The Orchard

Content warning: references to drug and alcohol abuse, anxiety, self-harm, vulgar language, violence, and gore. I feel like this content warning is especially important in light of the recent assassination of a political figure here in Utah and on this day in U.S. history.

The only acceptable form of violence is in fiction. Period.

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The Orchard

Lucia picked at the scab on the inside of her elbow, never letting it heal. Old track marks had hardened into knots under her skin, prayer beads she rolled between her fingers. She didn’t want to be back home, but there was nowhere else. Steam from the coffee filled her lungs, bitter and burned. The stink of manure drifted up from the corrals. The Organ Mountain’s spiked peaks lay hazy in the distance above the trees. One of the family chickens clucked past the front porch, bobbing its head as it walked.

Her hometown was crowded with ugly memories, and the people who wouldn’t let her forget. Strong coffee and sex—that’s all she had left, not that she wanted to be touched. She raised an imagined cigarette to her lips, flicking ash onto the porch. Smoking made her crave beer, and beer made her crave whiskey, and whiskey made her a different person. The kind who was fine with just about anything so long as it ended with an eight-ball nightcap.

The screen door squealed open. “I thought I’d find you out here.”

“Yeah. I needed air.” Lucia sipped her coffee.

“Mom’s looking for you.”

“I know.”

Joseph leaned against her, a foot taller but ten months younger. Irish twins, though in New Mexico, all the good Catholic families had kids uno tras otro—one after the other. Lucia’s first word was Jojo, and the nickname stuck. He’d done everything right. Captain of his high school football team, prom king, West Point, and a handful of medals from two tours in the Middle-East. He was a half-Mexican, all-American guy. Everything Lucia hated—she loved him more than life.

“She’s gonna—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” Lucia aimed the rest of her coffee toward an anthill nestled under a cactus by the porch.

“Quit. Jesus, Luce, what’d they do to you?” Joseph shoved her.

“Nobody gets out without a little pain.” Lucia sucked coffee off her finger. “What’s la jefa want?”

He watched the ants struggle against the dark flood. “You need to run the crew in the orchard today.”

“Why can’t you go?”

“Cause I’m gonna be in the heat doing actual work.”

The Lopez Family Farm sprawled nearly three thousand acres across Doña Ana County growing chilies, onions, squash, and corn. Half the land was a pecan orchard.

“I fucking hate pecans.” Lucia punched the back of his knee as she walked past him.

“Don’t lie.” He caught himself on the porch railing. “I see you out there stuffing your face.”

“Doesn’t mean I like them.”

They stepped inside the house. When it had belonged to her grandparents, the old adobe was a refuge, a place where her abuelita indulged her every whim. Now, their mother sat in her abuelo’s office, buried under stacks of papers. She ran the entire operation from here. Their father had never wanted the farm. He chose a sheriff’s deputy badge instead. And her grandparents made no secret of their disapproval that their daughter had married el moreno, a black man. Not long after they died, when the farm passed to Lucia’s mother, he walked away.

“Mija, there you are? Where were you hiding?” Her mother didn’t look up from the desk.

“I wasn’t—”

“I need you out in the orchard today.”

Lucia leaned against the wall. “Jojo already told—”

“Your brother … donde esta?”

Joseph walked in behind Lucia. “I’m right here, Ma.”

“You’ll be out in the bottoms today.”

“I know, Ma. I already told Luce.”

Their mother snatched a stack of papers from the desk. “There you are. Pinche, I was looking for this all morning.” She looked up at her children. “Mijo, if you’re so smart, how did you mix up the mild with the hot chilies?”

“That happened one time. Five years ago.”

“You know how many angry calls I had to deal with?”

“I know, Ma.” For as big as he was, Lucia loved watching her little brother pout.

“I don’t know who was more pissed, the people who got the mild or the hot.”

Lucia closed the distance. “What’s in those papers?”

“No es nada. I need it for a meeting.”

Her mother’s lie was obvious. She knew when she shouldn’t push, but that never stopped her. She ripped the papers out of her mother’s hand and backed away.

“Lucia Elena! Damelo! Carajo niña.”

Lucia studied the ledger, financials from the last few years. “What’s going on, Mother?” She held the paper out to her mother. “What meeting?”

She stared at Lucia.

“Tell me.” Lucia pushed.

Her mother slumped onto her office chair. She looked small. In truth, her mother was a tiny woman, not even five feet tall, but this was different—she seemed small.

“Mom?” Lucia stepped toward her mother. She looked at Joseph. He’d lowered his head. “What aren’t you two telling me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you … mija. With everything you’ve been … going through.”

“Well stop it. I’m sick of it.”

Her mother took a deep breath. “When you left to stay with your father … well, we had a bad year.”

“What happened?”

Joseph cleared his throat. “It was fungus. It ate up all the chile. The whole crop, we had to burn it.”

“Fuck. You should’ve told me.”

“You were in recovery, there’s no way we were gonna put that on you.” Joseph rested his beefy hand on Lucia’s shoulder. “Only good thing about last year was knowing you were with Dad. Getting help.”

“How bad is it?” She turned to Joseph and started playing with the ball of scar tissue in her elbow.

“Bad.”

“So, what then?” Lucia turned to her mother. “We mortgage more to the bank? Can we afford that?”

Her mother walked around the desk and held out her hand. “That’s why I need these. They can see it was our first bad year in over ten.”

Lucia handed her the papers. She saw the same fear and sadness in her mother’s eyes she’d seen that day over a year ago.

Joseph’s voice was quiet. “They know that. They don’t give a shit.”

“Let me go with you, Mom.” Lucia’s chest had tightened seeing her mother’s fear. “You need backup.”

She held Lucia’s cheek in her tiny rough hand as she looked up at her. “No mija, I’ll be fine. I’ve been dealing with these pinche, idiot bankers for years, since before your grandpa died. I need you and your brother to handle the farm today. OK?”

“OK.” Lucia pulled her mom into a hug.

“Aye, mija, you stink. Did you bathe?”

Jojo started laughing, and Lucia pulled away from her mother. She was smiling up at her.

“Hernan will be down at the orchard. He knows what we need to do, just remind him to check over the irrigation again. We need a big, healthy harvest this year.”

Lucia leaned in and kissed her mother on the forehead. “Go knock ‘em dead, Momma.”

The siblings climbed into the twenty-year-old Jeep Wrangler, dark paint bubbled and peeled around the wheel wells. With the top off and the doors long gone, nothing stood between them and the dry autumn air. The engine coughed and rattled to life as Joseph threw it into gear. Gravel popped under the tires as they pulled away from their grandparents’ house. A plume of dust kicked up as they turned onto the dirt road that cut toward the orchard.

“When are you getting your license back?” Jojo steered around a divot in the road. “I’m tired of being your taxi.”

Lucia breathed deep, her hair snapping in the wind. She pulled out a hair band and tied it in a loose ponytail. “The court date is in a few months. I just gotta stay clean.”

He looked over at her. “You better.”

“You should have told me.”

“Why? What good would it have done?”

Lucia stared out at the pecan trees blurring by, rows melting into one another. “I’m sorry, little brother.”

“You don’t have shit to be sorry about. You’re doing good. Dad even said so.”

“Mom looked … scared.”

“It’s cause she is.” He flipped on the radio.

Lucia turned it off. “We’ve never talked about it.” She turned in the bucket seat to look at her brother.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“That night. Joseph … I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

“Fuck it. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Oh, shit, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Go ahead.”

He punched the cigarette lighter into the dash.

“I just … I hate that you had to see that.” She rubbed the scars on her arm, feeling them slide under her skin.

“I’ve seen worse, trust me.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lucia’s brother never talked about his time in the military.

The lighter popped out of the dash, and he lit his cigarette and took a long drag. “Not particularly,” he mumbled between his closed lips as he held the smoke deep in his lungs. “I just wanna smoke this here cigarette and listen to some tunes with my big sister.” He blew the smoke away from her.

Lucia punched his shoulder. “I’m trying to talk to you, cabrón.”

“So, talk. Not like I can stop you.” He rubbed his shoulder.

She sat back, the cracked leather sticking to her thighs. “I don’t know what to say now.”

“Chingado, Luce. You’re a trip.” Joseph laughed.

“You saved my life, and we never talk about it.”

Joseph’s laughing faded. He turned to look at her. “I don’t really remember it. There’s lots like that in my head.”

“Do you want to—”

“No, I don’t. Luce, listen. It’s fucking with you that you died. I get it. Really, I do. But what’s the good thinkin’ about it? You’re better, and you’re gonna stay better. Right?”

Lucia turned the radio on. “Right. I love you, Jojo.”

“Course you do. You owe me a life debt. Like Chewbacca.”

“Nerd.”

“Han Solo is no nerd.” The Jeep slowed beside a dirt covered white Ford F-150, Lopez Family Farm stenciled on the door. “Take a walkie, reception’s bad at the bottoms. Just buzz if you need anything, channel three.”

Lucia jumped out of the Jeep and stuffed the walkie-talkie into her backpack. “What time are you coming back for me?”

“After seven.” He waved through the open roof and pulled away. “Channel three!”

Her sneakers scraped over rocks on the dirt footpath into the orchard. Grasshoppers jumped away as she walked down the path, wings buzzing to stay airborne. The last of the cicadas droned from the underbrush. Up ahead, a group of men were standing around a huge machine.

Hernan waved. “Hola, señorita Lopez.” He was older than her mother, he’d worked the land since her grandparents’ time. He’d been as much a fixture as anything on the Lopez farm.

“Hi, Hernan. Is there something wrong with the pump? My mother said we need to check on the water, before harvest.”

“Si, si. She tell me.”

“She does like repeating herself.” Lucia muttered.

“Es que, the pump is stop.”

The group of men huddled around the machine. Lucia stepped into the circle. “What’s wrong with it?” She wiped sweat off her brow. Mud ringed the base of the pump, mosquitoes thick in the air.

One of the other workers pointed to the pressure gauge. “Tiene aqua, there’s plenty of water, you see?”

She peered into the hulk of the machinery. “And the motor runs?”

“Si, todo trabaja. There’s no problem with the motor, nada.”

Hernan rotated the valve wheel. “Maybe a pipe is clogged, señorita Lopez. Is all I can think.”

“Can you tell where it’s clogged?”

“No. From here, no.”

“Well, then let’s get going if we have to check them all.” She swatted a mosquito biting her neck.

Hernan pulled off his baseball cap and scratched his leathery bald scalp. “There’s miles to check, it goes in three directions desde aqui. We should get the ATVs.”

Shrugging off her backpack, she opened her water, and took a long swig. “No, by the time you get back to the paddock and hitch them up it’ll be afternoon. Let’s just walk it. If we split up, we can check it all in a couple hours.”

The men nodded, relieved she was making the call.

“You two head south.” She pointed at a pair. “You two take the pickup north, and me and Hernan will go east into the orchard. Everyone has walkies?”

They held them up.

“Señorita, maybe we take the truck north. Easy to get lost in the trees.”

She patted him on his back. “I’ve been playing in these trees since I was a little girl. Don’t worry.”

They grabbed shovels and tool belts out of the back of the Ford. The groups split up and started following each of the three pipelines leading away from the main groundwater pump.

“Is good to have you home, señorita Lopez.”

“Lucia, please, Hernan.”

“Si, señori … Lucia. Your mother was worried todo el tiempo about you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You went to stay with your papa?”

“Si. They thought it would help for me to be with him.”

“He is a good man, tu papa. You seem better, señorita.”

She never knew what to say when people told her she looked better. She certainly didn’t feel better. “Thanks, Hernan.”

They walked in silence for a while. The first pressure valve reading was normal. Deeper in the orchard, the pipe disappeared underground, leaving only the neatly planted trees to lead the way. Leaves covered the ground with a brittle carpet. This was the oldest part of the orchard, some trees rising nearly a hundred feet. The thick canopy blotted out the sun. Despite what she told Hernan, she’d never come this deep. Something always kept her out.

His walkie sputtered static. “Hernan?” One of the two groups was calling in.

Hernan pulled the walkie off his belt. “Recibido. Diga. Cambio.”

“Hernan? Me oyes?”

Static.

“Si, recibido. Que pasa? Cambio.” Hernan turned to Lucia. “I don’t think they hear.”

More static. A crow cawed somewhere above the canopy.

Hernan shrugged at Lucia and clipped the walkie back onto his belt.

“Putamadre!” The voice over the walkie split the silence. “Hay algo aquí. En la huerta!” The two men on the other end of the walkie were yelling at each other. Lucia couldn’t make out what they were saying and then the walkie clicked off again.

“He says … something is there with them.”

“Yeah, I got that. Ask them what’s going on? What did they see?”

Hernan nodded and clicked on the walkie. “Recibido. Oye, qué ves? Qué esta pasando?Cambio.”

Lucia and Hernan stopped walking. The static from the walkie echoed through the trees. They looked at each other and waited.

The walkie exploded with static. Screams burst through. It was beyond language—it was primal. The sound stripped thought from her mind, leaving only instinct. They both froze. Lucia’s hair bristled. Her vision narrowed. Voices cut in and out, mixed with static, warped and unnatural. Every nerve in her body told her that it was the sound of death. The line went quiet, leaving a soft hum of static. She thought she heard faint echoes of the screams drifting through the canopy.

Hernan held the walkie away from him, as though it might strike. “Qué chingados …” He clicked the button. “Muchachos … háblenme.” His voice shook.

Static.

“Muchachos!”

He looked up at Lucia, fear and confusion clouding his weathered face. He pleaded again, but only static-filled silence answered him.

“Call the other group,” she snapped.

He adjusted the walkie channel. “Muchachos, me reciben? Cambio.”

Her heartbeat pounded against her eardrums. They waited for an answer.

“Recibido.” The voice cut through the static.

Lucia ripped the walkie from his hand. “Have you seen anything out there? The other men …” She looked at Hernan. “We think there’s … an animal in the orchard. Over.”

Hernan pointed at the walkie. “The button.”

She loosened her grip on the walkie, the button releasing with a click. “Could it be a bear?”

“No bears here.” Hernan shook his head and looked around.

A gust of wind blew through the canopy and let loose a rain of dead leaves.

“What then? What could … do that to them?”

“Maybe mountain lion.”

The walkie cut on. “No, nada, missus. No animal here. Cambio.”

“Keep your eyes open. Run back to the pump. Understand? Entiendes? Corre! Cambio.” She turned to Hernan. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

They started running back the way they’d come.

“Recibido, senorita. Cambio.”

She tuned the walkie to channel three. “Joseph, do you copy?”

Static.

“Dickhead, do you copy?” She struggled to catch her breath.

“Wow, so rude. What’s up? Over.”

“We have a serious problem. Over.”

The trees pressed close around her. She stumbled on a root under the layer of leaves and just caught her balance.

“What kind of problem? Over.”

“We think there’s … there’s a lion or something in here. It attacked the men. Over.”

“Ha. Ha. You know I’m busy over here, right? I get you’re bored, but you can do better than that. Over.”

“Fuck you, Joseph. I’m serious. We heard them … screaming. Get your ass over here. Fucking Over.”

“Shit. OK. I thought you were kidding around. I’m on my way. Over.”

Lucia tossed the walkie to Hernan. “I’ll tune my walkie to talk to Joseph’s.”

Lucia checked her phone, hoping beyond hope she had reception. No service. She yanked her backpack around and dug out the other walkie. Leaves scattered underfoot as they ran. Hernan contacted the other men, they were already running. The wind moved through the trees, carrying an unmistakable smell. She’d woken to it too many nights, in strange rooms, strange beds, her nose bleeding from half-forgotten injuries. Metallic. Sour. The orchard was thick with it, as though something had ripped the trees open, spilling blood into the air. She could taste it on her tongue.

Hernan was puffing behind her. Lucia turned and slowed her pace.

He clutched his chest and bent over. “Un momento, Lucia.”

“Are you OK? Shit, is it your heart?”

He hacked, spitting up phlegm. “No. Todo bien. Solo … necesito descansar un poco.” He bent over and held his knees, sucking in gulps of air.

Lucia scanned the thick trunks surrounding them. They were still in the old growth, and the light was dim. She pulled out her bottle of water and handed it to him.

“Do you smell that? Hernan … something is very, fucking wrong.”

He looked up at her and took his hat off to wipe his forehead. “I don’t smell nothing.”

His walkie crackled to life. “Oye, Hernan, donde estan?”

Hernan coughed and couldn’t catch his breath. She reached for the walkie.

“We’re meeting at the pump. Over,” she answered.

“Senorita Lopez, are you close to us? Cambio.”

Lucia swiveled around, listening and peering into the trees. There was nothing.

“No. Where are you? Over.”

“We hear you. Cambio.”

Gooseflesh crawled up her arms. “That’s not us! You need to run! Move!”

Crackling static was the only response.

“Vamonos, Lucia.” Hernan spat again. His dark skin glistened with sweat, soaking into his denim shirt.

She shoved the walkie into his hand, and they ran. Death had knocked before, needles, empty bottles, pills, all slowly chipping away at her soul and body. The night Joseph couldn’t remember was seared into her—the light flooding her blurred eyes, sick still burning her throat. And Joseph kneeling over her, thumping on her chest. He’d broken ribs dragging her back. She hadn’t meant to die, it was just something she risked without thinking. The price of admission to escape. Her brother shrieked with fear, sobbing for her to come back. The image lived in her gut. Now here she was, running. From what? From death? All she wanted was to break out of these trees, to wake up to another ordinary day.

A blast of sound tore through the orchard behind her. She stumbled and fell into the dead leaves, her wrist snapped. A scream ripped through the air unlike anything Lucia had ever heard. The blood drained from her face. She expected pain, but nothing came. She rolled over. Hernan was gone.

Another howl, this further away. It was cut short. She held her breath, listening with every ounce of concentration. She pushed herself onto her knees and forced her legs to move, to stand up. Her hands were shaking. There was no strength in her right hand. She steadied the walkie with both hands, turning down the sound.

“Joseph … I think Hernan’s hurt,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. “Where are you?”

“Luce, I’m at the pump. Which way did you go? Over.”

“Follow the east pipe. Do you have a gun? Over.” Lucia looked around hoping to hear something or see something.

“I’ve got dad’s shotgun. I’m coming Luce. Over.”

She’d lost her way after falling and wasn’t sure which way to go. Her childhood playground had twisted into a maze, a trap she couldn’t escape. She heard gurgling and coughing. It had to be Hernan. Lucia crouched, slipping through the trees. They pressed in from every direction.

He lay at the base of a tree, pressing his hand against his neck. She hurried over to him. Blood was spurting out from between his fingers in hot pulses. He’d been dipped in blood. She dropped to her knees.

He grabbed at her, smearing blood everywhere. Terror and shock filled his wide eyes. He tried to speak, but blood swallowed the words. She pulled off her t-shirt and pressed it against his throat. It instantly turned bright red. He kept trying to talk.

“Don’t talk, Hernan. Be still.” She’d never seen so much gore. His shirt was ripped open, with huge gashes running deep into his chest.

His lips kept moving. His eyes looked past her, and he pointed.

Lucia turned.

There was nothing. Just trees silently watching him die. He coughed, and his body shuddered. More blood burst from his mouth, covering her in drops of crimson. His hand collapsed onto his twitching leg. Lucia stared at him.

Another crash and scuttling through the leaves brought her back to the moment. Something was out there, and it was hunting her. She stared towards the sound but couldn’t see anything. She tried to get her bearings. The pipe to the pump was still underground, and the trees looked the same in every direction. She scanned the ground for tracks. Nothing.

“Hernan’s dead, and I’m fucking lost. Over,” she whispered into the walkie.

“I’m coming.” Joseph was out of breath. “Climb a tree. Over.”

“Climb a tree? You fucking kidding me?”

“It’s all I got. Over.”

She looked for a tree with branches short enough she could reach. “I don’t think I can. I broke my wrist. Over.”

“Shit, Luce. I don’t know, just try.”

Fuck it. She clipped the walkie onto her jeans and crept toward the best candidate. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She kept checking all around her, expecting to get attacked any second. Her wrist was throbbing with dull pain. She cinched her backpack tight around her shoulders with her left hand.

This was going to be impossible. And who knows if this thing, whatever it was, couldn’t just climb up after her. She’d be a sitting duck. A Lucia-popsicle. A laugh bubbled out, sharp and wrong.

She jumped and hooked her left arm around the lowest branch, wrapping her legs around the trunk. Skin tore from her arm and belly as she hauled herself up. She squeezed the branch with her right arm and pulled. Pain shot up from her wrist. Inch by inch, she mounted the branch. She was out of breath, and searing pain was shooting up from her right hand.

She pushed herself up, straddling the branch, and checked which way she could go. If she managed one more branch, she’d be about eight feet off the ground. She leaned forward and reached out for it. She looked down. Fuck me. No way. She would need both arms to have any chance of hoisting herself up. The pain in her wrist was already unbearable. It was swelling badly. If she followed the length of the branch she was on, she might get another three or four feet off the ground. She got onto her knees and started crawling out towards the tip. She kept going until it bent under her weight. She squatted with her feet under her. She didn’t relish the idea of her legs dangling beneath her.

“How far in are you? Over.” Joseph’s voice was ragged.

She reached down and unclipped the walkie with her left hand, but it slipped as she pressed the button. Her swollen right hand fumbled. The walkie tumbled into the undergrowth and was gone.

“Fuck me,” she hissed.

Joseph’s muffled voice came over the walkie again. “Do you copy? Luce, where are you?”

“Dammit.” She glared at the antenna jutting out of the leaves. Now what? She picked at the hard knots in her arm. From this vantage she scanned the trees, straining to hear or see anything. The orchard was silent. Even the insects had gone silent. She wasn’t sure she could get back up the tree if she dropped down. But without the walkie, she couldn’t help direct Joseph. She squeezed her eyes tight and punched her leg. If she called out to him, whatever was out there would hear her.

Joseph called over the walkie again. But it sounded different this time. She opened her eyes and held her breath. His voice echoed nearby. She stood on the tree branch hoping to see him.

“Joseph?” she whispered.

Silence.

She had to risk more noise. He might pass right by her. “Joseph!” She yelled.

More silence.

“Luce?”

“Over here,” she rasped. Her voice just louder than a whisper.

She heard his footsteps.

“Can you see me?” She was waving her arms above her head.

He reached her tree and looked up. “Why didn’t you answer?” He was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. He held the shotgun ready to fire.

“I dropped the fucking walkie when I got up here.”

He smiled and chuckled. “You look pretty ridiculous up there. Where’s your shirt?”

“It was your idea, asshole.” She walked back down the branch, holding her arms out to keep her balance.

“Are you sure about Hernan? I tried calling the cops but I don’t have a signal.”

“I’m sure.” She reached the tree trunk and looked down at her little brother. “It was really bad.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never even seen a mountain lion around here.” He rubbed sweat from his eyes. “Hurry. Let’s get out—”

The world slowed.

The dappled light from the sun seeping through the canopy dimmed. The temperature dropped, and a shadow swept over Joseph. It was formless dark. The force of the collision drove the air out of his lungs with a painful grunt. The shotgun fired with deafening explosion of sound, making her ears ring. His arms flailed to attack, but they sank through the shadow. One second he was there and the next he was gone.

Lucia froze.

Joseph didn’t scream in fear but with guttural rage. Another blast from the shotgun rang out.

She dropped out of the tree, landing hard, and spun toward the shadow that had taken him. What little light there had been was gone, as though it had swallowed the sun and the heat of the day. She ran, following the sound of Joseph fighting for his life.

Not Joseph! God no!

She saw his body disappear behind a tree. His voice was full of pain now. She ran harder. Her mind was numb with terror.

When she reached him the shadow lifted and the heat returned. Light played across his pale face. He was sprawled at the foot of thick tree trunk. When she rolled him over her world ended. His blood was everywhere. He held his arm tight to his chest. The shadow had shredded his whole body. His eyes focused on Lucia.

“Fucker got me.” He coughed and winced with pain.

She scooped him up and pulled him onto her legs. “Shhh, quiet. You’ll be alright.” Tears filled her eyes. She looked for the shadow, but it was just the two of them.

“You used to lie better.”

“Shut up, stupid. You’re gonna be fine.” She stood and hooked her arms under his. She could only drag him a few feet before her feet slipped out from under her.

“I’m too heavy, Luce. I’m bleeding out.”

She crawled over to him. “I can’t lose you.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks and pulled his head onto her lap.

“You gotta get outta here. Run, Luce. Please.”

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.” Her tears dripped onto his face.

Joseph gasped, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Luce.”

“Yeah, I’m here.” She stroked his face, smearing blood with her tears.

“I do remember that night.”

“I’m sorry, Jojo. I’m sorry for everything I put you through.”

He reached up to her. “Don’t be sorry. That’s what brothers are for.”

She bent down and kissed his forehead. “You can’t go. Please, God, no.”

“Luce. You gotta run.”

She shook her head, pressing her lips against him. Sobs racked her chest, surging through her in waves. Her tears flowed onto him. His hand drifted down onto the dry leaves, and his body relaxed against hers.

“Please don’t go.” She shook him. “Don’t go!” She wailed and shook him again. His body hung limp, eyes staring past her. She couldn’t breathe. Her entire body was shaking. Blood drained away from her face. Her howl tore free, terrible and feral, as if her scream could drag him back. She leaned over him, pulling him close to her.

When the shadow came, she would meet it with open arms.

Time slipped, maybe hours, and Lucia hadn’t moved away from her brother. The temperature dropped, and the light filtering through the leaves faded. It was coming.

She was ready.

She shut Joseph’s eyelids and laid him gently in the leaves. Pushing herself up onto her feet, she filled her lungs with a deep breath. Closing her own eyes, and waited. She’d be with Jojo soon. No more pain.

It crashed through the leaves. Cold pressed in—slick oil, smothering her. It smelled of rot and decay. Death. She opened her eyes. It was all around her, a swirling dark that moved like liquid. Her eyes widened as she breathed it in, seeping into her old track marks. Cold, hopeless despair poured into her, mingling with her own. It burrowed between her ribs, shuddering inside her, rippling with dark satisfaction. Falling to her knees, she gagged and coughed, trying to get it out of her. She clawed at her throat, the shadow strangling her scream. It spread inside her like a growing, gnawing void. For a moment she longed to let it swallow her, to sink into the darkness.

Then, her brother’s face was looking down at her, all those nights ago. She felt his agony and fear as if they were her own. She reached out to him, wanting to take the pain away. The shadow wanted her empty, but she wasn’t. Not this time. Her brother was with her.

The mist’s grip on her loosened.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed to Joseph.

She retched black tar, heaving thick strands of greasy anger and fear onto the ground. Joseph smiled down at her through his tears. The mist recoiled, clawing to keep hold of her. She clenched the agony in her chest and hurled it back at the darkness—choosing pain, choosing life.

It pulled away again.

She spat the last foul remnants from her mouth and glared into the shapeless mass. Anger replaced her fear, and she stood.

Warmth pushed its way past the darkness.

It trembled and twisted, trying to get back around her. She felt its hunger. The light broke through the canopy. And it vanished like steam from a burst of summer rain on hot asphalt, rising into nothing.

She collapsed to her knees beside Joseph, breathless, spent. Sunlight played across his lifeless body as she stroked his hair with her trembling hands. The smell of fresh rain blew in through the trees.

“Goodbye, little brother.” She pressed her forehead to his. “Thank you for my life.”

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That was my level three response to

Bradley Ramsey’s Power Up Prompt #12 in the horror genre with the final girl trope. I set this story near my mom’s hometown in New Mexico.

Power up Prompt #12: 9.6.25

This is my first attempt at writing a horror story and I have to say it was a lot of fun! It was supposed to be 2500 words but I went way past that. It will get cut off over email so check it on the website.

I may have a new favorite genre. I’d love feedback from all the horror fans out there!

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