I let the fear fill me

Author’s Note¹

A leaden snake slithers inside my intestines, its ceaseless squirming makes me want to retch. My eyeballs burn from constantly scanning the treeline for threats. The fear is beginning to fill me, and I can't stand it. I want to run, but I must stay. Their lives depend on it.

Now that I keep watch by myself, the countless sounds of the forest are noticeably louder, and somehow more spiteful—crickets chirping angrily, trees creaking ominously in the wind, bats fluttering around furiously. Every noise from the impenetrable shadows seems to spell the coming of our annihilation—whether by beast or by man, I can't tell. But I don't want to think about death. It's too fresh on my mind. There are so few of us left; I have to stay alert to protect those that remain.

I never imagined this forest could be so alienating. Once our comfortable home, now it feels like a dungeon, a tomb. I don’t feel safe, even though I am surrounded by loved ones, their slumbering bodies stretched in various positions around the campfire. But they are no help; I am forced to face the horrors of the night alone. 

Among the other families in our tribe, I scan over my own. I see my sisters, nieces, and nephews, but younger brother is conspicuously missing. His child, Little One, lies closest to me, sleeping softly. So precious, so small, so helpless.

What chance does she stand in this hostile world, ruled by the savage and merciless gods? This earth is river of nightmares surging at the banks, filled with abominable things, every one of which seems to be delicately designed to destroy us. Her most of all. But I am not much stronger. What can I possibly do to stop the flood?

This line of thinking disturbs me, and I falter, no longer able to suppress my thoughts of death. Suddenly, the damn breaks, and all the hideous apparitions of my tormented mind rush at me in a torrent. I see monsters prowling at the edge of camp—hideous, snarling, their gaping maws filled with numberless teeth eager to sheer skin from bone, their crooked lips dribbling putrefying saliva. I turn away in panic, but on the other side I see hordes of men lurking in the darkness, their spears lowered and their muscles tensed, ready to leap over the barriers and tear into us again, their bloodlust still unslaked.

My memory then merges with my imagination, and I watch in dread as the deluge of destruction is unleashed on our camp. This time, none escape the slaughter. A sea of sensations overwhelm me simultaneously—the terrified shrieks of women, the stifled groans of grown men, the sickening snap of broken bones, the sour smells of nervous sweat, eviscerated organs, burnt flesh. I stare into a swamp of blood and carnage. In my final moments of anguish, as my own life spills out of me, I witness it all, utterly humiliated by my great and total failure. I let this happen.

The terror of this phantasmic fever dream is nearly overpowering.

I must leave. I must get out of this place. I have to flee so I can save myself. I don't want to die. I don't want to keep watch any longer. I can still survive if I leave right now. 

I try to rise, but my legs are weak. My stomach surges, and a wave of dizziness hits me. I collapse back on the ground, which makes a noise. A few people stir in their sleep, but none awake. 

As my eyes sweep over their bodies, another thought comes—who will protect them? He is gone. If I leave too, who will defend our family?

I can't abandon them. I can't let them be overrun. It's too awful. It’s my duty to watch over them—despite the fear. 

One by one, I consider them. My elder sister, with her broken jaw that makes her smile so endearing. She is tough, but prone to loneliness. My younger sister, loud and joyful, surrounded by her four children, each of them more rowdy than the last, yet impossible to be angry with for long, so tender and gentle they are. Even now they snuggle one another in a line. I fight back tears.

Then I see his wife, the quietest of us all. She is tiny and meek, but selfless. She does more work than three people together, and never tires, never complains. Next to her, Little One, their only child. She is small like her mother. Quiet too. But her eyes are big, and perceptive. Looking at her, it is impossible to stop myself—I let the tears flow.

It is them I defend—them who sleep so deeply only because they have put their trust in me. How can I betray them? How can I willingly leave them behind?

My love for them makes me hate myself. How can I be such a coward? What makes me so craven, so selfish?

I wish brother were still here. Though he was younger than me, he was so much bigger and bolder than me. I still don’t understand why I survived, and he was killed. If he were here, he would encourage me. He would be brave, even in this treacherous forest, this hell. 

A bitter breeze brushes my exposed skin, sending shivers through my body. Winter is approaching, fast. It is always the most difficult season. The days are short and bleak, the nights are long and cold. Dry wood is in short supply. Water retreats into the mountains, transforming to snow and ice.

This winter will be the most miserable in memory. If we live to remember it. We have no furs, no shoes, no tools. We left all that behind when we ran for our lives. Now we will pay for it, I know. Because I know what it feels like to freeze. My frostbitten toes are permanent reminders of the paralyzing sting of snow. I don't want to endure that again. I won't.

And with the cold comes its more sinister twin, hunger. Very little to hunt, even less to forage. Starvation gnawing us from the inside out. That is the real enemy. Worse than being crushed to death by a bloodthirsty blow. Worse even than being smothered by the creeping cold. Death by hunger is grueling and pitiful. It makes people do desperate things.

I’m getting desperate too. Curse the gods! Staying is fruitless. We will not have enough to go around. There are too few hunters, too many mouths to feed, too much skin to cover.

We may survive if I keep watch tonight, but what about the next night? And the one after? Even if we repel the murderous fiends who are certainly still on our trail, we can not deter the advance of winter, that insatiable monster who takes and takes and never gives, until it gives out, many months from now. But by then it will be too late.

My belly is empty. Has been for days. How much longer can I go on? 

Those who were injured when we fled the massacre, what happened to them? Broken legs, sprained ankles, and bleeding wounds. They probably didn’t make it far. And it’s not our fault either. We couldn't turn back. All we could do was run. Those who couldn’t run are likely dead. Death takes us all, but he takes the weak more quickly. Death will take me too if I stay here much longer. I must run while I still can, leaving behind those who would slow me down.

I can’t save them all, but I could save myself. Better I live than we all die. That makes sense to me. 

Unsteadily, I stand. I feel the snake churning in my stomach again. I must go now; I cannot delay. I will try to tiptoe out of camp before they notice. I am sorry, dear sisters. I am sorry, Little One.

I gather my things: my spear, my blanket, my salt. I curse the gods, and I curse myself. Maybe I am a coward. I don't care—I've always been afraid. I am not brother. I never will be. I don't understand him and I will never understand his bravery. 

With everything in hand, I am ready. But I can't stop shivering. It is no longer the fright at my destruction, but the distress of my guilt. It is the fear of what fate I leave them to, without their knowledge. It is the shame of betraying their trust, abandoning them to everything I envisioned in my nightmare.

The fear has now totally filled me; it is overflowing. It permeates my entire body. I can’t stop my limbs from trembling. I can't catch my breath. I’m soaked in sweat. My heart is racing. The snake in my intestines is crawling up my throat. I feel sick. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. 

I vomit.

My nostrils and my throat burn with sweet and sickly acidity. My head spins. Then I turn and see her.

Little One.

There is no surprise in her eyes. No confusion. She just stares at me. Does she know? I put my finger to my lips. She doesn't move. She doesn't blink. She just stares, without anger, without judgment. Only disappointment. Is that it? No, there's no way she can know. But I know, and my shame scalds me, to the heart.

How can I leave her? How can I leave all of them? I could never forgive myself. And even if I do survive—for how long? One man is no man. I know that. I've never seen a companionless man in all my years. But I have seen many solitary skeletons. Death takes the lonely most quickly of all.

We are still staring. Neither of us has moved. Suddenly, I understand everything. In her big eyes, I realize the truth:

Brother was brave, yes, but he was not unafraid. He felt the fear consume him, just as I feel it now.

But he responded to it differently. He had already made his decision. His wife, his child—he would stay and fight for them, no matter what. And now they are my reason too. My family and my tribe, all of them. Without them, I am nothing. Without me, they are as good as dead.

I put my gear down. I smile at Little One. She closes her eyes and turns away, unimpressed. It doesn't matter. I have made my decision. I don’t need her approval.

I stand, making myself tall. I grasp my spear firmly and point it at the shadows. Whatever lurks there, if anything, I am ready to face it. Here I am. 

I still shiver in fear, but I don’t resist it; I embrace it. I let the fear fill me. Yes, the fear is terrible, it is sickening, it is odious. But the fear keeps me awake. It keeps me alert. The fear reminds me of why I fight—the thought of losing them. The fear focuses me on what’s important.

Dawn is coming. I can see it beginning to bathe the trees in a dull gray. With it, there is some relief. The watch is almost over. I feel a little hope.

Perhaps, one day, many lifetimes from now, Little One’s grandchildren, or their grandchildren, won't face these hardships. Perhaps, one day, if we continue to fight all the hazards of this inhospitable world long enough, we will eventually subdue them. Perhaps, one day, there will no longer be anything to fear. No more constant bloodshed. No more gnawing hunger. No more freezing and frostbite. 

When that day comes, will we still tremble? Will we still be afraid? Maybe we will still feel the same sensations, only the dangers won’t be real. Maybe they will be like the nightmares that tormented me tonight, more mental than material. I don’t know.

But I do know this—my fears may be strong, but my love is stronger. These are my people. These are my family. These are my reason. 

I will finish the rest of this watch. And I will keep watch again next week. And another week after that. And if I’m lucky, I will keep watch again next winter.

It will never get any easier. The fear will grip me again, hold me in its sway throughout the night. But I won’t fight it. I will let the fear fill me. Because I know now, I understand:

There is a terror more terrible than any of the demons that prowl at our perimeter, more dreadful than the death waiting at our doorstep—it is the fear of dying alone.

1. This is a rework of a story published previously on The Apocalypse