Winter in the Forest
CW: death, violence, blood, gore, misogyny
“Ah, you want to hear that old story again?”
It is bitterly cold, but the gear is holding. Marti can respect the Russian for doing a good job sourcing it. The hunting party has yet to spot the unicorn or any sign of it. Constant snowfall makes it impossible to find tracks and lack of solid information makes it difficult to guess the unicorn’s location.
Each morning, the group separates to find hints as to its whereabouts or movements, keeping in touch with shortwave radios, and regroups in the evening to make camp and share dinner. Marti does not enjoy the evenings.
It’s then that the men are at their worst. Boasting about how easy it will be to fell the unicorn, how they plan to hit it square between its eyes, how they’ll bring it back whole to take photos for the papers and celebrate all night long in the barely-worth-a-dot-on-a-map hicksville just outside the forest. Marti does her best to ignore them and her rising disgust.
It is the sixth night in the forest and the Cowboy is on watch. They rotate watch, each keeping guard for three hours thirty. The Kid does not take watch shifts, but just past midnight he wakes. He needs to take a leak.
He waves to the Cowboy and heads into the woods to do his business.
---
​
“There were four of us in that sweltering jungle. We had been out looking for weeks and had bug bites all along our arms and legs. We carried iron knives and fresh water.”
Jonathan Marks is 26 years old. He was born to wealthy parents who spoiled him and taught him how much better he was than everyone else his whole life. Jonathan has rarely had to work for anything, his parents’ money paying for his name on a degree and his parents’ work promoting him to a high position in their company.
Jonathan unzips his snow pants and focuses on urinating quickly. It is cold and he’d much rather be in his warm tent, despite its appalling lack of amenities. He is frustrated the search is taking this long and the unicorn hasn’t been found, shot, and hauled back yet. He is upset he is still in the middle of nowhere all day and must sleep in a tent every night. But he reminds himself that he is tough and strong for being able to rough it like a real man.
Jonathan smiles a bit at that and begins zipping himself up. It is then that he dies.
The blow comes from behind, a sharp pain in the back. When Jonathan looks down, he sees a spike protruding from his chest. Bone white and tapered to a razor point. He wants to scream but his jaw is locked by panic and shock.
He watches the spike slowly withdraw, then collapses. I can’t be dying, he thinks.
It is when the rending begins that he finally manages to scream.
---
“Adelita had brought a magic salve that glinted gold as the sun. Once we finally found its tracks, she spread it on the ground in a pattern her abuela had taught her. The trap set, all that was left was to wait.”
James Kim is on watch when he hears a shriek.
He hates that he can’t wear cowboy boots in the snow. Ever since watching spaghetti westerns on the couch, nestled between his parents, he always thought they looked so cool. Cowboy boots had a certain swagger, a certain heroicness, a certain allure that still calls to James’s heart today.
He pulls on his boring, regular snow boots then wakes the two in the other tents.
The woman votes to stay at the camp instead of leaving to search for Jonathan. Typical, weak, womanly response, James thinks. He sneers at her and decides to head off alone. Heroes don’t need help and no danger can surpass him anyways. His prey is the biggest game.
James heads off into the woods following Jonathan’s footprints. It’s eerily quiet and the shadows cast by the moon are long. He’s not scared of course, but to settle himself, he begins listing his favourite trophies.
(Lion, elephant, hippopotamus…)
James reaches the end of the footprints and notices blood, dark black and brown in the snow where it puddled and closer to burgundy where it streaks, showing the path of a dragged body.
(Rhinoceros, tiger, giraffe…)
He follows the trail, trying to move slowly, more quietly, ever aware of his boots’ crunch with every footfall.
(Buffalo, leopard, whale…)
Suddenly, his foot catches in a rabbit hole and he falls, hits the ground hard. Panic rises.
(Moose, elk, deer…)
He hears something approaching behind him and fights to get his foot out of the hole. He can’t turn or twist in his snow gear. He’s trapped.
(Caribou, antelope, kudu…)
And then, James begins to howl.
---
“The unicorn found us after three days. It came to smell the salve but Belén was reckless and jumped out at the unicorn. It killed her.”
At the sound of screaming, Vadim Petrovitch stands and begins to set off. The woman grabs his arm. “Two is safer.”
She isn’t wrong, so Vadim waits while she finishes tying her laces. Then, they begin running.
There is no point in being quiet. If anything, they want to be loud and intimidating to scare off the danger lurking behind the trees. Vadim knows screams mean people are dead, but he shuts that away for now. Instead, he takes inventory.
Vadim goes through a mental list of everything he carries. The guns, grenades, and smoke bombs. The rope, rations, gun magazines, maps, knives, and traps. The first aid kit, flares, and radio. But he knows he can’t get a signal out this deep in the woods. They’re alone.
Vadim is far from the camp when he begins hearing the noises. A wet squishing that worms its way into his ears. He turns to ask the woman if she hears it and notices she’s gone. How long has she been missing?
Vadim follows the source of the noise with trepidation. It is then that he meets the unicorn.
He doesn’t see it at first. His vision is filled by one of Jonathan’s boots. Next to it is a skeleton, bits of meat sticking to it, some leftover organs, and shredded clothes.
Before Vadim registers nausea, he’s puking. He coughs and hacks into the snow. It is now that he notices the unicorn tearing strips of flesh off James, who is still screaming. The screaming occasionally turns to pleading, begging, offering anything if only it would stop. The unicorn does not stop.
Vadim is frozen by the sight. The unicorn’s teeth bore in and pull, ripping off another piece of James. He howls.
Shaking, Vadim raises his semi-automatic. At this distance, the shot is easy. Who cares about hitting between the eyes? This monster just needs to die.
The unicorn pauses, and now Vadim is petrified with dread instead of shock. It turns and regards him, blood covering its muzzle. It is beautiful.
Vadim forgets everything but the unicorn. Its silver fur and glowing mane and tail long enough to brush the snow. Its black eyes that hold galaxies in their depths. Its bone-white horn protruding from the forehead, point sharper than any scythe. It is the most graceful and lethal weapon Vadim has ever seen.
The unicorn takes a step towards him, but Vadim doesn’t move. How could he hope to best a creature so elegant and savage? He accepts his fate and tilts his head back, offering his throat.
Slowly, far too slowly, the horn pierces his neck, sliding through tissue and bone. The point is pulled out quickly, and Vadim is left to gurgle and drown in his own blood.
---
​
“Yes, Martina, we were all women. It is well known that women are the ones who kill unicorns.”
Martina Gomez grew up hearing about unicorns from her great-grandmother, who told Martina stories of how she had killed the last unicorn in her youth and showed Martina the ground bit of horn she still kept in a special pouch. Martina had sat still, wide-eyed, enraptured by the stories of the majesty and horror of the unicorn.
She followed in her great-grandmother’s footsteps, pursuing hunting as a hobby and later a career. She is older now, at least 20 years more than the oldest of the men. They had made their views on her gender and her age clear over the past six days, but it was nothing Martina hadn’t heard before.
And now they are all dead.
“Graciela was distraught. She ran at the unicorn, knife clutched in hand. The unicorn lowered its head and charged. Graciela died too.”
Martina watches from a distance as the unicorn kills Vadim and returns its attention to James, blood running down the horn to splatter on its forehead. Blood dripping from its lips. Blood on the fur around its hooves where it’s walked through scarlet-stained snow.
Martina aims her rifle and shoots.
“While the unicorn was distracted with Graciela, I snuck over and sliced my knife into its heart. Its blood was cool against my hands and silver as its mane.”
The unicorn turns to see her and the bullet drills through its black, star-filled eye. It lets out a little gasp, a gorgeous whisper of breath, and it falls, still graceful as it crumples to the bloody snow.
Martina waits then, watching it. She needs to be sure.
“I saw its dead body, but I knew how cunning unicorns could be. This was the last of its kind. It must have been very old and very wise. I backed away and did not let my eye leave its body.”
After some time, Martina abandons her hiding spot and moves closer. She shoots it in the head a few more times for good measure.
It is now that she lets herself smile and accepts to joy of accomplishment.
“After long enough, Adelita and I approached the unicorn, and its heart was still. We severed its horn and dragged the body back to the village.”
The image of the unicorn in front of her dissolves and Martina feels warm breath on the back of her neck.
She turns and beholds the unicorn up close. It smells of cloves and mint and blood.
It is then that Martina dies.
1,733 words - February 2021