Predator & Prey
By James D Horton
Copyright © 2014 by James D Horton
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual or imagined persons, living or dead, or actual or imagined events is purely coincidental.
www.JamesDHorton.com
Editing and cover design by Miranda Horton www.bookdesignandediting.com
LILY
N
ightmares are real. Supernatural creatures walk in the shadows of this city. Call them whatever you want to, I know them for what they are. Vampires.
The dark hides things and most people get to deny it. Most people don’t grow up alone without a home like I did. When you have nowhere to hide and evil is on the streets, you either learn to survive or you die. I learned to survive. I know most folks probably think what I’ve seen doesn’t exist, but they haven’t lived where I have. When the strange becomes the normal what else can you do except believe?
I work the night shift at the KMC Radio Station, hosting my own late show ‘Overnight with Lily’. I don’t like to think of the things I had to do to get this job that barely pays minimum wage. In my life nothing comes for free, not even what I do to pay the bills. I have to keep trading favors just to keep my job, but a girl like me does what I have to do.
The radio airtime is mine, though. I don’t know that I make much of a difference to my callers or listeners, but it helps me fight the powerless outlook of the rest of my life. I’m in control here, I can talk or I can hang up on people. No one can force themselves on me during my air time; I am never the victim during these hours.
I feel like I have a direct line into the darkness, I like to think I speak words of hope into the night. Talking into the mic I imagine my voice as a soft beacon calling out to the survivors, giving them a bit of brightness in a world gone nuts. No one will ever know with what I say on the air that I am actually baring my soul to them, they think I’m just a media personality. No one expects the truth, but truth is what I give them and it builds enough of an audience to keep me employed.
I get a surprising amount of calls for a time when people are supposed to be in bed and they are always interesting. The scared, the lonely, and the high are all out at night and I never know what to expect when I take a call. Is this person one of the ‘crazies’? Where will the conversation take me?
“Another night, Ricky,” I say as I walk past my sound engineer.
He glances up from his station of levers and knobs. “What? Did someone come in here? Who’s talking?” He is holding back his laughter as he strains up to look over the sound boards.
“Ha ha, Ricky. Yeah, the short jokes never get old.” I give him a weak smile.
“Hey, did you dye your hair?” he continues to pester me. “Or did you have an accident with the Kool-Aid Man?”
My frown is sufficient to get him to duck behind the board.
“Just kidding, that’s a very nice shade of cherry Kool-Aid.” He amends.
I grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge, toss it at him and pull out another to take with me. The fridge whines, then rattles and I wince. It probably won’t last much longer which means cold water will soon be a thing of the past.
I adjust the headset and tuck my hair behind my ear as I take my seat behind the mic. The room around me is dark, dimly lit by the small glow of the monitor and the equipment. I stretch up, waving at Ricky on the other side of the glass to signal that I’m ready and the “On Air” light goes on.
“Welcome to Overnight with Lily. Feeling isolated? Not sure where to go next? Call me, the lines are open and I see they’re lighting up now!” I look over the call screen monitor and choose one of the blinking signals at random.
“You’re on the air with Lily, what’s your name and where are you calling from?”
“Uhh…” there is a long pause, “I’m lonely. Alone in my apartment on 39th.”
“Well, hi Lonely on 39th. What’s going on with you?”
“Lily,” the voice says through the headset and it sounds drained, hopeless, tired. “Have you ever thought about ending it all?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what’s the point? Why go on?” I can hear the sobs he is holding back.
“Who broke your heart?” I ask, trying to put sympathy in my voice.
“How . . . how did you know?”
“Because we’ve all been there. Boy or girl? How long were you together?”
“Girl, four years.”
“What happened?” I draw him out, guiding his story.
“She’s dead,” the dam breaks and my headphones fill with his sobbing.
“How old was she Lonely?” He sounds young, another damned tragedy. I keep my sigh internal, I hear too many of these stories.
“26. They say it was an ‘accident’ but you know better. I’ve heard you talk around it on the air. You know the things that are running this city at night. You know what they cover up, what they hide from us. No accident leaves you without any blood! Drained . . . dumped in an alley!” His cries overtake his words and it becomes impossible to understand him.
I feel cold. Lonely and his girlfriend are more victims of the city and its night dwellers, another cover up from the establishment. No one will admit what’s really going on. Only those of us who live on the underside see it and know. We are the victims.
“Lonely, I understand your pain. There is something in this city of ours, something hunting us. The establishment does nothing to stop it, they just cover it up. You’re not alone, Lonely.” My mind starts to drift to my brother, William. I suppress the memories; it’s my best way of dealing with that pain.
“It hurts,” he sobs.
I look at the call board lights and they are full and flashing, this is hitting a nerve out there in the late night life of the city.
“I know, Lonely, I know. I grew up in this city. What we call crime is what they cover up, but we night folks know the truth, don’t we? There are monsters in the night. There is darkness in the heart of this city. It eats you up and spits you out. All you can do is survive it. You just have to keep surviving, one day at a time and stay out of their sights. Don’t give in.”
“Yeah,” his voice is soft but I can feel his raw emotion filling my headset. “Okay . . .”
“You don’t do anything rash Lonely. You survive. No matter what they throw at you, survive. We may all be walking targets in a concrete jungle, but you can survive.” I twirl my finger in the air, letting Ricky know I’m wrapping this call up.
“So night fiends, what else do we have out there, any other survivors waiting to talk to me?” I push my own pain aside, enduring. That is how you do it.
The rest of my shift passes by as any other night with little in the way of events. My normal 3 am caller doesn’t call and I miss him. He has this gravelly voice, low and throaty. He says little but it’s reassuring what he does say.
I gather up my few things, ready to head out and leave the early morning shift to the machines who will keep the pre-recorded shows running.
“Goodnight Ricky,” I call out.
He looks up from the board. The instruments on the panel light his face and give the fat rolls hanging off of him a wet, disgusting look.
“Goodnight Lily,” he calls back around the mouthful of dessert cake he has just shoved in his mouth.
I shake my head and walk outside, pulling my
keys out of my purse as I go. The door to the station clicks behind me when the auto-lock engages and it snaps shut. As I’m walking towards my beat-up car, I stop. The hairs on my neck and arms are starting to stand up and I feel like something is wrong.
“Hey pretty girl,” a slightly whiny voice drifts towards me, the sound accented by the impact of boots on concrete.
I try to keep walking forward, but the steps accelerate and are joined by others and in an instant they have me surrounded. My heart is racing with painful, pounding beats against my chest as I look them over. They are young; their faces are covered with acne, their hair is unwashed and they smell like garbage, sweat, and piss. Some of them carry iron bars; one carries a two by four.
“Where you hurrying to?” The whiny voice belongs to the kid sauntering towards me.
Breathe deep, stay calm. I look wildly around for any sign of help. My attackers have formed a circle around me. Outside it and across the street I see a giant of a man standing there watching. Maybe he will help, will he call the cops?
“My shift’s over, it’s time to go home.” I spit out to the youth standing in front of me, trying to brace myself for what could be coming. My eyes lock on the distant man for an instant, my one glimmer of hope, but he does nothing.
“Home,” the boy mocks, eliciting laughter from those around him. “I got your home right here.” One hand drifts to his crotch.
“Yea ...“
His punch takes me by surprise, cutting off the words I was going to say. My body goes limp and I fall to the ground as stars explode in my vision and blood fills my mouth. I’m down on the ground and there is motion all around me. There are hands pulling at me, I can feel my clothes being torn and my flesh being exposed to the night air. Their groping is the savage touch of those who’ve lost all hope; they are forcing themselves and their hopelessness onto me.
Relax. Don’t fight, it will only be worse. The voice in my head is one of caution but I throw caution to the wind.
“Get the fuck off me!” I scream, kicking and flailing my limbs. There are too many of them, but I don’t stop fighting. One of them grabs my arms roughly and jerks them over my head, pinning me to the ground. Another climbs on top of me and fumbles at his pants. His face leers into mine so I slam my head into it and pain explodes in my skull. I hear him scream.
It takes a minute for me to realize the screams are not because of me. I hear something roar, savage and vicious, inhuman. Something warm spills over me and I have the inane thought, Is it over already? No one is holding me down anymore so I struggle to roll over to my hands and knees, my head spinning and aching. Something lands on my back and I’m forced into the pavement, chipping a tooth and I taste more blood.
Get up! I slowly make it back to my hands and knees, arms weak and shaking. I raise my head as a black blur moves across my vision. I blink to clear it, trying to make sense of what I see. The one who a moment ago was on top of me is now lying in front of me, his head at an odd angle and a grin fixed on his face. I spit a mouthful of blood on him but he doesn’t move.
There are more screams around me and I turn my head as another blur of motion catches my attention. A second would-be attacker drops to the ground near me and in moments I am surrounded by prone bodies. I struggle to my feet on wobbly legs and suddenly there are arms around me, pulling me the rest of the way to my feet.
“Don’t touch me!” I can’t stop the scream.
The arms let go and I drop to my knees again without the support. I see a pair of boots in front of me. I try to cover myself, pulling at my torn clothing as I brace for whatever new horror awaits me.
Meet it head on, don’t take this lying down. Fight is in my soul, I’m a survivor, so I look up to face the new threat.
Amber eyes blink at me, seeming to glow. That is the first thing that I notice about him. His eyes are deep and rich, pools I can’t stop looking at. They know pain; they’re like me and have seen too much.
He is dressed as something out of a bad western. He wears cowboy boots, dark jeans, a black duster and a black cowboy hat pulled low over his face. His hair hangs down below its brim and hides his ears. His face is sharp, angular, just above gaunt. He doesn’t speak; he just stares at me with unblinking eyes. I meet those eyes and wait, unsure what is to come next. There are smears of blood dripping down his duster.
“Well take what you want and let’s get this over with,” I say to him at last, staring into his eyes.
He grunts, almost a growl, as he kneels down getting level with me and reaches out a hand.
I stare at that hand and uncertainty fills me. Is he friend or foe? Screw it, I take the hand offered and he pulls me to my feet with ease.
His eyes move over me and they are empty. There is no interest or desire. My head aches, there is blood in my mouth and my shins are torn but as he stares at me, I feel a tightening low in my belly. I hide my surprise and the disappointment that sneaks in with it. What the hell is wrong with me? I push thoughts aside. I feel as if I am being weighed and measured, my worth being decided on by this man I just met.
“You’ll be fine,” he sniffs the air as he speaks. His voice is a deep, gravelly sound like rocks in a tumbler. It seems rusty, as if not often used. His attention shifts away from me as he looks around.
Now that I am no longer under his scrutiny, my stomach drops, anticipation draining out.
“It’s not safe here,” he says, glancing over at my car then towards the edge of the city.
The radio station is located on the outskirts of town in a rundown district, not far from where the forest butts up to the city edge. It is a line of demarcation between nature and the lands claimed by man.
“We have to go, now.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and I feel his fingers dig into my flesh, his grip is as solid as iron.
He starts walking and I fall into step beside him without resisting. I feel like I’m in a daze and it’s not hard to just follow his lead and let my mind space out.
He sets a quick pace towards the woods, cutting across empty parking lots and avoiding the few working street lights as he moves us away from where I was attacked.
“The woods aren’t safe, either!” I protest once I realize where he intends to go, my mind clearing momentarily of the fog.
He grunts in response and I remember the horror stories I’ve read in the news reports and the calls I get in to my show. The woods are where the dead bodies are found regularly. The only reason there aren’t more discovered is that the stories keep most sane people out of the woods. People go in and they don’t come back out. No one goes in the woods around the city. It’s like an unspoken rule.
I still don’t resist him, though, as he leads us towards the trees. I don’t want to; I want to know more about him. He saved me and has asked nothing for it. If the books go unbalanced, life will crash in and fix that right away. I know this for a fact; it’s all I’ve ever known. Maybe sooner, maybe later, but it will happen.
We step off the last of the concrete and onto dirt. A jolt seems to run up my leg as we do, I have never walked on unbounded earth before. My entire life has been in the city, concrete keeping raw nature under its thumb, controlled. The give of it makes me stumble and his tight grip on my shoulder is the only thing that keeps me upright.
We go deeper into the forest until we are surrounded by trees, only then does he stop and sniff at the air again. In the darkness his amber eyes seem to glow. He blinks slowly as he turns to look at me and it is like a shield covering a lantern, slowly closing then opening again.
“Who are you?” I find my voice and ask the question while looking around at this alien world. The moonlight is filtering weakly through the leaves of the trees around us, highlighting their rough bark and the tangled growth at our feet.
He stares at me and I feel the stirring in my stomach again. Desire, relief and horror agitate inside me in a confused muddle of feeling.
“Wolf,” he says. “Call me Wolf.”
The
adrenaline of the attack and the flight from the city has been the only things keeping me on my feet. I feel them drain way, leaving me shaking and tired. Tears well up inside but I push them down. I won’t show him weakness.
“Why?” I push the words out past a constricting throat.
There is a long pause as he stares at me with flat eyes. “I like your radio show.”
“You killed all of those men back there?”
He nods.
“Why?” I ask again.
“There are two types of people. Predators and prey,” he speaks matter-of-factly. “They were prey.” His face twists into a smile that shows no humor. I shake as he does so, fear flooding my veins. His teeth are sharp, fangs show in his mouth behind that smile.
I nod slowly, trying to cover the fear. I grew up in this city, I’ve seen things. I know what those fangs mean. We’re not supposed to know. We all pretend the monsters don’t exist. Most people can get away with that. They live in the day and lock their doors at night. They don’t look at what is out beyond their thin walls. They don’t see what the night shift brings out.
“You’re one of them aren’t you?” my voice wavers as I say it. There are rules to these things. Knowing too much, saying too much is not good for long term survival. What the hell am I doing?
“Yes,” he says. He stares at me waiting for the reaction.
“Okay then,” I say, accepting what is. I’m standing next to a vampire in the woods. They rule the night, they take what they want and they give nothing back. My life is forfeit. As I become certain of this I find acceptance. What else can I do? I see it clearly. The blurs of motion, the blood, the screams. One man against so many. No human could do that. He did. All because he liked my radio show.
“What now?” I ask the question.
“You go home,” he says quietly.
Home. My small, one room apartment with broken plaster and leaky windows filled with furniture cobbled from Goodwill and dumpsters. It’s infested with rats and roaches no matter how much I clean. They come from the neighbors. Home is no place to be.
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