The Bloodspawn

by Michael McBride

  “You know better,” Jeremy said, lifting the black and rust patterned Rottweiler into the air by its collar, its flailing legs accomplishing nothing more than twisting its neck tighter in the collar.

  Raising his left arm, he whacked the dog on the hind end repeatedly, his palm stinging from the blows. His teeth bared, he tossed the dog down on the bed, the Rott landing squarely on its back before flipping onto its feet and cringing at the top of his bed atop his pillow.

  Shaking his head, Jeremy rifled his fingers through his dark hair, trying to calm himself.

  “Sorry, boy,” he said, climbing onto the bed and crawling toward the pillows. Chopper flinched, but immediately melted as Jeremy began to scratch behind his ears, his slobbering tongue immediately reciprocating with a quick slop across the face.

  Smiling, Jeremy rolled onto his back, bringing the dog onto his chest as the ferocious licking continued until he could no longer take it and had to roll the dog back over, rubbing his exposed belly.

  His head had begun to throb, his drooping lids nearly lowered over his burning eyes, but he needed to make it up to Chopper. It wasn’t necessarily his fault that he had dumped in the apartment; after all, he had been home alone for close to fourteen hours. Jeremy knew that there was no way he could hold his bowels that long. Chopper had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, as it seemed he was more frequently, especially as of late. And the bottom line was that the last thing Jeremy wanted to become was abusive, as they had accused him of being in court on that one fateful day so many years ago now.

  “You wanna go for a walk?” he slurred, smiling as he held the dog’s face cradled in his hands.

  Chopper sprung to his feet, playfully bouncing on the bed from side to side, his saliva drenched tongue lolling from one side of his mouth to the other.

  “You wanna go for a walk?”

  The dog darted off the bed, sprinting toward the entryway, the carpeting grinding beneath his clawed feet as he tore across it. Chuckling, Jeremy rolled off of the bed and shuffled into the hallway to the sound of Chopper’s paws scraping on the front door. Rounding the corner into the family room, he turned back to the front door, opening the small closet and grabbing the leash that dangled from the inside of the knob. Latching it onto the bouncing dog’s collar, he opened the front door and held on for dear life. Chopper bolted out into the hall and toward the door to the stairwell, pausing only long enough for Jeremy to open it before bounding down the stairs as fast as his churning legs would take him. Struggling against the force of the strong dog’s will, he clung tightly to the railing, easing slowly down the steps so as not to be yanked headfirst into the air.

  Staring back at him from where he sat at the door to the lobby, Chopper’s tongue dangled from between his canines as he panted, his eyes aglow with the anticipation of the night. Jeremy had barely turned the knob before Chopper threw his weight against it, leading them both through the lobby at a ferocious pace and to the front door where he just stared out into the swirling snow, the muscles in his shoulders and back tense with longing.

  “All right, boy,” Jeremy said aloud, bracing himself for the freezing breeze that he knew would rip right through his clothing, nipping at his skin beneath.

  Enjoying just one more moment of the blowing heat that poured from above, creeping down his back beneath his jacket, he opened the door. The dog tore out into the night. His shoulder lurched as the leash he had wrapped around his hand tensed, the Rottweiler pulling against him with everything that it had, wanting nothing more than to just cross the parking lot and make it to the line of shrubbery at the start of the green belt.

  “Easy, boy,” Jeremy said, his head starting to spin slightly from the alcohol that coursed through his veins.

  Pulling the leash in, he took up the slack until he reached the collar, unfastening the clip from the panting, slobbering dog’s neck. Chopper sprinted straight across the snow-covered parking lot, kicking up small clouds of the rapidly accumulating powder from behind his padded feet, heading toward the curb beneath the dim streetlight. Thousands of tiny flakes swirled in the small aura of light beneath the high lamp, the trees rustling heartily in the whistling wind.

  Chopper bounded over the curb, stopping by the row of hedges in front of the tall pines. He sniffed at the bare branches buried beneath the heavy snow for only the briefest of moments before raising his leg and staining the snow yellow. Pinching it off, he sniffed along the ground for five feet before raising his leg once again. Repeating this pattern several times, he finally stopped, turning to stare at Jeremy, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in what looked like a smile, his lolling tongue bouncing behind the tufts of steam that bellowed from his throat.

  Slowly, he raised his head into the air, sniffing loudly. He closed his mouth, swallowing his bright pink tongue. Cocking his head into the wind, he stood perfectly still as Jeremy finally crossed the parking lot, swaying, and clambered up over the curb. Chopper shot a quick glance back at him and then immediately broke into a fit of riotous barking.

  “Chopper!” Jeremy growled, looking up at the line of darkened windows and hoping that the damn dog wouldn’t wake anyone.

  He was allowed to have a dog, but the complex rules state that the dog cannot exceed forty pounds, and when he moved in it hadn’t. But Chopper had to be nearly sixty pounds by now and the last thing he wanted to do was to draw attention to that fact. The brazen, mostly disobedient dog was all that he had now, his only family, and he sure as hell didn’t want to lose his family all over again.

  The dog stopped barking, pausing once again to sniff the air. Slowly, he turned, looking straight through the line of hedges. He lowered his head, the short hairs on his shoulders and neck bristling up, as a long, guttural growl ripped from between his bared teeth. His feet pressed forward only inches at a time as he crept towards the line of brush.

  “What is it, boy? Do you smell a rabbit?”

  The dog just stood there, every muscle in his body tensing visibly as he growled, unflinching, into the undergrowth. A thick line of drool hung from his lower jaw, growing longer and longer, before finally falling into the snow. His bobbed tail, which usually wagged incessantly, stood straight up.

  “Chopper?”

  Without a final glance back, Chopper let out one final bark and then shot through the barren hedges, leaving nothing but the bobbing branches in his wake. There was the sound of crackling and crunching as branches were torn from their moorings, the dog rocketing into the wilderness.

  “Shit,” Jeremy muttered through his own bared teeth, his taut lips twisting and contorting. He fought down the sense of rage that swelled from deep in his chest.

  Shaking his head, he kicked at a clump of snow that had fallen from the shrubbery where Chopper had entered. With one final glance back across the parking lot at the darkened building, he slipped into the foliage, the long, thin branches snagging at his clothing.

  Breaking through the line of landscaped hedge, he ducked beneath the lower canopy of the mess of pine branches. The brown, needle-covered ground was nearly dry, as only the slightest dusting of snow had been able to make the descent through the branches that were so tightly woven together that barely a single ray of light could filter through. His back ached miserably as he hunched over, his hands still thrust deeply into his pockets. Bending his knees, he crept beneath the sharply-needled branches, the only sound he could hear being the needles on the ground as they crunched beneath his uneven footsteps.

  “Chopper!” he called, ducking out from beneath the painfully low branches and into a slight clearing.

  He craned his head and listened, but all he could hear was the wind ripping through the branches of the trees, filling the small path he had stumbled onto with a fine mist of powder. Off in the distance, he heard a muffled bark, but surely there was no way that Chopper could have gotten that far away in such a short amount of time.

  Following the path, he made every effort to tread lightly, his clum
sily-falling feet muffled by the deepening snow. He listened intently, turning his head from one side to the other as he scanned the lines of matted, white branches and intertwining trunks to either side. But there was nothing, not even the slightest—

  “Chopper?” he said, quickly turning to his right as he caught just the briefest of glimpses of the round, rust-colored circle of fur on the dog’s rear end between a gap in the trees.

  Stepping from the path, the snow got deeper as it piled upon itself at the base of the row of trees. Ducking beneath the low-lying branches, heavily bowed beneath the weight of the snow, he crept toward the dog, standing completely still, staring at something outside of his view in the middle of the forest. Unraveling the leash from his right hand, he gripped the clip tightly, pulling back the trigger to open it wide enough to just quickly latch it onto the metal ring on the collar. It wasn’t often that Chopper took off on his own, but on that rare occasion when he did, Jeremy knew that he was in for a seriously long night.

  Slipping past the hindquarters of the dog, the hairs along its back still standing erect, Jeremy clipped the leash onto the collar. Smiling, and more than just a little pleased with himself, he positively beamed, his face awash with a gigantic smile. Had he been outside of the cluster of trees, he surely would have raised both arms above his head, Rocky-style, and bounced up and down.

  His sudden burst of happiness waning, the thought of kicking that dog’s undisciplined butt slowly entered his mind, writhing around like a serpent in his brain until there was nothing that he wanted more. He yanked on the leash; visibly jerking the dog’s body backward, but Chopper didn’t budge, still intently focused on whatever was locked in his line of view.

  “Come on, Chopper!” Jeremy shouted, tugging on the leash with everything that he could muster from that somewhat crouched position atop the piled needles.

  But the dog didn’t give an inch. The muscles in his back legs tensed like steel cables from beneath the black fur as he fought against the leash.

  “Damn it, Chopper! I said—”

  The dog interrupted him with a fierce, terrifying growl that sent the hackles straight up Jeremy’s back and neck. Allowing the leash to loosen in his grasp, the leather cord went slack and he placed his left hand atop the dog’s arched back. He could feel the growl as it rumbled through the animal’s body, the shoulders shuddering as it burst from the throat and through the snarling, bared teeth.

  Running his hand up the back and through the stiffly-standing hairs on the shoulders, he patted Chopper’s neck lightly, staring down his poised head towards whatever he was looking at. His right knee touched the frozen ground, the thin layer of snow soaking damply through his pants.

  His eyes followed the blotched ground toward where Chopper’s stare was fixed, the shadows thickening beneath the heavily intertwined branches of a dense cluster of pines. A cold breeze ripped through the forest, chilling him straight through his jacket and into the flesh beneath. The rustling trees showered him with tiny flecks of ice crystals, which settled in his hair and across his bare flesh as he stared into the shadows.

  He couldn’t see it right off, but he knew that there was something in there, hidden in the shadows. The hackles slowly rose across the backs of his arms.

  “Come on, boy,” he said, gently tugging at the collar while he patted the dog on the neck. “Let’s go.”

  The sound of rustling needles and crackling branches filled the still air about them.

  He didn’t like this, didn’t like it at all. There was something about the situation that really didn’t sit well with him, writhing serpentine-like in his belly as he was overwhelmed with the urge to take flight. His breathing grew short and quick, sounding almost identical to the panting canine.

  “Now!” he shouted, clambering to his feet, his head raking across the bottom of the branches above, which showered him with snow.

  Tugging on the collar, he barely moved the dog in the slightest, but he kept on tugging, trying frantically to drag the dog from the confines of the forest and back onto the thin path that would surely lead them home. Chopper’s sides still quivered from the growls that issued from his tight jaw, but slowly, the sound dissipated, and the dog’s sides shook for a different reason.

  A high-pitched whine echoed through the night from Chopper’s trembling form, and Jeremy could feel his heart sink in his chest. Slowly, he turned, the leash falling from his formerly clenched hand to the hard, frozen earth. His shaking hands flopped to his sides as he fell to his knees on the ground.

  He could feel it, aching in the marrow of his bones. It was right there with him.

  His eyes rose from the ground, following the shadow-infested ground to where the dog stared, straight ahead. He was helpless to do anything but observe as a form eased out of the shadows that concealed it. His gaze rising from the ground, Jeremy could see two bare feet, the flesh buried beneath a layer of crusted mud and earth, dangling inches above the frosted earth. Tattered edges of a long, dark cloak flagged about those feet.

  With one final whimper, Chopper turned suddenly and raced back out of the woods and into the clearing.

  His gaze shifting upward, Jeremy flopped onto his back, his feet kicking at the ground in an attempt to propel him to his feet. All he could see was the darkness of the shroud, the loosely-fitting garment rippling about the hidden form beneath, blending into the shadows that seemed to be stretching out toward him. From the heart of that darkness, a pair of eyes shone dully beneath the thin hint of light that somehow broke through the sheath of branches. There was something in those eyes that he had never seen before. They were so cold, so cold…

  Thrusting with his hips, he flopped over onto all fours, scrambling across the dead needles that poked straight through the thick skin on his palms. The jeans shredded back from his knees as the hard ground rose up and tore at him, trying to keep him from reaching his feet.

  Tears streamed from his eyes, his heart jackhammering, fit to burst. He could see the path ahead as he scrambled to his feet, stumbling before launching himself headlong into the masses of branches, barely throwing his arms in front of his face in time to keep the needles from raking the flesh on his face.

  He hurdled along the path, breaking through the mass of branches that shielded the other side, his feet propelling him onward as he fought to see through the small gap he had left between his arms. Branches grabbed at him from all sides, trying to get a grip on him to keep him from escaping their wooden clutches.

  There was a sharp and sudden pain in his right toe, his leg aching straight through to the thigh as he felt himself become airborne, his hands reflexively reaching out in front of him to brace his fall. His chest was the first to hit, slamming onto the frozen turf, knocking what little air he had in his chest out with a loud groan. Fighting for air, he tried to push himself back to his knees, unable to draw in even the slightest gasp of oxygen.

  Straight ahead, he could see the light from the parking lot, the darkened apartment complex through the bare branches of the hedge from where they had first entered the forest. He could see Chopper sitting at the door, staring straight up at the doorknob as though someone were going to let him in.

  Jeremy’s clawed hands tore at the turf, urging him toward the parking lot. His shoulders shook and tears streamed in waves down his cheeks, his collapsed chest struggling to come up with enough air to cry out.

  There was sharp pressure to either side of his neck, clamping on the thin muscles above his clavicle. All he could do was watch the parking lot as he was suddenly ripped from the ground and into the air, his flopping legs dangling above the ground. He mouthed the words, hoping that just once the sound would come.

  “Help me!”

  The words came in a dry burst that wouldn’t even qualify as a whisper.

  “Somebody, please! Help me!”

  His voice trailed off into the night as he was turned, the parking lot fading away behind him. There was now nothing but wave after wave of snow-mat
ted pine needles ripping into the flesh on his face as he was led deeper into the forest.

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  THE BLOODSPAWN

  Michael McBride

  © 2004 Michael McBride. All rights reserved.

  PART TEN

  PART 10

  XIII

  Tuesday, November 15th

  4 a.m.

  Leaning back in the chair at the computer, Scott stretched his arms above his head, stifling a yawn as he tried to work out the dull ache that had settled in at the base of his spine. He had been pouring over the Internet for what felt like an eternity, trying to come up with anything at all that could lead him to the whereabouts of the child that Harry had saved so many years ago. Everything within the State of Colorado Department of Child Welfare and Social Services web sites was password controlled, and, try as he might, he had no luck entering. From there he had moved on to some of the adoption location agencies, some of which claimed they could locate the adoptive child’s parentage within forty- eight hours. He had found one such service, The People Network, which had been the only one of the many web sites that he had encountered that had anyone online to help. They had been unable to offer their forty-eight hour guarantee as special circumstances surrounded the initial adoption, but had gladly taken his credit card number. The agent, as he was called, had promised that they would either call or fax him as soon as they knew anything, but said not to expect to hear from them for at least four to five days unless they got lucky. So now, it was just a matter of waiting.

  He rubbed his weary eyes and glanced over at the clock.

  4:18 a.m.

  His body was a seething mass of pain and discomfort, every strained and pulled muscle begging for him to just lie down, if even for just a little while. But he knew, as he could tell most every other night, that there was no way that his mind would shut down for any stretch of time, let alone long enough to fall asleep. And this night was no different than any other, but piled even higher with the stress of suddenly having to deal battling supernatural forces for the fate of two hundred souls. He was already short a couple of buddies from high school. The first thing on his agenda in the morning was to call what remained of his old social circle to see if he could convince the others—if they were actually still alive—to get the hell out of town for a while.