Hawg

by Steven L. Shrewsbury

  Hawg shook his head, eyes blinking because he came up empty handed. He sucked air fast, showing his weariness from the run, but still Hawg seethed power and strength. Blood ran from the creature from many spots, but it didn’t seem to stop his resolve. He squared up, ready to charge Andrew as the man stepped into the open away from the front of the crypts.

  “Hey, fucker!” Micki screamed and threw the flannel shirt into the face of the beast. “Come get me!”

  Andrew and Hawg both wore stunned looks that Micki had stepped out of her safe position to confuse the creature. A tense moment passed as she waved her arms in the air, still not far from the gap between the crypts. She took a few steps away, giggled, grabbed her filthy breasts, and hopped into the White family crypt.

  Surprised she got over the trip wire, Andrew yelled, “No, Micki! Get the hell out of there!”

  Hawg took a step after her, but looked down at Andrew, eyes narrowing. Andrew could figure the beast’s plans. Certain Hawg could kill him and fuck her later, Andrew reached back for his revolver. He struggled to hold the pistol with his left hand and fire the machine gun with his right. Hawg leapt, swatted the machine gun away, and looked down at Andrew’s left hand.

  The gun dropped from his hand. This motion distracted the beast for a moment. The open left hand grabbed Hawg’s right wrist and pain shot through Andrew’s forearm. Hawg never had time to comprehend the use of leverage as Andrew slammed a boot to the beast’s groin and put everything he had into a right uppercut. Andrew’s fist struck Hawg in the solar plexus. The beast wobbled from the shot to his testicles, but the blow from Andrew to his midsection didn’t faze him much.

  Hawg lowered his tusks, trying to expose Andrew’s brain to the world, but the man chose that second to release Hawg and drop down to the ground. Enraged, Hawg grabbed up Andrew in a bear hug and squeezed, turning around to face the Solow crypt. Andrew felt agony in his ribs, figuring a few cracked and a couple broke as the beast slammed him into the bars of the Solow crypt. Andrew melted down, like a puppet in need of a hand up its ass.

  Head lowered, Hawg sniffed him, glanced toward the other crypt for a moment, but when he looked back, Andrew had moved close and was near his face. A hold of one tusk with his left hand, Andrew stuck his thumb in the bloody hole on the side of Hawg’s head where his ear used to be. The pain so severe, Hawg stood and roared, casting Andrew to the ground a few yards away. On all fours, Andrew crawled in front of his family crypt. Eyes on the sawed off shot gun Micki used, he grabbed the barrel.

  Bent over, Hawg held the side of his head and faced Andrew. On his knees, Andrew swung the shotgun down like a bludgeon, nailing the swinging penis of the beast. Again, rage filled the creature and it swung down, connecting with Andrew’s right shoulder. He thought his arm came off at the shoulder joint at the guillotine move, but it clearly only dislocated. It’d happened when in the service once and after a bar fight up by South Willy. Andrew rolled on the ground, pain blazing in his body, understanding the use of his right arm was pretty restricted.

  Head low, tusks ready to strike Andrew’s spine, Hawg didn’t expect the wrought iron gate of the White family crypt to pop open and connect with his face. More out of surprise than discomfort, Hawg stood fast and backed away, shaking his head to clear it from the shock of the blow.

  Andrew spider crawled, and Hawg’s eyes followed him. The beast then looked into the crypt as Andrew grabbed up the revolver he dropped. He fell to his ass, pain from his shoulder so bad Andrew cried out in a horrid sob.

  Hawg saw Micki, legs spread, taunting him to get her. At last, the beast could wait no more and did go at the crypt. Andrew knew full well the blast from the crypt would probably kill all of them at this distance, so he aimed to get up and run. Andrew fell badly again, crying out in pain.

  Hawg hit the entrance to the crypt, body on the trip wire.

  Nothing happened.

  Andrew cursed and fired twice from the ground. The bullets struck near Hawg’s legs, enough to get his attention and his upper torso out of the crypt.

  Again, the beast squared its shoulders and faced Andrew. The girl slipped a hand out of the crypt behind Hawg and started to reel in a wire that trailed off toward the Solow crypt. As Hawg’s nose flared, he turned to watch her actions, Andrew fired again. This time, the bullet hit Hawg in the center of his chest. Hawg turned back to Andrew, then looked down at his sternum. Blood bubbled out of the hole, and the creature blinked. Red eyes forward, it dropped down on all fours, ready to strike.

  “Christ help me,” Andrew said as he aimed at its face and squeezed two more shots off. Hawg charged, twisting his face, both bullets deflecting off the tusks. “Aww shit,” Andrew said as the raging beast was on top of him. Face to face, salvia ran down Hawg’s mouth and through the cleft in his chin.

  “Hey baby,” Micki shouted as Hawg had Andrew down, ready to drop his tusks onto his face. She swung a leg out on the gate, exposing her bloody, ruined vagina to Hawg. “Suuuewwwie!!!” In her right hand was the handgrip trigger. Her left hand ran over her belly, near to where the wound to her crotch began.

  Drool ran off Hawg’s tusks and into Andrew’s face. He held his breath and the beast pulled off him, snapping his left collarbone as he rose up. Between Hawg’s legs, Andrew saw the twisted penis bounded, ready for what was next.

  Micki giggled like a teasing girl and stepped back into the crypt.

  Hawg started after her.

  Andrew rolled onto his hands and knees, breath getting short. He started to crawl away and then get to his feet, but he just couldn’t push off the ground with his ruined arms to do it. His ears picked up the sound of the gate clanging as it opened and Hawg’s growl of desire.

  “Please God,” Andrew said and crawled as fast as he could toward the bushes. “Help me.”

  The echo of Hawg’s howl came to his ears clear enough. Andrew could tell the thing was deep in the crypt as another sound replaced his wail. A high pitched sound, like air escaping, sliced the area as the contents of the coffins exploded. Andrew felt the concussion of the blast and turned to see the crypt fragment into a ball of fire. He thought he heard the creature scream but it may have been a trick in his mind. The sound popped his ears and sent a spray of debris at him in the bushes. Such was the force of the discharge Andrew saw something great and gray falling toward him. At first, he thought it was the dislodged ceiling of the crypt or a hunk of the decimated coffins. Alas, it was very benign and landed over the top of him, shielding him from the raining debris that did fall. Arms around him, taking the large hunk of concrete as it fragmented on impact. Andrew sighed at his savior’s sacrifice.

  It was only Jesus, protecting him from the blast. More materials fell down, even one of the bars from the gate. Jesus could take an ass whupping and never yielded as the materials rained on.

  He looked toward the crypt, and saw no trace of Hawg or Micki.

  Face to face with the Lord, Andrew started laughing. He hoped someone searching would find him. Soon, his laughter stopped and darkness covered him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Afterwards …

  Andrew’s eyes filled with blazing light. If not for the pain in his arms and chest, he’d have thought himself dead. Though his ears rang in the aftermath of the explosion, he could discern the thump and twirl of the helicopter blades overhead. In another moment, his brother’s face obscured the light from the sky. He hoped God didn’t look like Doug. His ego couldn’t take that…

  “C’mon, little brother, be alive,” Doug said in a fatigued, gloomy voice.

  “Hey,” Andrew mumbled, teeth then clenched and tears rolling from his eyes. “Holy Christ this hurts. What’s happening, bro?”

  Doug laughed and wiped tears from his own eyes. “Guys, c’mere, will you?” he barked to a number of police nearby. “Help me get this damned statue off him.”

  While the men removed the stone cover from Andrew, the injured man said in a feeble voice, “Easy with the Lord, Doug. He’s busted his ass to ta
ke care of me today.”

  “You’re delirious, Andy. Lie still and be quiet.”

  EMT’s flanked Andrew and started to feel for vitals. When one grabbed for a pulse, Andrew cried out, loud. His eyes blazing at the man who gripped him, Andrew said no more.

  “Easy fellas,” Doug snapped. “He’s been through a great deal.”

  Andrew relayed, “My left forearm is busted, I think. Right shoulder is dislocated, maybe separated bad, I dunno. Ribs are messed up.” He gasped for air as they started to put oxygen on him. “I’m twenty yards of bad road.”

  Doug motioned toward flashing lights that filled the graveyard. These lights and the spotlights from the police cars illuminated an area where night had fallen. “We’ll get you all fixed up, real good. Hang in there, brother.”

  The chief of police loomed near Doug, looked down at Andrew, and then at the smoking ruin of the crypt. “This ought to be good.”

  Doug fired him a disagreeable look. “Get off my ass, chief.”

  “He’s dead,” Andrew muttered as the EMT adjusted the tubes to his nose. “Hawg is dead. The killer is gone.”

  As the EMT’s checked Andrew’s vitals and attempted to get a stretcher in close to where he lay, the Chief looked at Doug with doubting eyes.

  “Your brother blew up the killer? Is that what he is trying to say? You better get this straight, hoss.”

  Doug turned mean, spitting out, “Get off his ass, too, Chief. You wanted to bust him so bad for having guns, well, who stopped this damned killer in the town? The militia guy you hated so much.”

  Not that anyone noted it, but Andrew muttered, “I didn’t kill Hawg.”

  The chief frowned, glanced at Andrew and then said to Doug, “I don’t want to arrest him, Sheriff, I just want to know what I am supposed to tell the State troopers and reporters. This has long since passed being a local matter. I have calls all day talking of a killer pig man.”

  “Great,” Doug sighed, staring at the partially ruined Solow crypt.

  The Chief knelt by Andrew and said, “Was it a pig man, Mr. White? Tell me what you saw.”

  Andrew looked at his brother and then the chief. He blinked and noticed the chief eyed his injuries closely. “He was a big bastard, freaky, man. Probably some in-bred piece of trash. Hawg musta been seven feet tall.”

  “Hawg?” the chief said, confused.

  “That’s what he called himself,” Andrew lied as the men started to lift him on the gurney.

  “He was blown up with that crypt?” the chief questioned him further.

  “Yeah…him and…” Andrew’s voice trailed off and his head lay back on the pillow. “God, it hurts…all over…”

  The chief backed away and Doug leaned over, saying, “That’s enough for now, rest up, man.”

  “Gotta tell Reverend Wingler…” Andrew murmured, trying to wave his hands. “Gotta tell him his daughter…did the right thing…in the end…”

  Andrew closed his eyes and passed out.

  The EMT situated to Andrew’s left strapped him in and they started to take him toward the ambulance.

  More cars arrived as Doug walked to the smoking ruin of the crypt. Whatever was in the blast Andrew generated pulverized the innards of the crypt. Pieces of the ceiling and outer walls had flipped out onto the grass, but whatever was inside was no more. He thought he could see a rib-bone, but couldn’t tell for certain.

  He then eyed the damaged sepulchers next door.

  “Damn,” deputy Gowran said to him as he pointed. “Look at that? Mr. Solow will be pissed.”

  Doug saw how the wall of the Solow crypt that faced the destruction lay in pieces, as did the stone coverings for the coffins inside. The aged wooden containers ripped open in the blast. A body in a black suit hung out of its casing, right arm half chopped free in the detonation. Doug marveled at how well preserved this figure was and squinted at it in amazement. He shown his light in the death box and said, “Wonder what year he died in? He isn’t quite bones.”

  “What do you mean?” Gowran asked and pointed again. “What are them bones then? Oh, Jesus…”

  As reality dawned on the deputy, Doug took a closer look.

  Under the main coffin lay two smaller spaces reserved for miniature burials. Inside these fractured spots were the exposed skeletons of tiny figures, no larger than newborn infants. Doug saw the twisted remains of the Solow babies, not really made awful by the blast, but born into a freakish existence. To the casual eye, they looked like babies, but Doug saw their limbs were longer, and the jaws more canine…and a tiny set of tusks protruded from the baby bodies’ mouths.

  Doug stood and said, “I want this area taped off. I will deal with Mr. Solow and will make sure someone comes out to make this right for us all. Now, get to it! Back off, everyone.”

  He walked over to the chief, who said, “Well?”

  “An unknown killer of freakish appearance was slain by an eccentric local gun collector out here in the cemetery. He trapped him here and blew him up.”

  “That’s the story?” the chief wondered, eyebrow raised.

  “That’s what we will go with for now.”

  Gowran ran a hand through his red hair as he stood by Hux’s overturned bike. He stared into the pit and shown his light inside the hole. “Sheriff? Something is wrong over here. Look.”

  They stood by the lip of the trap, their lights not showing much but ruined metal and mud, but Doug’s beam stopped on a leather boot. A shinbone hung out of it.

  “Looks like Andrew blew up more than a killer, aye?” the chief asked, gazing between the two men.

  Doug looked down at the bike. “That is Huxtable’s ride. For all we know, Hux was in with the killer. It was Hux everyone saw the killer after in Ambrose Brother’s, right? Well, maybe there’s a connection. Looks like Hux met a bad end.”

  The chief sniffed at the hole and let his beam rest on charred wires. “I think your brother built an awfully big trap for a biker. Mighty big indeed, no?”

  Doug stepped away from them as he saw Lynne, Jordan and Kenny slip through the line of police and head to the ambulance. Andrew stirred on the gurney as Lynne shed tears at the sight of him.

  “Hi hon, what’s for dinner?” he said with a remote voice.

  “Andrew White, if you don’t get better, I’ll kill you,” she said smiling through her tears.

  “Nag, nag, nag…” Andrew smiled weakly.

  “Daddy,” Jordan said pointedly. “The cops say you killed the monster, you killed Hawg.”

  Andrew paused, looked at his brother and then the chief of police. “Yeah, I killed Hawg. I saw he was dead, real good, you savvy?”

  Jordan’s face lit up, excited about the news.

  Andrew went on, saying, “I told you, your daddy is the bogeyman.” His voice grew weaker as he declared, “Don’t mess with the bogeyman, son.” He took a breath and strength returned to his tone as he said to Jordan, “Hawg will never scare you again, you hear?”

  Jordan nodded fast. “Never again, dad.”

  Andrew then said, “Daddy said he’d always be there for you, son. I’ll always protect you.”

  The boy gazed across the cemetery at the ruins of the crypt.

  “Looks like we have to get a new place to get buried in,” Jordan said with a smile.

  Andrew let his head roll back. “It’s all right, son. You can put dead people anywhere.”

  ***

  Doug White turned the key in the ignition of his cruiser and looked at the passenger’s seat. His right hand fumbled in the folds of his brother’s flannel shirt. His hand rose up so he could see what lay inside this covering.

  To the naked eye, these items might appear to be gnarled horseshoes, or hunks of steel bent asunder.

  Doug covered them up again and headed out for the country. His hand still on the fabric, it touched something under the bundle. His fingers held up the square piece of cardboard, so tiny, he barely recalled how it came to be in his squad car. The tiny book of
matches read “Green Parrot” and was stained with Big Ed’s blood.

  He didn’t look forward to seeing Mr. Solow, but he figured it might be the last time they ever spoke. Tired, Doug decided this task better left for morning. Yes, that’s what he would do. Sleep first. Well, first he’d kiss his wife and kids.

  Tonight, he told himself, he’d sleep like the dead.

  EPILOGUE

  Elias shooed the last of the hogs out of the round barn and into the morning light. They ran like a swarm of insects out into the large fenced in area. They seemed content enough to sprint down past the cow barn by the barrier he and Mr. Solow erected in the past days. Though never a place for these hogs before, Mr. Solow thought it best if they enclosed the yard around Hawg’s former abode. The open space around the barn did look strange if one wanted to make a case for it. Why have such a grand barn for pigs and no run outside? The feeding pigs served another purpose. The police were less likely to cross a yard of hogwoller than clean grass. Plus, they’d already checked the round barn the other day. Oddly enough, Elias recalled, they pronounced it clean.

  He gazed up at the main house, at the police nodding their heads to Mr. Solow, making notes on their pads. His reassurances would have to suffice. The old man was an excellent actor, pillar of the rural community and all. The police could not tie anything to them, nor were they even suspicious, but he was sure beyond Andrew White was, all the same. Just because Hawg looked piggish was no reason to suspect the local pig farmer. Solow played the good citizen, humoring them, handing out more iced tea to those with Sheriff White. That Irishman Gowran could drink an ocean, he mused. Plus, from what Elias heard about Hawg’s demise in the graveyard, there wasn’t enough of him to make a proper cured ham. Elias worried about DNA. He didn’t know much about it other than what he read in the papers. He reckoned some fool would do tests on the pieces of

  Hawg, but no one would ever think to DNA test the beast against a sample of Mr. Solow. There was no correlation and the idea was preposterous.