The Long Way Back (2021)

Copyright 2021 by S. Thomas Kaza

The Ensign fed another stick into the fire and watched intensely as the flames devoured it. There was a crack and a pop from the fire before he fed it another stick. He felt the warmth on his hands working close to the flames, but he still did not feel it on his face. Shivering deeply, he told himself they would build this fire until it became a monstrous bonfire. Then they would find food, a rabbit or a squirrel or anything. But they would eat. They had to eat. They would put something in their bellies. Or they would starve.

“We should keep moving,” the other soldier said.

He was standing about five feet away, constantly looking from left to right and all around them. A colonial. He still had a gun. The Ensign noticed it was a British gun with the bayonet still fixed. There was dried blood on it.

“He looks so thin and pale,” the Ensign thought, turning back to the fire and feeding it another stick, “not much meat left on him. I wonder if I look the same?”

He could not remember the last time they ate. Had it been three days or four? He could not even remember how many nights had passed since the battle. What day was it today? Tuesday? Thursday? The only thing he was sure of was that it was Winter. But what month? He could not even recall that.

“Something happened in that forest,” he thought, “something that made me forget. What was it?” He shivered as he tried to remember, shrugged his shoulders, and put another stick on the fire.

“We should keep moving,” the Colonial said, “while it’s still light.”

“Yer aff your head,” the Ensign replied, “we’re lost.”

“We’re moving in the right direction,” the Colonial countered, “I remember that valley we just came through.”

The Ensign recalled the Colonial showing him their footprints, frozen now in the mud alongside a creek. They had passed through that valley days before on their way to the battle. But how far were they now from the fort from where they started? Was it a day or a couple of hours? He couldn’t remember.

“I’m chattering over here,” the Ensign said, “I need to get warmed and rest a little.”

The Colonial sighed and shook his head. He resumed looking left and right.

“What are you looking for?” the Ensign asked.

“We’re being followed,” the Colonial said.

“The indians gave up the chase long ago,” the Ensign said.

“It’s not indians,” the Colonial said.

The Ensign placed another stick into flames of the fire. He now felt the warmth of the fire on his face. He smiled.

“What was he babbling about? There was nobody after them since the forest. Since….”

He began to remember. He remembered the colonel falling from his horse, hit by a musket ball in the shoulder. His aides ran to him. But there was nothing the rest of them could do. Then the indians charged in from all around where they had been hiding, screaming like devils. The left flank broke first. Some of the Colonials threw down their muskets and ran. Then the whole line broke. It was every man for himself.

The Ensign became embarrassed by his memory. Some of the officers called for the men to rally around their fallen colonel. But he ran. Like the others. Fear gripped him. He turned and ran smack into an indian who was fighting with another soldier. He bowled the indian over and stepped on him as he ran from the battle. He couldn’t get away fast enough.

The Ensign looked up to see if the Colonial could see the shame he felt. But the man was paying him any attention.

“Who knows?” the Ensign told himself, “maybe I saved the man by knocking that savage out?”

But he didn’t believe it. He ran scared like the others. The indians chased them. They caught up with the wounded first. The fleeing soldiers could hear their screams from behind. And they ran faster to get away. They ran and ran, leaving others that couldn’t keep up behind. Leaving others that called after them to wait and stay together.

When some sense finally began to return to them, they realized there were seven of them. Several of the men had dropped their guns fleeing the battle. The ones that did have guns didn’t have any powder. They realized the indians were still chasing them, but now it was more like a hunter stalking its prey. The hunters were taking their time. Waiting for the soldiers to grow tired. Waiting for the chance to move in for the kill. Fear was strong among the soldiers.

They began to realize they could not go on running forever. They needed to make a stand. They ran for the protection of a dark forest. They expected the indians to come after them. They expected to die there fighting. But the indians did not follow them into the forest. And after some time, they turned back. At first the soldiers thought they were fortunate. But then much darker thoughts began to come over them.

The Ensign threw the rest of the wood he had hastily gathered onto the fire. Sparks flew up. And quickly the flames swallowed up this wood. The fire was growing. He would need more deadwood to feed it. But at that moment he did not want to leave his cozy fire to gather more. The rest of the story was waiting for him. He knew he could now recall what happened in the forest. He knew he had to see through with it while he remembered. He gritted his teeth.

The soldiers began to gather wood for a fire. They were cold. That was the first order of business. They piled the wood in a little clearing without being told. Next they got a fire started. He remembered how hungry he started to feel. It was true they had not eaten since breakfast that day. The colonel had promised them a meal after the battle. He had not planned on the ambush and them losing the battle. But the hunger the Ensign began to feel now was something different. It was deeper like the hunger one’s body felt when recovering from a bad cold. But even more than that. The Ensign remembered trembling as hunger pains racked his body. He was ravenous. And he began to desire the taste of blood.

One of the soldiers slammed his head against a tree. Another took off his boot and began chewing on the leather. A madness came over them. He realized it before it took its hold on him. He had a moment of reason. And he ran from the others. He ran from the forest, because he knew what was coming next.

The realization hit the Ensign like a cold slap in the face. He stood up and looked over at the Colonial.

“We have to keep moving,” the Colonial said, “it’s coming.”

The Ensign looked once more into the fire. He looked once more into the flames. He could now feel the heat from the fire through his clothes. It would warm him. It would take away the deep cold that had entombed him for these last few days. But there was something else. Something worse. He suddenly saw a frying pan on the fire and wondered who placed it there. Something was cooking in it. There was steam rising from it. Something was sizzling in its own fat. He suddenly felt a sharp hunger pain. It doubled him over and he crouched down low to the fire. He looked into the pan. There were fingers. Bloody fingers. A dozen of them cooking in the pan.

He tried to stand up, but fell backwards into the snow.

“No,” he said, “good Lord, no!”

He now remembered the look in the other men’s eyes back in the forest. The hunger and madness that consumed them, that drove them to….. The Ensign turned toward the Colonial, but he was gone. He had left. It was coming! He was right. It was coming! He grabbed his rifle, and he ran too. He ran towards what he thought was East back up the valley. There was no trail. He just took the easiest path, where he could run the fastest. He stumbled as his feet found unsure footing. But he did not fall.

The Ensign didn’t see the Colonial in front of him. The valley out ahead was empty, but the sky had grown cloudy. The wind was picking up. Snow began to fall. Soon a storm would be upon him. He didn’t know where the Colonial had gone, but he didn’t stop to look for him. He ran and ran, not knowing how he could with no food in his belly, not knowing how he could keep putting one foot in front of the other. His breathing became ragged as the storm fell on him, swirling wind and snow around him.

He came up out of the valley and into the next. It looked like farmland, like someone had cleared a field for planting. But maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, because the distance he could see ahead was shrinking as the storm surged around him. At one point he realized he was just running, not even sure which direction he was headed. Still he plunged ahead. Running until it seemed like he came upon a road, a crude road. Just two paths for wagon wheels. But he could see that stones had been removed. Trees had been cut to make this road.

“Was this the way they had come?”

He continued on almost blind, no longer running, but feeling with his feet. The wind whipped the snow into his face. He felt its bitter coldness as it cut through his clothes. He didn’t know how much longer he could continue, but he pushed on. Slowly he began to lose the feeling in his feet. They were becoming numb. As were his hands. He noticed he no longer carried his rifle. Then he stumbled and fell. He might have passed out for a moment, but when he looked up, he didn’t know which way he had been running. Was he facing the direction he just came from? Or was it behind him?

He frantically looked around. Which way? Then the Ensign froze. In between gusts of snow he saw a figure approaching. Wearing nothing but ragged and tattered clothes that whipped around it in the wind, the thin figure shambled towards the Ensign. For a moment he thought if he didn’t move, it might not see him. But it did. It came straight for him. And as it drew closer the Ensign could see its shoulders and legs were expose. It looked like an old man, a skinny old man with just a few whisps of hair on its bald pate, dark sunken eyes, and ribs showing through the skin on its chest.

“Good Lord, no,” the Ensign muttered.

But he could not get up. His body would not move. He waited on the frozen ground as the figure drew closer and closer, until it stopped just in front of him and looked down. The Ensign found he could not swallow. The figure bent forward and reached out toward him. The Ensign felt his body trying to move away, as if his flesh instinctively knew the evil that reached out for it. It’s bony hand touched the Ensign’s face. Intense pain surged through his face and body. He screamed. Then he blacked out.

The Ensign awoke in a room, a warm room, lying on a bed under a wool blanket. There was light on the other side of the room. And someone was moving around over by it. But his eyes wouldn’t focus. He sat up quickly and banged his head on a shelf that he did not see. The sound alerted the figure on the other side of the room.

“Well, look who’s awake,” a voice said. It was a woman.

Slowly she walked across the room until she came into focus. It was an older woman, a little plump, but with long brown hair. The soldier sighed.

“There, there,” the woman said, “you’re safe now.”

“Where am I?”

“Fort Bedford. How about something to drink?”

The Ensign nodded. He was feeling queasy, but he felt like he could sip at something.

“Do you have any broth?”

“Yes,” the woman said, and she turned and walked back to the other side of the room.

The Ensign tried to sit up on the edge of the bed, but his head spun, so he lay back down. He looked at his hands. All his fingers were there. He felt for the toes on his feet. They were there too.

“It was lucky that patrol was coming back when it did,” the woman said, carrying a bowl of steaming soup and a wooden spoon, which she set down on a small table next to the bed. “There you go.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“They said they found you leaning against a tree.”

“A tree? I don’t remember that. I remember falling in the road, and…..”

“And…..?” the woman asked wiping her hands in her apron. But when he didn’t say anything more, she said, “you must have gotten up after that.”

The ensign sipped at the soup. It didn’t seem to have much flavor, like it had been stretched thin with too much water. Still he let the warmth of each spoonful trickle down his throat.

“Did they find anyone other?” the Ensign asked.

“Not that I heard of,” the woman said, throwing a shawl over her shoulders, “now you sit there and eat your soup. I am going over to let the Major know you’re awake.”

She walked over to the door, opened it, and closed it behind her as she left. The Ensign was alone now in the room. He realized he did not really have much of an appetite. He set the soup down on the table and began looking around the room. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he felt he should be looking for something. He waited tensely for several minutes until the door opened suddenly and two officers came into the room from outside followed by the woman.

“How are you feeling?” one of them asked.

“Fine, I mean sick, a wee bit nauseous, and you? Are you the Major?”

“No, the Major sent us. He had some other business to attend to at the moment. But he will be by to see you later.”

The Ensign nodded.

“What is your name, sir?” the officer asked.

“My name? Well, I am Ensign….. Ensign Robert MacDonald, sir.”

The other officer had several sheafs of paper in his hand. He began looking through them.

“Here he is,” the officer said, and he held the sheaf of paper out for the first officer to see.

“You were with Colonel Grey?”

“I was. I was.”

The two soldiers exchanged glances.

“What happened?”

“What happened? We were ambushed, sir. Indians came out of the woods. The Colonel was shot off his horse. They overran us. We had no chance to fight. We….. we ran, and …..”

“Take it easy, Ensign.”the second officer said, “You are safe now.”

“What I am asking,” the first officer went on, “is what happened to you? We have known about the Colonel for some time now. The French contacted us asking for ransom for several officers.”

The Ensign looked from one soldier to the other.

“They did?”

“Yes.”

“We want to know what happened to you,” the soldier holding the papers asked, “after the battle.”

“Well, we ran and ran. It seemed like for days. The indians were after us. We were just a few. Eight, no only seven. Seven of us. And then there was storm. A blizzard. I remember running and falling on a road.”

He stopped and looked up at the two officers.

“That’s the whole story?” one of them asked.

The Ensign shook his head. “It’s all I ken remember.”

The two officers exchanged looks again.

“What is it?” the Ensign asked, “tell me, sir”

The officer stepped over to the window and threw back the heavy curtains that had been covering them. Bright sunlight streamed in. The Ensign shielded his eyes, but as they adjusted he saw that there were trees outside. Green trees with leaves on them.

“It’s May,” the officer said, “you have been missing for three months. What we are asking is where you have been for these last three months?”

But the Ensign didn’t hear the question. Something distracted him. From across the room he saw the nurse bending over a small table. He could could see the fat rump of her flesh pressing against her dress. He tasted blood in his mouth. He swallowed hard and realized he was suddenly hungry. Very hungry.

Many miles away, out in the wilderness far from the fort in a dark forest, lay a pile of bones stacked neatly near the cold ashes of a fire pit. Some of the bones had been gnawed on by wolves and other wild animals. But all of them had been stripped clean of any meat or muscle. A few feet further past the bones, lay a stack of clothes, colonial and British soldier uniforms, meticulously folded.