The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Epilogue & Author's Note

The air was pollen heavy. Dragonflies swam on the thick, honeyed breeze. Hard stalks poked Amy's back. The thick summer grass grew out all around her making her feel like a giant asleep in new growth forest. The blue sky was deepening into an indigo and light from millions of miles away was beginning to pierce it, although it would be hours before the others saw the stars.

"Ylva, you should be getting back." Alicia said to her from the edge of the woods.

Amy wondered if Alicia could tell where she was or just knew she was somewhere in the field staring up at the sky, as she so often did.

Alicia had proved herself to be more of a mother than a friend, keeping her on time for school buses and soccer practice. Although it wasn't really those things she reminded Amy about. The only school bus in the compound was a rusty heap with half the seats removed to make room for crates of ammunition and whenever games were played, Amy never took part.

She sighed as she got up and swept the leaves and grass from her long white dress. It was a cotton shift like the Daughters of Elijah wore, simple and pure. It seemed fitting for her. Far more so than the other uniforms worn around the compound. Being a werewolf was in itself a form of purity— this was a concept she was finally beginning to accept.

In July, she had demanded they tattoo her like the others in the Immortal Blood. She wanted a snake like Alicia had. Like the one that had led her to this salvation. Amy sat hours cringing through the pain of the needle as it pumped black ink into her skin tracing out the serpent of rebirth. She wore the new mark on her skin proudly.

But when she woke after her next transformation it was gone. Her pale forearm was wiped clean. It was then she realized the snake wasn't a symbol she had to mark herself with. There was no need for an indelible reminder. She was the snake, shedding her skin and renewing herself each month.

Like a faithful watchdog, Alicia followed her back to camp. Even without seeing Alicia, Amy knew her eyes were darting around, seeking out dangers lurking in the branches, her hand never traveling far from her holstered pistol. She was so alert, so ready, as though she might actually detect something with her feeble senses that Amy wouldn't hear or smell first.

Over at the east gate, some beer gutted members of the Seventh Seal Riders were talking nasty talk and waving their rifles around, threatening to blow all of nature away in between sharp words about women's body parts and what they'd like to do with them. They shut up when they spotted Amy and stayed quiet with their eyes fixed firmly on the ground the entire time she was in their presence. She smiled to herself at the way they tried to keep from trembling as she passed.

The youngest of the three, a baboon armed man with stringy, sweat soaked hair, made a gesture. Amy didn't see it but felt his movements disturb the air, heard the grating of muscle and sinew, sensed Alicia tense up.

Amy could imagine it was something lewd meant for her bodyguard—a most unwelcome invitation of some kind. A fever tingle ran across Amy's skin. How dare he upset Alicia? How dare he show so little respect for Ylva and what was hers?

It was just a short growl, little more than a brief clearing of her throat but his reaction was satisfying. The fence boards creaked as he pressed himself up against them in recoil and his body temperature plummeted.

She was learning. That had been the perfect rolled up newspaper against the snout. A month ago she would have filled all three with fear. Two months ago the air would have been rank from emptied bladders. She was honing how to target and adjust the strength of this skill. All it took was practice.

What a difference it made being above ground with supportive people. At the Trail's End Camp, they not only accepted her for who she was, they encouraged her to explore it.