Hunger had driven the dog up into the highlands; the departure of most of Sangre de Dios's farm families meant fewer compost heaps to raid outside the rugged houses. The chickens left behind had already been slaughtered in their coops by a fortunate pack of dogs, but they had driven him away when he'd tried to sneak in on the kill. He had returned the next day, but little had been left aside from a few blood stains on the wooden planks, which he had licked until his tongue bled. Managing to unearth a couple of tortoise nests in the fallow fields that had been cleared beside the forest, he'd eaten a few eggs, but that had been the previous week, and he'd found no food since then.
He moved forward between the trees, his eyes glinting yellow. A stone lodged in the pad of his front foot made his gait awkward, but as he hit the soft ground of the forest, his trot smoothed into the effortless glide of a predator.
He sensed movement up ahead and caught a whiff of something when the wind shifted. Something living. His nose twitched, his lip drawing back from his teeth in a silent snarl that gleamed in the night. Dark streaks of dried mucus trailed from the corners of his eyes.
Slinking forward, the soft pads of his feet sinking in the mud, the dog lowered his head, his skin rippling in waves of coarse hair. He crept past a cluster of trees, the long trunks lost among the leaves and stalks of lesser plants. The path widened into a clearing, trees lining the edges of a mud wallow like sentinels. Wind whispered through the dead sprays of elephant grass.
Abruptly, the dog halted, sensing an odd blend of danger and opportunity. One foot raised above the ground and angled back like a pointer's, the other three sunk in the mud, he stopped breathing. His eyes were wide, but he didn't turn his head. The rise and fall of his ribs beneath his coat died. He was still. He was almost invisible in the night.
Suddenly, a plant right beside him sprang to life, lunging at him with two raptorial legs. The spiked appendages folded back on themselves, snapping shut around the dog's midsection. The dog emitted a pained grunt as he was lifted into the air. He struggled in the grasp of the massive clamp, yelping. The strike occurred in a fraction of a second.
A triangular head full of sharp, quivering mouthparts lowered to the dog's skull. The dog's yelp was cut short when the creature chewed through his neck.
The dog twitched in the jagged legs as the creature devoured him, nibbling through his neck to get at the nourishing tissues packed inside the chest cavity. The dog provided good sustenance, but it was not nearly large enough. The creature's appetite was growing. The supply of dogs and goats on the island was dwindling, and the cows had proved too heavy for it.
It discarded the paws and the head, as well as a long segment of the dog's intestines, which dropped to the ground like a length of rope. It rarely ate off the ground.
After it finished, the creature dipped its head, cleaning chunks of flesh from the spines of its legs and wiping its face in deft, catlike motions. Then it stepped back into line with the trees, undulating until it mimicked perfectly the movement of the surrounding foliage in the breeze. It swayed with the trees, all but disappearing from sight.
Chapter 6
23 Dec 07
Water was dripping somewhere nearby. The window didn't cast enough light through Savage's cell for him to see the water dripping, but he heard it. He glanced up at the small square of blue, split three times with steel bars, and saw that there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Probably a busted pipe somewhere, he thought, some faulty plumbing. Probably did it on purpose, those bastards. Chinese water torture.
He walked to the front of his cell, resisting the urge to grip the bars like some yahoo criminal in a Western. He was still missing one of his boots, and the ground felt moist through his sock. He'd been arrested on a Friday, and they'd taken their time processing him, ensuring he'd have to wait through the weekend for a Monday arraignment. It had been a peaceful two days.
Across the way, a pale, fleshy prisoner was sitting on the floor, legs kicked wide like a child's. Across the chest of his shirt, FIN was written with a black marker. Probably got hauled in drunk and naked last night. He was rubbing himself through his jail-issue pants.
'Lovely,' Savage said.
'Hey, buddy, you trying to steal a free peek?'
Savage went back to his bed and flipped it over, dumping the thin stained mattress on the moldy floor. He leaned the narrow frame up against the wall, hooking two of the legs on the ledge of the window. He climbed on top of the frame, threading his legs through the aluminum bed slats, and leaned back down the incline. Some of his reddish-brown hair fell loose from the bandanna.
Fin was on his feet, staring across the dim corridor into Savage's cell. 'You trying to break out, buddy? You think you're goin' somewhere?' He laughed, a high-pitched cackle. 'I'm in the big leagues, you know. Got me a little girl, cut her up like a paper doll.'
Savage tuned him out and began his incline sit-ups, trying to move his shoulders directly toward the ceiling to increase the strain through his stomach. Once he was well into his set, he began grunting slightly with the exertion.
Fin started grunting along with him, drawing the grunts out into moans. When Savage finished his set and rolled back over his shoulders to the ground, Fin continued his moaning, elevating to yells and hip thrusts. He squealed loudly through a fat grin and shuddered, as if he'd come. When he finished, he bounced on his toes and laughed a flat, atonal laugh.
Savage stared at him, unimpressed. He leaned forward into a hand-stand, placing his legs barely against the wall. He started doing push-ups, moving his body directly up and down. The cell was so cold he could see his breath.
'I wish I was over there, buddy,' Fin called out. 'You bouncin' up and down like that, it's givin' me a little tingle in the tummy. Make me wanna-'
Savage could hear him making some kind of furious gesture, but he ignored him, straining through his final push-ups. The strain in his triceps intensified, and he lowered himself from the wall and extended his arms straight out before him to loosen the knots.
'Bet you'd like to think that, huh, buddy? That I wanna fuck you? Well, I ain't no faggot. Have me a lady on the outside. I don't go in for no backdoor action, if you catch my drift. I ain't no queer.' Fin slapped his chest with a fist, and it sent a ripple clear down to his stomach. 'I don't want no piece of you. No sir.'
Savage glanced up at him. 'I don't remember making you an offer.'
Fin ran a hand along the sallow skin under his chin, pushing it to one side. 'I saw you lookin' at me. When I had my hands on myself. I know that look. I broke people's faces for less. Got in a brawl one time down south, outside of Ciudad Juarez…'
Savage ignored the drone from the other cell and crawled back up on the bed frame, beginning another set of sit-ups. He was not surprised, halfway through his set, to hear Fin mimicking his grunts again. Not a broad range of material. He finished his sit-ups and regarded Fin blank-faced as he enacted another orgasm, this time accompanied by screams and bar rattling.
'Thanks, buddy,' Fin said through a beefy grin. 'I liked that one even better.'
The door down the corridor opened and two guards approached, flanking a young, clean-shaven law officer. Savage noticed the khaki uniform as the officer drew nearer and realized he was a Montana Park Ranger. The three men paused outside Savage's cell.
'William Savage?' the park ranger asked. Savage stared back at him.
'Yup, that's him,' Fin shouted. 'That's him I bet.'
'I'm Ranger Walters. You're coming with me.'
Savage studied the stains on the ceiling. 'Where to?'
'You let me worry about that.' Walters signaled one of the guards to unlock the door. He started to slide it open, but Savage pulled it shut with a bang.
