Phoenix in Arizona

(Chapter Four)

There was something wrong about this night. The moon was bright overhead. The chill in the breeze was not unusual. It was quiet, save for the sound of the river and the breeze going through the rocks and canyon. None of them had spotted signs of movement or had the feeling that they were being watched.

And still, they knew something was wrong.

None of them spoke, it was not necessary and there was no sense in risking it at this point. They were suppose to be three ghosts in the canyon, people who were never there. Still, Eli's steps up front were going at a slower pace than usual and all of them had their weapons close at hand. Something was not right. It was almost as if they could feel it on the wind.

A few minutes in and it started with the stench of death. This was not unusual. All of them were acquainted with it. Plenty of things died out in the Mojave, be it some poor soul succumbing to the evils out there, benign or otherwise, or any number of the creatures that infested the place. You got used to it, almost being able to filter it out. At worse it was an invisible road sign of stale, unpleasant rot; something had died there and you'd best be careful.

But it started to grow.

They could tell Eli was started to get agitated up front, the movements of his head showing that he was desperately scanning for another pass. It was hard to tell why at first but after awhile it became immaterial to the growing, gut wrenching stench that seemed get worse with every passing step. The breeze shifted and the sensory horror that hit them nearly knocked them off their feet.

The smell was bone crushing.

Abruptly, Eli turned towards the river. They had to pass down several feet and climb down a few rocks making the descent no easy thing. With the stench in the air, getting water seemed like an odd thing. Rene was more concerned with trying to get out of this foul air. Eli meanwhile motioned for them to hand him their canteens. He shook his head to any questioning looks. Whatever the man foresaw, he was not telling them. They would have to wait. They were pressing on soon enough, this time right next to the river.

It started with one corpse. It was half rotten, the clothes in tatters, irrelevant and ignored. Then there was another. Just another bad day in the Mojave. They kept their weapons up. Corpses could also mean scavengers who would have no problem supplementing their meal with a fresh body. They soon passed more carcasses. The human body might be a beautiful thing but once it expires it becomes an upsetting sight as it becomes reduced to filth, rot and muck. It can also become toxic.

And, very suddenly, they were upon a mountain of bodies.

It was rather unbelievable how many of them were there. It would also be very easy to surmise that the Legion had been working overtime recently. For most of the bodies, that seemed consistent; similar states of decay and signs of trauma. Unfortunately, not all of them fit that description. There were even bodies of the Legion's own washed up from the river. Whether by chance or design all what mattered was that this had become a dumping ground.

The stench was hellish.

There was no way to get around either save the unsavory thought of tripping and stumbling over hundreds of corpses along a canyon side. That would not do. Instead, Eli led them until they were waist deep in the water of the river. The current made sure there weren't too many bodies but as they waded through they found themselves bumping up against one too many corpses. There were far too many. Half rotted corpses of NCR soldiers, Mojave inhabitants, some carcasses still wore the red armor of the Legion. Some bones were frail and worn, showing that the person who once wore them had the privilege, or curse, of living to an old age. There were even the tiny, undefined skulls that could have only belonged to children and babes.

The dead never talk to the living. They just lay there, occasionally grinning, sometimes glaring, but they never speak. It is the living who put words in the hollow jaws of the dead and see intents in the empty sockets of their eyes. A person could get lost in their thoughts, trying to ignore the obscene bump of too many bloated in the river, trying to pretend they were never there. It can get easy to start seeing familiar faces in the bodies that soon start to look all alike.

The faces of two tribes or a lost wife.

Boone just passed through in the water, only knowing death. The smell was somewhat bothering but he knew could almost feel something on the horizon bubbling up and waiting to ambush them with spears, guns, whatever had murdered the innocent and made rid of the parasitic infection of the Legion that was to behold lying in the intoxicated sands. The wooden stock of his rifle was getting tiring and his hands were cramping slightly, but her kept each calloused and scarred finger upon the rifle's stock at all times. Boone wanted to travel ahead, curious as to what well-laid plan was ahead of them, and wanting to take them on before they could ever make a move against their small grouping.

Keeping his face plastered in his usual surly look, Boone kept wading on, only releasing his hand from his rifle to scratch at his cheek momentarily and to rub his nose from the visceral and carmine scent of rotting flesh that just bled into the banks of the Colorado. Making sure his sunglasses were still on his shirt to increase his visibility, he often still found it too bright to not wear them, even at night. Rene told him his pupils were probably used to not being completely dilated because of his shades he wore all the time and he went with that. But accuracy couldn't be lost in a situation like this, and so, he loosened up a little bit from his icy-like tense and pushed on from Eli and Rene while still being rigid and swift with his movements. Rene, as usual, wanted to catch up with him but he signaled for her to stay back.

Eli even put a hand up to stop her from moving even faster in the dead silence. Not even the crickets or mantises wanted to chirp and trill in the night that was driving Rene insane. Feeling her extremities cramp up from being in the water too long, she hated the cold that crept up her back in tendrils, incasing her nerves in what felt like paralysis. There were too many bodies on shore and not enough space or light for them to see where to walk or not, but her toes felt stiff and the muscles in her legs contracted every so often.

But Rene knew not to break the rule of silence at night, and so she kept moving on in the water.

Boone finally reached a standstill, seemingly immersed with looks from a dead woman who floated in the water. Her blue eyes stared up with a small smile on her face, not looking at anything in particular. Rene and Eli finally caught up with him, seeing the spotter enamored with a woman that looked vaguely like Carla. As the night progressed on and without the course of sleeping, all of them were tired; their mind fogging up with the thoughts of loved ones or just being able to relax for once. Eli, Boone and Rene only wanted peace after their carefully laid plans had taken affect upon the southwest.

Boone turned his mind away from the woman and the cry for solace, running a hand over his face and signaling for both of them to follow him closely. Rene regained her position at his side and Eli followed closely to Rene. Trying to move without holding the others back, Rene put one leg in front of the other waded through the waters as much as she could without bumping into the carcasses of Legion, whose dead eyes stared up into the sky as well, each one spattered in diluted blood that made Rene feel queasy on the inside as she put thought into they were probably swimming in a pool of disease and their bodies were half submerged in the shit.