He managed to put some distance between himself and the dead. Fortunately for him, after his last brush with the dead man, he was able to quickly locate one of his marks on the trees. He moved from mark to mark, alternating between gasping in pain from jarring his shoulder or gasping for air as he slogged through the snow.
His entire body was wet now, and the wind cut him like a knife, squinching his eyes into slits as fine, powdered snow assaulted his face. Then he saw it, the clearing around the compound.
"Help!" he yelled, hoping that someone could hear him. He didn't care if the dead heard him. Either he was getting inside the compound, or he was going to die. "Open the gate!"
He rushed headlong into the clearing, his eyes large.
"Heeeeellllpppp!" he called. But no one appeared.
He sprinted across the clearing, the sight of its trailers and fences inducing him to use up all of his energy reserves. He slammed into the gate, rattling the chain links against the plywood.
He heard the clatter of boots on a metal roof and looked up. He recognized the lady that looked down at him, a spear cocked in her hands. Her large brown mole was not the type that one would forget. He put his left arm up in fear, ready to fend off any stab from the woman.
"Let me in!" he pleaded.
"Why should I let you in?" she asked, playfully aiming the tip of the spear at his face.
"My friends are in there," he said, not understanding.
"Your friends killed my friends," the woman said, a queer smile twisting her lips. "Maybe I want to kill one of theirs."
Mort looked over his shoulder to see a semi-circle of pale faces advancing through the forest. In his current condition, it presented more of a fight than he could ever hope to win. He eyed the fence in front of him and the wall of trailers. There was no way he could climb it with his shoulder in the condition it was in.
"You got any food?" the woman asked, seemingly unconcerned about the dead that approached.
"I have nothing," Mort said.
"Then you can't come in. This ain't no flophouse. Ya pay your way here."
Mort imagined that at any moment, he would feel the cold embrace of the dead. Then he remembered the bear. "I killed a bear."
"Was that what all that shooting was?" mole-lady asked. Over her shoulder, she spoke to someone that he couldn't see. "How about that, girls? He killed a bear."
"We could use that," a harsh voice said. "We'll let him in."
Mort heard the rattle of the chain, and then the gate slid open. He dove inside, falling on the ground. He spun around to sit on his backside. The faces of the dead disappeared as a bird-like woman closed the gate and sealed it with a chain and padlock.
Another spear tip was aimed at his face.
"Where's the meat?" the woman asked. She was large, and he could see the spark of intelligence in her eyes. It was a rare glint, the type of glint that you didn't see too often as a homeless man. But he had learned to recognize that glint. A smart man was a dangerous man in a homeless camp. Better to be surrounded by the dumb and the hopeless than to be stuck with someone who had options but chose that way of life. It usually meant there was something wrong with them. They either abused drugs, were alcoholics, or got off on hurting others. Either way, they weren't the type of person you wanted to be riding in a train car with.
"It's out there," he gasped.
The woman looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Well, go get it."
"I can't. Not today."
"He's exhausted," the bird-like woman said.
The large woman looked at her with consternation on her face. "And I'm hungry."
"Please," Mort pleaded. "I'm freezing. I'll get the food tomorrow. It should stay frozen overnight."
The large lady looked at the others, and then she let the butt of her spear fall to the ground. "You promise?"
It was a weird question to Mort's ears, and the words came without the hostility of all the other interactions. It was an oddly civil question for someone who had just been threatening him with a spear. "I promise," he said. What else could he do?
The large woman clenched her jaw and then pointed at him with a meaty paw. "We'll see if you're a man of your word."
He nodded quickly. "Oh, I am, miss." Mort had learned a long time ago that a little respect went a long way with those that looked down on you. Calling her "miss" couldn't hurt any.
"Very well. Katie told us you were coming. I reckon you'll wanna see your friends."
Mort nodded, afraid that speaking would ruin the woman's sudden shift in attitude.
She pointed with the spear toward a ramshackle house that seemed to quake with each gust of icy wind. "You'll find them in there."
He got to his feet and started walking toward the house.
"And just you remember your promise," the large woman bawled after him. "Tomorrow. Meat."
He nodded his understanding and continued toward the old house, feeling the women's eyes on him the entire way.
****
"Why'd ya let him in?" Liz asked, absentmindedly scratching at the mole on her cheek.
Theresa sighed. If only Liz was smart enough, she would be able to see exactly what she was doing, and she wouldn't have to waste her breath explaining all of the particulars to the two birdbrains. "You saw him. We got him where we want him. Tomorrow he's going to go out, and he's either going to die, or he's gonna bring