A Dark Grave (The Elysium Chronicles 0.5)
J.A. Souders
November 13, 2160
The house is as quiet as a tomb. Not a good thought on the day I’m hunting on a supposedly haunted island.
I shudder at the chill that runs through my body; haunted or not, I’m hunting that island and I’m coming back with a boatload of meat.
As quietly as I can, I grab my rifle, my bow, and double-check my pack. Plenty of ammo? Check. Arrows, extra nocks, tips and quiver? Check. First-aid kit? Check.
I pause as I pass my brother’s room, and then move on quickly before he notices I’m leaving. He was upset when he found out I wasn’t taking him on this trip. I used the “too dangerous” excuse, and in all fairness, it’s true, but I really just needed to get away from his incessant chatter. There’s only so much a guy can take.
Mom’s got it in her head that I’m not “social” enough. That I need to spend more time with kids my age and, better yet, get a girlfriend.
“A nice, pretty girl from a good family,” she keeps saying.
Right. It’s not that I don’t want a girlfriend, just that they usually want things I don’t want to give. Like time. And attention. Besides, I learned long ago that friends are more dangerous than enemies.
On my way to the door, I stop when I see a package on the kitchen table with a note.
Just a few things for your trip.
I’m so glad you’re finally spending time with friends!
Don’t worry about us; we’ll be fine while you’re gone.
Tristan will get over it.
Have fun and be careful.
Mom
Grinning, I tuck the bag into my pack. I know what’s inside -- the same thing she’s made every time I go on long hunts: cookies. She knows it’s just about the only thing I can’t get in the Outlands.
Except this time, I’m not going to the Outlands. But if Mom knew where I was going, she’d never let me go.
I automatically glance up above the door as I walk out and press my fingers to my lips, then to the picture hanging there. Just like I do every time I leave, though today, I only hope he understands why I had to lie to mom about where I’m going.
Dad’s been gone eight years. Mom says he was killed in the Outlands on a hunting trip, which left only me, the only one skilled enough to hunt, to take care of the family. But I know better.
With a sigh, I look to the sky as I make my way to the beach on the other side of the cove to wait for my hunting partner. The stars are all gone and the moon has set, but the sun won’t be up for another hour or so. The crickets have long ceased their songs and the birds aren’t stirring yet.
It’s the perfect time of day.
No one will see us sneak our way over to the island, which is why we’re leaving now; we’re not exactly supposed to go there. Because it’s “haunted.”
I don’t believe that. I do believe, however, in all the fresh game I’m sure flourishes over there. It’s ripe for hunting and I plan to come back with so much meat that my family, and Conn’s, won’t have to worry about food for a long time.
I’m not going to let a few ghost stories get in my way.
Footsteps in the sand pull me from my thoughts and I glance over to see Connor making his way toward me.
He’s not my normal hunting partner. Usually it’s no one or, if I want company, Tristan. But with the possible danger of the island, I needed someone I knew could take care of himself -- who could also make sure I didn’t end up dead like my dad. My family would starve if I disappeared, too.
Conn has been hunting for as long as I have. We used to go out as kids with our fathers. Besides me, he’s probably the best hunter our village has. He’s also the only other person besides Tristan and my mom that I trust.
He stops next to me, peering out over the water to the island, shading his dark eyes with his hand. “You sure about this?”
“What?” I grin at him. “You’re not telling me that you’re scared of a teeny tiny island.”
He snorts and tugs his pack higher on his back. “How we gettin’ over there?”
Instead of answering, I lead to where I stashed the makeshift raft I made out of driftwood. I’d been working on the damn thing for the better part of six months. It may not look pretty, but it floats.
I drop my pack onto the raft and bend to push it into the softly lapping waves. At least the water is calm.
I glance up to Conn.
He twists the little silver loop in his ear and gives the raft an uneasy look before he sighs and tosses his pack next to mine. He knows as much as I do that the potential game on the island is worth the risk.
Together we shove away from shore. He gives me another look and I just grin at him, before we each grab one of the long poles we’ll be using for oars and drag our way toward the island.
It takes longer than I expected to cross the expanse. Even though the water looked calm on the surface, there was a strong current underneath that kept trying to push us back toward the cove. The sun is coming up over the horizon when we finally drag the raft onto the shore.
The trees are all covered in fog thick as smoke. It’s not surprising. The island is always covered in fog. The pink dawn makes it seem surreal and a bit eerie.
I shudder, but brush off the spider webs of dread clinging to my skin. The forest should be like any of the wooded areas near the village, but overflowing with animals.