That just left himself and the girl who called herself Jac. They would live on here, build their own life, cut themselves off from the rest of the world and the remnants of its festering existence. Keep away, we don't need you.
Phil's euphoria took a nosedive. It wouldn't be quite as easy as that because he and Jac were the hunted, fugitives on the run. He had stolen another man's woman, enraged those awful creatures in human shape and they would track him down. They wouldn't give up.
Phil Winder's sweat chilled on his body at the thought. If they found him it would be a fight to the death. But he and Jac could not keep on running for ever.
Up in the hills the wild dogs were howling again. They, too, scented death in the sultry night air.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ERIC ATKINSON had never been the gregarious type, as he had frequently sought to impress upon Sylvia. He didn't like parties, dancing, mixing with people. And even in this reversion to his most basic existence this trait had not changed. He and Marlene had fled the town, headed for wild open countryside. On the way others had joined them, a mass exodus, but he had never envisaged it being this way once they arrived at wherever they were going. Safety in numbers now but later they would all split up.
He did not like community life, it was in contrast to his nature. A dwelling-place somewhere for himself and Marlene, away from the others. But suddenly they were caught up in village life, expected to play their part. You built houses, hunted game, fished the river.
He told Marlene that they should be moving on, was both surprised and angered by her reluctance. She liked it here> she wanted to stay. The other men liked her, too, and that worried him. But there was something else disturbing him, too. It came and went and once it was gone his limited power of reasoning was unable to recall it, creating an unease which unsettled him, made him moody, truly the brooding loner.
But whilst the feeling lasted it was veFy strong. Up until now it had always come upon him at night, waking him out of the deepest slumber, already fully aroused but Marlene by his side was ignored. Sliding out of the bed they shared, a naked hairy being that smoothed his hands over his own body, felt the pulsing that drove him like pistons hammering inside him. Alert, sleep forgotten, going outside and sniffing the night air with dilated.nostrils. He smelled her, oh how he smelled her, her musky scent wafted to him on the breeze, filling him with a desire that transcended lust; the dog scenting a bitch on heat, two or three miles away, maybe even further. Inexplicable but compelling, a calling stronger than anything else that the forces of Nature could engender. One mate and one mate alone that mattered; and it was not Marlene.
The first time he had followed the scent, left the settlement and keeping the wind in his face had gone where it led. Steep and treacherous slopes, forced to travel on hands and knees in places, wanting to answer the call but not knowing whom or where, only that it was intended for him and none other.
Running, bounding, desperate for the mating. And then suddenly it was no more! The wind had swung round, taken it elsewhere. Frustrated, he circled the knoll, tried to pick it up again but it was gone. Mad with desire, finally giving vent to his feelings in the only way he knew how and even then he was not satisfied.
The following night it did not come. He waited, sniffed the air, but there was nothing except the sour sweaty smell of the encampment. Eager to copulate, he ignored once more the woman who was his mate, for her days were numbered.
Somewhere . . . somewhere . . . but where?
He went outside, listened. Far away in the deep woods dogs were howling, not the frantic baying of hunting beasts but rather a frustrated wail. He knew how the animals felt. They would, in all probability, get an answering call. He would not. It was up to him to go out and find his mate.
He slunk away into the darkness, breathing heavily. His skin burned, there was a roaring in his ears. Travelling by instinct, stopping every so often and sniffing the air. He was on the right trail. Alert to every sound, once climbing up into the boughs of an oak tree because he heard one of the wild dogs close by; usually they fled at the approach of humans unless it was a hunting pack scenting blood, but one could never be sure. Down below him he saw the animal cross a patch of faint moonlight, a huge shaggy beast that bore a resemblance to an Alsatian, slobbering mouth wide. It did not even pause when it caught his smell for its mind was on other things. Just as his own was.
A long night that seemed an eternity, a lost soul wandering in the Stygian blackness of the forest, several times losing the scent he was following, then picking it up again. When eventually he emerged from the forest dawn had already broken.
Eric Atkinson rested, sprawled in the soft heather, his urge temporarily overshadowed by the need to sleep. His body cried out for rest; and momentarily the trail had gone cold.
Sleep came with the warmth of the rising sun's rays; a deathlike slumber that only the exhausted know but within him a dream was struggling to surface, a fleeting image that came and went in his dulled brain. A woman's naked body, soft and hairless, her dark eyes sad, searching for him. Finding him. Calling him to her.
His arms reached out for her but she twisted tantalisingly away, those eyes wet with tears. Wisps of memory, mists floated across her features, hid all but the eyes. Watching him, a mute plea. Come back to me, Eric, I need you. Eric? Eric?
The familiarity of it all tortured him, dragged him into realms beyond his power of thinking. A creature so lovely, not his own kind but that did not matter because they had copulated before. Where? When? He didn't know, only that she was desperate for him to come back to her.
And then she faded, drifted back into the darkness and the hot sun beating down on him awoke him, had him righting his way back into the only world he knew. He tried to remember but it hurt, like stones pounding on his skull. But the scent was still there!
The sun was directly overhead when he came to the smallholding on the Hill, crouched down in the hedge bordering the field where four calves grazed, but he had no interest in meat. Only . . . the bitch smell was very strong and he knew that she was here!
It was difficult trying to formulate a plan because his brain did not know anything except basic cunning. Stay hidden here until it gets dark then go in to her, drag her out if necessary.
An hour passed and he could stand the waiting no longer. The urge to mate was driving him crazy; twice his fingers had strayed to his pulsing erection, screaming at him for relief. No, it was a waste when a willing mate lay inside those four stone walls. She wanted him.
Go to her, then!
A frightening thought, one that posed problems beyond his comprehension. He trembled, nausea churned his stomach. That face from his dreams came back again, still partly enshrouded by fingers of mist. I need you, Eric!
He began a stealthy approach up the rutted track, kept close to the hedge, wicked thorns tearing at his rough hide clothing—go back, go back . . . Ericl
He came to the end of the lane, saw the open yard, hard-baked clay that would turn back to mud with the first shower of rain. The house, a trickle of smoke coming from the chimney. He breathed in the sweet woodsmoke, something else which was musky and did things to him, had him starting forward into the open.