Through The Valley by Yates, B.D. (the best motivational books TXT) 📗

meant that, if his ears had not deceived him amid all the chaos of the attack, Roy was a murderer for hire.

"Thieefffffff," the old corpse crooned, struggling against the ropes and pikes that held it. There was a small crunching pop as one of its fragile ribs disintegrated, and the frail body slumped forward.

"Well, I guess I'm a thief," Emmit said with a slight hint of defiant sarcasm, looking to Roy to see if he was satisfied. The big man did not move.

"Yeah, I heard as much when they swarmed you. Sometimes they have to warm up a little. No pun intended," Roy said, but his face remained emotionless.

"If everyone here is a criminal, why does it matter what I've done?" Emmit countered, trying to ignore the unblinking stare of the smiling old man corpse.  The cataracted eyes made his skin crawl.

"Robberrrrrrr..." it answered him, and managed a small, dusty sounding chuckle from its destroyed abdomen.

  "We don't allow rapists, child murderers or pedophiles in our camp.  If a Link calls one out, we cave their heads in on the spot."  Consciously or not, he gestured with the branch he had brought.

  Emmit had nothing to say to that brutal response, and nothing could be done but to stand in place and wait for the corpse to judge him thoroughly. Savage as Roy's rule sounded, Emmit was inclined to agree with him. He wouldn't want to share a one room cabin with someone like that either.

  I may not remember much about who I am, he thought to himself, clenching his fists under the chilled blanket, but I know I'm no rapist and I know I'm no fucking pedophile.

  "Baaaank... baaaank robberrrrr," the corpse continued, swaying slightly on its wobbly knees. It seemed overjoyed to be in the predicament it was in, even as the winter wind exposed the wreck of its cock again and again and again. Emmit made himself stand up straight, puffing out what little chest he had, and stared right into the milky eyes of the old man. They were dead but horrifically alive and alert, like dying stars deep in their dark sockets.

  "Robbed a bank? No offense kid, but that doesn't sound like something you could have pulled off," Roy said, and now he did have the ghost of a smile on his face. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about trying it myself once or twice."

  Emmit shrugged nonchalantly, his face sagging with fatigue. His brain felt like an overworked engine, and he imagined a silly image of himself powering down like a defective android with smoke pouring out of his ears.  He couldn't take much more.

  "I guess I did, if this thing says I did. But I honestly don't know Roy."

  "It'll come back with time," Roy said wearily. "It's not always pleasant when it does either.  Come on, I'm satisfied. Baldy here doesn't seem to have anything on you."

  Emmit hadn't realized how tensed his body had been until he heard those words, and felt himself relax with a long, vaporous sigh.  Roy was already heading back to the cabin, now using the branch as a walking stick. His boots thudded in the snow like small meteorites striking the earth in succession.

  "Let's get back. Now that we know you're alright, we like to sit down over dinner and try to walk you through the situation you've landed in."

  Emmit smiled at that, the first genuine smile he'd worn in what felt like a century. Finally, his exhausted brain might get some answers. He felt like he'd walked into a theater right in the middle of some strange foreign film and was trying to decipher the plot.

  The old man's corpse droned on behind them as they left it alone in the dark, its voice beginning to sound like the distant buzz of a cicada on a summer evening.

*   *   *

"Alright," Roy said, handing Emmit a small wooden plate. It looked like it had once been a simple slab of wood, but someone had sanded an egg-shaped groove down into the center of it to form a crude bowl. There was a cut of well-cooked meat on the plate, and Emmit's stomach began to churn and roar as soon as the smell reached his nostrils. There were four other men huddled around the fireplace, their hunched bodies silhouetted against the fire as they roasted hunks of meat with sharpened sticks. Emmit could hear them muttering, glancing over their shoulders at him as they spoke.  It almost looked like they were wearing matching uniforms with Roy; everyone wore the strange multicolored patchwork clothing, held together with oversized stitching.

Just like first grade.

There was no silverware, so Emmit just grabbed the hunk of meat with his fingers. It smelled like a pork chop, the skin slightly charred and splitting apart with clear juice running out and forming a puddle in the bottom of the bowl. Emmit sank his teeth into the meat and the hot juices squirted into his mouth, burning the tip of his tongue.  The pain barely registered. It did taste just like a moist and tender pork chop; it was a little bland without any seasonings but given the situation, it was about the most delicious thing Emmit had ever tasted in his life. He wolfed the rest of it down in two giant bites, his cheeks bulging with chewed meat as he lifted the bowl to his mouth and drank the juice.

"Easy, champ. We have to ration all our food here. Next time you might want to slow down and enjoy it a little," said Roy, his words slurred by his own mouthful of meat. Emmit shrugged and they chuckled together as he patted his flat stomach.

"I couldn't help myself, man," Emmit said, blushing slightly as he wiped off his chin. "I feel like I almost starved to death. You guys must be pretty damn good hunters