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Let None Pursue By: Samuel Hayne

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Let None Pursue
Part II
By: Samuel Hayne


Peyton took two slow steps through the gateway and was immediately overwhelmed by both the rancid stench of decay floating upon the parched air and the disorienting feeling of having crossed a threshold to a darker world festering with evil. A sweat soaked neckerchief served him well to filter out the stink, but no explanation other than a brain exposed to too much sun or the existence of something truly unholy could describe Morvain Ranch. He waved to the others to hold their position at the gate while he scouted ahead. Sergeant Ambrose Peyton found himself on a well-worn, tree-lined avenue that divided a massive, sprawling lawn that was in a slow state of death. On either side of the road beyond the dried up, grey colored grass, the yard was dotted with what Peyton mistook for tall islands of dark lush grass. The road extended for about three hundred yards and led up a small hill to a large whitewashed plantation-style house that resembled an ancient temple more than a home. The Union sergeant ventured off the avenue to get a closer look at the dark spots in the lawn and was met with a grisly sight. The slain corpses of livestock, not patches of verdant grass, peppered the landscape.

Upon closer inspection of the lifeless cattle Peyton deduced the animals had died from starvation, as he could see that paper-thin skin was tightly drawn over the ribcages and spines. Some of the beasts were disemboweled, but any number of scavengers feasting upon the carrion could be responsible for the carnage. Peyton decided standing alone in this vile place was no longer a wise choice. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He motioned for his men to dismount their horses and accompany him further into the ranch.

Eleven men—one remained behind to tend to the frightened horses—joined their commanding officer. Each was armed with a pistol and three brought their rifles as well. They had expected to find a host of rebels roaming the ranch and were fully prepared for a fight, but there didn’t seem to be movement of any sort around the front of the property. As they neared the enormous house it was evident that something was not right. Broken panes of glass, black scorch marks around the window frames and bullet holes in the walls indicated a skirmish had taken place some days earlier.

“It’s possible that we, unfortunately, were not the first to deliver the message of defeat to these rebels.” Peyton smirked. “Perhaps their inherent barbarism led them to destroy each other in a fit of rage.” Most of his men remained quiet, but some chuckled despite the looming suspense—not at what Peyton said, but of course the way he said it. They knew their sergeant was a professor back in his hometown and they were accustomed to his way of speaking.

“In two teams of four let us travel the boundary of the house and meet up in back.” Peyton holstered his pistol as he gave the order and motioned for the remaining soldier outside the gate to make his way in to join the others. Sergeant Peyton returned to his horse to retrieve a rifle and as he removed the weapon from his saddle he was startled by the sudden outburst of gunshots and screams from the back of the house. Panic, like a lightning storm, discharged in his mind electrifying his senses and actions. Before he realized it, Peyton was running to the back of the house following the sounds of the gunfire, the rifle loaded and ready. What he saw both paralyzed his tenacity and terrified his soul.

Sergeant Ambrose Peyton watched horrified as his soldiers emptied their rifles into a crowd of men. At first glance he thought it was a platoon of Confederate soldiers ambushing his squad, since many were dressed in what seemed to be the grey uniform of the Southern states. But upon closer inspection Peyton realized there was something terribly wrong with the attackers. Not only were the clothes they wore tattered, torn and dirty, but also the faces of the men were pallid, drained of all the colors of life, as if they were walking corpses.



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About the Author


Samuel Hayne has been published in The World of Myth, Dark Lives, The Harrow, and Cemetary Gates. He lives in Seattle, Washington with his partner and two french bulldogs Jedi and VooDoo. He is currently working on the serial novel TWILIGHT SONG.

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Part II
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