Free Web NovelChapter 90: Chapter 90 - Mud Creek Hunt
They moved out before the light fully settled, heading north, the ground still uneven under layers of piled snow that had not yet frozen solid, every step deliberate as boots sank and lifted again in a slow, steady rhythm.
Five miles was not far. Not for them. Not with purpose.
The mule walked ahead of Iyisha, its breath puffing white, ears flicking back and forth as it pulled the low sled behind it, the runners hissing softly over packed snow and shallow drifts, the load balanced with care. Crates. Tools. Wrapped supplies. Nothing rattled. Nothing swung loose.
Watching it move, Iyisha understood why Malcolm had agreed to this setup. The mule did not rush. It tested the ground with each step, shifting its weight when snow gave way, choosing firmness instinctively, steady where a horse would have panicked or slipped.
Good choice, she thought. Slow. Quiet. Reliable.
Ahead of her, Fennigan walked with an easy stride that did not match the terrain, tall and loose limbed, red hair visible even under his hood, a faint smile always threatening his mouth like the cold amused him.
Aaron stayed closer to the mule, shorter and stocky, shoulders thick, movements economical, eyes always on the load or the ground ahead, his silence as constant as his pace.
Malcolm moved between them without comment, rifle slung, attention forward, already in the shape of the work.
"You’re the girl," Fennigan said suddenly, glancing back over his shoulder, a chuckle riding his breath.
Iyisha frowned slightly. "What?"
He laughed. "We haven’t seen you before, but we know you." He nodded toward her hands. "Malcolm asked Aaron to make the gloves."
Her gaze dropped without thinking.
The gloves were worn in already, soft where her fingers bent, thick enough to keep the cold from biting through. She looked up again, her eyes finding Malcolm first. He did not react. Did not look back. Just kept walking.
She turned instead to Aaron, who was a step behind, guiding the mule.
"Thank you," she said, smiling.
Aaron nodded once. No words. No expression change.
Something about it made her smile wider, the familiarity of that quiet, the way it reminded her of Malcolm more than anything else.
Fennigan laughed again. "Don’t mind him," he said. "Grumpy old man."
Aaron did not react.
Fennigan’s grin shifted as he looked between them, then at Malcolm’s back. "But I figured you’d understand him," he added lightly.
Iyisha snickered before she could stop herself.
The sound carried briefly in the cold air before fading, swallowed by snow and distance, as the mule continued forward, steady and patient, pulling them deeper toward the hunting grounds.
Iyisha kept her eyes moving as they walked, the white stretching in every direction, broken only by trees and the slow line of their tracks behind them, and the thought crept in without warning that without them, without Malcolm, she would already be dead out here. Not injured. Not struggling. Dead.
She glanced at him again.
She could not see any part of his skin. The coat swallowed his frame. Goggles hid his eyes. Gloves covered his hands. And still, the way he moved, the way he held himself, the quiet certainty in his stride and the height of him against the pale ground made something tighten low in her chest.
He looked good. Too good for a place like this.
Her mind slipped backward, unwanted, to the night before, and she felt a brief pang of regret at having slept again after resting only a little, at not staying awake with him longer. Doing more.
Then another thought followed, steadier.
No. It was good.
Before they left, she had gone to Mary and said nothing more than yes. The IUD hurt. The choice hurt less than the alternative.
And Malcolm haven’t used the condom they had.
Fennigan’s hand lifted suddenly.
They stopped.
The mule halted on its own, ears flicking back. The sled runners settled into the snow with a soft hiss. The quiet pressed in, heavy and sharp all at once.
Iyisha felt Malcolm tense behind her and she froze where she stood, breath shallow, listening.
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No movement. No sound. Just wind and distance.
Fennigan lowered his hand and waved them forward again.
"What’s wrong?" Iyisha asked under her breath as they resumed walking.
"I heard something," Fennigan said quietly.
She scanned the surroundings as they moved, all white and shadow and tree line, nothing standing out, nothing obviously wrong.
"Out here," Fennigan continued, "you watch for three things. Walkers. Animals. And the mutants."
Iyisha nodded. The hunter mutants. The ones they had talked about in the hall. The ones Malcolm and the younger man had described in clipped voices, the ones that had almost wiped their team.
"You think they’re out here?" she asked.
Fennigan shrugged slightly. "I don’t know."
He stepped over a drift and kept moving. "Winter helps and hurts," he muttered. "Nothing sneaks up on you easy. But the land hides things better."
Iyisha tightened her grip on her pack strap and stayed close, the mule steady ahead of her, Malcolm solid behind, knowing with a clarity that made her chest ache that without this formation, without them, the white would swallow her whole.
Fennigan slowed his pace and spoke without turning around. "I heard about other mutants out in Ohio."
Iyisha felt the words catch and settle in her chest. That’s on the route to New York, she thought, the realization sliding into place with a quiet weight she did not voice.
"My brother’s near there," Fennigan continued. "He mentioned it on the radio."
"How big?" she asked.
"Big," Fennigan said. "Six hundred pounds. Maybe more."
Her brow creased. "What do you do with something like that?"
"You don’t worry about it chasing you," he said. "That kind of size doesn’t move much. It mostly sits. Sometimes it lays down. Groans. Doesn’t hunt like that hunter mutant."
That eased something in her chest, just a little.
They reached the creek a short while later, the ground dipping slightly before leveling out again, the frozen water stretching across their path in a dull white sheet broken by darker lines where the ice had formed unevenly. Snow lay thinner there, scoured by wind, hiding how solid the surface really was.
Fennigan lifted a hand and they stopped.
Aaron and Malcolm moved without speaking, splitting to either side, eyes on the banks and tree line, checking for tracks, broken branches, anything out of place. The mule halted on its own, sled runners settling with a soft scrape.
Fennigan stepped onto the ice first, careful, testing with the ball of his foot, then shifting his weight slowly. The ice answered with a low sound, not sharp, not hollow.
He stamped once, then again, harder this time. The ice held.
"It’s thick," he said.
Iyisha nodded, her gaze dropping to the sled. If the ice failed even a little, the crates would go under. Wet supplies meant frozen supplies. Frozen supplies meant dead weight. People didn’t die out here from monsters first. They died from cold, from mistakes that seemed small until they weren’t.
They crossed one by one, the mule stepping carefully, hooves sliding before finding grip, the sled gliding behind it as the ice creaked but did not crack, the danger sitting beneath them instead of rushing at them.
They did not linger on the other side.
The ground rose slightly farther in, trees tightening around them, snow thinner where branches had caught most of it. Fennigan lifted a hand and they slowed, then stopped. This was far enough from the creek. Far enough from open ground.
They settled fast.
No fire. No voices. Packs came off quietly. Aaron secured the mule and sled between trees, brushing tracks with a branch until they blended back into the white. Fennigan checked the wind again, then the perimeter. Malcolm moved last, eyes scanning, body already keyed for the next phase.
Iyisha stayed low, doing what she was told. She laid out the medical kit on a tarp, kept close to the mule, checked straps and knots, made sure nothing would clink or shift. This part felt almost calm. Familiar. Waiting with purpose.
When everything was ready, Fennigan crouched and pointed, splitting the ground between them.
"Two and two," he said quietly.
Aaron nodded and went with him, angling west.
Malcolm turned east and motioned once.
Iyisha rose and followed, the camp shrinking behind them until it disappeared completely, swallowed by trees and snow, the hunt beginning the moment the land closed in around them.
Malcolm stopped so suddenly that Iyisha nearly walked into him.
His hand came up, low and steady, and she froze, but this time it was not fear that held her still. She followed his line of sight and saw it.
A white-tailed deer stood between the trees, broad and heavy, head down as it pushed at the snow, unaware. It was big. Solid. Real.
A spark of excitement lit in her chest.
This was it. This was why they were here.
Malcolm shifted smoothly, rifle coming up with practiced ease, and pointed once to keep her in place. Iyisha held still, her breath caught more from anticipation than fear now, her eyes locked on the animal.
The shot rang out, clean and sharp.
The deer dropped instantly, legs folding, body hitting the snow in a heavy, final thud.
The radio crackled softly at Malcolm’s shoulder, the sound sharp against the quiet.
"You got something?" Fennigan’s voice came through, low but unmistakably alert.
Malcolm pressed the button once. "Deer," he said. "Big one."
There was a short pause, then a breath of laughter, clear even through the static. "Lucky bastard," Fennigan said, and Iyisha could hear the grin in it. "We’re coming there."
Malcolm clicked the radio off and turned back to the deer, already shifting into the next step, motioning Iyisha closer with a brief tilt of his head.
Her smile stayed.
They had come to hunt.
And they had found exactly what they were looking for.
