The Back of The Mind: A Collection of Eerie Short Stories

Walk to Salvation: Part 5 of 8

A sense of pride filled the hole inside of Erik where fear had been bundled up before. He walked with a puffed-up chest. He kept his head low, though, attempting to hide from the sun and everything else that could kill him. He felt himself floating above the grassland and dragging a ball and chain behind him, all at once.

An hour or two of sunlight remained when Berk put his belongings down on a clear patch of earth between three trees. Again, an abandoned pile of ash filled the centre of the night's campsite.

"Do you come here often?" Erik laughed internally at his own attempt at a joke. He wished his companion had some humour to him. As he sat down, he felt his stomach churning from emptiness. "Is there any food I can have?"

"Want food? Hunt food." Berk held out his bow.

Erik was taken aback. He had never held a bow in his life, never mind shot one. This was Berk's most prized possession as far as he could tell, and he was being trusted to wield and not break it. His fingers visibly hesitated underneath the weapon before it clasped around it firmly. It was heavier than it seemed in capable hands.

"Bring back," Berk warned as Erik took the arrows.

Erik set off into the field around them without any target practice to find his dinner. He shot a few arrows into the short grass to get a feel for the weapon. His arm buckled under the strain and weight of holding the bow out in front of him. His aim was shaky and terrible at best.

He walked up and down in his makeshift shooting range for the better part of an hour, flinging arrows into the area, collecting them, and starting again. He bruised his arm a few times with the bow's string as it shot forward, and it was turning purple. As the sun began to meet the horizon, he felt comfortable enough with his below-mediocre shooting to try and kill something - another thing he hasn't done before, if you forgive insects and a few spiders.

He had seen a few stray rabbits run through the grass on their journey that would satisfy his hunger; could he shoot one.

Wandering and gazing through the grass, his eye caught a rustle. He pulled an arrow back and released it toward the scurrying critter, a shoot and a miss. The rustle moved to his left, and he shot another arrow in its way. Another miss. This time the movement disappeared, leaving him back at square one. He shot at - and missed - a few more harmless animals before the sun disappeared.

Erik pondered his failures on the way back to camp, engulfed in the light of a fire. It was the only light he could see.

Halfway through his walk back, he saw the silhouette of a trotting fox move through the grass. He nocked an arrow and steadied his aim, not letting the chance pass him by. After countless shots, his shoulders were on fire, yet he had nothing to show for it. He held his breath as the arrow dashed through the air and landed behind the animal. Quickly, he reached back to the quiver for another one.

Nock. Aim. Release.

The fox wanted to flee, but the arrow through its ribcage hindered it from moving more than a few metres before tumbling to the ground.

Erik hurried toward his prey. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins as his heart raced with emotion. Which emotion, he couldn't tell.

He heard the crying fox before he saw it. His adrenaline-filled heart broke a little when he laid eyes on the whimpering fox. When he stood over it, his heart shattered. He had to finish the job. A tear led his determined face astray as it escaped from his eye.

The fox flailed its legs aimlessly through the air, trying to outrun the lost battle. Erik tried to calm the animal down and crouched over it. The fox didn't attack his hand as he ran it through its fur. Berk hadn't thought that he would actually be able to shoot something; otherwise he would've given Erik a knife.

He looked around for anything to help him put the dying animal out of its misery. He pondered the thought of dying for a brief second before he spotted it.

The rock was sizable. Not too big for a frail twenty-something to carry, but big enough to crack a skull open. He sat over the fox, dreading the coming moment. It wanted to escape, but it was on its last breaths. Erik held the rock high in the air. He caught a glimpse at the fox's eye as it looked up at him. It had a life, he realised. Possibly a litter, as well. Everything that depended on this animal would never see it again by Erik's hand. He matched the situation to his own life, but would anyone care to not see him again?

Screaming, he pounded the rock into the ground next to the fox's head.

Tears started streaming down his cheeks. He sulked over the fact that he hadn't found anyone who truly loved him. He had achieved nothing and would probably die without achieving anything. Even if he had found a signal on his phone, who would he have called? He had nobody to share this adventure with. With all the thoughts of failure, he sulked, but only briefly. The hunger crawling around in his stomach helped pull him out of his depression. Again, he lifted the rock above his head.

Crying, he pounded the rock into the fox's skull.

He dragged the body back to the night's fire and left it at Berk's side. In his haze, Erik sat down against one of the trees.

"Cook." Berk's voice snapped Erik back to reality. He looked Berk straight in the eyes.

"You know what," he started. He could feel his emotions rumbling up to the top. "Fuck you! Fuck you and your sick ways of living. You can cook the meat. I had to kill that poor animal! I... I've..." He sobbed. "I'm done. I'm done with all of this. If you're not cooking the fucking meat, then I guess we're not eating." He came back into himself. "Guess I killed something just to stay hungry." He murmured as he wiped his face.

A silence filled the space between the trees.

"Lion kill," Berk said. Erik looked up at him. "Lion almost kill you. For food." He stood up and picked up the fox's body. "Food," he repeated, holding out the animal with one hand. Erik blinked away the last of his tears. "No waste. I cook." Berk carried the fox's body behind a tree. "You did good."

"Yeah, well. A fucking knife would've been nice."