Dweller - Jeff Strand [96]
Owen stood there, motionless, as the man ran his fingers down his chest, a tear trickling down his cheek.
Toby grabbed the man by the back of his shirt collar and shoved him to the ground. Then he kicked him in the spine. “Kill him, Owen! Hurry!”
Owen continued to stand there. The monster looked surprised and upset.
“Do it, Owen! He’ll tell everybody! Rip him apart!”
The man cried out and tried to get back up, but Toby tackled him and held him down. He grabbed a handful of hair and slammed his face against the dirt.
“Owen, come on!”
No.
“This is food! I’m giving you food! For fuck’s sake, Owen, do something before he gets away!”
“I didn’t do anything!” the man wailed.
Toby slammed his face into the dirt again. “Eat him, goddamn it! He’s gonna tell the world!”
“I’m not! I swear!”
Toby twisted the man’s arm behind his back until something snapped. The man screamed in pain. He deserved it. He was going to destroy everything.
“Owen, please!”
The monster let out a roar and lashed out with his right claw. A large piece of the man’s bloody scalp remained stuck to one of his talons as he did it again. The man’s scream became much higher pitched.
Toby moved away from the man as Owen pounced upon him, raking his talons across the man’s back. He opened his jaws wide and took the first bite, ripping off a large chunk of meat from the man’s side.
“Make him stop screaming!” Toby shouted.
Owen rolled the man over and bit off his jaw.
Toby sat against a tree, shivering, and watched Owen devour the man. He wasn’t sure when he actually died. He guessed that it didn’t much matter.
“Had to be done,” Toby whispered. “Right? You threaten my friend, you die. That’s the way things work around here. Right, Owen?”
Owen ignored the question and continued eating.
Toby had some blood on his shirt. Head wounds definitely did their share of bleeding. He touched each spot.
“We probably shouldn’t have done this,” he noted with a slight giggle. “Not a wise idea at all. Nope. But that’s you and me, Owen, a couple of kids always getting into mischief…”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Toby’s hands, arms, and face were covered with lacerations, but he didn’t care. It was completely worth it.
He’d placed every single bottle of beer in his refrigerator—at least twenty of them—into the kitchen sink, stacking them in a nice neat pile. Then he’d taken a claw hammer and smashed them to bits, bashing over and over until he had a sink full of glass shards.
It felt good when pieces flew up and cut him.
When he was done, he wasn’t quite far gone enough to just reach in there and scoop up the glass with his bare hands, so he got a towel and carefully moved the pieces from the sink to a cardboard box. He’d drive it to the dump and safely dispose of it there.
He should be a spokesperson. Travel to schools: Hey, kids, you should never drink alcohol. I did, and I woke up next to a mutilated corpse! It goes without saying that when the first thing you see in the morning is a hollow bloody eye socket, you’ll realize that your life is moving in the wrong direction.
He’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach (including, it felt like, the lining) and crawled away from the sight of Owen leisurely chewing on the man’s stillglistening intestines. When he felt that he could finally speak, he’d shouted at Owen, cursed him for what he’d done. Then he’d sobbed and begged his friend to forgive him.
Owen had growled at him when he tried to take his food away, so Toby decided to leave it alone for the time being. “I’ll be back,” Toby had promised. “Eat as much as you can now, because I’m burying the leftovers.”
When he returned that evening, there wasn’t much left on the bones. It was amazing how much Owen could eat. Toby dug a hole, now wishing that he’d saved the symbolic bottle-breaking act for after he needed to use his hands for manual labor, and hid the bones and scraps of the poor old man who just wanted to see a monster.
No, the