He saw nothing but more amorphous shapes, except for one a few hundred yards ahead of him that had straight lines and edges that were too perfect to have been created by nature. His sense of smell had been stolen by the cold, but he would have bet his biggest paycheck that he was catching wafts of burning wood and roasting meat. In a wide perimeter around him, the bushes and shrubs close to the ground seemed to be swaying and tottering as if their trunks were melting out from under them. Strange, how the wind could ruffle them like that, without disturbing their taller brothers...
He closed one eye, covering it with his hand, then switched. Surely one of them would be stronger than the other.
One of the "bushes" appeared to stretch out blurry arms, one to its side and one that lifted to the sky. Another one toppled and fell over. Two of them collided and disappeared from sight with small, piggish grunts.
Oh... oh, no.
Emmit wasn't seeing bushes at all. He was seeing the smudgy shapes of Links, hundreds of them, silhouetted by the scarlet supernova as they milled and tottered through the trees. Were they heading for camp? Mounting their final attack? Had they always been this close? Was this a small scouting party, or the exploring fingers reaching out from the acidic hand of the Megahorde itself?
Emmit was running even before he had finished asking himself these frantic questions, ducking randomly just in case there were low hanging branches he hadn't been able to see. He felt like he was running through a mine field and gambling with his last penny, but he knew in the deepest chamber of his heart that if he didn't do something soon, the Links would finish each and every one of them.
When the supernova dissipated and he was thrust back into darkness, now all too aware of the creatures dotting the area he was struggling to navigate, he began to whimper with each clumsy footfall. He couldn't stop it. To himself, he sounded like a scared puppy on its first night of crate training, left alone in a darkened bedroom corner. That image made him think of Pup, left alone, suffering and defenseless behind him. It was time for his endgame. The last domino was about to topple, and if he wasn't incredibly careful, it would land on him.
He tripped over a pile of chopped logs and went sprawling into a muddy patch of trampled snow, and knew that he had finally made it back to the Survivor Camp. He could smell the smoke and cooking meat stronger now, and with a bit of eye straining searching, he found the hazy patchwork pattern of glowing red and orange firelight shining through the cracks and splits between the logs of the cabin. He looked to the black rectangle of the front door. No one on guard duty.
God help me, my stomach is growling from that smell.
Oblivious to the cold and damp, Emmit stayed on his belly and crawled like a battle-hardened soldier, barely lifting his head as he half pushed, half swam closer to the front door. There wasn't much in the way of lawn furniture in Roy's camp. He would have to make himself small and hope that he wasn't spotted if the wrong person came outside—
He flinched as the door did swing open, right on cue, and a titanic shape stepped out through it. Woodsmoke trailed behind it.
Roy.
"Don't worry about where I'm going. I'm taking a piss, alright? That okay with you?" Came Roy's voice, blaring and echoing like a throaty megaphone. Emmit winced, and for some reason covered his own ears as if it would somehow keep the Links from hearing.
Shut up, you fucking idiot, he thought, running his hands through his frost-stiffened hair and tugging at handfuls of it. You have no idea how close you are to killing all of us.
Roy was standing with his legs in a wide stance just outside the door of the cabin, which had drifted partially closed. As he wrestled his penis out and began to urinate, he kept his long-haired head cocked toward the door. Listening to someone else speak.
"I don't care what you think, Poke, if he wants to take the watch then let him take it. I told you already, about ten thousand times, that we have a metric fuck-ton of work to get done tomorrow and I want at least one of you rested enough to help me!"
Me..ee...ee...ee...
Roy's final word came out in an agitated eruption that hit the surrounding trees and bounced back like millions of ping pong balls. Emmit sighed and buried his face in his hands. He knew the Links didn't eat people like the traditional zombies did in all the classic movies, but he was certain that Roy had just rung the proverbial dinner bell.
Emmit could make out the unmistakable arm motions of Roy shaking himself off, and then the towering monster ducked back inside, slamming the door behind him hard enough to knock snowballs off the roof. Emmit couldn't see them, but he could hear them.
Roy and Poke going to sleep. Rev on watch. This is too perfect.
It felt like a "too good to be true" scenario, but he had no choice other than trusting it and letting it ride. His fingers and toes
