a deer’s front leg where a thirty-ought-six would make short work of the heart-lung area. But he also knew how rare it was to drop an animal where it stood; which is why Grandpa Reid had made damn sure the boy knew how to track as well.
That fuckin’ animal wasn’t bleeding, not yet at least, but he’d still been running scared once he’d gotten a good piece away from the campsite. Once the panic had kicked in, that little bastard may have as well been leaving little note cards saying
“You’ll be a ghost soon enough, you pint-sized cock. I’ll be dropping evil on your ass so hard you’ll hear your backbone pop right before I chew your fuckin’ heart out.”
The hatchet trembled in Owen’s hand as if excited by the promise of blood; he could even feel it throbbing and pulsing in his white-knuckled grip, as if dark forces surged through the grain of the wood.
“Soon.” he thought as the trees and rocks blurred by, “So very fucking soon.”
Shortly before dawn, the ground had opened up beneath Tanny Henderson’s feet. He’d been scrambling down a hillside, doing more sliding than running actually, when the soil suddenly gave way beneath his weight. His foot plunged into the sinkhole, but momentum and gravity had demanded that he continue fleeing. Caught between the two forces, his arms pinwheeled for balance as his body lurched forward and, within the span of a second, his face had smacked against the unforgiving ground. He’d tried to stand, to brush the dirt off his clothes and just keep right on going; but his ankle felt as if it were encircled with fiery bands of steel and he collapsed beneath his own weight.
Clenching his teeth against the pain, Tanny had scooted the rest of the way down the hill. He drug his ass over the rocks and dirt like a dog with intestinal worms, wincing with every hard fought yard of ground he covered.
When he finally reached the bottom, he’d crawled to a thicket of trees and leaned against the rough bark as he rolled up his pant leg to survey the damage. The skin had already started to puff up around his shoe and was already showing the first dark splotches of bruising. He touched it tentatively, the way a child might touch a snake, and his muscles felt warm and tight.
At the same time, waves of pain radiated from the pressure of his fingertips and he drew his breath in through his teeth as he pulled his hand away. He could see the phantoms of his fingertips on the wounded flesh, ovular apparitions which blossomed sickly white before slowly fading into the surrounding redness.
He watched streaks of color paint the eastern sky, stretching the clouds into broad brushstrokes of oranges, reds, and vibrant pink. The birds twittered and chirped, their call and response songs adding texture to this still life portrait of a perfect morning. It was hard to believe that beyond the tranquility of this forest the rest of the world lay in ruins. Entire cities may be burning unchecked, haggard refugees would be struggling for one more day of life, and those damn corpses would still be shredding every law of nature by their very existence: but, out here, life continued on as it had for centuries. There was the sweet scent of flowers and earthy vegetation, the birds and the breeze; it was all too easy to imagine that none of the preceding horrors had ever happened.
The pain that throbbed through Tanny’s ankle was the only voice of dissension that railed against this fleeting fantasy. It reminded him that things were so much more dire than this picturesque dawn implied. In his past life, a twisted ankle — even one this badly sprained — would have been nothing more than an inconvenience. He’d pop a few pain meds, maybe spend a day or two soaking up sympathy from pretty girls as he hobbled around the office on a pair of crutches, and keep it elevated as he flipped through the channels at home. But, in this new reality, even a simple injury could turn lethal if given the right set of circumstances. Maybe if he just rested here for a bit and took a little cat nap some of the swelling would recede by the time he woke up. Then he could plan his next move.
Tanny shifted slightly so that the eighty by ten he’d rolled up and tucked into the pocket of his jeans wouldn’t scratch at his back and closed his eyes.
“Where the fuck is she, you thieving little worm?”
Tanny’s eyes snapped open as the voice boomed through the silence. The sun had moved on toward the west and, at the top of the hill that had mangled his ankle, he saw a hulking silhouette against the backdrop of trees. The shadow seemed to be bent slightly forward with its shoulders hunched and knees slightly bent. For some reason, an image of the Wolf Man passed through Tanny’s thoughts; but then he saw the outline of the object in the dark figure’s hand. The slender handle leading up to the slightly curved blade. The hammer-like head on the opposite side.
“Where the hell is my Tiffany?”
Tanny would have been more relieved to see an army of rotters looming over him. Fear shredded his intestines and the sudden surge of adrenaline caused his wounded ankle to surge in time with his racing heart.
Pushing himself from the ground, Tanny leaned against the tree for support for a brief second as he gritted his teeth against the agony in his foot.
“Fuckin’ shit-eating son of bitch!”
Owen began scuttling down the hillside as Tanny darted into the trees. The little man tried to run but felt as if he were in constant danger of toppling to the right. His ankle protested the torture with every step and the searing pain caused the forest to seem to alternately close in on him and withdraw. As if the tall oaks and pines were a vicious pack testing the fortitude of injured prey.
But still he limped on, moving through the wilderness as quickly as his limp would allow.
He constantly scanned his surroundings, looking for somewhere to hide, for something he could use as a weapon, for some little cave or crevice he could wedge himself into. If he could just find somewhere that Owen was too large to fit into, he’d thrust the picture to him, would give him anything he wanted.
He could hear something crashing through the underbrush behind him: a growl and yell rolled into a single sound, inhuman and totally devoid of reasoning; pure, primal fury filtered through regression and rage.
Tanny burst through a line of trees and the forest was suddenly gone. Before him was the dark asphalt of a country road bordered by these spindly blue flowers and gravel. Directly across from him was a house that looked as if it had fallen into disrepair long before society had ever collapsed. Faded planks covered its walls and shattered windows grinned like dark mouths, the remaining shards of glass tooth-like in the gaping maw. The front door was partially open and Tanny could just make out peeling red paint before it disappeared into the gloom. The house was obviously empty… no help there.
He looked around with quick snaps of his head. There! Cresting the hill about a quarter mile away. A dark, human shaped speck.
“Help!”
His yell wavered with pain and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. But he felt the first stirrings of hope within his soul, the little twinges of relief that eased the tension in his muscles.
“Murder! Murder! Help me!”
The person in the distance stopped as Tanny’s voice reached his ears. He stood there for a moment, as still as the battered mailbox in front of the abandoned house.
“Please!”
He could hear Owen behind him. Huffing. Running. Growing closer with each second.
“Oh God, help me! Help, help, help!”
Tanny was scuttling across the road, but his eyes were still focused entirely on the person who could potentially be his savior.
“Oh, shit… shit, shit,
The person had turned slowly toward him, seeming to stagger like a drunkard as it fought for balance. At the same time, more figures appeared. They shuffled out of the forest, congregated from the other side of the hill, some seeming to simply
Tanny’s focus was entirely on the rotters that floundered toward him. He wasn’t aware of Owen pouncing from the forest or the crunch of the man’s feet on gravel. He didn’t see the savage grin as the blond man hoisted
