A Fury of Memory - Villain Novella II

Chapter 4

"Hunt, what are you doing?" Pat asks.

I move carefully towards the hysterical goat thrashing its head in the drying mud from yesterday's downpour. I finally make it out, the mangled remains of another much older goat. Crusted blood covered the gray fur from a gash, deep enough to expose shoulder blade.

"What the hell is wrong with that crazy shit?" Pat asks.

"Come on now, you don't see this? His friend here is dead, cut deep. Doesn't sound familiar?" The sarcasm more prominent than I intended.

"What the fuck you talking about man, how would I know anything about that?" Pat sounds more intrigued than offended.

"Look at the wounds, this must have happened sometime yesterday. Same day you and Gabe were high and stumbling around here. You telling me you didn't see anything? Or wouldn't at least question me about it if our roles had been reversed?"

As I point towards the blood I notice it snake the hill towards the backyard, the same trail Gabe used on this unlucky scouting excursion.

Patrick calls behind me, "There is nothing up there, you're wasting your time."

"Then why the blood trail? It came from up there, must be something else to see. Stay here if you want, I will be back."

I was too curious to be cautious and moved quickly. It was in the air, the same dread but now close and fresh. We were in their turf now, the odds no longer in our favor. Yet something made me feel I needed to proceed anyway.

Near the top I step on a large rock cutting through the dried mud, the same that sent Gabe spinning mid-slide. The morning sun peeks beams of light through the broken boards of the outhouse, exposing the dirty magazines and floating dust inside. The trail of blood continued past the outside lavatory towards the back of the house and animal cages.

As I walk into the field I can't make sense of what I was seeing, my brain trying to catch up with processing the scene.

As I stumble forward, a loud squelching emits as my foot lands, the weight of my boot sending streams of blood out into the grass. I kick my leg to send an grayish organ flying a few feet away.

The entire backyard was a sea of dismembered heads and limbs, all scattered on random display. The carnage was so dispersed you could tell a few had tried to scurry off but were cut down at the legs before getting too far.

Some heads seemed to float on the sides of the cages, the neck stumps wedged squarely on the sharp corners.

Side slanted pupils now rolled in upwards in sockets, tongues darting from the sides of mouths.

I hunch down by the cage, in an area clear of body parts and take a few deep breaths and assess the area.

"Patrick?" I try to say quietly but there was no reply.

As I start back towards him I nearly trip over a large elder laying away from the others. It's hair was black with grey ends thinned to patches. It's muscular body and long horns indicated this was the alpha of the pack.

It had been sliced open, but that wasn't the worst of it, the eyes had been cleanly plopped out. In replace of those horizontal pupils peering at me was a blood clotted hole.

The jaw was also missing; cleanly split off and removed. I can imagine the effort it would take to remove it. The horns were sawed off, leaving only stubs at the bases.

The time and effort put into destroying this beast was more elaborate than any of the others, performed out of rage and ritual. I can see the images of it all happening and quickly try to clear my mind of it as I head back to Patrick who had grown unusually silent.