by Dan Rabarts
Penny freezes. Shit. Someone’s heard her. Frantic, she looks for somewhere to hide. There’s nowhere. This stinky little shed is too tiny. There isn’t enough space to hide a child. For a second, she contemplates crawling under the body, concealing herself beneath the putrefying carcass, but the man’s maggot-ridden gaze makes her stomach lurch. She can’t bring herself to do it. It’s too late, anyway.
The door rattles, bowing inwards, as if someone has put their shoulder to it. Penny squares herself up, prepared to confront whoever might be out there. The door remains firmly shut. Why aren’t they coming in? Maybe they can’t? Someone injured? Creeping forward, Penny puts her ear to the wooden slats. From the other side, she hears scrabbling, a scuff. There’s a faint clink of metal. A padlock opening? Her heart hammering, Penny presses her thumb to the latch and, keeping the door closed, pushes down slowly. She tries the door and finds some give. It’s not locked. She listens again. More scratching. Whoever it is can’t open the door.
“Matiu?” she whispers. “Is that you?”
The scratching intensifies. Cautiously, Penny cracks the door open, just a sliver, to allow her to see…
Cerberus bounds in, his lead clinking behind him.
“Cerberus? What are you doing here? Where’s Matiu?” One hand twisted in the fur of Cerberus’ neck to stop him from dashing off somewhere else, Penny pops her head out of the shed and scans the yard. She sucks in mouthfuls of fresh air. No sign of Matiu. What’s happened to him? Puzzled, she steps back into the shed and closes the door. She needs to take photos and look for Matiu, but first she has to secure Cerberus.
But the dog slips from her grip, the smell of death and decay sending him into a frenzy. He paws at the body, nudging at it forcefully, desperate to sample this glorious thing.
“Come away, Cerberus,” Penny hisses.
The dog moves, but only to change position from one side of the body to the other. He steps on the man’s stomach in his haste to explore, releasing more gas, which excites him even more. It’s as if his favourite squeaky toy has been shoved down the man’s trousers and Cerberus is determined to retrieve it. He tears at the man’s shirt with his teeth, yanking away the fabric, and burrowing at the waistband of his pants.
“Cerberus!” Penny whispers, horrified. Seizing the dog’s lead, she hauls him back towards her. He’ll be getting dog slobber all over the body. She may as well give herself up now, hand herself in to Tanner and confess to everything, since between the pair of them they’ll have obliterated any evidence of the real killer. Cerberus strains against the lead.
“Come on boy, that’s enough. Come away. You’re going to choke yourself.”
The dog yelps, dragging himself forward, and the chain slides out of Penny’s hand. Cerberus flies at the body, jamming his back paws under the body to stop his slide. His muzzle over the corpse, he snaps at the dead man’s waistband and reveals a tuft of wool.
A pouch? Penny is about to yank Cerberus back but something in the way the dog teases at the fabric gives her pause. He’s too patient. Penny watches as, with quiet determination, Cerberus gnaws gently at the wool. Finally, he pulls the prize from the body, holding it, triumphant, in his jaws. It’s a beanie, which had been tucked into the waistband of the dead man’s pants. Penny is baffled why Cerberus would go to so much effort when a wallet slips out of the bundle.
“So, that’s what all the fuss was about?”
Penny ignores the beanie. In any case, Cerberus doesn’t look keen to give it up. Instead, she stoops and, in an almost futile gesture at this point, uses the bottom of her t-shirt to pluck the wallet out of the dirt. It’s stretched to all hell by now anyway, the fabric sagging pitifully at the hem.
Penny gives the dog a quick scratch behind his ear. “Good boy. Not a bad bit of detective work. Let’s see who he was then, shall we?”
Holding the wallet awkwardly with one hand, she shakes it gently, using gravity to flip it open. Her mouth agape, Penny stares at the ID card tucked in the front panel. Penny recognises the wavy hair, square jaw and dazzling blue eyes. No wonder Cerberus was so insistent. Whoever the dead man at her feet is, this isn’t his wallet. The wallet is Fletcher’s.
Suddenly, the blast of a gun shakes the air, rattling Penny to her bones.
She whirls, dropping the wallet.
Matiu…
- Matiu -
Writhing tentacles turn lazy arcs across the ceiling and slide over the floor. In that fractured moment as Matiu gapes in utter shock at Hanson, he understands it’s not Hanson anymore. The glutinous, twisting masses are a part of the old man, six, at least, maybe eight, emerging from his back. Three are lifting him off the chair, his own legs hanging limp and useless beneath him. The others—how many, he doesn’t dare count—roil and snap, warping the air above them, a sick shade of purple like bruised clouds, heavy with thunder. Hanson’s black eyes glitter in his sallow face, his mouth sagging open, wide, wider, revealing an infinite pit within. A hell of blindness for Matiu to fall into, a black hole where his nightmares might be swallowed and spat out. “There’s no point running away, doggy,” Hanson says, in a voice that cascades across aeons, splinters reality. “All bad dogs get their whippin’.” Black-clawed hands and questing tentacles stretch for Matiu.
The gun booms, deafening him again, the recoil tossing him back towards the door. There’s a screech, a howl of pain that can’t be human, and he glimpses a tentacle falling, spraying dark ichor. Then he’s running. He doesn’t remember pulling the trigger, just knows he must have, because if he hadn’t, the thing would have taken him, dragging him into that soul-sucking blackness.
A blast of hot wind hits him as he barrels through the door, so strong it might be trying to drive him back into the darkness and the creature’s waiting maw. Stormclouds boil overhead and he’s running, yet the distance between door and porch grows ever wider. Matiu chokes back a scream. He’s had nightmares like this, running but standing still, screaming but suffocating, unable to escape the terrors at his back.
He dares a glance back, refusing to believe he’s still in the cursed doorway, still trying to break free from the hell he’s stepped into.
The creature is advancing. Behind it, emerging from the shadows, the third figure, the one Matiu glimpsed, but hadn’t rationalised. The one he recognises, even though he’s never seen his face. The scream tears from his throat, rage and betrayal and defiance, and then he’s falling. The stairs rush up to greet him and he slams into the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs. Stunned but not broken, Matiu scrambles to his rump, wrangling the shotgun around to face the doorway as he struggles to his feet, fighting to suck down a breath.
A tentacle pushes through the door, slow, probing, as if it, too, is fighting the hot, driving wind. Matiu pulls the trigger, once, twice, the acrid burn of gas propellant stinging his throat as the M4 cycles fresh ammunition into the breach and discards the smoking shells onto the dirt. Pain blossoms in his shoulder with the recoil and the second shot goes wide, sparks bursting from the side of the cabin. Black cables fall from the sky in a haze of wood dust. Satisfied with the horrific shriek that comes from the creature and the burst of white liquid that douses the porch, Matiu turns and runs, still heaving for breath. Somewhere, he can hear Penny calling his name, and he heads towards her voice. He wants to be relieved that she’s alive, and that he’s out of the cabin, but his mind is numb. He’d rather not feel anything anymore. Not after what he saw.
The creature that has spawned in Hanson’s place is horror enough, but it’s what was stepping from the shadows behind the monster that has shaken him the most. Because it was a little piece of him.
Makere.
CHAPTER 13
- Pandora -
Penny doesn’t wait. She drops the wallet, flings open the door and sprints into the open. Where did that shot come from? Inside the house? Sh
ould she take the back door? Penny hesitates. If Matiu’s been hit, if he’s down, she can’t help him if she runs into the house and headlong into the shooter. She’ll get herself killed, and she can’t help Matiu if she’s dead, too.
If Matiu’s been hit, and it’s on account of her, Mum and Dad will kill her themselves.
“Matiu!” she yells, indecision paralysing her.
In the pens, the dogs are going ape-shit, yowling and yapping. Some of the bigger dogs hurl themselves at the wires, fevered with excitement, their jaws dripping saliva. Trained to sense desperation, to take advantage of an opponent’s weakness, they want a piece of whatever’s going on out here. Penny catches Staffy eyeing her, his ears twitching.
“Matiu!” she screams again.
“Penny!”
Penny almost dies of relief. He’s not dead. Penny can barely hear him, but he’s outside somewhere. The front of the house?
Cerberus’ canine instincts serve him better, and he streaks off ahead in a blur of gold. A minute later, Penny rounds the side of the house only to discover Cerberus on his way back and Matiu dashing towards her, gripping a shotgun, the sides of his leather jacket flapping. He waves her back.
“Penny, back the other way!” he shouts. At least he’s moving freely. There’s no sign of any blood. No wound. That’s good. The gunshot she heard must have been a warning note: Hanson playing the heavy. Penny slows, her panic subsiding now she’s seen Matiu’s OK.
“No, we need to confront this Hanson guy. He’s involved somehow, Matiu. There’s evidence: a body in the back shed—”
Matiu’s face is tight. “Tell me later, sis. Right now, we need to get out of here.” Cerberus obviously supports that idea because he races past them both, heading back around the corner.
“But Matiu—”
Grabbing her elbow, Matiu yanks her around roughly, pulling her face to his. He raises the shotgun in his right hand, his fist clenched white against the black barrel.
“Penny. Do you see this gun?” he says evenly, dark eyes blazing.
“Yes, I was wondering what you—”
Matiu shakes her. “I got it from the guy back there. The guy who’s trying to kill me. Who is coming this way.”
Oh shit.
Penny surrenders as he pulls her bodily by her elbow, hustling her along the way a harassed parent ushers a misbehaving toddler from the supermarket. Ordinarily, Penny would balk. She’s not a sack of potatoes to be manhandled by Matiu. But a glance over her shoulder shows her someone is coming. Someone large. Dark. Hanson? Whoever it is, he’s moving slowly. Lurching. Did Matiu injure him? The shadowy form passes behind the spreading pōhutukawa, its massive central girder and weighty boughs blocking her view. Penny shakes her head, not trusting her eyes. Perhaps she bumped her head in the fall, because that arm looks strangely sinuous like…a tentacle. Immediately, she dismisses the idea. A branch, or a trick of the light, surely. The man must be carrying a gun, his arm curled around its length…
Matiu drags her around the corner.
Penny snaps to. “There’s a farm bike by the back door,” she says, shaking herself free. “I didn’t check yet to see if the keys…”
But already Matiu is running towards the bike. In true James Dean fashion he throws a leg over it and revs the engine, as Penny hurries to join him.
“Wait, Matiu. Where’s Cerberus?” Penny looks around wildly.
“Damn it. Cerberus!” Matiu roars, revving the bike and sending up a cloud of exhaust. Cerberus lopes out of the shed, the beanie held in his mouth, and Penny realises it must be Fletcher’s too. The dog whirls and takes off past the pens.
The wallet. She left it by the body. Penny starts for the shed but, on the bike, Matiu surges forward, cutting her off. Leaning out, he grabs her arm again, his grip bruising.
“Matiu, the evidence—” she gasps.
“Leave it. We’ll call Clark. Let him find it.”
“By the time he gets here, Hanson will have destroyed it.”
“I’d rather it be the evidence than us. Come on.”
“No.”
“Penny, please, get on the bike.”
“I can’t.” Flatfooted, Penny wrings her hands. She stares across the yard at Staffy. The little dog lifts his ruined muzzle, his nose twitching as he searches for Penny’s scent on the air.
He’s not the only one twitching. A muscle jumps under Matiu’s eye. He turns to check the corner of the house. “Penny, someone is coming who intends to kills us,” he says. It’s almost a plea. “When he rounds that corner, believe me, we don’t want to be here.”
“The dogs, Matiu. We can’t leave them here.”
Matiu’s eyes widen. “You’re right. Excellent idea. We’ll let them out.”
“But the cages won’t open. I tried. They’re on some kind of central locking.”
Matiu throws something at her. Instinctively, unintentionally, Penny catches it. She opens her hands: it’s the company card for the Holden.
“You go. Follow Cerberus. Run for the car. I’ll free the dogs.”
“But what about…?”
“If I’m not there in five minutes, you forget your stupid hang-ups and you drive, you hear me? You get the hell out of here.”
“Matiu—”
“For fuck’s sake, Penny, just go!”
Penny runs then, as best she can in her stupid summer sandals, dashing by the pens, her heart breaking as she passes the little Staffordshire, and runs after Cerberus. She’s only covered half the ground to the corrugated iron sheeting when she hears a shot before the latches clunk open in unison. Matiu’s done it. He’s opened the cages and freed the dogs. Penny risks a quick look back to see the pack charge en masse around the back of the house. She prays Matiu is nowhere near that pack of wolves: they’ll shred him to tatters in seconds. She turns, intending to follow Cerberus into the pines. But the Chow Chow steps out from behind the grey metal sheeting. Alone, the animal has come wide and cut her off. It curls its upper lip, emitting a snarl from low in its throat. Penny falters as the animal bares its teeth, its coat bristling with anger.
Quickly, Penny drops her eyes, and takes a slow step back. If she appears submissive perhaps the dog will back down.
It doesn’t work. This dog has menace and threat ingrained in its psyche. Fighting is all it knows. It crouches, preparing to leap. Penny lifts her arms to protect her head and neck.
Suddenly, Staffy dashes in—was he following her, wanting her to rescue him?—and nips hard at the Chow Chow’s paws. The Chow Chow tosses its head and snarls, its pushed-in face mean and hostile, but it stands its ground. Staffy ducks in again, worrying at his opponent’s haunches, his nips demanding attention. The Chow Chow snaps and twists, its jaws clamping down hard, and comes away with fur in its mouth. Her hands over her mouth, Penny gasps as Staffy dives away, but, persistent, he comes back, this time leaping on the Chow Chow’s back and biting down hard. The Chow Chow yowls in pain and anger. It shakes its torso, brutally tossing the smaller dog, who’s whiplashed from side to side. Penny, paralysed, can only watch on in horror. At last, the Chow Chow disengages itself, hurling the smaller dog off. With a yelp, Staffy rolls away. But he’s achieved his purpose. The enraged Chow Chow has forgotten all about Penny. It rounds on Staffy, and the little fighter, knowing his business, tears off, his gait an excruciating one-two-three-limp, as he leads the Chow Chow back towards the pack.
Penny knows the Chow Chow will catch the little Staffordshire eventually.
Tears streaming, she turns and stumbles through the pines.
CHAPTER 14
- Matiu -
Matiu vaults onto the low roof of the pens, shotgun counterbalancing the tricky manoeuvre, and crouches low, running lightly along the creaking tin roof towards the house. The living mass of dogs swarm around t
he side of the building, a wave of claw and tooth and slavering drool, all barking and jostling against each other in the frenzy of sudden freedom and the wild rush of hunger. He comes around the peak of the storage sheds, gaining a view of the open space in front of the house.
The thing that Hanson has become is halfway across the dirt road now, ichor dripping from ragged wounds, one tentacle dragging limp behind it. Matiu, his stomach dropping at the sight, kneels, bracing the shotgun and sighting down the barrel. He was right to keep Penny away. Her sane and rational mind wouldn’t cope with this.
The dogs, however, have no such fear. They know only hunger and rage. They know the face, the smell, of the one who beats them. Matiu can’t look away from the sudden snarling mass that piles on Hanson, all slaver and fury. Man and tentacles alike go down under the tide of tooth and claw, the shrieks of pain as much human as they are otherworldly.
Matiu’s finger hovers over the trigger, considering putting a round through Hanson to end his misery. Then he relaxes his grip. He tells himself this is because he can’t hit Hanson without taking out at least a couple of the dogs at the same time, and not even fighting dogs should go out that way. Not because this is the exact bloody fate the old bastard deserves.
A tentacle lifts above the savaging pack, slams down, skittering canines aside, but they gain their feet and rush back in—most of them, anyway. The tentacle flails, and then is torn free. On every side, the dogs are hauling dripping body parts away from the carnage at the centre. Tentacles, mainly, their soft flesh easily ripped apart by jaws built for tearing muscle and bone, but is that a hand? The dirt underneath the growling mass of bodies is rapidly turning a putrid mix of red and glistening white, scattered with torn sinew and blood-stained fabric.
