Misery County

Chapter 20 - Part 6

Bending his elbow slowly so that his jacket didn't make a sound, Eric began reaching for his shoulder holster. "You were never in the military. What do you care about orders?"

"Military's got nothing to do with it. There's a hierarchy. Everyone does their part. You know what that's like."

The refrigerated cabinet behind Eric clicked open.

"I know what it's like to fight for a cause. Do you?" Eric said, trying to keep calm, his hand inching closer and closer to his pistol. Surely Aaron couldn't see him, else he'd already be dead.

"Oh, I know what it's like to fight for a cause, my man. Why do you think I'm here?" Aaron took a step toward Eric.

"Does wanton murder and mayhem count as a cause?" So close. Almost there.

The cabinet's stretcher scraped against its railings as whatever was inside it pushed it open.

"Does killing defenseless people in Iraq?"

"And just what the fuck are you trying to imply?" No, stay calm. It's not important. Don't lose it. Focus on the matter at hand. Eric's trembling fingers were now touching the back of his pistol.

"You know what I'm talking about." Aaron took another step forward.

"No, I don't. Enlighten me." The last thing Eric wanted to hear was a condemnation of his time in the Marine Corps, but he needed to buy time while he slid his pistol out of its holster as silently as possible.

The scraping of the cabinet stopped, and a faint groan confirmed that whatever was in there was corporeal, at least. One more problem on the list, but not impossible to deal with. Things could always be worse – he could be facing death at a Yoko Ono concert, a prospect that stands with or without monsters present.

"You want to know what I think?" Aaron said, taking another step.

A pair of soft somethings made contact with the ground beside the now-open stretcher of the cabinet.

"Do tell." The pistol was almost out.

The cabinet made one last sound as something hoisted itself off of the stretcher.

"I think you're stalling," Aaron said, and Eric could just about imagine the hostile grin that accompanied the words.

Behind him, soft footsteps approached.

"Now why would I be doing that?" Eric said coyly as he slowly extended his arm, once again making sure that his jacket's crinkles didn't give him away.

Step. Step. Step.

"Enough talking," Aaron growled.

Eric pulled the trigger, but he was shoved from behind as he did.

The flash from the pistol showed him a single frame of the room: An almost fully-transformed Aaron had launched himself toward Eric, the door to the room had been closed (though how that happened without a sound was anyone's guess), and while he couldn't see behind him, the shape of a hand on his back told him that an awakened corpse, clearly feeling rejected, was trying to muscle in on the action.

Eric fell chin-first onto the ground, and if the soft scrape of an article of clothing over the back of his head was any indication, Aaron had just flown overhead.

A macabre orchestra of ripping and tearing was echoing across the room no more than two or three yards from where Eric was lying. As soon as his senses returned, he aimed for the sound and tried to fire his gun, but nothing happened.

"Fuck!" he yelled out, and as he did, the sounds of the feast stopped, and an unmistakably canine snort was made in Eric's direction.