by Terry Yates
“Nice doggie,” Scott said softly. “Nice doggie.”
He had only a few inches to go before he would be clear of his hiding place. All he had to do was to scoot back just a little more, pull his feet out, roll over onto his knees, stand up, and then haul ass, but he wasn’t so sure it would be that easy. The thing was small, sure, but he’d rather tangle with this little son-of-a-bitch than one of its elders.
As if the creature had read his thoughts, it looked up at the moon again, and let out another of its high-pitched howls. Scott had to do something. It dawned on him that although he might be able to take this one on, or at least outrun it, it might be calling Mom and Pop and telling them about a little delicacy that they had forgotten about. That’s it, he thought. I’ve got to get out of here.
Scott quickly scooted out from under the trees, spun around, rolling onto his knees. As he started to stand, his foot slipped and he fell face first into the dirt. He started to get back up, but when he lifted his head, he saw two small, hairy feet with claws on the ground in front of him.
“Please,” he cried softly, keeping his head down. Tears began to flow down his face. “Please…good doggie…nice doggie…”
Through the tears, Scott looked at the feet, which remained motionless, except for the small, clawed toes, which seemed to be wriggling up and down much like a small child’s would. Scott laid his head on the ground and continued to let the tears flow. He was sobbing now, a long string of mucus hanging from his nose. He raised himself back up to his hands and knees, but couldn’t make himself raise his head, because he knew that when he did, those yellow eyes would no longer be looking at him with curiosity, but instead, they would have the same angry, hungry glare that he’d seen from the other two creatures.
“Fuck it,” he moaned aloud. “Just fuck it. Get it over with, will ya’?”
As if it understood him, Scott heard the monster make a sound that nearly stopped his heart in midbeat. It almost sounded like a giggle…a baby’s giggle…the kind of giggle that babies make when you tickle their feet or blow on their stomachs. It was having fun with Scott. It was playing Hide-n-Seek, Tag, and Marco Polo all at the same time, but now its playmate no longer wanted to play. It had given up on it, but it continued to giggle and coo, trying to coax the two-legger into more fun and games.
“You’re not gonna make it easy on me, are ya’?” Scott asked, wiping the tears from his eyes and the mucus from his nose. “All right then. Have it your way.”
He slowly began to stand up. He put his right foot under his stomach, and then his left, and slowly made his way to his feet, the whole time keeping his eyes averted, not wanting to look at the little motherfucker until he absolutely had to.
Scott wobbled in place for a moment, and finally looked down at the creature. He almost laughed when he realized how small the thing actually was. He was five-feet-nine, and this little thing was no more than sixteen or seventeen inches tall. It looked up at him and hissed, but it didn’t seem like an angry hiss, but merely a “let’s play” type of sound. Its eyes were even brighter than they had been just minutes before, but they still seemed playful, not angry. It stood still, waiting for Scott to move first.
“Well…well…” Scott said with a nervous chuckle. “You’re just a spud, ain’t ya’?”
With lightning quickness, Scott reared his foot back and kicked the beast. The monster had been caught off guard when Scott’s boot had connected with its stomach. It flew backwards at least ten feet before it hit with a thud against a large tree and disappeared into the foliage, which lay at the base of the tree trunk. Scott stood motionless and watched the foliage for any sign of movement. There was none. Scott laughed out loud. He had cried and pissed himself over a little pup no more than a foot-and-a-half long. His laughter was short-lived, because after a moment, the foliage began rustling. Shit, it was still alive!
Scott began to run back toward the camp. In the darkness, he dodged trees, jumped over stumps, and swatted away limbs as he ran for his life. Behind him, he could hear the sound of something…probably the pup…catching up to him. Oh no, he thought, the little piece of shit was gaining on him!
At last, he saw the light from the campfire. Great. At least the two…whatever they were…hadn’t put out the fire. Neither of them were Smoky the Bear, he guessed. If he could reach the camp, he could grab his 30/30 and blow the little bastard to shit, or he could grab some firewood and burn the little motherfucker. Either way, he wanted to kill the thing, but everything hinged on him being able to outrun it. He could hear it close behind him, growling and snarling as it closed the gap between them. At least the creature wasn’t howling for Ma and Pa. He had that going for him, because if this little shit could catch up to him, he didn’t have a chance against them.
The campfire loomed in front of him. Through the glow he could see the red flannel of Jerry Don’s shirt. He hadn’t even thought of the others. They were dead and he wasn’t. Too bad, so sad. He didn’t have time to worry about them. He was almost there. The camp couldn’t be more than thirty yards up ahead, but the thing was getting closer. It couldn’t be more than a couple of yards behind him. Every time he cut left or right attempting to throw it off, it stayed right behind him, its snarling and growling becoming louder and more ferocious. With fifteen yards to go, he could see the camp clearly. The dirt was red with blood and bits of his lifelong pals. He could see all three bodies lying motionless, their ravished and eaten corpses bent into unnatural positions.
By the time Scott reached the camp, he could tell that the monster was no more than a few feet behind him. He jumped over a small group of limbs and twigs that the men had stacked for kindling, and quickly darted to the right after he’d spotted one of the rifles. He ran past the rifle and scooped it up by the barrel, slid his hand under the stock, pumped it once, and then found the trigger. He stopped, quickly spun around, and aimed the rifle toward the ground. The thing was gone. He’d felt it right behind him only moments before, but now it was nowhere to be seen. Scott gasped for breath as he quickly spun around in a circle, scanning the camp for any sign of the beast. The campfire was still going strong so he had a good perimeter of light to see by, but still he saw no signs of the creature. He stopped spinning around. He needed to get his bearings, not to mention the fact that he was starting to get dizzy. That would be all that he needed…to pass out when he was so close to being home free. He tried to stop his panting so that he could hear the surrounding woods, the whole time staring at the carnage that surrounded him. Mike Mercer’s body was twisted like a piece of beef jerky. His bloody and half-eaten torso was facing away from Scott, while his feet, knees, crotch, and faceless head were facing him. Jackie looked like he’d been drawn and quartered. One arm was lying next to the fire, a leg, sans calf muscles, which had been eaten, lay near Mike’s body, and his other mostly eaten arm, lay at the edge of the camp. The index finger was sticking out and seemed to point right at the trucks. Good idea, Scott thought to himself. He reached into his right pocket. No keys. He moved the rifle from the crook of his left arm to the crook of his right, and reached down and patted the outside of his pocket with his left hand. Still no keys. Shit! He remembered seeing Jerry Don put his truck keys in his pocket. He looked over at the mound of goo that had once been Jerry Don Hill. His body had been shredded to ribbons. He looked like a side of beef dressed in a red flannel shirt. His legs were gone and nowhere to be seen nor most of his lower torso. Jesus, they really went to town on him. Scott didn’t know if it was because he’d put up such a good fight or if his body had been big enough to feed a whole family of the hairy bastards. Probably the latter, he thought to himself.
Scott scanned the dark forest as he slowly made his way toward Jerry. It was deathly silent in the surrounding woods. He kept the rifle at waist level, waiting, almost wanting the thing to come after him. He wanted to blast the monster into next week and then some. When he reached Jerry Don, he looked down to see that he was standing in pieces of wha
t had once been his friend. Flesh, entrails, blood, and bits of bone were splattered across the top of his boots. Until that moment, he never realized that blood had a smell. It had a metallic smell…like iron or maybe copper. Copper…that was it.
When he saw the big man’s corpse, he felt himself getting woozy. Half of his face was gone and his throat was completely ripped out. There was a large cavity where his chest and stomach had been. His rib cage had been completely pulled apart and his spine shone through. His pink tongue was out and lay against his cheek like a sleeping dog’s might. But Jerry Don was not asleep. His one lifeless eye was staring straight up at Scott. He wanted to laugh because somehow, through it all, his Green John Deere cap had stayed on his head.
Scott dreaded this. He was going to have to dig into Jerry Don’s jeans and retrieve the truck keys. He took a deep breath through his mouth, held his breath, and bent down to one knee. He continued to look around, not happy that his back was exposed. But he had to get the keys, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. He closed his eyes and looked away as he slid his hand into Jerry Don’s pocket. The jeans were tight and he was having trouble sliding his hand into them.
“You fat bastard,” he whispered.
His hand was only a third of the way into the pocket when it could go no further without some forcing. With his eyes still closed, he began to force his hand down the pants. He struggled for a moment, stretching his fingers in an attempt to flatten out his hand. As his hand continued to move further down into the pocket, Scott could feel several broken bones jutting out of Jerry Don’s pelvis.
Finally, he felt his middle finger touch the top of a key. It was made out of plastic, so he knew that it had to be the truck key. He continued to feel around with his fingers, until he felt the metal of the round key ring. Scott hooked his finger through the key ring and quickly pulled the keys from out of the pocket, once again feeling the jagged and pointed bones of the broken pelvis, as he removed his hand. He looked down at the set of keys and smiled. Some luck had finally come his way.
Scott stood up and looked around for any sign of the creature, but still the woods were quiet. He began to slowly trot out of the camp to where the trucks were parked. The vehicles were a good fifty feet from the camp. Scott didn’t like running away from the glow of the campfire but he had no choice. He would only be in the dark for a few seconds before reaching the vehicles.
Scott took a deep breath and began to run for the trucks. He wasn’t looking around for the creature anymore. All he wanted to do was get to the trucks and get the hell out of this place. The dark trucks were side by side. He made it to his truck first and absent-mindedly pushed the unlock button on the key. Nothing happened. Shit, wrong truck! He ran around his Dodge and over to Jerry Don’s Ford. He leaned the rifle against the truck, aimed the key at the door and pushed the button. He heard the locks click and opened the door. He reached down to pick up the rifle. It was gone! An icy chill went up his spine as he looked around for the gun. It was dark and the gun was dark, so it had to be close to the truck.
He dropped to his knees and began to feel around in the grass. It had to be close. All it did was slide to the ground. It couldn’t just…
As he reached under the truck, he heard something move just to his right. He quickly turned his head to find himself face to face with the tiny creature. It stood within inches of his face, its eyes bright and its fangs glimmering. Time seemed to stand still as Scott looked into the creature’s face. Up close, the thing looked like a baby wearing a fake beard and fake body hair. Up close, he could see that the yellow eyes resembled a dog’s…or a wolf’s. The iris was small and bright green. For a moment, it appeared to be smiling at him, but only for a moment, because suddenly its little uni-brow furrowed and its eyes became slits.
Before Scott had a chance to react, the thing let out a hiss and with lightning speed, sent both sets of claws into each one of his cheeks and pulled his head forward. Scott screamed as the monster opened its mouth and sank its fangs into his right cheek. The little fangs felt like ice picks as they entered his flesh and like razors as it bit down. The thing tugged at his cheek and then yanked from side to side like a puppy that was playing with a sock would do. Scott yelled as the flesh tore away from his cheek. Instinctively, he put his hand to his face as he tried to stand up, but instead of standing up, he fell back against the truck door. He watched as the beast chewed on his flesh. It gurgled as it swallowed. Scott could feel torn skin and muscle hanging down from his cheek as a warm stream of blood poured down his face. He had to get up off of the ground or that thing was going to come back for seconds. As if it had heard him, the creature looked at him. It gulped hard as if it took too big of a bite, and then licked its chops. Before Scott had a chance to think, the thing jumped straight at his face. Scott punched and kicked at it for all he was worth. The monster clawed and snapped its jaws in a fevered frenzy, but Scott continued to kick and punch, doing everything that he could to keep the animal at bay. The thing fought hard against him, trying to slip through his grip, but Scott grabbed it by the forehead with both hands, then slid his hand down to its pointed ears and began to tug. The creature shrieked and let out a painful howl as Scott pulled and yanked. Shit, the thing was howling loud enough to wake the dead…and that was okay…it was Mama and Papa that he was worried about. Hearing it yell would send them running. He had to get out of there and soon. With all of his might, Scott continued to pull on its ears, until it began to pull away from him, yelping loudly as it did. Scott didn’t want to let go. It was now his turn to put the fear of God into it. Its screaming and howling became even louder as Scott gave its ears one final pull and felt its right ear tear away from the side of its head. Just when he thought the thing couldn’t get any louder, it let out one final loud scream and then sank its fangs into the hand that still held its other ear.
Scott screamed in agony as he let go of its ear and began to beat on its head, trying to make it release his hand, which it did, but not before tearing the flesh away. Out of his grasp now, the thing pulled away from him, and began to run away on all fours, yelping as it disappeared under his truck.
Scott watched the creature skirt across the camp and into the woods, still howling.
“Yeah, you’d better run, Motherfucker!” he screamed after it, letting out a loud howl of his own.
He could still hear it yelping in the distance as it ran farther and farther away. It was a good ten or fifteen seconds before it completely faded out of earshot. He looked down and saw that he was still holding the severed ear in his hand. Disgusted, he threw it out into the darkness and struggled slowly to his feet. He had to get out of there before…(a) shock set in, and…(b) Junior’s parents decided to come back.
He kept his hand on his face as he slid into the cab. Shit! He’d dropped the key while wrestling with the monster.
“Fuck!” he screamed loudly. He quickly got out of the truck, dropped to his hands and knees and began to feel around for the keys. He swept both hands around in the grass until he felt the plastic hit one of his fingers. He’d found the keys, and it was a good thing that he did, because he began to hear a sound coming from far deep into the woods. Footfalls. Heavy footfalls. Footfalls so heavy that they made large, fallen limbs snap like twigs when they were underfoot.
He picked up the keys and scrambled back into the truck. He almost laughed as he found himself locking the cab door. After what he’d just seen those things do, he doubted very much that a quarter inch of glass would stop them.
Scott started the engine, put the truck into reverse, and punched the accelerator. Immediately, the truck stopped as he heard something behind him hit a tree. Great. The trailer was still hitched to the truck. He had to turn around with the trailer still attached. Goddammit, why hadn’t they thought of that when they made camp! They could’ve just stopped a couple of yards before the clearing, swung the trucks around, unhitched the trailers, and left the trucks facing out where they could just get in them and go if t
here was an emergency, such as a bad cut, or a pack of walking wolf-people who might be trying to eat them.
Cursing, he put the vehicle in drive and punched the accelerator. The truck lurched forward and began to move. He had a tree ten feet in front of him. Dammit, he was going to have to pull up, then back up, then pull up again. He stopped just inches in front of the tree, and threw the truck into reverse again. He turned the wheel hard to the right. Looking through his side mirror, he could see that the trailer had turned, but not enough to clear the tree. The trailer hit the tree again, but just barely. Scott put the vehicle back into drive and punched the accelerator. The truck lurched forward this time. Scott didn’t bother to stop in front of the tree, but smashed into it with the front of his bumper, then put it in reverse once again. This time, the trailer missed the tree, allowing him to back up far enough to clear the one in front of him. He put the car in drive and mashed the accelerator again.