Dirty Deeds 2 by R.J. Blain & Diana Pharaoh Francis & Faith Hunter & Devon Monk & Jennifer Estep

Author:R.J. Blain & Diana Pharaoh Francis & Faith Hunter & Devon Monk & Jennifer Estep
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pen & Page Publishing

Brute

Chewy and the others were back along the trail and several hundred feet lower in elevation when the scent he was following got stronger. A lot stronger. The grindy chittered softly in his ear. Brute crouched low, belly to the dirt and pebbles, doing the predator crawl around the hill and through the twisted limbs of laurel. Not the trail the others would follow. Only the four-footed could make this trail. Or a monkey.

Before him, a clearing opened out, with a small shack built up against the hillside. It wasn’t much, maybe ten feet by ten, with a rusted metal roof. It had a leaning stone chimney that looked as if it would fall down with a slight wind, probably crushing the small shack. Place hadn’t been painted in decades, only a trace of green paint here and there, lots of moss and mold and rot. Twenty feet away, an old fifty-five gallon drum marked the spot where a springhead had been tapped and water trickled down, collecting into what looked like a sun-damaged kiddie pool. The pool was full and water trickled out of it, along the ground, out of sight. There was no driveway. No car. No motorcycle. No trail in. Not even a fire burning, no faint scent of smoke on the air. Nothing.

From the smell, there was no outhouse and the occupant… no. The occupants just used the weed-filled clearing. There was more than one, though how many he had no idea. He wasn’t even certain what they were.

Brute moved forward on his belly, but a cluster of burrs just in front convinced him otherwise. From the climb, he already had a few burrs stuck in his fur and there was no point in snagging more. They itched and stung.

He wondered if the pretty, redheaded witch lady would pull them out if he rolled over and begged nicely. That was a happy thought.

The wind shifted and he caught the stench of rotting flesh. A lot of rotting flesh, a familiar stench his wolf nose knew instantly. His snout wrinkled at the smell, exposing his fangs, and he had to fight the growl that wanted to vibrate into the weedy clearing.

He looked up and saw buzzards circling. There were more in the trees. Buzzards were scavengers, probably attracted to the rot he smelled. He watched a buzzard land behind a rim of land.

Brute crawled backward, then slowly half-circled the shack, trying to see everything there was to see, while still staying downwind. About a hundred yards from the ramshackle hut, he came upon a boneyard. It was more of a bone-pool, a water-filled pit with partial skeletons, animal skins, and bones inside. Most were deer, though he spotted what might be a goat, and two well-chewed dog skulls. A bear skull lay at an angle, still with black fur attached. A skunk coat was draped artistically over a large rib cage, one that was still intact with bits of flesh dangling from the ribs.

Nothing he could see from this vantage point looked human, so that was good.

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