Unnatural Instinct: Alone

22.

I open my eyes and look blearily around my cave. Slowly, I sit up. I grip my head, feeling groggy. It often happens to me after we make love. It's like the blood drains from my brain. I yawn and scratch at my neck. I look over to find that the fire has burned out.

I frown. Weren't you out getting firewood? Not only is the fire burned out but the coals are cooler than they should be. I look up through the smoke hole. It's late. How long have I been asleep for? Where are you?

I lurch to my feet and grab my cloak. Hurrying outside, I bellow out your name. I wait hopefully for your answer back by there's only the moaning of the wind through the rock. My heart is racing as I turn back into the cave. Taking up my machete and club, I head back out. I'm down the mountain in no time and follow your freshest tracks. So far, so good. I call out your name again—no answer.

What if that bear returned? What if you've tripped and fallen and bashed your head? You could simply be lost—but I have confidence that you know your surroundings now. So many scenarios race through my mind, each one worse than the last.

I stop with a start. Your tracks have intersected with the tracks of what appears to be eight men. Men. I can't believe it. My heart beats harder as I follow them. Did you meet up with them? Have you gone home? I've been kicked by a wild horse once. Right in the guts. The thought hurts a bit like that. But—no. I can see that you struggled. I can see the bent branches and the torn up grass. There are some spots of blood which make my stomach lurch. You've dropped your cloak. Then your tracks vanish. The men's tracks have turned back in the direction of the village.

I feel hot. Sweat is beading the back of my neck. I throw off my cloak. My fingers and toes are tingling. I grip the handle of my machete tightly. They can't just take you away. You belong here—with me.

And then I'm running. Running as fast as I can. They're stomping through the woods like they own the place. Men. I've encountered their tracks before. Not here but when I venture outwards. Always leaving behind a trail of destruction. They disturb everything. They frighten my game. And now they've take you from me.

I want to call out your name but I won't, lest I attract their notice. Unlike them, I move quietly through the trees, barely making a sound. Even the wildlife hardly notices me. I need to hear your voice again. I need to know that you're okay. I suddenly realise that I never got an answer as to what happened at the village that made you escape into the woods. How had I not asked? Now, I have no clue of my enemies. How could I be so stupid? So mindless? Loving you was all I needed. All I ever wanted. It blinded me to the danger.

Darkness is gathering by the time I hear them. I hear their voices first, laughing and shouting through the trees. Careless of predators. Careless of me. Again, they're stomping through the bracken. I listen closely as I creep along behind, gripping my club and my machete close to my sides. I can't hear your voice and it worries me.

Soon, I reach them, like a shadow through the trees. And then I see the first of them. He's lingering behind the others. He's small and easy to overcome. He doesn't know I'm upon him until I yank his head back and slide my machete across his throat. I cover his mouth as he gags and gurgles, quietly pulling him back into the trees. I drop him to the ground, hand pressed tight to his mouth as his life leaves his body.

He's still spasming by the time I get up and follow the others. It's the first time I've killed a man. It's something my mother said I'd always do. Am I supposed to feel different? It feels very similar to hunting. For what they've done to you, I care less for them than the squirrels I catch in my traps.

The next one stops to relieve himself, calling out for the others to wait. I stay concealed within the branches, waiting for the right moment. When he busies himself with his hands, I wield my club, smashing him in the head. He drops to the ground like a stone.