Prologue

A lazy quarter moon hovered over the Gulf of Mexico. High, thin clouds passed in front of the moon, causing its light to flicker off the calm, dark waters below. Small waves broke with milky-green foam and gently lapped at the shores of South Padre Island, Texas. At the far south end of the island, in Isla Blanca Park, a lone figure stood on the beach at the water’s edge and looked out across the Gulf at the moon’s reflection on the water.

Aside from the sounds of the waves and the soft rustle of wind blowing through the fronds of scattered palm trees, the sounds of partying college students engaged in many acts of debauchery filled the night air. It was Saturday, March 14, 2015, which had been the kick-off week for Spring Break in Texas. Over the next few weeks, tens of thousands of party eager college students would invade the small resort island, hoping to get drunk, get high, and get laid. This created the perfect conditions for an entrepreneurial individual—the demand for drugs had been there, someone needed to provide the supply. Alexis Jordan planned to be that someone.

Spring Break came toward the end of Alexis’ second year at Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas. She pursued a Bachelor of Science degree in Business Administration. Not that she had an affinity for business, per se, but she lacked interest in anything more focused.

“The important thing,” her dad would say, “is that you get a degree.”

Those imprinted words shaped Alexis’ plan—get a degree. She wasn’t a bad student, but she didn’t try to be a good student. In the spirit of ‘getting a degree,’ she put the least amount of effort into that outcome as possible. This resulted in Alexis being a B and C student.

By most measures, Alexis was an attractive young woman. She had long blonde hair and big blue eyes. Alexis was meticulous about health, vegetarian, not vegan, and fitness. She spent more time working out in the recreation center than she did in the library, and it showed. Attractiveness ended at her outward appearance, though.

On the inside, egotistical, vengeful, and uncaring best described Alexis. Since she had money, looks, and a deceivingly good-natured personality, usually when she wanted something from someone, girls wanted to be around her, as well as boys who wanted to be inside her. Even though Alexis didn’t lack acquaintances, she was a Tri-Delt, to party with on Thursday nights at the Flashback and Frogs bars, she didn’t have any real friends and that suited her just fine. Friends meant caring about someone else and she couldn’t be bothered with that.

Alexis had a boyfriend, though. His name was Seth Daniels, and he was in the Theta Chi fraternity. They met at a Greek Mixer in the fall of 2014. It wasn’t love at first sight, or even love after six months. He had been attractive—six feet tall, one-hundred eighty-five pounds of finely honed muscles, with dark brown hair and smoky brown eyes. Most importantly, for Alexis’ standards in dateable men, he came from a wealthy, Dallas family.

At first, Alexis thought of Seth as nothing more than a living, breathing sex object. When she’d allow him to touch her, she loved making him beg, the sex was satisfactory. He came more than she did, but Alexis was used to this in lovers. She had toys to make up for his ‘shortcomings’ in bed. Seth also provided a way to supplement her allowance, she willingly let Seth spend money on her. No begging required there. To her surprise, she missed his company over the four-week Winter Break. Despite her predilection not to, she cared for Seth.

They would spend Spring Break apart, too. Alexis begged Seth, which was something she rarely did, to come to South Padre Island with her, but he stood fast on plans to go skiing on Powderhorn Mountain in Colorado with several of his fraternity brothers. This angered Alexis so much she almost broke up with him. She didn’t, because she wasn’t sure Seth would approve of her entrepreneurial Spring Break plans—he didn’t complain about the money his parents ‘allowed’ him to have. Besides, she would make him pay for choosing a week with his frat brothers skiing, over a week with her in skimpy bikinis on the beach, by withholding sex. After all, she could go longer without sex than he could. If she found herself particularly horny before Seth suffered enough, she’d never had a problem getting boys into bed. If she were feeling vengeful, she’d have sex with one of Seth’s ski-buddy frat brothers.

Bros before hos my sweet, tight ass, Alexis thought as Seth kissed her goodbye the last day of class before Spring Break started.

~ * ~

On her way from Stephen F. Austin State University to South Padre Island, Alexis stopped off at her dad’s house in Houston for one night. It had been on the way, and she scored ‘daughter points’ for doing so. The daughter points would pay off in the future in the way of more purchasing power on her dad’s credit card. Alexis had another reason for ‘dropping by’ and spending one night in Houston—her dad’s safe.

Her dad, Alex Jordan, was a wealthy man. Not Bill Gates, billionaire rich, but he was worth around fifty million. He made his millions in real estate—rode the housing bubble through 2008 and got out just before the bubble popped. Since that time, he made his money off the misery of others by purchasing underwater, foreclosed properties for pennies on the dollar and reselling them for a nice profit.

Alexis had no compunctions with the way her dad made money. She believed in making money any way she could, short of selling her body. Her dad’s millions made her life much easier, too. She drove a silver, 2013, Mercedes-Benz CLS Coupe, her high school graduation present, and had a Chase Visa with a twenty thousand dollar limit her dad paid off each month. He would complain if Alexis spent more than a couple of thousand dollars in a month—he ‘allowed’ her to spend five-hundred dollars a week, but he kept the limit high ‘in case of an emergency.’ So, Alexis didn’t have a problem with over-spending, often buying jewelry, expensive clothing, and more shoes than she could count in an afternoon. As is often the case with spoiled, rich offspring, enough wasn’t enough for Alexis.

Alexis knew her dad kept a ‘chunk of change’ in his home safe for occasions when he needed quick cash for an evaporating deal. She planned to ‘borrow’ what she needed, purchase drugs in Mexico, sell them for a nice profit to spring breakers, and replace the money she borrowed from her dad on the way back to Nacogdoches. She even knew the safe combination—the month, day, and year of her birthday, 08081995. It was like he wanted her to borrow the money.

After her dad fell asleep, Alexis went into his home office. She didn’t need to sneak—the house was huge, and her dad was sleeping many rooms away. Once inside his office, she pushed the wood panel in the wall behind his desk that concealed the safe, it slid aside. She punched the combination into the keypad and waited. A second or two later, the safe’s red light switched to green. Alexis opened it.

Chunk of change, my ass, Alexis thought as she looked at the stacks of bundled cash.

Although tempted to take as much as she could carry, she’d already agreed on an amount with her ‘associate’ in Brownsville, Texas. She knew she could trust the associate because she had the same arrangement with him the previous Spring Break, but on a much smaller scale—five thousand dollars. That deal netted her three thousand dollars. With the same markup, Alexis stood to net thirty thousand dollars this time.

Using her head, Alexis removed bundles of cash from the back of the safe. When she’d removed the agreed upon fifty thousand dollars, ten thousand for her associate and forty thousand for the Ecstasy, she couldn’t tell, at a glance, any cash was missing. Satisfied, she started to close the safe. Just because she could, she took another five-thousand-dollar bundle—her dad would see her Spring Break spending on the credit card statement, and she didn’t want him bitching at her if she splurged. He wouldn’t see the extra five thousand dollars on the credit card statement, and she would replace it with her profits when she returned. At least, that had been the plan.

Alexis shut the safe and went to sleep with visions of bundled cash dancing through her dreams. In the morning, she kissed her dad goodbye, loaded her heavier by fifty-five thousand dollars bags into the back seat of her CLS Coup, and headed for South Padre Island.

As Alexis pulled into Isla Blanca Park, the clock on her dashboard read two thirty-seven a.m. She was supposed to meet Carlos Garza at two thirty and he wasn’t a man who liked to be kept waiting.

Not wanting to call unwanted attention to herself but, also, not wanting to keep Carlos waiting any longer than necessary, Alexis set her cruise-control at five miles over the speed limit and merged south on to the Channel View Loop. When the Loop curved east toward the Gulf of Mexico, Alexis slowed down and looked for the horseshoe offshoot road on the right that would lead to her and Carlos’ meeting spot.

After pulling into the offshoot road, Alexis parked her car next to Carlos’ crappy, old Chevy pickup. He was still there. She locked her car, and headed across the sand to where Carlos was supposed to be waiting.

~ * ~

Alexis crested a high dune and spotted Carlos standing on the beach looking out at the calm Gulf waters. Alexis stopped well short of the water’s edge—she’d dressed for the beach in a black bikini top, white shorts, and black sandals, but they were five-hundred-dollar Fendi Isabel sandals, and she wasn’t about to get them wet.

Instead of joining Carlos at the water’s edge, Alexis shouted, “Hey, Carlos. Sorry I’m late. Best laid plans and all that shit.”

Carlos turned and walked toward Alexis.

When he was close enough to not shout, he said, with a heavy Mexican accent, “Jou make me wait while jou party?”

Alexis laughed. “Cut the Tex-Mex, gang-banger accent shit, Carlos. I wasn’t partying. It was a long drive from Houston. I took a nap, and I overslept.”

Carlos smiled and, in a perfect Texas drawl with no hint of his Mexican heritage, said, “All right, all right. Ya know, I don’t like waitin’. Time is money, amiga.”

~ * ~

Alexis considered Carlos Garza a bit of an enigma. He looked like the stereotypical gangbanger. His body was covered in tattoos, which included a tear under his left eye. Whether Carlos ever killed someone, which is what that tattoo signified in gangs, Alexis didn’t know. He had a hangman’s noose around his neck, pistols on his forearms, spider webs on his shoulders with nasty looking black widow spiders with human skulls for heads hanging by a thread of webbing on his biceps, a beautiful wooden cross on his back with the cross member going from shoulder to shoulder, the top going up the back of his neck, and the base going to the small of his back, and an equally beautiful depiction of a praying Virgin Mary that covered his entire chest and stomach. Those were just the tattoos Alexis had seen.

Continuing with the gang-banger theme, Carlos had a shaved head, a long, black, braided goatee that hung to the middle of his chest, and a gold upper grill that twinkled when he smiled. He always dressed in very baggy jeans that were prevented from sliding off his ass by a thick, black, leather belt with his name in silver letters on the back, tight, sleeveless, white, ‘wife beater’ T-shirts, beautifully engraved silver-tipped, with turquoise inlays, black, cowboy boots, and a very large, black, leather wallet that was attached to his belt by a larger than necessary, chrome-plated chain.

Although Carlos looked like a gangbanger, he chose to remain unaffiliated in the United States. To Carlos, being affiliated meant inviting unwanted attention. His contacts were in Matamoros, Mexico, which was just across the border from Brownsville, Texas, where he was born and raised.

His contact, the Cartel del Golfo, the Gulf Cartel or CDG for short, afforded him security and why state-side gang members left him alone. The CDG had been one of the oldest organized crime cartels in Mexico. It started by smuggling alcohol into the United States during Prohibition and shifted to drug trafficking in the 1970’s. Carlos used this connection to facilitate drug trafficking in South Texas.

By all outward appearances, and his chosen profession, Carlos appeared to be a poor, uneducated thug who fell into drug trafficking because he didn’t have options. This had been where the ‘enigma’ came into play. Alexis knew the other side of Carlos Garza. He wasn’t any of those things. Carlos came from a well-to-do, well-respected, ranching family. His father served six terms in the Texas House of Representatives.

Carlos had a good education, too. He graduated from St. Joseph Academy with honors and received a Bachelor of Science degree in Criminal Justice from Texas A&M Corpus Christi. The irony of Carlos’ college degree was not lost on Alexis. Not a victim of circumstance, Carlos trafficked drugs because it was profitable and because he enjoyed doing it.

~ * ~

“Speakin’ of money,” Carlos continued, “ya got it?”

Alexis nodded. “Yeah. Fifty thousand, like we agreed. Ten K for you and forty for the X.”

Carlos stroked his goatee, he did this often. “Okay, amiga. This is different than last year. I could do four thousand outta my supply. The guy I found doesn’t deal Ecstasy…he’s a cocaine dude, but he got what ya needed. Your forty-K will get ya two thousand pills…that’s twenty bucks a pop. You should be able to sell ‘em for thirty-five or forty bucks a hit. That’s decent profit, chica.”

Alexis grinned. “Yes, it is. How do we do this?”

Carlos stroked his goatee again. “That’s the tricky part. Homeland Security and Border Patrol are thick. I got a spot just west of Hidalgo where we can cross. He’ll meet us there.”

Alexis wasn’t exactly eager to cross the Rio Grande River and sneak into Mexico to get the Ecstasy, but Carlos insisted. He said he didn’t mind getting ‘pinched’ with cocaine or marijuana, but his ‘street cred’ as a drug trafficker would take a serious hit if he were caught smuggling Ecstasy without a ‘pretty puta’ to blame it on. Alexis agreed to go.

Alexis took this information in. “What’s your guy’s name?”

Carlos smiled; his gold grill sparkled in the moonlight. “His name is Juan Escobar, but he goes by El Lobo.”

“He goes by The Wolf?”

“Yeah,” Carlos laughed, “I hear he’s one loco cabrón.”

Alexis started walking back to her car but, upon hearing this, she turned back to Carlos. “You hear he’s a crazy bastard? You haven’t done business with him before?”

Carlos flashed his gold grill again. “It’s cool, chica. He comes highly recommended.”

Alexis shook her head. “I don’t know, Carlos. This sounds like a bad idea.”

The smile dropped off Carlos’ face, which made him look dangerous. “Don’t waste my time, puta. Ya back out now, fine. I get my dime, regardless. Now…are we gonna do this or are you gonna drive your sweet ass back to SFA broke?”

Against her better judgment, but not wanting to abandon an opportunity to make thirty thousand quick dollars, Alexis nodded.

The gold grill grin instantly reappeared on Carlos’ face. “Don’t worry, chica, these tattoo pistolas aren’t the only ones I’m packin’. If the big, bad wolf causes trouble, I’ll put ‘em down.”

As Alexis and Carlos walked back to their vehicles, Carlos said, “Follow me into Hidalgo. You can leave your car at the Walmart and ride with me the rest of the way.”

Alexis didn’t like the idea of leaving her CLS Coupe at a Walmart or of riding with Carlos in his piece of shit truck. She knew he could afford nicer transportation and didn’t understand why he continued to drive the rusty old truck.

“I don’t wanna leave my car in a Walmart parkin’ lot. Some Mexican might steal it. Can’t we go together in my car?”

Carlos grinned at the Mexican remark. “I’m not comin’ back here afterward; more business elsewhere. Your car’ll be safe at the Walmart. Park it under a light. Besides, your car can’t drive where we’re goin’.”

By the time Carlos had finished explaining why Alexis couldn’t bring her car all the way into Mexico, they were back at their vehicles.

Reluctantly, Alexis nodded. “Yeah, okay. But if someone steals my fuckin’ car, I’m taking your shitty truck back to South Padre.”

Carlos smiled, and moonlight sparkled off his gold grill again. “My shitty truck’s worth more than your import, but…okay, chica. Ya gotta deal.”

Alexis found Carlos’ statement more than a little odd, considering his truck was an ancient, rusted pile of shit, but she nodded. They got into their vehicles and headed west for Hidalgo.

Chapter One

A full moon hung bloated and low in the cloudless predawn sky. Its silvery light penetrated the thick East Texas woods and illuminated the fog-blanketed forest floor. The woods were alive with the sounds of critters foraging before the morning sun sent them into hiding for the day. A low, hungry growl brought a hush to the forest and sent the critters scurrying for safety. Another growl, a third, and a fourth joined the first. The pack was hunting.

~ * ~

Russ Lomax climbed into his 1966 International Harvester at four thirty a.m. on Monday, May fifth, as he had most mornings since his beloved wife Alma passed away eight years prior. She went quickly. That had been a blessing. Some abdominal pain followed by a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Eleven days later, she was gone.

Before Alma’s passing, she had breakfast on the table every morning at five a.m. sharp. Since her passing, Russ made the fourteen-mile pilgrimage from his ranch to the Golden Biscuit in Pine View every morning, except Sundays. On Sundays Russ slept in to six a.m., had toast with coffee, and attended the eight a.m. service at Pine View First Baptist Church, the church where they were married in 1946.

Monday through Saturday Russ ate breakfast at the Golden Biscuit. He always ordered the same breakfast. Two sunny side up eggs, toast with real butter, crispy bacon, crispy hash browns, and black coffee. The food wasn’t as good as Alma’s home cooking, but the Golden Biscuit provided something Russ needed, companionship.

At five a.m. several ‘old timers’ who, like Russ, had no one at home to cook their breakfast frequented the Golden Biscuit. The cook, cashier, and servers referred to the morning crowed as the ‘Widowers Club,’ only not to their faces.

The old timers would talk about the usual things, like the weather, crops, livestock, the weather, the price of seed, fuel, feed, the weather, aches, pains, and, of course, the weather, while they mopped up egg yolks with toast between sips of coffee. After the food, coffee, and conversation were exhausted, they would say their goodbyes, which usually comprised something like, “See ya tomorrow, the good Lord willing,” pay their bills, they were notoriously bad tippers, climb into their ancient trucks, and head for home before most folks were out of bed.

~ * ~

Russ turned the key and the old IH coughed and sputtered into life. Like the pack that was hunting only a few miles away, the sound of the old IH, which had several holes in the exhaust system, sent critters scurrying away. Russ spied a raccoon scurry under his house and made a mental note to deal with it when he got back from the Golden Biscuit.

He rummaged through the clutter on the seat beside him until his leathery hands closed on a cassette tape, and he plugged it into the under-dash cassette player he’d installed in the early 1980’s. Patsy Cline’s velvety smooth voice crackled and hissed out of the RadioShack speakers he’d installed the same day he put the player in. Last, but certainly not least, Russ took a Levi Garrett plug of chewing tobacco out of the chest pocket of his bib-overalls and bit off a chew, which had been getting harder to do with each tooth he lost. He put the IH in gear and drove out of his driveway.

The fog blanketing the forest floor also covered County Road Five Seventeen, which was the only road from Russ’ ranch house to Pine View. He depressed the foot switch several times, alternating between low and high beams, trying to decide which provided better light to drive by. Neither seemed to help much.

He reached down and grabbed the coffee can he kept on the floorboard, brought it up under his hairy chin, and deposited a stream of tobacco spit into it. The can was about a third of the way filled with sawdust, which helped keep it upright on the floorboard and, in the event, it tipped over, the sawdust absorbed most of the spit to keep it from making a mess.

As usual, a streamer of spit dribbled down his chin, another side effect of losing teeth. He wiped it away with his shirtsleeve. Years of chewing and dribbling created a permanent brownish stain on the chin hairs of his snow-white bread. Alma hated that brownish stain. Russ referred to it as his ‘tobacco dye job.’ Alma didn’t like that either.

As Russ deposited the makeshift spittoon to the floorboard between his feet, he rounded a left-hand turn leading to a steep downgrade in the road. Before his headlights dipped down with the road grade, he spotted a pair of red eyes glowing in the darkness several hundred yards away, where the road graded upward out of the low spot.

Seeing critters’ eyeshine in headlights wasn’t uncommon in East Texas, but something about those eyes had the hairs on the back of Russ’ neck standing on end. He couldn’t ever remember seeing red eyeshine. Greenish? Yes. Whitish? Yes. Yellowish? Yes. Red? No. Even if the critter those eyes belonged to had been at the top of the road rise, they seemed to be too high.

What kind of critter would be that tall? Russ thought.

To Russ, it didn’t look like the eyes were reflecting light. It looked like they were projecting light. Like they were glowing. As if some inner fire illuminated them. This really prickled his neck hairs.

All these thoughts crossed Russ’ mind in the matter of seconds it took to drive the length of the downgrade. As his truck started up the other side, Russ realized he had been holding his breath. The headlights lit up the fog-covered road before him. There was nothing there. He depressed the foot-controlled high beam switch. Still nothing.

Russ exhaled slowly and thought, Just seein’ things, ya old fool.

County Road Five Seventeen was basically a foliage tunnel at that point in the road. The thick forest closed in on each side and the tree limbs interlinked above, creating a living, green ceiling. Most mornings Russ loved the way his headlights created a halo effect as they illuminated the foliage tunnel. That morning, the tunnel made him feel uncomfortable. It made him feel trapped.

Movement on the right side of the road caught his attention. Something big and black shifted in the shadows.

Russ had time to think, Bear?

A pair of red, burning eyes flashed from the shadows.

Too tall, Russ thought.

Movement to the front drew Russ’ eyes back to the road. About a hundred feet in front of his truck, something big and black was emerging from the fog. It was standing up, unfolding as it did. Up on two legs.

“What the hell?” Russ whispered to Patsy Cline.

It was big, too big, at least eight feet tall and broad across the shoulders and chest. It had long, muscular arms that hung down below what looked too much like a human waist to be an animal. Its front paws looked more like hands with straight razors for fingernails.

Bigfoot? Russ thought.

He was close now, too close. Any thoughts of it being a Bigfoot were expelled when the beast raised its head and stared down at Russ. There was no doubt it was looking directly at him.

The glowing red eyes chilled Russ’ blood and caused his bladder to let go. Its elongated, hairy snout opened, and Russ saw it was full of long, porcelain daggers.

It’s a werewolf, and it’s smilin’ at me, Russ thought.

In that instant, Russ decided his only chance of survival was to run it over. He smashed his foot down on the accelerator and the IH lurched forward. It wasn’t fast, but it was built like a tank. If he could just get the beast under the wheels, he might have a chance.

At that moment, he remembered the second one he saw on the right side of the road. Russ looked right just in time to see the beast slam into the side of his truck. The passenger side window exploded into the cab and showered Russ with broken glass. The heavy IH swerved slightly left but continued forward.

“Fuck you, ya fuckin’ mutt.” Russ shouted triumphantly.

For a fleeting moment, Russ thought he might actually make it. Then another one hit the driver’s side of the IH. Glass shattered into the side of his face, inflicting a dozen minor cuts in his wrinkled flesh. The pain was immediate and intense. The IH swerved slightly to the right but continued forward.

Russ was almost on top of the one in front of him. It stood there defiantly and unconcernedly. Just as the bumper with heavy-duty cattle guard hit it, the beast leapt high into the air and came down heavy on the hood, which crumpled under its substantial weight and the engine died.

That was when the fourth creature landed in the truck’s bed and smashed through the back window. Russ felt its long claws dig into his shoulders as it started to drag him through the broken back window.

Before it could, the one on the hood let out a guttural growl that shook the truck, and the one trying to drag Russ through the back window released him immediately. In that instant, two things became perfectly clear to Russ. First, the one on the hood was the pack leader, the alpha. Second, it wanted to be the one to kill him.

The inevitable calmed Russ. He missed Alma dearly, and he realized he was only seconds away from seeing her beautiful face again. He let the trusty IH coast to a stop in the left-side ditch.

The beast on the hood seemed to understand Russ was surrendering because it made no move to attack. Once the IH stopped moving, it climbed down off the hood. It amazed Russ by how gracefully it moved now that the hunt was over, and its prey had been cornered.

The beast walked on its hind legs around to the driver’s side, opened the door with its hand-paw, and stepped back to let Russ exit the truck. As Russ stepped out of the truck, he realized how damn quiet the forest was. Not a single bird, insect, or critter to be heard. Even the beasts, Russ could clearly see the four of them, were silent. The only sound was the rapid ‘thump-thump’ of Russ’ heartbeat hammering in his chest.

He knew the beasts could hear his heartbeat, too. He wondered which one would eat it. He knew it would be the pack leader.

As if reading his thoughts, the beast grabbed Russ by the shoulders, not painfully like the one that smashed through his back window, and effortlessly lifted his six-foot, two-hundred-twenty-pound body from the ground until they were face to…snout.

Russ already pissed himself, but he refused to suffer any more indignity at the hands, paws, of this beast. As Russ stared defiantly back at the beast, he realized his initial thoughts about the eyes were correct. The red glow was internal, like the very fires of hell were burning behind them.

The beast let out a snort that bathed Russ’ face in its foul, hot breath.

Hellfire in the belly too, Russ thought.

It raised its snout to the bloated moon and released a demonic howl that rattled Russ to his core. The other three joined in, and Russ suffered his last indignity; his bowels let go. Liquid shit ran down his legs and splattered on the road beneath him.

Russ let out a laugh when he thought about the beasts getting a mouthful of shit while they dined on his scrawny legs. The laugh brought the alpha’s attention back to Russ. It sniffed the air, as if just catching the shit stench, and wrinkled its snout. This caused Russ to laugh out loud; a hardy, full-belly laugh. The beast snorted in Russ’ face again.

“What are ya waitin’ for, ya smelly son of a bitch? I hope ya fuckin’ choke.”

With that, Russ summoned one last act of defiance. He still had a chaw in his cheek. He bit down on the tobacco, sucked all the juice he could muster out of it, and sent the thick stream of brown spit directly into the beast’s left eye. Not a drop landed on his beard. Alma would have been proud.

It flinched back, shook its head violently, and let out a yelp.

“Burns, don’t it bitch.”

The pain Russ felt next was like nothing he’d experienced before. The beast’s finger-claws dug into his back and its thumb-claws punctured his chest. It squeezed him together with vice-like strength. Russ heard his old bones crunching and felt his ribs snap as the beast compressed him like a human accordion.

Blood poured out of his mouth. He would have choked, but he couldn’t breathe for the pressure in his chest. Just when he thought his heart would explode and put him out of his misery, the beast stopped squeezing him. It was playing with him.

It opened its gaping mouth, turned its head to the side, and slipped its deadly jaws around Russ’ neck. When its hot tongue snaked around Russ’ neck, he vomited. Blood, bile, and the chaw of tobacco erupted from his mouth.

The beast bit down, but not quickly. Russ felt the long, dagger teeth sink slowly into his flesh. Deeper into his flesh and his larynx collapsed. He struggled to breathe. He felt the long canines scrape against the vertebra in his neck. A severed artery in his neck sent white spots flashing over his vision. He couldn’t breathe. The canines crunched into his spine. His body went limp, and he lost all feeling as his spinal cord was severed.

Russ thought, I’m comin’ to see ya, darlin’.

His body separated from his head, falling to the shit, blood, and vomit-splattered road. He thought no more.

~ * ~

The pack wasn’t interested in eating him, except his heart. The alpha woofed down whole. It had been the hunt they craved. Russ hurt the pack leader when he spit in its eye. Pain wasn’t something it was used to, especially in wolf form. Russ had to pay for that, pay beyond death.

The pack didn’t just shred Russ’ body, they eviscerated it. Razor sharp claws tore flesh and underlying shriveled muscles from bones. A brutal swipe across his belly sent Russ’ blueish-gray intestines spilling onto the ground in a gush of blood. Organs were ripped from chest cavity. Powerful jaws snapped bones like twigs. Razor sharp clawed hands ripped arms and legs from his torso. Every part of Russ’ body was rendered unrecognizable as being human remains, except his head. This had been left on the IH’s crumpled hood like a grotesque hood ornament.

When the pack finished destroying their prey, each member urinated on the bloody pile of flesh and bone that had once been Russ Lomax. As a final act of degradation, the pack leader defecated on the remains.

Dawn was coming. The pack let out a last howl and dissolved into the foggy forest. Pine View County would awake to a very different world that morning. A horrifying world and the horrors were just starting.