The coming storm We hurried through the still-dim streets and though none of us mentioned the hooting creatures, we did all keep glancing back over our shoulders. At least until we got close to the docks; then I figured that Ben and Jimmy were looking back enough and I focused on looking ahead, looking for any strange hooters that might be guarding, or worse. The streets stayed mercifully clear, and when we reached the building we'd investigated the previous day I hesitated: going inside might be dangerous, but we still didn't know what we'd find at the dock. "What's the hold-up, Red?" Ben sounded on edge, much like the way I felt. I thought hard and chose. "We'll go through the building," I said. "That way we can see if there's anything still there, or if they all left." Jimmy flinched and I realised he'd been assuming they were all behind us somewhere. We darted inside the building and stayed close to the walls; more to make sure we didn't fall over in the gloom. The sun was above the mountains now, but it still wasn't a full light. Clouds were starting to gather too, presaging a coming storm. We paused at the large windows overlooking the dock and saw a sight of carnage. The boat was moored up against the dock and was bobbing this way and that. There was a dull booming noise now and then, irregular and varying, and it took a moment to realise that it was the hull of the ship colliding with the wooden pilings. On the steep slope leading down to the dock were three or four bodies, all torn apart. It was hard to tell for certain, but it looked like they'd tried running up to the building to escape and been taken down before they even got half way. Arms and legs had been separated from torsos, though the heads seemed attached and the grass was dark, even in dawnlight, in wide swathes with blood. The chests and backs looked to have been torn open as well, and I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever had done this had been hunting for organs. At the dock itself there were more bodies, two on top of the shacks we'd visited last time, one lying on the dock and another half-on and half-off the gangplank. Arms and legs seemed more attached now, but the two on the shacks were a strange shape, and it took me several seconds of staring before my brain pushed the horror aside and worked out what had happened: it looked like they'd been worried by a giant dog, thrown up in the air and let fall, so that large chunks of muscle, attached only by tendon and sinew, had splayed out to the side giving them much greater width and much lesser depth. "Devil's hindmost," muttered Ben. Jimmy turned away from the window and I could hear him breathing deeply and swallowing hard. "It's like an abattoir out there." There were no survivors: we checked the shacks, the long box where the grains and potatoes were stored, and eventually, when the sun was fully up, the boat itself. There was a rowing deck, a small pilot cabin with an empty chest in it, and a shallow hold that we couldn't stand up in and held rather more water than I was comfortable with. There were no people, which was sort of a relief, just empty sacks that looked as though they were intended to be filled by things from the city.
Ah, nope. No hurray. That is quite the scene. I don't envy them finding that, much less them remaining in a place where the creatures that are capable of such things reside.
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Time to find the survivors I guess!
The coming storm
We hurried through the still-dim streets and though none of us mentioned the hooting creatures, we did all keep glancing back over our shoulders. At least until we got close to the docks; then I figured that Ben and Jimmy were looking back enough and I focused on looking ahead, looking for any strange hooters that might be guarding, or worse. The streets stayed mercifully clear, and when we reached the building we'd investigated the previous day I hesitated: going inside might be dangerous, but we still didn't know what we'd find at the dock.
"What's the hold-up, Red?" Ben sounded on edge, much like the way I felt. I thought hard and chose.
"We'll go through the building," I said. "That way we can see if there's anything still there, or if they all left."
Jimmy flinched and I realised he'd been assuming they were all behind us somewhere.
We darted inside the building and stayed close to the walls; more to make sure we didn't fall over in the gloom. The sun was above the mountains now, but it still wasn't a full light. Clouds were starting to gather too, presaging a coming storm. We paused at the large windows overlooking the dock and saw a sight of carnage.
The boat was moored up against the dock and was bobbing this way and that. There was a dull booming noise now and then, irregular and varying, and it took a moment to realise that it was the hull of the ship colliding with the wooden pilings. On the steep slope leading down to the dock were three or four bodies, all torn apart. It was hard to tell for certain, but it looked like they'd tried running up to the building to escape and been taken down before they even got half way. Arms and legs had been separated from torsos, though the heads seemed attached and the grass was dark, even in dawnlight, in wide swathes with blood. The chests and backs looked to have been torn open as well, and I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever had done this had been hunting for organs.
At the dock itself there were more bodies, two on top of the shacks we'd visited last time, one lying on the dock and another half-on and half-off the gangplank. Arms and legs seemed more attached now, but the two on the shacks were a strange shape, and it took me several seconds of staring before my brain pushed the horror aside and worked out what had happened: it looked like they'd been worried by a giant dog, thrown up in the air and let fall, so that large chunks of muscle, attached only by tendon and sinew, had splayed out to the side giving them much greater width and much lesser depth.
"Devil's hindmost," muttered Ben. Jimmy turned away from the window and I could hear him breathing deeply and swallowing hard. "It's like an abattoir out there."
There were no survivors: we checked the shacks, the long box where the grains and potatoes were stored, and eventually, when the sun was fully up, the boat itself. There was a rowing deck, a small pilot cabin with an empty chest in it, and a shallow hold that we couldn't stand up in and held rather more water than I was comfortable with. There were no people, which was sort of a relief, just empty sacks that looked as though they were intended to be filled by things from the city.
[Oh dear. No survivors.]
Greg - hurray?
Ah, nope. No hurray. That is quite the scene. I don't envy them finding that, much less them remaining in a place where the creatures that are capable of such things reside.
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