The Lost and the Coyote by Vincent Paiement Désilets

Author:Vincent Paiement Désilets [Vincent Paiement Désilets]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macabre Minima
Published: 2024-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

We came up with a system. We’d split up before dark—I’d keep walking and he’d stay back to rest—so we’d put some distance between us. For my part, I’d sleep during the afternoon. We’d walk in a straight line, toward the hills, and meet there the next day. I’d leave signs to trace my path. If nothing happened, he’d get there no problem. If he turned coyote and roamed around, he’d know where to find me when he changed back. But if I really was “the biggest piece of meat around,” which I probably was, he’d come my way anyway by tracking my smell. I’d have to look out for that.

So, when the sun began going down, we put the plan into action. The moon was full and orange. I made the signs with whatever I found—three sticks planted in a triangle, a couple of rocks stacked on top of each other. When the night had fully set, I kept a vigilant ear and glanced all around to compensate for the eyes I didn’t have on the sides of my head, but desperately needed.

At what time exactly would he change? What were the conditions needed? Did something trigger it? The moon, the darkness, the temperature? So many variables, all unknown.

A flapping of wings had me turning to find its source. A bat fed from a white flower on a cactus. I approached carefully and grabbed it with both hands. The bat jolted and thrashed, and I squeezed until something cracked, kept squeezing until it died.

I sank my teeth into it, no hesitation, ate the whole thing—paws, wings, guts, and everything. Almost threw up, but it felt great.

I had made peace with small creatures. Big ones put things into perspective. I was still grossed out, but couldn’t afford to be picky. Man up or die. I pictured myself turning into a vampire. Anything was possible now. I chased that thought away with my mental fly swatter.

I had almost reached the hills when came the long, high-pitched howl, passing through my nerves with icy stings. Shit. I glanced back and saw nothing, picked up the pace anyway. The howls multiplied, closer, hysterical, like an asylum patient falling down an elevator shaft.

I sprinted for the hills, determined to get there even if it took all the energy I had left. Only after I’d taken cover behind some rocks, I allowed myself to catch my breath.

It was him alright. Bigger than a normal coyote. Still with clothes. He didn’t seem to have noticed me, but trotted at a good pace. Probably following my scent.

I ran uphill. My foot hit something, and I fell on the gravel, scratched my knee. I got up to find another place to hide, kept my hand on my knee, worried he might smell it.

Another howl made me flinch. Far enough. Still, the farther I’d get, the safer I’d feel. As I moved up the hill, with a cramp gripping my leg, keeping my eyes on the coyote, my foot sent rocks tumbling down, and he turned, lifted his head.

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