Five

1 – Scott

   Scott wasn’t thinking about an endgame any longer. He didn’t have a plan for what he would do once he reached the mountain’s peak. The alcohol in his system and the pure amount of emotion bottled up inside of him made it feel like he was reaching his break point, as though he’d burst and kill whoever came in his path and offered him a reason.

   He continued up the mountain as fast as he could. It was all he could think to do. All the small unpleasant discomforts were ignored, then, forgotten. And, although he had the wherewithal to bring his heavy backpack with him, he couldn’t even begin to think about eating or drinking again, not after finding Chelsea. Since seeing Chelsea, the very thought of food repulsed him. Also, the thought of stopping seemed like a luxury he couldn’t afford himself. Even though, he knew he’d eventually have to, one way or the other.

   Scott could have been there. He could have protected her. He should have been. He should have kept her safe.

   Hassan was quiet as they continued their ascension. He hadn’t said even a word since first offering to accompany Scott, not that Scott minded in the least. Had he a reason to care for Chelsea the way he seemed to? As far as Scott knew, they had only known each other since a little after he and Chelsea broke up. Had there been something else he had not known about? Choosing not to go down that rabbit hole any further, Scott took a drink from his flask, feeling the warm liquid go down his throat, taking away any bad thoughts he might have had, at least momentarily.

   They would have to take shelter eventually, he knew that. Night was coming and it would make things a lot more complicated for them.

2 – Bryan

   “I hope that Scott comes to his senses before it’s too late,” Bryan said.

   The group kept themselves at the checkpoint. It was a decision that was also widely advised by the mountain’s security that, with all the training of the average lifeguard, if that, had never been in a situation like this.

   “They should have been stopped. They saw how angry Scott was about this. Who wouldn’t be after seeing something so fucked up?”

   “They’re looking for them now,” Melissa said, trying to reassure him.

   “Couple police officers on foot with flashlights,” Shaun shook his head in displeasure. “This mountain is huge, and each path has like seven detours. And, once they get to where the path’s end, do you really think they’ll care enough about two college dip shits to keep searching?” Shaun asked, carrying an aggressive tone that likely wasn’t really intended to be taken out on Melissa.

   Melissa remained quiet until Shaun’s sharp stare began to weaken. Shaun wrapped his arm around Melissa in an embrace, one that Melissa leaned into and accepted.

   Shaun was a nice person, through and through. That’s what Bryan had found of him in the few years they had known each other. He was a natural born leader who often had a calm, collected way of articulating himself and could usually put that to use in situations. That remained true, but something had definitely changed in him, as well. How could it not, considering the situation?

   “Why did Hassan encourage Scott like a nut job for?” Jessica cried out, after a long silence on her part. Something about the man she was with running away to avenge his murdered girlfriend took away her chipper, talkative nature. Her makeup was smeared from dry tears in a way that resembled a sad clown. A very sad clown. It, at least, partly served her right for deciding to wear makeup on a hiking trip, even if it was a mean thought for Bryan to have.

   “I assumed he and Chelsea were more than friends out here. Something about seeing Chelsea like that must have fucked him up real bad. Imagine how it must have been for him having to walk to the checkpoint by himself and reach the others. Remember the guy at the lake, how tore up he was? Even he had the company of other people. A long walk on the path, your left and your right covered by trees. Every rustle of the leaves being enough to make you shit yourself. For all he knew, he could have been leading himself to the plank of wood he’d be put up on. Did you see how cold and different he was? The guy’s a ticking time bomb of emotions.” Shaun said.

   Bryan held the Styrofoam cup in his hands. Now empty, the cup was nothing more than an object for him to fidget with, drilling holes in with his thumb, making an unnecessary cup-piece graveyard on the table. It was funny, all those advertisements and branded drinks about mountain springs, and, here he was, at the biggest, most prestigious mountain in all of Maharris, and the water only tasted okay.

   “Bryan, didn’t you tell me Hassan beat up Scott real bad at that party?” K.J. asked, a look of sudden shock on her face that she shared as she looked at the rest of the group.

   Bryan remained calm on the outside, however, on the inside, all he was thinking about was how much he regretted sharing things with K.J. at this moment. Bryan readied himself for all the eyes that would soon be looking at him and was thankful when Shaun spoke before that could happen.

   “Wait, that was him who gave Scott that black eye and fat lip?” Shaun asked.

   “Why would Scott be so friendly with him if they had fought in the past? Scott’s never been one to forget and forgive, especially not under these circumstances.” Melissa asked.

   “If punching him in the face was friendly, I’m glad I never got to see Scott in one of his bad days,” Jessica sassed.

   Was the initial jolt of fear starting to leave her, allowing for the snarky Jessica to creep through the cracks of the one who was traumatized.

   “Scott told me he blacked out that night, said he couldn’t remember who it was he got in a fight with,” Shaun answered.

   “Why didn’t you bring this up before?” Jessica asked, addressing Bryan sternly.

   Bryan felt the sweat start on his brow. There, then, came the eyes that Bryan had once, so luckily, avoided

   “I didn’t think about it. That happened over a month ago, and there were more important things happening than some stupid, drunk fight.” Bryan said, a line of logic he certainly found reasonable. As a matter of fact, depending on how much Hassan drank himself, it was possible he blocked out as well! Although, the real reason he had chosen to remain silent about it had a more timid explanation.

   “There is definitely something wrong about that,” Shaun said, keeping a tight-lipped approach on his own speculation.

   “Do you think Hassan might have actually killed Chelsea and might be wanting to kill Scott!?” Jessica blurted out, unable to show the same level of restraint as he did as far as jumping to conclusions were concerned.

   Shaun shook his head. Bryan could tell from the habitual eye roll that followed that Shaun was having to try to keep from showing his own irritation.

   “If Hassan would have killed Chelsea and intended to kill Scott, there would have been no reason for him to tell anyone about it. It’s like I was telling Melissa, this area, you could pick a spot, any spot, and it would be decades before anyone would uncover it.”

   Bryan stayed quiet, but, in his head, part of him was curious about exactly why Shaun and Melissa had been talking about the convenience of murdering someone on Mt. Kass.

   “I think what they said was the truth. I think that it is a cult doing this. The simplest explanation is that someone wanted to send a message and used Chelsea to do it.” Shaun explained. It was clear he had started to regain his composure at least to some extent.

   “People are awful,” Rachel said, sniffling. It appeared her emotions had once more overcame her, causing her to sob.

   Shaun nodded. “They are, but I believe that a lot more than that Hassan was involved in this.”

3 – Shaun 

   What they were provided was far from the most luxurious of accommodations. None of them minded that though, not at all, in-fact. They had their own sleeping bags that were sprawled across the floor of the station(?), Shaun supposed “station” was the proper word for it. Although, it looked more like a shabby old cabin with wood plank flooring which creaked each time anyone put their foot on a loose end. Despite the nuisance, Shaun appreciated that it meant no one would be able to sneak up on him.

   The fear of a cult running around with flaming torches was a real one. Shaun imagined them dressed as animals, beheading and clawing the eyes out of anyone that came their way.

   The night loomed on and soon, the whole cabin was dark. With all the candles blown out, it was a vain attempt for everyone to try and sleep through the situation.

   Melissa was scared, and why wouldn’t she be? Shaun was afraid, knowing that this would be the first of many sleepless nights for him. He doubted Melissa slept, her tossing and turning suggested not. Facing him, then not, facing him, then not. This would be a long night.

4 – Scott 

   The sound of rustling gravel and something being dragged through the dirt occurred to Scott a small second before he realized it was him being dragged through said dirt.

   Scott opened his eyelids slowly. He had slept rough through the night. Because of that, among other reasons, it took him a few seconds to truly appreciate the predicament he was in. His arms were fastened together with rope and pulling him by another rope tied around his feet, Hassan was dragging him across the dirt path. Scott didn’t stop to think, and simply spoke, “I’m going to fucking kill you!”

   “I am only doing my part,” Hassan calmly replied. It wasn’t Hassan’s voice that met Scott’s ears. This was the voice of someone different, a moody voice that sounded raspy like that of a heavy chain smoker.

   “You fucking did that to Chelsea!” Scott yelled out, a nasally, squeaky and imperfect yell that happened a second before the dirt from the trail overcame him and made him choke.

   “I want not the one who killed your girlfriend, no. That was someone else. The only death I will play a role in is yours. A fact, for which, I am terribly apologetic.” It was as if Hassan had become an entirely different person, the charade no longer having to continue, his mask was off.

   Scott tried his best to fight. He tried to break himself free from his restraints and found little success in his strides. The ropes were thick and tightly wrapped around his limbs. It was even harder by the fact that Hassan didn’t relent in his movements for a single moment. Even when they’d spoken for their brief exchange, Hassan remained intent in his goals, never making eye-contact with Scott or stopping to speak. The squirming seemed not to deter him either.

   The fear started to set in. Scott had wanted to go to the top of the mountain and confront Chelsea’s killer, but, had he, really?

   The sobered Scott had an awful feeling at the pit of his stomach. He shook and made an effort to snag himself on all of the nearby branches he could, partly because he wanted to free himself, and also because he wanted to keep Hassan from reaching wherever it was they were headed. But Hassan didn’t seem bothered by it at all, tripping him up would be like stopping a runaway freight train.

   Scott could feel the ache in his body, flesh split apart by the rocks he was dragged across. It was an agonizing discomfort, one that forced him to involuntarily squirm for relief. He did his best to distance himself from how he felt, to compartmentalize one emotion in-favor of shock. It didn’t work very well.

   “Where are you taking me?” Scott finally asked, after some minutes. His back burned and his shirt had started to rub off some over time, forcing his bare flesh to take the brunt of the ground.

   “To the top of the mountain,” Hassan said plainly.

   “And what’s at the top of the mountain?”

   “Him.”

5 – Shaun

   The sound of hands hammering down against the doors of the cabin became readily apparent. It was loud, more than loud enough to catch the attention of everyone that slept in the waiting room. Shaun flung himself up out of his small sleeping bag and wasn’t surprised to see Melissa join him soon after.

   It wasn’t like any of them were asleep. The sun was starting to rise, offering a calming theme from the outside window that contrasted how black inside most of them actually felt. The knocks continued. They had a rhythm. It was a crescendo that seemed to become more abrasive the longer time went on, each one sending a shiver up Shaun’s spine, raising the anxiety he already felt a great deal.

   “What’s going on?” A voice called out from one of the sleeping bags on the floor. It was interesting to Shaun, to see someone snuggled up and actually seeming rested.

   It was a person that Shaun didn’t recognize, not from school or otherwise. It was someone the security guards had stopped and offered refuge to. Along with, there were many, some taking the advice and coming inside, whereas others chose to merely set up camp in the proximity of the station, shunning the warning off as an overreaction. It must have been nice not to have seen what Shaun and his friends had.

   Shaun peeked out the window, seeing the open tents on the outside. The knocking subsided at last. One of the security guards must have finally answered the door.

   Shaun’s eyes looked to the door leading out of the room and knew he wasn’t the only person looking as well. At the first sign, Shaun would be ready to run to the nearest window and make his escape. In the meantime, the station was the closest thing to shelter that they had, and Shaun was not overjoyed by the prospect of surrendering it.

   A cry of agony sounded from the front of the station, between there and the waiting room was a long hallway with doorways leading to several other rooms. Shaun took a glance out the window and, only now, for the first time, did he really see it for what it was. The tents were open, in some respect, but only because they had been ripped into. Shaun ended any plans at leaving through the window at that moment.

   “Barricade the door,” Shaun said, looking over to Bryan who nodded compliantly, and Melissa, who maintained a look of contained fear by the whole ordeal.

   The rest of them obliged. Rachel and Jessica needed no convincing, but the rest of them now, also, were starting to realize the severity of the situation. They did as they were told, making do with what they could. The plastic chairs once pushed up against the wall were now in a stack against the door.

   Would it all be enough to keep them out? Shaun didn’t know the answer for certain but didn’t know of a whole lot of other options for himself. The screaming of some person’s agony crept closer. Shaun felt the fear continue to pile on in his chest the nearer it came. At last, there was the rattle of the doorknob on their end. The door shook and the stacked chairs budged a little bit until Shaun applied pressure to them. Then, came a knock: “Open the damn door, we need the first-aid kits,” a raspy voice called out.   Shaun looked at the rest of the people around him, as if searching in hopes of tallying their consensus on what to do and what decision to make. Instead, what he received were blank, uncertain stares that looked to him to decide on the next move. And so, he did, lessening his force against the door, he calmed his nerves and let out a breath. Then, he moved their makeshift barricade, allowing for the man to enter.

   Thankfully, what he saw was not anything other than what he should have expected. It was a police officer, a real one, not one of the Rent-a-Cops that headed the mountain security. The officer did not show any sign of gratitude, carrying a pissed off face because the inconvenience. Over the back of his neck, a person had their arm draped over him for support. That person was badly in need of medical attention, much more than any medical kit could ever have hoped to provide.

   Shaun stood aside, and behind him, nobody said anything, although, he thought he heard a couple of shocked gasps in reaction to the hurt man. The man had been attacked, but that much was obvious. His face had been, at least, partially, bludgeoned with something, struck over and over again. What looked back at them was something disfigured in a way that no longer looked human. Blood ran down and stained his shirt, but it was no longer gushing out of him. What looked more heinous than the cuts on his face were the bruises and the way it realigned his face. Both of his eyes were swollen shut, but in-between the slits of his lids was something white that drooped out in a way that reminded Shaun of egg yolk.

   “Someone better be fucking helping me in the next few seconds,” the officer barked out while he assisted the man forward without finishing the threat.

   Shaun stared at him with a dumbfounded blankness that lasted until Melissa stepped forward and began to assist the man. She brought one of the chairs from off the stack and helped sit the man down. Then, she began her search for the first aid kid. She pulled open drawers and slammed them shut the second she had a look at the confines. There was the distinct of rattling silverware and other objects that Shaun had not been able to clearly make out. She gave up on the drawers and progressed to the cabinets overhead, almost immediately finding a small med-kit for her troubles.

   Melissa walked nervously over to the police officer, who snatched up the small box out from her hands. The officer did what he could, trying his hand at disinfecting the wounds and dressing the small cuts. In the end, there was only so much that could be done with a small container of medical supplies. The officer didn’t bother touching the injured man’s eyes, maybe because there wasn’t really anything that could be done in the current predicament. Melissa was with him the whole way, holding the hurt man’s hand and telling him lies about how everything would be alright.

   Melissa was warm and nurturing by nature, it was part of the reason why she had always wanted to be a teacher. Be that as it may, the man was not receptive to her reassurances, screaming in agony, yelling nonsense words and squirming about in discomfort.

   In time, all of their medical resources had been fully exhausted, an event that didn’t take very much time to make happen.

   The police officer grabbed a handful of paper towels and started to wipe away the blood. He had a look of exasperated fatigue on his face that showed what a long night it must have been for him.

   “What is going on?” A person finally blurted out. He was a brown-haired, dimwitted looking felllow that Shaun hadn’t noticed before.

   The police officer looked at him with a sour, mirthless expression, then, nodded his head in gratitude toward Melissa for helping him. Shaun could understand the police officer for not being in a particularly chatty mood, especially to someone that not only didn’t help him with an injured person, but also barricaded him away from the medical supplies. All the same, Shaun did very much want answers about their situation.

   “What IS going on?” Shaun echoed, putting his arm over Melissa out of hopes that it would buy him some sort of good will.

   The police officer shot him a glare that must have lessened when he saw the fear in Shaun’s eyes. “I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, kid.”

   Shaun and the rest of them were all quiet for a second.

   “I do know that they are sendin’ helicopters out to pick up people at each checkpoint, and the bodies,” the last bit was added grimly, as if hoped to be taken as an afterthought.

   “How many bodies?” Shaun asked, not allowing for it to simply be ignored.

   “Look, if you stay here, it’s probably about the safest place you can be on this mountain. A helicopter should be here in a few hours, and then, all of this will be nothing except for an ugly memory.” The gray-haired officer spoke.

   A second later, he started for the door, much to the dismay of practically everyone in the room.

   “Where are you going?” It was a question asked by more than one of the people, not in unison, but something closer to a garbled mess of sound.

   “I have to go out there and see if I can find any other survivors,” The officer said. Then added, after seeming to read the emotions of the room: “There are other police officers sweeping the area, as well as guards employed to look out for people on the mountain.”

   “Those guys don’t know their heads from their asses,” Rachel blurted out, a rare outburst, but one that expressed the fear she felt through the squeaky, inconsistent pitch of her voice.

   “Everything will be fine,” the police officer reiterated, trying his best to reassure her, even putting his hands on her shoulders to bring home the point.

6 – Scott

   Scott could feel his blood patched up by dirt and torn again. Hassan had been dragging him arund for hours, at least, although, Scot wasn’t for certain whether or not he’d lost consciousness at all since it began.

   He had begun to feel numb, and, out of instinct, his hands were dormant, dragging across the ground alongside his body.

   It was only a matter of time before his death would come. One way or the other, it would happen. Part of him contemplated giving in; of fading and being unconscious to his own demise.

   As if by some miracle, he lifted his hands to his chest and discovered the rope restraints were no more. Where had they gone? Scott was unsure. They could have been snagged on some of the branches or twigs or ground away on the dirt. He wasn’t even exactly sure how it helped him at all. Then, grabbing the knife strapped to his side, he leaned forward. A yell escaped his lips, although, it was not enough to get Hassan’s attention. Scott had already fought and squirmed many times prior to this.

   Scott leaning forward and stabbing him in the palm with his knife did, however, get his attention. Hassan flinched, releasing the ropes out from his clutches.

   “Get back!” Scott yelled, wiggling like a worm in desperate strides to create some distance for himself.

   He used the knife to slice into the restraints around his legs, carving into them, but not taking his eyes off of Hassan for a single second. He could still feel the burning presence of them on his wrists and ankles even after he was freed.

   “Get back!” Scott yelled again. The hysteria in his voice was expressed loudly. He could feel the involuntary tears go down his cheeks while he waved the knife around to keep Hassan away.

   Hassan didn’t look intimidated. Rather, he looked, perhaps, more irritated than anything else by Scott. Hassan toward him.

   “You don’t understand what I am trying to do. I am trying to reduce the bloodshed.” Hassan spoke in a formal, matter-of-fact tone, acting confidently as though he believed his actions were just.

   “Fuck you!” Scott said. It wasn’t the most eloquent of replies, but between the fear that traveled up him and the skin that had been severed off by the dirt, Scott didn’t have his wits about him.

   Hassan walked forward, still unafraid of the knife that Scott held in-front of him. That fact frightened Scott, with flashback memories of what had been done to Chelsea. But, then, the anger and adrenaline soon had its say in the matter as well. Scott made a jab toward Hassan’s ribcage, but was easily out-matched by Hassan, who grabbed his arm and flipped him over the ground. Scott screamed from the sensation of his crimson-covered back hitting the dirt, but quickly returned to his feet, not allowing too much time for Hassan to plot his next move.

   “You won’t survive this, one way or the other,” Hassan said.

   Instead of trying again at attacking Hassan, Scott did the only that made sense to him at the moment.

   He ran.

   He ran off into the trees, where it became clear they were no longer in a part of the mountains with set paths, ‘the protected wilderness’, as the large maps scattered around the area called it. Scott did his best to cover as much distance as he could, all while trying his best to keep for certain he didn’t fall or lose his balance.

   Scott knew he needed to get as far away from Hassan as he could, that he needed to hide and wait until the opportune time to make it back to one of the checkpoints lower down on the mountain.

   Scott ran and ran, not even for certain that Hassan was following any longer because he was too afraid to check. It was only once he met a cliff his feet halted and stopped dead in their tracks, a hasty, sloppy stop that caused him to lose balance and fall to his bottom. His feet accidentally kicked rocks off from the cliff, down a twenty-five or thirty-feet drop below. He was relieved when the mistake didn’t alert the group of figures that were walking together below him.

   Scott tried to relax his heavy breathing while he watched them. It wasn’t a cult-like group, or, at least, not by the very particular way they carried themselves. Or, perhaps, maybe it was, but they were more formal than that. Their march seemed to resemble military of some sort.

   Scott did not recognize their uniforms from where he was, but what he did recognize was the flag that one of them carried. It was the same flag as he’d seen in Chelsea’s final resting place.

   The fear was paralyzing as the realization started to set in with an unflinching clarity packed behind it.

   Here, he stood, directly above the people responsible for Chelsea’s murder, and there was nothing he could do except watch them continue on their way.

   They wore dark clothing, although certain details and intricacies were too difficult to distinguish from how far away they were and the angle Scott looked at them from. They had swords sheathed in scabbards at their way. The way they walked paid attentive focus to their swords. Their hands were at the hilt each step of the way.

   It was Shaun or Bryan, or someone, who had said their name once before. Someone had made a connection, saying it was the Kudos’ flag and they were Kudos’ men. That was the idea, at least. Scott didn’t know whether to call it a cult or a deranged historical reenactment.

   Scott’s concentration broke the moment he heard a rustling from behind him. The noise made him flinch and jerk back, surveying the area, expecting the worst. He situated himself behind a tree, trying to keep himself hidden from whatever had made the noise.

   He had allowed his lungs a short time to rest, and should the situation call for it, he was ready to run again. His knife was tightly gripped in his hands. He heard the rustling noise once again. This time, he was even able to pinpoint its origins, coming from a hedge of bushes not far from him. What came out, however, was nothing except for a small fox.

   Scott lowered his guard for a second, but only a second, before he felt a person grab at his shoulder from behind. Flinching again at once, Scott made a loud scream of despair. He maneuvered himself out from the person’s clutches: Hassan.

   The noise was enough to alert the men down below them, whose reactions were noticed by Hassan before Scott, “Would you look at what you’ve done now!? If they catch you, your death will be useless!” Hassan yelled.

   Scott didn’t react to his remark, and, instead, reacted to his presence in-general, stabbing his knife in Hassan’s direction. Unlike before, this time his attack actually landed, piercing Hassan’s cheek. He yanked the knife forward, severing through his flesh.

   Hassan turned away from Scott for only a moment, but before Scott could even invest in the idea of running away, Hassan snapped back at him. Along with the skin that had been cut off of him from the attack, so with it left more of his flesh. The skin hit the ground and sizzled away, complimented by an acidic sound.

   Looking back at Scott, peeling away, was a rotted corpse, with Hassan and Hassan’s clothes falling off of it like a snake shedding its skin. It looked back at him, a monster, by all definitions of the phrase.

   The sound of a horn blaring caused for it to look away, like an attentive canine hearing a knock at the door, and with that opportunity, Scott took the chance and ran away. The clear visual of Chelsea’s remains being repeated over and over in his brain. That would be him in a matter of moment. That would be him. That would be him. It was a thought that left him so afraid, and then, at once, he felt his leg give away beneath him.

   He tripped.

   His ankle badly twisted, either that, or it was simply broken. The pain shot through him and felt surreal. He felt that all and everyone on his body hurt, and yet, what it provided was a certain disconnect, unable to narrow in on one pain in-particular.

   All he could do was crawl away. If he crawled away, then, maybe he could find himself some place that he wouldn’t be seen.

   “No,” Scott said. It was more of an involuntary act than a thought he’d committed himself to, something that registered with his lips before his brain.

   Hassan crept closer to him, or, at least, whatever the creature was that stared back at him, a piece of rotting meat that dripped loose skin which didn’t appear to be its own. Scott crawled for his life. There was no way he would be able to keep from Hassan now, but, what else could he do about it except for crawl?

   Hassan stood over him for only a moment. In his hands, he held a large rock, and when he brought it down over Scott’s leg, all that could be done was a yell of agony as his leg was severed from his body.