Hunger Pains

“Can we eat now?” Billy asked, starving. His tummy hurt and he felt lightheaded.

“Sure, William,” Jack said, scowling. “We could set up a picnic table right here.” He gestured outward with his thin leathery arms, each covered in faded jailhouse tattoos. “And when those dogs catch up to us, we can offer them a sandwich. What do you think about that, William?” He ran a tattooed hand through his black greasy hair. “Robert, do something with your brother.” Dogs barked in the distance, emphasizing Jack’s words.

“Let him be, Jack,” Bobby said. “He don’t mean nothing by it.”

Jack turned a scornful look toward Bobby, then pierced Billy with his cruel gaze.

“Whatever, Robert,” He said throwing his hands up. “Just tell your idiot brother to keep his voice down. I ain’t going back in.”

“Yeah, Jack, he’ll be alright,” Bobby said, then quickly added, “you know he will.” They stood for a long quiet moment, Jack staring at Billy with malice and Bobby staring at Jack imploringly. The dogs barked in the distance. The water splashed around their black rubber boots. The sun knuckled down on them, unbearably oppressive. Finally, Jack turned away and began sloshing through the marsh. Bobby gave Billy a quick disappointed look, then fell in behind Jack. Billy adjusted the rope over his shoulder, and followed his brother, pulling the weight behind him.

Billy didn’t like the look Jack gave him. When Jack got angry, he yelled at Bobby. Then Bobby yelled at him. Jack and Bobby were friends from back in the day, though Billy sometimes wondered why. For starters, Jack never used their given names, Bobby and Billy. He called Bobby, Robert, silly. And worse, he called Billy, William. They didn’t even sound the same. But Bobby always said Jack was good people. They’d been running with him ever since Baraga. Bobby called Jack the brains and Billy the muscle.

“What are you, Bobby?” Billy asked.

“I’m the driver, little brother. I make sure we get away.”

“Where’re we going, Bobby?”

“Canada.”

“Canada?” Billy asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Yup, we just need to head north, through the marshes, and into Canada.”

“Marshes are like swamps, only they don’t have trees,” Billy said, proud to have remembered that fact.

“Yes sir, Billy. We’re going to march through them marshes, like in those adventure books you like.”

Hiking through the marsh wasn’t anything like those adventure books, though. For starters, it was hot and muggy. Billy’s shirt clung to his skin, wet and heavy with sweat. As Momma would say, he sweated like a whore in church. Billy grinned to himself at that thought. He pictured her leaning against the kitchen sink, a cigarette in one hand, trailing smoke into the air, a glass of scotch in her other hand. Her bright red hair glowing in the light streaming into the trailer.

“What you grinning at?” Jack said, sneering.

“Nothing, Jack,” Billy said quickly then lowered his face to stare at the water sloshing against his boots. Billy expected more cruelty, but Jack let it go.

Billy wore rubber galoshes. They suctioned to the mud under the water. Billy struggled with every step. Bobby told him the rubber would keep his socks dry, but the water splashed over the tops and made his socks wet anyway. They got the galoshes from Jack’s friend, Wendell.

Wendell towered over Billy, an impressive feat considering Billy stood six-foot-five. As a kid, Billy kept eating and growing. At the gym where his father, a heavyweight boxer, trained, Billy spent his days bulking up. In prison, Billy only had two things to do, read and work out. Not many men could dwarf Billy, but Wendell had six-inches on him.

“He’s part injun,” Jack said, “And he takes his savage voodoo crap seriously, so don’t be disrespectful.”

Wendell lived in a wooden cabin on the edge of the marshes. When he opened the door, his head and face were lost in the shadows. Billy only remembered seeing his straight black hair framing a long pale complexion, and the shadows of antlers twisting out of his head. When Billy looked back, Wendell looked normal, tall and skinny.

Insects buzzed around Billy’s head. Mosquitos drank deep from his blood. He swatted them away with his meaty hand then scratched at the angry red welts left on his arms. Water skeeters skimmed away from Billy with each step. Dragon flies and butterflies fluttered about, chaotic in their flights. Giant horse flies buzzed around the men, attracted by their sweat. One landed on Billy’s cheek, near the corner of his mouth. Its legs skimmed across his skin toward his lips. He brushed it away with a finger, gagging at the feel of its touch.

Billy heard a splash and paused, looking toward the source. He thought he saw something near the surface of the water. His first thought was of a buck, bending low to drink. Dark fur tufted around long gnarly antlers. When he tried to find it again, however, only the ripple on the water’s surface remained. Billy adjusted the rope, then turned back toward Bobby and Jack. He took a step forward, then paused, listening.

“They gonna cut you out, slow boy,” A girl’s voice whispered. Not any girl, it was Misty’s voice.

“No, they ain’t,” Billy muttered.

“Cut you out, cut you up just like they did me,” Misty said. “Jack want’s you gone, wants to take your share.”

“You’re just in my head,” Billy said. “We left you with Wendell.”

“Did you, slow boy?” Misty taunted.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Slow boy going to get cut up,”

“Billy,” Bobby called from ahead, “you coming?”

“Yeah, Bobby, I’m coming.”

Billy gave the rope a ruff tug, pulling the black rubber tube closer. He splashed toward his brother and Jack. They were standing near a copse of short leafless trees. Their trunks and branches weaved and twisted, intertwined like bones. Once Jack and Bobby saw Billy moving again, they turned and continued the trek through the marsh. Billy looked back over his shoulder, and thought he saw a shadow slipping between the tall grass. He shook his head and moved a little faster.

As he rounded the bone trees, a pungent scent of decay slapped him in the face. It hung in the air like a thick moss hung from trees. The smell offended all of Billy’s senses, simultaneously making him nauseous and clenching his throat. A cacophony of manic insects exploded around Billy. He felt them vibrating in the air, felt their tiny feet touch his skin, and crawl across his flesh.

“God damn that’s rancid,” Jack said, covering his mouth with his tattooed hand.

Bobby stood next to Jack, squat and red faced. He gasped, winded from the effort and sick from the stench. While Billy had grown tall and bulked up, Bobby had only grown outward. He was several inches shorter than Billy with a heavy gut. Greasy strands of hair lay plastered to his head and face. He gasped; disgust etched across his face.

A deer carcass bobbed against the tangle of white tree trunks. Its antlers snared among the roots. One thin leg protruded out, ending in a black hoof. The furry body bobbed up and down like a buoy. Its long thin face ended in a gapping mouth, its bloated pink tongue floating on the murky green water. One glassy black eye reflected Billy’s disgusted face in its oily surface. A fly landed on the carcass and began probing it with its sucker.

“Fuck that’s nasty,” Jack said.

There was a splash and Billy looked up. A shadow moved on the other side of the trees. He backed away a step, tangling the rope on the deer’s outstretched leg, and tugging it toward him. Its rotted waterlogged flesh split apart, and white viscus liquid rose out of it like glue dribbling out.

“Watch what you’re doing, idiot,” Jack exclaimed. He reached out and flicked the rope free of the deer. It flung the white rank substance onto Billy’s face. Billy gagged.

“Hey, Jack,” Bobby started. Jack gave him a murderous look, then turned and stomped off in a huff. Bobby turned back to Billy, “you ok?”

“Yeah,” Billy said, wiping his face with his shirt.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Bobby said. He pointed at the inflated tube, loaded with two large coolers. “Want me to pull that for a bit?”

“They gonna cut you out,” Billy heard Misty in his head.

“No, I got it,” Billy said, tightening his grip on the rope.

“Suit yourself,” Bobby said, looking relieved. He trudged after Jack.

The inflated rubber tube holding two large coolers had been Wendell’s idea. They loaded all their provisions, the money from their last job, and a fresh change of clothes inside the coolers. They pulled the coolers through the marsh with a rope. Billy had been volunteered to drag it because he was the strongest. He tugged hard, and the tube floated free of the reeking deer carcass.

Billy looked back the way they had come, and thought he saw Wendell, hunched over, balancing on his impossibly long forearms. His long black hair outlined a pale, emaciated body. His head seemed impossibly long, and Billy swore he saw tangled antlers. Wendell slipped into the water and disappeared beneath the surface. Billy didn’t see how that was possible. The water wasn’t even knee deep. He turned and followed his brother, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut.

Billy heard Jack and Bobby but couldn’t see them. The grass in this area grew in large thick patches. He heard their voices ahead and to the right. He moved toward them only to have them be further ahead but to the left. The sun intensified its oppression, pressing down on Billy. Water sloshed into his boots, warm and wet.

“Something’ll have to be done,” Jack said from behind a large patch of grass. Billy moved in that direction, but Jack and Bobby were still ahead, still out of site.

“I told you, I’d take care of it.” Bobby said. Billy rounded another cluster of grass, and still no Bobby or Jack.

“It’s gotta be quick, as soon as we get to Canada,” Jack said.

“Cut you up into tiny pieces,” Misty said.

“Bobby wouldn’t do that,” Billy said.

“He did it to me, why wouldn’t he do it to you, slow boy?”

“You weren’t even supposed to be there,” Billy said, shaking his head. “Jack brought you with him, and he wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“You don’t have to remind me, Jack. I told you, I’d take care of him,” Bobby said.

“See, Bobby wants to cut you up, too.”

“You shut up, you’re not even alive. Wendell took care of you.”

Billy heard a splash just ahead and saw twisted antlers slip beneath the water. His vision swam in the heat and sweat stung his eyes. His stomach rioted with hunger pains. He was starving. When had he eaten last? At Wendell’s, after the giant took care of Misty. Thinking about Misty upset Billy, made his stomach hurt more. It wasn’t his fault, it was Jack’s. Jack shouldn’t have involved her.

They hit the bank according to the plan. Jack running the show, grabbing the cash. Billy keeping the people calm, and obedient. Bobby at the door on lookout, ready to bolt. They filled two duffle bags full of cash. Billy carried both to the car and slid into the back seat. Bobby ran out behind him and hopped into the driver’s seat. They waited for Jack. He should’ve been behind Bobby but wasn’t.

“Come on, Jack,” Bobby repeated, “Come on.”

Finally, Jack ran out of the bank, dragging a woman down the steps with him. She wore a summer dress, and her brown curls came undone from their ponytails. Jack shoved her in the back with Billy, then hopped in the passenger seat up front.

“Drive,” he said.

“I thought we weren’t taking hostages,” Bobby said.

“I’m no hostage, honey,” the girl said. “I’m the inside man that planned this party.”

Bobby gave Jack a hard look. Jack just looked away, grinning.

“Drive,” Jack said. Bobby drove.

“Who’s this big boy?” The girl asked.

“That’s my brother, Billy,” Bobby said. “I’m Bobby.”

“Well boys, I’m Misty, and I think we’re off to a hell of a good start.”

They boosted the car for the job that morning and ditched it that afternoon. Once they got back to the hotel, they dumped the money out on the bed. Their room was the typical unimagined brown and yellow found in hotels across America. Jack pulled out the bottle of scotch he’d bought for this occasion. He poured for shots into red plastic cups and handed them out.

“To Canada, and a fresh start,” He said and swallowed his shot. Bobby wasn’t impressed. He scowled the whole time. Billy didn’t know what to think and he hated scotch. He choked his down and coughed as it burned his throat.

“Enough,” Bobby said, grabbing Jack’s arm. He pulled the lanky man down to his level. “We have to talk.”

“Ok, ok,” Jack said, grinning. “Don’t twist your panties, Robert. Let’s go for a walk.” They left Billy alone with Misty.

“Jackie says you’re an imbecile,” Misty said, focusing her black mascara gaze on Billy. “Do you know what that word means?” She slid her hand onto the bed and her body fallowed in a fluid motion.

“Yes,” Billy said, his muscles tightened, and he scooted against the backboard. “Imbecile means dumb. I ain’t dumb. Bobby just says I’m slow.”

“Do you like girls, slow boy?” She said, walking her fingers across the bed toward Billy.

Billy flinched as she brushed his leg. She ran her hand up his thigh and grinned wickedly.

“So tense,” She said, scooting closer. “You ever been with a girl, slow boy?”

“I’ve been with lots of girls,” Billy said, trembling now. He had been with a couple of girls, ones Bobby paid for. Bobby called them tricks. Billy never understood what the trick was, just that they mostly talked with him. Then they’d touch him, do things to him that made him feel good. Then Bobby paid them, and they left.

“I like a big boy, even if he is a slow boy,” Misty said, sliding her hand between his leg. “Looks like he likes me too.” Misty put her lips close to Billy’s face. “I’m gonna fuck you, then we can take the money and split.”

Misty smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. The other girls, the one’s Bobby paid for, smelled like candy, or flowers, or soap. But Misty smelled different, familiar. She smelled like Momma. Billy pictured her red hair, cigarette smoldering in one hand, scotch in the other, exhaling a puff of smoke. Misty gently squeezed with her hand.

“Don’t you be touching yourself like that,” Momma said. “Take your hands away from that filthy part.”

Billy felt shame and disgust.

When Bobby and Jack returned, Misty lay motionless on her back. Her eyes stared unblinking up at the ceiling. Her pale complexion had turned a chalky white. Blood hemorrhaged in the corners of her eyes. Black mascara smeared down her cheeks where she’d cried until the life left her body. Her neck flowered with angry purple bruises. Billy sat in the chair staring at her, disgust on his face.

“What the fuck?” Jack said when he saw Misty.

“What did you do, Billy?” Bobby asked.

“She was going to double cross us, Bobby.”

“What did you say?” Jack turned on Billy. “What in the fuck did you say?”

“She wanted to do stuff with me, take the money, and leave.”

Jack took a step toward Billy. He raised his tattooed fists, murderous rage in his eyes. Despite being a hundred pounds heavier and all muscle, Billy flinched as Jack closed on him. A part of Billy was terrified of Jack. He didn’t seem strong, or dangerous, but there was meanness in him. Billy had seen him beat a bartender with a glass bottle until only shards remained. Jack’s hands were bloodied and shredded. The bartender’s face was raw hamburger with one eyeball dangling out of its socket.

Dogs barked in the distance. Billy turned back toward the way they came. The sun showed no remorse. Its relentless assault created waves of shimmering light. A massive shadow faded in and out of waves, incorporeal like black smoke. Billy couldn’t tell if it was coming toward him or running away. Water splashed behind him and he heard Bobby calling his name, telling him to catch up.

“We could’ve taken the money and run, just like they’re going to, slow boy,” Misty said. Billy remembered her breath, smelling like cigarettes and scotch. Remembered his shame.

“Your dead,” he said. “Wendell took care of you.”

Wendell opened the door, ushered the three men into his home. When Jack said he lived in a shack by the marsh, he hadn’t been exaggerating. Wendell’s home was quite literally a two-room shack. Wooden planks nailed to cross boards created walls. The floor was wooden too, with a single throw rug in the corner. There was a couch, a chair, and a wooden table with benches for furniture.

“Thought there was four?” Wendell said.

“Girl’s in the trunk,” Jack said. He gave Billy a cold look as he spoke.

“Sit,” Wendell said, pointing to the table. “I’ll take care of her, then I’ll feed you.”

The three men sat at the table while Wendell went out to deal with Misty’s body. They sat in silence. Neither Bobby nor Jack would meet Billy’s eyes. Billy didn’t know what the big deal was. This wasn’t the first time they’d killed someone. But this was different in some way. He just didn’t know why. Killing Misty broke an unspoken bond they’d shared.

“Can we eat now?” Billy asked.

“Not until Wendell’s back,” Bobby said. He rubbed his thumb against his palm, like a pizza chef kneading dough. He avoided Billy’s eyes. Jack stared at the wall, every muscle in his body tense. He clenched his jaw and scowled, ignoring Billy all together.

“I’m so hungry, though,” Billy said.

Wendell opened the door just then. The smell of stewed vegetables and spices swirled in with the giant man. He carried three bowls of warm stew, which he placed in front of each of the men.

“Eat,” He said.

Billy’s mouth watered as he thought about Wendell’s stew. Chunks of tender meat mixed with fresh carrots, zucchini, and cabbage, all from Wendell’s vegetable garden. It was comfort food, reminding Billy of Momma’s cooking. Billy ate three full bowls. Bobby and Jack barely touched theirs, both still brooding over what Billy did to Misty.

That was two nights ago. They hadn’t eaten since. Not more than an hour into the marshes, and those dogs started barking. Jack said he saw the police coming their way, their mutts sniffing the way. They hiked through the first day and night, the barking dogs echoing behind them. For most of the morning, Billy wanted to stop and lie down, take a quick nap. At some point, his body finally accepted sleep wasn’t happening. He could do without sleep. The hunger, however, drove Billy crazy.

Billy rounded a grove of tall grass and found Bobby and Jack huddled together whispering. A small island rose above the marsh waters. Thin bone like trees surrounded it, sheltering the interior from prying eyes. Billy rushed forward, not looking at his feet, and falling as the mud beneath the surface dropped away. He splashed into the mucky water, swallowing a mouthful. It tasted like soil and sewage, rank with fishiness. It burned up his nostrils and he gagged.

“Oh, hey William, watch that step,” Jack called, a nasty amused look on his face.

“Here,” Bobby said, offering his outstretched hand. Billy took it and Bobby helped him to his feet. “It’s only deep for a few steps. Come over here.”

“Give me that,” Jack said, reaching out with his long leathery arm, and snatching the rope.

Billy hesitated, hearing Misty taunting him in his thoughts. Jack must have noticed because he shifted, relaxing a bit.

“I’m going to tie it off, give you a break from dragging it.” He pointed to a thick white branch. “I think we can camp here, rest for a bit.”

“Ok,” Billy said slowly. He reluctantly handed Jack the rope. His stomach grumbled and he added, “Can we eat now?”

“Not yet, buddy,” Bobby said. “Come with me.”

Bobby shared a short look with Jack, before turning his gaze down. Bobby led Billy around the edge of the island. They weaved in and out of the water, maneuvering around bony tree branches. The sun shifted past the midday point, becoming larger and hotter. The humidity overwhelmed Billy, dragging on his muscles. His arms seemed impossibly long as he brushed away branches. The hot afternoon combined with a lack of food distorted Billy’s perception.

“You ok, Billy?” Bobby asked from up ahead.

“Sure, Bobby.”

“You just seem, I don’t know,” Bobby hesitated. He fought with a particularly stubborn branch, before sliding into the water again.

“Bobby,” Billy said, “Can we eat soon. I’m awfully hungry.”

A scraping sound echoed from the shadows deeper within the island’s trees. Billy turned and glimpsed a large bent shape, like the shadow of a giant man, the shadow of Wendell. It was hunched forward, balanced on its stretched arms. Long wild hair encircled its elongated face, a hallowed mask of a deer skull. Its mouth was massive, surreal, offensively red, and filled with thin razor like teeth. It ran a lascivious tongue along those disgusting lips.

“I know you went through hell at Baraga,” Bobby continued. “You spent almost a year in the hole. You know you could talk to me about it.”

The marsh water sloshed over their boots, its warm rotten smell permeating Billy’s senses. The more disgusting the smell got, the more rancid the marsh became, the more Billy’s hunger consumed him. He’d felt hunger like this only once before, locked in the hole back in prison. He was put in total isolation, and it wasn’t even his fault. He’d been the one attacked.

They found Billy in the shower. There’d been three of them. Two of them shoved him into the wall hard enough to crack the tile. Billy lost his equilibrium. He slipped on the wet floor, smashing his face into the soapy tiles. His eyes burned with soap, blurring his vision. He scrambled naked across the wet floor like a salamander. He kicked out, and connected, tripping one attacker into another. He spun and rose to his feet, wiping at his burning eyes.

“Nowhere to go, retard,” The third assailant said. Billy recognized his shiny bald head and the swastika tattoos on his cheeks. He was the leader of the Arian Brotherhood in Baraga. He’d told Bobby to lie, to snitch on a black guy in their cell block. Bobby refused.

“We’re redneck as fuck, and assholes too,” Bobby said, “But grandpa killed Nazi fuckers back in the day. I’ll die before working for those boot lickers.”

The brotherhood sent a guy to shank Bobby. When he saw how big Billy was, he decided to wait. It seemed the wait was over, and he’d brought back up.

“I’m going to cut your balls off, big boy,” The Nazi fucker said, holding up a glinting steel razor.

He lunged forward, swinging the razor in an arc. At the same moment, Billy stepped forward, closing the gap between him and the attacker. He caught the Nazi’s arm with his and forced the razor wide. He looped his massive arms together and trapped the Nazi’s smaller arms. Billy squeezed. Bones cracked, echoing off the bathroom walls. The Nazi screamed, and the razor clanged to the ground. Billy bent forward and bit the swastika off the Nazi’s cheek. Blood sprayed across Billy’s face as he tore the flesh from the man’s cheek. He let the Nazi stumble backwards, screaming as he chewed the flesh and swallowed it.

He bent over, scooping up the razor. He only paused for a second, licking the blood on his lips and grinning. Screams erupted from the showers, and blood painted the walls and floors. When the guards finally rushed in, they found Billy sitting naked, cross legged, smothered in Arian Brotherhood blood. He was licking the blood from his fingers. In the report, words like missing flesh and cannibal were used. Billy was sent to the hole for six months.

“I saw the bite marks on Misty’s cheek,” Bobby said, turning to face Billy. “So did Jack, and he’s fucking pissed.”

Billy shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It felt heavy, awkward. Billy looked up at Bobby and saw that hideous creature slink behind his brother. Its hallow eyes focused on Billy, bore into his soul, and Billy knew what he wanted.

“What really happened with Misty?”

“I told you, Bobby,” Billy whined, “she wanted to double cross us.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Billy.” Bobby wiped the sweat from his brow.

Billy was trying to follow, but his hunger made it impossible.

“When we get to Canada, I’m taking my cut and I’m out.”

“What do you mean, Bobby?”

“I already told Jack. I’m out, no more jobs, no more bodies. I can’t do this shit anymore.”

“What’ll I do?” Billy said, his voice small and petulant.

“I don’t know, Billy,” Bobby put his hands on his hips and looked down, ashamed. “I can’t look after you anymore, I can’t keep protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” Billy said. His cheeks tingled as anger replaced his hunger. His head thumped with his heartbeat, shocking his senses awake. Insects buzzed franticly around the brothers.

“You haven’t been honest with,” Bobby began, but Billy moved fast.

“I look after you, I protect you,” Billy said through clenched teeth.

He wrapped his hands around Bobby’s throat. He picked Bobby up and carried him backwards. They splashed into a deeper part of the marsh, the water reaching their wastes. Bobby struggled, slapping at Billy’s arms. He tried to scratch them, scratch at his brother’s face, but Billy was too strong, too big.

“You want to know what I’ve done for you, Bobby. I killed those fuckers for you, I ate their fucking hearts.” Billy growled. “I fucked Jack’s little whore, too. She wanted it, so I fucked her. And when she wanted to betray you, I killed her, you ungrateful piece of shit.”

Billy drove his brother down, under the water. The water churned as Bobby struggled to get free, to break loose and breath air. Billy held him down, smoldering with rage. Soon the thrashing slowed. Bobby’s arms slid away from his brother. Billy watched Bobby gasp, his lungs filling with water. Bobby’s face grew still, his eyes frozen with panic. He held Bobby under the water for several more minutes, consumed with rage.

Billy let go. Bobby floated just below the surface, lifeless. A shadow fell over Bobby. Billy looked up into Wendell’s empty eyes. But it wasn’t Wendell, had never been Wendell. Wendell was dead. Billy murdered him the first night they arrived at his shack on the edge of the marsh.

“Where’s Misty?” Wendell said, opening the door to the shack. He was taller than Billy, but skinny, sketched out on meth. “Where’s my sister?”

“Trunk,” Jack said, pushing into the shack. “William will help you with her.” He turned a disgusted eye toward Billy, “Right?”

Wendell opened the car’s trunk and moaned. He grappled with his sister’s lifeless body, struggling to remove her dead weight from the trunk. He stumbled toward the shack with her cradled in his arms.

Billy reached over and grabbed an axe that rested against a pile of wood. Billy tested the weight and smiled. With a quick fluid motion, he brought the axe down on Wendell’s back, splitting his long black hair. Wendell screamed and dropped Misty’s body. He ran forward three or four steps then fell forward. He crawled in the mud. Billy strolled over to him and removed the axe, watching the blood pool between Wendell’s shoulder blades. He swung the axe again, and Wendell lay still. Billy took a deep breath, admiring Wendell’s vegetable garden.

The shadow that was not Wendell smiled; its offensive mouth spread wide, greedy. It offered Billy the axe. Billy grinned, taking it. He appreciated the axe’s weight, the smoothness of the wooden handle. He turned back toward the place where they’d left Jack.

From a shadowed position, Billy watched Jack. His long leathery form was bent over the two coolers. He struggled with the knot that held the lids closed. Billy took a step forward, crunching twigs and leaves beneath his boots. Jack spun around and stared at Billy.

“Where’s Robert?” Jack asked, his voices unusually high.

“Back there,” Billy said, nodding over his shoulder.

“I see,” Jack said, his face turning hard. He turned back to the coolers. “Don’t stand there like a fucking tree, help me with these.”

Billy walked behind Jack. He leaned the axe against a bone white tree trunk. Jack fought with the knot. Billy knocked his hands aside, gripped the old, waterlogged rope, and tore it apart with a snap. He stepped back so Jack could get at the coolers.

“Thanks, William,” Jack sneered.

“Sure,” Billy said, sliding his hand back onto the axe handle.

Jack threw open the lid to the first cooler. He gasped with disgust. A pungent rotten aroma punched the air around them.

“What the fuck,” Jack said. He covered his mouth with his shirt. He reached over and flipped the second cooler lid open. The rank scent of spoiled meat erupted from within. Jack stumbled back, gagging as he went.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I chopped up Misty and Wendell and stuck them in the coolers.”

“Why the fuck would you do that, William?”

“My name ain’t William,” Billy said, raising the axe above his head. Jack turned and his sneer turned into shock, then horror. Billy understood that Jack wasn’t seeing him, but rather what he was becoming. His arms had grown in length, his back stretching, his ribs protruding. Billy was a man whose flesh had been stretched beyond its limits.

“My name is Billy.”

At least that’s what Billy had intended to say.

“My name is Wendigo,” was what he said.

The axe fell, over and over and over.

Billy dropped the bloodied axe to the ground, breathing heavily. The mess of meat that had once been Jack lay at his feet. He wiped the blood on his face, smearing it down. He could taste the coppery, salty flavor on his lips. He ran a thick pink tongue out to lap it up. Hunger pains twisted in his stomach.

A shadow fell over Billy from behind. The figure rose from its hunched position to stand at its full height, over twelve feet tall. Its chest was caved in, revealing the hallow outline of bony ribs. Its legs were thin, leathery poles. Its wiry elongated arms reached up, placing long thin fingers on Billy’s shoulders, like a proud father encouraging his son. Black twisted antlers stabbed the air above its twisted head. The hallowed face, a deer skull, peered down at the back of Billy’s head.

“Can we eat now?” Billy asked, starving.

“Yes.”

End

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