The Last Caress

[Madeline Merri]

Their footfalls crashed noisily through the autumn leaves. There was a time only heartbeats old that they would worry about such things, but for now all that concerned the two was how fast their footfalls could carry them away, hidden hopelessly by the pitch of the night. The first set of footfalls belonged to a young man, his clothing soaked through with sweat, mud and the lingering splashes of gore from earlier in the night. Stumbling beside him was his woman. Her dress had been torn and ravaged, and though both of them breathed heavily in the escape, the air came into her lungs desperately, and came out with a bloody, ragged sound of despair. They moved this way through the forest, following a path that grew thinner and harder to see as they rounded each knot of hills in the wooded halls of Ostermark.

The pace was too much for the young woman, who's footing began to fail, her shins scraping on the ground, fingers clutching to her man's arm to keep herself steadied. The man continued to pull her along with his left hand, despite her pleas to give a moment's rest. In the other, he clutched at the pistol almost as urgently, if not more so. His eyes caught the flash of a lantern, one of the many waystations that dotted the vast roads that split the woodland. There would be help, there would be a watchman, maybe one that could treat her wounds.

He carried her the rest of the way, feet slipping in the rotting leaves and mud. As they closed in on the waystation, which was little more than a booth with a lantern, his stomach sunk to see there was nobody manning the road. The station itself was barely more than a closet, but he still held hope that it was at least stocked with something of use. With as ginger a motion as his quivering arms could muster, he laid the woman down against the little wall beneath the lantern-post, shedding some light on her wounds. Through the white linen, her blood seeped through at the stomach and at the base of her neck, ragged indentations and claw marks connecting the two large stains like a grim treasure map. He looked into her eyes, they were stringed red and rimmed dark, skin paled by the terror of the night, and of the gruesome attack. Urgently, he stood to rifle through the contents of the shack.

In a moment he crouched before her, dropping two large glass bottles softly into the foliage beside them. He attended to her wounds with the harsh alcohol, yet when poured on the grievous wounds, she didn't flinch in the least. Her eyes looked into the darkness as her breaths began to slow, a calm that unsettled the man into thinking she was beyond aid. At the moment when he thought she was to expire, her face turned thoughtful, lips opening against the cling of blood on her lips.

"Where are we going to go?" Her eyes looked to him, he met them with his own as he tried to focus on the task at hand.
"If I am right, we are on the high road to Talabecland. We only need to run this road a little longer, find someone to help us."
"I am not running, not like this," Tears began to gather at the corners of her eyes, streaming and mixing down into the blood and mire. "-you must leave me here, and raise the alarm for everyone still back in the village.."

He tucked the end of the bandage into itself, already the wounds had began to bleed through the fabric. He reached for the second bottle next to the alcohol, filled with a pungent and altogether medicinal vodka. He proferred the bottle to her lips, and she sputtered down more than a few swallows. Her head lolled back exhaustedly against the wooden shack with a dried, dull 'thunk'. He himself partook in a few mouthfuls, before shifting to hold her, embracing her as she leaned back against him. Her breaths were slowing, and her words found strength that dwindled further with each word.

"Anton, you must go, this is my last wish, please."

He ignored her, holding her close. Wordlessly, she realized that he would not leave her. The comfort of it drew her to lay comfortably, head in his lap, eyes looking up and past him through the canopy of the Great Forest, to the stars set deep in the sky. They sat there like this for some time, the soft humming of the young man warbling slightly as he could see his wife dying in his arms. She breathed out barely more than a whisper.

"I was never one for the autumn, Anton, you knew this. The men are bullish, in the mood for the harvest. They walk around with nothing but the task of gathering food for the winter on their minds. It is hard for a woman to handle living in such times."
"I apologize, my love, I wish nothing but to stay with you now, forever."
"It was never a problem, I could always count on you to stay normal. It is why I chose to marry you in the first place. It is a fond memory of mine, waiting in the doorway of the house, watching you take that long walk up the road. You were always... so concerned on keeping a gruff face in the fields with the other men. But.. you could never hold back that smile, just as you reached the doorstep."
He could do nothing but smile, tears rolling down his cheeks as he watched her slowly slip.
"I can almost hear the fall wind, pushing the leaves through the trees, I wish I could feel it on my face though.."

He sat for a moment, thinking on her words. But there was no wind, not even a breeze. The air was still, it was a rarity for the wind to blow in the great forest. Yet still the rustling grew around them, not a single leaf blew into sight of the lanterns. The young man did not realize the body in his lap had gone limp, his eyes fixated at the weak and oppressed light of the lantern above them. The trees flickered with the cast light, until one by one, forms of the limping and shambling pursuers were picking through the treeline. The stench of death swelled and filled the sweet autumn air and turned it to bile in the back of his throat. With each clumsy step, they came more completely into the light, a ring of more than ten hands worth of the walking dead, skin peeling off their face, fresh from the fires in their village.

"Anton..."

The man looked down to his wife, her eyes clinging to every last shred of life before they rolled and swirled into a milky white, the same bare, rictus expression wore on each of the undead now surrounding them. His thumb rolled the hammer back on his pistol, and he levelled it towards the wall of dead flesh, holding it there as his sweat-coated lip quivered with the rush of emotions. He stayed like this for a few more moments, until the soft whimper of his wife drew his eyes down. Her expression showed her fight was lost. The girl with the pixie-ish charm, freckles rolling across her cheeks, she was almost gone. With a shuddering exhale of resignment, he slowly lowered the pistol to rest the flared barrel against the woman's forehead, almost stroking her once immaculate skin with the forged steel. It would be a shame to waste the last shot on a lost cause. He answered his own internal question, 'This is what love is for us now.' His finger pulled the trigger back with a hollowed blast that rang through the woods, signalling the end of the village of Karkafen.

-Maddo

[DarkTyrany22]

A very heart wrenching story, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

It was a bit awkward at parts, but it's a beautifully written short story. You reveal a lot about the characters in such a short space, while still keeping it detailed, intriguing, and a bit suspenseful.

[Madeline Merri]

Yeah, I've always been an advocate of stream of consciousness writing. I just re-read it this morning and I can see a few awkward parts to it. I might go back and clean them up, I might not. I really just wanted to tell a zombie story without some necromancer coming around and talking all cryptic and badass. Sometimes the villain needs to be faceless, and the face they show is reflected in their victims.

-Maddo

[Toran]

Awwwwwww
Well written, a perfect tragedy

[Si'anelle of Avelorn]

Thankyou Madeline, I always enjoy reading your stories.

Well written, with words alone you paint the most vivid pictures.