Answers Stained With Blood

The silence that filled Ton's Remedy after Rudy's grim story was not the peace of dawn, but a haunted hush—not a person in the room truly believed the worst was over. Outside, the day had only just begun, but in their small circle, it felt as if the darkness never left.

Herman was the first to break the quiet. His memories, sharpened by years in the wild, traced through every strange detail Rudy had recounted. He let out a long breath, eyes fixed on the fingers he gripped together in his lap.

"That," he said finally, "the big monster you mentioned—when it threw the tree, broke the west gate. If it's as large as you think, it's not just a monster. It's an Alpha." His gaze went distant, recalling scars and stories from his own dangerous youth. "A Great Apey, maybe. They usually live deep in the forest, away from any villages. Even in my days as a scout for an adventurer raid, we'd avoid them if we could. But last night…" He shook his head. "If it's the same beast, Huina's in real danger. I never thought I'd see one come so close, let alone attack a village."

Ton's brows drew down, face flecked with shadow. "It's been decades since anyone saw the Great Apey near here. The merchants would have warned us long before now. It seems something serious is happening inside the forest."

Herman grunted in agreement but then shifted focus. "But even more troubling—what you said about the dead moving. 'Should be dead, still moving.' I've heard it before. When Gilian and Arvan came back from their hunt and went chasing a loud sound in the forest, both of them… they're tough boys. Hunt anything if you ask them. Last time I saw them truly scared was never, not until this. They said they saw things that shouldn't still be alive wandering the woods. And this was one of the reasons Arvan just stared at a villager when arrived at Arnan. Especially the one that kept banging his head against the village wall like his skull was made of stone. And Gilian—" His voice went low, "he saw a bear, split in half, still eating, and a mage crawling with his chest torn open. Nobody believed them at first. Now I do."

The others shuddered as Herman spoke, remembering the stories—bodies with wounds that no person or ordinary beast could survive. Monsters acting strange. Villagers losing their minds. It was as if the forest had thrown out every law of nature and replaced it with a nightmare.

Ton leaned forward. "The important questions: Did anything stop them? How fast is it spreading? What makes them change—what makes them aggressive suddenly?" He pressed the last question hard, hoping, against hope, for a simple answer.

Rudy shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. I only saw what happened after. By the time I realized what was going on, it was too late."

Ronova's face was unreadable as he folded his arms. "If you can't say for sure, maybe someone else saw the beginning. I saw Roy… is it? It seems he helps Alice and Rutina in the treatment area right now. Wasn't he working as the herbalist on Arnan?"

Rudy nodded, perking up with a sudden memory. "Yes. Roy. He should have been inside the village hall when the scream came from there. We should ask him. He might know more."

Herman, always pragmatic, rose from his chair. "Ronova, if you would?"

Ronova nodded once, then slipped quietly toward the village hall, boots thudding softly on the wooden walk. For a moment, only the drip of water from a leaky roof broke the quiet, and Ton began sharpening a kitchen blade to distract his nerves.

A short time later, Ronova reappeared, a boy trailing behind him. Roy carried himself stiffly, still wearing a simple tunic faintly marked with blood and soaked in the herbal scents of his trade. In his eyes, the same haunted look as Rudy—a shadow of fear only those who had seen impossible things could understand.

"Sit, Roy." Ton gestured to a chair at the table, but Roy shook his head.

"I… I'd rather stand. Please."

He placed himself by the small window, eyes darting over his shoulder at the growing crowd outside the village hall, voices carrying uneasily through the glass.

***

"Tell us what you remember, Roy," Herman said, his voice gentle but heavy.

Roy fidgeted, hands knotting the hem of his tunic. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft the others had to lean in to hear.

"It started with one man. He'd lost half his right hand in the chaos—blood everywhere, the fingers chewed up. Something about the way he moved, or…" Roy shivered. "He just felt wrong, like he wasn't in his own body."

He swallowed hard and continued. "We brought him into the village hall with the rest of the wounded. He was twitching a lot, like his muscles were out of his control. Then he started coughing… big, heavy coughs. A lot of blood came up. It was darker than any blood I've seen, almost black. The other herbalist—I worked under him—he checked and… said the man was dead. No breath, no pulse. We were all there, we saw it." Roy's face went blank, as if replaying the moment again and again.

"We covered him with a white cloth. My teacher told me we had to burn the body before infection could spread or he became a ghoul—those were his words. But before we could, he asked me to tell the man's family, so they'd know and say goodbye if they needed to. I stepped out, found his wife and son. When we came back…"

His hands started shaking.

"The corpse wasn't on the bed anymore. The cloth was ripped… and I saw my teacher lying on the ground, blood pouring from his face. He was missing his right cheek… and the dead man—the one we were just going to burn—was on top of him, biting and tearing." Roy's voice crumbled, his breath quickening, but with effort, he pressed on. "My teacher reached out, even as he was dying, and his hand was trying to reach in my direction, asking for help. I couldn't—there was so much blood. He kept saying, 'Don't let him eat me…' but it was too late. The man just kept eating, not stopping until another villager hit him, trying to save my teacher."

Roy wiped at his eyes with his dirty sleeve.

"That's not the worst. The dead man—it was like hurting him didn't matter. No matter how many times they hit him, he kept moving, kept eating." He swallowed. "The man's wife—she tried to pull the thing away, and it bit her face… right at the nose. I… I watched her fall back, screaming, holding her face as blood poured through her fingers. But then—" His voice quavered, "She started to convulse too. Right there, lying on the ground, right after being bitten. She died."

He shook his head no, as if to erase the memory.

"Then—on my left—one of the other herbalists, one I knew well, started screaming. I looked and saw another of the wounded, someone who should have died already, clawing at his stomach. His intestines were pulled out… two other villagers—both wounded from before—were eating him alive. But he…" Roy's lips trembled, "he was still talking, just mumbling, 'The dead… rise again… help… it hurts…' even as they tore him apart. He didn't die for a long time. It was wrong. All wrong."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "At that point, everything fell apart. Some of the villagers—some who were still alive—ran for the door. I was in the way, got pushed down, and for a second, it was like the world went silent. The only sound was the feet and hands on the floor, scraping and clawing. I looked up and saw two of the dead ones—faces eaten, eyes white and wide—coming right for me."

Roy's mouth worked, but it took a moment for sound to find him. "I threw the bloody cloth I was holding, hoping it would slow them down. It stuck to one of their faces, and I ran, I just ran. Kicked at the back door until it opened, and the noise behind me—growling, howling—started to fill the hall."

He looked down, chest heaving.

"I glanced back once. There I saw my teacher who got eaten—he started twitching, convulsing, and then got up. He'd died not a minute before, and now… he was one of them. He bit Aunty Nada, who had helped us to care for the other villager since morning, who was just standing there, frozen in shock. Then everyone started attacking—biting, clawing—anyone who wasn't like them. I just ran for the north gate. Didn't look back again."

He finally slumped, silence falling heavy on the table.

For several long seconds, only the faint whistling of wind at the window spoke. Herman studied Roy, then exchanged a look with Ronova and Ton. Rudy, hands knotted in his lap, listened with pale intensity.

Herman spoke first, ticking points off on his rough fingers. "First: When you get killed by one of the dead—one of these walking corpses—you will probably turn into one of them, no matter how bad your wounds. Second: When you turn… you only care about attacking other living villagers. The desire to hurt and eat is all you have left." He paused. "None of us know why. But that's what the pattern is."

Ronova nodded, cool eyes flicking to Roy and Rudy, who both agreed with thoughtful nods.

"I didn't see anyone bitten or attacked by them ever wake up normally. Not one. Every single one changed, even after dying from their wounds," Roy said quietly.

"The worst part is, even if you hit their hearts, even the neck, they just don't die," Rudy added in a tired voice. Fear colored his words, memories tumbling out like stones. "I tried when I was looking for Keynes—the ones I fought, their chests were stabbed, but they just kept coming until I ran for my life."

Ton looked at all of them, voice hoarse. "So, if these things get into our village—or spread any farther—there might be nothing we can do but run. We can't fight if they don't die like normal people."

Rudy, suddenly remembering a small flicker of hope between the horror, spoke up, almost too quiet to hear. "There was a child, one Keynes carried when we escaped. We lost her on the way out, but she wasn't bitten or attacked—just crushed by the gate log when it fell. She… died, but she stayed dead. So maybe, just maybe, if you die by normal means—an accident, a weapon—you don't turn. It's only if the dead get you."

This glimmer of explanation did nothing to lighten the shadows clinging to the edges of Ton's shop.

As the adults spoke and drew grim conclusions, the sounds from outside grew louder. Villagers clustered in hushed knots, faces pinched with worry as they watched the council members from the distance, hoping for news but afraid of what they might hear.

Roy stood by the window, watching the anxious crowd as though from another world. Across the muddy path, the village hall bustled with the wounded, children sleeping in their mother's laps, and the ever-present threat that something worse might yet break through the gates.