Bestial Read online

  “Huh,” Christian said. “Just like the drive-in teller at the bank.”

  He placed the meat within the hole and closed the little door. The naked man hurried over to the other side of the tray. After several beeps and hydraulic whirs, the other side of the machine opened up for the inmate, who greedily reached into the hole and grabbed the meat. He sniffed it, smiled at Christian, and began to tear into it with the ferocity of a wild dog.

  “Oh,” he said, his mouth full of the rancid stuff. “That is so good.”

  Christian turned away, revolted that the man was chewing the nasty-smelling meat with his mouth open, his eyes wide and crazed. He kept his back to the man as he ate. Not only did the scene gross him out, but the eating of this bologna seemed to be a private matter, like sex or defecation. Although with the toilet in plain view, it didn’t seem as though this guy was worried about his privacy … let alone about shitting where he ate.

  “What’s your name?” Christian asked, trying to glean information through the simplest of methods: asking direct questions.

  “Andrei Sokosovich,” the man said with his mouth full.

  “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

  “No. I am from Siberia, a small village called Kirskania.”

  “Then why are you here? In America? In Cincinnati, for chrissake?”

  “I was hunted.”

  Christian spun around, facing the naked man, who was licking his fingers and looking at the dissipating light from the window. The meat was gone.

  “What?” Christian asked.

  The man seemed worried, his gaze fastened upon the window. “It is almost time again.”

  “Time for what?”

  The man smiled at him, a wide, wolfish grin. “Time to change.”

  “You were hunted down and brought here?” Christian asked, trying to circle back to a subject he could comprehend. “From your village in Siberia, right?”

  “Yes. It was a nice place to live. The cold was welcoming to me. This American heat seems ridiculous.”

  “Tell me about the people who hunted you.”

  “There is not much time.” The man adopted that same love-struck, mooning appearance as he looked back at the window.

  “Then tell me fast.”

  “My family was cursed for many generations. It has taken one of us from each … litter. I was the one who was cursed this time. We had many safeties at the house, but I was smart. I sometimes got loose. I loved the taste of sheep.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I am a shape-shifter. The doctors here, when they were alive, called me a lycanthrope.”

  Christian remembered black-and-white movies from his childhood, flickering across televisions in the basement where his father took him. “You mean, like, a werewolf?”

  The naked man smiled. “Yes … and no. Bigger than a wolf. More like a bear and a lion all mixed up.”

  “Like those things last night.”

  Andrei Sokosovich sighed. “A mistake. Something happened here. Something … that will happen again. Bigger. Worse this time.”

  Christian was becoming confused. Waving his hands in the air, he said, “So you inherited the curse, just like in the werewolf movies, only you’re a bigger monster.”

  “I do not like this word … monster.”

  “But you changed. Shape-shifted.”

  “Yes. It was glorious. When I could roam the land freely, I was the master of all. The villagers would lock themselves away. They would bar their doors. I would wander in the moonlight, eating and drinking and fucking—”

  “Whoa there! You said you had safety precautions.”

  “Yes. My family was wise to our ways. We had a little prison in the basement, with chains for the feet and hands. It was uncomfortable. I did not like it.”

  “But sometimes …,” Christian coaxed.

  “Sometimes … oh, sometimes they would tell the villagers and allow me to run free. That is probably how the men found out about me.”

  “Which men?”

  “The authorities. The secret police.”

  “I thought they didn’t have any more secret police? I thought they did away with them during glasnost.”

  The man smiled again, and his teeth glinted. They looked slightly larger to Christian, but he couldn’t be sure of it.

  “Oh, you are young. So young and so naïve. Mother Russia may have hidden her watchdogs well, but hidden watchdogs are still dogs. They still need to sniff around. They still need to bite sometimes.”

  “But they didn’t bite like you could, did they Andrei?”

  “No,” the man said. “They merely chased me. Reported me. I think they called other men. The men who are now dead in this building. They paid me money to come here. The old Frenchman.” He took a deep breath. “I can smell their blood. Even the old … how you say it … ah, the old homosexual. He is four or five rooms away, yes?”

  Christian nodded. “Yes.”

  The man laughed, his voice growing deeper, more guttural. “I should not make fun. They were good to me. They send money to my family. But now look at them. …”

  Something was happening to the man as Christian watched from the other side of the protective barricade. His speech was becoming garbled, and his jawline seemed to sink lower into his face.

  “It … ish … time …,” Andrei said, his mouth filling with stiletto-sharp teeth.

  He began to laugh, and Christian ran for the door.

  Then the boy stopped. The Plexiglas had kept the beast-man secure in his cell last night, and, presumably, for many nights before that one. His scientific curiosity was aroused, and he realized he would never get a chance like this one again.

  He walked to the door, listening to the sounds of bones rearranging beneath the Russian’s skin. Closing the heavy door, he turned all the locks and shoved the safety bars until they clicked into their locked and stable positions.

  Then, placing the gun he had taken off of Jean’s body on the desk beside himself, he took a seat to watch the show.

  18

  SEPTEMBER 17, 7:14 P.M.

  “This is bad,” Rick moaned, looking outside of the bank’s lobby into the streets. Sounds of various animals—jaguars, bears, even a rapid-fire laugh that sounded like that of a hyena—seeped into the confines of the building. The sun had set enough that shadows had eaten most of the light, and things were happening in those shadows … things Rick didn’t want to see.

  “Well, we can’t stay in the vault,” Chesya said. “If we shut the doors, we’d never get back out, unless they manage to get the electricity running again tonight. You willing to take that kind of chance?”

  “No,” he said. “But we better think of something quick. We’ve only got a few minutes before all those poor bastards out there finish changing. Then we’re really up shit creek.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, I got it. Why don’t we make for the restaurant, hide out in the walk-in freezer?”

  “It took us more than a half hour to get here through that mess out there. No way those things are gonna wait that long.”

  Something darted past the front of the bank. In the darkness, Rick could see it flailing its arms in the air, howling as if in pain. Every time its feet hit the pavement, bones cracked and snapped, re-forming themselves.

  “Christ,” he said. “How many bullets you have left in that pistol I gave you?”

  Clumsily opening the chamber, she said, “Four.”

  “I’ve got eight left in my Glock. You a good shot?”

  “A gun like this killed my brother. I have no use for the damned things. Well, until now.”

  “Maybe you should give the gun to me.”

  Something crashed outside, glass and metal protesting, a machine giving up its ghost.

  She shook her head, clutching the gun to her chest. “Uh-uh. I may not like the things, but this is making me feel a lot safer than I’d feel without it.”

  He chuckled. “Everyone hates guns until th
ey need one.”

  She seemed to be looking off into the distance, staring at nothing. “Safer …,” she whispered. “Not necessarily any better.”

  Snapping his fingers in front of her eyes, Rick said, “We got ourselves a situation here, Chesya. We gonna wait for those things to get inside before we do anything?”

  “No,” she said, smiling. “We’re going out there.”

  “Out there? Are you fuckin’ nuts?”

  “Language! Yeah, the Brink’s truck. Didn’t you see it? Maybe a block and a half away from here?”

  “It was on its side,” he said.

  “Yeah, but the back doors were open. You know how strong those trucks are? They’re practically bank vaults on wheels.”

  “You’re sure the back door is open?” he asked. “I’d hate to think what would happen if we get out there and it’s locked up tight.”

  “You have any other suggestions?”

  “Nope. Sounds good to me. Here …” He took her pistol and cocked it. “Keep the safety off. You point it. You pull the trigger. Any of those things get in your way, you send them to hell.”

  “You sound like a Clint Eastwood movie,” she said, moving to the doorway.

  He followed her. “What’s wrong with Clint Eastwood? I like his movies.”

  “It figures.”

  Looking at the street, they could see the semi-obscured motions in the shadows, fervent jerking and spasming. The death throes of humanity. The painful birth of something else, something base and primitive.

  There were gunshots in the distance, growing louder, more fervent.

  “If we’re gonna make a go for it, we don’t have a lot of time,” he said. “Leave the bags. We don’t need to be weighed down. Most important thing is getting somewhere safe.”

  Nodding, she began to run, pistol held awkwardly in front of herself. He chased after her, praying that she was right, that the Brink’s truck was unlocked.

  He thought, What if someone else out here found it, secured the door behind themselves. If such a thing happened, they might as well be wearing dinner bells around their necks, a free-range human buffet. Come and get it while it’s hot!

  It was nearly dark, but the orange vestiges of daylight exposed the terrible metamorphosis transpiring all around them. One man lay on his back on the hood of a car, his body shaking as if in the grip of an epileptic seizure, his mouth and nose fusing into a snout. On their right, a woman crawled on all fours, the bones in her arms and legs snapping and reinventing themselves. She raised her head, howling at the sky in shattering defiance.

  Chesya stuck to the sidewalk for the first twenty feet, keeping the brick building to her back. They were walking through ankle-deep water, still flowing from a fire hydrant that had been run over by a car. The wreck blocked their path on the sidewalk, the automobile’s front end crumpled accordion style into the side of the bank.

  Two small children who couldn’t have been more than three years old traipsed through the water toward them. They were naked, and Chesya stopped moving, watching them approach. They laughed, splashing through the pool of water.

  Rick saw the golden eyeshine that reflected from the meager moonlight. Their faces were a feral combination of the cherubic and the bestial. Their sharp teeth gleamed in their open maws. Falling to his hands and knees, the first child shook his head like a dog with a rat in its mouth.

  “Come on!” Rick shouted, pulling Chesya forward by her elbow.

  “The kids …,” she said. “I hadn’t really realized.”

  The second child fell to the sidewalk, writhing on her back as her wrist cracked, bent in the opposite direction. The first was sprouting hair all over his torso; he cried as his muzzle extended in short, quick punches.

  They had reached the wrecked car that barred the sidewalk. Rick hoisted Chesya onto the hood, giving her a shove to encourage her to hurry. She scooted across it, careful to avoid the crumpled, sharp edges. The last thing they needed was to start bleeding. She was certain that the smell of a wound would bring packs of the creatures running.

  As soon as she landed safely on the sidewalk, Rick tucked himself into a tight ball and rolled across the hood of the car, alighting deftly on his feet. He saw the children sniffing the air, and they rushed the car.

  They suddenly disappeared. Peering over the hood, Rick couldn’t see them anywhere on the sidewalk.

  If they weren’t visible, then …

  “Rick, come on!” Chesya whispered.

  … then they were probably …

  Two pairs of hands grasped Rick around the ankles, jerking him off balance. Waving his arms, he felt the gun fly off through the air, probably lost to him forever. He landed on his ass, and the pain made his eyes water. He cried out, cursed, certain he had broken his coccyx.

  The hands began to haul Rick under the car. He could see only darkness there, and the occasional glimmer of golden eyeshine. Talons dug into his legs. He kicked at the children, but they refused to let go, emitting short yelps every time he made contact with one of them.

  “Hold on!” Chesya said.

  She grabbed him underneath his arms in a rough half nelson and turned, tugging as hard as she could. The beast-children pulled harder. Chesya yanked again, her sneakers skidding on the sidewalk.

  Thirty feet away, atop a Ford pickup, one of the fully formed monsters raised itself onto its back legs, lifted its massive head, and growled at the sky. It was a huge beast, some terrible coalition of wolf, cat, and bear silhouetted by the moon. Chesya pulled on Rick, and the creature snapped its head around, its eyes glowing softly. It furrowed its brow and peeled back its black lips to expose rows of saurian teeth.

  “Lord, help me out here,” she groaned, pulling harder on Rick.

  He was still kicking at the little beasts beneath the car, pummeling them as hard as he could. They would not release him. If anything, they tightened their grip, and one of them began shredding his pant leg with its tiny claws.

  “Chesya!”

  The huge creature atop the pickup dropped to all fours and lowered its head. It growled, took a step forward.

  Chesya dropped Rick, and he landed hard on the sidewalk, bumping his head. He swore at her. Kneeling next to the crashed automobile, she pointed her gun into the darkness beneath the car and blasted two blind shots.

  “Shit! Watch my fuckin’ feet!” Rick screeched.

  The big monster leaped from the pickup truck and loped toward her, slinking between the stalled cars.

  One of the small monsters beneath the car shrieked, let go of Rick’s leg; he pulled himself from the second one’s clutches. He was lucky they were just kids, not as strong as a fully grown werewolf. His right leg was bloody, his jeans torn and ragged where the little beasts had attacked him. He stood, trembling, his eyes darting around for his lost gun.

  The huge, fully transformed creature leaped onto the hood of the wrecked car, which shuddered beneath its massive weight. On all fours, it stood nearly five feet tall, and it towered over Rick and Chesya. Opening its mouth, it let out a triumphant howl.

  Rick fell backward, landing directly on his ass again, and he winced at the intensified pain in his tailbone. The agony careened through his vertebrae and scrotum, and he heard himself screaming.

  Behind them, another shape arose from the darkness of a nearby alley, alerted to the cries of easy prey.

  Chesya raised her gun to the head of the huge beast perched on top of the automobile. Pulling the trigger, she jerked, and the shot went wide, winging the nearby hotel that seemed ready to crumble. The monster paused a moment, a startled look on its face.

  Rick saw something from the corner of his eye, a glint of steel. Turning, he saw his gun lying near the alley entrance.

  He also saw the lumbering creature standing two feet away from it, and it was looking in his direction. With a snarl, it dropped to all fours and hurtled toward him.

  He had to get that gun!

  Rick rolled to the side, and the beast
landed where he had been lying. His coccyx throbbed painfully, and he moaned.

  He crawled toward the alley, reaching for his gun. The beast next to him slapped a gargantuan paw on his back, and the claws raked across his shirt, peeling away the material and exposing the delicate skin.

  The gun was four feet away from him. He could see it just out of reach, but he couldn’t move. The monster held him down like a cat playing with a mouse.

  “Chesya!”

  “Not now,” she said, aiming again at the beast on top of the car. No longer distracted, it hunched its shoulders and launched itself at her.

  The thing’s brains exploded from the back of its skull, and it squealed once. Then it dropped to the ground with a resounding thud.

  The creature holding Rick down was startled by the gunshot, and it turned to face its new nemesis, momentarily releasing its hold on the man. Rick scrabbled for the gun. He reached it, turned around, pulled the pistol high to aim.

  In sync with the gunshot, the monster’s brains exploded, the top of its canine skull dropping between Rick’s legs. He stumbled backward, watching the beast crumple to its knees, sway for a moment, then fall face-first to the sidewalk. Turning, he saw Chesya pointing the now-empty revolver at the dead beast, only a couple of feet away.

  “I have to get close to hit them,” she said. “Guess I counted the bullets wrong; there were five.”

  “Well, fuck me,” he said. “I’ll just call you Annie Oakley from now on.”

  “Come on, get up,” she said. “We got another block to go. And what’d I tell you about the cussing?”

  They sprinted down the sidewalk, watching the shadows for any movement. Every step caused a painful throb in Rick’s lower back. They saw hundreds of beasts and people changing into beasts. Many of them looked terrified, caught in the thrall of the metamorphosis. Some smiled, greeted it like old friends. Others screamed in agony, fighting the change.

  “You realize you’re out of bullets,” Rick said.

  “Yeah, but I’m holding on to the gun. We may need it.”

  He grunted, stepping over a young man who was snapping his sprouting teeth at shadows on the brick wall. He didn’t seem to notice them.