by A. J. Vrana
When she arrived at the ranch, she scanned the area and evaluated the crowd. She saw a middle-aged, balding man with a potbelly and a dangerously undersized t-shirt that read Keep Calm and Drink Beer. Judging by the alienesque protrusion erupting from his midsection, Miya figured he had no difficulty with the “drink beer” part.
She tried to remove herself from the traffic and stand in a corner somewhere, watching people as they passed. It was mostly families with kids; the parents look bushed while their squealing bundles of joy ran around in the most uncoordinated manner possible, smashing into people and knocking things over. Miya spotted a few couples, most of whom were flaunting grossly unnecessary public displays of affection. Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar face—then two, and finally three: girls from her second-year journalism class. They were in a group project together, and Miya had bailed right before her probation. She hadn’t said anything to her classmates, dropping out last minute and leaving them with her share of the workload. They seemed happy—laughing as they held their drinks and walked through the crowd, cheerfully greeting people they recognized. They’d have a few choice words if they spotted her.
Miya ducked away to evade them, but dodging her own feelings wasn’t as easy. You’re a piece of shit, she told herself, the words stinging more than she anticipated. Salty, warm tears spilled over her cheeks and lips. Why was she crying now? Miya dug her nails into her arm to try to quell the disappointment, but it only gave way to something else, something far worse. Panic flooded her senses until she was convinced there was no escape.
Her chest tightened. Her stomach seized with pain and nausea. The voices around her began to distort, ordinary chatter morphing into waves of low-frequency white noise. Colours bled into one another, the moving bodies turning into floating blobs until she couldn’t differentiate people from objects. The sensation of immobility writhed up her body like a rope—as though someone had tied her up and left her out for spectacle. There were thousands of eyes on her, boring into her skull, tearing through her clothes, burning her flesh—only she didn’t know where the eyes were watching from. Each breath drew shallow like her lungs were filling with smoke.
She didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be around the townspeople.
Her mind spun like a wheel, the thoughts cycling faster and louder: Get me out. Get me out. Get me out.
19
Kai
Life for an injured lone wolf was a sack of shit. Toxic shit that had been bagged in a burlap sack and left to air out under someone’s window. A few cracked ribs he could deal with. A mangled arm wasn’t so bad either. But with injuries from his skull to his ass-crack and beyond, healing was taking far longer than Kai would have liked. He was sore enough that he couldn’t even snatch the baby squirrels that routinely got themselves pancaked by cars.
It took Kai nearly ten days to recover enough to walk without needing to sit on a tree stump every ten minutes. On the surface, he looked mostly fine, with only a few nicks and bruises along his torso and left leg. Still, his insides felt like scrambled eggs some mornings. His knee was tender—something between jello and baby shit—but his gait was returning to normal.
However, even with his improved condition, he was unable to hunt. That cold bitch Ama hadn’t made a peep since her first appearance. Yet he felt like she was watching, and it pissed him off that she didn’t at least bring him some roadkill or something. Even the damn raven was less chilly than her, dropping dead rodents and scraps of meat he’d stolen from nearby carcasses through his window. Kai had no idea why the bird had taken to him, but he wasn’t about to call him shit-for-brains anytime soon. Then again, pan-seared rat wasn’t exactly a delicacy.
The charity helped, but it wasn’t enough. Kai knew he’d have to go back into town and scavenge, but the thought of it filled him with pants-wetting dread. He was crippled by the prospect of another attack, another accident, another slip-up that might injure him more, or worse, have him found out. His little trip to The Centre for Defective Humans was a close enough call—an excursion he’d rather have skipped. He knew they’d seen his face; he remembered one of them sneaking into his room and shooting a laser in his eyeball while he was still unconscious. That woke him out of his coma. He’d been avoiding doctors for over a decade, and now he had to worry about whether they found anything, whether someone was looking for him or asking questions. At least the damn hospital wasn’t in Black Hollow, he reassured himself, so he’d probably be safe showing his face on this side of the river.
He thought back to the girl on the swing set, trying to do that thing where people put chocolate icing on a cake made of rhino shit—positive thinking, was it? It worked, for a little bit, until his heart started to feel funny, and the pit of his stomach grew even more hollow than usual. He was hungry, but it wasn’t that kind of hunger.
Deciding he could still taste the rhino shit under the thin layer of icing, Kai banished all thoughts of the girl—for now, anyway. He could always think about her later, but right now, he needed food, not fucking. Struggling to sit up, he winced at the throbbing in his side, taking a moment to let it fade before standing and dressing. Splashing water on his face, Kai gripped the edges of his bathroom sink and looked into the mirror. His breathing was still a tad laboured, but his heart was strong enough to take the beating. Running a wet hand through his hair and shaking it out like a dog, he grabbed his knife and wallet and left the cabin. He didn’t look great, but not bad enough that anyone might stop and ask if he was okay.
It was already sunset when Kai reached town, but something was different about the human shithole today, and it wasn’t just the glowing backdrop of warm colours. There were banners up in the streets advertising some event…organized by some historical society…sponsored by some fast-food chain. He didn’t understand why a place that sold heart disease and fries would care about local history, but he hoped the event was big enough to have free food.
The event in question—a birthday party for some rotting old farmhouse—was an opportunity for teens to get drunk and smoke weed behind the nearest rock, while kids zipped around and drove their parents batty. He didn’t understand why people celebrated the fact that an old building was old. It was like congratulating an eighty-five-year-old for having wrinkles. Nonetheless, pointless public celebrations meant free food, and free food meant survival. Perhaps if he’d been cursed with even a fraction of human pride, he would’ve rather drowned in kittens than degrade himself by living off human scraps—pretending to be one of them, lining up like a trained monkey so he could be rewarded with a cookie and a pat on the head. But Kai wouldn’t let his low opinion of humanity flirt with the sweet indignation of self-righteous pride. Sure, he thought humans were parasites scourging the earth, but the idea of kicking the bucket on the point of principle was so…human.
The smoky aroma of a barbeque wafted closer as Kai followed the human hoards to the picnic at the ranch. The great thing about humans was how dull their senses were; they really had no idea who was among them. They never thought twice about who showed up at the watering hole—a predator grazing with the gazelles. Unfamiliar faces were presumed tourists, relatives, or friends from out of town, and most people were too preoccupied with their own business to give a damn. He got a few odd glances as he joined the queue at the barbeque. He could smell their curiosity, and while it prickled his skin and made his lip curl, he knew that if he acted indifferently, no one would bother speaking to him or asking where he was from.
The volunteers were too swamped to pay attention. The girl putting the hot dogs together didn’t even bother making eye contact as she shoved the padded beef stick his way, yelling for a new bag of buns.
“Can I have another.” It wasn’t a question. Kai’s voice was completely monotone, devoid of any inflection. The girl looked up and blinked at him through rectangular frames.
“Sorry, only one per guest.” She sounded polite enough, but Kai could tell from the subtle movem
ents of her eyebrows, the twitch in her left nostril and the way her chin lifted that she thought he was an idiot.
“It’s for my kid sister,” he said in the same flat tone, tilting his head towards a group of children sitting on the grass. Two ginger boys and one dark-haired girl.
The volunteer glanced over at them, then turned back to Kai and frowned, the creases around her mouth showing through the layers of foundation she had on.
“Okay,” she folded, opening the new bag of buns and preparing another hot dog. Some of the people behind him were glaring, but no one made a sound as he helped himself to seconds. Without thanking her, he wandered off right past the brats.
It took him less than four bites to scarf down each hotdog. Feeling more at ease with a full stomach, Kai took a deep breath and let the multitude of scents wash over him. Something familiar was among them, and he felt it move the thumping mass behind his ribs. Inhaling to relieve the pressure in his chest, he scanned the field for the source of the aroma. Like the remaining bits of sunlight, it was fading fast.
Licking the grease off his fingers, Kai followed the quickly disappearing trail. He was chasing a shadow as it slipped between the cracks, compelled to catch it despite his unease around the townspeople. For once, he was driven by far more than his basic appetites.
It was a hunger to be sure. Just not that kind of hunger.
The whole world melted away as the pursuit became his sole focus. The scent was fleeing, retreating from the crowds in search of a safe and quiet place to hide.
Fine, he thought to himself. I love a good hunt.
20
Miya
Get me out. Get me out. Get me out.
Miya repeated the words as she hurried through the tall, slick grass. Her legs barely managed to cut through the greenery as she fled, the chatter growing distant, the smell of soggy, burnt wood and the taste of cinder crumbling away. The playground was almost a kilometre from the ranch, but she ran all the way there even as her heart pounded.
Miya stumbled into the sand and nearly keeled over, heaving for air as she grasped her knees, her hands shaking with adrenaline. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, dizzy as her lungs gradually opened, and the congestion faded away. Taking a few disoriented steps, she groped around for the swing’s chain, pulling herself into the seat as her legs all but liquefied.
Reaching into her rucksack, Miya fished around to check for her keys and discovered a bag of beef jerky—one of the many she’d bought in recent memory. She forgot that she’d sneaked one into her backpack, laughing through her sobs as she stared at it. The sight of the jerky put her at ease, reminding her of the whole reason she always returned to the playground. Tearing the bag open, Miya helped herself to its contents, wiping the tears away with her sleeve as she sniffled.
The crinkle of the bag and her occasional chuckle were the only sounds audible in the quiet of the park. The sky to the east was almost entirely dark, while a few rays of light swam above the horizon to the west. Every now and again, Miya’s breath caught in her throat when she failed to restrain her sobs, the hiccup followed by a loud, senseless cackle.
I’m losing my mind, she thought. I don’t even know what I feel.
The ambivalence was tearing her apart from the inside. She swayed back and forth, the wind against her face and the rhythmic squeak of metal gradually soothing her anxiety. Her eyes were so fixated on her own shadow in the sand that at first she didn’t notice someone was there, watching her from a short distance away. It wasn’t until she heard the crack of twigs that her instincts stirred from their slumber, warning her that she wasn’t alone. She looked up to see a shadow amidst the trees, but it was significantly taller than an animal’s. Her heart sank like lead.
“You got any more of that?” a voice called out to her—a man’s voice, gruff and brazen.
It took Miya a moment to realize he was talking about the beef jerky. She looked down and blinked at the bag to make sure, half-expecting it to be gone. When she looked back up, someone was standing at the edge of the playground, his toes perfectly lined up with the wooden curb bordering the sand.
Miya wrung the alarm back into her body; he’d moved so soundlessly, so quickly. His face was barely visible in the darkness, but his silhouette revealed that he was tall and well-built—enough to make Miya uncomfortable. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he watched her, waiting for a response.
“I—”
Suddenly, he moved to the left, circling her with slow, even steps. His eyes were still trained on her as he reached a perfect half-circle, then moved back to his original spot. He stalked to the right, repeating the same cycle once, then twice. He was prowling but nervous—a predator unsure of whether he’d chosen weak-enough prey. Unable to speak, Miya extended the bag of jerky, tilting the opening towards him.
At her gesture, he stopped, biding his time before continuing his ritual, moving left and right like a metronome. The circles drew closer, his advance measured and careful, as though he wouldn’t dare approach directly. Miya was captivated by the bizarre display, curious to see where it would end. When he was within arm’s length, he stopped in front of her, and she could finally see his face.
He looked wild, feral almost. Short, dishevelled black hair, like he’d hacked away at it himself. An angular face. Broad shoulders hidden under loose, tattered clothes—probably second-hand. Even as he tried to keep his face lowered and stay out of reach, he pulled her in like a feather in a maelstrom. She knew him from somewhere—and she was fairly sure he knew her as well. Shaken by the sudden magnetism, Miya’s heart hammered faster until she silenced it with a sharp breath.
He looked up, and for a brief moment, she caught his gaze—familiar yet otherworldly. The seconds yawned out until he tore his eyes away, reaching into the bag with a rustle that snapped Miya out of her stupor. His hand emerged with a fist full of jerky. He threw one piece into his mouth and shoved the rest into his pocket, chewing slowly as he watched her like he was trying to excavate something. When he seemed to find it, he turned to leave.
Miya shot to her feet, her own excavation not yet complete. He paused to consider her as her caution gave way to compulsion. She locked onto his eyes—dark, hungry, guarded. But as the shadows passed over his face and the moon made its first appearance, his eyes emitted a bright, eerie shine. Miya caught a flash of colour in the glow—a reddish-brown tint around his pupils, a deep mahogany she had seen only once before. And it wasn’t on a human.
Miya’s mouth dropped open as horror invaded her—horror, disbelief, and ravenous excitement. As a smile crept over her face, his eyes narrowed, his head canting like he was trying to gauge whether she’d gleaned his secret. Sensing he might flee, Miya took a step forward only for him to step back. He turned and faced her, backpedalling farther away.
“No,” he said sternly, his expression hardening.
Undeterred, Miya took another step.
“No.” He lifted his finger as though scolding a child who didn’t know to keep her fingers from the electrical sockets. While his expression remained severe, Miya could see the subtle changes—a frown that made him look displeased, a slight arch of the brow that suggested he was more confused than put-off.
“You’re the one who spoke to me first,” Miya retorted, surprised at finally hearing her own voice.
He blinked, appearing amazed that she had the nerve to talk back. She saw the corner of his mouth quirk up, his posture relaxing as he lowered his hand back into his pocket. “You’re the one who likes feeding me.”
Was that a veiled reference? The hint of playfulness in his tone suggested he knew exactly what he was implying, but Miya could tell he had no intention of staying simply because she’d amused him.
“How about some real food?” she offered, hoping he was as hungry as he looked. The ghost of a smile evaporated from his face, and Miya wondered how deep his mistrust ran.
“Why?”
She shrugged, speaking her mind. “
You’re hungry.”
Unsatisfied, he asked again, “Why?”
“I’ve never tattled before.” She tossed him the bag of jerky, then unzipped her backpack and pulled out her wallet. “There’s enough in here for the both of us to eat.”
He caught the jerky with one hand, his eyes never leaving hers. “I could just take it from you,” he warned, the threat laced with an arrogance that made Miya’s lips tug for the first time in days.
She knew he’d say that, her smile widening into a triumphant grin. “Then I really might tattle.”
Reluctantly, he nodded, walking towards her and handing the package back. There were so many things Miya wanted to ask, so many questions to bombard him with, but the moment he was in front of her, close enough for her to reach out and touch him, she couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. She watched, paralyzed, as he walked past her and into the gathering night mist.
When his silhouette began to fade, he stopped, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she was still there. Not wanting to keep him waiting, Miya threw her backpack over her shoulder and rushed to join him in the field. As they ambled through the grass, she had the sense of being guided, of being led out of a maze, and of being lost and found at the same time. As the fog dissipated and they ventured out of the meadow, there was nothing but road ahead of them.
21
Everyone had something they hated about themselves. Miya, for one, felt like she never tried hard enough. If she flunked a class, it was because she didn’t study hard enough. If she didn’t sleep, it was because she didn’t count sheep long enough. Anxiety was the product of neglecting to get help fast enough, and when she finally called the helpline—well, she didn’t wait on hold long enough. Miya was plagued by the incessant fear that her misfortunes were of her own making, and that every failure was a result of her unwillingness to change—to study harder, to count a few more sheep, to act faster and wait longer.