The Wilds

by Kit Tinsley

  Altman was fat, and now he was a dead weight, it took her a long time to drag him to the barn. The smell of the place was always overpowering to her, but Miko got upset if she got rid of any of them. So the body of the vet turned monster hunter became another resident in the charnel house that was Milo’s barn. She put him on the floor next to the slut from the marsh. All in all there must have been fifty corpses, or parts of corpses, in various states of decomposition.

  Tim prowled along the bank, as much a hunter as the beast he sought to kill. The night was clear and the moon, now three quarters full, afforded him a lot of light. It illuminated the marsh in its unreal silvery glow.

  The weight of the gun should have been bothering him, but he was too determined to care, like he was too determined to care about the icy wind whipping his face. None of that mattered. Nothing mattered anymore, only avenging Julie.

  He walked past the spot they had the campfire. It seemed so long ago, a different life almost, but it had been less than twenty-four hours since they had been here, since they had been together.

  He looked at the ashes on the ground, all that remained of the night, the sadness that had gripped him all day tried to return as he remembered lying there on the blanket with her, holding her in his arms, kissing her. Everything had seemed so perfect, magic in the air as they say, but in an instant it was taken away.

  She had not simply left him, as the police had tried to suggest. She had been attacked and taken away by a man eating big cat, an aberration that should not have existed in this place. This was the heart of rural England, not some far off land. Big cats didn’t roam this country. This one had no place here, and it had no place killing his girl. Tim was going to even the score. He didn’t know how many people this thing had killed, but if he had his way, after that night it would kill no more.

  Jason finished his second drink. The beer was going down too well. He had the car here, and he knew that if he lost his licence his job would be impossible. He supposed he could walk home or get a taxi. He looked to Karl who was just finishing his drink. He decided that if Karl wanted another, he would walk home, if not he would leave now and take the car.

  As if reading his thoughts, Karl lifted his arm to look at his watch.

  ‘I better head home,’ he said. ‘While I’m still sober enough to drive Mum’s car.’

  The decision had been made.

  ‘No worries, mate,’ Jason said. ‘I’ll pick you up at half eight in the morning. Get some sleep, it’ll probably be another long day.’

  Karl stood and smiled wearily.

  ‘Will do,’ he said, ‘Cheers, Phil.’

  Jason was shocked. He looked at Karl, wondering if the other man had even noticed his mistake. At first there seemed to be no acknowledgement of it on his face, and then he shook his head.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I meant to say, “Cheers, Jason.” I’m just so tired.’

  ‘Okay, mate,’ Jason said smiling. ‘See you in the morning.’

  Karl waved and wandered away. Jason watched him as he left the pub. He didn’t like what had just occurred. He could see that he and Karl were becoming friends, and this didn’t bother him. He didn’t have that many real friends anymore, and he got the impression that Karl could use some too. However, the faux pas of calling him by his brother’s name worried Jason. Was Karl starting to see him as a surrogate older brother? As Jason had pointed out earlier, Karl was still in denial about the fate of his brother; none of it seemed real. If he shifted those feelings onto Jason he could continue to ignore whatever had happened to Phil.

  Jason shook his head, maybe he was over analyzing things, but it was certainly something that he needed to keep an eye on.

  He got up from the table and headed across the bar to the rear door that led to the car park. As he passed the bar, a hand was put on his chest. He looked and saw Malc, even more drunk than he had been that afternoon.

  ‘Now then, Mr Flynn,’ he said with a shit eating grin, the smell of the whiskey on his breath was strong enough to make Jason’s eyes moisten. ‘Have you found that bleedin’ monster of yours yet?’

  Jason had neither the time or patience for another encounter with this piss taking, narrow minded, old drunk.

  ‘This town is full of monsters, Malcolm,’ he said pushing the drunks hand off his chest. ‘You just have to know where to look.’

  ‘According to you, even in your own family,’ Malc said, his eyes boring into Jason with accusations. ‘We all know what you said about your uncle.’

  ‘I write what people need to know,’ Jason said, feeling his anger rise. ‘The truth! Regardless of whether it’s about my uncle, my mother, even my best friend.’

  Malc let out as rasp of laughter that sent spittle spraying across Jason’s jacket.

  ‘Truth, my arse,’ Malc said then carried on chuckling.

  Jason felt his hands balling up into fists. He had taken more than enough shit from this idiot over the years, and he had had enough. It would be easy as well. After all the old fucker was so drunk he would barely have to touch him to make him hit the ground.

  There was a tap on his shoulder. It distracted him enough to relax his fists as he turned around. Ben Lindley was stood in front of him. It was the first time in months he had seen his old friend out of his uniform. He was wearing his civilian clothes and a worried expression.

  ‘What’s up?’ Jason asked.

  ‘I just need a quick word,’ Ben said, ‘In private.’

  ‘Sure,’ Jason said and followed Ben over to a quieter corner of the pub.

  ‘I just wanted to tell you I’m going away for a while,’ Ben said. Jason noticed the way he kept looking around the pub; he was looking to see if they were being watched. His paranoia was contagious and Jason found himself doing the same.

  ‘Why?’ Jason asked. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Pearce saw us talking earlier, and he threatened me about it,’ Ben replied.

  ‘How?’

  ‘He said that if he found out I was giving you information, he’d ruin my career.’ Ben looked apologetically at him. ‘I can’t risk that Jason, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Of course you can’t,’ Jason said, putting a reassuring hand on the other man’s shoulder.

  ‘The way I see it, I’m due some holiday, so I think I’m going to get away until this case blows over.’

  Jason gave Ben’s shoulder a little shake.

  ‘Alright, mate, I can understand that,’ Jason said. ‘Have fun, and don’t worry about Pearce.’

  Ben shook his head.

  ‘You’re the one who needs to worry about Pearce,’ he said. ‘He’s really got it in for you.’

  Jason smiled.

  ‘I’m not worried about him,’ he said. ‘I’m close to the one person in this town he’s actually scared of.’

  Ben looked confused, then registered what Jason meant and smiled.

  ‘I’ll call you when I get back. We’ll go for a drink.’

  With that they said goodbyes and Jason headed out of the rear door into the car park.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  By the time he got back to the house, just after nine PM, his mother was already up in bed. Karl thought that considering her fragile state this was probably for the best. He kicked off his shoes and lounged on the sofa. The TV had been left on, and he flicked through the channels with the remote control, never settling on a channel for more than a few seconds. His mind was going through too many things to allow him to concentrate on a program, but the constant flickering of the images on the screen served as a distraction from thoughts of what had likely happened to Phil.

  He noticed on the coffee table there was one of the family photograph albums, one containing pictures from their childhood. He flicked through the album. It contained some good memories, pictures of Phil and him playing on the beach when Mum took them to Great Yarmouth when he was seven. Christmas 1991, when Mum had bought them a NES games console and the two of them had spent at least five day
s constantly playing Super Mario Bros.

  There were other pictures, though, that summed up how he felt about his position in the family. There was a photo of Mum, Phil and him at a party. He had no idea what party; judging by the photograph he had been no older than five, making Phil around seven. In the photograph, Mum had her arm around Phil, kissing his cheek while he beamed a smile. Karl was stood next to them, looking at them with a sad expression on his face.

  ‘Always the outsider,’ he said to himself as he threw the album back onto the coffee table.

  He was hungry, but couldn’t be bothered to make himself anything to eat, so he took three slices of bread and folded them together into a wedge. He washed this down with a can of cola from the fridge. It was the cheap stuff, not a name brand, and tasted like little more than fizzy, sweet water, but ice cold it was bearable.

  He sat at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands. He tried to make sense of the things that had happened, the things he had seen. Jason was a good guy, he had decided that already. Though he had his own motivation for trying to discover the truth, the reporter did seem to genuinely care about getting to the bottom of things for Karl’s benefit as well. Did Karl believe there was really a big cat out there? If you had asked him that morning he would have said no without a moment’s hesitation. Now, though, he wasn’t sure. Jason and Altman seemed very convincing, and he had seen things with his own eyes that supported the theory.

  He was certain about one thing. Phil was dead. He was no longer looking to find his brother alive, he was looking for how he had died. Once more, he felt guilty that this realisation didn’t make him feel more upset. He wanted to cry, but couldn’t; he just felt numb to it.

  He worried that his own resentment to the way that Phil had always been their mother's favourite was, somehow, making him care less about Phil’s fate. He loved his brother, but he had always felt pushed out by their mother. His agreeing to help Jason had been purely to give his mother answers. He had promised her he would find Phil, not for his sake, or for Phil’s even; he had merely wanted to please her.

  She had never mistreated him, nor neglected him, nor had she ever denied him her love. It was just that he was not given as much as Phil. Her love had been given to Phil freely and unconditionally, whereas Karl always felt that he had to earn it.

  When it was proven that Phil was gone for good she would crumble entirely. There would be nothing he could do to make things better. He supposed he would stay for a while, while she got over the worst of the grief, and then he would head back to London. Back to the job he hated, in the city that overwhelmed him.

  Perhaps he should admit defeat and come home. His mother would need him, or at least he hoped she would. The thought of coming back here, though, filled him with the same apprehension as going back to London. He didn’t want to do either. It was time for something new. He would move closer to his mother, but not back to Darton. Maybe he got get a job in Lincoln. It wouldn’t pay as well as his current job, but then the cost of living up here would be much lower.

  For the first time that day he felt optimistic, and with plans for his new life running through his mind he headed up to bed. He slept soundly.

  The moonlight found it harder to penetrate the canopy of the woods. Tim was struggling to see as he stalked through the undergrowth. He wished he had brought a torch with him, but thought it would give his prey to much warning of his approach. There was more sound in the woods; the hoot of the owls were more frequent than they had been on the marsh. There was the sound of small creatures, stoats or weasels most likely, scampering through the brush at his feet. Every so often a tree would erupt with a flutter of activity as a roosting bird became disturbed by his presence. Each time this happened Tim felt as though he had a small heart attack. In fact, the first time he had nearly fired the shotgun into the tree. Luckily he had stopped himself.

  The moonlight that did manage to get through the gaps overhead created a dappled light effect that played tricks on his eyes. Several times he thought he had seen movement, when it turned out to be nothing more than an illuminated fern blowing in the wind. The breeze was lighter in the woods than it had been on the marsh, but that was to be expected. Out there the wind came straight off the north seas, with nothing to dampen its force.

  He was suddenly startled by a flutter of excitement from some trees. Leaves rustled, inhabitants squawked and a small band of rooks flew up into the night sky. The trees in question were not near Tim, they were up ahead of him. It had not been him that had worried the rooks into leaving. The beast was near.

  Jason stepped out of the warmth of the pub into the cool wind of the evening. He pulled his jacket closed as he walked across towards his car. He had heard some of the local farmers say they were in for a bad winter, and if tonight was anything to go by he could quite believe it. Although he had learnt a long time ago, that the local farmers who insisted on making predictions about the weather, based on their long experiences of working the land, were usually so far wrong it was comical.

  His mobile began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw from the screen that it was Linda, calling from her home number. He pressed the button to accept the call and then spoke.

  ‘Hi, Linda,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Jason?’ said a gruff sounding male voice. He had been expecting to hear Linda so much that it took his mind a few seconds to register that it was her husband Joe.

  ‘Oh hi, Joe,’ he said, a little confused by the call. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Sorry to bother you so late,’ Joe said. ‘Is Linda there?’

  ‘No I haven’t seen her since lunch,’ Jason said.

  ‘It’s just she hasn’t come home yet, and I thought you might be working late again.’

  Now Jason was worried. Linda was not only his colleague, she was one of his few real friends in this town. He had sent her to take photographs of the crash site. What if something had happened to her out there?

  ‘I haven’t been in the office all afternoon,’ Jason explained. ‘I told her she could take the afternoon off, but perhaps something came up. I’ll swing by the office on my way home and see if she’s there. It’s probably nothing to worry about, but if she’s not there I think maybe you should call the police.’

  ‘Thank you, Jason,’ he said.

  ‘It’s okay, Joe,’ Jason replied. ‘If I find her, I’ll get her to call you.’

  ‘That would be great,’ Joe said, his tone still worried, but calmer than it had been.

  ‘No problem,’ Jason said. ‘Bye for now.’

  He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. He prayed that something had come up back at the office, something that had detained Linda, and meant she had not taken the afternoon off. He hoped this was the case with all of his heart, but he doubted it. With there only being the two of them in the office at the moment, and him being the acting editor, if such a thing had happened she would have called him in to help her.

  His heart sank as he remembered the pool of blood in the field on Maltham Lane. The Darton beast had been out there. What if it had come back, and he had sent Linda to its jaws? He had to find her, right now.

  He raced across the car park to his car. He had his keys in his hand and used the fob to unlock the doors before he reached car. As he grabbed the handle to open the driver’s door, he felt someone grab him from behind and slam his body into his own car door. He was winded by the unexpected attack and let out a huff of breath on impact. His assailant spun him round. Jason was still disorientated, but knew his attacker instantly. He couldn’t believe his eyes, it was Pearce. His face was badly cut, four parallel lines gouged across it. The wounds had bled heavily, several were still weeping, and the front of the detectives suit was stained almost black with dried blood.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jason shouted ‘What happened to your face?’

  Pearce ignored the question. His face was contorted in a grimace of rage.

  ‘Jaso
n Flynn, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder,’ Pearce said.

  ‘What?’ Jason said, trying to piece together what was happening. ‘Are you fucking mental?’

  Jason broke away from Pearce’s grip, he used both hands to shove the older man away from him. Rage filled Pearce’s eyes as he pulled back his fist. He was quick, too quick for Jason, the punch connected with his jaw. Pain spread like liquid fire through the side of his face. He felt all the years of anger and disgust he had harboured towards Pearce flood into his mind, then channel itself down his arm into his own balled up fist. He swung the punch and it planted his fist in the middle of Pearce’s already wounded face. The detective howled in pain and doubled over.

  Jason, who had not hit another human being since he was in school, felt suddenly guilty. Pearce was obviously already wounded, and he had gone and hit him in exactly that spot. He put his hand out to place it on Pearce’s back.

  ‘Jon, I’m sor…’ He didn’t have time to finish the sentence before Pearce shot up, thrusting his fist into Jason’s stomach. Jason felt his body fold in half as the air was driven from his lungs.

  Pearce lifted Jason up and pushed him back against the car.

  ‘You left a shirt covered in the victim’s blood at the scene. You stole evidence from my car, leaving your fingerprints all over the place. Tell me, Mr Ace Reporter, don’t you think that’s enough evidence for me to take you in?’

  ‘How did you know I took the files from your car?’ Jason asked, still trying to catch his breath.

  ‘You left them all over your backseat,’ Pearce said.

  ‘Is this just because I stopped you getting that promotion, or do you just hate me because of my dad?’

  ‘Fucking hell, Jason,’ Pearce shouted. ‘I had nothing to do with what happened to your dad. I was still in uniform, I was just following orders, and you’ve been blaming for his death ever since.’