January 1
It was January; I struggled through the snow but the deer pranced through as if it wasn’t even there. I wasn’t cold at least, buried under a coat and layers of wool aided by the fact I’d been running and gunning for what felt like miles by this point. I was probably unpleasantly warm but I had no time to notice, I was out of my mind; I was doing whatever I could to keep those devils as far away from me and my friend as I could.
Ian held the sensor he had built. He was always intelligent, much more intelligent than I was. It felt like magic watching him work sometimes but I could never remotely understand how he could have constructed a sensor that could track “supernatural activity”. He refused to tell me how he figured it out, how he got the knowledge. It only added to the growing unease I had for my closest, only friend; the one link connecting me to the rest of society.
I always succeeded in quashing that sense of unease; looking back now I really should have listened to it but it hurt me too much to cut off someone so near to me. I felt possessive as well, as if I had a duty to defend him as I defended myself. He never seemed to need my protection though, he never carried a weapon, not even a knife. He sprinted forward, dragging through the snow (it was up to his knees) and feigning fear. I knew him well enough to see he wasn’t really afraid, just pretending. He had excitement buried in his heart. I had to keep him in sight.
We came on an aged compound, a cluster of abandoned buildings, I didn’t stop to think about their purpose. The fence around them had long collapsed but the walls still stood. Ian said that it was an old farm, an obvious lie but I had no time to worry about that.
Two more whitetail were running up behind me. Six more shots. One had bashed its own head open but only a more traumatic injury could halt its aggression.
Ian had gotten away from me; I didn’t see where he went. So many deer had come through this place I was having trouble marking his tracks. My light didn’t give enough definition through the whiteout to tell them apart and I wasn’t going to lean down and look.
I eventually found Ian in one of the larger buildings. It seemed like a warehouse; he was in what seemed to be a corner office standing over the body of a man dressed in fur robes. He said something to me but I didn’t hear it, I was busy searching every inch of the body. He was wearing some kind of pelt, it was custom made evidently and the inside had a few pockets stitched in – intentional work. The coat was slightly open and two of the pockets were empty.
I raised my rifle and trained it on Ian; I asked him what he took. He told me he hadn’t taken anything but that didn’t matter; it wouldn’t have mattered even if he handed the thing over or if I searched him and found it. The fact he took anything was proof even if I didn’t know what it was.
A long moment of hesitation, we stared each other in the eyes, both of us hoping he had been convincing. I lowered the barrel. “I believe you.” He was my closest friend, he said he hadn’t taken anything so, he hadn’t taken anything. The whole thing was just a rush of emotions in a wild and distressing situation.
We hiked back through the woods, clear of mind, clear of deer. The night resumed its tranquil grey sleep and we took solace in the meditative silence after our ordeal. I walked with a few yards between the two of us though. I must have still been shook up; I felt uncomfortable walking too close to Ian.
I found out later that Ian really had taken something from the body.