falling, jaws closing on his shoulder, splitting the tendons, the arm loose, no time to chew this irresistible flesh.
He bounded over the fields of the dead after those who were racing in panic ever deeper into the darkness. He caught the first and ripped out half of his throat, throwing him aside as he went after the remaining tormentor, catching him in both paws and lifting him to his waiting jaws. Luscious, this pulsing feast, this dripping meat.
On a patch of blood-soaked grass lay the boy victim, nut-brown skin, black hair, curled up now like a fetus in his leather jacket, face bleeding, belly bleeding, swooning, in and out, in and out, eyes struggling to focus. Boy of twelve. Reuben bit down and picked him up by the collar of his thick jacket as a cat would pick up a kitten by the nape of its neck, and carried him easily this way as he ran along faster and faster till he came to the lights of the street. Up over the iron gates. And then he left his small charge on the corner before the darkened windows of a small cafe. Silence here. No late-night traffic. Streetlamps shining on empty shops. With his powerful right paw he shattered the glass of the cafe. The alarm shrieked. Yellow lights flashed on, garishly illuminating the wounded one on the pavement.
Reuben was gone. Back through the cemetery, he trotted, tracking the scent of those he,d slaughtered. But the kill was cold now, uninteresting. He wanted what was warm. And there were other voices in the night.
A young woman singing a low agonizing song.
He found her in the woods of the Berkeley campus, this old university landscape that, in a faraway lifetime as a human boy, he,d so loved.
Amid the towering eucalyptus trees, she,d set up a sanctuary for her final hour - treasured book, the wine bottle, an embroidered pillow against the thick bed of fragrant leaves that curled like peelings, the small sharp kitchen knife with which she,d cut both her wrists. The blood and the consciousness oozed from her as she moaned. "Wrong, wrong!" she said under her breath. "Help me, please." She could no longer hold the wine bottle, no longer move her hands or her arms, her matted hair covering her wet face.
He hefted her over his shoulder and made for the lights of Telegraph Avenue, speeding through the dark groves of the campus, places long ago where he,d studied, argued, dreamed.
The densely packed buildings were throbbing with voices, heartbeats, the thud of drums, talk and the talk of amplified voices, the wail of a trumpet, the din of competing songs. Gently he deposited her at the open door of a busy tavern, indifferent laughter exploding inside like broken glass. As he moved upwards and away, he heard the cries of those who discovered her. "Call for help."
The voices of downtown were calling to him. Big city. Choices. Life is a garden of pain. Who shall die? Who shall live? A horror took hold of him as he moved south. I did what seemed natural for me to do.... I heard the voices; the voices called me; I caught the scent of evil and I tracked it. It was as natural as breathing to do what I did.
Liar, monster, killer, beast. An abomination ... this will end now.
The sky was the color of soot when he came over the flat cluttered roof of the old gray brick hotel and down into the hatch roof of the fire stairs, slipping along the low dim hallway, silently opening the unlocked door.
Scent of Laura.
She had fallen asleep at the window, arms folded on the sill. Beyond, the leaden clouds were paling, growing shiny behind the featureless rain over a jumble of chalklike towers, freeways vibrating like bowstrings as they arched to the right and to the left. Layer after layer of cityscape between here and the great Pacific was dying to embers in the mist. Jangle and throb of the awakening streets. Garden of pain. Who will harvest all this pain? Please, let the voices die away. No more.
He lifted her and carried her to the bed, the white hair falling back from her face. She woke to his kisses, eyelids shuddering. What was it in her eyes as she looked up at him? Beloved. Mine. You and me. Her perfume flooded his senses. The voices went out as if someone had turned a dial. Tap tap came the rain against