Hunting Party

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Hunting Party

"Quinn, I tell yeah it was the beast. Bigger than you and mean as all hell!" Jonesy's mouth was full of chewing tobacco that dripped down his chin and onto his undershirt. He was drunk as shit, but I knew the old man was telling the truth. I had killed one of those giant foxes last year when they crawled into town. I shot one in its ugly face and then locked lips for the first time with the officer that would become my woman. It was the most badass day of my life.

Here's the deal: I took an oath to protect this town. Did I think that was going to mean killing giant fox-wolf monsters? Nope. Honest to God it never crossed my mind, but an oath is a promise and I, Officer Quinn Gillman of the Hilltop Police Force have barely ever broken a promise.

"And it killed Marty... and my chickens God dammit! Beer?" Jonesy rattled two buds from the cooler. Poor geezer didn't even have a refrigerator in this old shack he called a home. And now his dog and chickens were dead.

"No Thanks. On Duty." I wish duty called for beer once in a while. The idea of two more of those creature-things still lurking out there made me itch. Thing is, they hadn't made two peeps since they first appeared over a year ago. That is until tonight.

"Well, we should go see... the crime seen I guess. I mean if you're..."

The old man spat out his tobacco onto his carpet and washed the rest back with a Budweiser in one slug, "Gotta clean the awful mess anyhow. These eyes have seen worse if can believe it." He opened the front door letting the light out and the cold spring air in.

It was dark around Old Jonesy's shack, real dark. I'm not saying I'm afraid of the dark, I'm an officer of the law, but it was spooky quiet and my flashlight already showed little drops of blood.

And the drops became splotches. And the splotches became pools. And then it was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen.

Blood and parts everywhere. The shed's walls looked like they were washed in the reddest meat sauce you ever saw. Steam still lifted from the massacre of gory crap.

Oh, and poor Marty. That dog looked like it had been put through a blender, except that its cute little husky face was mostly intact, three feet away and staring at me with its tongue out.

I couldn't look and the bloodbath a moment longer, so I used my police observation skills to notice the massive paw prints and dark blood trails that led deep into the back woods.

Jonsey started to cry, so I put my hand on his shoulder, "I didn't know Marty well, but he always seemed like a good dog." I meant every word.

The old man nodded, "He was, Quinn, he was always a good dog. And those chickens were the best damn egg laying chickens anyone ever saw."

He was really sobbing now and it ripped my heart out.

I remembered my oath. I was here to protect, but I was also here to serve up bad ass justice and that's exactly what I intended to do, "I'm going to catch and kill these bastards, Jonesy."

Jonesy sucked his tears into his mouth, spat, then pulled out his pistol, "You're god damn right you are, and I'm coming with you."


I needed to call this one in. I headed for my cruiser as Jonesy went to get ammo and his shotguns. I knew this was against regulations, but if those things could do that to a big dog like Marty, then imagine what they could do to a child, and if you think I'm going let one of those things eat a little innocent kid you're straight out of your mind. Sometimes you've got to break the rules and take responsibility for the situation.

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