Endurance

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mal said. “He jumped out of the bushes right in front of you.”

“If I hit him, it’s my fault. I have to check.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Deb undid her seatbelt and pulled herself out of the Vette. It was dusk, but looked even darker because the sun had dipped below the tree line. The town of Monk Creek wasn’t exactly a town, per se. It was more like a collection of a few motels, some scattered stores, and a loose group of homes interspersed along the mountainside and woods in a thirty-square-mile area. The hotel was packed, but once you stepped off the property you were smack dab in the middle of the wilderness.

Deb squinted into the brush just off the shoulder of the road, where the man had disappeared. If he’d been hurt, he couldn’t have gotten far.

“Hello?” she called.

No one answered. A strong breeze kicked up, blowing Deb’s hair into her eyes and making her widen her stance so she didn’t tip over.

“Anyone there? Are you okay?”

She watched the breeze make the bushes sway, back and forth, like they were waving at her.

Deb peered at the ground, at the slight slope leading into the woods. In her Cheetah-Flex sprinting legs she could bounce down there, no problem. In her cosmetic legs, chances were high she’d be on her ass after a few steps.

“I’ll go check,” Mal said, a penlight in his hand.

Deb frowned, began to protest, but he was already halfway down the embankment, pushing into the brush.

She waited, feeling her stomach go sour.

What if I hurt him? What if he’s badly hurt?

What if he’s dead?

The thought of killing another human being—it would be too much to live with. She cursed herself for showing off in the car, accelerating so fast. Since her accident, Deb prided herself in paying extra attention, avoiding mistakes and screw-ups, because she realized how precious, and precarious, life was.

Deb walked over to the front of the Vette, checking the fender for dings. Or blood.

All she found was a decent dent in the hood, from when the man slapped it.

Had he slapped it out of anger? Or to steady himself because I hit him?

Then she noticed the blood. Hard to discern against the red paint job, but it was there.

Quite a bit of it.

Deb felt herself getting ready to vomit, when someone yelled, “Uh!”

Mal?

She went back to the shoulder, squinting into the gathering darkness. No sign at all of Mal, or the man. The wind continued to blow the bushes to and fro, to and fro.

“Mal?” she called.

Mal didn’t answer.

Deb tried louder. “Mal!”

A faint sound caught on the breeze. Something high-pitched.

Is that giggling?

Deb considered going to the trunk, putting on her running legs to make it easier, and then decided screw it and began to make her way down the slope.

Just as she reached the bottom, something lunged out of the bushes at her. Deb couldn’t react quickly enough, and her balance was thrown off. She landed hard on her backside.

“Mal!”

Mal’s eyes were wide. And his pants—

They were covered in blood.

Deb positioned herself onto her knees. Getting up off the ground in her cosmetic legs was difficult, so she reached for Mal, wrapping her fingers in his belt to steady herself.

“Deb...”

“Call an ambulance, Mal,” she said, grabbing his penlight and pushing into the bushes.

“Deb, don’t go in there. It’s—”

Deb didn’t hear the next thing he said. Once past the bush, her senses were overloaded with the stench, and the sight, of blood.

A ridiculous amount of blood.

It soaked the ground, and drenched the surrounding foliage.

But it was more than just blood. It was bits of tissue. Sinew. Organs.

The spectacle overtook her, and she stumbled forward, losing her footing on something slippery, falling forward into a wet loop of intestines.

Deb recoiled, squealing, pushing herself away, bumping into a severed head with...

Antlers.

It’s a deer.

Jesus Christ, it’s just a deer.

Then someone grasped her shoulder.

Deb turned around, the scream building in her chest, and saw Mal above her.

“Looks like we both need a dry cleaner. I slipped, too.”

He offered his hands, and she used them to pull herself up.

“I didn’t hit a deer. I’m sure of it.”

Mal’s face was kind. “I know.”

“It was a man.”

“I know. We both saw it.”

Deb played the light over the carnage. Deer parts were everywhere.

“Did that guy do this?”

Mal nodded. “I think he killed the deer, and was skinning it.”

“There’s blood on the hood of my car.”

“Deer blood, probably. Maybe he didn’t have a hunting license, heard you pulling up, thought it was the game warden. Hell, it might not even be hunting season, for all I know.”

“So I didn’t hurt him?”

“I don’t see him anywhere. If you hurt him, he’d be nearby, don’t you think?”

Deb shined the light on the deer head, wincing as she did.

“When skinning a buck, is it normal to cut the eyes out?”

“No. It’s not. Let me see the light.” Mal took it, moved in closer. “The ears are gone, too. So’s the tongue.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Mal pointed the light at her. “I think we should go. Right now.”

Deb didn’t like his tone. He sounded scared. When he took her arm, she didn’t protest, and when he put his hands on her hips to help her up the embankment she cared more about haste than dignity or modesty.

“I’ve got water in the trunk. We can clean up.”

Mal shook his head. “Not here. Not now. Let’s get out of here.”

“What’s going on, Mal? You’re freaking me out a little. And it’s not like this situation isn’t already freaky enough.”

“It’s Monk Creek. It has a history. When I was researching this article, I read up on it. Things have happened in this town. Bad things.”

“Like what?”

Mal looked over his shoulder into the darkness, then back at Deb. “I’ll tell you in the car. Please. Let’s go.”

The breeze kicked up, and Deb heard it again, faint but unmistakable.

Giggling.