by Rob Horner
His light picked out the first trunks long before he reached them, penetrating a few yards into the woods, but not illuminating much. The trees weren’t so tightly packed that a person would have difficulty moving between them, but they weren’t that scattered either. More than a copse and less than a forest, as the real estate agent termed it. No trails, but you wouldn’t need one.
Except at the ass end of the night, with the moon gone down and the sun not even beginning to wake up.
His light flashed between trees, showing others behind and between, some so thin he couldn’t hide behind them if he turned sideways, while others were so thick his arms wouldn’t cover a quarter of their circumference. Longleaf pines mixed with Bald Cypress and other broadleaf trees to provide enough branches at varying heights, so shadows jumped and writhed with every angle of his spotlight.
Step by step, as the trees grew closer and the house fell further behind him, Bill ached to see something, hear something. But other than the wind and the occasional whine of a gnat busying itself with an exploration of his ear, the night was silent.
He didn’t like the silence.
Kuvasz hunted in silence.
He paused at the outer edge of trees, struggling to hear and debating whether to call out to the dogs.
Humanity had, for the most part, lost much of the instinct and intuition which propelled us from prey to the dominant species on the planet. But some residue remained, some buried nugget that whispered Danger and pushed gooseflesh out on our arms and stirred the hairs on the backs of our neck. Even with a gun in one hand and a flashlight brighter than any torch in the other, Bill understood he was at a disadvantage in the dark. Despite the technology of his toys and the versatility of his opposable thumbs, he wasn’t the apex predator.
A branch snapped and he whipped his crossed wrists toward the sound, shadows leaping, stretching, then retreating away from the light.
Nothing.
A low rush of wind like the caress of a corpse’s breath across an open bottle sounded to the right, and he twisted the other direction.
The sound deepened when the light crossed it, going from open throat exhalation to guttural rumbling, and it took Bill a moment to place the noise.
It was one of the dogs growling. But he’d never heard a sound quite like this. Low and menacing, yes, but this was something entirely different.
A low form, white and fast as lightning, streaked through his peripheral vision, twisting and twining amongst the trees to his left. But he kept his light pointed ahead, not into the trees but rather at a small stand of bushes, where another thing of white threw back reflections almost as bright as a mirror.
Bill stepped forward and the growl intensified, but the thing in the grass didn’t move.
Another step, and he made out splashes of color amid the white fur, brilliant, liquid red and something which might be blue.
It’s gotta be a trick of the light, he thought. The skin beneath a kuvasz’s coat was black as coal; perhaps the light caught it in such a way as to render a blue tint on refraction.
The body was small, but in a way that only the owner of three large dogs could know one was smaller than the others. The sides heaved; despite the blood, the dog was alive.
“Bear?” Bill asked, and he rushed forward, ignoring the growls, which he took to mean the animal was in pain. “What happened, boy?” he asked. He stopped near the animal, shining his light first directly down, then sweeping it in every direction, turning a full circle. Nothing else approached. “Where are the others?”
Bear didn’t answer, of course. His great head lay on the ground, every breath coming out in a rumble which sounded more like a gargle than a growl, now that Bill was close enough to hear better. The dog’s sides were coated and caked with blood. Garish wounds like the split open sides of a bratwurst left too long on the grill ran along the animal’s flanks. Blue ropes ran away from the wounds, pulsing under the dark skin. Bill supposed they were veins or some other vessel, visible only because of the injuries and perhaps the way the dog was laying.
Though he didn’t think there was much hope, Bill called, “Bear. Can you get up, boy? Come.”
The great plume of a white tail raised once, twice, a half-hearted wag which stopped all too soon. The dog made no attempt to raise its head.
The sides stopped moving. The gargle-growl faded to silence.
Stunned, wondering what could have killed such a formidable dog, Bill kept the presence of mind to stay upright, once again scanning all around.
A shadow on two legs walked through the grass near the fence separating the backyard from the front, midway between where Bill stood and the door into the kitchen.
“Hey! You! Tina, is that you?” Bill called, turning and moving toward the figure.
The figure stopped, turned, and began walking toward Bill.
Though fifty yards away, Bill could make out the blue of a pair of jeans and something darker as a top. The cut looked like a t-shirt, but he couldn’t be sure. Even with the light, because of the brightness of the light, features were washed out and indistinct.
“Who are you? Have you seen my other dogs? They’re big and white—”
The figure didn’t answer, just kept coming.
Then from behind came a sudden growl, a rushing noise doppler-shifting in volume as it approached at speed.
Bill turned in time to see the torn and bedraggled corpse of Bear—it had to be Bear—pressing all four paws into the earth as it leaped for his throat. And from the side came Jima, sleek and dangerous and the craftiest of the three. Her leap was perfect. She caught the heavier male in midair and forced him away from Bill. Her growl had been meant to warn him; kuvasz were silent when they hunted.
“Shit!” he yelled, frozen to the spot. Jima and Bear rolled away to the side, the stronger female flipping the injured male to his side. Without hesitation, Jima’s snout shot down, her strong jaws going for Bear’s throat.
Despite that Bear had been about to pounce, Bill yelled for them to stop, rushing forward and raising the flashlight over his head like a bludgeon.
Then strong hands grabbed him from behind, and something buried itself in the back of his neck.
Shouting, struggling, Bill turned as bright pain bloomed. The sudden push and twist dislodged his attacker. Warm blood gushed over his neck where he’d lost some skin. Pivoting, he looked into the face of the teenage girl from across the street, goth-black bangs feathered over her eyes and pale skin made whiter by the harsh light of his LED mini spot. Her mouth and chin were liberally splashed with blood.
My blood!
She staggered back, then rushed forward again. Desperate, he danced aside. Despite that she’d attacked him, had bitten him, Bill couldn’t bring himself to point the gun at her. He knew this girl! Hell, for a few months it seemed as though Bradley was going to go out with her, much to Bill and Tina’s dismay.
Jima and Bear still thrashed in the grass, the older female keeping a running commentary in dog noises which sounded like Don’t worry, human. I got this.
Then Karrie came in again, arms out and swinging wide.
“What the hell, Karrie?” Bill asked, stepping back.
She kept coming. He flashed his light lower. Her black t-shirt was cut off well above the waist, something so common nowadays that it was stranger to see a young girl with her belly covered than it was to see one bare. She usually wore a dangling piece of jewelry, one step removed from being an arrow pointing to her crotch. The costume quality bling was missing, as was most of the skin of her lower abdomen. Dark viscera winked back at him, shredded muscle and liquid organs catching the light.
“Ohmygod!”
A flood of bile flooded his mouth. He clenched his teeth against the surge, but it sought the higher pathway, pouring out his nose in twin rivulets of acid fire.
Karrie continued forward, arms still reaching.
And Charlie appeared out of the night, closing fast, running silent. The dog leaped
. His teeth clamped like a vice on Bill’s throat. The sudden pain and hurtling weight sent Bill over backwards, his last sound an explosion of air from his ruined neck.
Chapter 18
The trail was unmistakable.
Two trips along the same route for one of the nurses, this time with the doctor and the previous one with the nurse practitioner. Also, there was the fading but still strong backtrail, where Jessica had returned alone along this route, presumably to retrieve the doctor.
The hunter noted how far apart the cross streets were, how dark the surface of the road. Gaffney didn’t have much in the way of urban anything, being more of an overgrown suburb to its larger neighbors, and Cherokee County was, by and large, one huge swathe of rural farmland slowly being eaten away by the termite of civilization. There were still places where those who didn’t mind a few skunks, the occasional coyote, and a swarm of insects in summertime could find a few acres away from the city noises and dangers, sometimes in the strangest places. Take the large outlet mall abutting the Interstate. The area was overgrown with rest stops, fast food joints, and the requisite furniture and mattress stores around the mall, but that only extended for a mile. Outside that periphery were farmlands and homesteads, crops and cows and dilapidated Main Streets with boarded and shuttered Mom and Pops and a single school bus stop to pick up all the grubby country kids and ship them twenty miles so they could go to a chronically failing despite being well funded public school.
Get five miles away and all they might have was a single gas station at a four-way stop sign, with streets more often designated by numbers and hyphens than with names. Up here in the hinterlands of the county, with the North Carolina state line only a few miles distant, the only hint of suburbia was the acrid tang of meth cooking in a backyard shed, carried by a vagary on the wind. The hunter estimated the nearest “lab” at several miles away, closer to Shelby, North Carolina than to his current position.
The scent rounded a curve and made a sharp left, onto a street with an actual name, Green Park Drive.
The hunter took the turn at speed, small pieces of gravel and road dirt digging into the soles of his feet. There wasn’t much left of his thick boot socks but hairy fringes tickling the sides of his ankles. He’d have to see about replacing his footwear when he stopped.
The road eased over an incline, descending to a shallow valley. A single become moved along the road, a dark-skinned man wandering aimlessly.
Unlike his maker, the hunter couldn’t read other become. He didn’t know if the man was following a specific target, or if whatever thought processes remained to him had pushed him to come this direction. Given the strength of the scent he followed, the hunter thought the become might be following the same source. Perhaps the van passed him, and the man thought to give chase. Without the specific benefits the hunter enjoyed, the regular become had no hope of catching its prey. And…out of sight, out of mind.
He could command them, however, as he’d learned outside the paramedic’s house.
The prey was stopped not too far ahead. The hunter reached out physically, slowing his run to match the other man’s shambling pace. He grabbed the man’s shirt, urging him to move faster, to follow him.
By whatever way these normal become recognized others like them, the man knew not to attack the hunter. Perhaps some primordial sense of hierarchy lurked in his diminished mind. The become altered his course, moving away from the right side and toward the left. His pace increased.
Satisfied, the hunter moved on.
There were other become out and about, two more close at hand, somewhere to the left. With the become in tow, the hunter aimed for a spot of light lying on the ground behind a large house. There were other scents, animal smells, coming from the same direction.
The hunter wasn’t worried. No dog could hurt him.
The minivan was parked in front of the house.
He’d found his prey.
Thinking quickly, the hunter altered course.
He needed to lay a trap, just in case his prey thought to escape.
Then he moved to the back of the house.
* * * * *
“Jess? What? And Dr. Crews?”
“Adam. Please.”
“Okay. Um…what’re you doing here?”
Jessica went into an abbreviated version of events—finding her boyfriend changed, rescuing Dr. Crews, and deciding to come out to the country—while the doctor stared morosely at the ground. Tina understand he’d lost his family, but she found it hard to offer much in the way of commiseration. She wanted to go check on Bill; he’d been outside by himself for several minutes already. Even though he said he understood the danger, she didn’t think he really believed in it. She knew. Even with the dogs out there, it wasn’t safe.
Then there were her boys already huddling in place downstairs. William had stepped up and grabbed the other pistol, but was he ready to shoot someone to protect his brother? Tina needed to be down there, protecting her sons.
Maybe Jessica and Dr. Crews could help.
“Okay,” Tina said once Jessica finished with their arrival, “my boys are downstairs, and my husband’s out back, checking on the dogs. We heard one of them yelping and screaming a little while ago.”
“God,” Jessica said, “tell me he’s armed.”
Tina nodded. “So is William, my oldest. Listen. The basement is defensible. The only ways in are a single door up here and one leading out to the backyard. Both can be watched from the back wall. Let’s get you down there and maybe I can go check on Bill.” She turned as she spoke, her eyes looking at the door to the backyard, though she wouldn’t be able to see anything beyond the porch. Bright exterior lights were wonderful for backyard parties and barbecues, but where the light failed, night waited, darker than ever.
“I don’t know,” Jessica mumbled, thinking about the zombie they’d passed coming onto the street, and the man’s querulous voice coming from the back yard.
Tina misunderstood the tone. “I can’t think of a better place to hold out. We’re probably safe out here in the boonies anyway.”
Rather than repeat herself, Jessica allowed Tina to lead them from the living room, into the hall, and down the stairs to the basement. Tina clicked a deadbolt on the door, securing it behind them.
“We had my parents down here at one point, when we first moved in. That was before my mom passed and we had to put my dad in a nursing home.”
“I saw a lock on the outside too,” Jessica commented.
Tina nodded. “For a while, when he was still…with it…they had the deadbolt to keep the kids out. Later, once dad became violent, we had to put a lock on the outside.”
“That’s harsh.”
“It was only for a few weeks, while we got the paperwork cleared. It was either that or have him hospitalized as a danger to himself and others. I’ve seen those families come into the ED. You have, too. They don’t know what to do with ‘momma’ and they don’t feel safe with her in the house.”
Jessica nodded. “Social admits.”
“The hardest kind.”
Tina fell silent as she led her guests down the carpeted stairs. The basement ceiling was lower than the rest of the house, and with the deep pile carpet and three windowless walls, it always left her feeling a little claustrophobic. Neither Bill nor the boys minded, though all three joked about giving themselves concussions if they stood up too fast. (Something which never stopped them jumping up and down like fools when the Panthers scored a touchdown.) The staircase led into the room under what would be the front of the house, so the underground space spread out in all directions, with the door out to the backyard almost directly across from it. On the left wall was a gas log fireplace which shared piping and exhaust with another gas log setup in the dining room above. From just about anywhere in the rectangular room, both exits could be monitored, but the better option would be the stone corner by the fireplace.
William and Bradley hadn’t been idle; in the few
minutes they’d been downstairs, the strong boys had muscled much of the furniture to hinder easy access from either entryway, creating killing lanes which might, hopefully, work to funnel any attackers rather than allowing them to swarm the defenders.
Of course, the boys had no idea what they were defending against, Tina thought.
“Mom,” Bradley said as the threesome came around the stairway dogleg, “the dogs stopped barking a bit ago, and Will said he heard Dad—”
“Might have heard him,” William replied, emphasizing the first word.
“What did you hear?” Jessica asked.
Both William and Bradley stared at her. It took Tina a moment to realize they were waiting on her to provide introductions.
I need to focus!
“This is Jessica and Dr. Crews from my hospital,” she said. “Go ahead and tell her what you heard.”
While William described his father’s voice and what had sounded like “Karrie,” Dr. Crews moved to the wall beside the fireplace. He walked with a slight limp, though it certainly didn’t look too bad. Tina made a mental note to check it later. If there was a later.
“That sounds like what we heard when we pulled up,” Jessica said. “But there wasn’t any screaming or shooting, so I just thought it was one of your dogs’ names.”
“Karrie’s the girl next door,” Tina replied, looking to her youngest son when she said it. Bradley, as tall as his older brother but somehow so much younger in terms of attitude, appeared stricken. Tina didn’t think he’d done anything with the girl, but they’d had a few moments over the summer when she thought maybe they would get together. Despite the girl’s current predilection to the Goth culture, she came from a good family and did well in school. As girlfriends went, she wasn’t a mother’s worst nightmare.
“That’s the name I heard,” Jessica confirmed. “And you should probably know, we saw a zo—” She broke off, looking at the teenage boys. One’s wild eyes and clenched jaw betrayed his fear, while the other looked ready to race in one direction or the other, eager to protect his family. Neither of them gave any indication they knew what had happened at the hospital. “We saw one of the sick people on the street outside as we were coming. He might’ve followed us.”
