Wake of the Dead | Three

Chapter Thirty-Seven | Killian

Killian swallowed hard when the gates were slammed shut for the last time that night. They'd wheeled something into the slaughter-room, which he'd quickly learned the other caged people around him called it. There was a sudden screech that pierced his ears, it echoed throughout the compound. It was high-pitched, definitely not human, but it didn't sound like any animal he'd ever heard before.

What the Hell was that? He thought. His muscles tensed, he pressed up against Raven closer than they already were. He'd realized within the past hour that even if he and Raven didn't want to feel one another's touch, they wouldn't have the option not to. The cage was small. "No, they brought the nightwalkers in." Raven said shakily.

"Nightwalkers...what are those?" I don't know what that is but it sounds pretty bad.

"There are stories that my grandmother told me. My family—I was visiting my uncle, but I live," Raven paused. "Lived in Canada. There was my grandparents, they are—were. I guess you would call them Indians but, that's not a very nice term for us." Raven muttered. "My dad didn't understand much, he wasn't a native, but on my mother's side I learned more from them."

Raven shuddered, "We aren't supposed to say their real name. They eat human flesh and they become these...these bloodthirsty beasts. They'll eat anything, anybody. Friends, family, children..." He continued shakily, "Some of the Carvers, they ate somebody they didn't know were infected. They don't look like nightwalkers but...it's what they are." Shit. That's...that's worse than what I was imagining. "Their bodies changed. They're these horrible things! And the sounds they make...they're not like the biters, they're not dead. They're smart. Like any other animal."

Another screech echoed through the warehouse. Killian widened his eyes, a scream left his lips as something—it definitely wasn't human—jumped onto their cage. Raven pressed against him, pushing them both to the center of the cage. "D-don't let it scratch you!" The younger man said. "I can't lose another friend like that..."

The creature was much taller than an average person, its skin was pulled taught against its bones. Killian could see its ribcage. Its limbs were long, unnaturally so, gangly—spider-esque. They moved fast. Like the faster biter back in the barn, its head twitched back and forth, like a bird. Listening, waiting. The nightwalker's eyes were glazed over and sightless, but its head twitched to listen to any minute sound, even the tapping of a raindrop he could barely hear—only because it was echoing from all the way across the warehouse.

It screeched, biting at the wire cage with crooked teeth. It could hear their breathing. "W-why do they let them in?" Killian hated how frightened he was.

"To clean whatever rotting meat or infected bodies is left after the week." Raven replied. His voice cracked as he continued, "They catch them the next day because they only hunt at night. They've set up a netted shelter they go into when the sun is out, it's like a big animal trap. If...if any of the people taking them away get scratched, the other Carvers shove them in the cage too."

As they kept talking, the monstrous beast began to claw at the metal, tearing at it with their teeth in an attempt to get at them. Killian shut his eyes tight and took in a deep breath, holding it. Raven followed his lead and did the same. If I make any sound it'll find us. It'll get us through the links. After a long time, the nightwalker growled and jumped away from the cage. Killian couldn't see anything in the dark when it disappeared into the shadows, only when they crept into the moonlight that filtered through a window at the top of the building did he see them.

If we talk more it'll come back. He thought. But what little story of Raven's life spurred curiosity in him. He wanted to know more. The worst thing he could to do was accidentally say something unsavory. Best thing I can do is ask later. He told himself. Killian barely resisted the scowl that threatened to tug at his lips. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he continued to think about his new friend, but not because of Raven himself, but of the things his father would have said about him. He'd call him the worst names possible and expect me to do the same. Even if I hate somebody I'd never say anything as awful as he used to.