AN EXCERPT FROM        

by Kevin M. Kraft

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

 

 

 

  The cruise along Fifty-Four itself was monotonous, uneventful, and even mind-numbing, with the steady thumps of the highway slabs under-tire augmenting the point. But Terry Mason incorporated the regular beat into his version of Al Green’s “Let Stay Together,” which he had called up on the jukebox in The Watering Hole thirty minutes earlier, to the point that Ernest Hutchinson literally pulled the plug out of the wall to the applause of the rest of the patrons. Now, Terry had paid good money, nearly his entire paycheck, on the booze in that particular establishment—probably more than anyone else in the place. Certainly he had earned the right to play Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together” as often as he felt necessary. It was a good song, his favorite—undoubtedly everyone’s favorite. And Terry communicated his exception to having the plug pulled on his wishes by telling Hutchinson, in the most colorful language his alcohol-laden brain could conjure up, exactly what he thought about him, the bar and the rest of the people who applauded.

  Unfortunately, Ernest Hutchinson was the owner of The Watering Hole, and Terry found himself saying goodnight, in a manner of speaking, pretty soon thereafter. He even apologized to the owner and to the other patrons on his way out. Whatever kind of drinker he was, Terry was a considerate man, even if it was a bit delayed in revealing itself. And he sure didn’t want to burn this bridge, because there weren’t many to drink in town anymore. The Lamp Post closed three weeks ago and Toasts banned him after a drunken episode two weeks ago. He felt confident he had salvaged The Watering Hole and was now on his way home, where he would certainly face another confrontation from a wife who just didn’t understand that a man needed to unwind and blow off steam on a Friday night after a hard work week. In fact, it was a civil right. Yeah, that’s what he would tell her...again.

  What was the definition of crazy again...?

  Leeeeet’s....let’s stay togetherrrrrrrrrrr...

  If his radio weren’t broken, he would have turned it on. Al Green must have been playing on the air somewhere, popular song that it was. So Terry had to rely on his own singing talent to get him the rest of the way home.

  Outside, it had begun to rain. No, not rain. Mist. That annoying half-drizzle that was too much not to use the windshield wipers and not enough to keep them on and endure the irritating scrape the wipers made to tell you that, no, there wasn’t enough water for them to even be on.

  He switched the beams to low with the approach of an oncoming truck. Once it passed, he flipped the brights back up.

  “Oooooooh!” Terry suddenly felt his lower intestine ripple like a flag on top of the state building. He felt sweat break out all over his body with the sudden nausea, drenching his clothes in a matter of seconds, it seemed, and knew he had to stop. Now. Before nausea gave place to incontinence.

  He braked quickly and swung the Taurus over to the tree-lined right shoulder, without even signaling, parking at a forty-five degree angle which cast his headlights into the nearby trees.

  “Nnnnnnng...”

  Leaving his lights on and without even closing his door, he ran from the car unsteadily across the beams and dashed up the grassy bank into the dark woodland. What he had to do, he sure didn’t want some passerby to see him do it. But he did need to see where he was going to do it. Nearly twisting his ankle on fallen branches and tree roots, he continued on until a quick look behind him at his parking lights showed him he was far enough away not to be witnessed, having traveled a little further than he had planned. Twenty or thirty yards. The bright gibbous moon overhead helped dispel some of the darkness, yet added a distinct eeriness to the forest akin to what one might find in a horror movie or a dark novel. But Terry’s mind was focused on saving his life. At least that’s what it felt like at the moment. One more heave of his gut told him he couldn’t wait anymore, so he didn’t, disregarding the cool air and the weeds on his exposed backside. There on his haunches he hoped he wouldn’t have to throw up on top of everything else.

  Man, I can hardly stand myself now! And no paper, neither. Wait a minute, is that ME?

  He gagged and wretched against an odor more foul than he could produce independently from his worst drinking binge, and he wondered if someone had illegally dumped a load of rotten eggs nearby. He breathed though his mouth as best he could, hoping his stop would be short. This was already taking too long. Feeling the tension building in his legs and hips, he tried to recall all of what he had eaten today.

  A loud snap of a branch to his left. Someone was approaching from the woods, although who it could, or would, be at this time of night, he couldn’t fathom. Kids maybe. Another crack. Someone walking toward him, although Terry couldn’t see who it was. Just a dark form, a man in dark clothing, it seemed.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” he called to whomever it was invading his privacy. “Doin’ what come naturally.” He laughed to himself. That was a good one.

  The dark figure replied with the deep, guttural sound that might have come from an animal.

  A bear!

  Panicked, Terry stood up and hitched up his pants, forgetting his alcohol-compromised equilibrium, and toppled over to the ground, nearly breaking his left shoulder. As he rolled himself onto his back, buttoning his pants, he saw that the dark form had advanced a few more paces. In the available light he could make out few details. But he could discern something like fur.

  And that it was no bear.

  He stood slowly, trying and failing to buckle his belt with terrified finger. He made a pitiful sound in his throat a second before a rotted tree branch flew out from the darkness and shattered against the elm tree directly to his left. He was so surprised that he found himself face-down on leaves, saplings and burdock.

  Two distant thumps of car doors being closed brought him back to his feet, which in turn drew a rolling snarl from whomever—no, whatever it was two glowing red eyes, near the top of a bulky, seven-foot frame—focused on him—belonged to. 

  The broad, dark figure moved toward him, brush and branches crackling under tremendous weight. Terry bolted, blind with terror, his car lights as his guide back. He could hear the stomping weight behind him, and he screamed, as he headed down the bank—oh, thank God. There was Sheriff Bennett and Deputy Hightower standing in front of their SUV, which was parked hind his Taurus with its emergency lights scattering wild shadows all around. Hightower scanned the area with a flashlight, which finally found Terry.  

  “Help! Help me! Please!” he cried, on the grass and then the gravel shoulder of the road.

  “Mister Mason,” the pretty redheaded sheriff said firmly, placing her hand on the butt of her holstered pistol, “stop right there, sir, please.”

  Terry’s feet wouldn’t stop. It was as if they moved of their own accord.

  Deputy Hightower, a serious looking black man, held out a hand now to hold him at bay. “Whoa. You heard, now. Freeze right there!”

  “No, we have to get—!” Mason cried.

  “STOP, TERRY! HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!” Traci ordered.

  Mason froze, somehow comprehending just what kind of danger he was in with these two and halted. He gasped for breath wordlessly and finally clasped his hands behind his head. Hightower immediately handed the flashlight to Traci and approached to frisk him, while Traci covered him.

  Please…” Terry moaned, unable to think of anything more, while Hightower patted him down.

  “Had a little too much to drink tonight, Terry?” the deputy asked.

  “What are you doing out here, sir?” Traci asked.

  Finished searching him, Hightower backed away from him. “All right, you can put your hands down. Just keep them where we can see them.” the sheriff he said, “He’s clean.”

  Mason looked off to his left at the sound of movement among the trees.

  “Mister Mason,” Traci ordered, “eyes here! Why are you out here? What are you afraid of?”

  Suddenly, from out of those woods, a horrific animal roar— RRROOOAAAOOORRRWWW!

—emanated, causing the sheriff and deputy to start.

  “What—?”

  The sheriff’s question was cut short when, as if on cue, a large stone rolled out of the woods and smashed against the side of Terry's Taurus, shattering glass and rocking it in place. Despite herself, Traci cried out with shock. Hightower ushered Terry behind him, as both he and Traci drew their weapons and aimed them into the darkness. They paused, awaiting movement. For a moment, only their panting and Mason’s own whimpering, as he cowered beside their unit, could be heard.

  Then—heavy movement directly to their right. From his position near the ground, Terry saw both officers sidestep something he couldn’t see. But that something, something heavy, slammed into the opposite side of the unit, knocking it against the right side of his head—not hard enough to injure him, but enough to knock him away to roll into the middle of the roadway. He stood and then crouched back down right there.

  RRROOOAAAOOORRRWWW!

    “Now!” Traci ordered. She and her deputy fired into the woods—once, twice—at the unseen assailant.

  RRROOOAAAOOORRRWWW!

  The roar was, thankfully, more distant and heavy movement could be heard in the woods. Sheriff and Deputy relaxed slightly and holstered their weapons, staring after the animal.

  “You see that?” Traci asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “You saw that, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Man...that was a big one,” she said, holstering her weapon. “Need to”—

  Hightower followed suit. “Big what?”

  —“get the game warden or someone out here...take care of these bears.”

  “Bear.” Hightower blinked slowly at her.

  “That’s my report. You said you saw it. Don’t get senile on me, man.”

  “Sure,” he muttered. “North American bowling bears.”

  Bennett tuned to check on Mason, who was still cowering near their vehicle. “Better call a tow for Mister Mason’s car, here—”

  It struck them all at the same time: a thick, rancid stench they could almost see brought to them by a noticeable shift in the breeze.

  “Whew!”

  “Yep,” she replied without emotion. “Knock off early, get yourself a shower.”

  “Loads, ma’am. Just loads. What is that, seriously?”

  “Aw...probably foraging in the garbage because of the drought is all. Better post a bear alert when we get back.”

  Hightower stared at her. Not for long, just long enough to make his point. “Uh-huh. May want to book an appointment with an auto body repair place while we’re at it. These bowling bears do a number on a vehicle.”

  Terry saw Sheriff Bennett look around. “Crap, where’s Mason—?”

  He waited until she spotted him and lifted a small wave. She waved back briefly.

  “Yeah. You aren’t going anywhere...are you, Terry?”

  Had Terry the means, he would have continued what he began in the woods a couple minutes ago. Then again, it was a good thing he couldn’t.