David Golemon: Primeval

My belief that there is an intelligent presence in the woods, back beyond the safe glow of our campfires, is persistent and disturbing. I believe myself a brave man, but I am quickly becoming unnerved by an element I do not understand. Annie, as I have come to call the girl, and I have spoken of the strangeness that surrounds us, and we both agree that a feeling of "knowing" has entered our thoughts, even our dreams. Knowing that whatever is out there, has been there for our collective memories to conjure in our waking lives. It's as if we have lived this journey a million years ago, a retained and collective memory of danger in the night suffered by our ancestor. How the men in camp feel about this theory will go unasked, as we have had yet another two men vanish from guard duty the last two nights. With the Stikine River to our south and the woods surrounding us on all sides, we feel trapped. Game has vanished as we hear and see them running in the daytime hours, always in the same direction — away from the river and woods, and always away from our guns.

Finally, the men have started talking about the dark and almost impenetrable forest, and what it is that constantly surrounds our camp at night. The sickening boy has heard the tales the men tell, and is now not sleeping when the miserable and weak sun goes down beyond the mountains, making him weaker each morning than the day before. In all honesty, I find sleep just as elusive and I fear whatever hunts us is coming soon.

The large colonel checked the loads in his pistol, and then closed the hinged breech, snapping the barrel into place, and then he placed it in his heavy coat. He then walked over to the fire and knelt beside the boy. He lifted a hand and felt Alexei's forehead. He smiled as he pulled his hand away, and then pulled the woollen blanket closer to the boy's chin.

"Well, the fever has calmed; you just may make it," Petrov said in a low voice, looking from the dull eyes of Alexei to the sad eyes of Anastasia. He stood and walked toward the girl who had become a woman in the short time away from her parents.

Anastasia watched, making sure her brother could not hear, and then turned to the tall man beside her.

"Colonel, my brother is ill; he shall not recover. We need not be told things that are mere flights of fancy because it eases your mind to do so. I am afraid we left our childhoods back at a dreary farmhouse in Russia."

The princess looked around her and saw the stark white faces of the emaciated men that leaned against the broken wagons and fallen snow-covered trees. They were down to thirty-four men and they were starving. Anastasia remembered the horrible stories of the dark and forbidden woods read to her at bedtime, with the absolute worst, Hansel and Gretel, never far from her mind as she looked at the brutal, soulless men watching them.

"No, he shall not die. I believe he is of stronger blood than you know, young one."

"Once more, Colonel Petrov, he is sick. He is a hemophiliac and is prone to infection. The finest doctors in the world from France, England, and America have treated my brother, and declared it so. He also has developed pneumonia." She looked at the men surrounding the large fire again, placed the coat's collar up around her neck, and held her small, delicate hands out toward the warm fire. She turned her head slightly toward the colonel, framing her beautiful face in the firelight, and then she looked into the blue eyes of the Bolshevik. "It would be best for us, I think, if you would place a bullet into both of our heads. We are brave, like my mother, my father, and my sisters. The fate of the bullet is far more merciful than the fate those men will have for us. It would be a kindness, Colonel."

Petrov swallowed.

"You are far beyond your years for one so—." He caught himself patronizing the girl and knew she would call him on it. "Your imagination is running wild. You will feel better with a hot meal in your stomach."

"We wish to join our mama and papa. We do not fear the reunion, only the manner in which we begin our journey."

"Anastasia, such talk will do no one any good."

The girl ignored the colonel and leaned over the crown prince. When his dark eyes fluttered open, he tried to smile at his sister.

"Papa — he would have been very proud of you," he whispered in his weakened voice. "So tough a girl."

"No, it would be his pride and joy that shone brightly in his eyes. You, Alexei, were his and Mama's entire lives. Why, they would have been so—"

"Colonel, we have come for the children."

Petrov looked up into the face of Geroden — the sergeant — the very guard who had been left behind by Petrov, and the only one in their lost expedition to have actually taken part in the elimination of the Romanovs.

Colonel Petrov raised his left brow and stood. His knee-high boots cracked with cold and stiffness. He smiled as he placed his hat on his head, and then squared it up as if getting ready for an inspection.

"Is that so, Comrade?"

"Yes," answered Geroden. The smaller man then looked away from the children, took Petrov by the elbow, and steered him away from the fire and their young ears. "I have convinced the men that you are not to blame for our… situation. I was able to sway them to the idea that the Romanov children have cursed us, making us lose our way." He smiled, showing the four gold teeth in the front of his mouth.

"You know I am originally from the aristocracy myself, so why am I accorded such lenient treatment, Comrade?"

"Because, Iosovich Petrov, you left your family for the ideals of the revolution, just as we."

Petrov laughed loud and heartily — strong, as if he had had a large meal just that evening and was feeling its strength, like a horse full of wild oats.

"The ideals of the revolution… Is that how you and those fools are justifying your avaricious actions of the past months — for the revolution?"

"Comrade, all we want is the children. There is no need for you to—"

"Hypocrites! All of you, hypocrites! You betrayed your revolutionary ideals the moment you heard this plan and did not report it," he said, but ceased his maniacal grin. "Just as I did," he finished with distaste.

The smaller Geroden sneered and gestured behind him. Ten men started forward toward the children. Anastasia placed her hand on the chest of Alexei and closed her eyes in prayer.

Petrov never hesitated as he removed the pistol from his holster and emptied it into the approaching men. Five of the ten dropped into the powdery snow and the others dove to the ground behind the high wall of flames of the campfire. On the first click of the empty chamber, Petrov swung the pistol wildly at the stunned Geroden, striking him cleanly in the face and dropping him. Then he quickly grabbed up the boy and ran into the thick forest, quickly followed by the fast-thinking Anastasia.

Three men rushed forward to assist the bleeding Geroden to his feet. He angrily shoved them away, and spat blood and two of his gold teeth into the freezing snow.

"After them!"

Eight men broke away from the camp and spread out into the thick, ancient forest. The men remaining grabbed their bolt-action rifles and long knives, and went in the opposite direction as the first group. They knew Petrov was a master of deception and a skilled soldier, thus they thought he would try and work his way back to the last four mules and try to make his escape.

Geroden drew his pistol from its holster and angrily pushed away the men who had tried to help him. Then he gestured angrily in the direction where the colonel had vanished. As the three men reached the first line of thick trees, the clacking of wood started once more. Geroden stopped and listened. The noise was far louder than any previous night. As he listened, the cold wind picked up in intensity, but it wasn't the wind that forced a chill to run down his spine; it was the closeness of the strange knocking.