Derelict

Fear the Terror of the Night

Chapter Eighteen

His mind was a bubbling cauldron of confusing sensations and visions. He felt his stomach lurch at the foulness of corruption and evil lurking in the boiling detritus, clouding his reasoning and focus even to the point where he began to question his ability to discern what was real or delusional.

The taste of blood filled his mouth. Hot, slick arterial blood coated his throat as he gorged at the carcass before him. He joyfully lapped at the crimson flood, tearing at limbs and gobbets of flesh, relishing not only the taste but the vanquishing of yet another life.

A human life.

This realization further confused him but provided nothing more than a faint twinge of remorse lasting only until another sensation distracted him from his grisly feast. It was a tail--he had a tail! It snaked around into view, the tail he realized that not only provided balance and agility but was a lethal weapon with its bony spikes and ridges. He couldn't recall when he had grown a tail but its presence seemed as natural as breathing.

He studied his victim and decided he had eaten his fill yet wanted no other to share his meat. He was greedy that way. Lifting his newly found tail, he let blast a stream of musk to coat the area and his kill. The aroma pleased him and he knew others wishing to feed would fear to approach and avoid the entire area. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs and reveling in the scent before exhaling in a piercing shriek that provided even additional warning to potential interlopers.

It was the shriek that startled him.

In a panic he groped about in the darkness, reaching behind and becoming dismayed because his tail had vanished along with the taste of blood and the vision of human remains.

Wyatt. My name is Wyatt.

He thought about that fact for a moment and realized it was important to remind himself.

"Wyatt?" A voice filtered through the dark, a voice that bore a degree of familiarity. "Are you awake?"

"Yes." It was all he could muster.

"You scared me. I was all alone."

It was Bryant. The voice belonged to Bryant.

There was silence as Wyatt pondered his situation. The reality of his earlier sensations troubled him and left him weak and confused. He felt Bryant stirring beside him and wondered for a moment, Could he outrun me if I attacked? I'm so hungry...

Stop it! I am Wyatt, not some spawn of hell. He forced those thoughts away, far, far away.

"Thank you," he said in a quiet voice. It was better than his previous line of thought. "Thank you for saving me."

Many minutes passed without a response. Then he heard a sniffle. "I want my Pa."

Wyatt could say nothing to that. He could add no words of comfort, for comfort was a thing alien to him. "Why is it so quiet?" He asked, not knowing whether he had said it aloud.

"It fed awhile ago, I could hear it. Maybe it's resting."

The vision of the human carcass burst into his consciousness, so real Wyatt felt he could reach out and touch it. He licked his lips.