Drexler awoke to thin sunlight piercing the horizon. She was exhausted and hungry. Sleeping in unconsciousness wasn’t restful like sleeping because you were sleepy. Not by a long shot.
She struggled to stand, and fought harder to keep upright. She went to wipe the hair from her face and realized that her left arm was unresponsive. Drexler looked down to find that particular appendage was a mass of broken bone and burnt twisted muscle and skin. Her gaze traveled up to her shoulder. It was just as ruined. She felt the right side of her face. It was rough and crusted with dried blood.
“Fuck,” she scoffed. “I need to eat. Goddess, am I hungry.”
She’d left the little bastard five or six miles back, she didn’t really remember, stashed in a grated drainage ditch. She’d snatched them right from underneath the soldiers’ noses with very little effort. The poor fools were tired, hungry, and their only lycan was busy with other pressing matters. It was easy just to wait for Shannon the Mongrel to leave with her…whatever she was…and then lure the mother out with the boy. She’d snatched them and kept them hidden from the soldiers without any of them being the wiser.
Department stores had hidden passages with strategically placed mirrors to look out for shoplifters. The only people that were privy to such knowledge were store managers and the police. She’d kept them in such a location, and in one instance, two soldiers had been mere inches from Drexler as she’d peered out at them. One of them had even flossed his teeth as she made faces at him on the opposite side of the glass. The bound and gagged woman had been alive then. She killed her right after the soldiers had left. Killing her sooner would have more than likely alerted them to her presence. Humans had a habit of soiling themselves when they expired. It made dining difficult, but sometimes you didn’t care. That was one of those times.
Drexler had stripped naked, transformed, and then killed the woman in front of the boy. She didn’t do it out of malice or to make the boy suffer. It had been a moment of opportunity. She was hungry and she needed to be fed. Human meat was more satisfying as a werewolf than a human. She derived no joy from the boys screams, if he did scream, she didn’t remember either way, or from the fact that once she had finished she realized the boy was unconscious. That worked out for her; it made transportation that much easier. She’d followed two miles behind the parting soldiers hoping to maybe take a straggler or two for additional ammo for her stolen weapon when she realized they were staying close to the freeway. They were either hoping to come across transport to save boot leather, or they were meeting up with another group.
That’s when she decided to stash the kid and run her own recon. If they were linking up with more, then she’d go her own way. There was only so many she could stand against and win. If not, then maybe she could do some damage. And things had worked out better than she had hoped. Things had also quickly gone sideways. She’d gotten overconfident and had paid for it. Now she was without useable salvage, but at least she had the boy.
“Hmmmmm. The boy.” Drexler began to salivate and that saliva dripped in thin drops from her the left corner of her mouth. Her wound needed those precious fluids so she forced her mind away from the hunger and the images that came with it. Her body was healing, but like anything else, no fuel meant slower recovery times. She had to get back.
Slowly, she began her trek back to her base camp, humming In the Year 2525. “If man is still alive. If woman can survive…” Drexler had always loved the song. She had given the thought of what lycan life would be like with such helpless meat at the ready. A pointless thought, but she entertained it even now. “I guess it’s time for the judgement day,” she said, glancing over at two slow moving figures over six hundred yards from her. They were shamblers and not worth her time and effort. Not that she had much effort left to give them. She blew them a raspberry and tromped onward.
In time she had made it back to the drainage ditch and was appalled to find the grate and been wrench away. Her meat was gone, but her stashed weapon and thermal imager remained buried under a reeking pile of washed up storm washed detritus.
“No, no, no, no,” she pleaded as she sloshed through the brackish water. She ran her hands through the water, splashing it everywhere in the vain hope that he had heard her coming and was holding his breath. He wasn’t there. The boy was really gone. She paused fist halfway to striking the wall in a mindless rage when she realized there was a scent. No, not a scent; scents. Both male, and not more than fifteen minutes old. They couldn’t have gone far. The men had only cared about the boy. They hadn’t searched for anything else. Maybe they thought he was in danger, with him being tied up and gagged, and decided that Good Samaritanism still applied.
“Ha!” Drexler scoffed as she dug in the mess for the rifle and the thermal imager. She looked at the imager and smashed it against the concrete wall. She’d only stolen it to take away any advantage it gave them in the night.
Drexler hurried out of the ditch, hunger almost forgotten.
“Fee fi fo fum,” she said sniffing the air. She followed the scent, breaking off from following once she felt comfortable they were going to continue on their main trek. They were avoiding the freeway, but keeping to space with nearly knee high crab grass that allowed them cover should they need it while allowing them a full range of sight for any trouble. They knew enough to be dangerous, but she knew more.
She circled wide, using her instinct the plot their course. She was off course twice but correctly quickly each time. Her stomach growled as she caught the boy’s scent. Fresh meat was on the menu for lunch and nothing was going to stop that ala cart treat.
Drexler crouched low as she moved along the grass. She could hear their faint voices as she closed on them. Were they laughing and whooping, and carrying on like they were on a hunting trip? And was that whimpering she heard? First and foremost, it sounded like they were having a high time, and as she raised up enough to aim the M4, she froze.
They were having a high time. A high hard one as a matter of fact, and at the cost of the boy’s virtue. They were raping him. Those motherless sons of cur bitches were raping that boy. She didn’t know what angered her more; the fact that they were bespoiling her meal or that they were sexually assaulting a child.
‘I’m a mother fucker,’ she thought, as she lowered her rifle, and eased her breathing, ‘but even I have a limit that must be maintained.’
She raised the rifle up quickly and squeezed off a shot. Her marksmanship skills were always sharp and the round that entered the man taking the boy from behind proved it. He slumped forward, pinning the boy beneath him.
The second had been massaging his hardened prick as he watched his friend work the boy over. The shot had taken him by surprise, and he dropped his dick and lurched for a bolt action rifle leaning against a battered backpack. Drexler squeezed the trigger again. The shot slammed into the shoulder of the arm reaching for the rifle.
“Don’t fucking move, and you won’t get hurt,” she said, rushing to the man. She kicked the rifle away. “Down on the ground, hands on your head, now!”
Drexler stomped on the man’s back, causing him to howl in pain.
“You’re a cop? Ain’t no jailing us now. World’s over,” he sputtered before Drexler moved her booted foot up to the back of his neck.
Her face itched like crazy. She scratched it and found that new skin was forming, but it was nowhere near what it could be if she were operating on a full tank. She hit the man on the back of the head, and quickly handcuffed him.
“You didn’t have to hit me again,” he cried as she flipped him over.
“Shut up,” snapped Drexler.
She moved to the boy and checked his pulse. He was out, and his breathing was slower than what it should be. She licked her lips and looked form him to the dead man. She laid her rifle down, and went to work on the man.
She tore out his neck at the shoulder and swallowed greedily.
“You’re one of them.” The man’s shrieks were high and shrill. The sounds he made were very similar to that of a terrified preteen human female. Hell, Drexler knew women that hadn’t screamed like that before their deaths. And how much more irritating and nerve wrecking he was to her hearing.
She whipped her face toward him. The change was evident on her face and she wanted to see it as she snarled at him. She knew her now lovely golden eyes and sharpening features would scare the man into submission. In reality, all he did was scream louder. She wrenched his dead friends arm out of the socket, the sound it made as it was ripped free was more satisfying than the sound it made when she struck him with it. His moan pleased her as his head slammed into the ground.
“Better,” she said, returning to the meal.
She fed until she was beyond satiated. This was the werewolf feeding equivalent to grudge fucking. It was satisfying, but not in the act itself. The act of stuffing her face and filling her cave like belly was nice, but the violence and rage that the act allowed free was the true release.
Drexler pushed herself away from the body and leaned back, propping herself up with her arms. Her stomach growled back at her in pain at the amount of redneck meat she had consumed. She belched loudly and laughed at the sound. She cut the mirth off as she remembered the boy.
“Child,” she asked, looking around the camp sight. The boy was gone. She moved toward the still unconscious dimwit.
“Where’s the boy,” hissed Drexler through her bloody teeth, meat wedged firmly into every crevice. “Where’s the boy?” she said, slapping him. She licked her muzzle anxiously as she struck him again and again. “Where’s.” Slap. Harder and louder. “The.” Slap. Slap harder and louder still “Boy.” Slap harder yet, followed by a sharp even louder crack.
She opened her hand and watched the body fall to the ground.
Drexler stood and drew cool the air deeply into her lungs. The smell of decay and different gore caught her attention.
She ran full out in the direction of the smell. She crested a knoll and found two undead ripping into the boy. Neither noticed her approach as they performed their own gluttony. She reached the first, a newly dead mid-teen girl, and snapped her neck. The arms ceased their pulling at organs and flesh, though the mouth still worked at chewing the flesh, and the eyes still moved, seeking answers to where the body had gone.
The second, a boy of the same age, didn’t notice what had happened to his partner. He continued digging into the boy. The ripping sound of flesh had never bothered her, but this time the sound made even her cold skin crawl. The rip, slurp, crunch, rip, slurp, crunch repetitiveness tickled her conscious and subconscious mind. She almost had to force herself to move for the final kill with purpose and not overzealous anxiousness to end the noise. Drexler smoothly snapped his neck, giving it an extra pound of torque. Like the girl, his mouth still worked at what had been shoved into his mouth. Drexler stood, reverted back to her human form, and contemplated her next move.
“Oh well. What the hell,” she sighed, turning the boy’s head toward his left shoulder. She then pulled the boy’s corpse close to the girl’s. “Maybe you and she can gaze upon each other for however long it takes for you both to rot away. Gaze, and perhaps contemplate how damned ugly you are. Or how you’re love, be it true romance or sibling what have you, lead you to this place.”
She moved to the boy, and breathed deeply. She bent down to close his eyes. She paused when the mouth moved as her hand passed over it. He’d come back. He looked Drexler in the eyes and his mouth worked again, this time opening wider before snapping closed. She could’ve sworn that he was trying to say something, but she could’ve been wrong. Wrong or right, Drexler had to do something.
“Not good,” she said flipping him over. Organs that she had exquisite familiarity with spilled from the boy. “Oh what they have done to you,” Drexler said, searching her pockets. She didn’t have anything sharp on her so she searched the undead teenager first, and found nothing useful. The girl proved otherwise. She had a number two pencil stuck into her pulled up hair.
“Let’s give you a go,” Drexler said. She gave the pencil a twirl between her fingers as she straddled the boy.
With a well-honed motion she drove it into the back of the boy’s skull. Drexler flipped the boy’s body over, and was pleased to see the motions of the jaw and the searching eyes had stopped. She smiled down at the still face, the unseeing eyes and the aging that death and undeath had brought to his face. “Come along, Sonny-Jim,” Drexler said, sweetly brushing the boy’s hair from his face. “I must make sure that you are reunited with your friends.”
This work is copyrighted by Jason McKinney. Any use, in whole or in part, is prohibited unless authorized by the author.