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

out of the doorway, his foot supported by the snow for a second or two before the frozen crust gave way and he sank all the way to his shin.  He leaned around the edge of the shed door to look back inside, unable to withstand the horror of looking directly at Pup but instead picking a spot just above him.

"I'm coming back for you, kid," he said, not bothering to whisper it.

  Emmit trudged off in the direction he thought would take him to the cabin.

He knew it was more or less a straight line, but he also remembered watching an episode of some science show once that had proved it was impossible to walk in a straight line when you were blindfolded.  He wasn't far off from blindfolded.

Being alone in the darkness of the woods without the use of his eyes was like falling from a sheer cliff face, plummeting Emmit to a darker, more paralyzing level of fear than he had ever felt before. This time, at least, he had layered clothing on instead of his naked flesh against the cold. It was as if he had traded one broken leg in exchange for another broken leg.

Ahead of him, the foliage looked like gargantuan seaweed floating lazily in murky water. There were blobs of darkness with uneven strips of blacker darkness between them, and that was about as much detail as he could decipher. He slogged through the deep snow, keeping his hands outstretched in front of him to avoid any more head on collisions. He frequently snapped his head around to check the trail he left behind for curves and bows. He appeared to be traveling mostly straight, give or take a few craters and drifts where he had stumbled. He should, theoretically, be inching his way into camp at any moment.

He paused like a hunted deer, holding his breath to listen. There wasn't much wind at all, not for the moment anyway. A few lonely snowflakes hovered and spiraled around his tense form like icy fireflies. He felt his sense of hearing already growing stronger, having all but lost his eyesight, and his heart thudding away in his ears sounded loud enough to echo around him. He closed his eyes, focused hard, and listened for any movement nearby. He had spent so much time worrying about Roy and Poke that he had forgotten the pet Link that had been tied up like a mongrel dog, right behind the shed he'd just broken out of. There were no fort walls or chain link fences to keep the rest of them away from him. He was in the jungle now, and they could be anywhere.

At first, he doubted his frantic perception, chocking it up to his frayed nerves— but no. There was something there. He had heard a sound, and it was coming from not so far away.  It was carrying across the endless vegetation, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It sounded like the distant roar of a waterfall, monstrous white noise that peaked and waned as if some fairy-tale giant was fiddling with the tuning knob on a massive radio. It could have been the wind, he supposed, but the sinking sensation in his stomach and the bubbling ache in his lower intestine protested that comforting explanation. It wasn't the wind he was hearing. It was voices. Dead voices.

The Megahorde.

He was drenched with sweat, but a chill tickled up his spine, nonetheless. So many worries and concerns swirled around in his head like a psychotic maelstrom of thought and anxiety, and he could do nothing about any of it. Nothing.  He couldn't even remember the solid details of his alleged bank robbery; his mind had not yet healed from the trauma of whatever phenomena had brought him here.  And still there was more trauma, piling on, compounding every second like bad debt.

  That was when the fear really began to take hold of him, bringing with it a physical sensation of his heart tearing itself apart like an overworked engine as he realized just how hopeless he really was. Emmit thought again about stripping down to his bare ass, pulling armfuls of snow over himself like a comforter, and waiting for death to ease all his problems away.  Go out on his own terms, falling into the last nap he'd ever take.

Daddy, what happens when someone dies?

He saw Deacon then, smiling at him for the very first time. It hadn't been like the movies always showed it; nothing quite so extravagant. In fact, he remembered, grinning with chattering teeth, he had been on the toilet when it had happened. Deacon had been one of those babies who thought that if you left the room, even for a quick crap, you had been absorbed into the universe and you were gone forever. He would open his tiny mouth and fat cheeks wide, impossibly wide, and scream with all the shrill volume of a burglar alarm. And so, Emmit had dragged Deek's bouncer (which he liked to rock with his foot to get the little demon to sleep) into the bathroom with him, parked it at the base of the throne, and was rocking him with his bare foot while also trying to focus on relieving himself. Deacon had somehow known how hilarious and awkward this was, and for the first time in his short life, had scrunched his button nose and smiled. It had been wide and toothless, his still blue eyes sparkling.

  Emmit had yelled for Kelly to come and see, hyperventilating with excitement. She had burst in, and man, the look on her face...

Emmit was laughing now, even as the tears hardened into icy streaks on his face. He started walking again.  He would not be absorbed into the universe and gone forever for real.

I just wish there were a sign, something to let me know I'm not wandering off into the middle of nowhere...

Perhaps something