As he got out of the car, he saw Bret coming from around the side of the building.
“You’re running late today. What’s up at the office?”
“It’s a long story,” Emilio said as he walked toward his door.
Emilio was normally a perceptive man. He probably would have wondered why Bret had been around the side of the building. Or maybe he would have noticed Bret was approaching him just a little too eagerly. Or he might have just felt something was out of place, even though the beast had yet to become so bold as to attack someone in broad daylight. But, right now, Emilio was exhausted and his mind was set on getting into his bed.
When he got almost a third of the way from his truck to the door, he heard something coming from inside the trailer. Snoring.
He turned and ran for his truck. The beast, which was about halfway from the side of the house, dropped to all fours and darted toward him. Given a lead of about fifty feet, Emilio was able to get to the Blazer, get inside, get the key in the ignition, and he even managed to turn the key and crank the engine before the beast reached him.
But the beast was there before he could put the truck in gear.
The beast’s clawed hand burst through the driver’s side window, sending shattered glass flying throughout the cab. Emilio flung himself across the seat just in time as the beast raked its claws across the back of the seat, leaving five deep tears that would have been on Emilio’s upper chest and throat.
Emilio reached up and tried to put the Blazer into reverse, but missed by one and put it into neutral.
Just as the beast began to prepare for another of its catlike swipes with its clawed hands, Emilio brought his feet out from under the steering wheel and kicked, his boot catching the Bret-thing in the mouth. The blow threw the beast off balance, and when it lashed out only the claws of its two lower fingers managed to find their mark. They made two deep, painful, gouges across Emilio’s upper left leg. The hard swing continued and smashed into the dash, destroying the SUV’s radio, and ripping several wires belonging to the police radio and lights.
Emilio lashed out again, this time missing the beast’s face. However, the boot connected with the beast’s right shoulder; a direct hit on the bloody exit wound made by the.223 bullet this morning.
The beast recoiled and howled in pain. It staggered backwards, out of the window. Still lying across the seat Emilio reached up and threw the truck into reverse, bringing his feet back to the floorboard and slamming on the gas. He rose up just in time to see a utility pole in his rearview mirror.
The SUV slammed into the pole, but luckily the air bag didn’t deploy. Emilio reached for his rifle, but saw he didn’t have time. Looking through the windshield, he could see the Bret-thing running toward him on all fours.
“Come on, you son-of-a-bitch!” Emilio yelled, as he threw the truck in drive and put his foot to the floor. The SUV took off in a cloud of dust.
The beast was furious. Here was the one who had dared inflict pain. It had been so close, almost had him; it had even drawn blood. It could smell him. It could smell his blood. But, then he had lashed out and caused pain again. Its vision was poor in the daytime, but as the big green vehicle bore down on a collision course, it saw The One Who Caused Pain through the glass. Hatred reined in its dark heart, pushing all thoughts of caution into a dark, forgotten corner.
With a shriek, it leaped into the air.
With arms outstretched the beast propelled itself across the hood, smashing claws first into the windshield. The windshield spider-webbed where the beast’s clawed hands struck the glass, followed by its head and its body. The beast flipped over the roof of the truck and landed on the ground behind it.
The impact shook the SUV, then the beast flipped overhead and out of sight. Emilio slammed on the brakes, but not soon enough to prevent a collision with the rear end of Bret’s pickup. This time the airbag did deploy. Since Emilio hadn’t had time to fasten his seatbelt, the airbag slammed into him as it met him halfway to the steering wheel, busting his nose and almost knocking the wind out of him.
Emilio glanced in the rearview mirror; about thirty yards behind the truck he saw the beast picking itself up from the ground. Emilio’s first reaction was to back up and run over it again, but when he reached for the gearshift he found the engine had died.
“What the hell’s going on out there?” Bret yelled from the porch. All the commotion had awakened him from his deep slumber. Despite the cold, he was standing in the doorway wearing only his boxer shorts and a t-shirt.
“It’s out here, Bret!” Emilio screamed
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“The beast!” Emilio shouted, “The thing that’s been doing all the killing!”
Emilio looked in his rearview mirror. It wasn’t there! Where was it?
“Oh my God!” Emilio yelled.
In his mind he could picture the creature approaching in one of the SUV’s blind spot, coming in low with its body coiled and its long claws and teeth ready. Emilio frantically tried to get his AR-15 from its mount behind the seat, but his trembling hands were having difficulty with the latches.
He glanced into the rearview mirror. No sign of the beast. How close was it now?
He finally got the rifle down and opened the door, but when he stepped out and put weight on his injured leg, he found that it wouldn’t hold him. He collapsed to the ground.
Bret was one of the many who were still unconvinced that there was nothing more than a particularly imaginative serial killer running around in Newton County. Not having a very high opinion of this local game warden who appeared to be the local sheriff’s pet, his first thought was that Emilio was drunk.
“What has gotten into you?” Bret snapped as he strode toward the wrecked vehicles, still without a weapon and still clad only in his boxers and a t-shirt. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
He was even with the hood of the pickup, almost where Emilio was lying, when he saw something that changed his mind entirely about what they were dealing with. In the middle of the spider web-cracked glass was a single black claw that was almost two inches long.
“Call for backup!” Emilio yelled. He was still on the ground, but he had the rifle in his hands and was keeping an alert lookout for movement.
His mouth agape, Bret continued to stare at the claw embedded into the SUV’s window.
“Call for backup!” Emilio screamed.
This time Bret snapped out of it, ran to his truck, and got on the radio.
The beast hit the truck hard. It flew over the hood, its rage momentarily lost in its pain. It hit the ground and rolled.
The first time it tried to rise, it slipped back to the ground, but on the second try it was able to gain its footing.
The beast had numerous injuries. It had lost the claw off the first finger of its right hand, and its middle finger was broken with the bone showing through the skin near the middle knuckle. A deep, bloody gash ran the length of the beast’s right forearm. Its left ankle was throbbing and already beginning to swell. Two ribs on its left side were broken, two more cracked; pain shot through its chest with every breath. The beast’s injuries would have proved incapacitating if they had been inflicted on a human, but not to this vile creature with its tremendous pain threshold.
When the beast rose from the ground, it could vaguely make out the object used to cause the pain earlier in the day resting right behind him in the vehicle. The collision had knocked some of the blind rage out of the beast but hadn’t lessened its hate. It would withdraw to the woods for now, lick its wounds, and rest for the night. But tomorrow it would come for them all. It would come for The One Who Sees, The One Who Caused Pain, and The Dying One.