Deep In The Wild: Mongrels by Gerry Griffiths

Author:Gerry Griffiths [Griffiths, Gerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-02-05T22:00:00+00:00

32

WELFARE CHECK

The drive from the institute to Thomas Trumble’s home was about thirty miles and took Sterling less than twenty minutes in the Shelby Mustang. He downshifted, causing the glass pack mufflers to rumble and pop as he turned down into the long driveway. He parked in front of the garage door and turned off the engine.

“I’ve never been here before,” Morgan said, climbing out of the muscle car.

“Tonya and I attended a cocktail party here once, the night Godfrey invited us to join the institute.” Sterling got out on the driver’s side.

They followed a stone pathway that ran along a hedgerow and a well-manicured lawn extending to the split rail fence on the edge of the main road and stopped at the front double-door entrance. Sterling knocked but no one came to the door.

“Try the doorbell,” Morgan suggested.

Sterling rang the bell with the same result.

“Maybe he’s not home.”

“Let’s go around back.”

They retraced their steps back to the driveway where the Mustang was parked.

Morgan went over to the garage side door and peered through the window. “His car is still here.”

Sterling looked over the four-foot high concrete wall that bordered the driveway, separating it from the grassy hill that sloped down to the beach area. “He’s not out on the water. His boat is tied up at the dock.”

They went down the wooden steps and onto the redwood patio deck.

“Look, the back door is open,” Morgan noticed.

Sterling called into the house, “Hello? Anyone home?”

Morgan swatted a fly buzzing his face. “Get off.”

“Do you smell something?” Sterling said, and stepped inside. He heard the drone of more flies. Sterling spotted Trumble lying on the floor.

“Jesus, what happened here?” Morgan said and rushed over to the body.

“Stay back. Don’t touch him.” Sterling came over and nudged Morgan aside, waving off the swarming flies.

“My God, look at his legs,” Morgan gasped.

Trumble’s pant legs looked inflated, as though the man had mysteriously contracted elephantiatis, the wetly blotched material stretched to the point of tearing at the seams.

Sterling examined where the trousers were ripped around the calves and back of the legs. “Something bit him through the pants.” He leaned down and looked at Trumble’s grotesque face. Tiny capillaries had burst in his bulging eyes. Mucous drained out of his nostrils and mouth, staining the carpet. Upraised pustule patches oozed on his forehead and cheeks. His lips were so swollen they had split, leaving dried blood on his chin.

Trumble’s plump fingers were thick as sausage rolls. A ring on a puffy finger was buried so deep in the flesh, it had nearly severed the digit below the second knuckle. His hands and arms were so huge they looked like they belonged to a man twice Trumble’s size.

“Think it’s those things that attacked Roslyn’s brother?” Morgan asked.

“That would be my guess. I don’t think he’s been dead that long and look at the state of his body. I’ve never seen venom destroy human tissue at such a rapid rate.”

Morgan took a moment to look around. He bent down and examined the carpet in the corner of the room.

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