Poaching Grounds: A gripping psychological crime thriller (Carolina McKay Thriller Book 4)

by Tony Urban

  He moved the light to her belly, where she had been torn open and devoured. Kirk had seen what animals could do, but this was far worse. What remained of her intestines left a trail about four feet away from where she lay. And then it just ended. Most of her had been consumed.

  As his light traveled below her abdomen, there was only dirt and blood and chunks of sinew and tendon. Her legs were missing.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Raymond, shocked into a whisper, gasped.

  Kirk swiveled his light away from her body and found the woman’s legs. Well, one of them. It lay almost six feet away, all the flesh on the thigh gone, the femur exposed.

  Mesmerized by the carnage, Kirk stepped toward it. He wanted, needed, to see who this was.

  But he only made it four loping strides before his boot sank into something thick and dense and sucking. He hurriedly shined his flashlight to his feet and saw his leg buried up to the calf in the torn-open abdomen of another woman.

  An explosion of stench, of festering rot, rose up from the corpse. Kirk was projectile vomiting before he even knew it was rushing up his gullet. In shock, he dropped the flashlight and it landed in the wet muck of the decaying remains.

  “Mother fuck,” he got out through a mouth still half-full of puke. He spat, trying to cleanse his palate, as he crouched and snatched the light away from the dead woman’s innards. The flashlight was slick with putrefaction, and he had to squeeze twice as tight to keep it from slipping away as he examined what was left of her.

  Her bloated and green mouth was open, the cheek was missing on the left side, that eye gone too. Her hand pointed as if telling Kirk to look, to continue his investigation. And he couldn’t resist.

  He shined the light to the left where the dead girl’s hand aimed. And that’s where he saw two more bodies, at least, that’s what it seemed to be. The condition of these corpses was even worse as animal predation – pre- or post-mortem, who could tell - had left them looking like what was left of a cow after a butcher had taken everything worthwhile.

  “What the fuck happened here?” Raymond asked, voice cracking like a boy in the throes of puberty.

  Kirk shook his head. “I don’t know. But something real, real bad.” It was the understatement of the century but got the point across.

  “Come on,” Raymond said, putting his hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “We need to get while the getting’s good.”

  But Kirk couldn’t just let the deer go to waste. It was too much food. Too much money. Leaving a deer he shot behind to be feasted upon by coyotes and carrion broke some sort of hunter’s code that he hadn’t known he subscribed to until just then.

  He took a step toward the deer, which was somehow still alive, but down to one breath every half minute. Its glassy eyes, not unlike those belonging to the dead women, stared at nothing.

  “Kirk, enough already.” Raymond said, closing a fat fist over his shirt and holding on.

  “I’m just gonna--”

  Then, in the pitch black of night, came the most wild and savage howl Kirk ever heard in his entire career as an outdoorsman. Both men froze.

  The sound, feral as it was, was also purposeful. Threatening. Vindictive. Like the animal that made it was ordering them to retreat, now. That if they stayed any longer, it would find them and devour not only them, but their families, too. That it would consume everything they cared about.

  The smell of hot piss was suddenly overwhelming, and Kirk’s free hand went to his own crotch to see if it had come from his bladder. But his pants were dry, so he looked back and saw a dark stain of wetness spreading across the front of Raymond’s jeans.

  Then both men were running.

  Kirk bolted back the way he came, grabbing Raymond’s wrist and hauling him along at far beyond the big man’s typical lumbering gait. The two men dashed as fast as they could, breaking off branches, tearing away leaves.

  The thorns pulled at Kirk’s jacket again, but this time they were no match. Anything that tried to hold him back would have to come along with him.

  Another howl rang out in the night, echoing off the hills, and all the hair on Kirk’s body stood at attention.

  It’s closer, he realized. Much closer than it had been.

  It was chasing them.

  Hunting them.

  Kirk doubled his speed. In the process, his sweat-slick hand lost hold of Raymond and he didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care.

  He charged forward, head down, no concern over what he collided with so long as he was putting distance between himself and whatever made that god-awful howl.

  Behind him, branches ruptured in an explosion of snaps and pops, and then Raymond screamed.

  “My leg!” Raymond bellowed.

  Kirk spun, shining the flashlight behind him, and he found Raymond face down in the remains of a fallen pine. Then his light caught something else.

  Eyes.

  They glowed from a thick hedge of mountain laurel, two balls of fire.

  Then they vanished.

  “Motherfucker, I broke my leg!” Raymond whined. “Help me!”

  Kirk swept his light across the laurel, straining to find the eyes again even while his friend broke into retching sobs of pain. Finally, convinced whatever had been chasing them was gone, Kirk went to the man.

  He crouched beside Raymond; their upper bodies pressed together. “Put your arm around my neck,” Kirk said, and Raymond did as he was told. “Hold on good.”

  Kirk pushed upward, feeling like he had a Mac truck strapped to his back. He thought he might fall, might drop the big man back into the brush where they’d surely both be fucked, but he was pumped so full of adrenaline that he made it into a standing position.

  In the most desperate three-legged race, the duo pressed forward. Even over their own labored movements, Kirk was sure he heard the creature behind them. Stalking them. The steady huff, huff, huff of its breathing became a drumbeat in his ears.

  “I gotta sit,” Raymond cried.

  But Kirk wasn’t going to allow that. Not after what he’d seen. Not after what he’d heard. “We’re almost there.”

  And they were. They were close to the main path, the one that would lead them back to their truck. They just had to keep moving, keep going. They couldn’t slow down. Couldn’t even risk a glance back.

  Just as Kirk thought they were going to make it he was blinded by a light in the face.

  He gasped, sure those glowing eyes he’d seen were now in front of him. This wasn’t an animal at all, at least none like he’d even heard about. It was something supernatural. Something bloodthirsty and ready to tear him to shreds just like the women he’d seen in the clearing.

  Kirk screamed, let go of Raymond’s arm and felt the man tumble off of him, hitting the ground with an agonized squawk.

  Then Kirk ran. Screw going down with the ship, this was every man for himself territory. There wasn’t any amount of meat or money worth his life. He didn’t make it three strides before --

  “It’s Kirk Spangler, right?” a husky voice asked from behind the light.

  “Warden Kingsley?” Raymond asked through a moan.

  That’s when Kirk realized what was going on. Sid Kingsley was the cause of his temporary blindness, not some otherworldly monstrosity. And even though he knew he was fucked in an altogether different way, he was relieved.

  He turned back, aiming his flashlight into Kingsley’s chest. The man held up a palm to shield his eyes, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

  “I’ve been after you boys for more than a month now. Sure made me earn my pay.” Kingsley said, but then he lost his smile as he peered at Kirk’s face and saw honest-to-god terror staring back.

  “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Sid asked.

  Kirk took a deep breath, preparing what to say. But Raymond beat him to it.

  “There’s a monster out there.”

  Chapter Two

  Darlene Sarver lingered at the edge of the curb as if she were waiting to cross
Larson Street. Three cars zipped by her at full speed, none giving so much as a tap of the brakes. A gust of exhaust-filled wind blew open her Nationals windbreaker, revealing her bare midriff.

  Her stomach was flat and firm. Not like the other girls. A fake diamond stud dangled from her belly button. You could make out a couple abs if you squinted hard. But it wasn’t from hitting the gym every day. No, it was because of the many meals she’d skipped.

  And, most likely, the meth.

  “You think you’re better than me?” Darlene shrieked at the cars that were already long gone. She spit in the road before turning back to the half-raised concrete wall, where a smoldering Newport waited for her.

  She snatched it up, then leaned into the wall to take a load off as her mother would have put it. As she leaned in her jean skirt rode up, exposing the bottom third of her ass, but she didn’t care who saw. It wasn’t like she had any pride left.

  Carolina studied the woman, how she approached the corner as the sound of oncoming traffic came nearer. Never once did Darlene stumble on the white Stiletto heels that were strapped to her feet. Not a single scuff was on the sides of either of those damn shoes. It was a lot more than Carolina could say for herself. She was barely able to make it to the streetlamp without twisting her ankle.

  Darlene eyed Carolina up and down, her eyes settling on Carolina’s badly scuffed pumps that wouldn’t have fetched a quarter at Goodwill. She shook her head in silent judgment but offered a weak nod out of professional respect.

  “You want a drag, honey?” Darlene asked, holding the cigarette out.

  Carolina looked at the cigarette, then traced her eyes up Darlene’s arm and to her face, where the mother of all cold sores festered on her upper lip. It looked wet and fresh, as if she’d been picking at it with the long acrylic nails that tipped each of her fingers.

  She’d take a hard pass on sharing the cigarette but tried to come across pleasant.

  “No thanks,” Carolina said and tapped her chest above the sequined bra she wore in lieu of an actual shirt. “Bad lungs.”

  Darlene flashed a rueful smile, one which revealed a jumble of decayed and missing teeth. “Sorry to hear that. I’m healthy as a horse.” She took another long drag as if for proof. “I’m Dar. You're new around here, ain’t you?”

  Carolina nodded. “Just got in town. Name’s Carolina.”

  Darlene cackled a humorless laugh. “I’m Dar. You’re Car.” Her eyes, which had been hollow and lifeless, brightened as a rare, good idea came to mind. “Hey, we should team up. Offer duos. Can make some serious coin that way. The guys, they get so damned turned on seeing two girls going at it, half of ‘em blow their load before they can even stick it in ya. Easy peasy.” She rubbed her hands together in a miserly symbol of greed.

  “Yeah…” Carolina said, extending her hand. “Maybe.” The two shook then observed each other in silence.

  Carolina could see a lot of herself in Darlene, and she wondered how her own life had come to this point. She hadn’t sunk quite as far as Meth Mouth Darlene, but as much as she told herself it wouldn’t come to that, she also knew there were no guarantees in life.

  For now, she would work with what she was given.

  Out of sight came the rumble of a failing exhaust, a sound that grew nearer, approaching the corner. Beside Carolina, Darlene sighed knowingly, then she ducked into the cover provided by a door stoop to an out-of-business used appliance shop.

  “Something up? Police?” Carolina asked, feeling her heartbeat quicken. She folded her arms across her chest and wished she had a shirt or, hell, a parka.

  “No,” Darlene said. “Cops don’t cruise down here. Not unless they’re looking for a freebie.” She shook her head, bleached blond hair bobbing. “I know the sound. That’s just Herbie. Too lazy to get that damned muffler fixed.”

  Sure enough, a few seconds later an Infiniti Q60 rolled to a stop under the streetlamp, its exhaust droning tunelessly. The driver stared with intent in their direction.

  “You mind taking this one?” Darlene asked. “Herbie and me, we don’t exactly click.”

  “Rough?” Carolina asked, concerned.

  “Herbie?” Another joyless cackle. “Shit, no. You yell Boo at him, and he’d shit in his Jockeys.”

  “Then why?”

  Darlene wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m a snob or nothin’, but the fatties, they just gross me out. Finding his little pecker between the folds is bad enough. But him lying on top of me, rutting away… Last time I thought he broke one of my ribs.”

  Carolina shrugged. She was a lot of things, but judgmental wasn’t one of them. “Sure thing,” she said.

  “Thanks honey, I’ll owe you one.” Darlene said.

  Carolina gingerly stepped to his car, stumbling twice along the way. But she supposed Herbie wouldn’t care about how well she walked in the heels. He’d be more interested in seeing them in the air.

  She felt far from comfortable in the short, patent leather skirt and bra top, but it drew men like moths to a flame. And maybe that was something she would just have to accept, if she was going to keep doing this job.

  After all, she had bills to pay.

  She watched the window roll down and grabbed at the door, placing her hand barely inside the vehicle. It was a nice car. White and sleek and more luxury than she was used to. When she leaned in, she smelled leather mixed with mayonnaise, then she spotted a sandwich wrapper crumpled on the floor. Hints of white cream gone rancid were smeared across it and her stomach lurched.

  “Looking for a date, handsome?” Carolina found herself saying. It was funny to hear those words come out of her mouth. So cliché, especially being a former police detective.

  She looked Herbie up and down. He wore a wrinkled, black Polo shirt. It was untucked and two sizes too big and looked like a spent parachute draped over his khaki shorts. His face was round and cherubic, simultaneously innocent and wary.

  He wasn’t a bad looking guy, just sloppy and rotund, and it surprised Carolina that Festering Herpes Lips Darlene would be grossed out by someone on the chubby side. To each their own.

  “You’re new.” Herbie asked, his voice making it unclear whether that was a question or statement.

  “New in town, but I’ve got plenty of experience,” Carolina said. She flashed her best flirty smile, which made her cringe inside. She’d never been a seducer. But if she wanted to get paid, she needed to play the part.

  Herbie considered her for a moment, biting his lip. “I figured Darlene would be around” he said, trying to see behind her.

  Carolina took a quick glance back and discovered Darlene had disappeared from sight.

  “She’s with a client. But I’m right here. Am I not your type?” Carolina asked, feigning insult.

  Herbie broke into a lopsided grin, trying to backtrack. “No, nothing like that, I just—”

  “What is it, then?” Carolina asked, leaning further into the car, trying to give him a deeper view of her cleavage. It worked. She caught his eyes going straight down the chasm.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Carolina.”

  “That’s pretty,” he moaned, still staring down her top.

  She held off on rolling her eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Herbert. Hey, you’re not a cop, are you?” he asked with a chuckle.

  She matched his chuckle, hers slightly more ironic. She felt no need to delve into her past when a simple no was all that was needed. “I’m not. But what about you?”

  He shook his head and unzipped his pants, left hand diving inside on a fishing expedition. “If I was, I wouldn’t be showing you this.”

  Carolina didn’t want to look but she knew avoiding the sight of his exposed and already erect johnson would offend him or scare him off. Or both.

  “Impressive,” she said, biting back a rueful laugh. “I take that to mean I meet your standards?”

  He gave a rapid nod. “Hop in. I’l
l take us to the Luxor,” he said.

  She looked around, checking up and down the street. In the distance, a homeless man pushed a rickety shopping cart. Darlene was still nowhere to be seen. She knew this went with the profession, but she remembered the escorts who’d ended up as pig food on a Pennsylvania farm.

  Climbing into the man’s car was a bridge too far for her. At least, for now.

  Instead, she pointed at the next intersection. “Head up there and make a right. My van’s parked in front of the Arby’s and they’re closed for the night. It’ll be good and private.”

  “Works for me,” Herbie said, tucking his pecker back into his pants.

  She led the way, trying her best to keep upright on the heels. He drove his car slowly, keeping pace with her until they reached the corner and her van was in sight.

  He pulled to the side of the road, just behind her home on wheels. For all the time she’d lived in the van, it disgusted her to think of having sex with this stranger inside. And to be honest, she was still a little offended that he’d looked for Darlene even after she offered herself up.

  After parking, he opened up the door to his Infiniti and stepped into the night. He was bigger than he looked when sitting. Taller, more intimidating. She swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to be finished with the job.

  “What sort of donation am I looking at?” Herbie asked. “Do you have a menu or something?”

  “Sure do.” She grabbed the handle to the back of the van. “But I’m gonna be honest, Herbie, this won’t be cheap.”

  “I usually pay two hundred. Three if you do Greek.” His beady eyes lit up. “Is that an option?”

  Instead of answering she pulled the van door open, a loud creak groaning from the hinges. His eyes immediately went to the video camera perched atop a tripod, filming away.

  “What is this? A sting?” Herbie stumbled backward, tripping over his feet and losing his balance. His broad ass landed on the hood of the car leaving a small crater in its wake. “You can’t do this! I asked if you were a cop.”

  “I’m not a cop. I’m a private eye.”

  Herbie’s mouth dropped. He began to sweat through his Polo and what little bit of package had tented under his pants had fully diminished.