Ashton Daigle

Jesse knew something was wrong before they even walked in. He didn’t know how, it was like a vague sensation of a light electric shock. The his foot crunched a pile of broken glass and he saw the window was busted out.

He tried to say something, get out some sort of warning, but Rakov had already opened the door and stepped inside.

Jesse followed close behind.

Besides the blood; there was an inordinate amount of blood; and the headless and faceless corpses; the first thing they noticed was the wrought-iron door to the cell, hanging limply from its hinges.

Jesse saw the severed head first and muttered, “Harry, one of Garvey’s men. That son of a bitch, he’s dead and he’s still causing us problems.”

Rakov and Jesse both nearly vomited, because the stenches were so plentiful and so overpowering. It was a sickly stench of urine, shit and vomit mixed with the sweet sulfurous odor of gunpowder and the unmistakable smell of blood.

But at that instant, Rakov just happened to glance down to see the kid. He was out cold.

“Jesus, what happened here?” Jesse asked, panic in his voice rising., but as he looked around it was becoming obvious.

Rakov knelt down and waved a bottle of smelling salts under the kid’s nose but he only stirred slightly.

“Damn, he really is out cold,” Jesse said. “They really put a hurting on him.”

“Quickly,” Rakov said. “Over there, get me a cold washcloth.”

Jesse walked quickly to the sink and lost his footing, slipping down on his ass into a puddle of blood; whose he did not know.

“Hell fire,” he said as he hoisted himself to his feet.

“Hurry,” Rakov said urgently.

Jesse did, but couldn’t help be amazed by the various trajectories and directions the blood had sprayed; covering the walls; like one of them weird French paintings they sometimes sold in markets.

Jesse wet the cloth with cold water, waked back and handed it to Rakov.

Rakov dabbed the kid’s head and then waived the bottle of smelling salts under his nose again and the kid came to, unsteadily, then screaming; trying to writhe away; and then crying after he realized it was Jesse and Rakov.

“It was horrible,” blubbered the kid, who could barely talk. “They raped her. I tried to stop them, but they knocked me out. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“There ain’t nothing you could have done kid,” Jesse said, but the kid couldn’t stop sobbing, his chest heaved so heavily, Jesse almost thought the kid was going to have a heart attack.

“Yes,” Rakov said. “The girl, where is she?”

“She done this,” the kid said. “She done them men like that. She’s so strong. She was crazy. She was hurt and crazy and killed them. I thought she was going to kill me too, but she didn’t.”

“Where is she now?” Rakov asked.

“She ran, she busted through the window and she ran,” the kid sobbed. “Hurry, go get her. Please stop her. She didn’t mean to do it, but the men, they raped her.”

“Go,” Rakov said to Jesse. “I can’t leave him like this.”

“No,” the kid sobbed. “You both go. My head will be fine. I’ll be fine. She’s strong though. You both need to go after her now.”

Rakov and Jesse both protested but the kid was adamant.

“I’m serious, I’ll be fine,” sobbed the kid.

They both exited out into the night.

But the kid wasn’t fine. He wasn’t even close to fine. He was sobbing uncontrollably now, as he cussed himself. He laid on the floor moaning to himself. He wanted to scratch his own eyes out, burn them from his sockets; as if somehow; this would erase what he had seen.

“What have I done?” he said out loud. “What have I done?”

But he knew what he’d done. He’d sent two men; not just two men; but two men he greatly respected and admired, to their certain deaths. He wanted to tell them what he’d actually seen.

But he knew what he’d seen tonight was an abomination and to speak of it, might send him to hell. He also knew they probably wouldn’t have believed him either. It was crazier than shit; but he’d seen it with his own eyes. He saw her change. He saw her turn. She had begged them all day to let her out, so she didn’t hurt them; but they sat around; ignoring her; analyzing her; judging. She’d known she was going to change. She was the wolf. She was the wolf that had preyed on Grand Junction. The wolf hadn’t dragged her off after the third attack; she’d run away.

She had killed the pack because she was protecting her young; the baby inside of her. But wolves didn’t have human babies and humans didn’t have wolves or did they? The kid didn’t know.

He’d lied to his friends; the only friends he’d ever had who’d ever treated with respect; man to man; not man to child. They’d entrusted him with a serious duty and he had failed them; he’d failed them miserably. And he’d lied to them to boot.

But that wasn’t all. He pulled up his shirt sleeve and looked at his arm; the bite marks were still there, redder and hotter than ever; with small postulates of puss there. The girl had done that to him the night they caught her; as they struggled with her. But he didn’t tell no one because he was afraid of rabies; and afraid of being put into quarantine himself.

He spied his revolver lying on the table; right where he’d left it before he walked outside to smoke. Sobbing to himself mournfully, he walked to the table and took the revolver in his trembling hand. He couldn’t bare the thought of becoming like Namid; killing innocent folk; or not so innocent folk. He couldn’t bare the thought of mothers crying over closed coffins; coffins that couldn’t be opened because there were only pieces of the child inside

After all of this, it was the least he could do.

He crossed himself, placed the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger, and his body sagged down without interference and without grace.