A Small Hunt
Kaleb ran under the hot sun. Already shedding his coat and tie, he was sweating.
Surrounding him was a huge city. Buildings after buildings. Streets after streets. Vehicles sat quietly, while corpses sat in the seats with their mouths ajar. The passengers had been burned alive from a holocaust that had scorched the city, as if an incinerator had roasted their living flesh that had once wrapped around their bones.
All of what was left here now was death.
Except, of course, Kaleb’s little hunters.
Off in the distance screams came, rising and falling.
Kaleb’s legs ached.
His back protested.
But he had to run to stay alive. Live to see if he could remember something. Anything.
That was another part of the terror: Where was he? How did he get here?
Something–or someone–had blocked out his memory of arriving here. He couldn’t remember a damn thing except walking down a sidewalk, through double glass doors, and saying “Good morning” to…
Who? Who did he speak to?
No memory came back, merely slipping down into the caverns of his skull where his brain’s fingers couldn’t reach.
Sprinting down another street held more vehicles with passengers. One in particular had two, plus the skeletal remains of a child still being cradled and held close to the breast. Both had their mouths ajar.
Kaleb’s lungs swelled, feeling as if they would burst out of his chest. His throat was raw. The run was wearing him out, but he knew that he had to press on if he wanted to find a way out of this place. A gutted body lying face down, two streets back, wearing the same business attire as Kaleb reminded him of that.
Out of nowhere, he was knocked down; his bones beneath his flesh felt the impact.
The attack came from only a child, but the fact that he wore a headdress and the skin of a dog over his naked body was terrifying. Unsettling.
Two holes, torn away above the snout where the dog’s eyes had originally sat, now held the child’s deep blues.
The child raised his head, screamed, and pointed.
Getting up, Kaleb tried to get away. But halted.
Another had appeared. This one was also draped in a dog skin, even with crusted blood on the fur.
That child raised his head and screamed; the skin on his throat contracted.
Within seconds, four had circled around Kaleb.
Suddenly one of the dog-children attacked, bringing him down on the pavement; while the others followed the lead and piled up on the prey. The stench of urine and feces rose to Kaleb’s nostrils, making his stomach churn.
His first attacker sat on top of him face to face, opened his mouth wide, and revealed razor-sharp fangs that grew from his gums.
Somehow Kaleb managed to push him off, fight off the others, as the outcome soon ended in death for his hunters.
Now, he was back up.
Almost escaping, almost getting away, he was trampled by a female dog-child that came out of nowhere. Even being knocked back down, he was able to rise back up and make a connection into the little jaw with his fist–feeling the snap of bone, just as the little hunter ran towards him.
Again, he was up and running.
And heard more screams.
Finally, he saw hope: a ladder that ran straight up into a hole cut out in the air.
But it held darkness inside.
That was all he could see.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
And he didn’t know where it would take him. But he knew that he couldn’t just stand here and decide whether to take the chance and climb up, or become a large feast for the dog-children.
So he quickly climbed up, and God only knew where it took him.