by Tony Urban
That blue toenail peeled backward like a canvas top on a convertible opening on a sunny day. It ripped free of her nail bed in an excruciating, searing fireball of pain.
To avoid screaming, she bit down on her cheek, her mouth filling with blood. And then her forward momentum sent her somersaulting through the air before she crashed into the trunk of a hundred-year-old oak.
The air left her lungs in a whooping cough. The spear she had made fumbled a yard away. The sharpened stone bounced into the darkness, gone forever.
She pulled her foot in, cradling it, trying to get a look. She felt the warm, slick blood draining from her big toe and saw the nail jutting straight up like an angry man shaking an accusatory finger at God. She felt like doing the same thing herself.
Instead, she pinched the ruined toenail between her thumb and index finger. It was loose and wobbly but still attached somewhere and the lightest of touches caused stabs of pain. But she couldn’t run with it bent askew like that. She wouldn’t make a hundred feet.
With no other option, Leigh gritted her teeth and yanked. The nail tore away from her toe in a blast of exquisite agony. But as much as it hurt, which was a metric fuck-ton, it was better to be free of it.
She clawed at the rough bark of the oak, dragging herself to her feet, pushing through the pain. And then, she was limping ahead, her gait awkward and slowed, but at least she was moving.
A snap of a branch echoed from the darkness, and she paused. She held her breath, focusing, listening, trying to hear anything that might tip her off on the direction it came from.
Only silence.
But she knew it - he - was close. She knew an attack was imminent. Spinning around she sought out some path or trail that would carry her to safety. But all she noticed were trees and rocks and more trees.
She was on his turf. Prey for the taking.
Then, she spotted a towering American elm tree, its lowest branches maybe six feet off the ground. It gave her an idea.
Leigh rushed to it, pushing aside the throbbing pain in her big toe, and didn’t stop running, didn’t risk a look backwards, until she’d reached its massive trunk. Only then did she realize the branches were much higher than six feet off the ground. The lowest was nine feet up, maybe ten.
She reached for it, clawing, but was still far away. Her fingers caught nothing by the clammy night air.
Another snap of a branch. Much louder, much closer.
Looking up and into the tree, she knew it was her only hope. So, she crouched down on her haunches, tensing all the muscles in her legs, trying to funnel every ounce of strength she possessed into them.
Then she sprung skyward. She felt her feet leave the ground, a low lurch in her stomach as it rose into her chest, and the rush of displaced air around her. Her arms flailed, waved. Desperate. Seeking.
Then her fingers caught the branch, curling around it. She gripped it tight, holding it like the lifeline she believed it to be. And she held firm.
Leigh swung her feet, rocking her body back and forth, building momentum, using inertia to her advantage. She hooked her feet around the branch, crisscrossing them at the ankles and pulling her body tight against the cool, rough wood. Its bark felt like twenty-grit sandpaper against her naked flesh.
But she didn’t care if the bark grated her skin to the bone, because this might be her only chance. She shimmied along the swaying branch, praying it wouldn’t snap under her weight, praying its frantic undulations wouldn’t draw Mitch’s curiosity if he reached the area before she was settled.
After what felt like an hour, she’d dragged herself to the tree trunk where the limb grew thick as her neck. There, it was stable and unmoving.
Only then did she risk standing. Even though the branch was straight and sturdy as a steel rod, when she looked to the ground below, she was certain she might still fall. All of this work, all these scrapes and scratches and injuries would have been for naught. She would plunge from the tree like a newborn, flightless bird, and crash onto the forest floor, defenseless against the coming predator.
But she made it to her feet, stabilizing herself against the trunk. She kept her back to the tree, giving herself a clear line of sight of the surrounding area. And just in time, too, as the occasional crack of a branch transformed into an approaching tornado.
The bushes moved all at once. The wind seemed to simultaneously kick up, blowing leaves off trees and sending them fluttering towards the ground in a storm of green hail.
Then Mitch came into view, bursting onto the scene from the east, moving faster than she’d ever seen a man move before.
All of a sudden, he stopped.
He first scanned the area with his eyes, searching for Leigh in the darkness. And she could tell from the eager look on his face that he knew she was near.
Mitch tilted his head, his wild hair spilling down his shoulders and back. In the moonlight, she saw his nose twitch.
He’s sniffing me out, she realized. Like a bloodhound on the trail of a boar.
His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, as he breathed in the aroma of the forest. Using his olfaction to compartmentalize the various odors. Separating the normal smells of the woods from the pheromones seeping from her pores.
Mitch crept on all fours closer to the tree. Closer to Leigh. She could hear air being rapidly sucked up his nostrils as he came nearer, saw his muscles rippling under his skin as he moved not at all like a man, but like a wolf.
Then he came to the trunk of the elm. And he stopped.
He was directly underneath her and she knew, any second now, he’d latch onto her scent and look up and then it would be all over.
Leigh’s groin burned with urgency and no matter how intently she focused on doing Kegels to keep the urine inside, the combination of anxiety and fear and the need to go proved overwhelming.
Her bladder let loose and unleashed a torrent of rain in the form of hot piss.
Chapter 63
“Did you hear that?” Gina asked Carolina.
To make getting out of the van easier, Gina had cut the tape binding Carolina’s feet, but Carolina kept her hands behind her back, feigning that she was still bound. Her unobservant captor never noticed.
They were parked near the cabin, next to a sensible sedan which Carolina assumed to be Mitch’s ride. A few bulbs burning inside the structure had made her assume he was inside, but the howl echoing through the forest disproved that.
Then came another howl, further away. Deeper in the forest.
“We need to go after them.” Carolina started toward the woods.
“No.” Gina’s voice was distant, almost dreamy. “I’d get lost in there. It’s better to wait for Mitch to come to me.”
Carolina gripped the wrench which she kept hidden at the small of her back. She was ready to pull it free, tackle Gina to the ground, and knock her out for a change. Instead, Carolina was met with her own gun pointed at her face.
She stared Gina down, looking into the barrel of the gun, and realizing she didn’t care. She needed to find Leigh before it was too late.
“Gina, the woman your husband is chasing through those woods is a police officer. He could be in danger. You don’t want to leave him out there alone, do you?” Carolina asked.
Gina considered, but she shook her head. It was clear she was confused and overwhelmed. She was no criminal, no killer. She didn't know how to behave under such circumstances.
“Your husband needs help. You can’t just stand by and ignore this!” Carolina screamed, praying she was hitting the right buttons.
Gina’s cryfest, which had taken a long intermission, resumed. Her mouth contorted into a macabre grimace, and she yelled. “He’s my husband. I love him! No matter what he’s done. But I don’t know what to do,” she pleaded.
“Just give me the gun,” Carolina said. “I’ll take it and go after them. And you can stay here and call for an ambulance, okay?”
Gina still pointed the gun in Carolina’s general
direction, but her hands were trembling.
I’m getting to her, Carolina realized. If she worked the right angle, maybe she could take charge of the situation and get everyone out alive.
But she was running out of time.
Chapter 64
As he felt the first drops of wetness landing atop his head, he thought it was rain. It was only when a few sprinkles turned into a downpour of wetness, and he smelled the ammonia, that he realized it wasn’t rain coming from above. It was urine.
The piss cascaded over him in waves, the odor of it drowning out all other senses. But he didn’t need them right now. All he had to do was look up.
When he did, urine poured into his eyes, seeped into his nostrils, flooded his mouth. The foul taste of the prey’s waste was unlike anything he’d experienced before. It was vile and revolting, but somehow intoxicating.
The astringent flavor puckered his mouth, but it couldn’t suppress the smile which passed across his face as he stared up at his next victim.
She cowered against the tree trunk, quivering. Gooseflesh prickled across her skin, a million bumps signaling her terror.
He reached for her, his fingers brushing the underside of the branch upon which she stood. Her whimpering moans delighted him.
How will you taste, he wondered?
Then he grabbed hold of the tree trunk, meaning to climb it when--
She dropped from above, landing square on him. Her back and buttocks collided with his shoulders, driving him down and onto the ground. All of her weight fell atop him and he felt a surge of pain as a few ribs cracked inside his chest.
Before he could recover, the prey was on its feet, dashing to the side. She grabbed a long branch with both hands, then turned back to face him.
* * *
But he was already mid-leap, his teeth bared, saliva flying from his jaws. She tried to raise the branch, to impale him with it, but he’d been too fast. She was no match for him.
It was his turn to collide with her. His shoulder slammed into the softness of her breasts and knocked her backwards, tumbling, swooning, then crashing onto the forest floor.
He climbed on top of her, his face mere inches from her own. Oh, how he adored her wide-eyed horror. The way her body trembled beneath him. Her heat against him.
A rope of thick saliva dripped from his maw and onto her face. The wetness oozed into her screaming mouth, and she gagged.
He brought his head down at her, toward her throat. But she managed to squirm to the side. Instead of him chomping into her neck, his teeth ripped through her skin and hit her collar bone.
She shrieked in pain as he gnawed on her clavicle like a dog savoring a soup bone. But this bone was attached, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t pry it free.
He reared back, his mouth covered in her blood, and chewed what little flesh he’d been able to take from her. Her taste was sweet, the meat was as tender as veal. How he would enjoy consuming her.
As he went in for a second mouthful, she maneuvered the makeshift spear and rammed the sharp end into his belly. It didn’t sink far into his muscular torso, but it still did its job and bought her a short reprieve.
He howled again, this time in pain, and she brought her knee up, ramming it into his bare balls which were still swollen from the earlier battle. She hit him with enough force to lift him up and roll him off of her.
He cupped his scrotum as she crab- crawled away from him. But he wouldn’t let the prey off so easily. She was his to chase. His to eat.
His to kill.
She would not get away no matter what tricks she pulled.
He came for her again, charging at her. She rolled onto all fours, mirroring him.
He leapt through the air, pouncing at her. But to his great shock, she stayed calm. She planted the fat end of the spear against the ground and aimed the sharpened end at his descending body.
It was too late to change his course, too late to dodge the weapon, and the tip caught him in the right shoulder, not only piercing his flesh, but plunging deep into the socket.
He hadn’t felt such pain since he’d been attacked by the wolf in Minnesota. But that attack had taught him to accept pain. To embrace it.
The force of his fall snapped the branch in half. One piece useless and on the ground. The other jutting from his upper body.
He rocked back on his haunches, felt blood coursing down his chest and back, and only then realized that the spear had impaled him.
“You fucking bitch,” he bellowed.
She crawled away, but he caught hold of her ankle and reeled her back to him, drawing her leg toward his mouth. She flailed and kicked but even in his wounded state, he was far too powerful for her to shake away.
Opening his jaws impossibly wide, he chomped down on the back of her calf. She cried out again and her misery was a symphony to his ears. As his teeth tore through the skin and muscle of her leg, hot blood flooded his mouth. He was almost delirious with ecstasy.
Her hands sunk into the dirt as she tried to drag herself free, but he jerked his head from side to side. With an audible ripping sound, his mouth came free, and a fist-sized chunk of her leg went with it.
He chewed, savoring the mouthful of meat. It was better than anything he’d ever tasted, both as a man and as the Wolf. A Michelin-star chef would have been incapable of producing a finer meal.
Lost in the moment, he didn’t see her kick out her injured leg until her foot struck him in the jaw and knocked him backward.
Free of his grasp, she worked her way to her feet and plunged into the forest. He watched her go with no concern. This was his land. There was nowhere she could run that he wouldn’t find her.
He would catch her again. Her end would come. And his feast would begin.
But first he had to deal with the splinter in his shoulder. Gripping the spear with his hand, he twisted his wrist, spinning the branch in its hole, loosening its hold. Pain roared through his body, but it only made him stronger as adrenaline overwhelmed him.
In one smooth motion, he pulled the spear through his shoulder, feeling it clatter against bones and shove tendons aside. It came free with a wet and hungry sound.
He stared at the hole for a moment, fascinated by the sight. Then he unfurled his tongue and licked his wound.
Chapter 65
Carolina was almost certain she had convinced Gina to hand over the gun when a rustling from the woods stole their attention. Then came branches snapping, heavy breathing, and grunts of pain and exhaustion.
This brought Gina out of her internal debate, and she smiled as if expecting her husband to pop out of the woods, take her hand, and go for a moonlit stroll. Carolina had given up on fairytales long ago and gripped the wrench tighter, ready to use it.
Ready to end this.
The two women studied the tree line, but instead of Mitch bounding toward them, feral and ferocious, a woman emerged.
Leigh stumbled into the wan light thrown from the cabin’s windows. She was naked and blood-streaked. Her body was battered, bruised, and abused. Carolina couldn’t find a square inch of flesh on the deputy’s body that wasn’t injured in some way or caked in blood or dirt.
When Leigh set eyes on Carolina, her determined look of survival was overwhelmed with emotions. She didn’t cry, but her eyes brightened as if a premonition of her own death had been disproved.
“Are you alright?” Carolina asked, even though it was apparent she was not. But she was alive and that’s all that mattered.
Leigh shook her head. Her breathing was labored and ragged. She was almost panting. She swallowed and opened her mouth, white strings of saliva clinging to her dry, chapped lips. “He’s still alive,” she managed to get out.
Carolina began to approach her friend, but Gina cut her off. “Where’s Mitch? What have you done to him?” She swiveled the gun toward Leigh, finger slipping across the trigger.
But Carolina saw her chance. Gina was so focused on her husband’s fate that she’d
forgotten about Carolina’s presence.
Carolina pulled the pipe wrench from behind her back and swung it like a tennis racket, bringing the heavy jaws down on Gina’s arm. The gun went off, kicking a splatter of displaced earth into the air just in front of Leigh, who jumped backward in panic.
Carolina hadn’t held back when she swung the heavy tool and Gina’s wrist buckled in what looked like a clean snap of both the ulna and radius. The gun arced forward into the dirt somewhere in the distance as Gina’s hand flapped wantonly. She cried in surprise and pain as she fell to her knees, rocking back and forth.
Carolina rushed to Leigh, deftly shrugging off her jacket and wrapping it around the poor, tortured girl. Leigh fell into it, returning the awkward embrace.
But the happy reunion was short-lived.
Leaves rustled in the darkness and Mitch bounded into the clearing. Carolina watched as the naked, bloody man came into view on all fours, rabid with rage. He propped himself up on his good arm, the one with a hand still attached. The handless appendage swayed back and forth, and he refused to put any weight on it due to the black, bleeding wound on his shoulder.
He bared his teeth and loped forward, but Carolina was over this insanity. She released Leigh and stepped around her, putting herself in harm’s way as Mitch leapt in the air. The wrench still gripped in her hand, Carolina was ready and swung just as he made contact with her.
She connected hard with his cheek, and he screamed in pain as he crashed into her. The force of the impact sent her tumbling backward and she landed on her ass in the mud.
She scrambled to her feet, steeling herself for another attack, but Mitch was on his side. At first, she thought he was unconscious, but then he groaned, rolling onto his belly. He began to pull himself up, growling low and guttural as he moved. But instead of turning back onto all fours, he climbed to his feet.