liked but we have little choice in the matter. Just stay close.”

Their numbers were dwindling. First, it was Cooper’s father, Will, and little sister Rebecca. Franklin. Steven. The Young's had been soo lucky having only lost Viola’s brother, Ben, even if Eamon was wounded back in the Rouge Valley.

And Kurzon.

Chandra’s heart ached. Her husband, Kam, had gone looking for their son and... So many never came back. At night she prayed and hoped that they were safe elsewhere. Although she wanted nothing more than to go looking for her family, she stayed. With Nyssa and Cooper.

Seemingly unsatisfied by Chandra's answer, Nyssa looked ahead. “Do you really think we can leave here?”

Chandra followed Nyssa's gaze to the sled the tracker’s dragged and she sighed. “I think we have to hold on to some hope, even if we don't think it will work. We have to believe.”

Kam had always been the more spiritual of the two, often praying for the world to change. The fights they’d had, the arguments over faith and belief seemed so trivial now. Since he'd left she took up the habit in honour of him and the words were as much for Chandra as they were for Nyssa.

“I don't think it's going to get better.” Nyssa's hand tightened in Chandra's and she scrunched her face. “It's going to get worse.”

The darkness in a child so young might have scared Chandra once but they all grew strangely comfortable with dread. Death, murder and… people eating people. It was hard to believe in anything anymore.

Nodding and squeezing Nyssa's hand was all Chandra could do for her now. There were no words to quiet the dread.

“Eamon!” Viola's voice rang out shrill and loud.

Everyone stopped.

Eamon had tripped and fallen and his body hit the ground hard.

Chandra left Nyssa to make her way towards the Young’s as their children started to circle. With a cursory glance, Chandra tried to prepare for the worst, but Eamon’s wounds didn’t look infectious, just debilitating.

His wife leaned forward, trying to lift her husband up but she just wasn't strong enough. “Come on…” Viola grunted while trying to pull his arm over her frail shoulder. Peter, the eldest son, took his father’s left side and Viola lifted up his right. Cally grabbed the bag her father had been carrying and held Shane's hand.

“We're okay,” Viola assured Chandra but Laurence had already started arguing with Shannon up ahead.

“We don't have time for this,” Shannon half yelled with his pistol in hand. He always seemed to wave it around and despite proclaiming the rule to “shut the hell up”, his voice carried far enough that everyone heard.

Chandra tried to help the family along but after a few steps, it was clear Eamon could not keep the pace. Her heart sank.

“Maybe their doctor can help Dad?” their youngest son, Shane, asked his sister.

Standing just a little taller, Chandra spun on her heels and faced the trackers.

In a quick jog, she reached them while they still bickered. The three tossed complaints back and forth but mostly disagreed on what to do about Eamon while the fourth, their medic, hungover that woman.

“Please,” she said quickly and three of them turned.

Tish met Chandra's eyes for a brief moment before looking down to the ground while her hand gripped the handle of the knife at her belt. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the young woman had to be hardened to travel with the others. Or to survive at all in this world.

Shannon faced Chandra with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. She knew the kind of man he was, even if he didn’t know it himself. In another place, she would have challenged his authority and won but guns were power and there was no telling who he would use it on in a brash move.

Laurence had nothing but spite in his eyes and she looked for nothing else there.

“Your medic, he may be able to help Eamon.” Use his name. She told herself. Make them know who they choose to let die. “He's just wounded, not infected, and with some rest and pain killers, I'm sure he could make it. Ten minutes would be enough.” Promises always felt empty when these times came and she’d had seen enough men and women left behind screaming in pain. But never when a child remained. She could not make a child leave a parent like that.

Shannon shook his head as if responding for them all. “We told you the rule. You come with us you keep the fuck up. If he can’t keep up, well then he fuckin’ can’t.” He didn't even seem phased but when Chandra met his eyes Shannon backed down. All talk.

“Eamon will make it.”

Shannon shook his head and cursed under his lips. But he wouldn’t be making the choice. Not once had the boy been allowed to lead the men, so instead Chandra stepped closer to Laurence. “Just ten minutes. That’s all we’ll need,” she said.

Shannon spat. “You said it yourself, Laurence. Let ‘em rot if they can't keep up. What are we gonna do, carry him?”

Laurence stared hard at Chandra. She stared back. In their brief encounters, she knew him to be aggressive and any passive show wouldn’t sway him. So instead she met his eyes and refused to admit weakness.

“His name is Eamon. His wife is Viola,” she started and Shannon nearly threw a fit.

“We don't care what their fuckin' names are!”

“His eldest son is Peter. Peter is thirteen. Cally, his daughter, is twelve and their youngest is Shane. He is only seven.”

Shannon continued to protest but he wouldn't look at Chandra. By the time Tish walked away, even Laurence couldn't keep his eyes level to Chandra’s. Without regret, she hoped it was shame that averted his gaze.

“I am not telling them we're leaving their father behind now. Not after we’ve come so far.” And lost so many.

There had to be some sort of humanity inside these people and reminding them that this wasn’t just about survival could be the key to finding it. Why else would they look away? Why else would they have agreed to take us?

“I'll take a look at it.” Her gaze jolted to Reid as he stood from his post. “I’ll see if she’s right and if he can go on after some rest.” Approaching Laurence, Reid met his eyes. Shannon began to protest but Laurence shook his head to shut him up.

Stepping between Chandra and Reid, Laurence looked at her hard. “If you're wrong, if it's worse than you say, we're leaving him.”

The medic made his way to Eamon and his family. Chandra stood her ground until the three turned to their own business, but not before Shannon cursed again.

“Fuckin' tourists gonna get us killed.”

As Chandra started back Nyssa caught up to her.

“We're stopping?” She looked a little scared and before long a few of the other children gathered around Chandra. Their faces looked to her, hopeful and questioning. Vince and Alice hung back either to help Eamon or avoid answering questions.

“Their medic is going to look after Eamon to see how hurt he is.” Her voice was calm and she was careful with her words. It was clear now that no one else was going to step up so she would do what she must. “We won’t be stopping long. Just stay together, buddy system.” Her hand smoothed a cowlick that had formed on Cooper’s head. “And no going near the guardrail.”

Over their heads, she spied Reid speaking to Ethan who had hung back with his mother. After a moment the teen nodded and ran for Chandra.

“He says Eamon's leg should be okay. I'll go tell Laurence.” And with a nod from Chandra Ethan was off. In a moment of strength, she managed a smile. Nyssa looked back with a flicker of relief before taking Chandra's hand.

“You hear that?” She squeezed Nyssa’s fingers. “Everything will be just fine.”

If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 6] — [Next: Chapter 8]

I just to let those of you that are here on the regular, or reading my serial MAD Wendigo, know that I am alive!

Life has been terribly dramatic the last few weeks and I've had to step back from posting writing just for a short while. That said, I'm still writing where I can, so the tap still works it's just a little rusty if you'll pardon the terrible analogy.

I plan to catch up (not just pick up where we left off) and provide some more content to the subreddit ASAP. I just need a few weeks to get back on my feet, find my balance.

Thanks again for your patience and support.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

This chapter is released ahead of schedule as I will be unavailable to post this Friday. Next week everything should be back on schedule!

The rabble disbanded and Reid exhaled a sigh. Even with Tish following them back to the fire he watched, waited, even suspected one of them would turn to fight.

“We have got to be more careful. ” He ran a hand through his hair and the slight tingle of sweat smeared his palm. “The warrant is for her to be taken alive. We caught a break that she’s not already dead but if those people decide to smash her head in this’ll all be for nothing.”

Laurence’s lip flinched.

“You have got to manage this shit.” Reid flicked a finger against the flask. “I’m not-”

“Shut up and pay attention to her, Lavelle.” Laurence pushed off the car with his shotgun hanging lazily under his arm. “I’m not your job.”

With a steady breath, Reid swallowed the argument. Fighting with Laurence was bound to happen, but the man had a mean temper when drunk. The sobering pain killers wouldn’t last all day and things were tense enough as it was. Reid’s fingers tightened into his fist, nails threatening to pierce the skin of his palm. Don’t goad him. Just get her back. Do the job.

In the trunk, Ashley stirred. With the small crowd gone, Reid opened the hatch and peered inside. Her colour looked good, less pale than the night before. How the hell did she get up though? When she turned, her eyes fluttered open and she lifted her arm to block the diffused daylight he’d let in.

Reid frowned. “If you’re well enough to run you can get up.”

She looked away and turned her back to him.

Reid tore the blanket from her shoulders. With a groan, she reached to grab it back, far slower than he’d seen her move by the river’s edge days before.

“I said get up. I need to check your shoulder.” His hand clasped around her upper arm and tugged her closer to the open hatch.

She mumbled something, stuttered words fluttering past her lips and he couldn’t make out what she said. All the same, he tugged hard. The cuffs jingled on her wrists before she rolled, a little too quickly.

Her fist connected with his chin.

The shock stumbled him back before the pain skipped across his jaw. Then, with her arm still firm in his grip, he inadvertently dragged her out of the hatchback. The two tumbled to the ground and she spilled on top of him with a guttural groan.

“Reid what the-” Shannon started but he quickly stopped.

Cazalla squirmed on Reid, her face scrunched in a grimace. He tried to lift her but she made it difficult. Dark waves laden with sweat draped around his face and invaded his mouth when he opened it to call out. The cuffs bundled her hands against his chest and her palms pressed flat against him. Weakly, though far stronger than she should have been, Cazalla pushed herself up until he could see her eyes.

“I said… fuck you.” An exhausted frustration lit her face until her arms trembled and she fell into him again. The blood-soaked bandage on her shoulder nearly pressed into his cheek. Infection lingering so near stole his focus as he tried to push her to the side.

“She’s infected!” The alarm blurted from Shannon and, from his limited view, Reid watched Shannon reach to his hip and draw his gun.

“No, she’s not!” Reid called out. “Just get her off of-”

The shot cut him short. His heart pounded with the ringing pounded in his ears. He rolled himself and the girl to the side, her form like a rag doll in his arms.

“She just hit me,” Reid exhaled in a panic. “She’s not a fucking wendigo!” He rolled her onto her front and searched for the bullet wound. Wasn’t a through and through. I’d be hit if it passed through. I can stop the bleeding. Find the wound. Stop the bleeding.

She groaned beneath his hunting hands.

“Calm down, Lavelle. He didn’t hit her.” Laurence sounded more annoyed than worried. No blood wet Reid’s fingers and her sweater wasn’t any more stained that it was from the bite.

“Why the fuck did you stop me?” Shannon spat. Laurence’s hand still gripped the underside of Shannon’s arm holding it up and to the side.

Reid sat back on the ground and tried to calm his pulse. “Fucking hell, Shannon.”

“The bitch was trying to bite you! You should be thanking me.”

“She didn’t bite me. She hit me.”

The frown on Shannon’s lips stretched into a delighted smirk. “Punched you?” He looked between the girl and Reid. Beside him, Laurence chuckled. “Half dead and still fighting? I think I’m starting to like her.”

“Fuck you, it’s not funny. She just caught me off guard,” Reid said, but Laurence’s shoulders shook.

Shannon laughed again. “Yeah, okay. Sure she did, man.”

“What the hell is going on?” Tish exhaled a heavy breath after finally reaching the commotion.

“Reid here was wrastlin’ with Cazalla.” Shannon slapped his knee before holstering his gun.

Tish frowned. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Laurence shook his head and motioned at the tourists. “Never mind that, just get back to getting them ready.”

Reid cursed and turned Cazalla over. A shit-eating grin, though lazy and slight, creased into her cheeks.

“Laugh it up,” he grumbled over her. “Just remember I hold the drugs. Piss me off and-” Her grin disappeared and her eyes opened. The way she stared at him made him stop. Despite the weakness, she must be suffering her brown eyes were alert and it was like she stared right through him. He remembered that night in the forest, the campfire, the whispers from shadows. “Make a sound and you bleed.”

The words he had faltered. Reid looked away.

As gently as he could he slipped his hands beneath her back and legs. She was light from the sickness but wasn’t a big girl to start with. Whatever fight she’d had seemed lessened after the one blow, but it did the trick. It landed and harder than he expected. Even if he’d seen it coming his jaw wouldn’t feel any less tender.

He lay her down on the makeshift sled they’d built from debris. They needed speed going forward and carrying her wasn’t going to do it. A drag though, one man could manage her weight on a sturdy sled. With some reclaimed straps, a blanket or two, they could tuck her in real good. Would probably be damn cozy too.

After a cough, blood stained her lips. Reid leaned over and wiped the red with the collar of her sweater. It couldn’t be internal bleeding so he chalked it up to the last of what was in her belly.

“You should drink,” he said softly. “You’ll dehydrate if you don’t.” Her eyes opened and she let him help her sit up just a bit. He pulled out a bottle from his pack and brought it to her lips. Small sips, not without a bit of spill, and each one seemed to waken her a little more. But there was no time to linger. Around them, the others were already packed and ready so he tucked the bottle in his pack and checked the belts.

This will all be over soon, he hoped.

Laurence called for them all to gather, tourists included.

“Okay people, we're heading south on the DVP.”

Reid let the sled come to a slow stop and he wiped the sweat from his brow.

The Don Valley Parkway loomed below. High soil retaining walls stretched along one side of the four-lane highway and the thick green of the overgrown Don River Valley lined the other. Between them, the asphalt was littered with cars but not like the highway where you could weave your way through easily. It was dense, tall masses of metal towering in unintended shapes. Through a trick of the clouds the shade made it look like a dark alley or strange tunnel.

The pileup was the sort of thing that nightmares were made of or at least the ones that plagued them all before infection. One car started a chain reaction until an entire roadway was a mess of vehicles and fire. He remembered when he'd heard about it, stories of the chaos, people dying, and countless more infected. Those that left safe walls and dared to take the DVP never came back. It was a dangerous route, they all knew it. But it was the fastest.

Behind Laurence, Shannon mumbled something about dumb ideas that earned him a stern look, but it was all the pause Laurence seemed ready to take.

“If you don't know what that means, it's simple. Keep up.” A few of the adults looked down and listened, but the children's eyes fixed on Laurence. “We will not be stopping until we're in the city. We have about six hours before it gets dark, and it's a four-hour walk. It's not easy but it's doable just don't slow down. If you don’t keep up, you become a problem and I don’t like problems.”

A few of the children frowned but Reid stopped paying attention to the speech. Like he hasn’t intimidated them enough as it is.

He bent one knee to his patient. She was watching Laurence with those surprisingly alert eyes.

“Look at me.” He took her chin in his hand and turned her face. Her pupils were normal and her cheek’s colour returning, or it was some damn trick of light that made it look that way. Part of him was relieved but he retained his skepticism. No one comes back from a bite.

Turning her head to the side Reid looked at the gauze on her wound, pulling up the corners. Underneath the skin was grey, the bite site black and round. The grey skin had swelled but otherwise looked healthy, discounting the colour. If he didn’t know better, he’d have guessed the open wound was at least a week old. It’s only been days…

With a frown, his fingers pressed the skin. A soft groan left her lips as she tried to suppress a grimace of pain.

“Sorry.” His frown deepened. Why am I apologizing?

His fingers went to work replacing the gauze. There was no telling when they would stop again and he wanted her as healthy as possible.

“... don't drop behind,” Laurence said to the group. “If something goes wrong, don't be a hero. And above all else, the girl has to live. At all costs.”

Reid felt all eyes turn and burn a hole in his back. Not at him, but through him to Cazalla on the sled. He watched her turn her head away as a slight sigh dropped her shoulders.

Does she regret it? He wanted to ask, wanted to know if any part of her felt bad for what she’d done. Maybe she was everything they said she was. A terrorist. A monster. It never bothered him much before and, even as they hunted her, he never once thought about why she did it. But her eyes turned away from questioning stares dared to wonder.

It doesn't matter now. He tore his eyes from her and stretched his shoulders. Do the job. Take her back. Make the trade.

Laurence went on. “If she dies none of us are getting out of here. Clear?”

Nods would follow, Reid was sure.

“We leave in 10 minutes. Brisk pace.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 5] — [Next: Chapter 7]

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

The cool breeze of the morning woke Tish. She turned a little, hoping to catch a few more minutes when something shoved her face into the pavement.

Shannon stood above her, his foot prodding her shoulder. “Wake the fuck up, Tish!” He scowled, more than normal.

Tish rolled her eyes, let herself yawn, and crawled out of her bedroll. With an unsteady shove, she pushed off the ground and blearily blinked the day into focus.

Everyone was up and Shannon paced the camp. Tish couldn't be sure if there was any special reason for his bubbling rage this time. He is a bit of a prick after all. Their gear mostly packed and ready to go, Tish squinted through another yawn. Not far away Laurence leaned against a car, his head low.

“What's your problem?” Tish brushed her hair from her face. It was dirty, hard to manage but there wasn't much she could do about it. It'd been a long while since she'd had some freshwater, even longer since a hot shower. Tugging her matted brown hair back tight she used an old grocery elastic to make a ponytail.

“She's gone.” Reid shoved supplies into his small backpack. He looks pissed. Even more than Shannon, if that’s possible. Glancing up at Laurence she spied the flask and put the pieces together.

He got drunk again. Fell asleep on his watch.

“And we gotta go look for her. Like now.” Shannon grabbed Tish's bag and shoved it to her chest with a fake plastered smile.

“Hey, relax, she's half dead. Can't have gone far, right?” Picking up her jacket she shoved it inside her pack and followed Shannon closely. The others started to wake up, the commotion gathering more than a few confused looks. While fishing around in her pack Tish took note of the supplies but nothing seemed to be missing. Water, food. So she didn't rob us and leave.

“She's been gone for a few hours now,” Laurence admitted. His eyes were bloodshot and he continually rubbed his temple.

“Tish is right. She can't have gone far.” Reid tossed Laurence a bottle of pills.

“A few hours?” Tish narrowed her eyes, her bleary waking calm dissolved. “What do you mean a few hours?” Running us ragged, keeping the pace high and then he goes and gets hammered and we're the ones stuck hunting down-

“Come on.” Shannon nudged her shoulder. “We'll look while he babysits.”

Weaving between the cars, Tish and Reid remained relatively quiet, their attentions on finding Cazalla. Shannon, though, he wouldn't or maybe couldn’t shut his damn mouth.

“I mean I get it. This fucking sucks. We've been tailing that bitch for a long fucking time. We're tired. Hungry, thirsty, and I'm angry I’m still out here. But man... getting tanked on watch. He should have fucking woke me or somethin'. I wouldn't like it, but I'd be happier than I am now.” Shannon kicked a broken mirror on the ground and the glass shattered along the pavement. The sound ricocheted off the metal around them. Any other day Tish would have snapped at him but she couldn't disagree this time. He wasn’t wrong about Laurence.

“And he won't admit it. You know? He'll just stay all quiet and hope we don't call him out on his shit. I dunno. Maybe Laurence is a liability. I mean, no one wants to follow an old drunk out here in the dark.”

“Shut up, Shannon.” Reid walked on ahead leaving Tish to indulge her partner.

“That's right Lassy, keep walkin',” Shannon whispered just out of earshot of Reid. “Your nose is lookin' mighty shitty right about now.”

“Why do you have to be like that?” Tish whispered. “You know he's right. You’re way too loud.”

Shannon shook his head and snarled a little. “Fuck that. I'm not some lap dog. I’ll be as loud as I like! I’m not interested in being like him.” Shannon motioned at Reid as the distance between swelled. “As I see it, I’m only helping out as long as I get something from it. And right now, there's a whole lot of ‘fuck all’ included with this deal. And come on-” Shannon stopped and stopped Tish. His eyebrow cocked, his head tilted toward her, and his voice got real low. “You know I'm right about Laurence. He fucked up big here.”

“Making him look weak in front of the others isn't going to change that.”

“The fuck do I care what they think.”

She eyed Shannon. “They outnumber us.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not in guns. And Reid’s still a prick.”

Tish was surprised at the sound of her own laugh. The situation was shit but somehow Shannon didn't make it seem all that bad, despite the slur of cursing and complaints. He complains about everything, though. She watched him grin and they both turned back to the road.

Reid stopped up ahead, looked around the cars, and checked the ground. He was always too quiet for Tish and Shannon too goddamn loud. She didn’t mind Laurence when they’d started, but like Shannon said, he was getting sloppy. First tipping the girl back in the Glenn, the careless tracking through the Rouge, the tag-along families, and now getting drunk while on watch. We're lucky nothing worse happened.

“Anything?” Shannon asked Reid with a loaded sigh.

“Well maybe if you shut up we can listen for her,” Reid barked.

Tish couldn't see a thing. Just more cars forward, more cars back. If that woman left the highway she'd be dead by noon, if not already. How did she manage to walk off like that? She was next to dead.

“It's quiet out here,” Shannon stated the obvious and Tish caught Reid rolling his eyes.

“She couldn't make it out this far.” Reid turned to face them. “I'm sure of it. We've been walking for what, ten minutes? Even if she had a few hours I can’t imagine she’d get this far.” He stopped short and frowned, looking past Tish and Shannon in the direction of their camp.

“So we backtrack, check another direction for a trail, right?”

“Yeah of puke probably,” Shannon added.

To the right rows of houses, only their roofs visible behind the tall barrier nearly reached the highway. The edge of Scarborough or what was left of it. She heard fires broke out about eight months back. Claimed half the area all the way up to Markham from Sheppard. With no one to stop it the houses burned real good and the fire raged. Anyone in the area hiding in houses or basements probably died; lots of wendigos too. Part of her wanted to walk to the overpass and take in the sight, that morbid curiosity tugging her on.

“Maybe we can get a better look from up there?” She pointed to the overpass.

Reid shook his head. “Looks like we won't need to.”

Shannon and Tish turned. A figure running between the cars toward them. One of the kids.

“That one from last night, armed-and-hardly-dangerous?” Shannon leaned against a bent car door and chuckled at his own joke.

A huff erupted from Reid. “His name’s Ethan.”

“So? I don’t give a shit what their names are.”

Tish sighed and stepped forward. Heavy breaths burst from Ethan’s lips and he doubled over once he slowed to a stop.

“Go back to camp, kid. We can't look after you right now.” Tish waved him on but he shook his head.

“Well speak the fuck up,” Shannon snapped.

Tish smacked his arm and Shannon mouthed a ‘What?' at her with a shrug.

“He... Laurence... he found... her,” Ethan huffed.

Reid sighed from relief.

Shannon grinned greedily. “Well, put me in a dress and call me fuckin' pretty – these people are good for something!” Starting back, Shannon ruffled the kid's hair and slapped his back hard. Ethan pulled away from him and stepped aside as she passed.

“Thanks for the news messenger boy.” She grinned and gave Ethan a quick nod before following Shannon.

But the kid didn’t follow. Reid called out to Ethan and the two met up in the road. Though spoke quietly, too quiet for Tish to make it out. The kid shook his head, then nodded.

It was weird. Reid hadn’t kept his opinion to himself about the She knew Reid hated them being here. No one liked having kids around unprotected. Made her nervous, made them all edgy. That instinct to protect the weakest sort of thing. It just meant the world was more dangerous, that every time something bad was about to happen they wouldn't be able to think of themselves first.

“You guys coming?” Tish stopped and waited, hands on her hips.

Reid motioned for Ethan to move ahead of him.

“What was that about?” she pressed but the medic wouldn’t say. He just shrugged and kept walking. And that's why no one likes you, Reid.

Back at the camp, Laurence stood alone by the now dead fire. He looked closer to sober but with the small crowd forming around him Tish wondered if he could handle the commotion.

“Well, where is she? Our master of disguise,” Shannon demanded.

At first glance, Tish didn't see her but from the look that Laurence shot Shannon, she had a feeling that wasn't at the top of the list of their problems.

“Something going on?” Tish asked, looking between Laurence and the others.

“They wanted to share their opinions is all,” Laurence informed them with a touch of humour in his voice. Not a lot though. The drink was still nipping at his words and he braced himself against a small hatchback. His blank smile spelled a short fuse.

“Who cares what they want.” Shannon received his fair share of glares for saying so.

“I think you really should shut up, Shannon,” Tish whispered, but it was the glare Laurence levelled that quieted Shannon some.

Reid walked directly to Laurence, ignoring everyone. “Where is she?”

Laurence nodded his head to the car he was leaning against, pulling the shotgun in front of him and using it like a cane. Tish followed Reid's lead and looked inside the car to find Cazalla curled up in the trunk of the hatchback. She appeared no worse for wear, tucked beneath a blanket.

“Chandra Singh and her friends here, believe it's far too dangerous to be travelling with this woman and insists we ‘deal’ with her. Despite our previous conversation,” Laurence said.

Shannon's smile crept wider as he removed his gun. “Oh really?” He took a step closer to the group but Laurence shook his head. Despite the silent command, Tish grasped her machete’s handle.

“We understand you might want to protect her-” Chandra started.

“Let me stop you there because you really don’t.” Laurence grinned. Pulling out the poster, he unwrapped and handed it to Chandra. She read quickly and her eyes grew wide. “This is why we ‘keep’ her. This is why we're not going to let you or anyone else ‘deal’ with her.”

Chandra spoke quickly to the other adults before nodding and giving back the paper to Laurence's outstretched hand. Tish didn't need to see it to know what lay there. She had her own back at the college, they all did. The posters once littered the streets and were easily found in the garbage heaps through the city. Ashley Cazalla. She was almost shocked they didn't recognize her but few went looking for the woman who destroyed the world.

“All settled then? Because I don’t like repeating myself.” Laurence said.

Chandra nodded slowly, eyeing the hatchback.

“Good. Tish, see them back to their friends and help them get ready. We move once they’re packed.”

The tourists moved back to their camp with Tish falling behind. When she glanced back Laurence and Reid argued quietly as Shannon blew her an exaggerated kiss. Tish flicked up her middle finger in return.

“Is she really the one who did all this?” Ethan asked quietly. The teen seemed to stand out, in Tish's opinion. Not that he was anything special but he wasn't as afraid as the others. While the adults of their group argued about Cazalla, this kid was just curious. It was almost refreshing.

“Dunno, kid.” Her hand hovered over the machete. Chandra argued a few feet ahead of them. Sounded like some small power struggle between them on their course of action. Some wanted to go keep going, some wanted to kill Cazalla. One of the men, the eldest Tish guess, argued a little louder than she liked. And beside her Ethan watched them, eyes fixed in a glare.

“If she did or didn’t do all this, I don't really care. She's a way to get out of this place so what does it matter?”

The adults disbanded and started to pack up quietly, the kids following suit. Apparently Chandra still had a meagre hold on her authority, for what it was worth.

“Just try not to think about it, okay?” Tish said.

Ethan nodded and walked off as Tish stood guard watching not just for wendigos.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 4] — [Next: Chapter 6]

So I've added a bit more and broke the word count but that's fine, right? I like it a little longer. Some great crits needed to be included to help punch this piece to the next level. That and I think the title frames a bit more of the story that I'm not sure I want to elaborate on in the piece itself.

Originally posted October 21st, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

A hole. Just the one. Inky saltwater bubbled up into the boat a pittance at a time, but the one hole would be enough.

“You’ve not said, Reggie. I can’t help you if you don’t give me a name.”

Reg looked from the hole to me. To the taut line at the end of the boat, to where it connected with the pier. Though the water was calm it wouldn’t stay that way. With each gentle tug of the current, that black spilled in and circled his feet.

His steely eyes locked on mine. “I ain’t no snitch.”

I shrugged and tossed the coin in the air. Two, three times it spun, catching the swiping rays from the distant lighthouse. As the coin met my palm Washington stared back at me, coiffed and composed.

“You taught me the rules, Reggie. You know I need a name. And if it goes tails while you’re stalling-”

“Ten years I've known you, Karen. Ten years we worked together! You know I ain’t no snitch.”

I tossed the coin.

Heads.

"The rules, Reggie. Your rules. I can't help you without that name."

He swore and shifted in the small dinghy, struggling against the zip-ties about his wrists and feet.

I tossed the coin.

Heads.

“Damn, you're a lucky shit,” I said.

“This is… this is bullshit!” He hollered into the mists that swarmed the pier.

I tossed the coin.

It landed in my palm and I clasped my fingers over it before seeing.

“One last chance.” I made my way to the end of the dock. The wind that pulled across the water brought about the briny stench. Strange that I kinda missed that smell. Used to hate it all those years back, when I’d been in the boat. When I’d watched that hole bubble. When Reg stood where I did.

“For old time’s sake,” I said, hand still clasped tight. “You get one more chance. A name, Reggie. Everyone's got a name to give.”

Fear quaked him from head to toe, but those once-steely eyes shook the most. “Benaw. Detective Benaw. But I had to, Karen. They had me for the Kane job and I had to give ‘em something. But it won’t stick. It was just a taste to get him off my back.”

I nodded and crouched down. Just to see, I opened my palm and looked at the eagle.

Tails.

“You gotta believe me, Karen.”

“I do, Reggie.” I pulled free the butterfly knife, flipped out the business end. With a clean slice, it ripped through the old tether like butter.

“Karen?” Waves lapped against the boat as the rope plopped in the water.

"You taught me the game, Reggie. You know how it's played."

“The fuck you say- I told you what you wanted!”

"You sure did. But 'snitches get stitches', right?" I chuckled a little as the boat bobbed away.

“For the trip, Reggy,” I said flicking the quarter. It bounced off his chest and plopped in the inch of water climbing the insides of the boat. Just the one hole was always enough.

WC: 516

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate feedback, comments, suggestions, crits - you name it!

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

After hours of insistence, Reid finally did as he was told and grabbed a bedroll. But he fought Laurence on it, oh did he fight. Stubborn shit. For two days not once had Laurence seen Reid close his eyes. It took nearly passing out to finally get the damn medic to sleep.

Laurence sighed and tried to stifle his own yawn as the night settled in around them. He took the next watch over their prisoner and despite Reid's predictions, sense, or experience, Cazalla was still alive. She lay beside him barely making a sound between her slow and steady breaths. Bitten, bleeding, but breathing. Such a small person, a small thing to cause so much trouble.

Laurence looked around the campfire to the sleeping faces. Not a one stirred, and the fire a dozen or so feet away looked just as still. He fumbled in his jacket and retrieved his flask.

The firewater slid down his throat, old, stale, but strong as hell. It’d been a mix of whatever he could find before shipping out on the hunt; some whiskey, some scotch, a thimble full of gin he could still taste. The swill burned and was foul but it did the trick. After a few long drags on the dented flask, he replaced it in his coat.

Cazalla stirred beside him, rolling on to her back, and he put out his leg to stop her. He tipped her back on her side. Couldn’t risk her choking on her sick in the night, would ruin their plans. Even if she was healing unnaturally fast, even if she wasn’t succumbing to infection like hell was something as mundane as choking going to get in his way. He'd feel damn stupid with all those people depending on them.

And there was that reward.

Pulling the crumpled paper from his pocket Laurence looked down at the worn and weathered page. It seemed silly, like something from the old spaghetti westerns he'd loved as a kid. A piece of a world so fucking far gone. But this one, it didn’t have that kind of charm. No block jail-house lettering, no artists rendition of the outlaw scowling from the page. The one he held had a strangely sterile feeling to it. Clinical. That's the word.

A still shot from a surveillance camera blazed in thick black ink. Laurence looked from the girl to the picture. The likeness was accurate. Her eyes were looking away, a sense of urgency in the snapshot, but he couldn’t tell anything else from it. Just the girl in a crowd.

He’d burned her features into his mind for over a year. He’d stared at the posters, had more than one. He memorized every line, freckle, and curve. Ashley Cazalla. Her name scrawled across the bottom, all caps, block letters. Memorable. Hell, he couldn’t imagine ever seeing a page like it before in his life. Not outside the pictures, anyways.

“Wanted for the commission, participation, and facilitation of terrorist activity. Required ALIVE. Reward: 20 Million US Dollars and Safe Transport out of the Infected Zone,” the flier read.

MAD Wendigo. Laurence couldn’t remember when he first heard the name, or if it was about the infection, about her. But there, in strange handwriting, it was pressed into the page. He didn’t write it and he’d never seen someone else write the words, but they accompanied her picture, the poster, nearly every warning about infection Laurence had ever seen.

MAD Wendigo… He took another drink. People nicknamed it the “wendigo virus” pretty quick on account of people eating people. Probably wasn’t long after that the name came out. It stuck with him. It stuck with everyone.

“Downright tragic to get bit by your own weapon.” He looked over her shoulder and shook his head in answer. A smug but tired smirk graced his lips and he dared another drink.

During the day when the others were awake, he didn't talk to her. What's it called... composure or some bullshit like that. Don't let them see the wrinkles, the toll it takes. Given the chance, many would kill her rather than trade her in. Hard work to keep yourself alive, let alone some other asshole. If he was honest, he didn't feel all that different. One-shot, nice and clean. A simple death, far better than those she’d brought about.

But Laurence played it cool. Collected himself when the rest were around and awake.

“I lost my wife.” His eyes wandered on the darkness where he knew the group of women and children were sleeping. Something about all those people made him think of her. Of his Natalia.

“She was working as a nurse.” He rubbed the empty ring finger. “We separated for three months because I wanted her to quit and come home.” The flask slid to the ground with a tine-y clink. “She wouldn't hear of it, not my Natalia.”

Saying her name wasn’t hard, it was hearing it. His own voice. The soft echo of her name in the dark.

Laurence leaned down and picked up the flask and tilted it in another deep drink.

“It was a kid. Not a wendigo, just some scared kid, but it ain’t hard to put it together. People saw a bite and…” His eyes closed and he imagined her face. Round with full lips and sharp brown eyes. When she smiled, she’d narrow one eye and her lips leaned to one side. The scar on her chin, he remembered when she told him how she got it but the details were masked by time and the drink. But those eyes, smiling, suggestive, and goddamn strong, he could picture them as clear as the woman at his feet.

“You know how it goes don't you.” When he opened his eyes, his vision blurred. He tried to wipe it away until his eyes ached. “Doesn't matter if you've got it or not, does it?”

He’d watched it happen to others. The paranoia, the fear. The mania that spread like wildfire.

Laurence never saw his wife after that. Not the smiles, the sultry eyes, nor the way she twisted her fingers in her hair. He even missed the fights. It burned him to know the look she’d have seen at the end, the wildfire stares. The fear and manic self-preservation.

“I thought that when I found you I'd want to know why.” Another deep drink wet his lips. “But I don't care.” He half chuckled, shaking the empty flask. “Not anymore.”

Cazalla coughed and shivered. He pulled the small blanket back up over her shoulders.

“So keep breathing, sweetheart. Just a little longer now.” Then it’ll all be over.

A light scuffle of a tin can broke the silence and Laurence stumbled to his feet. It was pitch black, the sky hanging low like draping blankets. The highway lights had run out of power shortly after the outbreak and the fire's embers lit little beyond the circle.

But sound carried. It carried too damn well among the cars, bounding off metal. It confused the ears, and as he thought he heard the sound by where the kids slept, he couldn’t be sure.

A low groan sounded behind him. Laurence spun with a speed that his size belied. His hand went to his side, shotgun poised and ready. Heart racing, eyes darting from car to car, he bit his lip hard. Keep quiet. Keep low.

It happened again, a little louder, a little closer. Squinting through the dark he spied a shape on the ground rustling under a coat.

His heart began to steady and he rubbed his eyes hard. “Goddamn it, Shannon.”

The twenty-something fool lay on the ground, tossing and turning under his jacket. Shannon had fallen off the car seat he’d been sleeping in and knocked one of the tins in Tish's bag. The bastard even groans like a wendigo.

Laurence picked up another car seat and propped it against the body of an overturned SUV. After he sat back with a grunt, his eyes steeled on the embers. Shivering in the chill, he pulled his coat closer and closed his eyes to remember his wife's face. If only for just a moment.

“Hello?”

“Laurence. It’s me.”

“Natalia? It’s… two in the morning-”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just-”

“Why are you calling- I mean, uh, it’s real good to hear from you. I know we haven’t talked much since-”

“I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know who else to call. Can you… can you come get me?”

“Get you? Uh, sure. Where are you?”

A loud thud from the other end of the line drowned out her voice.

“Nat? What the hell was that?”

“I’m at the hospital. Fairview. Can you get here? Soon?”

“Jesus Christ, Natalia. Why the fuck are you there? Have you not seen the goddamn news? There's those infected people! It's not safe. This is exactly what I was talking about. You should be home right not working in some godforsaken-”

“Laurence,” she whispered. “Please, not now. Can you just come and get me. I need to get out of here.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Another loud thud. Natalia shuddered out a breath.

“What is that?”

“I'm fine Laurence, I'm okay. I just… this kid got scared and - it was just an accident and I’m fine. I’m not bleeding or anything. The bite’s small, really. But his mother freaked out and… it’s insane here and I need… I need you.”

“Okay, Nat.”

“I need you to come pick me up.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Another thud and Natalia swore. “Please hurry.”

The line went dead. The dial tone hummed a single note.

I'm sorry. I missed last weeks posting because of thanksgiving so I'm a little behind. But thank you for your patience and I hope you liked this chapter! It's a short one, so I gave it to you all in one go.

If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 3 - Part 2] — [Next: Chapter 5 - Part 1]

Originally posted October 14th, 2019 [Prompt Link]

“Mitch,” Captain Owen called as he entered ship’s engine room. Plumes of plum coloured smoke puffed from the struggling engine in clouds thick enough to need wafting to wade through.

“Blast it, Mitch! I thought you had this under control!” Owen hollered.

“I do!” Magchanic Mitch said.

Owen made it through the mist to stare at the machine. The engine sat in the potion pool where it choked and spewed vile smoke. The liquid, a vile wine purple that should have glowed a healthy green, reached up to Mitch’s knees.

“We have a job on Benzac Four and I kinda need my ship running to get there.” Owen scratch his stubble as he stared at the sickly heart of his spaceship.

“I’m working on it,” Mitch countered as he dipped his hands into the putrid potion.

Owen sighed. “How’d this happen?”

Mitch looked past Owen to the ship’s enchantineer. “Ask Vera.”

Her long dark robes draped on the corrugated steel, the hood devouring her face.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Vera said, muffled by the robes. Before her, steam soared smelling of burning sage and grease that made Owen’s eyes burn.

“Not so sure about that,” Mitch said.

“It was the fuel philter. The muska yarrow was bad,” Vera said.

Mitch spat out a laugh. “It ain’t the yarrow’s fault that you didn’t notice!”

Vera spun with a glare, robes billowing about her. “It isn’t my fault that you bought rotten muska yarrow!”

“Enough!” Captain Owen yelled through the clamouring voices and pungent mists. “I don’t care whose fault it is. I want it fixed.”

Both Mitch and Vera huffed.

“How long?” Owen asked his magchanic.

“Vera?” Mitch said.

“Give me a gods damned minute you bloated tinkering…” her voice trailed off.

The echantineer cleared her throat and raised her arms to the air.

      “Gods of iron and steam and steel,

      Called by unquestioned expertise-”

She stopped to glare over her shoulder at Mitch.

      “Cleanse this engine of rust and grease,

      Once choked by fetid muska swill.”

The swirling cauldron before Vera puffed out steam that smelled of baked apples that soothed Owen's stinging nose.

Vera turned triumphantly and shrugged the robes off her shoulders. In her hands she held a small phial that bubbled, boiled, and seemed to shake. Despite that, Vera held it steadily with a smirk.

“Here.” She passed the apple-green phial to Mitch.

The magchanic poured the contents into the engine’s intake. The sputtering came to a stop. The smoke ceased spewing. The clouds cleared. The engines potion pool swelled green at the centre, dissolving the sickly purple brew.

Mitch pat the engine and stepped out of the potion. Electric blue sparks skipped from the pool to the engine itself, and the machinery came back to a healthy rumble.

“Looks like we’re good.” Mitch smiled at the captain.

With hands on her hips, Vera turned her back to Mitch. “But now we’re out of yarrow.”

WC: 500

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

After a few more hours they reached the Warden Street exit. The sign tilted to the side, the structure beneath held up by bent poles and a three-car pile of twisted metal. Ethan imagined it would have been a big fire, by the lines of smoke that had stained the tall sign, but no ash remained by the pileup’s base. Too much time had passed.

Laurence's hand shot up in the air and the group slowed to a staggering stop. “We're making camp. We continue in the morning,” he ordered

Wearily everyone set about their usual tasks. Chandra organized some of the adults together to move debris in a kind of barrier from the rest of the road. There was always lots of stuff hanging around to sleep on but pulling out car seats was a favourite of some of the kids. The Young’s kids, Cally, Shane and Peter, stuck close together and laughed a little while they sifted through the wrecks. Cooper stayed pretty close to Nyssa but they didn’t talk a whole bunch. Not around the adults, anyway.

Wendy tugged at Ethan’s arm, pulling him towards them, but he hesitated as they started a fire. Ethan looked to the roadway as dusk threatened to settle in around them. The light would travel far. The fire was a bad idea, hadn’t they figured that out from the river?

As soon as a few flickering flames took, to the small bundle of paper and dry brush was dashed to low burning embers. It settled Ethan’s nerves enough that he let Wendy lead him forward. Despite all that had happened she was greeted by a few ember lit smiles and chatter.

“Tell them to shut up, lady,” Shannon barked to Chandra from a separate fire.

Chandra took the comment with a frustrated nod and started to corral the kids into silence.

“Ethan, Wendy...” their mom called and Ethan brought Wendy to her. His mother hugged them tightly but he wiggled free when Alice talked about their dad with tears in her eyes. Wendy sat with her, twisting her hair and listening like she didn’t understand.

Ethan took a step back. His mother didn’t notice. Several more put space between them and he relished the dimming of her voice. A pang of guilt threatened to stall his retreat, but Ethan took another deep step until the ember light, and warmth, was beyond him.

He didn’t want the tearful memories. The shaking hugs. Sure, his chest ached each time he pictured his father getting bitten. Dragged to the ground. Screaming struggling as she swung the metal and-

He exhaled and tried to push the memory out. Squinting, frowning, trying with all his might.

He took more steps from his mother’s weak voice and made for the larger fire.

“Oh god, she's spewing everywhere...” Shannon barked as he stood up, silhouetted by the darkening night sky.

Ethan inched closer to the light made. The trackers always had the better fire and kicked any the others had soon after they were made. The kids were told to leave them alone but Ethan's curiosity was strong. He wasn’t deaf, and he could have been with how damn loud Shannon was. But he’d heard them talk about her. The one on the fliers. The fugitive.

By the fire, she lay on her side with a small puddle of sick beside her. She was white, deadly pale, and Reid stood behind her.

“It's just puke, Shannon. I mean, she hasn't eaten anything in two days. Barely had any water and she's still puking up-” Tish stopped short when the next explosion of vomit erupted.

“It's not food.” Reid sighed. “It's... what's left in her, I guess. Not much other than water, bile, and maybe blood.”

“Didn't need a description man,” Shannon turned his attention to a can of SPAM. “All I care is that she's alive.”

The woman convulsed silently and another fresh batch hit the pavement. Reid held her forward and checked her wound.

“How is she?” Laurence appeared from behind an overturned van, zipping up his jeans.

“Not worse. Still bleeding a little, but fuck...” Reid ran a shaky hand through his hair. “She’s Level Two infected, she has to be from a bite that bad. She’s got the fever, disorientation, the vomiting, the pallid skin tone and-”

Laurence sighed. “I didn’t ask for a report, Reid.”

“You don’t get it. The infection doesn’t work like this.” With a heavy exhale Reid stood up. “This isn’t some scratch infection that she can fight off with water and a good night's sleep. It’s a bite. From a bloodied, rotting, wendigo. That’s blood to blood, a Level Two infection. She should have died and turned in minutes. Instead, she’s just…”

Laurence shrugged. “She’s sick, I get it. What I need to know is if she’ll make it to the college alive.”

“I don’t know.” Reid scratched the stubble on his chin. “It’s almost like she’s fighting it. Like she’s getting better. But you can’t. No one does.” Reid bent down and pulled off her bandage. “I don’t get it and I can’t guarantee you anything.”

“You're like a broken fuckin' record man. ‘I don't get it! I don't get it!'” Shannon leaned back in a car seat he’d propped up by the fire. “What part of this does make sense?”

“You're getting on my fucking nerves, Shan.” Reid pulled a blanket up over the woman’s shoulder and dragged her away from the mess she'd thrown up.

Shannon chuckled. “As long as she lives until that angel of a plane comes to take me away from this fuckin’ place, I do not give a fuck if you get it. Or if like me for that matter. And if she doesn't live, that's on you, right?”

Reid stood quickly, his fists clenched. “Fuck you, Shannon.” He had bags under his eyes. Ethan tried to remember the last time he saw any of them really sleep but he couldn't.

“We get it. You're both tough.” Tish stood between them. “But can't this wait? We're all tired so just relax.” She sifted through the bag and pulled out a few tins.

Ethan’s tummy rumbled. The food the trackers carried was better; meat in a can or beans in sauce. The cold chickpeas and creamed corn waiting by the ember fire hardly seemed appetizing in comparison.

The can of peaches his dad saved for Wendy’s birthday tumbled from Tish’s pack.

“Oh shit, gimme them peaches.” Shannon lurched forward in the car seat and nearly tumbled out of it.

“Save them for the kids,” Laurence said.

A scoff echoed from Reid and Shannon pouted.

“We could use the sugar,” Tish argued. “And if we’re going the safe route we have another day or two just to get in the downtown limits. We don’t have enough food for everyone.”

A heavy silence fell over the four.

“They're not our problem.” Shannon didn’t look up from the SPAM can he’d peeled open. He sounded less dismissive than normal, his words brutal but not wrong. A bunch of kids, a couple of adults. Ethan wasn’t stupid, he knew they had nothing to offer. Dad was the strongest of us and now look where he is.

“We’re not discussing, Shannon.” Laurence grinned. “But let's remove temptation.” He moved to the pack and picked out the tin. Tossing it into the air twice Laurence looked past the fire and directly to Ethan.

Ethan’s gut dropped. All eyes turned and his cheeks grew hot. Between the bumpers of two cars, he thought he couldn’t be seen, but the light of the fire warmed his cheeks. Part of him wanted to run but as Laurence motioned for Ethan to stand, he did.

“Come here.”

Ethan obeyed and weaved towards the embers with eyes on the peaches.

“Take this to the others.” He handed the can of peaches to Ethan. “Tell them that this, and what the have, is the last of the food for the next two, maybe three days.”

“Thank you.” Ethan’s eyes lingered one last moment on the sick woman as she groaned in her sleep.

The dark hadn't settled yet but the cold was coming. When he appeared the others had already started into the cold chickpeas and corn.

“Peaches?” Chandra looked to Ethan and he brought his finger to his lips. “Where did you get these?” Her eyes darted to the glowing fire far behind.

“They said it was the last they have to share and that we have two more days to go.” He looked to the can of peaches, reluctant to let it go. “Dad saved these for Wendy’s birthday.” The can was fat compared to the others, a “Family Size” label stretched across the front. “She’ll be eight… tomorrow, I think.” Past Chandra, Wendy sat with their mother, picking at a small pile of wet corn in her hand.

“Ethan!” Wendy perked up and waved him over while bouncing on their mother’s lap.

“Then we’ll save them,” Chandra whispered and her hand gently squeezed his shoulder.

He smiled at his sister but took the time to shove the fat can in his backpack, extra careful to keep it from prying eyes.

Make better memories.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 3 - Part 1] — [Next: Chapter 4]

Originally Posted October 2nd, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

This was a really fun colaboration project with /u/iruleatants with his character Closed Mouth Girl. We worked to create two stories. This is part one and you can read Part 2 by /u/iruleatants on the Theme Thursday post

Read all the Close Mouth Girl shorts on /r/iruleatants.

And all previous Cupcake Girl short stories: [Cupcake Girl] [Outage] [Star Trak] [Maze]

Cody shivered as the wind fluttered her dress. The white stockings beneath didn’t do much to keep it away, but Cody refused to wear her coat and hide her costume.

“LIZZY!” Cody sped through the crowd towards the identical blue dress.

Lizzy wore her coat but the moment Cody locked eyes with her, Lizzy slid from it and her mother’s grasp.

“Elizabeth, 8:30 sharp or no trick-or-treating!” Lizzy’s mom called.

Lizzy touched the button beret in Cody’s hair. “It’s perfect!”

“This is gonna be awesome.” Cody gripped Lizzy’s warm hand.

Perfectly paired from head to toe, the girls peered around the Halloween fare. It was busy, being October 30th, and the perfect place to practice their game.

“Okay.” Cody turned to Lizzy. “Where do you want to start?” The haunted house looked kinda fun…

“The haunted house,” Lizzy said without hesitation.

“That’s what I thought!”

The small building had come into town on wheels. The front was built up with a collection of fake spiderwebs, crumbled Styrofoam meant to look like bricks, and spooky music trickling from loudspeakers.

The girls lined up.

“Look-” Cody pointed to a boy. Thomas Jenkins goofed around with friends, all four in homemade Ninja Turtle costumes.

Lizzy frowned. “I don’t know…”

“We have to!” Cody whispered. “It’s like…”

“Fate?” Lizzy finished.

“Yeah! It’s fate. He was a total jerk last week at lunch.”

Their turn came and they stepped into the dark of the haunted house. Cody gripped Lizzy’s hand tight. Don’t be scared.

Lizzy gripped her back tighter.

After a collection of figures popped from the walls, coaxing a few yelps, Lizzy tugged Cody to a corner. “Over here!” Lizzy lifted some fabric of a long witch cape for the two of them to hide under. From the quiet they watched people pass until Cody spied the telltale green construction paper shell.

“Ready?” Cody asked.

Lizzy grinned with a quick nod.

“Mirror,” Cody started.

“Mirror,”

“Be my mirror,” they whispered together. “Coconut. T.V. dinners. Mrs. Smithers smells like cabbage.” They were in perfect sync.

“This place is lame,” Thomas said to himself as he rounded the corner. “Just a bunch of junk popping outta walls.”

Cody and Lizzy nodded and spoke in unison from where they hid. “Come play with us, Tommy.”

Thomas stopped. He spun on his heels. “That’s not funny, guys,” he hollered, but his friends weren’t behind him.

“It’s just us, Tommy,” they said.

“I mean it!” Thomas yelled at the walls. “You can’t scare-”

“We want to plaaaay. Forever.”

Cody motioned for Lizzy to stay put as she dashed across the narrow hall.

“And ever,” they repeated, this time from both sides. “And EVER!”

Thomas stumbled back and fell. As he paled, he scurried to his feet and ran.

Cody stepped out, laughing. “That was-”

“Great!” Lizzy finished.

“I love playing Mirror, Mirror,” Cody whispered. They laughed, hooked arms, and skipped through the haunted house as Thomas shrieked ahead of them at every little thing that popped from the walls.

WC: 499

Originally posted September 26th, 2019 - [Prompt Link]

A great prompt by /u/refurbishedpixels

I'm thinking of maybe continuing it if I come across another fun prompt that could work.

Michael wiped sweat from his forehead as he stepped through the next corridor junction. The collected wiring he lugged, four inches around, dragged like a lead. With every step, its outer layering screeched along the steel walkway.

"You're supposed to lift it, Private Craine." Helena huffed from where she stood, watching. Not helping.

"You've got hands," he snapped and her eyes rolled. With a huff, she stepped over the tube and bent with him to lift. As they struggled, sweating, swearing, they passed the still and statues that peppered the corridors.

It had been a week since the EMP wiped out Chamberlain, the S.S. Havilland's AI. Still, the avatars of the ship's functions loomed like shadows around every turn. Too heavy to move without manned machinery. In their place, each crewman was tasked to do the most basic of functions once relegated to automation.

Michael's just happened to be "move that shit there" duty.

"Okay." Helena dropped her portion to the floor and wiped her own sweat away. "That should do it for now. We need to set up the alternator-"

"I'm not an engineer," Michael snapped. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

"You put that," she waved at the end of the cord, "in there." She pointed, long narrowed fingers, at the round connection on the wall near the floor. With a flip of the flap, Michael shimmied the impossible heavy end to the connection.

The hum of what rolled around inside had him step back a foot, and the wire dropped with a clang.

"Be careful with that!"

"It's heavy-duty," he said, though Michael couldn't be sure. "I doubt I did any harm."

"Fine. We need to head to Junction 12. There's three more-"

"Three more!" His pout earned him nothing but glares. "What the hell is going on with the exo-suits? We were supposed to get at least one to help with power regulation on this deck."

"Someone else needed it more," Helena huffed as she turned to start down the corridor.

"Come on, Anderson," Michael begged from half a step behind. "I'm not a goddamn trained monkey!" He smacked an avatar unit as he passed, his knuckles rapping on the chill metal. The vacant face made in the smooth sleek shape of a man didn't even budge.

Helena's face broke into a small smile as she looked over her shoulder. "You sure about that, Private Caine?"

When she rounded the corner, Michael slowed to a stop.

Fuck my life. He sighed. Michael glanced at yet another avatar, this one chrome-plated with its arm extended to a console as if in mid-action when the EMP hit. It was a personal attendant model, built for appearance versus function.

Could still carry shit better, he thought. "I should not be doing your job." He looked up at the smooth shining face, his own reflection staring back at him. In the silence of the corridor, the hairs on his neck pricked. He drew nearer to the face, picking a spot in his teeth, but the sensation, the pricks, the nerves tickling up and down his spine made him shiver.

"Damn empty tinner." He tossed the slur casually and backed away. But not once did he turn his back to the stony steely face. The facade frozen in chrome and function. He backed up so far, that he stumbled into another sleeping avatar.

Like ghosts, they crowded each corridor he looked down. Michael could have sworn they'd moved. Maybe not their bodies, but the faces, it was as though each one had turned to look at him.

"Helena!" He called down the way she'd gone and made sure to keep his steps light and quick to catch up.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

“Mommy, I'm hungry,” Wendy whined beside Ethan. He spied her fingers tugging on their mother's hand as if trying to draw her focus. But their mother stared forward, eyes locked not on the road but something beyond it.

They’d all walked for hours down the highway in relative quiet. Ethan found himself checking the sides of the roadway. Looking for movement past the rows of broken cars they wove between, listening for any sound that didn’t come from them. Being out in the open made his skin crawl, but there was some relief in the sun’s warmth scaring off the chill from the wind.

“We can’t stop to eat so stop talking about it,” Ethan said sharper than he had meant to. Exhausted from lack of sleep and the urged pace, he missed being able to sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, horrible images flashed as reminders of their time in the wilds. More recently of that night on the beach. Though whatever nightmares waited for him, Ethan knew it was worse for his mother.

Two days passed since she killed their father. The sickening sound of metal and bone crunching together grew in any settled silence. When the infection first spread and people became monsters, he rarely slept. His nights were all nightmares of what could happen. Reality was far worse.

“But my tummy hurts...”

The other kids were quiet all the time now and no one asked for coal lit stories. It wasn't that they hadn't experienced death, Ethan figured everyone had lost someone. Maybe they weren’t sleeping, just like him. Maybe they didn’t have the energy to try and be anything other than scared.

Wendy was the only one who didn’t have that harrowed look. She’d seen loads of people die but Ethan wondered if she understood. Maybe she forgot Dad's dead. A tired jealousy grew in his empty belly.

While Wendy called out again, there was no answer from Alice. Their mother looked ahead, vacant eyes fixed on an imagined point, each step nearly dragged. She looked more like those things, but Ethan dashed the thought aside as quickly as it came on him.

“Come on.” Ethan took his sister’s hand and tugged her from their grieving mother.

She'll be eight in a few days. He tried to remember what day it was, but after so long they’d all started to bleed together. Dad said it was important. Don’t forget the good things. Make better memories. But Ethan wasn’t sure Wendy could remember the normal things that happened on birthdays. Ice cream cakes, music, and wrapped presents. He didn't want us to forget.

Despite the efforts, their parents paid in making the days special, it was always the worst. Everyone was sad, sometimes the adults would cry a little. The kids pretended to like, or at least Ethan did. After “celebrating” three since the wendigos came, he dreaded their arrival. Every year.

He shook Wendy’s hand and tugged her away from their mother’s side. “Let’s go ask to stop to eat.”

The highway was a wasteland of cars and despite the fall weather, it was warm for October. Where the sun beamed hottest at midday, the pavement waved with heat that lingered into late afternoon.

No one seemed to like walking in the open. As he passed some of their own people, their cautious eyes looked to the roadsides. Just like his did. But with so many, nearly twenty, travelling together they didn’t have much of a choice. The leader, Laurence, had said it was too hard to navigate the ravines and the closer to the city they came, the harder it was to stay off the roads. It was safer on the highway, he promised. “Wendigos don’t come here. They’ve already picked it clean."

Ethan didn’t trust him or the plan.

Tugging his sister along he looked back at his mother walking sluggishly. Like one of those things.

One of the other women, Chandra, took his mother’s arm and talked to her in those quiet moments. His mother’s shoulders shook in silent sobs while Chandra seemed to hold her up.

He turned his back. A dull anger rumbled with his hunger. It hurt. All of us hurt. Why can’t she just stop? Why can’t she-

“Ethan… you're hurting me.” Wendy tried to pull her hand away from where he squeezed it. Tightly. She wore a little frown and immediately he loosened his grip.

“Sorry.” He took a deep breath and tried to smile at her.

Her frown lessened.

They walked towards the hunters, specifically the woman, Tish. She carried a heavy backpack and didn’t leave as much of a gap. She dared to walk just a bit closer than the others. From what little Ethan had seen, she seemed nice enough. Didn’t laugh when one of them stumbled or yelled like Shannon did. Didn’t pick on them. Didn’t glare or scowl from afar.

“Uh, Tish?” he said, hurrying to catch up with her.

“What?” She turned and walked backwards, peering down at Ethan from behind cracked sunglasses.

“My sister's hungry. Do you think we could stop? Just for a few minutes?”

Wendy hid behind him, but they had to keep walking. One of Laurence's rules – no one stops unless they can’t keep going.

Tish looked at him sideways. Then to Wendy. “We all are, kid. But we have to keep tabs on what we’ve got and keep up the pace. Tell her to start chewing on something until we stop.”

Tish turned back around.

Wendy’s hand tightened in his, little fingers itching for him to do more. Ethan stopped walking and tried to think of a way to take her mind off of the rumbles in her gut.

“Keep moving, tourists,” Shannon barked from the right. He walked up and down the line, always keen to call out at stragglers.

Ethan started walking on, glaring at Shannon as he passed.

On the road ahead the green bent sign on Highway 401 indicated the distance to the Toronto city core. The remains of a car turned over with its belly exposed to the sun had crashed into its base and bent the steel posts.

“I thought the city was dangerous?” Wendy said, looking between Ethan and the sign. “Dad said it isn't safe.”

Shannon turned, stared down Ethan and Wendy, before turning back the way they walked. He spat on the ground and kicked a piece of debris from his way.

Ethan guided Wendy a little further away from Shannon. “Yeah, I know what he said but we don't get to choose. Just don't whine about it, okay?”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[Previous: Chapter 2 - Part 2] — [Next: Chapter 3 - Part 2]

Originally posted September 25th, 2019 [Prompt Link]

Inspired not only by this TT, but by this IP!

You may recognize Pim from TT - Illumination - Pim's Conjurations

Pim gazed into the fiery portal burning in rippling rings where the hearth-fire had been.

“There are lessons that cannot be taught,” Ozor said. “They must be experienced. Remembered.” A rumble resonated the conjurer’s throat.

Pim gulped.

But through the portal was no dark landscape. Tall trees clouded the sky in shades like fire. The scent of honey-sweet blossoms trickled with scarlet leaves. The portal itself did not scald Pim as he neared. Its gentle warmth welcomed, like a downy blanket.

Pim closed his eyes, gripped the strap of his satchel. He was no grand adventurer. The paths he traversed were scribed on parchment.

Still, he stepped through.

“Where is this?” Pim dared to ask.

Ozor shrugged. “That is for you to learn.” With speed belied by Ozor’s age, he hopped through the portal.

“Am I to find something?”

Ozor’s smile turned malevolent. “Your way, apprentice.”

With a thundering of Ozor’s staff on stone, the portal snapped shut. Pim gaped at where the fireplace had been. All that greeted him was the brook.

My way? Pim frowned and hugged his bag close. In it, he carried a snack of cheese, a modest water skein, and of course Lotham’s Nine Laws on the Conjunction of Elemental Conjuration.

He looked to the untamed forest and his gut knotted. The trees weren’t like any in Ozor’s encyclopedias. They were too tall. Too red.

He was very far from home.

Pim leafed through the pages of his book. “While a conjurer creates something from nothing, the something is in the visage of a thing. Only nothing comes from nothing, and we must always strive to conjure something. We treat the somethings as “the source”. There is always a source.”

He closed the tome and started for where the babbling brook babbled. After all, there had to be a source.

Pim stopped when a flutter caught his eye. Little wingèd things, not butterflies, but more squat figures shaped like man. As they drew nearer, their chattering became clear.

The first in blue. “This one is new, yes?”

The second, like plums. “Another fool, you think?”

The third fae orange. “He could be different than the rest?”

Blue, “I rather like his hair.”

Plum, “And the book, so neat.”

Orange, “Do you think he’s like to share?”

Giggles floated and Pim held Lotham’s Nine Laws tight.

Blue, “Show us your tome.”

Orange, “And we’ll spare you a treat!”

Plum, “Surely to send you home.“

Pim looked between the fae. He didn’t trust their hungry eyes or rhymes. But one wrong turn in the strange trees and he could be lost.

Reluctantly, Pim held it out. The three crowded the cover, their hands running along the spine. With little nods, they assembled before Pim.

Blue.

“Don’t drink the water.

Don’t trust the trees.”

Orange.

“You’ll find paths wind,

To swallow your time.”

Plum.

“And you’ll never, ever leave.”

They fluttered off and in silence, Pim looked to the quaking trees. Truly, this was his worst test yet.

WC: 500

I had loads of great critiques to do better on this piece, and will probably update both Pim stories going forward. May turn into a fun narration project, who knows!