Hell's Garden Chapter 5

Hell’s Garden
Chapter 5
         Marcel awoke, yawning and stretching. A thick shaft of sunlight lanced down from the heavens to bathe the clearing in illumination. He looked down at the still sleeping form of Ceren, her chest rising and falling slowly. It was some kind of miracle, he guessed, that the ghouls had not found them in the night. He wasn’t even sure if it mattered, hopeless as their situation seemed.
         No, he told himself, down that road lay madness. The same madness that had claimed Sallen. Marcel thought he understood now what Sallen had felt, the need to protect and make sure of his beloved’s safety. If Ceren met her demise… he would follow her into death.
         Slowly, Ceren awoke and stretched out. She looked at Marcel and smiled, communicating just as effectively as if she had spoken to him. He smiled back, putting a hand to her cheek. Holding the hand to her face, she sat up, then drew him close and the pair locked into a kiss. Whether it was an instant, or an eternity, they did not know. Reluctantly, they broke apart.
         Marcel moved away, packing up their meager supplies. They would need food soon, and water, but for now he was happy to still be alive. “We need to gather some food, then we can get to the mountain.” He said, and Ceren nodded. The pair was off into the trees less than five minutes later, walking in a circular fashion around the general area of the main lake, hoping to stumble across on of its branching streams.
         Sure enough, they came across a wide and shallow stream, with the juicy, edible berries common to the island nearby. They ate and drank in silence, each with their own thoughts. Marcel looked at the sky, just catching a glimpse of blue through the foliage. He was surprised the ghouls hadn’t caught up with them yet. Surely, there more of them, and maybe they were stalking them even now, waiting for the chance to strike. 
         Marcel took the brief respite as a chance to collect wood; it wouldn’t do for the survivors to make it to the top of the mountain, only to realize they had no wood for a signal fire. He gathered a sizable bundle, picking up good, green branches.
         It was then that he spotted the corpse. It was a skeleton, probably lying on the forest floor for quite a while. Marcel slowly set his bundle down, then walked over to the body for a closer look. It held some sort of knife in its bony grasp, rusted by the passing of time. It looked, judging by the position of the body and the knife, it looked as though the unfortunate soul had stabbed itself, choosing to end its own life over being devoured by ghouls. Marcel could certainly understand that.
         Sitting behind the body was a boulder, of medium size. It looked like there was something scrawled on it, probably with the knife that the corpse held. He walked over to it, and began to read the message:
         I don’t know what it was, no one did. This man demanded a spot on the ship, saying that he had something valuable and he’d make it worth our while. Halfway through the trip, he jumped overboard. Someone broke into his things, and found the stone… he was dead within the hour, up and walking the next. He attacked anyone that got near him, and everyone that got bitten died and rose… we locked them in the hold. We were blown onto the island, and some idiot opened the door to go below. Barely any of us made it off that accursed ship. I saw the ghouls run off with the stone towards the mountain. I know they’re closing in on me. I’d rather die by my own hand than at their claws. Gods forgive me.
         The message ended there, with a long scrawl towards the end side of the rock. It was almost too fantastical to believe. A stone turned men into monsters, into killing machines like the ghouls? It was preposterous, yet the proof stared Marcel in the face. The longer he pondered it, the more it made sense. What else could have done this but supernatural forces? The new knowledge also raised another question. Why make for the mountain, the probable lair of the ghouls?
         Marcel thought about his options. He realized that any rescue was weeks, if not months or years, off. There was no way he and Ceren could survive that long on the island with the ghouls alive… they had to take the chance. Perhaps they could use the stone to fight against the ghouls, or use it in some other way to survive. It was a choice between certain death, and a glimmer of hope.
         Marcel tied the wood onto his back, and then returned to Ceren. He grabbed her hands and explained the message, and what he thought about the situation. “So, we find hell before it finds us?” she smiled, “I like it.” They set off at a brisk pace, reaching the foot of the mountain quickly. It was not steep, but it looked like loose soil, which would make for a very challenging climb.
         The pair started up the slope, climbing slowly so as to not start any of the smaller rocks rolling, and perhaps trigger an avalanche of stone. When the pair had climbed about twenty feet, a small cascade of stones rained down from a ridge about fifty feet above their heads. Suddenly, the hideous face of a ghoul popped over the edge of the ridge. The unsettling growl that the survivors had learned to fear issued from the thing’s mouth. The thing started charging down off the ridge, stumbling clumsily in the loose rock. The stones began to dislodge around it, and suddenly a whole wave of stones bore down on the humans, carrying the ghoul with it. Marcel jumped on Ceren, attempting to shield her with his own body.
         The tide was over as soon as it had started. A small boulder, probably deeply lodged into the mountainside, had shielded the pair from most of the shower, leaving them with only minor scratches. The ghoul was not so lucky. Most of its body was buried, with only its head, right shoulder and arm exposed. It thrashed and growled, heedless of its trapped and almost certainly crushed body. Marcel stood up and carefully walked over to the pathetic creature, standing just out of its reach. It shrieked at him, swinging its claw in a futile attack. Marcel stomped its wrist to the ground. The thing didn’t seem to notice, still snapping at the man. Marcel almost pitied the thing, and then brought the machete down on its head. He walked back up a ways, and kicked a pile of rocks. They formed a smaller wave, one that completely covered the thing in stone. “Rest in peace.” Marcel said, quietly. The survivors resumed their climb in silence.
         About halfway up the mountain, it began to rise quite steeply up to the jagged pinnacle. The pair split up to traverse the base of the steep sides, alternately walking or jumping along the relatively flat area. Marcel nearly fell a few times, but somehow managed to avoid taking a potentially fatal tumble down the slopes below. It was more difficult than Marcel imagined finding a suitable path up the mountain. It seemed that the mountain was actually a steep-sided slope, just surrounded by gravel on all sides. If that were true, it would be impossible for even the ghouls to negotiate the mountainside.
         A particularly large gap had formed in front of Marcel. With a deep breath, he leaped for the other side. He barely made it, sliding quite a bit of gravel into the depression below him as he scrambled up onto a fairly level surface. A few short steps ahead of him was a ridge of solid rock, the entrance to a deep, dark cave. A wave of heat rolling out of the egress gave credence to Marcel’s initial impression, that this mountain was, in fact, a volcano. Marcel stood at the entrance for a moment, surprised that Ceren had not arrived first.
         Suddenly, he heard a commotion nearby. Ceren came into view, running quickly around a corner and booking it as fast as possible towards me. A pair of ghouls skidded around behind her. One was a bit too off balance, and went tumbling all the way down the slope. The other, however, was right on her tail. Marcel ran towards her, praying that she could stay out of reach a little longer. He was just a second away when a swipe of a claw gave her leg a shallow cut. Ceren spun on the thing, quickly putting her hatchet through the thing’s skull.
         “Neither of them bit you?” asked Marcel, fear evident in his demeanor. Ceren shook her head, managing a small smile.
         “They ambushed me, jumped off one of the higher ridges. There was another, but he missed me completely and took a little tumble. So is this the way in?” she asked.
         “Looks like it.” said Marcel, “Shall we?” Ceren nodded, and the two linked hands as they walked into the cave. At first, Marcel had thought it would be pitch dark, and for the first few hundred feet, it was. The pair groped their way through the darkness, eventually coming to a sharp bend in the tunnel. This section was filled by a soft orange glow, not bright, but enough to see by. It was almost… relaxing, the calm before the storm, Marcel reflected.
         As they walked, Marcel suddenly began to feel and hear crunches. Looking down, he realized that he and Ceren were treading on a multitude of bones. With a sickening feeling, Marcel realized there were probably hundreds of corpses here, remnants of the ghoul’s past victims. It seemed fair to say, judging by the structures down by the lake, there had once been a somewhat thriving civilization on this island. Most likely, it had still been her when the ship arrived, leading to most of the population killed and eaten or converted into ghouls. The lost thought was disturbing, leading to the inevitable question of how many ghouls there actually were. Hundreds, possibly, and this was their home base! Marcel fought down a rising sense of panic. This was a better course of action than sitting on the beach, waiting to die or worse… be turned into one of these gods-forsaken beats.
         As they neared another bend in the tunnel, Ceren collapsed against a wall, a gasp escaping her lips. “Are you well?” asked Marcel, concern evident.
         “I’m fine, my leg just hurts. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.” She responded, gritting her teeth and stretching out the leg. She insisted that she walk on her own, however.
         As they continued, Marcel got the feeling they were being followed through the tunnel. He was surprised that any ghouls would show such restraint. Perhaps they were massing for a final, killing blow, he mused, and they’d certainly given them enough trouble already. The heat grew steadily as they walked towards the heart of the mountain, as did the light from the fire.
         Soon enough, they entered into the warmest area. It was a small chamber, maybe thirty feet across and the same number wide. Spanning the room was a long, narrow bridge, which widened in the center into a circle. And on that circle was a short stone pedestal, mounted with a stone. The stone was red, red as the eyes of the horrid ghouls. It had a darkness and sense of wrongness that was palpable, filling the room with a malign aura. Insane thoughts gnawed at the edges of his mind, whispering of madness and the taste of flesh.
         Next to him, Ceren collapsed, falling against him. Surprised, he still managed to grab her and help her get back to her feet. Ceren was breathing heavily, and sweating profusely. She was speaking, and he managed to make out, “Scratch… infected… it burns!”
         The implication hit him like a runaway carriage. The scratch of the ghouls, like their bite, was infected by their blight. He couldn’t believe it, to come so far and to have his dearest companion stripped away from him when his goal was within reach. She was coughing up blood now, and wouldn’t last much longer. Soon enough, she would join the ranks of his foes.
         On either side of the bridge, the ghouls were begging to congregate. There were dozens, even scores of the things, staring in silence at the weeping man on the bridge. He turned and saw them, then yelled out a challenge, “Come and get me, hellspawn! I’ll send you all back to the land of the dead, where you belong!” They obliged, running at him en masse. He climbed to his feet, with Ceren’s corpse beginning to stir at his feet. He gulped, and with a quick swing sent her back into death. He backed up as much as possible, putting his back to the pedestal as he hacked and slashed away at the undead horde. He planted a foot on one, throwing it and its fellows back a step. Taking advantage of the reprieve, he grabbed the mounted stone. “BACK TO HELL, DEMONS!” he yelled, hurling the stone into the fiery chasm below.
         The ghouls began to shriek as one, leaping on to the human and tearing him apart. Others grabbed their skulls, their existence being unraveled by the destruction of the stone. They began collapsing, thrashing or lying still, in the volcano and all over the island. The volcano itself began to bubble, a cauldron finally boiling over. They lava suddenly exploded in a thunderous crash, instantly incinerating any ghouls inside the crater and covering the island. The seismic disturbance, combined with a tidal wave and the lava, caused a break in the island, shattering it into multiple pieces, each of which quickly disappeared beneath the waves.
         The isle of the damned, the garden of hell… was gone beneath the water, forever.