Wrong Side of the Coffin: A WIPpersnappers Anthology

White Nose, Orange Skies (Part 2/3)

(Continued from Part 2...)

Not just any corpse either; it was the same woman we'd seen last evening. From her crumpled up pup tent and backpack, spilled open to reveal a few cans of tuna, I guessed she had been forced to make camp here. Frank gingerly turned the body onto her back. A few of the fighters nearby mumbled oaths and grimaced.

She had deep bite marks on the left side of her neck.

"What did that?" one of the fighters whispered as I knelt in close. I felt the cold flesh on her neck. As I pressed down, two faint rivulets of blood trailed down from two holes in the side of her neck, but otherwise she seemed utterly bloodless. I gritted my teeth as I rose to my feet.

"We'll dig her a grave. She deserves a proper burial at least."

A few of the fighters had brought entrenching tools and folding shovels, and they soon set to work digging a hole for her by the blue spruce. I parcelled out the few things the traveller had in her backpack. The dead, after all, need nothing but peace.

All the while, I mused on the nature of her killing. Whoever had taken her down must have charged in at night, given the rips in her pup tent. She had no lantern, so it must have been pitch dark, and she'd clearly been taken by surprise.

And yet there was no blood... and the killer hadn't taken anything.

"We'll pull back to our lines for now," I announced as Frank tossed the last shovelful of dirt onto the traveller's body. The cool breeze brought an involuntary shiver as the branches creaked around us. Evening fell quickly up here, and the sun was setting just above the nearest peaks. I didn't much care for the idea of patrolling here overnight, but I had to admit that aside from a few extra tins of food this expedition had otherwise been a waste.

The temperature had dropped considerably by the time we approached our position on the ridge. I'd just been regretting my decision to leave my jacket behind when the thrum of an engine echoed from the slope below.

"Behind those rocks," I snapped, but the experienced fighters with me were already scrambling for cover. Frank dove down beside a solid pine tree, and I scrambled over next to him, my boots scattering loose rock and pine needles as I drew my revolver. I pressed against the dried bark, heedless of the sap already sticking to my shoulder.

From above the iron sights of my revolver, I could just make out an ATV rumbling along.

"Parley!" a shout echoed from the slopes below. "We're here to parley."

The ATV crawled closer, rolling over undergrowth and weaving through the forest. A white-robed man was driving it, though he wore a helmet, and the back of the ATV bore two flags: the Confederate battle flag and a white flag. Up until the past few days we hadn't had much run-ins with white supremacist bands, fortunately enough, though we'd tangled with more than our fair share of raiders. I couldn't say whether or not the white flag was meant to signal truce or whether they just liked the color. Either way, the man's hoarse shouting made his intent clear.

"Parley! Wizard wants to talk!"

"Wizard?"

I shared a bemused look with Frank. Still, there was little to consider. Forrest's Riders had paid a heavy price clawing their way uphill, but so had we, and to little benefit. Humanity was already hurtling its way to the grave. If I could delay it just a bit for my own little crew... hell, I'd give my own life for that, and not even think twice. So I started off, breaking cover and wiping away the sap on my arm.

"Wait a second, Chief. If they kill you—"

"Lisa will be in charge. You'll get by just fine." I attempted a chuckle. "Hell, you might be better off."