Chapter 7

Two days of stalking passed before I built up the courage to attack the beast; raccoons were cuddly in cartoons, but not so much outside of them. Then again, raccoons weren’t 100 lbs in Disney movies.

The raccoon had jowls like a bulldog, patchy fur torn from fighting, and the stench of piss and fecal matter wrapped around it like a filthy cloud. God hadn’t given me a break since I stole the priest’s soul.

I pressed the little essence I had into hardening the skin around my left arm and raised the mace above my head. My left arm became a shield, and my right arm held my weapon. Admittedly, the plan was stupid, but it worked for Prince Philip when he saved Sleeping Beauty, and I couldn’t think of anything else before the beast lunged for me.

Like I thought, the raccoon gripped my sides with its razor-like claws and clamped down on the arm I raised above my helmet. But outside of my predictions, it didn’t wait for me to bring the mace down. The raccoon didn’t believe in blow for blow combat.

He jerked me side to side with a violent shake and flung me ten feet into a rotted out tree. Without waiting, the ferocious beast wrapped its jaws around my leg and dragged me out of the insect filled trunk. Spots clouded my vision, and my heart pounded, but a wild swing found its eye.

The fights with scabs hardened me to injuries, but the bite through my leg nearly ripped my calf off, and bolts of lightning shot through my spine. The adrenaline dulled the shock, but it did little to make my leg work.

My body quivered as if someone removed me from a freezer, making it hard to grip anything, but I pulled my long knife from my belt. I couldn’t stand. Even if I wanted to hop up on one leg, the beast wouldn’t let me. It had no plans to back down, but it was cautious.

The cuddly raccoon that stood chest-high circled me for an opening, but I shuffled my body and dragged my leg through the twigs and dried leaves. After a minute-long staring contest, the raccoon leaped toward my head, and I braced myself with my arm.

I doubted he could break through my helmet, but the filthy mouth full of yellow teeth was large enough to clamp down over my skull. A twist would snap my neck. I wasn’t sure I’d heal from that.

The raccoon’s jaw crushed through my arm like a chew toy, which provided me enough time to bury the knife behind its front leg. Its teeth slid across my bones like a saw, and with one final crunch, it fractured my forearm. The raccoon whimpered like a child and staggered away.

I didn’t get another stab, but I didn’t need one.

The giant raccoon stumbled and sat on the ground with its back resting on a fallen log like an old man in his favorite chair. I didn’t approach. Just watched and waited until its quick breaths ended, and its body slid across the log to the ground.

Once I was sure the beast died, I wriggled through the dirt and placed my right hand on its head. It was my first time, but I pushed the particles in my body to my hand, then pulled them to my soul quickly. Back and forth, back and forth, with each push and pull a sliver of essence flowed from the raccoon into me. I became a pump that removed the essence until none remained.

I wasn’t a powerful pump. But that didn’t matter.

If I weren’t down to two limbs, I’d pound my fist on the ground and kick my legs like I did when Aaron Davies, my first crush, kissed me on my doorstep after the 8th-grade dance. Lia thought I was crazy, kicking my legs on the bed and screaming into my pillow, but I didn’t care. The hottest guy in our class asked me to the dance and kissed me afterward.

We never talked again, and he moved that summer before high school, but draining the raccoon had me just as giddy.

It wasn’t an enormous amount, but it was enough to expand my soul twice. My first time pulling essence caused a rush of hormones so strong I forgot about the pain. It was that good.

Name: Amy Sullivan

Age: 22

Expansions: 49

Essence-Particle Mass: 1.630g

Expansion Mass: 0.035/0.098g

Particle Output: 211.423W

Attenuated Eff: 31.4%

Attenuated Mass: 0.523g

Attenuated Output: 66.387W

Soul Status: Abnormal

Body Status: Multiple Injuries/Non-critical

A compact soul. That’s what I was told by doctors when they chipped me. I had a lot of expansions, but that wasn’t a good thing. We all had expansion limits. The number of times our souls could fold. Thick layers took longer to fill and were less likely to collapse.

Nobody could predict expansion limits. I already had a large number. If I reached my limit, I’d have to stitch again, or I’d become a scab. Ultimately, mass determined strength—expansions made a soul resilient to attacks and vulnerable to collapse.

The raccoon only gave 0.17 grams of essence, but it left my body injured and exhausted. It was hard-earned progress that came with an increase in power output and a thicker protection layer. There were other ways to use essence, yet I could only think of one. My lack of creativity was embarrassing.

After checking on the corruption the scabs left me with, I healed my leg enough to walk and left the raccoon for the coyotes trailing me. Hopefully, we could come to an agreement. I always wanted a dog. Father didn’t like them. Coyotes didn’t look like the domestic type, but I was confident with a little persuasion, they’d come around.

Without noticing, I crossed an overgrown ATV trail and came across something I did not expect. Less than 500 feet away, at the top of a small ridge overlooking a dead apple orchard, was a green cabin. It wasn’t large, more like a plywood hut than anything, but it remained undisturbed from what I could tell.

I crouched to the ground and shuffled towards the tiny building until I was less than 100 feet away, where I squatted on a rock and waited for any movement. Nothing did. There were no large tracks or ruffled leaves. Just a hunting shed, forgotten and overlooked by scabs and beasts.

An hour before sunset, I took a deep breath and tiptoed around it twice, then broke a window and let myself through the door. Thick dust and cobwebs told me nobody visited in a long time. Better yet was the area’s lack of tracks.

The living area had a worn leather recliner and woodstove with a cooktop. Opposite the entrance were two drop-down beds bolted to the shed’s frame, a tiny kitchen with a bucket under the sink, and a hand pump for water below a storm window.

I rummaged under the bed and found a kerosene heater, two oil lamps, pots and pans, and a picture of a middle-aged man with a boy holding up the head of a deer. Most likely a father-son hunting trip. There weren’t many deer in the forest anymore. Nobody hunted these woods, and I doubted the two in the picture survived.

I didn’t have pictures of my family. I hadn’t thought to bring any with me in my desperation. As time passed, everyone’s face turned a little more blurry. Only Lia remained, and that probably had more to do with us being identical than anything else.

I put the picture back and opened the cabinet next to the sink, then closed it. The contents took me by surprise, and I wiped my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but when I opened the door again, the shelves hadn’t changed. Three cans of sweet corn, a can of beef stew, two cans of chicken noodle soup, a can of condensed milk, and four tins of corned beef. A treasure trove that I quickly threw into my backpack.

None of the bullets in the back looked like they fit Andy’s handgun, but I took them as well. When I went through the door next to the sink, I nearly screamed.

Inside was a tiny bathroom with bars of soap, shampoo, deodorant, and two toothbrushes with toothpaste. The cabin owners used them, but I figured after dipping them in boiling water, I wouldn’t gag at the thought of brushing my teeth with someone else’s toothbrush.

I would have used them, anyway. Wiping your teeth with a cloth removed the fuzzy coating, but it didn’t leave you feeling clean.

Everything was perfume-free. I had never gone hunting, but I could see how artificial odors would scare deer away. It’d probably help something track you too. I threw them in my bag along with a small towel and brought the kerosene heater to the living room.

The owners hadn’t emptied the tank, and after a few clicks, the wick lit, and I had something to heat the food I found.

Father had two kerosene heaters and four oil lamps for emergencies. When I was seven, an ice storm knocked power out for over a week. Lia and I had to sleep with our doors open, and windows cracked, but we stayed warm.

Mom said the fumes would make us sick, and she kept a pot of water boiling on top of the heaters so the air wouldn’t dry. Those nights of playing monopoly as a family made electricity feel less important. I always chose the wheelbarrow cause I thought I’d need it for all the money. Lia liked the dog.

After ten minutes on the hot surface of the heater, my dinner finished cooking, and drool ran from the corners of my mouth. I never liked soup, and too many nights at the kitchen table until bath time gave me nightmares of chickens. But now the aroma floated through the air like two fingers leading me by the nose.

The salty soup with soft noodles and not enough chicken filled my mouth and warmed my entire body with each spoonful. If I didn’t hold myself back, I probably would have skipped the cutlery altogether.

It wasn’t enough. Two servings of 110 calories weren’t enough. I didn’t dare open the rest. The road South was long, and I didn’t know when I’d find a house not torn through and empty again. Scabs loved trapping desperate people in stores. If I hadn’t been so hungry, I wouldn’t have fallen so quickly for their shady lure.

Once I finished eating, I pumped water into the sink, washed the bowl, and tucked it into my bag. The well water tasted pure and was so cold droplets condensed on the handle.

I cleaned the dust from one of the beds and laid down. The cheap mattress that squeaked under my weight and poked me with broken springs was like laying on a cloud. I held my stuffed moose tight to my chest and found heaven in a dingy hunting cabin.