Ted Kosmatka - Prophet of Bones

The thing’s eyes narrowed. It turned and bounded off down the trail, tearing at the branches.

The red-bearded man walked over to Paul. He sank down on one knee. “They take direction sometimes. Unless they get angry. When they’re really angry, all bets are off.”

Paul looked in the direction where the thing had disappeared.

“And one more thing,” the man said. “They don’t forget.”

The man leaned forward. “Wanna hear something else?” He placed his mouth close to Paul’s ear. “I’m not really allowed to kill them. These things. I hate them. Vile creatures. But I’m not allowed to shoot them, no matter what.” The man straightened, speaking now in his normal voice. “One day, they’re going to figure that out. But that day wasn’t today. Lucky for you.”

Paul turned his head and looked over at the thing he’d killed. Its misshapen head was now further misshapen. It lay facedown in the dirt a few feet away. Coarse black hair, a wide torso. Paul stared at its feet. If you could call them that. In truth, they were something between hands and feet. Something that was neither. It might have weighed two hundred pounds, all muscle. Broad as doorwary.

The bearded man motioned for the other two men to pick Paul up. They grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him to a standing position. Everything hurt. His head swam. Blood ran into his eye. “But you,” the man continued. “Bravo. That’s quite a swing you have. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” The other men started to half-pull, half-carry Paul toward the van. Paul jerked his arm away.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” the man said. “Tell you what. Would you rather I let your new friend there help your girlfriend?”

Paul let his arms be gripped. Lilli was still crying, putting her ripped dress back on. Its gossamer fabric had simply dissolved in the creature’s grip. Her black hair stood wild atop her head. Tear marks made tracks in her dirty cheeks. They made the long walk back to the van.

Paul kept losing time. His head wasn’t right. His ears still rang.

They backtracked through the woods the way they had come. Suddenly he was at Gavin’s body. The face smashed. Unrecognizable.

“Gavin,” Paul said, unsure why he was saying it. The word just spilled out. And then he lost time again, and they were passing through the pavilion. Paul slumped to the pavement, cool concrete on his face.

Lilli’s face looked down at him. She was kneeling, trying to help him up. “You have a concussion.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Paul said.

Somewhere, a man laughed. “Not like he can have double vision, now, is it?”

Paul pulled himself upright and kept walking but stumbled again as they approached the vans. The two men yanked him back to his feet this time. The world swam.

“Where is the sample?” one of them asked.

“Sample?” Lilli asked.

“Don’t play dumb,” the man said. “We don’t have the time.”

“Just check her purse,” one of them snapped.

“She’s not carrying a purse.”

They pushed Paul against the front of the first van, his legs spread, hands held in a firm grip behind his back like they were cops. He felt the windshield on his left ear.

“The car.” The red-bearded man sighed with irritation. “Check their fucking car.”

The man did as he was told. A moment later he shouted, “Found it.” He dumped the contents of Lilli’s purse on the hood of Gavin’s rental . Gavin’s rental . It seemed ludicrous that Gavin was dead. Impossible. He had a rental car to return. “Got it,” the man called out, holding up a plastic baggie wrapped in tape.

The other men brought Paul around to the side of the van. That was when Paul saw the man Gavin had shot. The wounded man was lying in the back of the van. His eyes were gummy. His shirt bloody. The bullet had taken him high on the shoulder.

“He doesn’t look good,” Paul offered.

“You’re no fashion model yourself,” a man said from behind him. “Get in.”

Paul allowed himself to be pushed toward the open van doors until he saw Lilli being pulled in another direction. The man holding Lilli’s arm tugged her toward the second van. Paul jerked his shoulder back.

“I’m riding with her,” he said.

“You’re going separate,” the bearded man snapped.

“The fuck I am.” Paul pushed back with his 235 pounds. Another man stepped into position to help manhandle him.

Lilli starting screaming. Paul looked over, and she’d dropped to the ground, kicking at the man trying to get her in the vehicle.

The man grabbed her arm and twisted. Lilli screamed in pain. “Let go of me!”

Paul braced his leg against the side of the van and pushed off. The two men behind him grunted as they tried to force him inside. “Get. In. The fucking. Van.”

“No! I ride with her.”

“Motherfucker, I will shoot you.”

“Then do it, because that’s the only way she and I don’t end up in the same van.”

The creature moved into view, coming slowly out of the woods, observing the scuffle from a distance. It crouched low to the ground as it moved, tension building in its haunches. That same barely controlled anger on its face.

The red-bearded man saw it too.

“All right, all right, for fuck’s sake,” he said, letting go of Paul’s arm. “Jesus. Get in the fucking same van, the both of you, or you’ll both be fucking dead, and I’ll have to explain. Jesus.”

The men behind Paul relaxed their grip, and Paul stood straighter. He adjusted his shirt, which had twisted around his body, and he walked to the second van and helped Lilli climb inside.

“Your face,” she said, and touched him.

A moment later, the door slid shut.

The darkness like a gift.

Outside the van, voices argued, getting farther away. Paul crept toward the front of the van and looked out the windshield. He could see one of the men standing a few yards away, keeping an eye on the vehicle. His gun was in its holster at his side. Paul slunk back to where Lilli was sitting. He held her hand. Neither of them spoke. A few minutes later, the voices returned.

There was unintelligible conversation. The other van door slid open. There was a thud. More time went by, and Paul knew they were loading the bodies. Gavin. The creature. The van door slid shut.

There was more talking outside the vans. Voices pitched low so Paul couldn’t hear.

Suddenly the driver’s door opened, and one of the men climbed behind the wheel. He started the engine. A moment later, the red-bearded man opened the front passenger door and climbed in.

He turned to apprise them. “You’ve no idea how fucking close.” He held his hand up, thumb and forefinger positioned a centimeter apart. “This close, and things would have gotten out of control, and I’d have some explaining to do about how our target got his arms ripped off. It might have been worth it.”

He tossed two pairs of handcuffs back to them. “Now lock yourselves. Hands in front of you. Both of you.”

Paul picked up one of the handcuffs. He clicked his left wrist. Instead of handcuffing his right, he clicked Lilli’s right. He stared into Redbeard’s face the whole time.

The man just shook his head. “Oh, the old man is gonna love you.”

The van pulled away.

They drove throughout the night. Paul slept with his back wedged against the hard metal side of the van. In the morning he woke and could barely move, and his eye was nearly swollen shut. This was not good. If the swelling got any worse, he’d be blind.

“I’ve got to piss,” he said.

There was a shuffle of movement from the front seat, and an empty two-liter cola bottle was tossed back to him.