The Necronomicon

Chapter Six

The last few days had passed in a feverish dream. She had barely moved, only drinking from the river whenever she felt well enough to stand, and eating nothing but a few mint leaves. There was almost no point in eating — it all came back up again anyway. But sucking on the mint leaves relaxed her — and they made her taste something else other than her own vomit.

Meredith wondered whether she would die, but she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to yet. She switched between two different moods about it. Luckily, she had the cool mud to cover her, otherwise she would've died from the icy, blustery winds days ago. The water, of course, was there to assist her.

She had no medicine. Meredith knew that if Eleanor had been here, she would've been up and running ages ago. She couldn't help but sigh, remembering a simpler time.

Her every waking moment consisted of two emotions: either she was worrying, or feeling intense anger. She did fear death, despite wanting it to come and collect her raw and hollow soul at times — but she feared the rebels more. On occasion, when she felt a madness within her, she'd shout and scream to nobody at all, cursing The Elders for sending her here, and her alone, without anyone else to aid her, cursing the rebels, for causing the whole debacle, even cursing her poor stepmother for not helping her. Other times, she cried, and it was in those moments that Meredith was at her lowest. It was then that she prayed for death, or an end to her sickness. It seemed never—ending, and it was such a contrast to her spoilt, pretty life that she found it simply unbearable.

Meredith coughed vacantly, her chest heaving, and sighed wordlessly. If there is a God, he'll take pity on me. He'll kill me, right here, right now. Please let there be a God. Her words were sorrowful, pitiful, and selfish. She stared at the same leaves she'd been eyeing for days on end, her stomach wailing from the pure and constant emptiness it suffered. She'd eaten most of the mint leaves surrounding her, but there was a small cluster just by her head that she plucked, and chewed upon. She already knew that when she got out of this mess, and tasted mint, she would remember this moment.

As the hours ran by, she felt brighter. This was usual — the sunlight gave her a headache, so when it got nearer to dusk she felt calmer, more at peace.. It was at this time that her refrain changed. If there is a God, he'll help me. He'll give me the strength I need to survive and combat this. Please. Please let there be a God.

It was sunny today — a contrast to the rain yesterday. Or... was it two days ago? Meredith didn't know. She'd lost track of time. Today she felt better than the day before — sluggish, half—starved, weak. She raised herself up on her elbows, and nearly blacked out from the effort. Water. She needed water.

Meredith had finished her mint leaves by now, and she loved how the water tasted fresher when it collided with the mint's cool aftertaste. It woke her up more, and dispelled some of her more negative feelings. Struggling to move, she managed to sit up, and took a few deep breaths before edging slowly towards her only water supply. Thankfully, she hadn't touched the berries since the mere truckloads she'd eaten the day she fell ill, and every day her symptoms lightened, if slightly. Within a week, she knew she'd be able to stand without feeling woozy. But for now, Meredith resigned herself to crawling to the river's edge, avoiding rocks in her path. And even this was often a struggle — she'd have to lie down again afterwards for some hours, hardly able to breathe. After a few hours, she'd fall asleep from the exhaustion of keeping her eyes open.

Mud caked her entire body, and she refused to wash it off in the river. Despite her appreciation for cleanliness, she knew the mud was one of the only things keeping her alive — the only thing that warmed her through the bitter nights. It cloaked her like a duvet.

She also knew that she'd been incredibly lucky so far. Meredith hadn't stumbled upon any bears or other similarly wild animals. The worst that she'd seen was a rabbit with patchy fur, which had hopped off upon seeing her. For this she was very grateful. The most she'd be able to do if she were to encounter a wolf in her present state was blink at it, and what a fat lot of help that would be.

She'd only seen a wolf once before, and it was when she had been much younger. Since then The Elders had declared that the predatory animals had largely been eradicated, and only a handful remained. Meredith had never questioned how this had been done; nor had she ever really thought about it.

She was thinking about it now.

The wolf had been supple, with long, loose silvery hairs. It hadn't gone near her, but she'd pointed to it with a young, chubby finger, and her father had watched it creep through the forest undergrowth.

Meredith had witnessed them branding animals before, to keep them away from the town square. Perhaps The Elders had put the wolves through that too.

Somehow in the past few days — or maybe it had even been weeks, Meredith didn't know — she'd somehow lost one of her shoes. Perhaps it was deep in the undergrowth, or she'd accidentally kicked it into the stream. The point was, one of her most valuable possessions was gone. And, to be frank, at this point she didn't much care.

She would never admit it, but she now saw the practicality of Eleanor's shoes; the thick soles and durable leather. Her high heels were making her ankles sore, and they weren't easy to move in.

Meredith was still wearing her pale blue dress. She hadn't the strength to open up her knapsack and change — and anyway, she didn't know where she'd put the dress without it dirtying everything else in her bag. She swatted aimlessly at a fly buzzing around her shoulders, letting the cool water slip down her throat. It cleared her mind slightly, and she found it soothed her banging head. Once she had had her fill, Meredith sank back into a lying down position, and patted the mud closer to her. Weary from this, she closed her eyes — and instantly regretted it.

She needed the bathroom. Closing her eyes had made herself sink into a stupor, but she couldn't sleep without first relieving herself. With a half—hearted sigh, Meredith sat up and pushed herself across the thicket. She hated this most of all: finding the soil far away from where she lay by the river, but close enough so that she wouldn't collapse making her way back to her small patch of dirt.

It was an excruciating process, especially as she was beginning to tire, and her whole body was calling for her to sleep. Even her collarbone seemed to throb with pure fatigue, and Meredith forced herself to keep crawling. Wouldn't it be just perfect if the rebels sprung from nowhere and found her now?

This is your fault. That's what one of The Elders had said. But why? Did the rebels want her, for some reason? Even before she was given the book? Or did they only want to kill her? But then why give Meredith the book — that would just make her an even bigger target. Perhaps the rebels wanted her as their queen, or something along those lines. She'd rule them with her untainted beauty, and every day she would be gifted with a new dress.

She almost laughed out loud. As if.

Meredith had never spent a night in the woods before. She'd never gone camping, never done any family trips... at home, she'd mainly sat alone, or with suitors.

Her father was dead now.

Meredith began making her way back to her patch of dirt, her eyes closing, as heavy as if they were bowling balls. The sound of water rushing down the river calmed her, and it was not long before she fell fast asleep.