Becoming the Prey by Ally Patra

Author:Ally Patra [Patra, Ally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Paranormal, Romance
Publisher: Villainous Press
Published: 2022-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Alex was right—I would never get this image out of my mind. Icy dread washed over me, locking up my joints. A familiar shock of scraggly brown hair came into view, attached to a broken neck.

No, no, no . . .

I dug my heels into the dirt and a wake of pebbles tumbled down the steep drop.

It was Greg.

His face wore the same horrified expression from the photos on my camera roll, and hardly anything remained of him. He was little more than an empty torso and dangling intestines.

Vomit forced its way up my throat.

Everything spun, but the pressure of Alex’s hand anchored me in place. My ragged, uneven breaths forced the thick musk of rot into my lungs, and I stumbled forward.

I needed to get past this, away from this smell. I needed to puke right now—

He barricaded me with his arm. I stumbled into him, gagging up chicken and dumplings from the night before, and willed strength into my wobbling knees.

“Don’t take off,” Alex said. “We’ll get around him.”

I clamped my hand over my mouth and whimpered in a muffled voice. “Can we cut him down?”

“It’s unsafe here. There’s no time.”

“But—”

His nose wrinkled. “Neither of us can handle this smell for much longer, either.”

We inched closer, creeping past the hanging carcass.

The stench assaulted me, and the flies were so loud—the sound of them swarming his decomposed flesh buzzed in my head, inescapable.

Cracked and gaping, Greg’s rib cage was pried open, and his tattered clothing was shredded with long, raking claw marks—similar to the damage done to my tent the night I woke up alone.

My eyes watered.

His limbs were stiff with rigor mortis, and he clutched a ripped swatch of tie-dye fabric in his remaining hand. I went cold.

It belonged to Hope.

A strong breeze disturbed the body. The branches groaned and his body fluttered in the wind like a discarded paper bag. We kept moving, but it blew again, howling as if it had gained sentience.

The rope snapped.

Greg’s bones clattered to the ground and rolled to a stop at my feet. I screamed, wrenching my hand from Alex’s grasp, and backpedaled. I needed to run, but I had nowhere to go, and my body moved on its own.

I lost my footing and lurched forward—right into this pile of maggots and bones.

Alex caught me by the waist.

Worms writhed in the dirt near the tip of my boots, and I gagged. I should have closed my eyes. Why didn’t I listen?

Rasping, I struggled to force air into my lungs, and the smell choked me. I clawed at my aching throat.

Alex said something behind me, but it fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the noisy insects.

Oh, God, the flies.

He hoisted me into his arms. Alex pushed my face into his neck and secured my shaking knees, and then we were moving. His footsteps were silent, light and careful, and the further he ran, the easier my breaths came. He skidded to a stop to set me on my feet, but my weak legs rejected my weight.

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