Momento Mori

                                                                                  Chapter One


Winter is when hunting is the hardest. Without the ability to hide between long, fresh, green sturdy grass, it's inevitable that you'll be seen. Winter leaves grass brown and hard. Whatever the moose doesn't eat, which is everything, is what's left behind. Nothing. So the terrain becomes your betrayer, shortening your chances of finding anything but sky born prey, and there's a fat chance. Even the ground doesn't want you to have a warm meal. Everything crunches in the winter. What was once moist dirt that gave way under rugged boots turned into a chorus of branches and dying vegetation. Dry, like a wasteland, like my chapped lips.

I licked them and watched my breath fog in wispy flutters. Dad taught me how to breathe while hunting. Believe it or not, there was a big part in keeping your anonymity all in the way you handled your lungs. I took deep measured breaths in my nose and let the carbon flow like silk from my mouth. Like a smoker, really. I dodged a rotting trunk, taking my time. I didn't think there was any wildlife nearby since the only pond within a quarter mile was frozen over, but to be sure I still kept quiet. Even with temperatures leveling below zero and some, I started to sweat in all of the layers I was sporting.

The homemade dagger in my pocket jabbed into my skin only slightly. Dad had tried to show me how to sculpt one properly, but mine came out more in a zig zag than anything, while his was perfectly straight. It made dulling one side of it hard, so really, it was just sharp all over. That was fine with me. I actually was quite proud of it, it had character. I always brought it with me when I hunted. I also carried around a bow, which was excellent for taking my prey down. But usually, that didn't do it. I hated for them to suffer for more than a blinding second, so sometimes things had to get a little messy.

Slitting the throat of an animal should make anyone feel like a huge pile of waste. It's different though when you're hunting. I don't mean hunting like grabbing your camo and heavy artillery, stuffing your kill and hanging it on your wall hunting. I mean hunting for food. Hunting for survival. It was a completely different story.

While I hunted, every muscle in my body tightened. I became a rigid bottle of tension and pure instinct. Every scuttle, every sudden snap of sound, I was quick to swivel and take notice of. My fingers never cramped as I held the arrow ready to spring free, as I waited to take a life. It was all primal. It was like watching a lion taking down a gazelle. Now, I understood that starvation was in all of us. It was nature.

Mom never got it. She never could understand why my Dad hated the city, why he didn't want to wear suits and ignore me with phone calls all day. She never got it. She would never say it, but she hated the collection of crystals and warheads my dad kept in the living room. Whenever company was over, she would always re-direct them into the dining room. I personally loved his display. It held all of the wonder a stale city like New York never could. I can't say she agreed, and it didn't bother me that she didn't. She didn't come along with Dad and I for any of his exotic field trips. I treasured every last one of them. I mean, come on, being the only third grader to come back from spring break with an African Tribal hand sewn beret and an elephants horn was totally awesome.

Next year, I would be a senior. Finally finishing with highschool once and for all. It's not like I'd even been to a school since after my fifth grade graduation to begin with, but still, there was something subtly gratifying about it. I would be gone, free, born to be wild. I silently hummed it along in my head while making my way through a path of diverted snow. Something had gone through this way, and I was going to make sure I saw to it.

Having my father as not only my teacher, but also my mentor meant a lot. We both were big on martial arts, weaponry, and survival in general, so I knew a great bit about it. It didn't take me long to pick up on hunting. Dad said because it was just in the Gold's blood, which stretched far along the Irish side, I knew. It's where Dad got his fire red hair and slippery tongue. As I looked up at the sun's positioning, I could almost hear him in my ear. "Took you long enough." I measured it to be around 3 hours after noon, the sun looked sleepy and lazy, slinking just low enough as not to illuminate everything, but most of everything. Shadows played behind a family of trees. There must have been a good forty or so rabbits probably hiding out in there, but rabbits weren't what I needed. Plus, they were fast little suckers, and running through trees created all kinds of obstacles. I would never catch anything. Besides, I was done killing off the entire rabbit species for the month. I'd killed enough, probably uncles, nieces, and nephews by now. My eyes were on something larger, much larger.

I could probably manage a full grown Moose at this time of the day. I knew they preferred to stay away in the early morning, because that's when everything was up wanting a nice fulfilling breakfast. It's why knowing what time of day it was should have been my first priority. Skipping the casualties got me in trouble more times than I could count. It was my trait that everyone had that made them just who they were, though, and there was no reversing it, no matter how many times I let it get the better of me.

Speaking of which. While inspecting the pathway roughly cutting through the field, I'd forgotten all about keeping trees against my back. It was my Dad's technique, if you've got something hard to straighten out your spine nothings coming from that direction to bite you in the ass. Since this wasn't a reservation filled with happy critters to ensure the campers and hunters safety, technically, I wasn't the only thing hunting. There was also another thing you couldn't ever forget about nature. It recycled. While I would, no doubt, gobble up a Moose, a feral, let's say, clouded leopard would gobble up me.

I spun just in time enough to catch the sharp flash of a white busy tail. My fingers tightened around the bow, and I crouched until my knees popped. The cold was an asset as far as tracking went. The animal's paw prints were very obvious in the snow, and compared to my boot prints they were fairly small. No bigger than a quarter, so I didn't slow down in my advance. Whatever it was wasn't very large and I could probably easily outmatch it.

I stalked it with a leveled grace, keeping the arrow drawn close to my line of vision, just below my nose. I kept my back against the trees, moving swiftly but deadly and very very stealthy. I figured the precaution wasn't necessary, but just because it wasn't necessary didn't mean you didn't do it. Dad would call that slacking. The trees in this part of Alaska looked very bare in a weird shaven way. It was because of the Moose. When I said they ate everything, I really wasn't kidding. Everything glowed in an ashen white, which made it seem a lot brighter in the day than it truly was. I sucked in a deep breath and took one long stride toward where the tail had first appeared.

There was nothing there, but the foot prints trailed on. I could see where the animal lingered for longer than necessary. The holes where its paws had been were deeper, almost as deep as mine, where the snow had to support its weight for several seconds until it moved on. This animal was quiet, and patient. That's what was for sure. But most predators are that way who hunt at this time of day. Usually, they've been out hunting since early on, and could spare another fifteen minutes or so making sure that this was the last prey to slip out of their grip.

I watched the foot prints glide in and out of view in the bouncing light, and if it weren't for my knowledge I would have sworn the animal was levitating. One thing I knew for sure though, was that it had made it through the gap in the trees to my right without being seen. I didn't have the best vision at times, but I would have caught the movement. I felt the sharp brush of an eager weapon in my side pocket and edged around the abandoned tree.

There was several more trees scattered, and the animal could have picked any one of them to escape behind. I wouldn't take my chances, plus, it was heading in the general direction that I had set out to before. I wasn't going to let some pea sized cat, most likely, scare me out of a nice big moose. Still, I didn't relax my muscles for a second. If anything, the animal had just increased my chances of scoring, big time. Plus, if it was heading in my set direction than I must have been at a good start to begin with.

I followed the paw prints farther and farther into the dense forest. Mid-way, I had to stop for a bathroom break. I searched around for the nearest non-crunchy, non-I-will-make-you-regret-this leaf, and handled my business. There was something about peeing in the middle of the forest that always gave me the creeps. It's not like I wasn't used to it, it's the fact that no matter what you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Truly, someone was, but that someone probably had four legs and thought you were a fearsome bear so backed off. I had no choice though. If I continued on with a full bladder I would break my concentration, and you never knew when dinner could just sprint out at you. Night was falling though, it meant that the sky was going to come alive, and so was the forest. It wouldn't be a good experience. If I had to watch my back now, I would have to grow six eyes to watch myself counter-clockwise and probably even upside down too after dark.

It's not like we didn't have food, we had plenty. Can goods were not a problem. We had about as much as the red cross, but eating beans, corn, and spam every night didn't do the digestive track any good. We needed red meat, and little tale tale signs like Dad looking a little paler now and again made that evident. I watched the warm air from my mouth collide with the cold stillness of the forest and go up in a smoke as I silently sighed and went forward. I picked up the pace, as fast I could go without creating a ruckus. The paw prints were surprisingly still visible, so I hadn't gone off its track just yet. I expected it to end soon though, there was no way the little thing was going to be traveling this far without catching at least a baby bunny or something. But there wasn't any signs of a battle, no blood, no distressed snow. The feeling of dread started to fill me slowly like a leak. I was probably a good 15 miles from home now, and it'd taken me over nine hours. Nothing, and as far as I knew, nothing up ahead either.

I decided it was time for a break. It probably wasn't the best time, but it would have to do. I sat on my ass, nice and firm, and let it sink into the snow. It felt comforting, and I dug out a water bottle from my pack. Just because being in the cold didn't make you feel dehydrated as quickly as being out in the hot did, it didn't mean replenishing wasn't absolutely necessary, and eating snow really wasn't the safest thing. People often got that confused.

I let the cold water bottle sit on my forehead, because even though everything around me was frozen to a crisp my face was a flaming missile of stress and frustration. I put my head between my knees and thought of one of Dad's lessons. One thing you never did was change direction. Once you set out into the forest you kept going in the same direction you came in. Usually, trees would tell you how aligned and on track you were. As long as you didn't do any funny business, like taking sharp turns and doing total 360s, simply reversing your direction would take you back to the bullet. Of course, we carried a compass for good measures, but my Dad was the practical careful kind. When I'd ask for certain things I saw in commercials, what I saw other girls having, he would always say "Why make things more complicated?"

I didn't get it until I got a bit older. Humans in general are always going through the most complex way of things, probably because it makes life more exciting. But half of the things they do are either unnecessary or just plain stupid. I wasn't counting myself out as human or anything, but being basically pulled away from civilization for so long didn't make me "one of them", if you get my drift. I didn't shop in malls, I really hadn't even shopped for new clothes in over a year. I didn't particularly know how to drive a car, but I did know how to kick ass on a four wheeler and kick it hard. I could also walk for hours without getting tired, and run for a full 30 minutes without breaking stride if it was really dire. Jog? Try an hour.

That's the thing though, for everyone else that wasn't enough. Things could never just be. Like, you couldn't just be beautiful or average, you had to have an ingrown nail or an outey belly button that made you feel like an outcast. Why couldn't everyone just live? That was the thing though, I didn't know what that even meant. Were all the trials and tribulations, foolish or not, there for a reason? Was that part of living? Dad raised me off of the foundation that we all had a lively hood, a dream, and a mission. We didn't have anything else. For Christmas, I got brand new hiking boots or a book. I never went out to get an ice cream cone just because, or spent the day shopping for frilly things to look cute. My mind worked in terms of: Food? Check. Water? Check.

I felt like being cooped away from the rest of the world, in a way, was like running. I knew my father didn't think so, but he'd never actually conformed to the rest of society and put on his man hat either. What made a man, a man though? Sitting alone in the forest made me hear my thoughts louder than I would have liked, so I welcomed the sudden change of direction. Just as I was going into full blown pondering mode, a loud crack! bounced off the trees. I snapped my head up in a motion so fast the world spun for a second.

I had the bow in my hands in the next, and right in front of me was the purest looking creature I'd ever seen. The white fur was even more luminescent than the snow, shining in an almost bluish tint that matched the fire in its eyes. They looked glazed over with a filmy white substance, but underneath, you could definitely tell they were blue. Oh, another thing I could tell? It was pissed. I could just tell by the way the hair stood up like needles. Thinking of petting those hairs actually made me flinch. It looked like a coyote, and I realized with a start that it was the paw prints I'd been following for over three hours.

It couldn't be a coyote though, not with ears that short, and the tail was almost the entire length of its body. I swallowed hard, sizing the animal up. In that moment, kind words and friendly hand gestures wouldn't stop this animal from trying to kill me. From trying to save its own life. It's not like I was going to back down either. Being mauled by a creature of its size probably would be a very slow, very painful death. I highly doubted its jaw could even fit around my calf, let alone around my neck where it could end things quickly.

The bow felt slick in my palms, but I held it tight. I wasn't going to make a move unless it did. I wouldn't kill it for nothing, not a creature that beautiful. Not even for some nice dinner tonight. It stood like that, back hunched, eyes blazing for about a minute and a half before taking one tentative step forward. When I didn't take a step back, it quickly retreated back to its post and curled its lips some more. I knew on some other kind of level I'd just issued out a challenge towards it, but I wasn't about to cower either, that meant that I was prey. I stood my ground, actually contemplating showing teeth of my own. Like I said, hunting brought the animal out of all of us.

The snow was giving way fast underneath my boot, and I quickly took note that I was probably standing on a weak spot. I was fuzzily aware before I set out that day that the snow had almost doubled in height over night. The fact that its usually so vacuum packed and contained means you won't be swimming through the stuff, but actually just walking on top of it. Still, there were weak spots like any resolvable surface. I knew that this was one of them. The longer I stood there, the deeper my boots would go, and then who's to say if the animal actually decided to attack if I'd be able to pull myself out in time enough? I wasn't about to underestimate it by its size, not even for a second. I'd seen a house cat rip apart an entire ten foot long cobra once. In this situation, I was the cobra. Except, unlike the cobra I wasn't going to get cocky and doubt the glaring animal for a moment.

I weighed myself carefully, trying not to make any subtle movements. As all plans went, I probably should have thought this one through more. I mean, because what are physics? By putting more weight on the boot that wasn't sinking I just created more sinking, the ultimate collateral effect. I had to do something fast, something abrupt and possibly life threatening, but being immobile was just as bad, and I couldn't afford that. With two quick jerks I yanked my boots out of the snow.

I didn't even have time to steady myself. The white ball of fur shot out at me like a rocket, whistling straight ahead and smacking into my chest. Can you believe it knocked me over? I couldn't, and I actually saw stars for a second. I pulled myself up by the elbows, reached into my side pocket and caressed the wooden handle of my blade. Even though I completely messed up the deadly part of the dagger, the handle was especially made with care and if I did say so myself, beautiful. I'd managed to carve vines around it causing for a better grip, and Dad had engraved my name "Florence Gold" in curvy clipped letters. It was mine. It was my deformed little baby, and I was going to use it to slaughter the mutant coyote cat.

I spun around and got on my knees, drawing out the dagger and grabbing the ground with my free hand. My ponytail shook loose a bit, and I mustered up all of the courage I could into just my stare, and that time, I did show teeth. The little creature looked ready to charge again. Me first, I thought darkly. I lunged at it, and we collided in a tangle. Its nails made horrible advances into my exposed skin, and ripped up my coat. I couldn't really see where the animals fur began and where the snow did, but I stabbed away. Eventually, a sharp yelp of pain emitted from it. Compared to the grunts and cries I was making, it sounded utterly insignificant. But at least I knew that it wasn't just my blood staining the snow now. We rolled, I ended up on top and grabbed the animal by its neck. It snapped at me ferociously, managing to clip one of its teeth around my index finger. Some skin ripped away but I pressed harder, locking off its air supply. Those little feet went to work, kicking and scratching. I miscalculated how long they were, and the mutant got a hard good scratching kick into my jaw. I flew back, not because of the impact but because of pure instinct. I could practically hear someone shouting "Man down, man down!" over a static-y walky talky.

I stumbled back, holding my jaw. Blood poured out from it, and I watched the creature take a wobbly step towards the trees. Something hot boiled up inside of me. Some rational part of me screamed to just let it go, it was injured enough and didn't look like it was strong enough to start attacking again. But I was running on pure survival now. I couldn't walk all the way back home not knowing if it would follow me and just attack again. I stopped looking at it like the cute little exotic creature it was, and started looking at it as prey. This thing had tried to make me its dinner, and now it was going to be mine for sure.

I was surprised at the strength I suddenly gained back in my legs. The animal cowered, then tensed and growled one sharp kitten noise that pierced my ears. I wanted to growl back at it, but instead I used my own language. This was my game now. "I tried to give you a chance," I said, fighting back the urge to either cry or laugh, I wasn't sure. "Now how am I supposed to explain this huge gash in my jaw to my Dad? Huh? I'd look real dumb coming back with no food, and beaten to hell, now wouldn't I?" To my utter hilarity, the animal actually cocked its head to the side while biting back a hissing snarl. Then, I did laugh, but there was hardly any humor in it.

It wasn't like I enjoyed killing the thing, it was just a necessity. A very urgent one too. It was like needing to take medicine when you're sick. It taste like crap, but you're rewarded with better health in the end. I would be rewarded with a safer trip back and a nice warm meal tonight as soon as I got this over with. I advanced towards it, and it started low to the ground, preparing itself. And then I just...stopped. I couldn't.

The way it looked at me, so expectantly. I just couldn't. My fingers shook. I was losing composure, and I knew it. But hey, it's not everyday your average teenager gets mauled by a mutant coyote. I stood up straight, knocking snow off my coat and then smearing the blood from my chin into my sleeve. That would have to do. I made sure to look unnerved as I stared down at the little animal. It still looked rather vicious. There was a word for humans who looked at humans that way. What was it? Bitch? The animal wasn't a bitch though, of course, it was just afraid. I wondered mindlessly if that same rule could apply to some humans. Probably.

"I'm going to let you live," I murmured. I didn't bother raising my voice. It was hardly filled with the terrier it was earlier, and I knew the animal could hear me just fine. "I suggest you go back home now. I suggest we both go back home." Night was falling right before my eyes. I wasn't even sure if I could make it back home without hitting at least a few hours of night, and even that was dangerous. At best, I would have to run. My knees wobbled drunkenly at the thought. Setting up camp was out of the question, Dad would worry his hat off. I just, I had to keep going. One thing I knew for sure though, was that I wasn't going to kill the animal. "Just go home." I whispered, and did the one thing my father always told me not to do.

I turned my back on it. I hadn't even taken one step before the creature charged forth again, sinking its nails and fangs into my back. I screamed and bit my tongue, terribly girlish, and tried to roll over. If I did it right, I could smother it with my weight, but that didn't work. It simply latched on tighter. I wasn't the only thing being noisy. The animal made harsh hissing sounds, snapping its jaws to cut off retching snarls. I'd never heard such menace in an animal before, or was it determination? I wasn't sure anymore, and clearly it wasn't as injured as I was led to believe. That strange surreal feeling silently raged through me. I was battling toe to toe with a carnivorous wild animal. It seemed unheard of, and what was more unheard of was any animal being that small also being so strong. It felt like I was in an arm wrestling match with Tyson. The strength the tiny creature weld was incredible. Its eyes blazed with a fury so dark I constantly lost my footing trying to look away from them. It was definitely pissed, not just hungry, but pissed. I couldn't figure out at exactly what though. I just knew it was me.

The creature scratched through my coat and I felt the first sting of flesh being eaten away in my back. A rich flow of electric pain shot through me. I was suddenly warmer than I'd ever been since my Dad and I came to live in Alaska, and I knew that was a bad sign. Being fifteen miles from home and bleeding profusely while adrenaline pumped through my veins at an unhealthy speed meant bleeding out at an unhealthy speed. Or you know, just dying. Not much health there.

I grabbed onto the dagger tighter, lifting myself up and then pushing back with so much force the world blurred. I smashed into the snow on my back, and I had the satisfaction of hearing the animal wail in pain. Oddly, it sounded like a small child. I hesitated, only for a hair, and then turned swiftly to advance in my attack further. I was head on with the animal again, and it made me feel a whole lot more steady. I couldn't be sure if I broke something or not, but it made me ill to think about it. I didn't want to go around crushing the animal, I just wanted to get it over with already. I grabbed onto its neck again, but the strength in my hands literally was no match for the little creature. I saw rage in those eyes, so blind and hungry I almost surrendered. Instead, I put my knee into its stomach, adding just enough pressure to hold it still. With it immobile, I was able to wrap my hands around its neck at just the right points. I squeezed, but made sure to do it only hard enough to cut off its air supply. The animal made horrible hacking sounds and tears burned my eyes, but I kept on. The white glaze over its eyes resided leaving behind the most startling blue eyes I'd ever seen. They were shining, literally, like a deer caught in your headlights. Except, it shined a creamy sky blue. It was absolutely beautiful.

The animal went limp in my hands and I quickly let go. Everything in me screamed to run, to get as far away from the animal as I could, but I was shaking too badly to think straight anymore. I lowered my head onto the animals chest where I could still detect a heartbeat. I knew I hadn't killed it, and that filled me with more relief than I could stand. I fell back on my heels, dropping the dagger into the snow. I was panting and coughing, and I needed a drink of water so badly my chest hurt. The animal just lay there, stomach convulsing as it took in the oxygen it needed to replenish, to get better. I hoped that it would, but it wasn't looking good. Please don't die. It was fighting, you could see. I thought of giving it CPR and then thought otherwise. The last thing I needed was for it to get angry again and decide to chomp off my lips. I swallow, and it was dry and distasteful. I felt the trees looking at me accusingly as I watched the animal fight for its life. I wanted to get up and pet it, to tell it to keep going, to tell it that it was going to make it, much like Mom had done for me when I broke my leg in the second grade.

She wasn't around very much, but my kindness could only come from her. My Dad was an interesting man, but he was also quite self involved. He believed in survival, and whatever was necessary to ensure he was happy and healthy, he'd do it. It's how I was raised. I knew that Dad wouldn't have shown the slightest pity to the creature, he would have simply slit a hole down its stomach and raided it for the goods. Well, I felt sick. I didn't even want to think of possibly bringing the animal back to Dad if it didn't survive. I wouldn't let him tear it apart just for one good night meal.

The animal's foot twitched, and then I saw it take in its first non convulsing breath. It ended on another one of those spine chilling hisses, apparently it was still a little pissed. It was probably only just afraid though, like me. I knew that I was wasting time standing out in the cold like that, being an idiot. I could already see the sun drifting away to roam the other side of the earth. At this point, I knew there was just no way I'd make it home before dark, so I sat down a few yards away from the animal and waited longer. Silly thoughts ran through my mind, but that was most likely because I was doing something silly. I thought of throwing the animal a funeral if it didn't survive, and even once throwing water on it to knock it back into consciousness. If Dad were around, I'd probably be called all the names in the book. He was going to be extremely upset with me, if he wasn't already. I just hoped he wouldn't come looking for me.

I rummaged through my bag for the water bottle I hadn't finished sucking down before, and dug around for the nutrition bar I'd stashed earlier. We didn't pack a lot of them last time we got helicoptered into town. Dad never really had a sweet tooth and he strongly discouraged sweet things in general when I was a kid. That didn't mean I never craved it. The nutriment was crunchy, even though it wasn't supposed to be, and that was new at least. It was definitely a good contrast from my usual mushy food diet. It wouldn't settle with my stomach well, but I had to eat something. A headache roared in the back of my head, and I felt like all of the energy I might have had from earlier had been drained out of me.

I wished I had a mirror to examine the scratches down my back, because boy, they stung. They stung in a weirdly numbing way. It was almost as if the pain was too great to fully process. The cold sure helped. It was like being wrapped in a giant ice pack, and I was grateful that I at least wouldn't be coming home sporting bruises the size of Antarctica. Getting home after dark was going to be tricky as it was, I didn't need to add humiliation to my journey. It occurred to me that bleeding in the middle of the forest wasn't the best idea to begin with. All sorts of things typically hunted at night. They either hid, or they hunted. That was the rules of night. Anything taking a leisurely stroll after dark was either nocturnal, small, or big and bad. I didn't really count for any of those, but if I added in the sub category "fresh meat" after "small", yeah, probably.

I had to put at least some footing ahead of me, I realized. I crawled around for my dagger, finding it jammed into a block of icy snow. The animal hadn't moved much, but it had stopped convulsing. Now it only looked like it was taking a peaceful nap. I could live with that. I double checked though to make sure the stab wound really wasn't bleeding anymore, which freaked me out at first. Its fur hadn't even been stained, it was as if it magically healed on its own. Up close, I could see that it was healed, or just not there at all. Had it ever been? Either way, the animal would live, I was sure of that. I had to stop myself from pushing it under a tree shrub for good measures. I really couldn't risk it, and my guts knew it.

It wasn't necessarily a goodbye, but as I left I did a movie-worthy double take. It could have been because I was afraid it'd start attacking again, and I really wouldn't be able to handle another round. The little thing had already battered the wind out of me, literally, what was left? My pack seemed heavier as I hoisted it over my shoulder and started off the way I'd came, leaving the animal to recover fully alone. I hoped nothing large came out to catch it off guard. It would be out of my hands, and lets face it, me and the creature weren't exactly friends. Still, it seemed like a huge letdown that my efforts to keep the animal alive could be for nothing.

The sun disappeared entirely two hours after I'd abandoned the coyote. The moon danced behind fluffy clouds and made seeing my way through the trees without falling over a rock and killing myself easy. I created a system. I kept my hand on a tree at all times, and never looked ahead for longer than a few seconds. My eyes were busy scoping out everything, everything. I even made sure to look up as frequently as possible. Some predators attacked from above, and that just wasn't going to end very well for me.

I tried very unsuccessfully to read my compass a few times. It was just too dark to make out, and unfortunately Dad hadn't thought of getting the kind with a built in light. That sure would have been helpful. I yawned, I couldn't help it. I wasn't sure what time it was, but my sleeping schedule could usually get competitive with a five year old's. My whole body ached and screamed at me. It wasn't used to be pushed through such drastic measures. The only other time I had to travel by foot for over thirty miles was when Dad and I lived in New Zealand and the beautiful young canoe instructor attracted a bit too much attention to herself. The man controlling the canoe in front of us eventually lost said control in his drooling stupor and slammed right into us. That put three canoes out of commission, and the camping site was over thirty miles up the river. Something about having people along with you made the journey a little easier. I wouldn't mind a little harmless chatter to stop me from imagining giant deformations attacking me from behind.

I shivered in the cold night. I could surprisingly still see my breath fogging out and dissipating in my path. I didn't hear so much as a scuttle, which was strange. Usually, the night was crawling with critters. It was almost as if I was missing out on some kind of memo, or it could have been because it was also ten times colder than it had been earlier. It felt like the sun consumed any heat that might have been left right out of the place, and I was standing in a freezer naked. The holes in my coat didn't help either. It amplified my situation and caused my teeth to chatter relentlessly. Several times I ended up with my tongue caught between them, and eventually I tasted copper. By then, I was literally waiting for something to come out. It was pretty much expected, and somehow not getting what I expected made it scarier.

My eyes stung in the frigid air. The protests were loud and whiny to the point where I had to stop and rub my eyes like a toddler twice. I continued on blurry eyed and exhausted. I couldn't really tell how far, or how long I'd been walking. I just hoped I was closing in on the cabin sometime soon, or I feared I'd pass out somewhere and wake up to something beastly gnawing off my leg.

I was used to being away from Dad. Even though he'd been my only friend for as long as I could remember, we weren't exactly joined at the hip either. Dad was the kind who enjoyed his solitude, and I just tolerated it. It didn't make very much of a difference to me. I liked the company of my father when he wasn't grouchy over inane things like the Queen of England, or something. He wasn't big on politics, but he kept up with them just to grow a crease between his brow and spill his coffee while shouting obscenities. So it wasn't that I felt alone out in the forest with who knows what lurking about, I just really missed my Dad. It was comforting to think about him, and I found that by keeping in mind that he would be relieved to have me home I could push forward.

Things snapped and groaned under my weight. I felt like I was waking up the ground. I felt like I was an intruder. I definitely wasn't supposed to be around at this time still causing a ruckus, and that was a scary thought. This place was something's home, and it wouldn't hesitate to kick me out of it if I was being an obtrusion. I decided to string my bow again just in case. I had to work extra hard at picking up my feet, even though the snow was nice in tact, a thin layer on the top made things feel almost like I was walking through a slushy. That sort of noise wouldn't bode me well at the end of the day. It was the end of the day. It felt later than ten, but I couldn't be sure. I didn't know if the same rules applied to the moon as it did to the sun. In some ways, the fact that my bones were literally frozen solid helped me keep myself together. I couldn't fall apart if I felt like I was recovering from the titanic. I think even the blood on my back froze, which would really help cancel out the smell for anything hungry.

It let a load off my shoulders, just a little one. But I had so much more to go. Actually, I wasn't even sure anymore. Time had lost me, or I had lost time. Now, I just seemed to be walking on a treadmill. Every tree looked the same, every patch of snow with the same cluster of broken branches and frost bitten leafs. I became dreamily aware that it was snowing, and a smile spread across my lips. They cracked painfully, but I didn't bother licking them. That would only make it worse.

In my haze, I could see lights up ahead. My heart kicked and my eyes opened in a childish glee. I knew that light, and it was coming from our cabin. I picked up the pace, feeling happier than I had all day, but also feeling a sense of guilt. I almost felt like I'd stolen cookies from the cookie jar. The cookie was still completely delicious, but now I was in trouble. I knew Dad would probably want answers, and truthfully, I had none. What would I tell him? I could tell him the truth, I would just have to exaggerate a bit more for dignity purposes. No way was I going to tell my Dad that I'd basically been attacked by a flying rat, no matter how strong it really was. He liked to be proved of things, and there just wasn't going to be any reasoning with him if I told him what really attacked me. I had to come up with something a lot larger, and then he would believe me. I hoped.

I could almost taste home, I could smell it. I think everyone's home has its own unique smell. I could still smell my past homes on a rainy Sunday, or while passing by a stranger. Just a soft gust of your past life's scent. Opium and candle wax. It was the smell of my mother. Sometimes, I would smell burning wood and fresh laundry out of no where. It reminded me of the nights I would stay up late while my father drunk until he fell asleep in front of the fire, and my mother finished up washing all of the loads. I would sprawl out in the middle of the rug and read, or finish my homework. It's my most complete memory. It was my happy place, sort of. Whenever I got that smell, I always tried to savor it for as long as I could. Now I could almost barely smell my father's pipe and the smell of pine needles. There was a very small pond that separated our cabin from the forest, it was long enough in width to make most animals that could potentially pose as a threat think twice. It was why we'd chosen the location. That's not to say we never came across any of the dangerously curious, and those were usually the worst. They were the ones who raided through our supplies, or decided to sleep outside of our front door for the entire day so we'd have to either stay inside and starve, or face it. You can guess which one my Dad chose, I never really agreed.

The cabin itself was two bedrooms. Dad was big on privacy, I'd always had plenty of it. The interior and exterior of it was made out of an expensive pine wood from yours truly, and stainless still. For living it up in the middle of no where, we scored a solid A+. I always thought it was just my Dad's way of making up the alienation from the rest of society for me. I think if I weren't around he would just live in a tent and sleeping bag.

I struggled back another yawn and then pressed on. My face actually burned, I figured there was no more moisture in it, and my lips cracked some more. It was painful, but bearable. I couldn't get over the fact that I'd made it through the forest unscathed. Well, for the most part. My back would be explainable, I finally concluded. How it happened wouldn't be excused though, and I could deal with whatever punishment came from that point forward. I just wanted a hot bath and cool sheets.

There was a pretty steep slope that lead down to our home, it made you put a little back into it while going up, and made you fall flat on your face while going down. In the dark I thought I would do just that, but the snow actually glowed so that every obstacle was clearly visible. The moon light reflected off the water and bounced onto the snow, a lot like the sun had earlier, so everything seemed brighter in that particular area. It looked beautiful, and I was grateful.

I grabbed onto a bony branch and began my climb down. It broke halfway down and I cursed underneath my breath. I was making more noise than an angry bear, and trust me, I've heard that before. It really wouldn't have just been bad luck for something to wake up right when I'd reached my destination and decide to teach me a lesson. I was asking for it big time. But all of the composure I'd kept along my journey might as well have been thrown out of the window as soon as I caught sight of the lights.

After I scraped my hands up some, having lost the gloves I'd put on earlier in my hassle, I looked at my next obstacle. The pond stretched out in front of me defiantly. Beyond it lay our cabin, seated comfortably on our tiny island of safety. Mountains lingered in the distance where clouds never fully moved on, their snowy peaks always made my heart swell. The area was vast and open with little to no vegetation for miles besides the forest, and ultimately it looked like a crystallized wonderland. It was the type of scenery you could never fully grasp, not with human eyes, and it never failed to knock the breath out of you.

I hitched a ride in the tiny life saving boat, which threw off things in a bright highlighter orange. We had several of them. Dad always asked to keep them from the helicopters that shipped us in and out of town. It came to the point that they'd bring an extra one every time we road along, just for my Dad. "You never know" he'd say. After the day I'd been through, I didn't blame him. The boat drifted silently as I pedaled it with a long wooden paddle. I had to put extra muscle into it since the pond was starting to freeze over. Thin pieces of ice floated past, and I broke them with the long wooden shaft. Once across, there was nothing that could stop me from running straight through the burned fire wood, smothered to ash, over some of my father's working supplies, and into the cabin. I stopped at the door to gather myself up first, taking in a deep breath and brushing a few straggles out of my hair.

I wondered absently why he wasn't already yanking me through the door. The whole time I'd imagined him pacing back and forth in a black fury shrouded with worry, but evidently not. I hoped he had fallen asleep before he could realize how late I really was. I hoped so dearly. I stepped inside greeted by a familiar warmth that made me shudder impulsively. I immediately started dropping the layers of clothing, starting with the destroyed. If there was anyway I could cover up how bad it'd really been, I was going to. I wrapped my torn sweater up in my shredded coat, and relaxed in just my thermal T and tank top. The snow on my boots melted into the hard wood floor and squeaked when I took them off. That left my pants, soggy and probably adding a few extra pounds. I decided to not go overboard and left them on. Next, I quickly stashed them in the utility closet where I'd take them out later with the rest of our trash, that also got shipped by air on the weekends.

Have you ever spent the entire day out, and then came back home just to find your room messier than you remember leaving it? I hated that. Clothes were thrown all around and my bed was left sloppily unmade. I scurried around throwing things in their place. Dad would call it "half done", but if he'd seen it beforehand he would have called it "hell". I ran into the bathroom long enough to inspect my back. It wasn't just bad, it was really bad. Feverish red marks stretched all the way down to my waistline, and skin had literally been torn away in my shoulders. It looked like I'd plummeted a good fifty feet or so down the side of a mountain. It wasn't anything compared to my jaw though. I'd forgotten all about it because all of the coldness combined with adrenaline and fear. Everything hurt, so I wasn't going to give my jaw special attention. I should have, considering how it looked like half of it had been eaten off. I damped a washcloth and went to work. After that I could tell that most of it was just dry blood, but the cut was still considerably deep. My lip was also swollen. I couldn't do much about my back yet, not until I took a nice warm shower. So I threw on a comfortable sweater, some pajama pants, and brushed my teeth.

There were some dark circles under my eyes I could deal with, and I looked ghostly pale. I could never tell where my eye color ended and where my pupil began, I just had those kind of eyes. Black, although in bright lights you could catch a few speckles of brown. I scooped up all of my wavy mahogany hair up into a ponytail. I was going for primped and stumped. Not too beat up, not too good either. I hoped I looked the part.

I went back into the kitchen which caused for little to no effort. I liked that my room was stationed directly across from it, that and the entrance. I checked the fridge for beer count. Usually, Dad went through just one bottle per night. He could guzzle down a whole lot more, but only taking one trip to town every two weeks made rationing a must. There were still five full beers, which meant he hadn't drank a single one all day. I took that as a good sign, it meant at least he wasn't stressed, which left room for him being completely oblivious to my absence still.

I popped a vitamin C into my mouth, hoping it would brighten up my color just a bit, and then set out for his room.

I didn't quite make it there.

Compared to my room, I'd say the living room looked to be a hurricane, while my room could level with a severe thunder storm at most. It looked like Godzilla himself had torn through. Literally. Pieces of furniture had been torn apart. One of the coffee tables were thrown into a wall with so much force it apparently stuck there. The floor had been entirely lifted. The rug was turned over on its back and everything that once sat on top of it, the couch, the book shelf, dad's rock collection, CD's, the crystal fixtures, all either destroyed or lying brokenly.

I took a tentative step forward and a piece of glass crunched nosily underneath my sock. I yelped helplessly, hoping off of my leg and looking past the blood dripping out of my foot, and down towards what I'd stepped on. It was a picture of my Dad and I. In his hand he held a spear he'd carved himself. It looked like he was pressuring me into holding it as he tried to balance the camera out perfectly so he could get both of us in the shot. How he managed to hold a spear while taking a picture was lost to me.

I'm not sure why, but the picture sent reality down on me like a freight train. I sprung to life. I dodged the fallen broken furniture and straight for Dad's room. His room was like I'd last seen it. The bed was made, not a hair out of place. The air held a stillness I didn't like. It matched the frigid air outside and lacked the warm caress it usually gave me. Goosebumps rose all over my flesh, and panic truly began to set in. "Dad?" I choked. I felt like I'd choked on my own tongue. It just wasn't keeping up with the horrible thoughts going through my mind. Where was he? What happened to the living room? I imagined a bear storming through all tussles and no fear, and then ripping him apart. No. There would be blood, Dad could handle a bear anyway. I checked the bathroom, nothing. I checked his office, nothing. It left me standing in our destroyed living room again shaking and on the verge of losing control of myself. I needed to calm down, there was a rational explanation for all of it. I knew there was. The living room was like a huge billboard sign though, and it read "Are you stupid?" because only a stupid person would believe that everything was okay with a catastrophe sitting right in their living room. I wasn't stupid though, I was just stubborn.

I instinctively looked up at the clock on the wall, and realized with a hot flash that it'd been racked away from its usual spot as well. I had no idea what time it was, so I couldn't know if Dad had simply set out on his own to find me. I really only had one option left. I dashed for our only working phone, and hoped to god that I would be hearing good news on the other line.