Like a Moth to the Flame

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Lilith stepped back from the glass, momentarily blinded by the glare. The darkness outside seemed to weigh heavily on the feeble flame and threatened to crush her own determination as well. She knew she was taking a risk. She was already weakened from her frantic tear through miles of dense thicket. Her only hope was that the last of her group would see the light and make their way toward her.

After taking a moment to bind her shredded hands and hide her meagre supplies, Lilith thought back to their harried escape from Port Bruce. Her unlikely alliance with neighbourhood acquaintances had been a timely and fortuitous development. Planning for life off the grid with group resources was much preferable to going it alone.

Chaos had enveloped the world, discriminating against no one. Apocalyptic events were becoming the norm: pandemics, wildfires, floods, recessions, dwindling food and energy supplies, and so very, very much more. Anger was the prevailing opinion of the day and hope was at a premium. There was no doubt that a societal transformation of cataclysmic proportions was in the making. Survival was the only goal, and in a time of survival Lilith knew, more is definitely not merrier.

For Lilith, her world smashed into high gear when looters hit the edge of the village. Grabbing her “Go Bag” and sliding a hunting knife into her thigh strap, she joined her newly established band of marauders in the ready van and fled. They had driven for hours, heading for Ontario North where they hoped to lose themselves in the vast and sparsely populated Canadian wilderness. They made it to Bancroft before running out of gas and took to the woods on foot.

Lilith dozed. At long last the black outside the window turned purple, then red and finally the horizon burned a fiery orange. Daylight was approaching. Lilith was still alone. Despite her exhaustion Lilith knew she had to finish the job. Extinguishing the candle and grabbing her knife, she made her way back through the forest as silently and stealthily as possible. The first of her targets came into view shortly after midday.

Lilith's stomach was growling but she was thankful she hadn't eaten when she came across David lying on the ground: motionless. David's throat had been slit from ear to ear, a pool of thickened black blood making an island of his lifeless body. Lilith felt an unexpected jolt of exhilaration along with her horror as she relived the surprising ease of her first kill.

The opportunity had presented itself on a silver platter! David had fallen behind, a strained ankle slowing his progress; and Lilith, conveniently, had held back, encouraging David to swing his arm across her shoulders. Lilith smiled remembering how she had careened ahead, crashing into her companions, bloodied and wide eyed, her adrenaline-powdered hysterics lending credibility and urgency to her voice. "Run! Run! Run!" she screamed, and her companions, caught up in unknown terror, scattered in different directions.

After separating the group, Lilith's task became much easier and she was able to dispatch the next two frenetic runaways quite handily …although her inexperienced and trembling hand slid down the knife blade several times as she hit bone. Too far gone to even register the pain, Lilith hunted for the last member of their party until dusk before making her way to the abandoned cabin and lighting the candle.

Shaking her head to bring herself firmly back to the present, Lilith noted with surprise, that her overwhelming pangs of conscious were tinged with shivers of pride. She had done what needed to be done …and done it well. She set her jaw as she dug down through the pile of debris to the supplies that David had been carrying. Slinging the supplies over her shoulder, she moved on to the second kill site, already beginning to mentally organise how she would ration the provisions meant for the larger group.

Lilith was amazed that everything was working out better than she had hoped, although the one that got away left her with an uneasy, vulnerable feeling. Larion was the leader of the pack and it had been challenging to lead him toward choosing the Bancroft site as the groups' final destination. Lilith knew that her attempt to lure him to the cabin using the candle was a long shot and, not surprisingly, Larion had been a no show. She would have to make do with the supplies she had acquired.

By the time Lilith approached the abandoned cabin, it was dusk and she was more than exhausted. Dragging the heavy supply bags on a tarp through the woods had sapped her of any remaining energy and her emotions were brittle and raw. As she drew closer, she was shocked to see a familiar glow coming from the cabin. The candle in the window was lit. Lilith's heart started pounding as she dropped to her knees, breathing hard and taking in the scene from the safety of old growth. Amidst the pulsating chirp of the crickets and the guttural croaks of the frogs she felt something cold and hard press against the back of her head. The telltale click of the cocking of a gun reverberated loudly in her skull.

Lilith focused her eyes solely on the candle, allowing herself to detach and float through the darkness in her mind's eye. "Hmm," she thought randomly, "as beacons of death go, that candle is, perhaps, the most comforting"