Chapter Text
This is the story of a very special boy. A very special boy who found himself at the end of the world.
But before it was the boy’s story, it was the story of the last men on earth. The world had been struggling for a long time, nature slowly weakening under the watch of those in power. Nature’s struggle was only the beginning, though, as something darker came over the horizon. Most people simply called it the sick. Others, a new age plague. Whatever it was, it spread quickly and ruthlessly. Politicians lied through their teeth about relief efforts. Doctors and researchers scrambled for a cure. The sick mutated and grew, getting stronger. It seemed as though the ancient stories about the end of the world had come to pass, that this was humanity’s sunset. Surely, there could be nothing else.
And then came the hybrids. Children born part animal, unexplained by science. A miracle to some, a curse to most. The greatest debate of their age came to be—who came first, the children or the sick? The world burned, and its most innocent life became vulnerable as the crumble set in. Governments fell and people scattered, desperate for the security and order of the old days.
But this story isn’t about the crumble. This is a story about a mother fleeing into the wilderness.
Tatiana Artyomov was, by all accounts, incredibly ordinary. She didn’t stick out in a crowd, and she certainly didn’t try to attract attention. She was someone you’d sit beside on a train or pass in the street—friendly and sweet, but terribly unremarkable. At least, to anyone who didn’t know her.
Tatiana was many things before the crumble; a fighter, a scholar, and a loving daughter. She spent the summers of her youth with her father, learning everything he had to teach about camping and surviving the wilds—something he swore up and down that any respectable young lady should know. She didn’t know then that he was absolutely right. If she wasn’t at his side then, she was swimming. The water called to Tatiana in a way she would never truly understand, soothing growing pains and anxieties. She adored the waves and the sand between her toes at the lake—she always claimed there was nothing greater than the light of a sunrise reflecting off of its surface, a mirror full of fire.
She hadn’t planned on becoming a mother. That was a bitter truth she held close to her chest, ashamed. What she’d believed to be a stomach bug soon turned into a hospital visit and a flurry of tests. She’d never intended on keeping the baby—her boyfriend had broken up with her and moved, and she was already working to help support her family. A baby was the last thing she needed, already too busy with university courses and late shifts. But the more she considered it, the more she realized she wanted to keep the baby. Boy or girl, she felt warm at the idea of a baby of her own. The pregnancy wasn’t easy. Tatiana got sick, very sick. She ended up in the hospital for a week, until seemingly by a miracle her illness faded and her strength returned. Her family didn’t question it, too thankful for her safety. Only later did anyone realize what had really happened.
It was a few months later, around the time that she was due, that the sick took hold of the world. It started slowly, a handful of people falling ill. As reports of a new, aggressive strain of flu went out, Tatiana considered herself lucky. She was already off work, stuck waiting anxiously as the day drew closer and closer. The news became bleak. This new virus—whatever it was—was vicious. The death toll grew, the crumble began, and the world became a lot scarier to her.
She almost refused to leave the house when her water broke. She didn’t want to risk the outside world, not for her baby or herself. It took her father coaxing and eventually carrying her out to the car, but soon enough she was surrounded by panicked doctors taking her to the sealed off maternity ward. It didn’t soothe her fears. Masks, hazmat suits, and terrified nurses crowded the halls. It smelled simultaneously like disinfectant and sick, making the already lightheaded feeling she had increase tenfold. Despite the fear, Tatiana held out. She had always been a fighter, after all.
On October first, almost exactly at noon, doctors watched in horror as Tatiana’s baby took its first breaths. Hybrid children were unheard of on the national scale, and they stared at her child in bated silence. When the tiny bundle of blankets was finally passed into her arms, she saw what they’d been looking at so intently.
Her baby was a hybrid. A fawn, with two little ears that stuck out and a set of hooves for feet. A fawn, with little white spots across the cheeks and the lightest peach fuzz along the shoulders. Tatiana knew, instantly, that she would live and die for her baby. That the stars had aligned perfectly to bring her to this moment. As she looked into his eyes—brown and warm, with bits of blue at their centers—something in her heart clicked into place just right. The world didn’t feel like it was ending for her—it felt like it had just begun, that everything was brand new and wonderful.
18 more hybrid children were born in the halls of Saint Raphael General Hospital that day. It was clear to everyone—the mothers, the doctors, the nurses—that something was terribly wrong. Tatiana’s family fought to take her home, her baby clutched desperately in her arms. The hospital was in a calamity, the roads even worse. Finally, she made it home.
The peace didn’t last. The sick had found its way inside, taking hold of Tatiana’s father. The crumble truly began, riots and unrest rising. Tatiana knew what she had to do, but it broke her heart. She left her home and her family and fled for the wild, knowing that it was the best chance she had to save both her and the baby born into a world of chaos. She took her father’s old work truck and drove like a madwoman, speeding off to the nearest expanse of wild She had to switch the radio off twenty minutes into the drive. Between the looped recordings of lockdown announcements and quarantine guidelines were ramblings and conspiracies about “animal kids”. It made her stomach twist and her throat tight. She settled for quiet lullabies sung in a shaking voice for her and the sleeping baby in the backseat.
Finally, she made it to her destination—Yellowstone. Some stories start at the beginning. The boy’s starts here.
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Viktor Artyomov was, by nature, a curious child. Most seven-year-olds are. He had a knack for getting into things he wasn’t supposed to—Mama always said that. He loved the sound of her voice when she said it, warm and even and with the slightest hint of a smile. Viktor was certain that Mama knew everything, because she always knew how to answer his questions and wrote lots of storybooks for him in two whole languages. She even fixed the cabin they lived in all by herself, when he was too small to help.
He shook his head, focusing. No time to get distracted. He was on a super-secret mission, and he had to finish it before Mama found out. Carefully, he took one of the chairs from the table and pushed it over to the shelves along the wall. He climbed on top of it, reaching as far as he could until his fingers skimmed over the glass of the maple syrup bottle, right next to the huckleberry jam. Finally! Sweet victory, with nobody to—
“And just what do you think you’re doing?”
He startled, knocking the maple syrup further back on the shelf. He turned to see Mama standing in the doorway, her big yellow boots still covered in mud from the stream. Rats. He thought she’d stay fishing for longer.
“Nothing,” he fibbed. Maybe she’d believe him. He’d built tons of forts using the chairs before, and maybe she would think it was just that.
She raised an eyebrow. “Really, now? It looks like you were trying to spoil your dinner.”
He shook his head vigorously, hands moving to grip the hem of his sweater. She sighed quietly and motioned for him to come to her. He listened, hopping down off of the chair and landing on the hardwood with a slight click.
Sometimes, Viktor forgot he was different from Mama. Others, like now, it was so obvious that he couldn’t ignore it. Especially so when the hardwood click-clacked under his hooves and his ears drooped down. He used to hate it more, when his hair was longer and went down his back, but Mama had cut it for him when he asked. He came to a stop right in front of her, looking up.
“You can’t just have syrup, it’ll rot your teeth. Come help me with the fish.”
He nodded eagerly, following after her. It was always the best when Mama let him help with cooking—she said that he’d be able to cook all by himself, soon enough. She was letting him help a lot more, lately, and he was certain that it meant he would be fully grown up soon. Childish innocence hadn’t left him just yet, making him see wonder in the most mundane chores. How incredible, he thought, that the geese in the backyard laid eggs or the berries in the garden grew with just water and sun.
He washed the potatoes Mama had gathered from the garden while she dressed and diced up the fish. He still had to stand on an apple crate to reach the sink, but he didn’t really care so long as she was beside him. Eventually, he got bored enough with just washing to start talking.
“Mama?”
She hummed in response, not looking up from the trout laid out in front of her. “Yeah?”
He hesitated, trying to think of a good question. Normally, he was so full of them that he couldn’t decide which to pick. Most of them were about the Before, when he wasn’t alive yet and there were more people. Mama always had weird stories about the Before—most of them about how awful the people had been—but he held onto any scrap of story she gave out. Finally, the perfect question dawned on him.
“How come I don’t have antlers yet?”
Mama paused mid-slice, staring down at the cutting board in silence for a moment. He’d asked the question a few times, and she always seemed to freeze up when he did. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, since she didn’t get upset and it didn’t break any of the rules that she’d taught him. It just meant that there was an awkward silence between them while she thought of how to answer.
(Tatiana never did figure out the best response to the question. Raising a hybrid was something she never could’ve been ready for, let alone a boy as special as Viktor.)
“You’re not big enough yet.”
“Nuh-uh. I saw deers in the clearing. There was this one, all skinny and stuff,” he paused, scrubbing a little harder at some dirt that refused to budge. “And he still had his baby spots like mine. And he had antlers. So why don’t I?”
“It’s deer, baby, and I don’t know. You’re not like them.”
He looked up at her, head tilting and eyes squinting slightly. “I’m seven. That’s bigger than a yearling.”
Mama’s eyebrows raised, and she hummed again, sounding more impressed than dismissive. “Have you been reading the field guides for your homework?”
“Yeah,” he huffed, scrubbing even harder at his potato. “And a boy deer that’s a year old is supposed to get antlers. I’m seven of those. How come I don’t have any?”
Mama sighed and set the knife down, fingers moving to rub at her temples for a moment. “You’re just… not like them, baby. I don’t know.”
“But—”
“How about you go set the table for me, huh? You can take the blue plate, if you want.”
That was enough to make him quiet down for a moment before he nodded and hopped down from the apple crate. He quickly grabbed the dishes, setting them out on the table just as Mama had taught him. Once their dinner was made, Mama brought it out and dished out the potatoes and fish. They ate in an awkward silence, Viktor wanting to ask more questions and Mama looking much more tired than she usually did.
When the fish and potatoes were gone, Mama cleared off the table and Viktor got ready for bed. He climbed into the nest of blankets on his bed, waiting in silent anticipation for Mama to come and tuck him in. Part of him was anxious at the thought of her being upset with him—she had seemed so tired, after all. Normally, dinner was full of conversations about what chores they had the next day or how he was doing with his homework assignments. Mama would even get the violin his grandpa had played, sometimes. The silence made him feel uneasy, and he hoped that it would end as soon as it had started.
Mama walked to her bed across from his and sat down. “Cozy?”
He nodded.
“Good. You were helpful with the eggs and with dinner tonight. Thank you, baby.”
He nodded again, the briefest hint of a smile on his face. She smoothed his hair down, making sure his bangs weren’t poking into his eyes. On quieter nights, he missed sitting with her in front of the fire and letting her braid his hair. He didn’t miss the way it made his skin feel all tight and wrong when it was long like that, though. Mama had promised to teach him how to braid hers so they could have it back, but she’d been busy making sure they were ready for the coming winter.
She shifted, giving him a tired smile. “How about a story, hm?”
“Really?” He perked up instantly, his ears raising. Mama just nodded. “Can it be the one about when the ducks ran away?”
Mama smiled, moving closer and tucking the blankets around him securely. “Well, when you were smaller, there was a big storm…”
Viktor tried to stay awake, but he nodded off within a few minutes. Mama kissed his forehead and whispered a quiet goodnight, settling into her own bed beside him. It was a perfect ending to an almost perfect night, and Viktor couldn’t be happier.
-------
Tatiana felt out of her depth, at times. Viktor was a handful, that much was for sure, but she adored the little boy more than anything on the face of the earth. In a strange way, she was almost grateful for the isolation of Yellowstone and the way fate had drawn her to it. Still, nothing was perfect.
As she watched him sleep, tiny fingers curled around the corner of his blanket, she felt her anxieties flare up again. Winter was on the way, and that alone was enough to bring up her stress levels. What really worried her, though, was Viktor’s growing fascination with the outside world. He’d been asking more and more questions about what life had been like before the crumble, and he’d even asked if they could leave the fence line to explore. She didn’t want to scare him with the truth, didn’t want to crush his hopes, but she knew that it would never be safe for him.
He was bigger now, and bigger meant trouble. Sometimes she wished he was still small, always within her sight. It wasn’t right to keep him inside all day, but she always dreaded the worst happening whenever she let him roam the woods around the cabin. What if he got hurt? What if he got lost, and she couldn’t find him. God forbid, what if someone stepped into the fence line? What if she wasn’t fast enough to stop them from getting to him? She’d heard enough stories about supposed “poachers” going around and capturing hybrid kids. She didn’t know what happened afterward, and she didn’t dare picture it. The fence kept the cabin safe, and she kept Viktor hidden. It was what was best for them, no matter how lonely it was.
The cabin was home. It was where she made them dinner and where he stood next to her and helped. It was where she tucked him in every night, from when he’d been so small he’d needed a makeshift cradle to now. It was the windows and walls she’d patched together herself. It was the lines along the doorframe that marked his height, each with a date scratched beside it. Tatiana wouldn’t say she was grateful for the sick, not at all, but she was grateful for him.
As she watched him sleep, she knew tomorrow meant more rules. She had to do whatever it took to keep him safe.
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Two more birthdays passed in the cabin. Viktor loved birthdays, whether it was his or Mama’s. When it was his, that meant he got a special sweet and a present, which was obviously the best thing in the world. When it was Mama’s, he found the special paper they kept in the cabinets and the pencils Mama had used when making the storybooks for him because they were the best for making her drawings and cards.
Birthdays also meant presents. For his eighth birthday, Mama gave Viktor a stuffed dog made of old socks. He loved her immediately, and she joined him whenever he went out to the stream to get eggs or when he wandered to go get firewood. He named her after one of Mama’s stories about the Before, the one about the dog that went all the way to space. Laika was his best friend and partner in crime from then on.
For his ninth birthday, Mama gave him the best gift ever. It was a teeny pocketknife, the kind that had a blade that flipped outward. She said it was because he was big enough to be trusted with it, and that he should only ever use it in case of an emergency. To Viktor, it meant that he was a grown up. To Tatiana, it meant that nowhere was safe.
Secretly, he went out to the meadow near the cabin and tried to learn how to throw it like he’d seen Mama throw an axe into a tree, once. The blade never stuck itself in the bark and he was always glancing over his shoulder, nervous that Mama would find out and take it away. Laika was his only confidant, sitting on a stump and watching as the blade bounced off the trees over and over again.
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A month passed with nothing notable. Viktor did his chores and his homework, played in the woods, and ate meals with Mama. It was perfect and peaceful, the way it had always been.
It changed when he broke one of Mama’s rules.
Mama had always tried to keep him safe, no matter what. It was the most important thing she did every day. She made sure Viktor knew to never approach the fence line that led to the outside world, or to ever entertain the idea of approaching a stranger. She told him stories about the Before but made sure he understood that the people were the real monsters, not the hybrids. She kept him close at all times, but it never made the growing paranoia and anxiety go away. So the rules became stricter, their curfew sooner, the morals to her stories clearer. Viktor wasn’t a stupid kid. She could trust him to understand how dangerous humans were.
But Viktor was a very curious child.
It all started because he’d been bored while Mama had been fishing. He was trying to jump across the rocks that led the way to the ducks, but he couldn’t make the jump to the last one without slipping and splashing into the water. It was making him more and more frustrated, and not even the conversation with Mama could keep him from the growing boredom.
“If I hear a growl?”
Viktor paused, looking over at Mama. He huffed, moderately annoyed at the mantra she’d been repeating. It wasn’t new, but she hadn’t said it since he was too little to leave her side. He didn’t understand why she’d suddenly started using it again.
“I will duck.”
Mama cast the fishing line out again, continuing, “If I hear a voice?”
Viktor kicked at a rock in the water. “I will run.”
“If I see a human?”
Part of him wanted to argue that she was a human, but he bit his tongue and instead responded, “I will hide.”
She nodded, satisfied with his responses. He huffed, stepping out from the water back onto the rock. He tried to make it across again but promptly slipped and splashed into the water again. Frustrated, he turned to her.
“Mama, can I go pick berries? The stream is boring.”
She looked up, expression drawn tight. His heart fell, and his ears drooped down as he processed it as a definite no. He’d probably be stuck here until dinnertime, and that meant—
“Alright. But don’t go past the aspens, and make sure you don’t eat any of them until we wash them.”
He perked up immediately, grinning wide and excitedly tapping his fingers against his legs. He shouted a quick thank you before snagging Laika and running off to where the huckleberries grew. He was quick to start plucking berries, dropping them into the pocket of his overalls. Finally, something to do! He could actually help instead of being stuck at Mama’s side like—
A quiet snap from somewhere to his right got his attention. It sounded like a twig, or maybe something like a squirrel moving around, but he wasn’t certain. He stepped away from the bush, peeking out towards the aspens.
Mama said he wasn’t supposed to go beyond them, but he had before. That was where the fence was, and where the real world started. Viktor knew that the real world was full of bad people, ones who hated kids like him. Ones that hunted deer for fun and put their antlers up on walls. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure Mama wasn’t behind him. Without really thinking, he walked toward the aspens and toward the fence.
The fence had always seemed scary. It was a big metal thing, twisting up towards the sky. There were pines on the other side of it, the soil at the fence line barren and the grass dead. It made Mama’s stories feel even more real, like the transition between the bad places and the cabin was immediate and so much as one step outside meant all the monsters would come for him. Still, there was allure in the unknown. He stepped closer and closer, and his ears twitched as he heard another snap.
Finally, he stood at the fence line. His heart thundered as he looked out at the metal, its stark contrast to the nature surrounding it filling him with a sort of fear he couldn’t name. Part of the fence was broken, a collapsed tree lying on its side and tangled with metal. He could hear something moving—something bigger than a squirrel or anything that came near the cabin. Curiosity drew him in further, and he stepped out, one hoof beyond the fence line.
For a moment, he held his breath and braced for impact. He almost anticipated that he’d catch fire or something would reach out and grab him. He looked out at the world beyond the fence, beyond everything he had ever known and everything Mama had given him.
It was a field. Wide and open, with hills bracketing its sides. He could see wild shrubs and flowers growing, just like the ones near the cabin. Birds were flying overhead like there was nothing wrong. He stared out at it, and for the first time in his life, questioned what his mother had told him. He was ripped out of his epiphany when he heard something from the same place as the snaps, a low rumbling noise.
“Growl,” he muttered to himself, eyes going wide. “Duck.”
He turned, intending to rush back to the safety of the aspens, only to collide directly into Mama. When he looked up, he only saw her wide, panicked eyes, and the way her chest was heaving. Her head whipped back up as she looked past the fence line, before she scooped him up and started to run.
He yelped in response, wriggling. He could hear her heart racing and the way she was panting. She was afraid—terrified—and it was only making him more scared. Mama was running like the does in the meadow, the same way that they did when he came just a little too close.
“What if they saw you—what if they saw you, Viktor?!”
Her voice sounded wrong. Afraid. It had lost its warm tone, replaced with something that he could only liken to the cries of a scared animal. He wriggled more, trying to shift in her arms as she kept running. All he could see was the trees as she kept going, further and further into the woods. Before he knew it, she was setting him down into the grass, her hands coming to rest at his shoulders.
“What have I told you?! Viktor, this is—you can’t—” her voice was frantic, her nails digging into his shoulders the slightest bit. Her eyes were still wide. She was afraid. Viktor had never seen her afraid, before. His ears went back. He stared up, hands moving to grip at the legs of his overalls.
She stopped, taking a shaky inhale. “This is my fault. This is all my fault—I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight, I—”
Viktor immediately protested, “I heard something! I didn’t go that far, I just—”
“What did I say?! Never cross the fence! Never!”
“But—”
She shook her head, eyes darting to look out at the trees. “I shouldn’t have trusted you.”
Viktor’s heart fell again, his ears going back. “You can! I’m grown up, I’m not little!”
Mama exhaled, shaking her head. “No,” she muttered, “you’re not. You just proved that.”
He paused, taking in her words. He hesitated for a moment before an unwilling hiccup left his throat. Viktor hated it when he cried—his throat always got too tight and his head always started to hurt. His vision was blurry as he trampled through the woods, eventually landing on the safety of his bed and shoving his head down into the pillow.
Tatiana sighed, turning to glance back into the trees before following after him. She hadn’t meant to scare him, not really, but her fears of the outside world were too grounded to ignore. As she came to the porch of the cabin, she could hear her boy sobbing inside. The guilt gnawed at her, and she—
“Sarah! Sarah!”
They both stopped, Viktor lifting his head from the pillows and Tatiana freezing in place. A voice. A voice that didn’t belong to either of them, echoing through their forest. Without hesitation, Tatiana reached for the axe resting against the edge of the doorframe.
Viktor heard her go. The leaves were starting to fall, and the crunches always gave away whenever she was coming close. He knew what he was supposed to do when he heard a voice—run. That was what Mama said. But… he couldn’t help the fear that drove him to stand up and follow after her. He kept his steps light as he came closer, hiding in the bushes.
Mama was yelling, holding the axe tight enough that her knuckles were white. Standing opposite of her, on the other side of the fence, was a man. He was tall, with hair shorter than Viktor’s. He had some kind of coat on, with a weird symbol stitched onto the shoulders. Viktor had never seen a man in real life, just the old photos Mama kept of his grandfather and uncle.
“Please, I’m just looking for my sister. I had no idea your camp was—”
Mama snarled back. “Who said anything about a camp?”
The man raised his hands up defensively. Viktor scooted closer to Mama, the branches of the bush catching on the sleeve of his sweater. Mama glanced down, eyes wide and scared again, before she looked back up and adjusted the axe in her grip.
“If you were smart, you’d run along. Your sister isn’t here.”
“It’s dangerous, being a woman all alone out here,” the man looked her up and down, like a mountain lion sizing up a deer. Viktor didn’t like it. “You ain’t got someone to keep you safe.”
“I’ve been on my own for- for nine years, two weeks, and three days! I don’t need anyone, and I’ll take your goddamn head off if you don’t—”
Viktor shifted, and the branches moved again. Mama glanced back down, and when she looked up, the man was gone. Her breath caught, and Viktor shivered. She moved forward, bracing the axe and yelling out for the man. Viktor stepped out from the bushes, looking out at the fence where Mama was standing still.
Mama’s voice was quiet as she spoke. “He marked us.”
Viktor stepped closer to her, his hand moving to hold onto the sleeve of her cardigan. Across from them, tied on the fence, was a something bright and pink. It was shiny and moving slightly in the breeze. When Viktor turned to look at the rest of the fence, it was lined with more and more ties. He could count at least ten from where he was standing.
“He marked us,” Mama echoed, voice shaking. She took his hand, breath shaky.
She tugged Viktor back to the cabin, running almost like she had earlier. Viktor kept up, stumbling only a little bit over the roots and rocks. They made it into the cabin, Mama tossing down her axe. She moved to lift up the fake section of floorboards that hid a secret compartment, grabbing a case from it and turning to Viktor.
“I need you to get in there. Now.”
He looked down at the hole and then back up at Mama. It wasn’t appealing in the slightest, dark and dusty. It looked cramped too, the shelving units along the walls full of jars and other canned food they’d been stocking for the winter. He shook his head, hands gripping at his overalls again.
“I don’t want to.”
Mama gave him an exasperated look, digging around in the case. “I need you to, baby. To keep you safe.”
“But it’s dark down there, and I’m scared,” he shifted hoof to hoof, staring down into the hole. It wasn’t inviting, not in the slightest. He’d told Mama months ago that he wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore, but it still made him uneasy.
Mama stood and grabbed the lantern off the table. “You can take this, and I’ll let you have some syrup too, okay? I just need you to stay down there until I come back.”
“…how long will you be gone for?”
“I don’t know. I promise you, I will come back. I promise.”
Mama pulled him close, and he hugged her as tight as he could. The wool of her cardigan brushed against his face, and he wished more than anything in that moment that time would stop. He wanted to stay right here with her, in the cabin, where everything was safe. Mama pulled away, though, and reached to grab the syrup from the top shelf. Hesitantly, Viktor took the lantern and Laika and descended into the hole.
Mama looked at him, afraid but still sweet, and whispered, “I promise.”
He nodded. “I promise, too.”
Mama shut the hatch to hide him. Viktor heard her boots as they hit the floor, making the wood creak and groan. When she got too far for him to hear the crunch of leaves, he shivered. The claustrophobia caught up to him quickly, and he shifted to hug Laika closer.
He shifted impatiently as the minutes passed. What if there were spiders down here? What if the walls started to close in, or the hatch got stuck and he had to live off canned beets and the huckleberries in his pockets for the rest of his life? He shivered and curled in on himself more. He’d had a fear of small places ever since he was little. He couldn’t explain it, and neither could Mama, but it just… was. He didn’t even like it when he had to squish between logs that were close together when he was exploring.
“…was it scary, when you went up to space?” He whispered to Laika, staring at her button eyes. She didn’t answer, of course, but it still made him feel better. Sometimes, he imagined going to space with Laika. Mama said that there wasn’t gravity, which meant you could float. Fly, even. That would be better than being stuck in some stupid hole and waiting for her to come back. He uncorked the bottle of syrup and took a sip, trying to calm down.
Time ticked on. His anxiety was tinged with boredom. He wished he’d brought one of Mama’s field guides or maybe a storybook down with him. He would’ve taken his homework, too. That way, he could have something to think about instead of how long Mama was taking and the scary man out in the woods. A minute passed, and then another… until he couldn’t take it. He set the lantern on one shelf, stepping up onto another and boosting himself up. He pushed the hatch up, peeking out into the cabin.
He almost jumped when he saw the buck standing there.
It was big. It had lost its baby spots a long time ago, he figured. It sniffed at the ground, big brown eyes locking onto his. It tossed its head slightly, moving closer to him like it was going to sniff at his head. Viktor had never been this close before. He reached out slowly, the temptation to touch its fur too strong to ignore.
The scream interrupted any other thoughts he had, making him jerk slightly. He grabbed at the floorboards, trying to keep his balance. The buck stood at attention, bellowing lowly before startling and rushing at the nearest window. Viktor heard the crash of glass breaking, an unsettling ting, ting, ting, as the shards settled on the ground, and then nothing else.
The scream didn’t sound like Mama. It sounded like the scary man from the woods. That gave Viktor a little bit of hope, but he was still terrified that something had happened to her. He shifted, looking side to side before he climbed out of the hole. He fumbled in his pockets, pulling out his knife and holding it out in front of him as he walked out of the cabin. His hands shook as he walked further, head whipping around as he listened for anything or anyone.
Leaves crunched and he turned to the source. He tried to hold the knife steady as the crunching got closer and closer, until…
Mama stumbled out of the woods, pale and shaky. He dropped his knife immediately.
“Mama!”
He sprinted to her, immediately latching onto her. He heard the thunk of her axe hitting the ground as his fingers latched onto her cardigan. She hugged him tight, falling to her knees.
“It’s okay, you’re alright. I’m alright, it’s safe.”
They stayed there for a moment until he pulled away, hiccupping, “I heard a scream.”
She nodded, holding onto him still. She mumbled a response before standing up and taking his hand. “It’s okay. He’s gone, now. Come on, inside. Come on, baby.”
He sniffled, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his sweater. He followed obediently after her, back into the safety and warmth of the cabin.
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Mama got sick a few days later. She couldn’t even get out of bed.
Viktor sat beside her bed, on the ground. She kept whispering to herself, things that not even he could hear. He wasn’t sure what to do. He just kept bringing her water whenever her glass was empty and set Laika next to her so she wouldn’t get lonely when he wandered away. He even got her to eat a little bit of toast with huckleberry jam, but she still wasn’t getting better. He just lingered, staying beside her as close as he could.
He did all the chores like normal and made sure his homework was all done. When Mama got better, they could go over it together. It would all be okay. It had to be.
He woke up to see Mama not in bed, rather, sitting on the floor and leaning up against the frame. He got up and walked over to her, sitting down beside her and letting his head rest against her arm. She had smelled funny since she’d gotten sick, and it made him want to wrinkle his nose a little bit, but he didn’t. That wouldn’t be good manners.
“Morning, baby,” she whispered. Her voice was croaky and hoarse, like it was slowly fading away. He hummed, scooting closer and grabbing onto the sleeve of her pajama shirt. “You’ve been very brave, Viktor. So, so brave.”
He stared at the hardwood, at his hooves resting next to her feet.
“You’re special, Viktor. So, so special,” she muttered. “You’re a miracle, you know that?”
He stayed quiet, just holding onto her.
“There’s a story I never told you, about the Before.”
He looked at her, sniffling. “Really?”
She nodded. “It was before I had you. I got really sick, almost like this.”
She paused, coughing. It was violent—angry, he thought. He moved to stand up, to get her some water, but she took his hand and gently pulled him back down.
He looked at her, and she looked right back at him with more lucidity than she’d had in days.
“Stay here. Stay, Viktor.”
“…okay.”
She shifted, opening her arms for him. He nestled in, letting her hold him close and fix his bangs. He shut his eyes, sighing against her.
“I was sick. So sick, that I was worried you weren’t going to make it,” she continued. Her voice, despite the quiet of the cabin, was almost inaudible. Her heartbeat was thunderous in his ears, one pressed firmly against her chest as he tried to ground himself. “Your grandfather had to carry me to the car, I was so weak. I was… in and out. I kept having these dreams, where I could see you, before I knew you. You were so strong…”
He shivered, looking up at her. Mama didn’t look back, staring at the wall. Her eyes had gone glassy again, vacant the same way they’d been when she could barely lift her head. There was no trace of the Mama that taught him to swim or told him bedtime stories. There were no smile lines or quiet laughs.
“I’m not going to make it, Viktor.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No—”
“It’s the truth, baby,” she said, “it’s part of nature. It was part of the Before. It’s part of now. You’re brave, and you’ll—”
She doubled over, coughing harder. He pulled away, hands clawing at his sweater as he tried to stay calm. She couldn’t die. It wasn’t fair—she was all he had, and she was his best friend. He didn’t need anybody else, he just needed her.
“Mama, mama, please—”
She gave him a weak smile. “It’s okay. It’s alright, baby. You’re brave, and you’re strong, and you know how to do the chores by yourself. You’re big enough, Vik.”
“But I don’t know—”
“You do know,” she whispered. “You know so much. You’re a smart boy. You are.”
He hiccupped, tears starting to flow down his cheeks. It wasn’t fair. It would never be fair. Mama was supposed to live forever. Mama had to stay forever— she was supposed to stay with him. She shifted to sit back up, leaning more against the wood of the bedframe. For a moment, he thought she may have been getting better. Instead, she looked limp and weak, something he’d never seen from her.
“I’m hungry, Viktor. Can you make us some breakfast?”
He stayed still. “I don’t know how.”
“You do. What’s the first step?”
“…go see the ducks and get eggs.”
She nodded, rubbing his back. “That’s it. Can you go get me some eggs, baby?”
He stood on shaky legs and nodded, picking up one of his sweaters. “I’ll be fast. I promise.”
He had to be fast. He had to, for Mama.
“I know you will.”
He left the cabin and hurried to the ducks. If he was fast enough, maybe it would help Mama get better. She’d explained it once, animals and trees were like furnaces. If you didn’t give them something to burn, they wouldn’t work. Maybe, if he gave her enough, her body would work right.
He came to where the stones crossed the stream and started to cross, hesitating at the last stone. He shook his head, focusing again and jumping. He landed on the last stone rather than slipping. He had no time to revel in the tiny victory—he had to keep going. He ran to the cabin faster than he ever had, pushing the door open with a bang.
“Mama! I got the eggs! I can make us—”
She wasn’t resting by the bed. Instead, she was sitting in one of the chairs, next to the fire. She didn’t turn when Viktor came closer, not even when his hooves clacked against the hardwood like always.
“Mama?”
He stared at her. She didn’t move.
“Mama?”
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Winter came. Viktor became the man of the house. Mama had been right, in the end. He knew how to do all of the chores and how to handle himself. He was grown up now, and he knew how to cook and clean and all of the things that Mama used to do for him.
It was hard work, but he got used to it. He stuck to the same routine he and Mama had—breakfast, homework, then chores. He didn’t have any new assignments, but he reread all of the books in the cabin. He could name all the kinds of trees and berries in the woods from memory, at the least.
He checked the snares every day, and only brought up what he needed from the can reserve. Chopping wood wasn’t his favorite chore, but it meant he got to use Mama’s axe. He always stopped to look at the name etched into the wood of the handle. It made him feel like she was still there.
It wasn’t all bad, though. Hard work meant harder play. He became a prince, and then a king, of his own world. He built castles in the snow, pretending to topple rival kingdoms. He sharpened sticks, deeming them worth of being swords. He crowned Laika the queen of the stars. The woods were all his, and nobody could take that from him. He roamed wherever he wanted within the confines of the fence, safe from the outside world.
But without Mama to guide him, Viktor became restless. Angry, even. At nature and at the world. He was angry with the man who had wandered into the fence line. Most of all, he was angry with himself. Maybe, if he’d been faster or smarter, Mama would’ve gotten better.
(He didn’t dare think about the possibility that he might also be angry with Mama, for leaving him. That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.)
He tried to keep calm, but it was hard. When he tried to tap the sugar maples, the bit broke. When he tried to move the wood up to the cabin using the sled Mama had kept in storage, he lost his grip and sent is sliding all the way down the hill. His temper flared worse than ever, the reality of managing everything by himself setting in. The magic that had come with being able to do whatever he wanted and being an adult was gone, replaced with bitterness and longing.
Winter gave way to spring. The garden became his priority. He dug, planted, and weeded like he never had before. By then, he had read every book in the cabin.
Spring gave way to summer. He swam like Mama had taught him and learned how to fish. His hair was grown out past his ears. He tried to cut it for the first time by himself.
Summer gave way to fall. He started to harvest and can things, doing it the way Mama had. He celebrated his birthday alone, with no pancakes or presents.
The garden shears broke while he was trying to clear one of the beds. It was the final straw for something, sending him into a fit. He’d always been temperamental, but Mama had been there to help him stop and breathe. She’d been there when everything was too much, to help him keep his head above water. He took a breath before throwing the shears down and screaming at the top of his lungs.
All of the pent up frustration, all of the anger exploded. It wasn’t fair that he had to do this, it wasn’t fair that Mama had died. It wasn’t fair that he had to keep going as if nothing was wrong and the world was the same. He acted on impulse, grabbing the nearest object—the lantern—and throwing it onto the weed-addled garden bed.
The glass shattered, the oil spilled out, and the flames took to it instantly.
Viktor stared at the ignited bed in a state that could best be described as horror. He whipped around, looking for the watering can he’d discarded. He needed to put it out as soon as possible, the black smoke from it already gathering in the sky. He searched desperately for it, eventually finding it and throwing its contents onto the bed. The flames were snuffed out, leaving him standing in front of the charred bed.
The remaining embers died out slowly, leaving Viktor feeling hollow as he continued standing in place. He didn’t know what to do, the angry feelings still lingering beneath the skin and threatening to eat him alive. He couldn’t help the ugly hiccups that left his throat, or the way he kicked out at the remaining wood of the garden bed. It was all too much, and he wanted to just forget about being responsible for everything. He turned, stomping back into the cabin and flopping onto his bed.
He dragged his pillow over his head and grabbed at Laika, holding her close to him in a death grip. He shut his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep and forget, forget, forget.
He didn’t dream. Or, if he did, it was too hazy in his mind when he woke up. It was dusk, and he realized that he needed to get more firewood if he wanted to be able to see that night. Reluctantly, he got up.
He grabbed Mama’s old cardigan, his belt, a tiny jar of syrup, Laika, and Mama’s axe. He needed to be quick if he wanted to make it back before nightfall, and he really didn’t want to have to worry about tripping over roots and spraining something. Mama wasn’t there to make sure he was okay. He’d already had to figure out how to treat his own cuts and burns by himself—he didn’t want to learn how to set a bone on the fly.
He wandered out to the woodpile, setting a few logs onto the sled before tugging it behind him. He decided to take the shortcut through the clearing, the sun falling too quickly for his liking. He kept going, the anxiety spurring him on to go faster and faster. He only paused when the sled hit a rock, sending a few logs tumbling off the back. He paused, taking a knee to grab them.
That’s when he saw it.
It was yellow and shiny, out of place on the forest floor. It didn’t match the shades of any of the leaves, and it was catching what was left of the daylight. He tilted his head, confused. Slowly, cautiously, he approached it.
His first reaction was to kick it. It made a weird crackly noise as it tumbled slightly. It didn’t move past that, and he decided it was probably harmless. He moved closer, picking it up. It had letters on it, a word he’d never seen before.
“…choc-o-rocket?”
He peered around, looking at the trees and bushes to see if there was anything else like it. He sniffed at it cautiously. There was a sweetness to it, buried underneath the shiny thing wrapped around it. He turned it in his hands, tugging at the shiny bit until it tore open. The sweet smelling thing at the center was exposed. It was almost like syrup—he could tell there was plenty of sugar in it. Cautiously, he took a bite.
It was delicious. Super sweet, almost too much so, but delicious nonetheless. He munched on it before tucking the shiny part into his pocket and setting the rest of the logs back onto the sled. Before he could start moving again, he noticed another shiny thing laying on the ground. He tilted his head, confused. He took a step towards it, but it moved backward, like it was attached to something.
A trap. Just like his snares. He’d fallen right for it.
Something squeaky like a hinge went off, and he ducked. An arrow whizzed through the air, piercing the tree he’d been standing in front of. He looked in the direction of it, freezing when a man walked toward him from the trees. He didn’t look like the other one, clothes dark and ratty and face painted to blend in with the leaves. He was bigger, too, towering over him like a grizzly bear. With the way he was looking down at Viktor, it didn’t feel far off to say he’d eat him alive like a bear would, too.
“Would ya look at that. You’re older than the other ones ‘round here.”
His breath caught, and he forced himself up and away. The scary man shouted, reloading his crossbow. Viktor ran for the nearest bush, only to collide with something solid.
Another man loomed over him, staring down with angry eyes. They were dull, no hint of the light Mama used to have in hers. He was dressed similarly to the other one, albeit in what looked like a massive bush costume. He grabbed at Viktor’s legs before he could get back up, lifting him into the air and dangling him upside down. He thrashed, screaming and trying to kick himself loose.
The first man came up, eyeing him up and down. “What is it?”
The second replied, “Looks like some kinda horse, maybe? Got hooves, don’t it?”
Viktor squirmed, trying to kick at the men with his free leg. Mama’s axe was still attached to his belt by one of the loops, but it was dangling at a weird angle, and he couldn’t quite reach it.
“Got a little sweater and everything. The hell is this?” The man dangling him reached for Laika, and he slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch her! Let me go!”
The men were silent, staring at him with wide eyes. Viktor stopped swaying as much, the one holding him ceasing in shaking him around.
“The hell?”
“Did it just talk?”
Viktor kicked out again, still trying to break loose. In response, the man dropped him. He landed with a thump, immediately reaching for Mama’s axe. Before he could, one of the men slammed something into his head hard enough to make him dizzy and send him sprawling backwards.
The man with the face paint slammed his foot onto Viktor’s chest, leering down at him. “It can talk. I ain’t never seen one who can talk.”
“Sounds like a goddamn commie, the thing,” the bush-man said. “The fuck is wrong with it?”
Viktor wheezed, trying to shove the man’s boot off. It didn’t work, instead making the man slam his boot down again and knocking the wind out of him.
“Where we gonna take it? The lab?”
The bush man smirked. “Nah, it can talk. We gotta take it to the academy. They like smart freaks like this one.”
“Oh, yeah,” the man with face paint chuckled, “Hargreeves is gonna love this.” Without any further hesitation, the man with face paint raised his crossbow and brought it down onto Viktor’s head. He was knocked out cold, limp dead weight.
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Viktor never intended on leaving his home, but fate had another plan. The men took him off, farther than he’d ever gone. They crossed the fence and kept going, into a world the boy had never known. Unwillingly, he broke every one of Mama’s rules. Some people believe in destiny. Maybe this was it.
Some stories start at the beginning. Viktor’s starts here.