Ander - Part 6: Subchapter 105
105
Jonah couldn't move, and that was good. Dean had moved, and now he was dead. Devin had moved, and now he was dead, too. Peter had moved, and guess what? He was just as dead as the others. Rufio and Eric and all their chums had moved, and now all of them were dead, lying in the snow, their corpses surrounded by blooming red flowers as cold as the grave.
He hadn't thought of anything during those first moments, when Dean's head went rolling through the snow. He was too shocked to think, too scared to act, and maybe that was why he was still alive.
Devin had run. He remembered wanting to yell at him to stop, remembered opening his mouth, remembered not saying anything at all because Dean's head was lying right there, right there, only a few strides away, staring at the gruesome scene with unblinking eyes, a vile red crust of frozen blood stuck to the bottom of his severed neck, and how easily that could have been him, how easily their roles could have been reversed. So he had said nothing at all. No words passed between his trembling lips, because he didn't want to end up like Dean, watching the world through eyes that could no longer blink, eyes that were this very moment frosting over, turning white along the edges. He remembered standing here, in this very spot, not moving a muscle, watching as that demented monster pushed Devin to the ground. He remembered every scream, and later, every whimper, and much later still, every wet rip of claws slicing through flesh and bone.
But Jonah was still here. In this spot. The same spot he was standing in when they flipped over the big wooden door and found the horror beneath. And the reason he was still here, rooted in place instead of being torn apart, was because he hadn't moved.
Peter had moved. He had taken Mateo's crossbow and fired the thing like an idiot, tapping the tickler against the stock, too terrified to realize he had already spent the one and only shot he would get.
Jonah had stood perfectly still. In this spot, his spot, holding this very torch against his chest. A single red Fox, holding a torch, standing all by himself with his tail curled between his legs amidst an endless expanse of white snow, he had felt like a drop of blood on a wedding dress, certain to stand out.
The Wolf had streaked right past him, coming so close he had actually felt the spray of snow hitting his face. And Peter...
He shouldn't have moved.
Jonah clutched the torch in his trembling hands. It had long since burnt out and was now only a long stick with a blackened tip, but it was all he had. He was holding on to this thing when the killing began, and somehow he was still alive. If he dropped it now, he felt like it would undo the fragile magic that had kept him safe. He knew it was a foolish idea, but he could no more drop this torch than he could move from this spot.
Eric had moved. Samuels had moved. Flyn had moved. Will and Henry and Gordon had moved. They had fought. They had shot arrow after arrow into that thing, and what did it get them? It got their necks sliced open. It got their guts spilled onto the snow in steaming piles. That's what it got them.
Rufio had moved. He had thrown rocks in that thing's face, and in return, it had thrown _him_into a rock.
They shouldn't have moved.
Jonah could hear those footsteps, coming closer, but he couldn't look up. Looking up would be moving, and he couldn't move. Moving meant death.
The twins had moved and they almost got their windpipes crushed. Mateo had moved, and he got his head cracked open like an egg. No matter how he looked at it, moving was bad even under the best and luckiest of circumstances.
So he would stay here, in this spot, holding his torch and not moving a muscle, and maybe, if he did a good enough job, if he stayed so still that he was no different from the rocks poking out of the snow, then maybe the Wolf would pass him by again. Maybe the Wolf would leave him be.
All he had to do was stay still...
The shadow fell on him. Jonah did not know how such a thing could be possible here, in this pitch black pass where everything was covered in shadow regardless, but it was. It seemed to destroy the light all around itself, creating a shadow so deep and dark it put all others to shame.
Stay still...
One of its feet ended in a bloody stump. He glimpsed a sliver of bone right before it sank into the snow.
Don't look up!
It bent down. Jonah could actually feel it coming closer. It seemed to push the air in front of its body, creating a sense of heaviness around itself, a pressure that wound its way around your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Jonah felt like he was being lowered into the ground at his own funeral, already dead but somehow still conscious of everything around him.
Don't make a sound!
Its muzzle came into view. It was covered in shallow scratches, probably put there by its fellows. They shouldn't have moved, either.
Don't move!
Its nose was black and shiny, covered in blood and frost. The nostrils flared wide and sucked in a torrent of air, making the blood ripple upwards before blowing it out again in a plume of mist that smelled of iron and something else, something rotten, like a dead rat that had been stuck beneath the floorboards all summer long. Jonah could feel that stink going down his own nose and coating his tongue. He could taste it.
Don't throw up! Don't cough! Don't choke!
It sucked in another deep breath of air, slowly, almost thoughtfully, and then blasted it out again in a fine spray of blood.
Please, I'm not here, see how still I'm being? Let me go, just walk on by, I'm not here, I haven't bothered you at all, I haven't shot you with arrows or hit you in the face with a shovel, so please, please let me go...
It pressed its nose right up against Jonah's cheek and sniffed him, snorting and grunting like an animal.
Jonah was too terrified to do or say anything, or even recoil in disgust. He could feel that cold, wet, sticky patch of flesh moving along his face in little circles, pressing against him, as if eager to inhale his entire head.
Don't move! Don't move! For the love of all the gods, don't -
It grabbed him by the chin, stuck out its tongue, covered in blood, and dragged it along the side of his face.
A small whimper might have escaped Jonah's throat, he wasn't sure. This wet piece of meat was soaked in the blood of his friends, and now it was sliding all over his face, going up and down. He pressed his lips together as it moved along his muzzle and across his mouth, terrified that some part of it might actually go inside him.
Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream, don't scream, don't scream...
The tongue moved up and slathered all over his eye, blacking out half the world. From there, it moved to his ear, sliding along the inside, where he didn't even have the meagre protection of his fur.
Don't scream!!
He looked over the beast's shoulder, through the jagged, broken arrows jutting from its back, but he couldn't see very far into the darkness beyond. If he squinted, he thought he could just barely make out two dark splotches of colour kneeling down by a third, but that might just be his imagination. Unless Bart and Nick were monumentally stupid, they'd be halfway to the basecamp by now, running as fast as their legs could carry them.
The Wolf finally pulled back, but just as Jonah was about to let out a mental sigh of relief, it came back for more, pressing its tongue against the base of his throat and then sliding it upwards, dragging it across his face all the way to his forehead, leaving behind a warm swatch of blood and saliva that quickly turned into a stiff line of frozen moisture in the wind.
It pulled its tongue back inside its mouth and began to suck on it, moving it from cheek to cheek, as if savouring the flavour. It closed its eye and sighed in satisfaction, like one who had just finished an exquisite meal.
Is it done? Oh please whatever it's doing just let it be done!
Jonah shivered in the cold.
Don't move...
He whimpered in fear.
Don't make a sound...
He was terribly close to tears.
Don't do anything!
The Wolf's grip tightened around his chin.
Don't look up! No, don't look up!
It pushed his face upwards, forcing him to look into its solitary eye, something he had hoped to never see up close. The veins stood out in stark contrast against the white, like blood on snow. The centre was the deepest black he had ever seen.
"I have a question for you, Fox..." it whispered, licking its lips.
It's going to ask me if I'm real,_Jonah thought, _and no matter what I answer, that'll be the end. It'll bite my throat open, or tear off my head. I'll make a red bloom of my own in the snow, and that's how Father will find me.
The Wolf opened its broken, bloody mouth, and asked: "Why do you smell like Valery?"
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