Del James by The Language of Fear

Author:The Language of Fear
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-08-24T14:14:41+00:00

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In his own bizarre way, he looked like a mutated golfer. Nick Faldo from Hell or something. The red-and-blue patterns on his sweater were nearly invisible due to ground-in blood. Huge holes had worn through the wool sweater, exposing his callused hard chest. He wasn't very well-defined, but at seven feet three he was enormous. His ball-shaped stomach protruded nine inches farther than his fifty-two-inch chest, and scars, untreated abrasions, and festering scabs from previous battles decorated his massive torso. Fluids ran from his open wounds and had coagulated, leaving little red patterns. His antibodies were extremely powerful and what would have killed an ordinary man was merely an irritation that he'd grown accustomed to.

He awoke groggy, wiped the dirt from his face, and stretched as far as he could in his tiny shelter, which wasn't very 'far. His joints ached from having slept in this damp place for so long. They always ached when he first awoke. Also, not having stretched out in nearly a month didn't help any. His muscles felt rock-stiff and sore. tendons and cartilage in his knees cracked loudly as he slowly, carefully stood up. He removed the bushes that camouflaged the entrance to his subterranean shelter.

He stood up, feeling slightly revitalized. It had been a good sleep but enough was enough. Thick veins bulged out of powerful forearms, arms that could snap a full-grown moose 's neck in half. Dirt-drenched claws extended from his wiggling fingers. The blood in his veins was starting to flow faster, more regularly. His metabolism, slowed during his sleep periods, was now picking up.

Although he had no eyes, he sensed that it was still daylight. Tiny scraggly white hairs hung off his pointed chin. He had no external ears but possessed an acute sense of hearing. Where he should have had ears, there were dirty sunken crevices surrounded by thick clusters of brown wax. His flat piggish nostrils were rimmed in mucus. He tracked his prey using his hearing and smell. With these two well-developed senses, he hunted and survived. Judging by the wind and the temperature, it would be safe to start the hunt in approximately an hour. He ducked back down into his cave and waited.

Sandy reached into his back pocket and produced a decent sized piece of aluminum foil. While fidgeting with the wrinkled-up foil, he stopped and looked up. The azure sky was beginning to darken and pleasant summer temperatures were beginning to drop. Pretty soon it would be safe to leave the woods under the cover of darkness. He looked at Daryl, who was off in dreamland.

"Hey, Romeo, help me, ya dumb fuck."

"What?" Daryl replied, his mind still elsewhere.

"Get some twigs and stuff"

"Go fuck yourself."

"I'm serious. Be useful or you ain't getting any."

Reluctantly, he began scrounging up twigs and sticks. He wanted to leave. There might be a message at home from Karen or something. Beneath his lacrosse jersey he could hear his heavy heart pounding, the chains wrapped around it loudly clanking together.

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