Sniffer sat in the bar eating a bowl of stew. It was surprisingly tasty, and he had asked for a second bowl. He had spent most of the afternoon in the bar chatting to the patrons who came and went throughout the day. He had learned that the township consisted of about a hundred and fifty people, all told, so losing five people in such a short space of time was significant. He had learned quite a lot about the lives of the victims; three of them had been fishermen, and two were farm workers. None had been related, and only one victim had been attacked at a time. Four of the victims were males and one female. Sniffer had spent most of the afternoon in the bar, and once it had reached the evening, he had begun on the nectar.
He left the bar when the owner, whose name he had learned was Sam, said he was closing. He stepped outside into the night's fresh air, and his head spun slightly, making him stumble. The roads were dark, and the township had no street lighting, with only an occasional oil drum burner providing light. Most townships were similar, not having decent street lighting as generators were used for town businesses, saving on fuel costs. It was a short walk from the bar to the tiny house, and it took him less than five minutes. He turned the corner, heading to the house, and heard a shrill scream.
He could not tell which direction it had come from as the sound had echoed down the silent street. No one was out; the only signs of life were a few buildings with light in their windows. Sniffer noticed a couple of faces appear in a house window a few doors away down the street and then hurriedly disappear, pulling curtains back across.
The scream had pulled Sniffer from his nectar haze, and he moved back to the house, a little unsteady on his feet. He could hear Tiddles growling from inside. Sniffer dug into his pocket, grabbing the door key before squinting to get the key in the lock and pulling the door open. Tiddles stood alert as he opened it and immediately bounded outside, knocking Sniffer over. “Hey.” He shouted. Tiddles turned his head fleetingly, glancing at Sniffer, and then bolted down the street before disappearing around a corner. Sniffer followed as best as he could at a jog, his legs not quite working as he wanted them to.
Sniffer turned the corner and glanced at Tiddles turning down the next road. He puffed his way to the corner, wishing his legs were not so heavy, and turned, seeing Tiddles standing in the road not fifty feet away by the side of a body. Sniffer's head cleared at the sight as he made his way to Tiddles, taking in the whole scene. A woman was lying in the road, a pool of blood by her side. Prints on the dirt surface were the tracks of a Spylore. He knew their tracks so well. Tiddles stood on guard by her and sniffed at the night air. His ears were upright, and Sniffer could see the tension in his body. He was growling and snarling, looking further down the street, and Sniffer knew that he could sense something was nearby.
Sniffer dropped by the woman’s side and looked into her eyes; her eyes were misty, and he reached out, taking her hand and holding it. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and moaned. Sniffer could make out lacerations along her side and two puncture wounds in her abdomen. “You will be ok, love,” Sniffer said. She tried to speak, but whatever she said came out as an incoherent mumble. He rolled her onto her side, making her cry in pain, and saw the second pair of puncture wounds on her back. Blood was free-flowing from her injuries, and Sniffer pulled off his jacket and tried to stem the flow, wrapping it around her as best as he could. Sniffer knew she would not last long without some serious medical intervention, and he was not skilled enough.
As he crouched by her body, whispering, reassuring her, two men came running up the street towards them. Both carried clubs and must have been the town guard Holland had spoken about.
“Shit, Cindy, are you ok?” one of the men said as he recognised the wounded woman.
“Go get the doctor quickly,” Sniffer shouted.
“Go and grab Holland as well.” He turned to the other man. The man set off at a sprint in the direction of the Docs.
“What can I do?” the man asked.
“Apply pressure to the front wounds.” Sniffer snapped.
The man joined Sniffer, kneeling at her front where Sniffer had held her on her side and placed pressure against the jacket, trying to stem the leaking wounds. Cindy had rogue strands of hair across her face, and Sniffer brushed them away gently. He recognised her from earlier that day. She was the woman who had nearly knocked him flying as he entered the Brick House. The woman’s face contorted in panic, and she gasped rapidly. Sniffer watched as her eyes glazed and turned misty as she exhaled one final time. Blood was still oozing out of her wounds, and Sniffer's knees were damp from the blood that had soaked into his bottoms.
Doc came running around the corner as Sniffer gently laid the woman onto her back, rolling his palm over her eyelids, making them close. The man who had been helping stem the flow had started to sob, and Sniffer stood up and took a step back from the body. Doc reached the girl and threw herself on the ground, reaching out and checking for a pulse in her wrist. She leant forward, placing her cheek against her mouth, looking down her chest, and after a few moments, sat back. “Fuck.” She snapped.
Tiddles still stood alert, facing down the street, and had not moved from his position of standing guard. Sniffer walked up to him and whispered, “Go find”. Tiddles flew, bounding down the street and disappearing around a corner moments later.
Doc turned and looked at Sniffer, seeing his blood-soaked bottoms and discarded jacket that lay by the woman’s body. “Thank you,” she said.
Sniffer turned and looked at Doc. Her brilliant green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the street. “I just wish I had gotten here sooner; I may have been able to reduce the blood loss enough, " he answered.
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“You tried, which is more than many would do.” She replied.
Sniffer could hear the sounds of running and turned to see Holland and the other guard coming around the corner. “Cindy,” Holland shouted.
“She has gone,” Doc replied.
Holland stopped in his tracks, staring at the young woman whose body lay motionless on the dirt street, his face drained of colour at the sight before him, the torn, blood-covered remains of Cindy lying helplessly in the street.
“Did you see it?” he asked with a wavering voice.
Both the guards shook their heads, and Sniffer replied, “No, I heard a scream and came running.”
“This is the closest to the town centre anyone has been attacked.” Said the guard who had returned with Holland, “We were out by the river area where the others were attacked. We never expected anything to come this far into town.”
A small group of townsfolk started to appear, carrying crude implements as weapons, gathering around the scene. “Stevo, Jacobs, get Cindy back to mine, please,” Doc stated.
Doc then turned to the townsfolk, “Everyone gets back indoors and ensures your loved ones are safe.” Ushering them back off down the street.
Stevo and Jacobs moved to pick her body up, but Holland interjected. “Let me.” He said to Stevo. Holland moved and, gently placing his hands under Cindy’s shoulders, lifted her body from the street. The other guard lifted her by her ankles, and they began to carry the body towards Doc’s.
“Stevo, could you please go and get Cindy’s mum and bring her to mine,” Doc asked.
“Yeah.” He replied hesitantly, walking off towards the front of town.
Sniffer slowly followed the procession as they walked back to the surgery.
“Do we know why she was out so late?” asked Sniffer.
“Cindy had been finishing some paperwork for me,” Holland said. “She only lives another block over.”
Cindy was carried into Doc’s and laid on the same table where Sniffer had observed Stim’s body earlier that day. In the bright light from the surgery, the actual damage to Cindy’s body could be seen. Sniffer had not been able to see how severe the slash wound had been in the dark of the night. Her side looked like it had been shredded, with deep lacerations visible between the torn fabric of her top. Alongside the puncture wounds, there was nothing Sniffer could have done to save her.
“I need to cover the body before her mother arrives,” Doc said, grabbing a sheet from a cupboard. She went to draw the sheet over the woman’s remains, and Sniffer grabbed the sheet, straightening the other side. Doc pulled the sheet until only Cindy’s face was visible and wiped dirt from her face with a damp cloth. The sheet started to soak up the blood from the fresh wounds, and red stains began to appear.
Sniffer looked at Doc, noticing she was standing in a nightdress with an outdoor jacket on for the first time. Her knee was scrapped where she had thrown herself down next to Cindy, and a trickle of blood had run down the front of her leg. She had paid it no heed. “You cut your knee,” Sniffer said.
“It’s nothing,” she replied, wiping it with the cloth she had just wiped Cindy’s face.
‘She had just come as she was,’ Sniffer thought. Holland stood in the room, his head down, looking like a scolded child.
“If only she had not stayed late, this is all my fault.” He said.
“How can you be to blame for a Wild One attacking, you stupid boy.” Doc snapped.
Holland glanced at Doc, then dropped his head again.
“Pull yourself together. Her mother will be here soon.” She said with anger in her voice and the signs of temper.
“I am sorry, but I need to go and check on the beast,” Sniffer said, uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Thank you again,” Doc said, smiling weakly at him.
“Any time.” He replied, walking from the room.
Stevo was arriving with Cindy’s mother as Sniffer opened the door to leave.
“Where is my Cindy.” She wailed, ignoring Sniffer and pushing past him.
Stevo stopped on the steps now that he had done his duty. “Six fucking deaths and not one fucking sighting.” He said to Sniffer.
“Do not beat yourself up over it. Even if you had been there, I doubt you could have done much to help. You may have ended up being a victim yourself.” Sniffer said.
Stevo glared at Sniffer with a flare of anger.
“No offence, but I have witnessed the efficiency of Spylore’s. They are lethal, and with only clubs to defend yourselves, you never want to get that close to them.” Sniffer continued.
Stevo just stared at Sniffer as he walked past him. He could hear the wails of anguish coming from the surgery as he walked back down the street to where the attack had occurred.
Sniffer could see the dark stain in the dirt in the moonlight where Cindy’s blood had soaked into the dirt-packed road surface. He took his whistle from his pocket and blew on it sharply. It did not take long for Tiddles to come bounding back down the street towards him. “Anything, boy?” he asked Tiddles. Tiddles gave a low growl and turned around the way he had come. “OK, boy, but not tonight. They are tricky bastards in the dark. Let’s leave it till the morning and go out then.” He seemed to growl, annoyed, but he didn’t move off again.
They made their way back to the small house, and Sniffer went straight out the back, hanging his soiled jacket soaked in Cindy’s blood outside before grabbing a bucket of water from the rain collector and dowsing it in it, trying to clean the worst of the blood off. He then removed his bottoms and did the same. He could not tell in the darkness, so he decided to leave them until the morning to see their actual state.
He went back inside, opened the stove door, lit the tinder, and then lit an oil lamp on the table in the lounge area using one of the lit tapers. He threw the stick back into the stove, adding a few logs before closing the door. The oil lamp gave off a soft glow which barely lit the room.
He went back outside, filling the metal bucket again with fresh water before returning and placing it on the stovetop. The heat from the wooden burner was welcoming, and the night's cold was soon stripped from the small room. It did not take long for steam to start coming from the bucket, and lifting it off with a cloth, he made his way into the bathroom, picking up the lamp.
Stripping off, he washed himself in the hot water as best as he could; his hands were stained with the woman’s blood, and his legs were also where her blood had soaked through his bottoms. He scrubbed at the stains, and when he was finished, leaving his clothes piled on the bathroom floor, he went to the bedroom where he had dropped his backpack. Digging through, he found some clean clothes and pulled them on.
He grabbed his notebook and pencil from his backpack and returned to the lounge area where Tiddles had once again made his bed on the collapsed sofa. He sat in a chair at the table and began to make notes of everything he had found out at the bar today and the attack on the woman. The oil lamp started to dim, and he was unsure if more oil was in the house, not having looked properly. There was no electrical lighting as it had no generator supply, and he would have to ask Holland if it was possible to get a feed to the building while he was there.
He stood and walked over to Tiddles, ruffling his head, “Tomorrow we go hunting.” He said, walking through to the bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed, now feeling exhausted and a mild nectar-induced groan nagging at his temples. Tiddles’ rumbling snores began to filter from the lounge, and he soon fell asleep.