James Moore - SNAFU - Hunters

The falling night was still, the only sounds the wind and his heart hammering in his chest. He waited, sweat trickling down his spine despite the cold, and hoped they would hurry.

A twig snapped off to his right.

He turned, hoping to see Crispus coming to fetch him, but saw only snow and barren trees. Something waited in those trees. He wasn’t certain how he knew but he did. It waited, watching him with sinister hunger, and he thought he should run. But he couldn’t.

Wind shook the thin, gray limbs of the trees and then he saw it. It was tall but hunched over, head cocked to one side, stick-like arms brushing the ground. It seemed brittle from here, hidden perfectly among dead trees that looked so much like itself, and he again knew he should run.

It stepped from his view and he was again afraid to move.

Maybe it didn’t see me . He pressed against the tree and closed his eyes and prayed it would pass him by.

A sickly sweet smell hit him, faint but unmistakable. It was the smell of carrion left to rot.

Snow crunched a few feet from him and this time he did run, turning so quickly he tripped on a low lying branch, tumbling over it. His face smashed into another limb, stars exploding behind his eyes, and he rolled onto his side, the strap of a saddlebag catching on a bulbous knot. Panic flooding through him, he fought to a crouch and almost cried when he realized he was in a gnarled tangle of limbs and dry brush. Something hot ran down his face, stinging his eye, and he wiped it away, certain it was blood.

The thing paced around him, its quick changes of direction suggesting irritation.

Why aren’t I dead already?

Ducking its head low, Silanus caught sight of its face and cried out. Its sockets were empty – gaping holes as dark as graves. The skin was black and leathery, the mouth a jagged maw of blood-stained stones. It pulled away and scrambled to the other side of the tree on all fours.

A hand shot between two branches, long talons scraping through the snow-dusted earth as it reached for his foot. He kicked the hand and it jerked up just enough to scratch its thin forearm on a twig.

The scream that erupted was loud enough to send pain radiating through Silanus’s head. He covered his ears until the shrieking faded into the forest.

Another hand grabbed at him and he kicked it furiously.

“Boy,” Antonius said. “It’s us.”

He scrambled from the tangle, shoving the saddlebags off rather than fight with the straps, and fell to the snow. The Roman soldiers surrounded him, swords drawn, staring off into the night.

Marcellus took a knee and asked him what happened. He related his ordeal, ashamed at how the panic made his voice sound as high-pitched as a child’s. When he’d finished, the Decanus stared at the tree for a long while.

“I think you’ve found what we’ve been looking for,” Marcellus said as he stood.

“I saw an axe in the shed.” Crispus took off across the farm.

“I don’t understand,” Silanus said.

The Decanus grabbed a branch and shook it. Snow fell from it in clumps. “What tree is this?”

Standing, Silanus wracked his brain to identify it. When he did he couldn’t help but laugh. “Yew.”

Marcellus woke him at dawn. Silanus followed to the shed where they had stored the bodies. The children had been the worst and he had emptied his stomach when they were carried from the house.

“Our time for watch, sir?”

“Lepidus and Gaius still have half an hour or so,” the Decanus said.

They had used the blankets in the house to cover the family. The four bodies were pressed together on the floor, their shapes visible under the cloth. The little girl’s hand had slipped from beneath and lay pale against the dark earthen floor.

“What will we do with them?”

“Burn them,” the commander said. “But not yet.” He scratched his chin and the white stubble that had grown there. “I’m going to ask you something and I want the truth from you. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He glanced at the bodies and then back to Silanus. “The legionaries that were with you. They weren’t on leave, were they?”

His throat went dry; he tried to swallow, but it was difficult. “They were.”

Marcellus’s gaze was intense.

Silanus looked away. “No. No, they weren’t.”

“Why were they in that village?”

“To retrieve me.”

“You’re a deserter?”

He nodded and thought he was going to be sick. “When my father died, he left me to the legion. Wanted me to be a soldier like him. My mother had died in childbirth and we had no other family. The cook they placed me with, he… Well, he tried to do things with me. And so I ran. Those soldiers had been sent to drag me back. And now they’re dead because of me.”

“Yes. They are.” Marcellus leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

“What will you do with me, sir?”

“The punishment for desertion is crucifixion.”

Silanus lowered his head and nodded. After everything he had been through, it seemed wrong he would die this way. His knees trembled and he thought he might fall, but he didn’t. That was something, he supposed.

“I said I knew your father,” Marcellus said. “What I didn’t tell you was that we served together in Spain. He saved my life a dozen times over and I saved his nearly as many.”

Silanus looked up, hope suddenly within his reach.

“When we have killed this thing, you will take a day’s worth of rations and go into the wilderness. You may live out your life there. You may even marry some barbarian girl and have children. But if you ever set foot in a Roman settlement again, you will be crucified. Is that understood?”

Hope faded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now go wake Crito and the two of you get started carving up the lumber we brought in.”

Dark clouds hid the moon and only the torches they had placed around the farm’s perimeter provided any light. They danced in the wind and Silanus thought for certain they’d blow out, but each one held. He was stationed inside the house, the door open and snow gathering on the floor. Pieces of yew had been carved into rough weapons, one end pointed and the other hacked into a grip – Silanus held tight to his. Marcellus had insisted he sit there in the dark; am I some kind of bait? If so, the position wasn’t undeserved.

The house creaked against the wind. Or was that Lepidus and Crispus shifting their weight on the roof, faces painted black with soot? He wasn’t sure.

The other soldiers were out there somewhere in whatever positions Marcellus had placed them. If he had to guess, he’d say there were two more men atop the shed. As to the other four, he couldn’t imagine where they might be hiding.

A tickle in his groin told him he would need to empty his bladder soon. Would the Decanus be angry if he stepped outside to do so? He could just go in here, he supposed. It’s not like anyone would be living in this room anytime soon.

One of the torches winked out.

Silanus blinked. Rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t been mistaken. Must have been the wind . The only light now visible was the orange flickering onto the snow from the next torch over.

That, too, went dark.

He crept to the door, fear flooding him as, one by one, the torches died.

Then he saw it.

A dozen yards away. Little more than shadow. It stood tall and stretched its arms high. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought it a tree.

It vanished.

It was coming for him. He had hurt it and it came to pull his lungs from his back and drink his blood.

Knowing he shouldn’t but not caring, he slammed the door and ran to the corner of the house. Piss streamed down his leg as he pressed his back to the wall and gripped the yew tight. He trembled in complete darkness for several minutes, waiting for a thud against the door or a scratching on the walls. How disappointed his father would have been.