Hunched down, he was easy to overlook in the wooded ravine even with the bright red of his shirt and clearly blue denim of his pants. He sat on his haunches, ass hanging suspended comfortably less than an inch over the leaf-strewn moss and granite of the ravine floor. It didn't appear as though he needed his arms to counter balance the low weight distribution of his pose. It worked for him, without gawkiness or any jerking motion ...
Sandra liked her job. In fact, she liked her life in general. She was the East Coast's answer to the California blonde beauty; athletic, tall, meticulously groomed with naturally colored auburn hair, well spoken, understated, conservatively liberal, but more outdoorsy than one would think. Moreover, she was smart, very smart. That's what landed her the position with the prestigious Boston magazine, even without the proper portfolio.
He knew what it was now and damn it, it seemed to be coming straight in is direction. He cursed himself for his stupidity, he knew how close to town he was and how dangerous this latest little stunt had been. Here he was, with the remains of some fucking tourists from Connecticut, tied up like a Christmas parcel, ready to take out and scatter for the local night critters to finish off. But now, an unexpected visitor was gonna fuck everything up.
Swatting at the bloom of mosquitoes that hovered around her head, buzzing in her ears and occasionally hitting her eyelids, Sandra cursed the "Deet free" natural bug spray she'd opted for. "Healthier" than the tried and true mega-toxic sprays that people had been using for the past 30 years. Healthier but a fuckload-less effective. She was busy trying to keep her face from being bitten into a bumpy mess, while still keeping to a path ...
Sandra ran a panicked, flailing, and crashing sprint through the woods. She couldn't hear much above the sound of her own psychotic breathing and her feet snapping branches and kicking leaf mould. But she knew it was behind her. She could just make out the rhythmic breathing, much like a horse in a measured hand-gallop, punctuated by intermittent low, gurgling, rumbling growls and a clicking sound that reminded her of ...
After the first few hundred yards, he began to realize he'd eaten too much. Should have passed on that last thigh but the fat bitch's flesh was so sweet and tender, like a maple syrup fed pig, he just couldn't help himself. He should have been curled up in a small cave or under a big boulder somewhere, head resting on the package he had put together for the critters, not running Hell-bent-for-leather ...
Sandra ran trying not to think, but like any number of prey animals that had run before her she wondered what it was going to feel like if it got hold of her, where it would sink its teeth first. Probably my ass! It was then she realized she was beginning to hyperventilate. If she didn't keep it together it would eat her ass! Not just her ass either ...shuddering she realized she needed to just stop thinking and keep moving. Knowing death and teeth where behind her was an extraordinary motivator. She dodged branches ...
Patrick Pelko (and he still hated his parents for their apparent love of alliteration) had his feet propped up on the desk, bouncing in his wooden sprung-bottom office chair, regaling his fellow officer, Avery Jensen with his latest softball escapades. Pat enjoyed being a town cop, had no aspirations to advance his career in a bigger city or another state. New Hampshire, with its conservative ways, brutal winters, basic lifestyle and dependable people suited him just fine.
Patrick really wanted to continue along the boobs train of thought with Avery, but his eye caught someone running up the street. Someone was running in a way that made him pay attention, because it did not appear to be a happy sort of running. It seemed more like a shit was just getting ready to hit the fan kind of running, almost panicked like a squirrel running from a cat. On the down bounce, he dropped his feet from the top of the desk and stood up for a better look. Jensen, catching Pat's concern, followed his gaze into the street.
Deep in the back of his mind, Pelko felt a little ashamed of referring to the crazy old coot as Hershey squirts. I mean it's not like he and his buds coined the phrase. Hell ole' Hersh had that name long before Pelko knew what it or anything else much meant. Christ the old bastard had to be closing in on 90, still for an ancient codger the old fucker got around pretty good, considering.
As she started to catch her breath a bit, Sandra began to clearly make out the man she had just accused of being her attacker. He had moved even closer now, coming across the marginally paved back street that ran from the jumble of roads that made up the main square in town. He moved with an almost ape-like stride. His hips had to be severely twisted for his gait to be so asymmetrical. Could that possibly be the same red and black streak that almost snagged her ponytail at the edge of the woods not 10 minutes before?
Sandra turned, but before she was able to answer, Pelko strode across the tiled floor, pushed open the inner door and stuck most of his upper body out the front door in the direction of the derelict, hairy retard making his way down the street. "Yo, Hershel, got a minute? Mind coming in here? Gotta ask you something." Pelko bellowed.
Holding the door of the Blazer ajar for Sandra, Pelko looked up and down the street for any sign of the recently exited Hershel, but the old guy was nowhere to be seen. "Probably for the best" he thought as he strode around the hood of the truck, opened the door and slid into the seat next to the woman, who stared straight ahead and said nothing. He started the engine, checked his mirrors and pulled a quick U-y in the road heading out for the area Sandra had said she had been on the outskirts of town.
Pelko knew the ravine that she'd mentioned was a good 3/4 of a mile into the woods, and he made for its edge with little fanfare and no apparent concern for the woman accompanying him. She kept up. As they crested the ravine, Pelko noticed a dark blue backpack lying on its side next to the path. "Yours" he asked, bending down with a slight grunt to fetch it.
As soon as he heard the stupid rich little bitch's engine turn over, Pelko adjusted his balls, scratched the side of his neck where he'd nicked himself shaving this morning and leaning forward, started his car. He slowly began to move off out of the deep shadows of the trees, knowing he'd have a hell of fun time tonight, regaling the guys at the 'Legion about the exploits of that little granola tart.
"How'd it go" Avery asked, looking up from his computer keyboard where he was updating the station website. "Just like we both honestly thought it would" Pelk answered in a more tired than annoyed voice. "It wasn't anything, didn't even find any pot plants."
After the initial tearing bite, his teeth folded back again, allowing the sensually fleshy lips to create a vacuum over the jagged wound. Resembling a lamprey attached to the underside of a shark, he drew in great draughts of blood, feeling the collapse of the tissue under his gently kneading fingers, his mind beginning to plan how to get rid of the vehicle.