Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Movement In The Trees

 Tales Of The Apocalypse: Book II - The Rift

It is day 4 and we have only reached cache #3. We are seriously behind schedule and need to push on through the daylight. I know the kid's are tired because I am beat. We will travel til noon and then make camp, if we make it that far without falling over.

The sounds in the forest are greatly diminished during the daylight hours, leading me to believe that which follows us is nocturnal in nature. My daughter Andrea, who we call Andy says she saw something on our shadowy back trail, peering out of the gloom under the trees. She let out a scream of terror that made myself and her brother both jump. Monty, my son surprised me with how quickly he recovered and brought his .30-30 to bear on the perceived threat. Andy could not bear to describe what she saw...

Andy is 12 and Monty 14.
I am surprised, pleasantly I might add, at how quickly Monty has stepped up to the plate as this has all unfolded, day by day. Both kids have handled the desertion of their mother with surprising strength. I can only surmise that her mind had been overwhelmed by the sheer stress of her world collapsing, as that is what she has fled back to. I only hope that she made it back home. I do truly miss her.

We have made camp now, the kids are gathering wood as I put up the tent and build the fire. It is a cold day and a heavy fog is covering this small depression which holds a large glade with a pond adjacent to it. I am sure if it were summer, it would be swarming with mosquito's.

The kids have asked me why I am writing all this down, and I explained to them that it is a family record to be passed down to newer generations, to explain what happened and why. Andy surprised me with her comment about this being the last generation, so why bother. I told her I did not believe that, and she should not either. I must keep a bold and confident demeanor even though I fear she may be right.

The sounds are getting louder, closer, now that the sun is setting. I have built up the fire and rather than face the fire as is our normal nature, I have turned my back to it and face outward into the gathering gloom of twilight.

I see something, some movement in the trees.
As though it were a lion circling it's prey.

The hooting is louder now, sounding like it is emanating from just outside our circle of light.
My God, that howl!
That terrible howl!
It raises the hair on the back of your neck like an icy wind, like fingernails on a chalkboard!

My shotgun is ready and I am telling the kids to...

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