SNAFU: Hunters

They continued on, following Crito until Silanus thought he would pass out from exhaustion.

As the sun set, they came across a farm. It was little more than a small house, a shed, and a fence. The structures cast long shadows onto snow red from the dying light.

The soldiers drew their weapons. Marcellus made a motion with his hand and the unit crouched low, fanning out around the fence. Crispus motioned Silanus toward a barren tree, its trunk stout and limbs reaching low like thieving hands. He hurried behind it and crouched, watching as the men approached the farm.

A man was slumped over the fence, blood frozen on his face and hanging in gruesome icicles from the wooden slats. Antonius made his way to the corpse. He took one look at its back and nodded to the rest of the men. One by one they hopped the fence, as silent as the night creeping in, and made their way toward the farmhouse. Silanus lost sight of them.

The falling night was still, the only sounds the wind and his heart hammering in his chest. He waited, sweat trickling down his spine despite the cold, and hoped they would hurry.

A twig snapped off to his right.

He turned, hoping to see Crispus coming to fetch him, but saw only snow and barren trees. Something waited in those trees. He wasn’t certain how he knew but he did. It waited, watching him with sinister hunger, and he thought he should run. But he couldn’t.

Wind shook the thin, gray limbs of the trees and then he saw it. It was tall but hunched over, head cocked to one side, stick-like arms brushing the ground. It seemed brittle from here, hidden perfectly among dead trees that looked so much like itself, and he again knew he should run.

It stepped from his view and he was again afraid to move.

Maybe it didn’t see me. He pressed against the tree and closed his eyes and prayed it would pass him by.

A sickly sweet smell hit him, faint but unmistakable. It was the smell of carrion left to rot.

Snow crunched a few feet from him and this time he did run, turning so quickly he tripped on a low lying branch, tumbling over it. His face smashed into another limb, stars exploding behind his eyes, and he rolled onto his side, the strap of a saddlebag catching on a bulbous knot. Panic flooding through him, he fought to a crouch and almost cried when he realized he was in a gnarled tangle of limbs and dry brush. Something hot ran down his face, stinging his eye, and he wiped it away, certain it was blood.

The thing paced around him, its quick changes of direction suggesting irritation.

Why aren’t I dead already?

Ducking its head low, Silanus caught sight of its face and cried out. Its sockets were empty – gaping holes as dark as graves. The skin was black and leathery, the mouth a jagged maw of blood-stained stones. It pulled away and scrambled to the other side of the tree on all fours.

A hand shot between two branches, long talons scraping through the snow-dusted earth as it reached for his foot. He kicked the hand and it jerked up just enough to scratch its thin forearm on a twig.

The scream that erupted was loud enough to send pain radiating through Silanus’s head. He covered his ears until the shrieking faded into the forest.

Another hand grabbed at him and he kicked it furiously.

“Boy,” Antonius said. “It’s us.”

He scrambled from the tangle, shoving the saddlebags off rather than fight with the straps, and fell to the snow. The Roman soldiers surrounded him, swords drawn, staring off into the night.

Marcellus took a knee and asked him what happened. He related his ordeal, ashamed at how the panic made his voice sound as high-pitched as a child’s. When he’d finished, the Decanus stared at the tree for a long while.

“I think you’ve found what we’ve been looking for,” Marcellus said as he stood.

“I saw an axe in the shed.” Crispus took off across the farm.

“I don’t understand,” Silanus said.

The Decanus grabbed a branch and shook it. Snow fell from it in clumps. “What tree is this?”

Standing, Silanus wracked his brain to identify it. When he did he couldn’t help but laugh. “Yew.”

* * *

Marcellus woke him at dawn. Silanus followed to the shed where they had stored the bodies. The children had been the worst and he had emptied his stomach when they were carried from the house.

“Our time for watch, sir?”

“Lepidus and Gaius still have half an hour or so,” the Decanus said.

They had used the blankets in the house to cover the family. The four bodies were pressed together on the floor, their shapes visible under the cloth. The little girl’s hand had slipped from beneath and lay pale against the dark earthen floor.

“What will we do with them?”

“Burn them,” the commander said. “But not yet.” He scratched his chin and the white stubble that had grown there. “I’m going to ask you something and I want the truth from you. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He glanced at the bodies and then back to Silanus. “The legionaries that were with you. They weren’t on leave, were they?”