|
When Harrison stopped weeping, Tommy loosened the straps and fed
him pieces of raw meat fresh from the packages in the bomb shelter.
“Feeling better, bud?”
Harrison's face ran with fresh tears.
“Said . . .” he wailed. “You said it would o-o-only s-sting
a little.”
“Hey, I didn't feel a thing.” Tommy snorted at his joke.
“'Sides, the offering has to be willing or no-go. I don't know anybody
stupid enough to ask but you, fruit. The knife said the kid's mother is
nearby. A farm in Baron Roonie's fief, near the village of Leather Corner
Post. I called the cops.”
Harrison's jaws began to chatter. "A-Anna Grey?”
Tommy nodded. “Don't worry, Judge. I won't let her kill
you.” He slid Harrison's arms into the straps and tightened them. Frowning
over the torn one, he patted it. “This should do, but I'd replace it. It
ain't going to last forever.”
“What . . . What are doing?”
Moving down the rack, Tommy ran a hand down the Judge's leg, and
the man cringed, the leg jerking away from that damp touch. Picking up the
knife, Tommy smiled and Harrison wept, pleading with him.
“Grrr!” Tommy thrust the bundle at Harrison's face, and the
man screamed.
“Chicken.” Laughing, Tommy slid it into one sleeve and
buttoned the pocket.
“Be chill', judge. It's put away for now.” He examined the
wound left by the knife. It was healing rapidly. “Won't even scar, I bet.
Lucky you. Last time somebody did that it sucked the guy to dust. All that was
left was dried skin and bones. Took a couple of days, too. The knife don't let
nobody die till it wants them dead. You'll be OK.”
He took a piece of crystal the size of his thumb from another
pocket, staring into it.
“Looks like our doggy is having a little ruckus. Gee, Carl, how
come you always get all the fun stuff?”
Anna walked by Animal Control. They were dragging out packages of
meat from the walk-in freezer in the old manure pit. A pair of hand trucks
whined and sputtered as the men directed them to put the evidence in the back of
the vehicle. One man, apparently overcome by the sight of raw flesh, was in the
hands of medic. A second man was vomiting near the door.
“By the Great Master, but this is grotesque," a corporal
was saying to the sergeant. “Murderers and associates of murderers.” He
threw a cold look at the men being herded into the Harvesters' van.
“They'll all get chopped, for sure. Not one whit of compassion
for the animals they slaughtered for their own pleasure.” The sergeant
grimaced. The sick man gagged and he stared hard at him. “You,” he snapped
at the sick man. “Get back to work.”
“Sir . . . Please.”
The sergeant made three quick strides and booted the man in the
stomach. The man went flying to sprawl against the wall of the barn.
“Get sick on your own damned time. We have to load the evidence,
and I don't need no slackers on the crew.”
He spun away to stand with his hands behind him, brooding at the
growing pile of meat.
The dead zone was alive with prey. With the demon riding his soul,
the shon:gili tore through a pack of
hunters and sank his teeth through one man's thigh. The men scattered, dropping
dead animals and live, weeping children. The children scooted away but snagged
the rats as they ran.
With the man shrieking in his jaws, the shon:gili bounded over a low wall and through a small armory of
people. He skidded to a stop to look them over. The man in his jaws punched him
in the face, and the people grabbed weapons.
The shon:gili snarled.
He flipped the man into the air, grabbed a better hold, and ran through the
crowd to a hole, then down that. He dropped into the sewers with the man
shouting for help. The shon:gili
looked both ways. Crying in thin screams, sewer rats fled.
The demon was filled with contempt. What now, thou, Carl?
Why you asking me, creep? Let me out.
Carl thumped a fist on the yielding wall of the pit. The shon:gili
winced.
The pit slid away. Carl stared through the shon:gili's eyes up the sewer, then down it trying to ignore the
man struggling and screaming for help in the iron trap of jaws. The guy was
dressed in Safe Side duds and was hunting kids. Any creep that liked to torture
anybody was scum, and to steal a kid was lower than the thing that forced him
into this shape.
A volley of shots was fired, and the crack of a Zapper's bolt of
lightning made Carl scowl. Outside, the hunters were attacking the somewhat more
honest citizens in the Zone. The fur at the tip of the shon:gili's
tail crisped, and a white bolt of electricity scorched the bricks of the sewer.
His lips pinched, the shon:gili's
eyes opened real wide.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
|
