My daddy saw great horrors during the Brothers’ War. Soldiers with their heads blown off. Men crawling on their bellies, on account of their missing legs. Horses dragging dead riders across battlefields. Rows of bodies with no linen to cover them.
But the war’s greatest horror, no one saw for years.
I’m watching it now from an outcrop, on my stomach, hair whipping round my face, staring down the barrel of my rifle at a man, about sixty-five, with scraggly graying hair, clothes frayed close to nothing. He’s old for a man. Most don’t make it past fifty-five at most.
We’ve been tracking him for a day, Tuva and me, and finally found fresh tracks this afternoon. She went into the valley, and I climbed the rocks to get a good view, and also to let the wind carry away my scent. Didn’t take long for him to shamble out of the trees, straight to where Tuva relieved herself earlier.
He gets on all fours and sniffs at the damp dirt. He looks round at the forest, then crawls to the river for a drink. Mouth straight to the water, like an animal.
He’s about two hundred yards away. At this range, my chances for a headshot are just about zero. He’d run away before I had time to shoot again. I want none of that mess, tracking an injured man all night. What I need is a mercy kill. Straight to the brain, no suffering. And straight home for me and Tuva.
I don’t rightly know where she is or why she hasn’t taken a shot. The man’s still drinking. They get real thirsty as they get older and forget to take care of themselves. Forget who they are. All they know at this point is eat meat.
Human meat.
Muggy air squeezes my face. I wipe sweat out of my eyes, and my stomach growls. I have two of Salara’s rolls, but I don’t dare move, not even an inch. He’s gotta come closer.
He jerks to attention, then lunges. A rabbit scurries from under him, takes off down the river bank, and the man follows. Shit. I jump to my feet and retrain my aim. He’s running like the devil on Sunday. I’m gonna lose him.
“Over here!” Wind beats at my face, but it carries my voice. “Over here, you lousy mutt!”
The man turns and bang!, Tuva’s gun goes off. The man collapses like a ragdoll.
By the time I clamber down, Tuva’s already rummaged through his pockets. He’s missing three fingers. Musta chewed them off. His madness was real bad.
Tuva grunts as she throws tiny black pellets into the river. Devil’s trumpet seeds. “Why do we give them these? They never eat them.”
“They deserve the option.”
He’s lying face down. I could kick him to roll him over, but it don’t seem right, so I crouch to reach him.
“It ain’t him, Nellie.” Tuva’s voice is gentle.
I gotta see. Holding my breath, I pull him over. He’s real tall, but he’s so damn skinny he rolls faster than I woulda thought and he lands on my feet. The face staring up at me ain’t familiar.
My breath comes out long and slow.
Not my daddy.
There’s two holes on his head, one on each temple. The left side has the messy exit wound, and the entry wound on the right is clean and round. Straight to the brain.
Tuva hmphs proudly. She’s got that satisfied smile on her face.
I shove him off my boots and stand, dusting my hands off. “You shouldn’t smile.” I say it every time, but I can’t help it. “A man’s a man.”
“I know you got pride in a clean shot. Besides.” She toes the body. “This ain’t no man. Hasn’t been for years.” She slings her rifle over her shoulder. “Let’s get home. Salara’s waiting for you.”
I whisper a quick thank you to the man. Whoever he was, someone loved him, still loves him I reckon, and he helped his town back when he was younger. Then I rush after Tuva, who’s already in the forest.
The trees stretch toward heaven like the tower of Babel, and the underbrush is thick as pitch. A breeze makes the bushes wave like the woods, welcoming me. The leaves rustle like they’re talking like they’re saying Salara. Her sweet name is soft enough to fly through branches as the wind circles round me, making me think of her embrace, waiting for me in town. I quicken my pace.
###
The man was heading toward town, so it’s only a half day’s walk. We shoot a rabbit on the way, which makes my mouth water. Tuva tells stories of my mama, when they used to hunt together before a man killed her. These are the good kind of stories; fox dens full of kits, sunsets over Bald Knob mountain, devil’s trumpet flowers opening at twilight. When we reach the town, she’s telling me about my mama’s first kill. Mama shot a man while he was taking a piss, got him in the shoulder on account of she was so young, and the man peed all down his pants while he ran away.
We’re laughing so hard tears are rolling down our cheeks when Tuva unlocks the gate. The next huntress, Myra, is sitting on the stump inside, waiting for us. She’s about ten years older than me, with dark skin and a permanent smirk.
She jumps to her feet and puts her pack on. “Any luck?”
“Got one,” Tuva says.
“Good.” Myra jogs into the woods.
Tuva watches her disappear and locks the gate. Still laughing, we head down the path to town. As soon as we reach the first building, I see Salara. She runs and throws her arms round me. I long to lose myself in her willow-thin body and fawn-soft skin, but that’s gotta wait ‘til tonight. Bless whatever might be holy, her hair smells so good, like bread and muffins and sweet rolls. Baking’s expensive, seeing as honey and sugar are hard to get, but she does it whenever I go hunting. Treats for me when I return and a way to keep her busy ‘til then.
“How’d it go?” Her voice is real quiet.
“We found a man.”
“Killed him?”
“We got him, all right.” Tuva straightens her shoulders. Her hair’s almost all white now, but she’s stronger than any man her age.
Salara shakes her head. “And you’re laughing?” Her disappointment hits like a shot of whiskey.
Tuva shrugs. “Gotta pass the time somehow.”
“Salara’s right,” I say.
Tuva grunts and pushes past us.
I can feel Salara holding in her words, holding in her feelings as my grandmom walks away. She turns to me. “You cut your cheek.” She touches it, and I wince.
“Didn’t even know it was there ‘til you poked it.” But I smile.
She takes my hand. “Course you didn’t.” She tugs me along, headed for home, and suddenly, my body sags with exhaustion. It never hits me ‘til I’m safe with Salara again. Out in the wild, I feel alive. In here I do too, but a different kind. The sweet kind, with Salara in my arms at night and nothing to worry about except planting and harvesting.
Outside the town walls, life’s about what could hurt me. What could eat me. A bear. A puma. A man. Them’s the most likely, the most dangerous, especially men around fifty, young enough to remember civilization but old enough to crave my flesh. Only piece of humanity I got out there is the rolls Salara makes me. And Tuva, though she’s wild as the mountains ever since Mama died.
The town’s bustling like festival day, except the mood ain’t right. Everyone’s running errands, but no one’s smiling.
“Who is it?” I ask Salara.
“Clayton Cooper.”
The doctor’s husband. Clayton is quiet, but I seen him reading in the parlor or playing with their kids outside.
“I didn’t realize he’s that old.”
“Forty ain’t old, Nellie.”
Sure feels like it. In town, there ain’t no men with more than a few wrinkles or gray hairs. In the forest, they got hunched backs, gaunt eyes, sun-spotted arms. Wild men look ancient. A forty-year-old man feels ancient.
That afternoon the town gathers on the green. In front of town hall, Clayton stands with Lydia and their six children. The four youngest kids—two boys, two girls—all cry as they cling to him, but the two oldest boys’ faces are dull as winter grass.
Poor Lydia. Loves a man, and has four sons. No way I could handle that. I wrap my arms round Salara’s waist and hold her tight. She’s already tearing up, so I kiss her cheek.
Mayor Lewis walks out of the building, holding a bag in one hand and a revolver in the other.
“Clayton Cooper.” Her strong voice is accompanied by the buzz of locusts. “You’ve served our community well, and we’re grateful for that. You been a good husband to Dr. Cooper and a loving father to your children.”
Murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd.
“Today is your fortieth birthday.” Mayor Lewis holds up the two items. “Which do you choose?”
“I’ll—” Clayton clears his throat. “I’ll take my chances outside.”
The mayor hands him the bag. “Devil’s trumpet seeds. Your shortcut to heaven.” She turns to the crowd. “Mr. Cooper has ‘til midnight with his family, then anyone may accompany him to the gates.”
Me and Salara won’t go. There’s too good a chance I’ll see him on the outside one day. Hopefully in a few years, but not too many. I hate to see them when they’ve completely lost themselves.
Tuva’s waiting at our house when Salara and I get home.
“Hope it’s okay, but I made supper,” she says.
Salara smiles. “You’re always welcome in my kitchen, Tuva.”
Turns out Tuva’s already set the table, too. The rabbit we caught earlier sits on a platter with roasted carrots, onions, and potatoes. There’s a covered bowl filled with Salara’s rolls, and I spy a cake under a glass on the stove. That one’s from Salara. Tuva don’t care about cooking sweets, only eating them.
My stomach growls loudly.
Salara laughs and pokes it. “I gotta send more rolls with you. I swear you get skinnier every time you come home.”
Tuva claps her hands. “Let’s eat.”
We stuff ourselves with the rich food. I feel a little queasy after a week of rolls, hardtack, and jerky, but it’s a good kind of queasy, the kind that means you ain’t starving.
That don’t mean I protest when Salara brings the chocolate cake to the table. A real delicacy. She serves Tuva and me each a slice.
“How much did this cost?” I ask.
“Don’t matter much.” She smiles as she pulls her plate over. “It came all the way from Maryland.”
Huntresses are paid better than anyone except the mayor, maybe even her, but chocolate is a downright luxury.
Tuva takes a bite and mmms. “What’d old Clayton choose?”
“Forest,” I say.
Salara picks at her cake.
Tuva twists her mouth. “Don’t know why we give them a choice. We should just shoot them once they hit forty.”
Salara folds her hands in her lap.
I fix my grandmom with a hard stare. “Tuva.”
“Those townspeople are too squeamish to rightly consider it. I could do it. I could stare a man in the eyes.” Tuva forms her hand into the shape of a gun and stares down her finger like it’s a barrel. “Bang. Easy. I done it before.”
That was the man who’d killed my mama. Tuva hunted him for three days, then shot him from three feet. Ain’t no way to miss at that range, even with a revolver.
“Tuva, please.”
“It’s the safest thing. That way they ain’t got no way to hurt anyone. It’d be a mercy kill every time, too.”
Salara slams her fork on her plate. “Stop it, Tuva, just stop! We shouldn’t shoot any of them! They’re men!”
“They’re animals!”
“Because they only think about meat? Because they only think about killing? How’s that different from you?”
Outside, the locusts buzz. I don’t move.
Tuva plants her gnarled hands on the table and stands up. “How’s that different than me?” She talks real slow, anger and disbelief in her voice. “If it weren’t for me and Nellie and the other huntresses, this town wouldn’t be standing. That wall out there, big as it is, would be useless. You townsfolk get peace because risk our lives every day.”
The screen door slams behind her.
Salara rubs at her eyes, then starts clearing the table. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve lost my head.”
I take the plates from her. “You were just speaking your heart. Nothing wrong with that.”
We clean up dinner. A breeze blows through the open windows and swirls her hair. It always seems to find her, the wind. She’s like air made into a person. She even sways as she washes the dishes, like a mother holding a baby.
After, I lead her outside. Twilight paints everything blue and melancholy. I point at the flowers lining the porch. “The devil’s trumpet is about to bloom.”
We stand there, arms round each other’s waists, as the white flowers slowly unfurl. I take her soft cheeks in my calloused hands and kiss her. Tension melts from her body like butter on hot bread, and we go to our bedroom. Like the delicate blossoms outside, she’s slow to open, but when she does there’s healing. She falls asleep in my arms, but all I can see is Clayton Cooper walking to the town gate with his family, and Tuva making a finger gun.
Bang!
###
I get three weeks at home before a hunt, and they always pass by too fast. Tuva and Salara don’t apologize, but they manage to stay in the same room when Tuva visits. For my sake. They’re the only two people I care about anymore. Mama died when I was so young, and daddy’s fortieth birthday was ten years ago, before I started bleeding. I still miss him.
I pray every day someone else will find him. My prayer may never be answered, but I like sending that hope into the world.
Maybe if daddy hadn’t fought in the war, he wouldn’t’ve gotten the madness, but there ain’t no way of knowing. Rumor says some men who were already old escaped it, but we ain’t seen that here in West Virginia. It don’t matter what side they fought on. Union or Secessionists. Come their late forties, fifties if they’re real lucky, they slowly lose their minds and crave human meat.
It was bad when I was little when we were still learning about it. We’d hear the wild ones moaning at the town walls, though they weren’t smart enough to climb, thank the Lord. Then, huntresses started going out. My mama and Tuva signed up right away, while Daddy would hug me and tell me everything was all right. When I turned ten, I learned to hunt. Family business and all. It’s an important job, even if I wish we could just let them be once they’re gone.
I cherish my time with Salara, working our garden, helping at the farms and orchards, watching kids play on the green. She watches them differently, with a sad look on her face. We ain’t having children. Tuva had eight kids, seven boys, and one girl, and lost all of them to the madness one way or another. She even shot two of her own boys, which I only know from the other huntresses.
One early morning, Tuva wakes me up by banging on our door. She pushes her way into our bedroom, and me and Salara snap upright.
“Myra ain’t come back yet.” Tuva starts packing my bag. “Eloise’s been waiting at the gate since yesterday, and finally sent word. We gotta find her.”
“Shit.” I jump out of bed and run to the back room to load my guns. Maybe Myra got lost. Maybe a bear got her leg. But please, no man. Tuva’s real tense, even angry, as she helps me. Salara watches us from the door. Fear and sadness form a line between her brows and drag her shoulders down.
Once I have my things, I kiss her. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I don’t have no rolls for you.”
I squeeze her hand. “I promise I won’t waste away.”
Tuva’s already down the front steps. I rush to follow her.
“Nellie!” Salara calls from the porch. “I love you.”
I turn back but keep walking. “And I love you. Forever and ever.”
The other huntresses, Eloise and Harriett, wait at the gate, along with Mayor Lewis. Eloise is close to my age, short and strong, while Harriett is closing in on fifty.
“Someone has to stay,” the mayor says, though her tone is quiet. “Protect the town.”
Tuva sets her pack on the ground and hands me her rifle. “I’ll do it. I can’t rush about like y’all.”
Mayor Lewis nods. “You three split up. Nellie to the south, Eloise to the west, and Harriett to the north. I sent word to the next town east of us to check the area between.”
We head out, with Tuva locking the gate behind us. South is toward Bald Knob Mountain, where men like to hide. Lots of caves there. Tuva ain’t here to watch my back, so I keep my senses sharp and my steps light.
I stop round noon to get some hardtack from my bag. I eat as I walk, which ain’t ideal since I can’t hold my rifle right, and I switch it out for a revolver. Better than nothing, but it’s a relief when I eat the last bite and trade guns.
An hour later, I find a trail of broken branches. I kneel, and there they are, human prints, boots about my size. If that ain’t Myra, may I never eat one of Salara’s rolls again. I’d call out, but don’t want to risk attracting attention. Tracking Myra ain’t hard. None of us bother to keep our trails invisible. Ain’t like men are smart enough to follow them.
Pretty soon, I spot blood on the broken branches and crumpled leaves, then a red handprint smeared across a tree. I speed up, and after a while, a new odor covers the earthy scent of the woods. Something dead, and I’m on the right track for sure because it’s getting worse with every yard I cross.
Myra’s corpse comes into view, and I cover my nose. “Shit.”
Myra’s hair’s matted with blood, and her neck’s torn open and red as hell. Half her left arm’s been chewed off, as well as a chunk of her left thigh.
Blunt teeth marks. This ain’t no puma.
I kneel beside her and close her eyes. Ain’t no time to bury her or bring her back.
I search the area. Her guns ain’t nowhere to be found. I curse under my breath as I rummage through her bag and pockets. Her key is gone.
This was a man, the most dangerous kind of man, mad enough to rip out Myra’s throat, mad enough to eat her flesh, but sane enough to know what guns and keys are. Sane enough to know how to use them.
I take off running. Took me over half a day to get here, which means I’m fixing to spend the next hours running, but even if my lungs burn like hellfire and my legs feel like runny grits, I will keep going ‘til I see the town.
It’s way past dark when the village gate comes into view. I stopped running an hour ago, pushing myself to walk as fast as I could. My body ain’t never ached so much in my twenty-three years of living. My knees buckle, but I push on until I reach my destination.
“Tuva!” My hands are shaking so badly that I can’t get my key into the lock. “Tuva!”
The gate opens, and there’s my grandmom, blessed lady, who pulls me into a hug.
“I found Myra,” I say. “A man got her, took her guns and her keys.”
“I know.” Tuva’s whisper wavers. Then I notice something wet on my cheeks. I pull back. Tuva’s crying.
“Oh no.” I strip off my pack and guns and take off toward town. “Was it one of our men? Did you kill him?”
Tuva manages to keep up, probably on account of how slow I am. “I got a few bullets in him, but it was dark, and he was fast. No one saw him clearly enough to recognize him. Nellie.” Tuva takes my arm, pulling me to a stop.
Her brow is pinched, and her lips tremble, not to mention the tears dripping down her cheeks. Good Lord, let me be reading this wrong. I take a step back, even shake my head.
“There—there were victims,” she says.
“No!” I yell, and my throat burns worse than when I was running. I rush to the village green where the whole town mourns. Their cries cover the buzz of the locusts in the trees.
I push my way through the crowd. “Salara!”
Five bodies covered in linen lay in a line, surrounded by the townsfolk. I pull the sheet from the first body, a little boy no bigger than four, with blond curls and one chubby hand. The other was eaten off.
Tuva grabs me from behind. “You don’t want to see.”
“Yes, I do!”
The wind blows, catching the last sheet and flipping it back. Salara. Her clothes are tattered, and there are bite marks all over her neck and arms. I run to my beloved, kneel, and pull her into my lap. She’s lying face down, so I turn her over and cry out at the sight. There’s a ragged, bloody hole where her cheek used to be. Bastard shot her in the back of the head.
Tuva kneels beside me. “She didn’t suffer.”
“That don’t fuckin’ matter now, does it?”
I hold Salara close, and my wails join the townsfolk’s cries.
###
My voice grows hoarse, and my eyes run out of tears, but I hold Salara ‘til the sun rises, my head resting on her chest.
“Nellie.” Tuva’s holding my rifle. “There’s a way to help the pain.”
I shake my head. “He’ll bleed out. Maybe already has.” But I can’t stop myself from eyeing the gun. My pack has two boxes of bullets for my rifle and at least thirty shells for my revolver, which still hangs at my waist. “It won’t help Salara or any of these folks.”
“But it will help the pain.” Tuva’s tone is firm as a promise.
I somehow manage to stand. “Don’t bury her ‘til I get back.”
“We’ll wait.”
Tuva walks off toward the gate, and I follow, dazed as a lost fawn. I am lost without Salara. Ain’t no way in the whole green earth will I ever not be lost without her.
We reach the gate, and Tuva opens it.
“I can’t do this,” I say, but that don’t stop me from putting my pack on. The bullets inside clink together.
“Those men out there took everything from you.” Tuva takes me by the shoulders. “Salara, your mama, your daddy.” She unslings my rifle and pushes it into my hands. It feels good. Too good. “Think about them. Think about who you lost.”
Salara and I finished off the chocolate cake two nights ago over a bottle of moonshine. We laughed as we smooshed crumbs onto each other’s faces, drank ‘til we saw stars in each other’s eyes, and collapsed into bed happy and in love. A sob clutches my throat, and I nod.
Tuva walks me out the gate and points to the north, where the man’s tracks lead into the woods. “If you truly love Salara, you won’t come back ‘til that man ain’t nothing but a body.”
###
I rush into the forest. The man’s prints are large, and he has a long stride. He’s strong, tall, and on the run. He wasn’t subtle one bit, trampling the underbrush and grinding his feet into the earth with every step. Branches whip my face. My legs ache so bad I feel like the devil’s squeezing them with hot pliers. I trip down a hill, rolling my ankle and tumbling down. But I get up, limp for a few steps, and hurtle back into a sprint. That ankle will haunt me later, but right now, the only thing haunting me is Salara’s cold, tattered face in my mind.
After a few hours, his tracks change as he slowed down. My body responds by shifting into a walk. I just can’t run anymore, but I keep going. Blisters grow and pop on my feet, but I won’t stop.
Twilight is swallowing the forest when I reach him. He’s got wide shoulders, and his clothes are in decent shape. This ain’t no poor creature who chews his fingers off. He’s the most dangerous type of man, one that’s overcome with rage and hunger but still knows how to use a gun.
I pause and shoot.
My bullet ricochets off a tree, and he speeds up. His movements are jerky and sluggish from blood loss. I race to close the gap, then stop for another shot. I take my time, tracking him as he dodges round tree trunks. I pull the trigger, and my bullet hits his shoulder. He stumbles. I work the lever as fast as I can and take a fourth shot. This one catches him low in the back. He falls to the forest floor.
He don’t have Myra’s rifle anymore, but he fumbles for her revolver. I shoot his arm. He cries out and drops the gun.
Keeping my rifle trained on his head, I approach him, kick Myra’s revolver away, then step out of reach. His shirt’s covered in blood—fresh and dried—and I’d bet the devil himself some of it belonged to Salara.
I could shoot him now, but I need to see the face of Salara’s killer.
I tighten my finger on the trigger. “One move, and I’ll shoot.”
He growls and mutters gibberish, dark sounds that make my arm hair stand straight. He pulls himself to his knees.
“I know you can understand me,” I say. “Move again, and you’re dead.”
“I’m—” A snarl escapes, strangling his words. He clutches his head and shakes it, looking every bit the wild man he is. “I’m already dead.”
Then he turns to me.
Everything inside me trembles, and everything outside of me, too. It all shakes, and my arm falters. I know this face, even though it’s been ten years since I last saw it.
“Daddy?”
He don’t recognize me. His glare hardens, and I snap my aim between his eyes.
Behind him, a bush of devil’s trumpet flowers starts to bloom in the dusk.
“Get it over with,” he growls. He don’t sound like my daddy, but there’s no denying it’s him.
A breeze drifts from behind me, and his nostrils twitch at my scent. I ready myself in case he lunges. Instead, something in him softens. His body shifts, his posture relaxes.
He turns from a mad, twisted man to my daddy.
“Nellie.” Sorrow fills his voice and creases his face. “I can’t help it. You got no idea what it’s like to want to kill and kill and kill.” His lips twitch into a smile. “You look like your mama. Good Lord, how I missed you.”
He reaches a hand toward me. Pain twists his face as blood drips down his skin. I can feel his arms round me every night, arms strong as the trees surrounding us. I lower my gun.
Shoot him, is what Tuva would say. She’d stand behind me and demand it, maybe even grab my arms to train my gun to his forehead.
But Salara. She was as peaceful as a deer. Leave him be. I can practically hear her urging me to drop the gun. To let him go. To be a better person.
The breeze blows again. The trees and bushes sway, their leaves rustling as if they’re talking. Salara, they say.
I see my mama’s funeral all over again. Feel my daddy’s last hug on his fortieth birthday. Hear Salara’s voice and taste her dinner rolls and smell her sweet hair next to me in bed every night.
If we shot men soon as they turned forty, if we didn’t give them a choice, I wouldn’t be pointing a gun at my daddy’s face right now. Tuva wouldn’t be angry all the time because she lost my mama. And Salara wouldn’t be dead on the village green. Me and her would be falling asleep in each other’s arms, happy and in love.
Tuva’s right. She’s always been right.
I raise my rifle and shoot my daddy between his brown eyes. Blood and bone explode from the back of his head, then he collapses without so much as a moan. I walk over and roll him over with a kick. The entry wound is clean, straight to the brain, no suffering.
A mercy kill.
Slowly, like the devil’s trumpet flowers round me, a satisfied smile unfurls on my lips.
