The Bog

When the water ripples, she startles and drops her mug of coffee right in; the definded face she sees on the surface dissipates as the peat swallows it up, and green bubbles pop.

"Aw, shit," she hisses, and her golden-retriever Trinity trots over, curious, whining in response. She knew what disturbing the seepage brought, and butts against Nova's prosthetic leg.

"Oh, it's nothing, Trin, shhh. I know you hate it out here." She shivers, and instead of blaming circumstance, she blames the stepper motors in her hand-made bionic limb for sticking, and the low-speed torque that keeps stalling. It causes a lot of stuttering in her movement.

It's nothing but your reflection anyway, Nova tells herself, stop letting it get to you. She chooses to forget how slow decomposition happens in a bog.

"We won't be long now, girl."

Nova picks up her tactical long-range rifle she named Remington, and slings him over her shoulder, taking one last look into the darkening swamp. The yellow-bellied flycatchers are silent for the first minute of the long fourteen-hour day, warning her that turning to the bog was a mistake.

Nova blinks a few times to burn the scenery into the back of her eyelids before it changes on its dime, and wipes at the sweat on her upper lip. Lifting a finger to Trinity, they both wait, still as stone and like clockwork.

Breathe. In, and out. Innn. Hold...

And ouuuut.

Taking one last look over the shoulder, Nova turns and Trinny mimics, and now they face opposite directions. She sticks tight to Nova's side as they trained, and walks backward until the end of the bridge. She built it herself to avoid the mats of dead plants that ate muskrates and moose and her dog Sammy; before Trinity.

Checking her peripheral, she keeps tabs on Trinity's tail for any indication something isn't right. When her boots sink into their land (one of few grounds that can actually hold weight), Nova sighs. It took camping for years before she came across a place stable enough to build a cabin.

Trinity barks, twirls herself in a circle.

Easing off the bionic, she fishes for her cigarettes and lighter, saying to Trin, "Such a good girl, aren't you? You did so good!" She savours a long drag once it's lit, and pats the dog on the back. "No gator will death roll my other leg with you around, that's for damn sure."

Trinity howls, tail wagging, and Nova falls in love with those big brown eyes all over again. Pocketing her lighter, she brushes dog hair away from under her nose.

"Yes, yes, you'll get a treat." Nova sniffles. Takes a look around. "Patience, girl. Patience." All's clear, so her attention drifts to the smoke rising and gathering under the leaves above her head, before slipping off in chase of the breeze. Those ones were new, and she cataloged it in the journal with a quick sketch to identify later.

"The Bog is our enemy and you have to remember that, Miss Trinny," she says, patting the dog's belly. "You're hearing me, right? We've talked about this. Many times. Deliveries only come once every six months, and supply ain't too hot because of that raid." She leans on the rail of the bridge, takes a puff. "I still found no trace of anyone, though..."

Trinny grumbles, and gives her owner some side-eye.

"We may have to ration."

Huffing, she rolls to face the other way.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger! Oh, and I know, I know- it's just so horrible." She bends because it's hard to kneel with the prosthetic, and takes hold of her companion's cheeks, squishing them. Trin's tongue is hanging out and she's smiling, basking in the love.

"Whatever will you do without your expired bacon bits, my sweet girl?" Nova kisses Trin's forehead and goes back to her smoke. Coughs, and spits.

For the past four nights in a row, footprints mark the path home, and stop right at Nova's back door. Each time, she mops the porch until it's sparkling, and pretends it never happens, while Trinny watches her sixth. Sometimes the Bog got nosey. There was nothing she could do about it.

"That's the only mug I have," Nova grunts, stomping out the cigarette as they make their way back. The trail home is lined with hundreds of moist, black spruce trees, spanish moss hanging like curtains.

They climb the steps. "Huh. No footprints tonight, looks like." Trinity sniffs the area, and Nova searches for her key, clearing her throat to rid of the lump. It's hotter than yesterday, and Trinity pants.

"Maybe we can rest easy tonight, eh, Trin? You sleep, and I take watch, then I sleep and you take watch. Haven't done that in a while."

The dog whines.

"Keep an eye on my back, now." She unlocks the door and pushes it open, only to freeze in place, hand cramping where it grips the handle. Trinny whimpers. Two footprints inside, right at the entrance, leading nowhere. Her eyes shoot up, and all her belongings are missing, with no scuff marks on the floors.

"Oh..." Nova grabs Remington, opens the bolt and the hammer falls into place. Her heart is pulled to the floor and a bead of sweat has the same idea and drips off her nose. Trinity's tail is between her legs, and she hides behind her owner, knowing all too well what that chah-clickt meant.

"Hunny, oh- it's alright. It's alright." Nova reaches to comfort her when the motors in her leg buffer, and she smacks it with the stock of the gun. The whirring starts up again, and she's back to addressing Trin.

"It's okay to be scared, but it's time for a check." Trinny's ears perk. "Okay, girl? Okay? Wanna do a check? Let's do a check!"

Trinny swallows, and waits for Nova's next command, alert, like she was never even scared in the first place. It damn near made Nova tear up because Trinity was such an amazing companion, and she was not ready to lose her.

"Tsk, go!" The dog takes off, and Nova follows, crouched, heart pounding. She worries more for Trinity's safety than her own, because The Bog took a liking to dogs. Lured them out during the night with noises Nova could never quite hear herself.

Gives her goosebumps thinking about it; that crippling loneliness that drowns her afterward (the alcohol, too), until about a week later when another stray finds itself on her property. This has been going on twenty-five years, and she has yet to figure out what the Bog wants from her.

Entering the kitchenette, red stains the cross-stitched mat in front of the sink, the cupboards, and makes a trail to the back porch, and she thinks oh, my God, it's blood. Tightening her hold on the pistol grip, she releases only a second later when she sees it's the low bush blueberries and cranberries she picks from the wetlands.

"Trinny, it's okay," says Nova, "it's nothing." She wonders who she's really reassuring. A breeze blows in from the small window above the sink, and the white lace curtains brush against her- she spins with a leg snap and a stutter. Trinny watches her owner, then nudges her, until Nova exhales.

She's holding her breath again when she notices her mug. Placed on the window sill. Dirty, from the water, and still cracked. She stays still, listening for familiar creaks or groans from floorboards to indicate where it was (whatever it was), or maybe some rustling in the grass -something- to let her know. The Bog's silence is the worst, and scares her the most.

There's movement. Nova sees a black butterfly flutter past the waving curtains, into the kitchen, and all the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as she follows it into the hall, where it disappears.

"Nova!" calls her mother.

"Trinity, no." She catches her dog's eyes, melting, and Nova's skin burns. She's getting itchy all over.

"Nova, honey," sings the voice, "come see mum!" It's closer, and she judges: besides the outhouse. Trinity's lips lift, vibrate with the low growl coming from her chest. Nova recognizes this behaviour, because it's happened so many times before, and she's tired.

"Stay, girl." Trin's muscles ripple. "Please," Nova says softly, "please don't...don't go." She steadies her tone. "Stay with me, Trinity. Stay, or no bacon for you."

"Novaaa!" Her mom's voice is right below, and she repeats in her head: it can't be, and it isn't. My mum is dead. Been dead. It isn't her.

The dog barks as something passes by, blocking the sunlight, and foam is pooling from her mouth. Trinity takes off for the corridor, eyes as black as the butterfly.

Nova drops Remington, lunges for her and snatches a leg- the world is shifting, and she smacks against the tiles, and thinks, those damn berries. Trinity goes down with her, and yelps, but just as soon regains balance and is out of sight, claws scraping, leaving marks in the wood. She forgot how fast Trinity was.

Scurrying to her feet, she grabs the rifle, hurries through the kitchen, past the pantry, and into the hall, where the front door is wide open. It's pouring outside. Another secret about The Bog; weather changes like moods, and it's the first she's seen rain this thick.

"TRINITY!" Lightning webs across the sky, and Nova grimaces when the surrounding area is lit up. It was...different. There was no bridge in sight anymore, no opening on the other side where she picks fruit. A foul-smell, and hanging from the trees were the entrails of birds, intertwined with the spanish moss.

Nova is soaked to the bone, shivering as she aims Remington, looking through the scope. It's hard to see through all the gore, and she's really not looking forward to leaving the property, because although The Bog was forever changing, in all her twenty-seven years here, she's never seen shit like this.

Taking a couple breaths, she takes off for the forest.

"Come here, Trinny!" She knows yelling attracts, but to hell with it all, she would not stand around any longer while she was stripped of everything. A crack of light, and the scenery is flipped upside down a second time, and there's so many trees she can no longer see the sky. It's so thick she reaches for the machete strapped to her leg and starts swinging, and picks up the pace, clearing herself a path.

It gets dark by the minute.

"Bring her back," she says to herself, searching, searching...wiping water from her eyes, and when she takes in a belly-deep breath, she chokes on the rain. Her arm is starting to strain as she cuts down branches that are never-ending.

Thunder shatters overhead, and she holds her breath, looks up. Hail pops her in the face. There's a bark to the left, and she regains focus and slides her hood up.

"I'm coming, Trinity! Mumma's coming, baby!"

The water rises the father she travels into the wetlands, and her sock squishes with each heavy step; night rolling in like fog. The gears in her prosthetic get clogged with vegetation, and she leans to pick it out, thinks fuck it and starts to drag instead. Where the rod is drilled into her femur, it chaffs and bleeds and aches.

"Come here, girl! Where are you?" Rustling in the bushes makes her drop the machete, and her cheek presses tight to the upper receiver, aiming wildly. Spotting a silhouette, she fires a few rounds in that general direction, disturbing a flock of ruby-crowned kinglets hovering in some thick foliage.

Nova hurries to turn on the flashlight mounted to her long-range. There is no silhouette, only shadows of trees, and she still can't hear anything over the rain. There's nothing, she tells herself, feeling foolish. At least, not yet, anyway...

She stays where she is, the fear keeping her still. No matter how many times she fires Remington, it's always just as startling as the last, and she nearly forgets to reload. She waits, hoping it's her dog and God, hope was fleeting.

"Stop!" calls a woman's voice over the slowing rain. Cold washes over Nova. "Cease fire!"

A tension headache is coming on when the stranger steps out from behind the thicket, dressed like her with a similar rifle, and Nova's head throbs hard when the woman removes her hood. Nova keeps the fiber optic sights on the center of the girls' forehead.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" yells the stranger. "This is private property!"

Nova wipes at her forehead, then her eyes to make sure she was perceiving this right, and maybe she ought to clean out her ears, too. The stranger has the same black hair, gold eyes, and even the same scar above her eyebrow, lined with freckles that dot her entire face. It was like looking in a mirror, and goosebumps litter her arms.

The reflection raises her rifle. "I asked you a question. Who are you?" Nova isn't sure how to respond, so she lowers her hood.

The woman's arms fall to her side. "Why do you look like me? Where did you come from?" Her rifle points at Nova's chest.

"I live here." Nova says. Their eyes catch. The woman says something she can't catch. Shouting over the weather, Nova says, "What?"

"I live here, too."

The hail stops, and it's silent besides their laboured breathing. Nova wonders if she triggered the release of some sort sort of hallucinogen. Possibly opium poppy, or saliva. She stopped questioning the bog's limitations a long time ago. There's staring, before Nova opens her mouth.

"Weird question- have you seen a dog by any chance?" Nova tries, offering a timid smile. Her stomach is burning. "A golden-retriever? She's- she's real cute. Look, I don't want to hurt you. I say we go our seperate ways and forget about this. There's some things in The Bog that should be left unsaid."

The woman laughs. "No. Not happening." One minute there's light, and sharp popping, and next, Nova stumbles, the burning fire in her stomach infecting her chest, too. The pain reminds her of cauterizing her thigh after the initial amputation, the kind that leaves you breathless.

She trips, and falls back into the water, guessing it was about five bullets that hit her. The smell of iron is strong, and she's holding her chest, trying to stay above, but all she sees is red and it's sinking her lower.

She hears, "That's another one down, girl. Let's go home, Miss Trinny, before The Bog decides to send more."

Nova reaches for dirt, a cluster of rock, anything, to warn her companion, when a fingernail breaks and she cries out and slips, getting a mouthful of soil. The taste of decaying plants is greasy on her tongue.

"You're such a good girl, yes you are!" Trinity barks in the distance, and Nova is struggling, chest caving. Wrapping her fingers around thick grass, she pulls, kicks with her leg. "Yes, treats for days, Trin, treats for days. Don't you worry your cute lil' face. Now, let's go home, hunny."

I need to see her once more. Pressure builds in her ears as she strains, lifts her head, and sees herself vanishing into the swamp with Trinity. Nova slides back into the water, parting the spongy peat with her weight; only to be sucked in and trapped under, where she would remain until the bog was drained.

It's colder. Foggy. Nova's last thought is, Am I the bog?