12
I stepped into the underbrush and told the butterflies in my stomach to go away. They didn't listen. I didn't want Paul to know how terrified I was. This wasn't one of the games I used to play. People could get hurt...real people. Not stats on a piece of paper or a bunch of pixels on a screen.
I moved forward, cursing silently at the growing sound of voices behind me.
It's only the sound of animals in the woods, I thought. There's nothing untoward happening.
I stepped out of the woods in front of the house, grateful that they had stopped arguing. I needed every bit of my concentration.
I walked between the two men and up the steps. They continued their quiet conversation as if nothing was happening.
The front door had been broken in. I stepped inside and swallowed heavily. I don't know if it was the greasy burgers I had wolfed down on the way here or what, but as soon as I entered the house, my stomach rebelled. My heart began pounding in my chest, every instinct telling me to get out.
I stood panting, trying to regain my calm when I heard voices beneath my feet. I cautiously moved through the house, all of my senses wide open, searching for the basement. I found the stairs and I crouched in the fading light. Something had been dragged down the steps. Something that left a dark, sticky trail. I touched the floor and brought my fingers to my face, then clutched at the wall, struggling to keep my lunch down. It was blood. That much I was sure, but I'm not sure why it had such an effect on me.
I moved down the stairs, glad they were stone so I didn't have to worry about any creaks alerting whoever was down there.
It was like a scene out of a horror movie, except this was real. There were a half a dozen men standing around a large, bound black man hanging from the ceiling like a piece of meat. Large hooks piercing his chest were attached to a jury rigged hoist.
I clutched the door jamb, struggling to contain the rage that rushed through me. Anger wouldn't help. The other men were heavily armed. I didn't think I could take them all out by myself. Perhaps now was the time to get the others.
Gene inhaled sharply and coughed, blood dribbling for his lips. He weakly raised his head and our eyes met. His eyes widened slightly.
"I told you," he rasped. "I don't know...where he is."
The man standing nearest him slammed his rifle butt into one of the hooks, releasing a sluggish rivulet.
Damn, he was weakening by the moment. I don't think I have time to get the others. I had to do something. Now.
If I could distract them, I might be able to conceal him if I could get him down.
When I first changed, I had been able to make Rick...manifest? If I could reach him, surely he would help.
"When I found him...he was nearly dead," Gene muttered weakly. "Because of you."
"Shut up, you son-of-a-bitch," the man snarled and struck him again.
I slipped into the shadows and opened my mind. I could see my connection to the poor wretch hanging there as well as the others out in the woods. They had a similar...feel. But I had noticed Rick had a different...texture, if that's the right word. I thought that since I had connected with him not long ago, I would be able to find him.
But as my mind quested out, what I found was a great number of similar textures. Some of them seemed anchored somewhere out West, but many were all around me. I rapidly felt through the varied strands, trying to find the one that spoke of Rick.
"He was trying...to get away...from you. He knew what...you'd do...when you found out...he was gay."
"That's it," the man snapped and stepped back, pointing his gun at Gene's head.
My cry was drowned out by the gun blast, and without thought I pulled savagely at all those ephemeral threads.
My vision darkened and I felt cool hands supporting me. I shook my head to see the men had backed against the wall, terror etching their visages. A shadowy figure with a shock of red hair was helping another rise from the crumpled body on the floor.
I glanced around and realized the room was crowded with a multitude of figures. They ranged from big and brawny to shorter, yet solidly built, from lean and lithe to wiry and wild eyed. All were looking at me.
"There are others in the woods, looking for the child," I growled, feeling my fury rise within me, welcoming it. "Bring them here."
"In what condition?" a slender one asked, his eyes aglow.
"Alive. Dead. I don't care," I snarled.
He gave me a broad grin, full of sharp fangs and with a howl he lead the hoard up the stairs and into the night.
"You'd best find your cub," I said to the one that had been Gene.
"What about them?" he said, his anger answering my own.
I turned to the men cowering against the wall, feeling their panic, and feeding it back to them seven fold.
"They're my meat," I growled, feeling the seams of my shirt splitting as my body began to swell. "I'll take very good care of them."