Mourners' Web (Mourners' Woods) by Paul Edwards

Author:Paul Edwards [Edwards, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-09-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Darkness buried timberland domes. Depleted nocturnal noises offered little solace within isolating gloom. Few crickets chattered. Fewer cicadas whirred. Passing bat wings intermittently flapped, only to retreat into hiding. One owl occasionally cooed, possibly hoping in vain for a reply from its companion which had been muted so abruptly earlier tonight.

But this night was not silent. Wind still hissed in surges and lulls, accompanied by branch creaks and leaf rustles. Scuttling disturbed nocturnal calm with bursts, some quick and startling, some malevolently persistent. Deep forest groves now rattled with the signature sounds of these invasive predators as the j’ba fofi prowled their new wilderness domain.

Night entombed white tent walls. All four human survivors hunkered down within the meager shelter provided by polyester panels. Hiding. Listening. Waiting.

Green sleeping bag fabric lay closed and still. Issa still hadn’t peeked out from her refuge, nor responded to occasional inquiries from the others.

Across tent flooring, Marielle lay atop her sleeping bag, eyes weary but open. Six inches from her side lay that shotgun, loaded, ready.

Between these sisters, Kate reclined atop the vacant sleeping bag belonging to the girls’ missing mother. Occasionally her eyelids closed for brief rests. Mostly she lay awake, watching firelight play across those darkened door flaps, and listening to her successes rule the night.

Oblivious lay sideways on a blanket along the tent doorway, rifle on her lap, boots still worn in case of emergency. Water bottle plastic stood available at her side. Spells of slumber intermittently broke her nightlong vigil, but never for more than a few minutes at a time. Upon each awakening, she glanced to all three sleeping bags, then checked the door, making sure her charges were safe.

Wall panels puffed, then sagged, as a draft spirited through their tent. Fallen leaves rustled across nearby ground outside.

Beyond zippered door flaps, stick wood snapped within campfire protection. Other leaves ruffled faintly somewhere uphill. A lone cricket chattered incessantly. Further out, distant branches brushed together in the breeze.

Oblivious turned her face aside. Unfortunately for her, experience with wilderness camping had given her sufficient knowledge to notice not only audible sounds, but sounds notable for their absence. No deer. No racoons. No opossums. No coyotes. It sounded as if the natural population of larger nocturnal animals had been collectively removed. Throughout the previous day, she had spotted no sign of any of those animals’ predators, such as bobcats, wolves, or bear. No tracks. No droppings. No remnants of prey. Maybe the lack of game had forced the native predators to move elsewhere. The less hopeful alternative was that even large predators had proven no match for this invasive species and had become prey themselves. That would mean the j’ba fofi had conquered this forest entirely. They had become its apex predator. Dominant. Unchallenged. Masters of Mourners’ Woods.

Scuttling tapped along that makeshift staircase of exposed roots below camp. Fallen leaves crinkled. Ticking then approached their tent.

Oblivious reared her head to listen.

Tarsus footsteps tapped speedily up slope roots, until reaching line of sight of campfire flame.

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