One Deadly Night

Eleven

The child was as light as feather as Jon effortlessly pulled her up and out of the air pocket.

He set her down and quickly examined the young girl.

Other than a few bruises and minor lacerations, the only other concern was the color of her skin due to lack of oxygen.

"I have a small oxygen cylinder in my bag to help you get more air." Jon said as he gently removed snow that was caked into her long hair.

"Where is your grandfather, Mr. Benton?" He asked.

The girl turned her caramel eyes to him, and he noticed the jagged white scar on her forehead.

"D-dead." She replied hoarsely. "The bugs a-ate him!"

She then began to tug at his arm as if to try and move him away from the hole.

"They're coming!" She cried.

Confused, Jon studied the frantic girl.

"I don't follow – what do you mean by bugs eating your grandfather?"

**

Tears brimmed from her eyes as frustration filled her.

The man didn't understand.

Grandpa would have known exactly what she was trying to say.

Her hands were still on the man's arm as she yanked hard once more.

"We need to go!" She cried. "Now!"

Please, please let him understand so we can get away from here!

**

The girl kept looking back at the hole.

Jon could feel the urgency and fear coursing through the girl's hands.

He leaned closer to the hole, and noticed a sound was coming from it.

At first, the noise was faint – but then the hissing and clicking quickly grew louder.

"Okay, it's time to go!" He snatched the girl and ran to the edge of the mound and jumped.

The snow absorbed most of the weight of hitting the ground as he instinctively rolled to his back cushioning the girl from the full impact of the landing.

Jon grunted as he stood. He placed the girl on the ground and reached for his backpack.

His hand plunged inside and pulled out a small, reddish-colored gun.

"Okay, sweetie can you climb onto my back?" He asked, his face inches from hers.

Her eyes, wild as she nodded.

He crouched low, his back toward the girl.

It took her a few tries, but she managed to clamber on. Her arms lightly wrapped around his neck.

With the girl firmly on his back, his right hand armed with a flare gun, Jon stole a glimpse at the mound.

His head light swept across the top and glinted off a massive, moving horde of blackish bugs.

He cursed under his breath as he stared for a split moment at the ghastly sight.

These looked to be Dermestid beetles, but don't they only eat dead and decaying flesh?

And how the heck are they surviving in this cold?

The scurrying mass began dropping off the white edges to the ground in several separate large piles.

"Hang on!" Jon yelled as he turned and ran.

He wasn't going to stick around to see if these bugs were carnivores or not.

Instead of returning the way he originally came, Jon opted to find the actual trail that led to Beaumont Fall. Once on that, he'd then run away from the bugs rather than trek parallel to the avalanched area.

Unfortunately, the snow this way was just as deep as the other as he fought to stay upright.

It was slow going with each step he sunk in to just below his knee. The girl on his back was adding the extra weight further prohibiting him from quickening the pace in attempt to stay far enough ahead of the pursuing bugs.

He scolded himself for not sticking to his exercise routine – and for eating those pastries every morning.

Civilian life had softened him.

And for that they both may pay the ultimate price.