Sun Kissed Innsmouth
Part Seventy Nine
The insects only ever increased in number and general weight. High noon, air borne seas of the things threatened to fly into Felecia’s open eyes, nose, and mouth as she fought back the urge to choke and gag. The nasty, still piss soaked poncho was hanging off her pack, tied on by only a single bit of twine. Felecia trudged on foot after foot, mile after mile until the sun rose high in the sky and the humidity made breathing hard even at a slow and steady pace. The gnats and biting flies and the ever-present mosquitoes finally took their toll and Felecia reached around reluctantly for the now mostly dry poncho. Wearing the thing was a constant reminder of how it was made and the smell that came off the thing was fowl beyond words.
The two of them reached the edge of the meadow just after dusk. Jacqueline was quick to push her mask up and scan the distant tree line before she lowered it and nudged for Felecia to follow her. They stooped and nearly crawled through the meadow and up to the edge of the old ruin before Jacqueline looked up at the bright stars and then over at the ruins of the ancient home and nodded to Felecia daring to speak her first words since the beach that morning. “I’ll lay out the pan, you fill it so I can collect eggs. I can groom ‘em while they drink and we can be on our way.”
The entire day from waking up until that moment had been a mad dash, no time to eat or drink, no time to ask what all that sudden insanity at the beach had been. No time to ask her questions about the book, many of them all but forgotten by then anyway. Felecia had followed a half mad woman off into the swamp and come back three days later wearing a poncho covered in muddy piss with a crude tribal mask pulled down over her face. Why?
“What’s the hurry? We’re the only two people for miles out in all this wilderness.”
Jacqueline wasn’t answering, instead she seemed drawn to the task of pulling the southern end of the rough corral up and hammering the stakes back into place with a rock.
Felecia dumped the water skins she had been carrying for so long and left them full next to the pan and the pile of water skins the old woman had brought as well. She looked down and realized the same chicken from three nights before was circling her feet like a cat in search of milk. She considered scooting the bird along with a boot and then found herself reaching down and petting the animal instead. It was a dumb creature, but friendly and harmless, hardly warranting of scorn.
“Quit fretting over that chicken, get that pan filled.”
Felecia looked up and saw Jacqueline still fussing with the southern part of the corral fence as she spoke over her shoulder.
“You told me I could ask my questions, so I’m asking them now. Why are you in a hurry? Why are we wearing these ridiculous masks? What was that spectacle on the beach this morning?”
Jacqueline began to struggle with the corner of the corral and one of the goats made a run at her with its horns. The old woman was quick to stop the animal with a hand and return to finish pounding the post into the ground with the rock. “Girl, now is not the time. We’ll have hours to trudge back, slow as you please, and you can wear my damn ears out then. Right now, fill that pan, please!”