Led to the Slaughter by Duncan McGeary

Author:Duncan McGeary
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror, werewolf, werewolves, shapeshifters, scary, killer, killers, lycanthropes, donner party, donner
Publisher: Books of the Dead Press

CHAPTER 19

Virginia Reed, Truckee River, October 10, 1846

To be truthful, I was disappointed in both my suitors. Both Jean Baptiste and Bayliss had been with me when something unnatural and frightening happened, but neither of them wanted to talk about it. It was as if they wanted to deny it had happened. Jean was embarrassed, I could tell, and Bayliss was angry.

I wanted to shake them, to tell them that their pride and petty rivalry was unimportant now. It was clear to me that dangerous and implacable creatures were stalking us.

Without Father, I felt immensely vulnerable. I tried to corral my family, to keep them within my sight, but I barely saw my brothers anymore––they were always off with the young men, running around underfoot, to the men’s mock annoyance. Mother and Patty were a closed circle: they had established a routine that the rest of us weren’t part of.

Nevertheless, I felt it was my duty to protect my mother and my siblings, so I refused to go on any further walks with my suitors, who were most unhappy about it. But Father had asked me to take care of the family, and I intended to do so.

We finally reached the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. The mountains rose before us, covered with huge pines. The peaks were capped with snow, but below the alpine heights, there were gray, jagged cliffs and hillsides of loose scree. It seemed impossible that our wagon train could traverse those rocky crags.

Once again, the Donner group had moved on ahead of us, a few days’ journey farther into the mountains to Truckee Lake, the source of the Truckee River. They left word that the Donner family had accepted Father into their midst and that he was traveling with them. This lifted my heart, which was in sore need of some good news.

The Truckee Valley was lush and bountiful, but we’d reached it too late for many of us to save what little we still owned. The push over the final stretch of desert had been cruel. Our family’s last wagon had broken an axle, and we’d carried what we could the rest of the way. We had but a few head of livestock left in our possession.

The Eddys were in even worse straits, having lost their wagons days earlier. They were without provisions. None of the other families would help them, including us, for we had barely enough for ourselves. They’d been forced to march along carrying their children, who cried much of the time. The Graves family had been obliged to abandon their wagon, having lost their horses to Indians.

Bayliss and Jean Baptiste, who had attached himself to our family, were carrying as much as they could. Even eight-year-old Patty was burdened with a pack. My little brothers had finally come back to our campfire, realizing their own kin were in bad shape, and also carried their share. They never wandered far from us from then on, and I wondered if they had seen something that scared them.

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