Sniffer had travelled to the fuel depot and refuelled; the fuel depot was a large warehouse site which had been repurposed. The three depots were all similar, and the process was guarded. He knew the used plants were brought in bulk and delivered almost daily. Sniffer had never worked at this site but knew a few people who worked there. He passed pleasantries with them while waiting for fuel. Some larger townships had fuel deliveries where trucks dropped large plastic fuel containers off. Still, most customs came from the various industrial sites that had appeared as technologies were rediscovered. One of the issues the depots had was the shortage of plastic tanks; all the ones used were revamped from before the Falling. Plastics were not yet being manufactured readily, and although there had been recent moves by some small-scale manufacturing sites looking at producing nylon, the industry was still in its infancy.
They used very little metal on the sites because they feared sparks. Several years ago, an explosion at one of the sites rendered a third of the site into a crater due to the violent release of the stored energy from the fuel engineering process. It had taken them weeks to reset the bioengineering process, and the explosion had been heard miles away in the nearest townships. Sniffer knew they had lost over half of the staff that worked there in the blast. The fuel was remarkable, considering it was 100% natural, could be produced if the plants were available, and was exceedingly efficient. Once he filled his truck, he knew he would have enough fuel for at least two months, if not longer.
He bid farewell to the people he knew and returned to the road. He headed southwest around the base of the mountains and then further inland. En route to New Talisia, he knew of several townships where he could stop and grab provisions.
He had been travelling for several weeks, stopping at the main townships and checking for messages. No work had been mentioned or messages received, and after usually visiting the local bar, he would head back out again. Every season he did the circuit, the roads were getting worse. Once you ran into the middle of the country, there was little vehicle ownership. Townships may have a single truck, which was shared between the members and used to support the completed local trades; the number of vehicles he had seen at the factory was a rare sight. Most townships used Keefir’s for pulling carts or similar due to their size and strength. Sniffer knew that they had ridden animals called horses in the past, but he had never seen a horse. Where he was now mainly consisted of farming communities. He had never sourced any work in this area and was planning on getting North as soon as he could back to the more industrialised areas where slaves were used.
He was close to the township of Fair Oak; he had stopped in the past when doing his circuit. It was one of the nicer townships he knew of en route, surrounded by Keefir herds and farmland. They also made genuinely nice nectar, which was always a bonus on his journeys, and he knew that he could also top up with fuel. The township itself was pretty small and new. It had only been repurposed in the past few seasons. It was situated in a long, wide valley, and the main road ran straight through the valley following a winding river. The township was still building a stockade, and since his last visit, they had nearly finished three quarters. It stretched down one side of the town and curved to the river’s edge. Building stockades was not an easy job. Trying to position twenty to twenty-five feet tall tree trunks took time when Keefir and hand completed the task. The town entrance had no stockade or gate yet, but the road was blocked by oil barrels and carts. Two men stood at the entrance as he approached.
Sniffer slowed his truck and came to a stop before the barrels. He got out and walked toward the men. “Hey,” he called as he approached them.
“Hi, what are you visiting for?” one guard asked.
“Supplies and then will be heading back out. I am on my way to New Talisia.” He replied.
Both guards were similarly dressed; neither looked like professional guards, more likely farmhands taking their turn as protectors. They both carried vicious-looking clubs which had nails through them, and one of the men had a revolver in a holster at his waist. Sniffer guessed it was probably more for show than use, considering he also carried a bat.
“How have things been going? It has been a few months since my last visit.” Sniffer said he did not know anyone here, even though having stopped there and bought supplies. He had never stayed over, only ever passing through. The township also did not own a radio, which was never good in Sniffer's opinion.
The younger of the two guards moved to push one of the carts to one side. “Not great recently.” He said.
“Shut the fuck up, Tom. Everything is fine. We had a small issue, but it is being dealt with.” The other man said.
“Sorry to hear,” Sniffer said; he could tell he would not get any more information from the man, so once the cart was moved to one side, he jumped back into the truck and drove into town. The township itself encapsulated a town consisting of about 130 buildings. There was a main street with old shop fronts and what he assumed was the town centre where a crossroad was situated. It consisted of a typical grid network of buildings; all the roads were dirt-packed, making them easier to maintain. He pulled up outside the trading post and hopped down. Tiddles always got a lot of stares when entering townships, and although he didn’t need to keep him in a cage, it was more for a show to stop the townsfolk panicking rather than keep them safe from him. Tiddles would not attack anyone or anything unless instructed to or unless they were stupid enough to try and attack him.
Sniffer walked into the trading post. It was a wooden building and had probably stood for a very long time, and it reminded him of some pictures he had seen in a book once of an era called the Wild West. He entered, calling a welcome to the owner, who was busy restacking some shelves, and started mooching around, looking through the various products they had for sale. He had always found that by spending time browsing, he usually got better deals in trading posts than just walking in and out. He grabbed a few bottles of Keefir milk and some more dry rations and even picked up a couple of pieces of fruit which he could eat before they turned and made his way to the counter. An old woman had entered the store and talked loudly to the owner.
“Stim’s was killed last night.” The old woman shouted.
“Grace, you don’t need to shout at me.” The owner said.
“Sorry, Paul, I can’t hear a damn thing at the moment. I have been making flour all morning.” Grace replied.
“Where was Stim’s found?” Paul asked.
Grace replied, “He was out by the river collecting his last nets of the day; apparently, they found his body this morning. "
“Damn, they need to do something about this. Do they know what has been attacking them yet?” Paul asked.
“No one has seen anything. Apart from the bodies, the only other evidence they have found are tracks and an old metal bucket that they believe one of the girls who was killed the other day had been carrying. It had a hole going right through it, but no one has survived an attack to say what it is.” Grace said.
“Excuse me,” Sniffer said, “What attacks exactly?”
“We have lost five now,” she said, looking at Sniffer. “All within the last two weeks, I have told my Steven he isn’t to go out as soon as it gets dark.”
“That sounds terrible. Maybe I can help. I work in the guard and tracking business.” Sniffer replied.
“You would need to speak to Holland, the town leader,” Paul replied. “He works from the brick building down the way.”
“How much for the goods,” Sniffer asked, placing the items on the counter.
Sniffer could tell the man was doing mental calculations as he flicked over the items Sniffer had collected. “Four stacks.” The owner said.
Sniffer thought that was a little steep but would not complain about being overcharged by a stack. It never helped to argue with traders. He handed over the stacks, and the man packed the items into a small wooden crate.
“Thanks,” Sniffer said as he turned and walked from the trading post.
On leaving the trading post, a young boy stood by Tiddles’ cage, wide-eyed, looking at the beast. He could not have been more than about five or six years old. Tiddles was lying in the cage, looking back at him. The boy watched Sniffer walk over and open the truck, placing the crate on the back seat. He plucked up the courage and walked a little closer to the cage. “What’s his name, mister?” he asked.
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“Beast,” replied Sniffer.
“Beast, but he looks nice. Why call him beast?” said the boy.
“Because of what he does to small boys who get too close to him, show him, boy,” said Sniffer.
Tiddles was enjoying the boy, paying him attention. He wasn’t trying to prod him like some did, not that it ever went in someone’s favour if they did provoke him. He was listening to the conversation between the boy and Sniffer, and when Sniffer asked him to show him, he obliged. He turned his head towards the boy and growled, showing off his large, razor-sharp teeth.
The boy squealed, stepped backwards, tripped over the kerb, and fell hard on his bottom. He got up and ran down the street shouting “Mummy”.
Sniffer chuckled. He shut the truck door and locked it again. “I am just going to see the town leader,” Sniffer told Tiddles. Tiddles turned and looked at him and settled down again. Sniffer walked further into the township and saw a large brick building at the end of the main street. Most of the buildings in the town, like all the townships, were deserted and abandoned. Only a select few, normally the ones which were not as dilapidated, were used.
The building was a wide-fronted old Victorian-style building with an old sign outside. ‘Municipal Library’. He walked up to the entrance and was met by a young woman rushing out the front door. She collided with him and nearly sent him flying. “Sorry,” she said as she hurried on down the street.
Sniffer walked inside to a large open area. Both sides of the building were filled with bookshelves, which were all empty, and in the centre was a desk and an office behind it. He walked up to the desk, and a jovial-looking plump woman looked up at him with kind eyes.
“What can I do for you?” she asked with a big grin.
“I was looking for the town leader. You have a problem I might be able to help with?” he said.
“Mr Holland is our leader. I will go and let him know you are here.” The woman stood up and shuffled over to the office doorway. “There is someone here to see you, Mr Holland.”
“Thanks.” Came a reply.
A man much younger than Sniffer was expecting walked out of the back office, “What can I do for you?” he asked, smiling. He was of slim stature, had long black hair in a ponytail, and had glossy eyes rounding off an attractive face. He was probably only in his early to mid-twenties and dressed smartly in cotton trousers and an open-collared cotton shirt oozing confidence and surety.
“It is more what I can do for you.” He replied. “I was visiting the trading post and heard you have a bit of a problem, and some people have been attacked.”
“Yes, we do. There has been a spate of attacks on several of the townsfolk. We have lost five good township members over the past two weeks. Something has been killing them as we have found tracks. I have posted guards and lookouts, but no one has seen anything.” Holland stated.
“What have the attacks looked like?” Sniffer asked.
“A Wild One, nothing human could do that to a person. Puncture wounds and claw marks.”
“Do you still have the bodies?”
“Only last night’s victim. All the others have been buried. We don’t have anywhere to store bodies here. The doctor still has Stim’s body, though. How do you think you can help?” he asked.
Sniffer could feel the man was reading his every movement and response and showed no emotion. He could understand why a man so young could be leading the township. He felt as though he was talking to someone much older. “With my beast and if I can see the body, I may be able to work out what has been attacking the townsfolk.” He replied.
“Oh, you are a beast handler. We do not normally see any of your kind around here.” Holland said.
“I have been here a few times over the seasons since the township started, but normally, I only stop off for provisions,” Sniffer replied.
“I will take you to Doc’s,” Holland said.
Holland signalled for Sniffer to follow him, and they left the building. A short way down the street, they came to a building labelled as “Doc’s”, a white sign hung on a gate post. The building was a normal-looking two-storey house. On entering the building, he was introduced to Doc. She was in her late thirties, early forties, maybe at a push. She had piercing green eyes and olive-toned skin with jet-black hair. She was a vision of beauty, and Sniffer could not help but stare into her drawing gaze. She wore a lab coat that dropped to her ankles, hiding her figure, but Sniffer could tell she was slim.
“Hi.” Sniffer stuttered, lost for words. He had never seen such a beautiful woman before. She exuded confidence even more than Holland had given off. She smiled brightly at him, her eyes twinkling, and his heart skipped.
Holland did not glance at her, and Sniffer could feel a tension between them.
“Doc, we have come to view Stim’s body. This man believes he may be able to help identify what has been attacking the townsfolk.” Holland explained.
“And your name?” she asked.
“Sniffer.” He replied.
“Sniffer, hey, that is an unusual name,” she replied. “Follow me.”
Doc turned and walked into one of the rear rooms, and they both followed. The room must have been a kitchen previously but turned into a doctor’s surgery. There were four stainless steel tables and a large sink unit with cupboards and shelves that you would expect in a kitchen area. Everything was pristine and shone brightly in the light from the bright bulb in the ceiling. The shelves were covered in bottles of various herbs and concoctions. There were surgical tools of bright stainless steel and other items and gadgets that Sniffer had no idea what they could be used for placed neatly on a countertop. This woman took great pride in her profession. The body was lying on a central table with a sheet draped over it.
“You’re lucky you came now. I was going to get Daryl to come and get him buried. There is no ceremony, as you know. His wife died last winter.” The doctor said.
Sniffer walked up to the sheet and pulled it back; the wounds were unmistakable; he had seen them on many occasions. The claw marks that raked the abdomen were evenly spaced, and there were two evident puncture wounds where the fangs had penetrated the chest of the man. They were approximately two centimetres in diameter. “I guess he has the same puncture wounds on his back?” Sniffer asked.
“Yes, how did you know?” Doc asked.
“Spylore. That is what has been attacking your townsfolk.” Sniffer replied.
“A Spylore, this close to town?” Holland said with a shocked look on his face. It was the first sign of weakness in Holland's demeanour.
“It is unusual but not unheard of.” Sniffer replied, “I have dealt with similar before, but it all depends on food supply, pack size, or other factors such as being young, etc.”
“I didn’t know Spylore’s were pack animals?”
“Yeah, they hunt alone, but they always live in packs. Normally, there are a couple of males and several females. You can’t tell the difference from looking at them, which they are, and they are also similar sizes.”
“So, you think you can help?”
“If they are this close to a township, they are close to starving, which considering they are leaving the bodies is not the issue, so they probably have young nearby. I can set the beast out to track if you like and see what we can find.” Sniffer said.
“How much is this going to cost?”
“Not much. For food and lodging while I am here, and for every Spylore, I normally charge eight stacks.”
“That’s not cheap. I will agree on principle but will require evidence.” Holland said.
“Understood. What do you want, heads or tails?” Sniffer asked.
“Tails will do. We do not need Spylore heads being brought back to town.” Holland replied. “Let us head back to the townhouse, and we can write up the terms.”
“Sure.” Sniffer turned, looking at Doc. “Thank you for your time.” Smiling broadly at her.
“You are welcome.” She replied to him, smiling back.
They went back to the brick building while the lady, whose name he learned was Martha, wrote up the contract. Holland and Sniffer sat in Holland’s office discussing Spylore’s. Once Martha had finished writing the contract terms, she brought them into the office. Holland carefully read everything and handed it to Sniffer once he was happy with the content. Sniffer read the terms; everything was agreed upon as discussed, and he would have a tab at the local bar with a daily two-stack allowance to get food and drink.
“OK, let me show you where you can stay,” Holland said.
They walked back outside and down the street before turning left. A single-storey brick building was set back slightly from the road with a small overgrown garden at the front of the house. Holland walked up to the door, took a key from his pocket, and unlocked the front door. He was handed the key. Sniffer walked inside. The house had three rooms, a lounge with a kitchen area with a wooden stove fire, which provided heat to the small room, a bedroom, and a bathroom.
“No running water, I am afraid, but there is a rain collector outside,” Holland stated.
Sniffer went to the back door that led into a long, overgrown garden. Just off to the side of the backdoor was a giant rain collector. He dipped his hand into the freezing water. A pile of pre-cut logs was also by the side of the door.
“This will do fine,” Sniffer replied. He had no feel for luxuries, spending so much time in his truck, and was used to sleeping wherever he had to, so having a bedroom and even a kitchen area with a wooden stove fire was a luxury. Not that he planned on cooking anything himself. He had the bar to provide him with meals.
“So, when are you going to start,” Holland asked.
“No time like the present. I will grab my truck and get the beast, then probably speak to some of the townsfolk, " he replied.
“Ok, Martha can give you a list of the people who have been killed, and if you need anything, just let Martha know,” Holland said.
They left the tiny house, and Sniffer locked the door. They walked down the street, and Holland bid farewell and returned to the library while Sniffer returned to his truck.
Several townsfolk were on the street, and he could hear them talking and pointing at the beast in the cage. Sniffer smiled to himself. Tiddles always drew attention. Walking up to the cage, he reached in and scratched Tiddles behind his ear. “Looks like we have a job to do, boy.” He said. Tiddles turned his head and looked at him. “I think we have some Spylore to scare off.” Tiddles’ eyes widened, and saliva dripped from his mouth. “Just your sort of job, eh.” Sniffer laughed.
Sniffer climbed into the truck, fired up the engine, pulled back onto the street, and headed to the tiny house. Parking the truck outside, he climbed down and walked to the rear, letting Tiddles out. He hopped down and stretched, extending his claws into the soft dirt track of the street. Sniffer walked up to the front door and opened it up. Tiddles went straight over to a rickety old sofa and jumped onto it, lying down. It was not large enough to accommodate the beast, and the legs bowed under his weight. Moments later, the legs gave out, and with an almighty crash, it collapsed to the floor.
“Fuck’s sake Tiddles, be careful,” Sniffer said.
Tiddles didn’t move. He just lay there and closed his eyes.
“I am going to speak to some of the townsfolk and see what information I can get,” Sniffer said. Tiddles did not respond. He patted him on the head and left.
Tiddles opened one eye as Sniffer closed the door, ‘he better not be drinking again,’ he thought to himself, huffing and settling down.