Kiss Me, Curse Me - By Kate Shay Page 0,50
exactly?” A silhouette of very thin man stood behind him at the top of the steps.
Swearing, Hank saw a flash of yellow from the stranger’s eyes and got the definite feeling that something very bad was about to happen. He quickly hobbled out the back door and sprinted as best he could toward the trail.
“I knew it, I just knew it,” he mumbled to himself, then hollered to his three counterparts farther ahead on the trail: “Wait up, guys!” But, he heard nothing, saw no one. He was alone amidst the long, lean, thickly packed pines under a fast-darkening sky.
He could sense that he was being followed. A seemingly endless howl shattered the silence around him. Hank froze there on the trail—a flash of white flicked by him amongst the trees. He swung around to see the nose of a gleaming revolver pointed right at him. He closed his eyes.
“Duck, son.” It was Patty, taking aim at the wolf ahead of them on the trail. It had paused for just a second.
The shot rang out, and the wolf darted away.
“Come on, Hank. Stop messing around here.” Patty eyed the forest for signs of the animal. He didn’t like dogs of any kind, had a bad memory from when he was a kid.
“You waited for me?” Hank limped behind Patty, wishing he could have his own gun.
“Of course. You’re like a son to me.”
Hank beamed, despite his distress. It was the first positive emotion he’d felt in days. His own father hadn’t been much help to him through the crisis, and his mother had just been a worrisome pile of words that had no sense of direction—no guidance—and guidance was all he had been looking for—that or comfort. She had provided neither to him.
“It’s good you checked the place out, okay? I wanted to go up there myself, but Doby . . . he’s on a mission here, and as an acting deputy, I do have to follow command.”
“I know that, really I do.” Hank tried to keep pace through his increasing pain and stiffness.
“What happened to you back there?”
“I thought it was a dead body. It stunk like one. I haven’t smelled one before, but the smell was bad enough. It was a man. I don’t know who or what’s going on, but I got the blazes out of there.”
“He must be the shop owner. Still, it doesn’t make sense. If something was awry in the town, why’d he stay behind?”
“Maybe he caused it. Whatever it was . . . I mean, I got the creeps from him. I think he was going to kill me.”
“What? Why?” Patty climbed over a downed tree on their path then assisted Hank, who was limping worse now. “It was his tone. I don’t know. He sounded . . . possessed. Maybe it was a dead body in that room, and he had just been hiding, or I didn’t notice him . . . or something.” Hank wasn’t sure now what he had seen, other than that it bothered him on a deep and horrifying level. He didn’t mention all of the details, like the flashing, yellow eyes, to Patty as he didn’t want to sound crazy or, even worse, weak.
“We could go back and see this man. Maybe he knows something.”
“No. No need to do that. We can keep going here. It’s Ahanu we’re after. I’m after.” Going back was the last thing Hank wanted to do, so he kept the manhunt first and foremost in his mind.
“We’ll ask Doby. I think he was certain no one was there in that town, not that I can even guess why he’d think such a thing without a proper search. I just don’t get the way he operates sometimes. It’s like he’s on to something I’m not aware of.” He pointed ahead of them on the trail. “We’re almost caught up; I can see Ed’s big, dumb head. . . HEY!” Patty yelled.
Ed poked Doby to get his attention, but Doby was intently examining something on the forest floor. “There’s a man back there,” said Patty as they approached. “Hank saw him.”
“I know,” said Doby. “I heard him already.”
Hank sneered, “Why’d you let me go up there alone then?”
“You’re fine, aren’t you?” Doby asked, continuing his poking around.
“What is it?” asked Patty.
“Blood. There’s fresh blood here. That man that you saw. Was he bleeding, injured, did you notice anything unusual? Anything at all, Hank?”
“Well . . . maybe.”
“Maybe, have out with it then,” Doby picked