The Living Death

The soft hooting of the owl drew her away from her meal. She straightened slowly, head tilting to one side as crimson liquid ran down her withered chin and pooled at her throat.

She didn't notice or even feel it. Her teeth clattered together and the wind whistled through her decomposing body. She noticed the sound, but it was only at the very edge of her awareness. All that drove her now was the beating heart and warm blood of her prey.

She looked down at the remains at her feet. Even the gurgling sound had stopped. The prey was no longer warm. No heart beating. It no longer held her interest, cold and white as it was.

And the owl hooted again.

Her bare feet stepped over the forest floor. Twigs and leaves crunched underfoot, but they were only slight distractions to her. As were the branches that scratched her skin and plucked at her hair. She felt no pain. She felt nothing.

The hooting came again, drawing her towards it as inevitably as she'd been drawn to the beating heart and flowing blood of the living body she'd just fed on.

Maybe there would be more food when she reached the owl.

She walked through the shadowy undergrowth, only pausing when her hair or clothing caught on branches or twigs. As she moved, she left wispy strands of dirty blonde hair on the wood that surrounded her. Left tattered fabric of clothing behind and congealed blood every time the trees and bushes scratched her skin and clothing.

She continued walking, even after the light of the moon stopped beaming through the trees. Her eyes could still see, just about, but it was her hunger that drove her further and further forward. There was nothing else.

The owl continued to hoot. If she had enough of a brain to think, maybe she would have wondered if it was a spirit. A spirit leading her to her own destruction. If she'd had enough of herself left, she would have wondered if the spirit of the one she'd recently fed on was the one calling to her.

But she didn't have enough of her mind left. Only enough to drive her forward. Only enough to push her towards the next warm food source.

But the owl continued to hoot. And she continued to follow the sound.

Moonlight shone through the trees and her eyes watered at the sudden light. There was an open space in front of her. Long wild grass was high enough to reach her waist. And a pool of clear blue water lay ahead of her, the surface appearing as crystal in the light that shone down on it.

For the first time, she felt something other than hunger. Her whole body shook and trembled. Her mouth grew even drier. And for an instant, just for one moment, she felt cold.

The water. She had to get away from the water.

She turned and her eyes were drawn to the trees that surrounded the little clearing. Drawn to the owl that sat perched on the tree branch, high above her head. Some long-forgotten part of her brought forth the name of its species. Barn owl.

This was what had drawn her here. To this area. To the liquid she had to get away from.

Something grasped her shoulders. It didn't hurt, at least not exactly, but the touch was alien to her. She felt skin sloughing off and began to thrash around. She bared her teeth and jerked her head to one side, spotting the dark-skinned hand that held her, fingers gripping tight on her shoulder. She couldn't move fast, but the hand that held her didn't let go as she lowered her head and bit.

Then spat at the cold, iron liquid that coated her tongue.

"Aww, fuck," a voice muttered, close to her ear. "Last thing I need is to get reinfected."

Her head tilted to one side, wondering. For the first time in a long time, she could...understand. She knew what he'd just said. She opened her mouth to put eager voice to that understanding, but all that escaped her lips was a series of moans.

"Yeah. I know. I've been there, believe me."

Two hands, the one she'd bitten and its pair, wrapped around her waist. Held her fast, so she couldn't get away, no matter how much she might squirm and writhe.

But she wasn't doing that. Her body shuddered as the wind pierced through the rags of her clothing. His hands, visible when she looked down, were strong, large and healthy. Under his palms, her skin felt weak. Like paper that would tear easily.

Where were these thoughts coming from?

It took her several moments to realise she was being dragged towards the water. She began to struggle, kicking and squirming, trying to bite the hands that held her fast.

But he kept her twisted off balance and then, it was too late. She was in the water. He was pushing her down, below the surface. Her whole body was submerged. The water closed over her head and when she opened her mouth to scream, the liquid forced its way down her throat and she began to cough and choke.

And then she was pulled up, out of the water, gasping for air.

She was breathing. For the first time in a long time, she was breathing. And she was wet. She was cold. And her body stung from innumerable scratches and cuts that covered her skin.

Panicking, she thrashed around, her elbow meeting resistance. He let go of her with a muttered, "Ooof."

She splashed out of the water and curled up on the bank, crouching down among the long grass. She wasn't naked, but her clothing was ragged enough that she felt exposed.

"It's okay." His voice was soft. He spread his hands to either side as he waded out of the water and towards her. His hair was long and black, pulled into two thick braids that dangled over each shoulder. He wore a ripped dirty white shirt over a pair of ragged jeans.

She licked her lips and tried to stutter out a question, but her mouth was so dry, all that came out was a dry croak.

He removed a chipped, silver flask from his belt and handed it to her when he was only a few feet away.

She took the flask, slowly, with fingers that shook. Each movement careful and slow, she pulled out the stopper, raised it to her lips and took a big gulp.

Burning fire coursed down her throat and she coughed and spluttered, nearly dropping the flask.

He stepped forward and caught it easily, replacing the stopper. Only a small amount of the amber liquid escaped. "Don't drink too much."

"I thought it was water," she whispered hoarsely.

"This water?" He looked over hs shoulder at the pool, then back at her. "This is a finite source. Too precious to waste just on quenching thirst."

"Who are you?"

"I'm you." He shrugged. "At least, I was the same as you. A walking rotten corpse. Then I stumbled upon this place. Or I was led here." His gaze shifted past her.

She looked behind her, staring at the owl perched high in the branches. It stared back at her and she shivered, feeling like its eyes were piercing through to her soul. She looked back at the man who'd saved her. Who'd brought her back. "The owl? It led you here too?"

"The owl is my spirit guide," he answered. "This virus, this disease, infects our hearts, minds and souls. But there was still a connection to the world of my ancestors. I was able to fight my way back. Just like you did."

"But I didn't fight," she whispered. "You pulled me back. You dragged me back."

"But you followed my owl."

Silence descended on the clearing. She licked her lips, tasting the remnants of the whiskey. And also the copper tang of blood. Bile filled her mouth and she turned her head to one side, throwing up bloody stomach acid.

"I know," he said quietly. "I did the same thing. Everything you're experiencing right now, I went through too."

"Why me?" She turned her head towards the owl...back to the man; not sure which one she was addressing. "I'm not...I'm not a good person. I mean, I wasn't even before. I lied, I fought with my parents, sister, boyfriend...." Her eyes widened. "They're all...like me." She pushed herself up and stumbled forward a few paces; would have fallen, had he not put his hands on her arms to steady her. She looked up into his eyes, so dark they appeared nearly black. "Can we save them?"

"Even the longest journey starts with a first step." He stepped away, turning to look at the water, then back at her. He held his hand out to her. "How brave do you feel?"

"I don't feel brave at all," she admitted. "I'm scared out of my mind. Especially now that I know there truly is a fate worse than death." She looked at his hand, then slowly reached hers out. "But I can't abandon the others to the same fate." She breathed in deeply, the cold night air stinging her lungs. It was a pain she welcomed. She felt alive, truly alive, even more so than before the infection had first hit.

Now, she wanted to do something with her second chance.

Their hands clasped tightly and they looked into each other's eyes.

And the owl fluttered down to perch, as if giving them its blessing.