Disclaimer: I don't own any of the movies or characters from the "Cabin Fever" franchise. All "Cabin Fever" movies and their characters belong to their respective owners. I don't make any money from the writing of this story.
Fair warning: the sex scene in this chapter includes some dark, disturbing and very gory imagery. This chapter is probably closest in tone to "Cabin Fever" than any of the ones I've posted so far.
If you think that might be too much of a turn-off for you, feel free to just skip ahead to the next chapter. The sex in that is all steam, no scream.
*****
The endless banality of the grey, thick forest was disturbed only by the sounds of its foreign intruders. The constant scrape of a mattress being dragged along the ground served as a backing for two pairs of sneakers marching through the brown, leafy undergrowth, out of sync with one another. It was like music being played by a trio with no souls.
Sometimes when Marcy looked back at the mattress she was pulling all she could see upon it was death. It was hard to articulate what death looked like exactly, except that it was bloody and ugly, but she just knew that the thing she was looking at was death. Even though her mind kept assuring her that it was Karen.
Other times when she looked back, Marcy saw the bubbly blonde freshman she'd met on her first week of college. A beautiful broad grin shining upon her face, excited about all the new experiences she was about to have, without a worry in the world.
Surrounding them, at a distance of about 100 yards, a darkness consumed the forest. It wasn't like a shadow cast by a cloud. This darkness twitched and swirled as if everything out there was completely covered in a layer of black insects.
Marcy recognized this darkness as well. It too was death, for death came in many forms.
With a casual glance, it looked as if the boundary between the darkness and the forest remained constant. But when she really looked, Marcy could tell that the darkness was getting closer, one inch at a time. It was patient in its advance. It had no need to chase her because there was nowhere she could go to escape it - she was surrounded.
By the same token, Marcy felt no compulsion to run or scream because she knew it would do her no good. So she simply continued toting the heavy load of someone too frail to flee from the darkness without her help.
The lone contrast in her macabre surroundings was Paul. He stood opposite her, his hands latched firmly upon the other corner of the mattress. The sleeves of his dark blue sweater bulged handsomely where his biceps swelled from the effort of carrying his childhood crush. He was like a virile bull the way his legs powered tirelessly on; the way the hot, heavy breath snorted from his nostrils. It gave Marcy a precious sense of comfort to have this sturdy specimen of masculine strength by her side in this awful time.
Every now and then, she'd look ahead to their destination: the shabby little log cabin at the top of the hill. The incline before her seemed insurmountable: it felt like they were trying to climb Mount Everest.
She would look ahead to her destination only briefly, before turning her gaze to other aspects of her surroundings. But each time she checked to see how much farther they needed to carry Karen, it seemed like they'd barely made any progress at all.
Then Marcy finally realized what the problem was. Her legs were moving at a normal rate, but her actual forward movement was as if she were trying to run in a swimming pool.
Nonetheless, she carried on in this fashion for several minutes, refusing to let the futility of the task deter her from doing 'what she was supposed to do'.
Then, for no particular reason, she decided that it was all ridiculous. There was no point trying to carry Karen away from the darkness. Death was already inside her. There was nothing in the cabin that could save her.
Marcy dropped her burden without a word, leaving Karen to be consumed by the darkness where she lay. She continued on ahead. Without even looking back, Marcy knew that Paul would likewise drop the mattress and follow her, because she wanted him to. She didn't know how or why, but at this time, Marcy had control over him. She could feel his unwavering gaze upon her butt as she walked. It was like he was some kind of mindless thrall in a trance.
Before she knew it, Marcy was back at the cabin. She turned the knob of the flimsy door, which had been nailed together from uneven planks, and stepped inside.
It was a pitiful little sanctuary, with only one room. Fortunately for Marcy, it was the only room she needed to find a little comfort in these final couple of hours.
The bed, an antiquated piece made of cast iron, was pressed flush against the back wall and centered beneath a small window. It was a mess; the blood-red floral quilt had been tossed to one side and the sheets and pillows were all rumpled. Appropriate, Marcy thought, considering how the world around the cabin was crumbling to pieces. Why should the inside be any different?
All the same, the soft mattress looked extremely inviting. It called to her, promising a comfortable place to rest her weary legs.
She walked over and sat upon the bed in a position that was halfway between laying in repose and curled up in the fetal position. Resting an elbow upon the window sill, she gazed out into the wilderness. The darkness was still out there, still encroaching upon her. The cabin was no defence whatsoever against its advance; it was merely a more welcoming place for her to await the inevitable than the cold, dirty woods.
Without even thinking about it, she pulled one of the pillows close and held it close to her body. It was a poor substitute for Whipsie, the plush, sky-blue toy cow she had embraced for comfort in her formative years, and more than once after the crueller days of high school.
