Chapter 64: Shadows in the Storm
"What the hell are you doing?!" shouted Kellar, clutching his head with both hands at the sheer clumsiness.
"Heading back to the village like you said!" answered Krag, holding one of the hunters under the armpits while shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"I told you I bought time, not that I magically healed them!" shouted Kellar, utterly exasperated. "If you carry them like sacks of potatoes, you’re going to tear the arteries wide open again! We need to build wooden stretchers before moving a single man!"
The hunters froze in place, exchanging confused glances with one another before setting their comrades back down onto the furs.
"You are complete idiots!" shouted Kellar, pointing at them in rage. "If you wanted them to bleed to death, you should have just let the beast finish them off! At the slightest sudden jerk, those wounds will burst open again and they’ll drain empty on the trail!"
They lacked even the most basic understanding of casualty handling. Taking a deep breath to cool his frustration, Kellar began barking clear instructions. The warriors, feeling ashamed of their clumsiness, rushed out of the cave to fell several young trees. Following Kellar’s guidance, they bound the logs together with thick branches to craft an improvised transport sled.
They placed the four recovering men onto the wooden frame and tied them down with sturdy vines to keep them from sliding with the motion. As they were being positioned, three of the hunters regained consciousness and began letting out gut-wrenching screams of agony as the friction hit their lacerations.
"Damn it, this isn’t going to work if they’re fighting the pain the whole way!" said Kellar, turning to Krag. "Do you have any alcohol?"
"Alcohol?" asked Krag, crinkling his brow. "What is that?"
"Anything that gets you drunk, something that makes you dizzy or numb!" said Kellar.
"That is strictly forbidden in the hunting grounds!" shouted the third squad leader, stepping forward. "Bringing liquor to a hunt can cause the death of the entire unit!"
"Don’t be an idiot, this is no time for your rules!" shouted Kellar, confronting him. "If we don’t numb their senses, the shock from the pain will kill them on the trail! If anyone has something, bring it out now!"
After a tense silence, Grok stepped into the back of the shelter and reappeared carrying a small wooden cask.
"I have this..." said Grok, setting the container on the ground. "It’s a fermented fruit concentrate."
Kellar unstoppered the cask and brought his nose close. The bitter aroma wafting out reminded him of beer.
"How do you make this?" asked Kellar, staring at the dark liquid.
"It’s made by fermenting wild flowers that grow near the river," said Krag.
"When we get back to the village, I hope you can teach me the process," said Kellar.
"I’ll teach you myself if these men survive," said Krag in a firm voice.
Kellar grabbed a wooden bowl and fed a generous portion to the wounded men. The brew took effect numbing their senses and softening their groans into mumbles. With the recovering warriors secured onto the sled and partially anesthetized, the unit finally set off on the journey back.
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The journey progressed without unexpected trouble, but the pace of the march was agonizingly slow. With four wounded men unable to carry gear, the weight of the improvised sled and the Great Crocodile’s carcass was distributed among fewer shoulders, delaying their return trip.
They pushed forward in tense silence through the storm-swept night forest. Kellar, exhausted yet alert, hauled the ropes alongside Krag as the snow threatened to cover their tracks.
Suddenly, a series of snaps in the frozen brush brought everyone to a dead halt. Through the darkness, a group of hooded figures advanced rapidly toward them, armed with clubs and short spears.
"Ready your weapons, enemies in sight!" shouted Marty, drawing his blade swiftly.
"Fall back, protect the sled!" shouted Krag, stepping forward with his mallet raised.
An overwhelming tension filled the air as the two factions confronted each other in the gloom. However, as the torchlight illuminated the faces on the other side, weapons were lowered abruptly.
"Wait, Krag! It’s us!" shouted the leader of the gatherer squad, lowering his spear with a face pale from fright.
"By the Bear God, we almost slaughtered you!" said Krag, letting out a sigh of relief. "What are you doing back so soon?"
"We finished hauling the first kills back to the village and headed back out to clear the trail in case you needed transport support," said the gatherer, stepping closer to the unit. "Since we saw you walking in silence through the darkness, we thought you were a raiding party or a pack of beasts."
"You arrive at the perfect time," said Kellar, brushing the snow off his shoulders. "We need every set of hands possible if we want these men and this kill to reach the village intact."
The gatherer stared in awe at the gigantic crocodile and then at the sled holding the four recovering hunters.
"Damn it..." said the gatherer, swallowing hard. "Grab the ropes, we’ll take turns pulling. Let’s get out of here before the storm gets worse!"
At dawn, the first cold rays of sunlight filtered through the treetops, finally signaling their arrival at the village borders. The combined effort with the gatherer team had allowed them to maintain a steady pace throughout the night, but the wounded men’s conditions deteriorated with every passing hour.
Throughout the entire journey, Kellar had stopped on multiple occasions to inspect the four warriors. The men were starting to deliriously mumble incomprehensible words from infection and trauma, their bodies burning up with severe fever.
Knowing that such a high temperature would cause irreversible damage, Kellar gathered handfuls of clean snow, wrapped them in cloth scraps from their coats, and placed them over their foreheads and necks to try and cool their bodies down.
"Hold on a little longer," said Kellar, swapping one of the icy compresses on Brak’s face.
"They’re burning up as if they had hot coals inside them," said Krag, watching with clear concern from the front of the sled. "I’ve never seen anyone survive this long with skin that hot."
"The fever is their bodies fighting against the damage," said Kellar, securing the cloth. "If we can keep their heads cool until we reach the shaman, they’ll have a real fighting chance."
"We’re almost there! I can see the entrance palisades!" shouted one of the gatherers up front.
The group quickened their pace on the final stretch, hauling the sled and the Great Crocodile’s colossal carcass toward the settlement gates, as the tower sentries began sounding the alarm for their return.