What, you’re still here? You crazy bastard. Who in their right mind wants to read about toilet crocs? Seriously, seek help.
Alrighty then, on with the story.
I don’t know how long Stella and I cowered in that shit pile, but safe to say it was long enough that the smell will never wash out. Night-time fell before everything went quiet. I knew I was wasting precious time. The voice had said I only had forty-eight hours and I’d wasted at least eight of them sitting in crap.
I guess my cowardice isn’t that surprising, but I was shocked that my girl Stella stayed so still and quiet. If I didn’t know how fucked up the world had become, her out-of-character placidness would have clued me in. Well, maybe it would have. I’ve been told on many occasions that I can be a little dense.
Back to the crocs. That’s what you’re here for anyway. I don’t know where Barry’s murderer disappeared to, and frankly, I’m not sure I wanted to. Could you call a monster a murderer? It didn’t sound right in my head. Stella and I crept from the stables into the chilly night air. All around us, there was destruction, blood, and mangled body parts of cows, horses, and humans alike. The silence was almost as terrifying as the gore.
“Come on Stella,” I whispered. “We need supplies. Gordon’s gun must be in his safe.”
Stella just looked at me with those stupidly big brown eyes, her splotched red and white tail wagging just a tiny bit. I pet her head and her tongue flopped out of her mouth making her look just a little dopey. She’s a good girl.
I edged toward the farmhouse, my eyes and ears on high alert as I tried desperately to ignore the metallic smell of blood. We snuck in through the back door, careful not to let the old wood and wire frame squeak. At every turn, I was waiting for the damn beast to jump out at me and tear me apart. I climbed up the stairs, stretching my leg out over the creaky fourth step. Stella trotted after me. I flinched when she stepped where I hadn’t, but thankfully she wasn’t heavy enough to make it squeak.
I located the safe in the back of Gordon’s closet behind Mrs. Percott’s flowery dresses. Thank fuck I knew the code. Gordon was a decent fella but put a drink or two in him and all his secrets came pouring out. That’s why I knew that Mrs. Percott had a heart-shaped birthmark on her ass. Not sure I needed that information, but it was lodged deep in my brain now.
I dialed in the number and threw open that heavy door. I hadn’t realized my heart was thumping until I looked at the disappointing mess inside. My hopes of survival plummeted like a stone through water.
I reached in, pulling out the shiny whip and studded collar. What the fuck was I supposed to do with this? Where was the gun?
New item received: Sultry whip
Description: It’s a very sexy whip for very sexy use. Good on you. It’s good to keep things fresh and interesting. Say, what are you doing later?
Attack power: 69
New item received: Well-used leather collar
Description: This collar is studded and supple. Perfect for wrapping around a loved one's neck for a little extra pleasure.
Armor: 71
I blinked at the sudden appearance of the glowing words in front of my face. I swiped at them like they were some pain in the ass fly buzzing around. They shifted slightly at my battering but otherwise, they stayed as they were, slowly fading away. I sat back on my heels, my head spinning as I tried to make sense of the strangeness.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
I looked at the items in my hands, a little bitterness coating my mouth at the thought of what I was holding. Gordon and Mrs. Percott were a little more… adventurous than I would have thought. Funny how that never came out in his drunken ramblings.
I glanced at the dog sitting beside me. Her ears were perked up and swivelling but otherwise, she was still. “Sorry girl, just try not to think about it.”
She tilted her head and stared up at me as I strapped the collar around her neck. If what I’d seen had been accurate, I probably should be strapping the thing around my own neck, but seriously, I just couldn’t do it. My horseshit-covered jeans would have to be enough protection until I found something a little more savory.
I hooked the whip through my belt, trying hard to not think about how Gordon had used the thing before. Or maybe it wasn’t Gordon. Mrs. Percott had a devilish side. She’d even swatted my butt a few times. I smacked the heel of my hand hard against my forehead, trying to banish the thoughts within. I didn’t need any distractions right now, no matter how interesting they might be.
“Come on girl, let’s grab a knife or two from the kitchen.”
Stella followed me as I crept down the stairs. I lifted Stella over the dodgy fourth step, just in case. We turned in the cramped farmhouse, edging our way toward the kitchen. The floor was littered with broken items and gore, so I knew the croc had been here at one point. I just didn’t know if he was still here or not. I had to find some sort of bag and stuff it full of food and water and weapons. That was the only way I was going to survive this mess.
My footsteps faltered when I saw the faint orange glow from the kitchen. My heart thumped painfully in my chest as I prayed it was just the sun filtering through Mrs. Percott’s chicken-covered curtains. As I edged closer a strange rumbling noise met my ears I could have sworn a vice clamped around my balls. I hope I don’t need to explain how bloody uncomfortable that is. Bad. It’s bad.
My hand shook as I pushed the door open. The strange noise turned into a guttural snore. Sprawled across the tiny dining table that dwarfed the small kitchen was the croc. The orange glow, that I now saw came from the open fridge, lit up the croc’s enormous, pointed teeth. One heavily muscled foreleg was thrown across the beast's barrel chest. Its tail dragged on the floor by its dangling feet. Scattered on and around the creature were the crumbled remains of Mrs. Percott’s last tray of apple cobbler.
The bastard had eaten them all!
I hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to do. One wrong move and the beast would be on me. Bruce was a good man, but I didn’t want to join him wherever he was.
Stella pushed past me and froze, her hackles raising. I reached out for her, trying to wrap my hand around her snout. I was too late. She snarled.
I flinched and looked up into the now open golden-slitted eye of the croc. It rumbled and hissed as it rose off the table. I screamed like a little girl, turned on my heel, and ran for the door. Stella shot past me; her tail stuck solidly between her legs. The ground was shaking beneath my feet as the croc followed. Thankfully, the monster was hampered by the tight space.
I slammed through the door and leaped down the three stairs. Far to the North, I could see the fading speck that was Stella. She’d been so brave before, but I couldn’t blame her for abandoning me now. She had a better chance without my slow ass running beside her.
The croc roared behind me, shattering the old worn doorframe as it burst through the door. I yelped and rushed around the side of the building. I couldn’t run like Stella could. If I couldn’t hide or find something faster to ride, I was royally screwed.
The croc reached out, its thick claws curling around my arm and yanking me back. I cried out and snatched the whip from my belt. I brought it down on the croc hand as hard as I could. A red number thirty-five flashed for half a second in front of me. The croc roared and let go, a strange red bar appearing above its head. I didn’t wait to see what it was. I turned and ran, my heavy boots slapping against the hard sun-baked ground.
I glanced at the ancient carport that housed Gordon’s old blue beater. The ute was missing a wheel. It would be no good to me now. There was a quadbike and a tractor in the machinery shed on the other side of the stables, but the croc was in the way.
The beast was right on my heels. I had no other choice. I needed fast and there was only one thing on this farm that wasn’t a machine that had any sort of speed. I had to get to Son-of-a-Bitch.