Them

We were cold. It didn’t take long before the evening wind’s unending reach would latch onto our bones. A fire would give away our location so that was out of the question. We did everything in our power to remain still, should they find us quivering in the growing darkness, all would be lost. The bush was our friend, yet it would take just one broken branch to have them come barreling our way. It was still late spring, so the evenings still had that winter bite. Death and madness were everywhere now.

Our home was overrun with them now. The disease had completely changed our honorable warriors into ravenous, rage-filled, laughing monsters. They fought, maimed, and killed whoever was in their way. Those who have ingested the vile liquid were now changed. Half the time they were immobile and resembling dead shells of what they once were; the other half they were manic. Either laughing or angry and murderous to the core. What once was our language, the disease distorted it, twisted it, and protruded as sick evil. Their speech slowed and began to make no sense. Things would come out of their mouth that they didn’t mean, and slowly they turned. They would mindlessly shamble throughout the camp. They were there, just existing, just biding time until their inevitable end.

Our elders once said that things were different long ago, though I couldn’t see how. A land of beauty, trust, cohesion, and a family unit living in harmony. The rivers were bountiful, the plains were filled with hunting opportunities. A life too perfect to vision was very real, and our reality for tens of thousands of years. How did it get to this? This was not that life. This was a life riddled with hunger, fear, death, and… them. This life was now corroded by them—the White Ones.

As children, it was their curses that we had feared the most. We didn’t want to become mindless things like our family down there in the camp. We didn’t want to grow white bumps and become monsters! Though, some of the mothers out here in the bush had already started changing shape. Some managed to escape with us into the bush, but some unlucky girls and their moms had to stay behind. This curse took even our strongest hunters and warriors, our most knowledgeable of elders, and the most resourceful of our women leaders away from us. Whom, like my dad, changed them into something completely unrecognizable.

One by one, they fell into mindless, aimless shamblers. Unpredictable, they would be laughing one minute, crying another. Singing one minute, killing the other. They didn’t look like themselves. It was them, but not. I can’t explain it. No one could. And these were the ones that didn’t have the bumps. It was unnatural and everyone tried to figure out why everyone in our community was dropping like flies. They didn’t even sound like our family anymore. Something had its grip on them and nobody knew what it was. Some elders said it was the liquid, others said it was their “spells or prayers”. I didn’t know what or who to believe anymore.

My older brother had always sworn to protect his family which included his girlfriend, he was about 7 years older than me and was such a gentle soul. He was always so peaceful, and would always tell me about the world and the animals. “Treat everything with respect. Everything.” That was his lesson when he had gotten mad at me for squishing a spider on my arm. That all changed when he was stricken with that madness… he hurt her even though he said he would never. Badly. I could see him down there. He had a bloody spear in one hand, with a bottle of that liquid in the other. He wasn’t speaking our language, more of like moaning, or growling. He too, had those bumps all over his face and his body.

Since they came, our people have developed afflictions. Others would complain about being hot, weak, and tired. Soon they’d develop unnatural bumps all over, would fall asleep, and never wake again. We only knew fear and death. The only death we knew before was from the land, old age, and border skirmishes with neighboring rivals. They would act on their own, never under a rule of some sort of higher power. Those who died, we understood it. We knew the consequences of that life, and it was honorable. Fighting for what people believed in. It was our way of life. Now, death came from everywhere and everything that we once trusted. We couldn’t understand this death. We just couldn’t.

I can’t help but keep thinking about my grandma and grandpa who had argued with the other elders that we should reconsider trading with the White Ones even though we were desperate for food at the time. It was always in our teachings to help others in need. It was so unnatural for us to even conceive of such a thought of not helping them. The land once rich with resources had become increasingly barren. Then they came again with their red eyes, black teeth, and white faces practically forcing their goods upon us. The only thing that swayed my grandparents at the time was the heart-shaped locket that they threw in to sweeten the deal. They said it could be for their daughter, and then me one day should she pass. I never thought about her passing before, I always just assumed she would be with me forever. That would never change! Still, that was enough to convince my grandparents. We ended up trading some of our thick furs for their blankets, “liquid fire”, and copper. The copper was perfect for our arrow tips, and spears. It wasn’t more than a few days after that meeting before they both erupted in small white bumps and joined them down there. That was the beginning of the end and they returned to the earth soon after.

The locket shone crimson reflecting off the campfire in the camp. Though my mom smiled, I could feel a sense of sadness behind her eyes. It was just after the brief exchange she had had with her sister, “do you have any food?” There was only silence and a shaking of heads. There would be no food tonight. Perhaps tomorrow will be better. I decided to try to sleep so I snuggled up closer to mom and auntie, careful not to make a noise. Mom had draped a beautifully knitted scarlet blanket over us, the same material that grandma and grandpa had. It was so soft and warm. Even though I was hungry, I was happy because I at least had them. Things would get better, I just know it.