Alice Henderson - Voracious

“I think that’s a sitting duck,” Noah said, looking frustrated with the situation.

“I don’t care if the duck is doing a goddamn gold-medal triple lutz. Waiting here is suicide, precisely because that thing knows where I am.”

Noah walked to her and put his hands on her arms, trying to comfort her. “Stay here with me,” he said. “I’m your best chance for survival. I have the only weapon that can kill him. As long as you’re here, where I can watch over you, he won’t be able to harm you.”

She pushed the curtain aside just slightly and peered out. “He’s so… powerful. How would you fight him?”

“I have a way. I’ve done it before. I’ve completely foiled his plans several times.”

She looked at him, then, his face determined. Then she looked back through the window. She couldn’t see anything beyond the bright glow of the dusk-to-dawn lights. Replacing the curtain, she turned to face him. She felt lost. Muggers could be tackled. Gunmen could be disarmed. But this creature was beyond anything she’d ever dealt with. Her life up to this point, even with its own strangeness, simply had not prepared her to fight a physical, supernatural being. Before last night, she didn’t even know such a thing could exist. Now she was expected to fight it. “He’s just seems so… undefeatable.”

Noah stepped closer. “He’s not. And I’m going to stop him.”

She looked at him doubtfully, but exhaustion crept up on her as she stood there, uncertain.

“C’mon,” he said. “You look beat. Why don’t you sit down? I’ve got some clean clothes you can change into.”

She looked down at his clothes she already wore, covered in dust from the hike down. “Soon I’ll have the whole set.”

He laughed. “And you’d be welcome to it. Just to see you warm and happy.”

The corner of her mouth turned up in a half smile.

“So how about it? Change into some warm clothes? I’ll make us some snacks.”

She sighed, giving in. She was still shaking from the encounter with the attackers, and even more so from the visions of the creature. The clean clothes, the food, it all sounded great. Especially the food. “Sounds wonderful. Okay. But… what about those guys? Shouldn’t we report it?”

“Haven’t we been through this already tonight?”

She felt angry and hopeless and shook her head. “I guess we have.”

“I’m sorry. I know this is tough.” He walked to his backpack and opened the top. Then he stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. “You’ll get through this, you know. You really amaze me, the way you’ve taken all this in stride, your bravery. I really admire you.”

She shook her head. “Well, we’ll see. Right now I don’t feel so admirable. I just feel scared.”

While Noah unpacked his backpack, Madeline changed in the small bedroom. She pulled on Noah’s clean clothes: a black and purple Capilene turtleneck that zipped up the front; black pile pants, the thin, soft material somehow amazingly warm thanks to the technology of synthetic fabrics; a thick black fleece jacket with a 200 rating-darn warm. She zipped up the jacket, pulled on a clean pair of Thorlos socks, and put on her boots, which were now almost dry. She was glad she’d kept her underwear on up on the mountain. Wearing Noah’s boxers would have been a little too much. The poor guy had already given up most of his wardrobe. But by tomorrow, her jeans and shirt Noah had saved would be completely dry.

As she finished dressing, he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she said.

Noah entered, then leaned against the doorframe. “Looking good. Want me to check that bandage? You’ve bled through it.”

“Okay.” She looked at herself in the wall mirror. Blood had seeped through the white gauze, and she pulled the bandage aside. The cut on her head looked aggravated and red, the surrounding tissue a dark blue. An image of the tree trunk hurtling toward her head flashed through her mind.

Noah picked up the small bundle of bandages and first aid tape the EMT had given her and joined her by the mirror. He tore open one of the sterile packages. He removed the gauzy patch and gently placed it on her forehead. “Can you hold this in place?”

She reached up and pressed her fingers to the pad.

Quickly he tore off several strips of white first aid tape and affixed the bandage to her skin.

“It looks a lot better already,” he said. “Does it hurt much?”

She gazed at herself in the mirror. “Not really,” she lied, her head still throbbing dully.

“Let’s eat. I’ve got some cheese and crackers… not much, but it’s the only food we’ll find around here at this hour.”

“Sounds delicious.” And it did, too. After hiking, even the simplest food always tasted incomparably good. Cold processed lunchmeat on a flabby slice of white bread became a savory dinner cooked in a French bistro.

He paused at the bedroom door and motioned her through. As she passed him, she caught an alluring scent, along with something else-some indescribable connection-electricity in her stomach diving down to her toes and back up. She glanced back as he closed the door and caught him staring at her. Quickly, he averted his eyes.

From his backpack he’d pulled a small wheel of smoked gouda and some butter crackers in a plastic bag. Rummaging through the pack again, he pulled out a pocket knife. She wondered about the other knife that lay in the pack, the strange silver spike with the elaborate sheath. The temptation to ask him grew as he unfolded a blade and set the cheese on the small wooden table.

“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. “It’s the best I can do.”

“Looks terrific.”

“If I’d known I’d be entertaining a beautiful woman, I’d have brought wine and made my special pasta with mushrooms and cream sauce.” He smiled, his eye contact intense.

“Well, if any beautiful women show up, we’ll just have to let them down gently.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

Instantly she regretted saying it, but having someone call her beautiful was so rare and strange. Usually they desperately tried to avoid her, except George, thankfully. But of course Noah didn’t know about her “gift” yet.

She watched as he leaned over the table, muscular arms slicing away at the cheese, strong hand working the knife, cropped blond hair giving way to his lean, tanned neck-

“Thick or thin?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you like your slices thick or thin?”

“Either way.”

“Gosh, you’re so picky,” he said, grinning at her over his shoulder. “My clothes aren’t good enough, my cheese isn’t the right thickness. Give a guy a break once in a while.”

She laughed and walked over to the table, eager to nibble at the feast. He returned to slicing, and she peered over his shoulder longingly as he placed a slice on a broken cracker.

He turned his head slightly, inhaled. He stopped moving. “You smell good.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“It’s the scent of your skin, your breath. You smell-” he leaned forward, breathing her in, “ambrosial.”

“Ambrosial?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Isn’t that what people eat to become Greek gods?”

“Hmm…” He looked down at her, his eyes sparkling. “Let’s find out.” He leaned forward, flexing his teeth, and she grinned and took a step back.

“Noah!” She stopped a few feet away, still facing him.

“How can I find out if you run?” Closing the distance between them again, he said, “Yes, ambrosial… as in delectable, savory, delicious.” His hand found hers, and a rush of excitement tingled through her at his touch.

“Cheese?” she asked suddenly, her old fear rushing into her. She wanted this part to last-this part where he didn’t know she was a freak, where he might just be able to enjoy her company.