Through The Valley by Yates, B.D. (feel good books .txt) 📕

"Alright guys," Roy boomed, selecting a spear for himself and inspecting it. "We're gonna break up into two teams this time."

Chapter 7: Link Hunt

Emmit had known he would be separated from the Reverend even before Roy had made the call. He just wished he hadn't been stuck with Poke. Muddy, he didn't mind him so much. It was just Poke, with his cringey tattoos and rotten teeth and rasping voice. If back-alley drug dealing had a face and a voice, they were Poke's.

  Roy had taken the Rev and Pup on his team, and they had all begun to tromp through the snow in the direction Emmit had run from not so long ago. They drifted slowly apart, forming a giant V through the glistening trees. It had begun to snow again although the sky remained a friendly shade of blue. Fortunately for them all, it didn't compare to the rampage of a storm that had been tearing through the area when Emmit had come through the "time warp". It was almost peaceful, if you could tune out Poke's voice, Muddy's incessant giggles, and the nagging thought of bashing in the brains of something that had once been human.

Emmit thought he could do it. He didn't even think he would hesitate. Once he saw those dead eyes and sleepy grins inching toward him, the panic would be behind the wheel. He would swing his club until he broke his own wrists if that's what it took.

Occasionally his thoughts would drift back to nightfall and the faint hope of seeing the Reverend's beloved light. He wanted so badly to believe in it. He even felt that he was 99.99% positive it was real, just because of the leery way Roy had mentioned it. But he couldn't risk his life, couldn't risk never seeing Deacon again, unless he laid eyes on it for himself. That would be the catalyst.

They had been walking single file, following a brownish smudge of a trench that zigzagged and wound through the trees. It looked like a game trail, but even with his lackluster vision Emmit could spot drag marks and human shoe prints. The snow was speckled with mud and other dark substances that he didn't care to identify. He casually stepped over a tattered glove that had been lost along the path, which appeared to still contain the mummified remains of a hand. A startlingly white knob of bone jutted out from the frayed wristband.

Well, we're definitely heading in the right direction if we're looking for a fight.

He was fingering the wrappings around the stone head of his club, trying to make sure they weren't too loose, when the line suddenly came to a stop. Poke whirled around, his eyes dark and full of venom. His facial tattoos had faded to a light gray on his chalky face.

"Muddy!" He hissed, stabbing his finger into Muddy's chest hard enough to push him back into Emmit. "Roy said to keep your god damned retard mouth shut out here. The fuck is so funny anyway?"

Muddy slowly turned to look at Emmit, then his cheeks swelled and reddened like a party balloon and he had to choke the laughter back.

"I just realized, Poke," Muddy wheezed, "He doesn't know why you all named me Muddy."

Poke allowed a strained smile at that, a devilish display of tooth decay that seemed to promise vicious intent. Then his eyes softened and the two chuckled together. It was a strange and alien sound in the silence of the woods, but it also felt good. It felt human. It didn't take long for Emmit to get his hollow belly rolling too, regardless of the fact that they all knew they should be quiet.

"So why..." Emmit panted, "why do they call you Muddy?"

  "Because the first time I saw a Link, I shit my britches so full that I filled my right boot with it. Roy almost turned me away because he said I smelled like a hot septic tank."

  They howled with laughter, and to someone passing by who didn't know any better, they would have looked like three old friends enjoying a winter hike together. Their business was much darker than a simple walk through the woods, and Poke, who had anointed himself their master and commander, was quick to shut the horseplay down. He made a cutting motion with his hand, and once again his face returned to its state of normalcy; a face that looked like it should be pressed between prison bars, threatening the passing guards without a single word spoken.

  "We're wasting time, we've wasted too much already," he rasped, his lips working around his gangrenous gums and teeth. "Some of this Link goo isn't frozen yet. We gotta be getting close to the herd."

  They pressed on, following the path the Links had left for them. Emmit wasn't ready to return to a state of constant stress and fear quite yet. His soul felt tired. He began to imagine that they were walking through a pair of some ill giant's underwear, following a skid mark all the way from the taint to the cheeks. He leaned forward and muttered this to Muddy, which got him guffawing again, and Emmit found that he liked the sound of it. Muddy struck him as a man who had probably been bullied for most of his life for his mental state, and when it came to being bullied for circumstances you couldn't control, Emmit Mills was an expert. He began to strike up bits of conversation with him in between the crunching and sloshing sounds of their journey, and Muddy greeted him with a warm smile and a slightly childish look of surprise each time. The poor man didn't seem to be accustomed to people wanting to talk to him.

  "You mind if I ask you some questions, Muddy?" He was trying