47.
Megan had heard enough about monkeys and monkey shit. She was hot and tired and felt the coming of a migraine, and sitting out under the stars was doing nothing to change that. She finished her plastic cup of wine and leaned over to tell Tom she was going to bed.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Tom sheepishly asked.
“Are you tired?” Megan asked, missing Tom’s true intentions.
“No, but I want to go to bed with you.”
Megan rolled her eyes, mumbled, “Give it up,” and bid goodnight to all around the fireless fire pit.
“You want me to at least walk you to the tent?”
“Tom. Seriously. Give it up,” Megan growled in annoyance.
Tom chuckled and Megan assured him she could make it to their tent just fine on her own. She left the circle and brought her flashlight to life. She walked down the narrow trail and past the other tents to the one she shared with Tom. She lay on top of her sleeping bag and closed her eyes, hoping that relief from all her ailments and problems would come quickly.
48.
Jared had walked away from the group in the opposite direction as Megan. He walked away without the aid of a flashlight, instead utilizing the stars and moon to illuminate the path before him. He rounded a small stand of mesquite trees then stood at its edge to urinate. He had just finished when he heard the faintest of sounds.
Or was it the absence of sounds?
Regardless, something caught his attention.
Something out of the ordinary.
He zipped his fly and strained to listen for some sign or indication of his sudden and unexpected sense of unease. He turned away from the stand of mesquite to face the small clearing before him. He scanned a tangle of brush circling the packed-earth opening then jumped at the sight of the creature hidden just within a spider web of cactus, thorn-covered vines, and skeletal limbs.
The animal was small, not much larger than a house cat. It was bone white yet somehow well camouflaged among the shadows. It sat on rear legs and held itself sturdy among the vegetation with what were clearly hands.
Jared moved gingerly toward the animal then fished a small penlight from his pocket. He shined the light toward the well-hidden animal then watched as it shielded its eyes with its hands. The creature hissed in response to the brightness of the light revealing a maw of canine teeth.
“What are you?” Jared rhetorically asked aloud, still trying to get a full picture of the small animal.
The creature hissed once more and was then echoed by a louder, deeper hiss.
Jared turned slowly to his left to witness the source of the vocalization.
The curiosity before him was enormous, standing over two feet at the shoulder and weighing perhaps 100 pounds. Despite the faint light, Jared could tell the grayish white beast was well-muscled.
And aggravated.
The creature tilted its head as if in study then released a guttural growl of fury.
The beast eased forward.
Jared stepped back.
A mesquite branch poked him in the shoulder.
He turned to see what it was.
Turning his back to the animal was the last mistake he ever made.
49.
Dr. Cooke was waxing poetic way about the latest published findings on mastodons in Texas when his group heard the scream. Everyone jumped at the sudden shrill and sat in nervous fear at the unexplained until Tom broke the silence by yelling into the darkness, “Knock it off, Jared!”
Some in the group laughed at the command while others held their chests as if the action would slow their heart rate or allow them to catch their breath. Those that had laughed fell into silence at the sound of brush rustling. All eyes converged in the direction of the disturbance and the group watched as the vegetation violently parted to reveal a haunting figure stumbling forward.
What was left of Jared ambled into view. His eyes were gone, replaced with torn red flesh, his face a mosaic of deep cuts, flayed skin, and streaks of blood. The resemblance of their friend held his throat in tightly gripped hands in an attempt to quell the flow of blood pouring forth from some unseen cut or cuts.
A female in the group screamed in terror at the sight. Some stood in shock or disbelief. Tom stepped forward then stopped in the realization that there was nothing he could do for the man standing before him at the precipice of death. Jared’s body collapsed forward and again a female in the group shrilled in terror at the scene unfolding where the human form once stood.
More than a dozen primates, each the color of bleached bone and recently painted in splattered blood, stood at the edge of the brush. The smallest of the group came forward and on top of Jared’s fallen body. The creature tore a softball-sized chunk of flesh from Jared’s neck and begin feeding upon it. Dr. Cooke started to yell or to vocalize something in protest or in shock but was unable to before the remaining beasts sprung forward in attack.
The fire ring exploded into a melee of rampage and violence, of predator and prey, survival and agonizing death. The cave dwellers pounced and thrashed, tore and ravaged in an all-out assault to disable then devour their quarry.
Tom was of the few to not allow his previous life of relative ease to dictate his death. He sprung from his chair at the sight of the mob and kicked his attacker in the head as it lunged at him. The beast flew sideways and into a camp chair. Monkey and chair tumbled and rolled as if one then came to a stop in a twist of animal, aluminum, plastic, and fabric. Tom watched as the nylon seat of the chair shredded outward. He grabbed an empty beer bottle and smashed it over the dog-like snout that fought through the chair. He pulled back the remains of the bottle then thrust the now spear-tipped longneck into the creature’s neck and twisted. The still-imprisoned animal flailed and screamed then fell silent.
Tom rose to his feet only be tackled from behind. He fell forward and into the chair and shards of broken glass. He ignored the pain of the fall and of the fragments of broken bottle embedded in his cheek and tried to right himself. The animal that had knocked him forward pounced onto his upper back and begin clawing its way through Tom’s neck, scalp, and the sides of his face. Tom pushed off the ground with all his strength. The animal clung to his back, driving his claws into his body deeper and deeper in search of purchase. Tom stood and reached behind him to try to dislodge his attacker.
Tom caught the baboon’s right forearm in his grip. The baboon howled in surprise, arched back and away from Tom’s body, then plunged into his neck with canine teeth. Tom screamed and fought then fell silent at the sound of bone snapping. His body went numb at the breaking of his spine. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, his body now useless and beyond his control. He scanned the fire ring with stationary eyes looking for signs of help, listening in horror as the animal fed upon him.
50.
Megan was a heavy sleeper so waking up because of a noise was a new experience for her. At first, she thought she dreamed the screaming but now that she was alert and sitting up, she knew the cries were real. She thought the gathering she had left had gotten out of hand, that maybe folks had drank too much and we’re now acting foolish or perhaps fighting. This theory faded quickly as the screams became interspersed with the cries and snarls of animals. She thought the vocalizations were from dogs but then believed they were from something else. The barks and howls were too deep for dogs, at least any of the kind of dogs she knew of.