Feral (Chapter 1)

 

There it was again. That strange howl. Closer this time. It was unlike any wolf or coyote Roy had ever heard. Almost a moan or a sob. There was something sad about it. Something desperate.

 

He glanced up toward the moon. A razor-thin crescent glowed faintly overhead, blanketing the surrounding rocks and cacti in a cool, yellow light. 

 

“Well thank God it ain’t full," Roy chuckled.

 

He took a quick swig from his beer before refocusing his attention to the antenna. He tweaked the metal branches and checked the drop wire, hoping to find the source of the static before the commercial break ended. He'd be out another 300 bucks if the Cardinals couldn't cover the spread.

 

Then he heard it again. An eerie, high-pitched groan. It must’ve been less than two hundred yards away. Roy looked up again and scanned the desert.

 

The Mohawk Mountains slept quietly in the distance, their crooked peaks silhouetted against a dark purple sky. The wind whispering across the sand. The TV murmuring through the walls of the trailer.

 

And again that howl. That unnerving cry.

 

Roy knew the tricks that night could play. Living alone on the edge of the wilderness, it’s easy to let paranoia creep in.

 

“I’m losing my damn mind,” he muttered as reached for his beer. He raised the green bottle to his lips.

 

That's when he noticed it.

 

Something was moving toward him. Not in his general direction. Directly at him. What ever it was, its path seemed deliberate. It was moving strangely. Roy had never seen anything quite like it. Fifty yards and closing. The faint moonlight revealed only an outline. This thing was bigger than a coyote.

 

“Hey!” Roy barked. He clapped his hands together twice. He had heard stories of rabid wolves aggressive enough to attack people. Roy wasn’t really in the mood for gunning down some rogue canine. Besides, his .38 was about eight feet below him in his bedroom closet.

 

“Ho! Go on, get!” Roy hollered. He stomped his boot on the roof of the trailer, but the creature did not back down. It sped up. Time to move. 

 

Roy bumped the antenna as he sidestepped toward the ladder. He reluctantly tossed his half-empty beer bottle and hopped down to the desert floor. The animal was only about 25 yards away and yelping excitedly now. Roy didn’t wait around to get a good look. He dashed to the front door and slipped inside.

 

The TV fizzed quietly, like raw meat on a hot stove. Pulsing static drenched the otherwise dark interior in a flickering, white light. Breathing heavily, Roy ducked into the bedroom to grab his pistol. The animal was just outside the front door now. It shrieked and growled as it frantically tried to claw its way into the trailer.

 

Roy fumbled through the gun bag he kept on the shelf of his bedroom closet. He grabbed an ammo carton and pulled out a handful of the hollow points. The howling was getting even more furious. The animal pounded the door. Roy’s palms had become sweaty, and he struggled to load the revolver. He finally guided the fifth bullet into the chamber, swung the cylinder back in place, and looked nervously back down the hall.

 

No more howling or scratching. The front door was wide open.