Chapter 43
Chapter 43
I dose a bit while the truck rumbles along. The brothers are a warm weight on either side of me. The sun is warm and the cool breeze through the open windows is a soothing blessing. I close my eyes and drift along.
Daryl passes me another croissant stuffed with chunks of roast chicken and hard cheese crumbles. I mumble a thanks, chewing the food without tasting it. If I was more awake I would joke about being fed like a baby bird but I'm too tired to care.
The truck slows to an easy stop and I have to blink away the too bright light to see. Merle shifts the truck into park and cuts off the engine. The others climb out of the truck and SUV behind us.
"Way I figure it, our folk are in trouble an us driving up to tha gate is plain dumb," Merle explains, opening his door and sliding out. "It's not much of a walk an I know yer tired but I figure this'll be safer."
I mutter my agreement, following Daryl when he climbs out. The others gather close and Merle explains the plan to them. The farm that Chris's team was working was one of the furthest out. It was a milk farm with a large stable and twelve acres. It's surrounded by older rural homes, a few small homestead, and a good sized patch of woods which is where we are now. The plan is to move through the woods and come up quietly along the side rather than aiming for the front gate. One of the werewolves can get us through the wall and we can then look for our people.
Daryl moves up beside me, the pack resting on his hip bulging somewhat. I can't help but smile, knowing that he's probably packed as much food in there as he can to help 're-energize' me. Merle takes lead while I stick close to Daryl, trusting the brothers to take charge.
The woods are thick and overgrown from neglect long before the civilization ended. The ground is marred by various burrows and bramble that we have to carefully navigate. There are wild clusters of lavender, st. John's wart, rosemary, and yarrow that spring up often throughout the underbrush.
As much as I don't want to stop, the herbs will come in handy. I tap Daryl's arm, speaking low, "We could use some of the herbs around here, especially the st John's wart and the yarrow."
He glances over to a patch of tall yarrow as we pass. Nodding, he falls back a step, turns and motions to the others to grab what they can as we move. We can't really afford to stop but even a few plants can be useful. I nod my thanks when he steps back beside me.
Small clearings pop up but even they are thick with tall grasses, shrubs, and fallen trees. I barely notice the antlers, a long twisted crown, rising from the tall grass like the branches of a deformed sapling off to our left. I dismiss is as a stag, indifferent to it beyond noticing it is there.
It's Merles shout of, "What tha Hell!?" That has me look again.
The antlers rise, long and twisting upward more than you would expect with a deer. A long narrow head rises up, followed by wide bony shoulders. It rises higher, and higher, and higher until it towers over twice my height. It's body is skeletal thin with rotten, moss covered flesh and elongated limbs.
It isn't a stag.
I have a moment to realize that this is a magical creature before instincts have my wand up and a shield bursting forth to dome over us all. The shield is still rippling into existence when the creature appears just outside of it. It's starved form towers over us, hollow sunken wounds where eyes should be seem to stare through us. It's face, bone white leathery fur, hovers just above me.
"A windego," Ebon whispers in horrified fascination.
It raises one hand. Nightmarishly long thin fingers tipped in sharp black talons glide over the surface of the shield. There is a shimmer in those black sockets so it must have eyes even if the darkness of it appears as if it is hollow. I try to hold it's gaze but looking so far up is making me dizzy. I look away, rolling my shoulders to relieve the tension and shifting my weight back on my heels. I'm just too tired to deal with this right now.
"We mean no harm," I speak, tilting my head back again to look at the hollow of the creatures eyes. "We are merely passing through."
"They're flesh eaters," Jacob says, shuffling closer before Merle pushes him back. He frowns, whispering again, "They're cannibals! They eat people!"
"Cannibal describes when a creature eats its own kind," I tell him, not bothering to look away from the watchful creature. "Windego are flesh eaters but they are also scavengers. They eat dead flesh, not the living. Not much different than thestrels, if you think about it."
"So how dangerous is it?" Merle asks, keeping his gun steadily aimed at the creatures chest.
I almost tell him that it's no more dangerous than a werewolf or a bear. I dont. Instead, I shrug because honestly, I don't know. What I do know is that I don't want to kill it just for existing. For all that it's hovering, it isn't acting threatening. My magic, so sensitive to danger, isn't really feeling threatened right now.
With a heavy sigh, I drop the shield. Merle curses, shifting his weight from foot to foot while the others also move restlessly. The creature doesn't move beyond tilting it's head down slightly. I motion for the others to move back. I can hear the movement so I know some obeyed but the brothers still stand on either side of me.
"I don't want to kill something when it's only crime is existing," I tell them. "We need to move on and I'm sure the windego would rather we leave."
It certainly seems to understand. It inclines it's head, only barely but it's enough. I step back and the brothers move with me. The creature stays still, watching us pace back several feet. Finally, I turn away, tapping the brothers arms to signal for us to move on. Between one blink and the next, the creature is gone.
"Ya sure tha was wise?" Merle asks softly.
"I don't want to kill a living being for no other reason than that it frightens me."
"We sure it ain't a threat to folk?" Daryl asks, equally softly.
I shrug, "It is likely as territorial as any being but it is smart enough to understand speech and seems capable of reasoning."
The werewolves are quiet but they all look uncomfortable. I ignore the awkward tension that settles among the group. It only takes a moment for the brothers to shrug it off. While I'm sire they are keeping watch in case the windego returns, our primary focus is the glint of metal ahead. The wall appears in bits and pieces through the trees and thick brush. Faded graffiti appear along the side of the container, becoming more visible as we move closer.
Merle throws out an arm to halt our approach. A quick motion gets everyone crouching down low. He gives a few more flicks of his wrist that Daryl and Caleb seem to recognize. Caleb is one of the younger wolves, short and stocky with thick brown hair and dark blue eyes. He's one of the quieter ones, often looking to the others for guidance.
Daryl removes his bag, setting it carefully beside me. The two break off from the group, crouching low and slipping carefully through the tall grass. Of the two, Daryl moves easier, causing less movement in the grass while Caleb moves quicker.
Merle turns, ducking his head and speaking softly, "Saw movement up top so they're gonna check first before we move forward."
It's only a few minutes before they return just as quietly as they left. Both stay low so we remain crouched as well. Daryl speaks first, "Watcher on tha wall, semi-auto in hand, soldier by tha looks of em."
"Another four containers down," Caleb adds quietly, "probably have them stationed at regular intervals."
Merle chews on his cheek thoughtfully, clearly weighing our options. His gaze flicks over to Daryl, questioning, "They look like soldiers or are soldiers."
"Soldiers," Daryl answers sharply, keeping his own gaze locked on the watcher slowly walking along the top of the container.
Merle let's out a heavy breath, "We may wanna cut our losses now cause this ain't gonna be pretty."
"We don't leave our people behind," I tell him, a slight reprimand in my tone.
He ducks his head, "They may already be dead."
I look over at Ebon, nodding to the wand holstered on his arm, "Can you check? A point me spell should work."
He casts the spell, a little louder than is safe. His wand spins on his palm slowly before pointing steadily towards the container. He casts again, giving another name. His wand spins to a slow stop to point in the same direction.
Merle motions everyone down. The guard is crouching on the container, looking around where we are but obviously not seeing us yet. After a few minutes of him glaring in our direction, he stands with a huff and goes back to walking along the length of the container.
"Alright, here's tha plan," Merle begins quietly.