Forgotten Moon by J R Rice

Author:J R Rice
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Silver Canyon Press
Published: 2016-06-10T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Believer

HE HAD BEEN ON THE ROAD for almost two weeks and Grady Campbell would soon be home. As he drove his tractor-trailer rig down the final stretch of Highway 50 toward his farm, he noticed a car on the side of the road with its trunk open. He downshifted and slowed the big-rig to see if someone needed help. With a moaning, metallic squeal and the hiss of air-brakes, he brought his semi to a stop alongside the old car.

At first, Grady thought the car had hit a deer. There was blood and entrails everywhere, and the remains of a carcass at the edge of the road. However, when he looked closer, he saw a man’s face staring back from the steaming pile of flesh.

Holy shit . . .

Grady quickly switched his CB radio over to emergency channel 9 and called for help.

“Emergency, can anyone read me—over?”

After a brief pause, he got a reply. “This is Deputy Wayne Bennett with the Bane County Sheriff’s Office. What is your emergency—over?”

“This is Grady Campbell; I’m out on Highway 50 near mile-marker 12. There’s a dead body on the side of the road out here, next to a car with a flat tire. He’s torn all to hell—looks like something . . . ate this guy—over.”

Another brief pause. “Okay, Mr. Campbell, I can be there in about ten minutes, just stay put—over.”

“Stay put my ass! Something just ate this guy . . . and it might still be hungry. I’m out of here.” Grady hung the microphone on its hook, put the big-rig into gear, and headed for home.

Deputy Wayne Bennett flipped on his emergency lights; the high-pitched wail of his siren filled the night as he raced down Highway 50.

What had Grady Campbell said? Bennett pondered. Something ate the guy?

Bennett knew Grady Campbell, and if this were some kind of prank, there would be hell to pay. However, when he arrived at the scene, all thoughts of pranks evaporated.

Shit . . . that’s James Clark’s old car, he realized.

Bennett parked his cruiser alongside the ’64 Lincoln; he could already see the blood and gore splashed across the asphalt. He eased out of the car with his hand resting on his pistol, and quickly surveyed the surroundings. Grabbing a couple of road-flares from the trunk, Bennett tossed them onto the highway, then cautiously made his way to what was left of James Clark’s body.

The remains were strewn at the edge of the road about twenty feet in front of the car, and they were well lit by the headlights. Bennett clasped his hand over his mouth as he drew near.

Sweet Jesus—grant me strength . . .

He had never seen anything like it. There was nothing left of the man: legs and arms had been ripped from their sockets, flesh devoured, bones crunched and gnawed upon, and the impression-marks of large teeth were clearly visible. What remained of the torso had been hollowed out, the organs consumed. The only identifying factor that remained was the man’s blood-spattered face—a face that Deputy Wayne Bennett recognized.

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