Endurance - Jack Kilborn [14]
“I’ll go check,” Mal said, a penlight in his hand.
Deb frowned, began to protest, but he was already halfway down the embankment, pushing into the brush.
She waited, feeling her stomach go sour.
What if I hurt him? What if he’s badly hurt?
What if he’s dead?
The thought of killing another human being—it would be too much to live with. She cursed herself for showing off in the car, accelerating so fast. Since her accident, Deb prided herself in paying extra attention, avoiding mistakes and screw-ups, because she realized how precious, and precarious, life was.
Deb walked over to the front of the Vette, checking the fender for dings. Or blood.
All she found was a decent dent in the hood, from when the man slapped it.
Had he slapped it out of anger? Or to steady himself because I hit him?
Then she noticed the blood. Hard to discern against the red paint job, but it was there.
Quite a bit of it.
Deb felt herself getting ready to vomit, when someone yelled, “Uh!”
Mal?
She went back to the shoulder, squinting into the gathering darkness. No sign at all of Mal, or the man. The wind continued to blow the bushes to and fro, to and fro.
“Mal?” she called.
Mal didn’t answer.
Deb tried louder. “Mal!”
A faint sound caught on the breeze. Something high-pitched.
Is that giggling?
Deb considered going to the trunk, putting on her running legs to make it easier, and then decided screw it and began to make her way down the slope.
Just as she reached the bottom, something lunged out of the bushes at her. Deb couldn’t react quickly enough, and her balance was thrown off. She landed hard on her backside.
“Mal!”
Mal’s eyes were wide. And his pants—
They were covered in blood.
Deb positioned herself onto her knees. Getting up off the ground in her cosmetic legs was difficult, so she reached for Mal, wrapping her fingers in his belt to steady herself.
“Deb…”
“Call an ambulance, Mal,” she said, grabbing his penlight and pushing into the bushes.
“Deb, don’t go in there. It’s—”
Deb didn’t hear the next thing he said. Once past the bush, her senses were overloaded with the stench, and the sight, of blood.
A ridiculous amount of blood.
It soaked the ground, and drenched the surrounding foliage.
But it was more than just blood. It was bits of tissue. Sinew. Organs.
The spectacle overtook her, and she stumbled forward, losing her footing on something slippery, falling forward into a wet loop of intestines.
Deb recoiled, squealing, pushing herself away, bumping into a severed head with…
Antlers.
It’s a deer.
Jesus Christ, it’s just a deer.
Then someone grasped her shoulder.
Deb turned around, the scream building in her chest, and saw Mal above her.
“Looks like we both need a dry cleaner. I slipped, too.”
He offered his hands, and she used them to pull herself up.
“I didn’t hit a deer. I’m sure of it.”
Mal’s face was kind. “I know.”
“It was a man.”
“I know. We both saw it.”
Deb played the light over the carnage. Deer parts were everywhere.
“Did that guy do this?”
Mal nodded. “I think he killed the deer, and was skinning it.”
“There’s blood on the hood of my car.”
“Deer blood, probably. Maybe he didn’t have a hunting license, heard you pulling up, thought it was the game warden. Hell, it might not even be hunting season, for all I know.”
“So I didn’t hurt him?”
“I don’t see him anywhere. If you hurt him, he’d be nearby, don’t you think?”
Deb shined the light on the deer head, wincing as she did.
“When skinning a buck, is it normal to cut the eyes out?”
“No. It’s not. Let me see the light.” Mal took it, moved in closer. “The ears are gone, too. So’s the tongue.”
“That’s disgusting.”
Mal pointed the light at her. “I think we should go. Right now.”
Deb didn’t like his tone. He sounded scared. When he took her arm, she didn’t protest, and when he put his hands on her hips to help her up the embankment she cared more about haste than dignity or modesty.
“I’ve got water in the trunk.