The Last 100 – Ch.12

I reached the threshold of the cave, pausing slightly before entering. My mouth drew taught and I scampered back hurriedly, grabbing one of the dropped spears. I hefted it, solid, weightier than it looked, levelling the point in front of myself I finally entered the cave, my shoulders noticeably less tense than on my last attempt.

I leaned into the yawning maw of the cave, it tunnelled in for a way before turning abruptly, cowering behind a bend and shortening the length of it I could survey without entering. I could feel Wilhelm deeper into the rock.

“Wilhelm.” I called out to him tentatively, receiving only a bark in return. I hesitated for a moment, I wanted to call him back and have him by my side. Why? I chastised myself. I’ll be walking him right back in anyway, and if he’s fine then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about, man the fuck up Jack. Yeah, I laughed, it cut through the din of falling rain. I then walked into the mouth of the cave, my white-knuckle grip on the spear having not released by even a fraction.

Knock, knock, knock. My shoes resounded against the stone floor with booming echoes, the sound charging off, headstrong into the cave, leaving me to plod along sedately behind.

I forced myself to take step after step, go around bend after bend and with each passing metre and with each kink in the path of the cave traversed a small glow grew ever brighter. It started as naught more than a pinprick of light at first, a scant source and poor substitute to the now abandoned light of the day. But as I approached, the warm, orange glow burned brighter. And with it the sounds also grew in intensity.

Wet slapping noises echoed back at me through the tunnels, it was as if me and the maker of the sounds were competing, each sending barrages of echoes to assail the other combatant. His unnerved me far more than mine probably did him.

I rounded the last corner with a burst of energy, speeding around it, a low war cry escaping my lips and my spear raised, it was juvenile, and attempt to drive away unseen monsters, and I knew deep down that no monsters hid in these shadows. I did it anyway. My cry startled Wilhelm, causing him to jump comically into the air, yelping in surprise.

The chamber we were in was rather homey and comfortable, with a fire and several skins and furs laying on the ground, the purpose of whom I assumed was for sleeping in. There were various pots made of clay and gourd scattered around the room, laying disturbed on the ground, most likely Wilhelm’s doing.

Then the other details hit me.

It started with a slow burning, a putrid smell assaulting my nostrils, it violated my nose and wormed its way into my brain until it made my eyes water. It was the smell of blood, blood and death.

Strewn around the room were a smattering of small, lifeless, grey bodies, they were three in total and each of them seemed to by mauled beyond recognition, faces ripped apart and flesh torn from the bone in ribbons, lying strewn across the stone like the remnants of a party popper. I couldn’t decipher any features of the creatures from the torn apart forms but what I could see loud and clear was just how small they were, even compared to the two males out the front of the cave. Then it dawned on me.

Oh god no.

I felt nauseous, I couldn’t be in that room any more, I dropped the spear, dead to the sound of it clattering to the ground and charged out of the cave. Dropping to the ground when I finally reached the outside I vomited into the mud, spewing out the contents of my famished gut all over the corpse of the eldest male.

I stayed there for a bit, doubled over and dry retching as I remembered the smell, the lust of battle had worn off and all that remained were the messy realities, and the pain.

What remained of my ear burned like the pits of hell, I had crawled over to a small puddle to inspect the mangled mound of flesh hanging to the side of my head just long enough to choke up. Wilhelm came to me, rubbing his face against mine, smearing a fresh coat of blood onto my already stained cheek.

My first instinct was to yell at him. To rave at the poor creature and try to explain to him what he had done was wrong, to try and hold him accountable to what he had done to those… To those children! To those babies!

Then I remembered my commands to him, kill, kill, kill. I had ordered him to kill three times, and that was what he had done, butchering the brood which the two grey creatures tried so desperately to protect.

It was my fault, not his, he was just carrying out his orders, his only crime was his loyalty to me. I sighed painfully and patted his head softly, more to comfort myself than for his benefit. We sat like that for a long time, long enough for the sun to begin dipping below the far of hills, clawing at the wild landscape with its last breaths of life.

I spent that time thinking, thinking about what I wanted. And as I stared into the glossy depths of Wilhelm’s deep, joyous eyes I found it. I wanted to live. I remembered the passion which I had felt during my fight with the grey creatures, felt how strongly I had wanted to live and tamed that fire, lashing it to my soul and taking it into my very being. I wanted to live, but for that to happen I needed to accept new realities, harsh realities, necessary realities. The first was that death was a part of life and it would have to be a part of mine if I were to survive. The first step in achieving this was to take responsibility for the killing which had just been done.

But no amount of talking, no amount of soul searching to the dying sunlight or cliched self-pep talks stopped the tears from falling as I dragged the mangled, fragile bodies of the grey children from the cave, or stopped the small wails as I gave them all to the earth. And no amount of acting tough stopped me from crying out as I cauterised the mangled mess on the side of my head, sealing shut one of my ears for good.

It seemed it would take more than words and affirmative action to change, it would take deeds. I resolved myself to go out hunting in the morning. I would have to be a new person then, a harder person, a killer. But tonight I could keep being Jack, if only for a little while, and so I let the tears fall freely under the stars that night, with no one but Wilhelm and the earth to hear me cry.