Breed

by Goingback, Owl

  Her shoulders were pushed down against the cold concrete floor, and then her hips were lifted by the tentacles and her legs spread. The Shiru shuffled forward a little more, aligning its penis for the penetrating thrust. Ssabra screamed and tried to get free, but she was like a fish out of water and unable to move. She closed her eyes and awaited a pain that would undoubtedly send her mind to the brink of madness.

  Then a voice spoke to her. “I am here, child.”

  Ssabra thought she had only imagined the voice, but she heard it again.

  “Fear not.”

  She opened her eyes and looked around, but saw nothing but the hideous underside of the Shiru. The monster had stopped its forward movement and stood hovering over her, penis poised to strike like a thickly veined spear.

  And then she saw Tolomato. The spirit of the Indian chief stood a few feet in front of the Shiru, glowing brightly as if he had been dipped in phosphorus paint. He was almost solid in appearance, and Ssabra knew that Tolomato was using a lot of energy to appear in such a state.

  The Shiru must have been able to see Tolomato, because it began to make an angry hissing sound. The creature was not happy with having its lovemaking interrupted, and was letting the Indian know about it. Ssabra wasn’t sure how or why the Shiru could see the chief. Maybe it was because they were both from the spirit world, or perhaps the monster had qualities that normal people did not possess. Either way, Tolomato’s sudden appearance had distracted the monster from what it had intended to do to her. She still hung spread-eagle beneath the Shiru, naked and unable to move, but she had not yet been mounted.

  Not knowing how long Tolomato could continue distracting the monster, Ssabra looked around in desperation for something she could use as a weapon. The leg bone she once held in her right hand had been knocked across the room, and now lay in pieces. The other leg bone, however, was still stuck through her belt, even though her pants had been torn from her. The pants, and the leg bone, lay only a foot or two away from her.

  The Shiru knew that it was much stronger than the woman it intended on breeding with, so it had not used any of its tentacles to hold her arms. Once she had been disarmed, it had grabbed only her legs and waist for the mating. Her arms had been left free. Big mistake.

  Reaching out with her right arm, Ssabra snatched the pointed leg bone from her belt. She gripped the bone tightly in her right fist and directed her attention upward, looking for a vital spot on the monsters underbelly. She didn’t know if the creature had a heart, or where it would be located. She only had one chance to inflict a wound, and she wanted to cause maximum damage.

  And then she saw what she was looking for: the Shiru’s penis hung almost directly above her. The heavily veined muscle had lost some of its frantic throbbing, due to Tolomato’s interruption, but it was still fully erect. It was also the perfect target.

  “This is for every woman who has ever been raped.” Ssabra thrust upward with all of her strength, driving the pointed bone through the center of the Shiru’s penis. From above her came a scream that defied description, sounding like metallic gears being ripped from the transmission of heavy machinery. She ignored the scream and pushed harder, stabbing the leg bone through the penis and deep into the monster’s belly.

  She continued pushing until only a few inches of bone were still visible, and then she grabbed those few inches and jerked back and forth, stirring the leg bone deep inside the monster’s stomach, destroying tissue and vital organs.

  The tentacles released their hold on her, whipping around in a mad frenzy. They tried to grab the leg bone and pull it free, but could not get a good grip on it. The bone, which held the penis impaled to the stomach, was slick with blood and seminal fluid.

  Ssabra rolled free of the monster and got to her feet. She thought the Shiru would attempt to grab her again, but it was far too preoccupied with its injury. She watched as the blood pouring out of its belly grew from a trickle to a stream, and then into a flood.

  She must have done more damage than she hoped, because the Shiru’s stomach suddenly split open and dumped its internal organs on the floor in a great putrid mess. Maybe the offspring’s bones really were magical, or perhaps poisonous to the creature. Whatever the reason, she watched in absolute delight as the monster staggered back from her, dragging intestines and vital body parts behind it. The Shiru only made it a few feet, however, before succumbing to death. Legs collapsing beneath it, the monster gave a final hiss and died.

  “You did well, young one.”

  She turned at the sound of the voice. Tolomato still stood in the same place, but he no longer glowed quite so brightly. She barely heard what he had said, her system in too much shock to concentrate on the words that sounded in her head, and could only nod in reply.

  Ssabra looked down and saw that she was naked, but she did not feel cold. She felt nothing but numbness, and heartache over the loss of a friend.

  The Indian chief stuttered, as if at a loss for words. “I would have been here sooner, but I... your rules.”

  Again she nodded, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “I know. From now on, no more rules.”

  She turned and looked at the Shiru. “What about that, will others like it be able to come into this world through the opening?”

  “I do not know,” Tolomato answered, shaking his head.

  Ssabra hobbled slowly across the room to the little casket. Reaching down, she broke off the remaining leg and arm bones of the offspring, carrying them back to where Tolomato stood. “If more come, we’ll be ready for them.”

  “Yes, we will be ready, but the fight is over for now. Let us leave this place. There are uniforms in the other room that you can wear.”

  Ssabra was too drained from her ordeal to think clearly, and could barely concentrate on what was being said. She allowed Tolomato to lead her to the doorway, pausing to give a final glance at the contents of the storeroom: empty boxes, tattered fabric, blood and tiny pieces of gore, all that was left of someone who might have become much more than just a friend.

  There was the also the Shiru. The monster’s body appeared to be melting, a puddle of liquid spreading out around it. Maybe by morning it would be nothing more than a large stain on the floor.

  Turning her back on the Shiru, she staggered out of the storeroom. As she stepped through the doorway, Ssabra turned off the light, allowing a blanket of darkness to cover the nightmare.

  Afterward

  A light rain fell from the sky that morning, but it was not unusual for the time of year. Maybe it was the way things were supposed to be, rain and cloudy skies for solemn occasions. Ssabra didn’t really mind the rain, but it did make the grass rather slick. To avoid slipping, she had left her crutches in the car. It still pained her to walk on her badly sprained ankle, but she would rather have the pain then risk a fall.

  She stood back from the others, listening to the words being spoken by a man in a white collar. Jack’s family was Catholic, so his funeral service was being conducted by a priest. Beyond the rows of mourners and fellow officers, a man dressed in a kilt and a blue jacket was playing a set of bagpipes. The haunting melody drifted across the cemetery, bringing tears to the eyes of all who heard it.

  Ssabra reached into her purse and removed a handkerchief, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t help it. Every time the bagpipes started, so too did the tears.

  Detective Jack Colvin’s remains had been found, and positively identified through DNA testing, after an anonymous female caller had telephoned the St. Augustine Police Station to report that something terrible had happened at The Sword and Cross Restaurant. The investigating officers had found what was left of the detective in a back storeroom. They had also found a small casket, containing a partial skeleton, and a melting mass that had yet to be properly identified.

  Putting the handkerchief back into her purse, she tried to keep from crying as she watched the graveside ceremony. It had been a closed caske
t service, and she doubted if even a small piece of Jack was really inside the coffin. It probably just contained a few items of clothing, or maybe a pair of shoes. Perhaps all it held was empty space, or a few bricks to give it weight.

  The casket had been covered with an American flag, but two police officers in dress uniform were removing the flag and folding it into a triangle. As the flag was being folded, seven officers standing in a single line raised rifles into the air and fired. They repeated the gesture three times, giving a twenty-one-gun salute for a fallen comrade. Once the volley was fired, the officers brought their rifles to their sides and stood at attention as the casket was slowly lowered into the ground.

  Ssabra watched the coffin being lowered, again feeling an empty pain deep inside her heart. Why did all the good ones have to die? Why did she always lose those she cared about? It just wasn’t fair.

  Blinking back tears, she watched as one of the police officers stepped forward and tossed a shovelful of dirt down on the coffin. Another officer, a woman, stepped up to the grave and tossed in a yellow rose. Ssabra watched the others file past the opening, saying their final good-byes. She would have also approached the opening, but her legs had gone all rubbery. Instead, she stood where she was and whispered a few words.

  “Good-bye, Jack. I will miss you.” She reached back into her purse and retrieved the handkerchief, dabbing once more at the corners of her eyes.

  “Jack says good-bye.”

  She spun around, startled by the voice. Tolomato stood beside her. The Indian had disappeared shortly after she had gone to the hospital to have her injuries treated. Dressed in a chef’s jacket and pants, she had hobbled into the emergency room to have her ankle wrapped, the cut on her head cleaned, and to get something for the pain.

  She hadn’t seen Tolomato since that night, and was starting to believe he might be gone for good. But his disappearance was apparently only temporary, for the chief stood beside her now.

  Ssabra looked around to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “What did you say?”

  “I said, Jack says good-bye to you.” Tolomato grinned. “See for yourself.”

  The Indian pointed away from the burial service to a clustering of oak trees on a nearby hillside. There stood Detective Jack Colvin, dressed exactly as she had last seen him. He was there, big as life, but he was also somewhat transparent. For it wasn’t Jack Colvin in the flesh, but his spirit that stood on the hill, looking down at her.

  Ssabra felt tears flood her eyes and roll down her cheeks. She wanted to run up the hill and hug him, but knew that it would be impossible. He had already crossed over to the other side, a place where pain and suffering no longer existed. She was of the flesh, and he of the spirit, and, while the two worlds could sometimes walk hand in hand, there could never be a permanent bonding between them.

  Instead of running up the hill to visit with the detective one last time, or calling out his name, Ssabra stood silent and watched as Jack raised fingers to his lips and blew her a final kiss. A moment later his image faded and blew apart, like mist on the morning wind, disappearing into nothingness.

  “He’s gone,” Tolomato said. “I’m sorry.”

  Ssabra nodded. “I know. But he’ll never be truly gone.” She touched her heart. “He will always be here.”

  She turned and slowly walked away from the memorial service, heading back toward her car.

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Having served in the Air Force, and the former owner of a restaurant and lounge, Owl Goingback became a full time writer in 1987. He has written numerous novels, children's books, short stories, screenplays, and magazine articles.

  His novel Crota won the Bram Stoker Award for Best First Novel, and was one of four finalists in the Best Novel category. His novel Darker Than Night was also a Stoker Nominee for best novel of the year. The Bram Stoker Awards are given annually by the Horror Writers Association, and are considered the highest honor a writer can receive in the horror genre. Both books draw upon his Native American heritage to tell a story of supernatural suspense, as do his other novels Evil Whispers, Breed and Shaman Moon.

  Owl's children's books, Eagle Feathers and The Gift have received critical acclaim from parents and teachers, and are currently used in numerous reading programs. Eagle Feathers is a Storytelling World Awards Honor Recipient.

  In addition to his writing, Owl has also lectured throughout the country on the customs and folklore of the American Indians. He is currently working on a new novel and several screenplays.

  Connect With Owl Goingback Online

  Official Website

  http://www.OwlGoingback.com

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  OTHER WORKS BY OWL GOINGBACK

  Darker Than Night

  Evil Whispers

  Crota

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