CHUPACABRA

Chapter Fourteen: The Watcher

The jackrabbit had been an incredibly lucky catch. Well, it wasn't really a catch at all, more of a discovery. Forty found it lying in a patch of shade where the trees got sparser, obviously dead. Thirty-Seven practically pounced on it but Forty stopped him at the last moment to make sure the thing wasn't sick.

"It died for a reason," she'd said, then nudged it to turn over with her foot. A clear-as-day bullet wound perforated its abdomen. Thirty-Seven looked at her hopefully, knowing what that meant. "Go ahead," she said. "Just watch for the bullet if it's still in there."

That leads to now, where Thirty-Seven is not so inconspicuously feeling guilty for eating the whole thing even though she found it. "I mean, I feel like a bad hunter, is all," he says, kicking at the small pieces of gravel in front of him.

"It was shot," Forty says, annoyed. She's not perturbed with Thirty-Seven exactly, but she's tuning out his whining anyways. A bullet wound in the rabbit means that humans are nearby, which could be a good or bad thing. Good if they live in the middle of the natural area with livestock, but bad if they are casual hunters and watching the pair now from some deer blind. Forty knows she won't be able to smell them. The blind they stayed in a few nights ago smelt entirely like deer, and she'd found a can of scent spray in one of the trashed corners. Humans can be incredibly smart, she noted, but right now that is detrimental to her.

"Yeah, I know, but I mean are... are you hungry?" Thirty-Seven works out, sounding a little frustrated. He doesn't want to apologize for the scene he made previously, and Forty doesn't think he has the capabilities to do such a thing. She can tell by the faint scent of nervousness in the air that he feels guilty. It's enough to satisfy any anger she could conjure up at losing a meal, his disguised concern a welcome change to his constant flightiness and rage.

"No," Forty lies, trudging on ahead. The brush has started to thin out, becoming more scraggly and ground-hugging like near the compound. Forty can pick up the faint scent of livestock, but it's hard to tell just how far away they are. It must be a farm, or at least she hopes it's a farm. She remembers the little illustrations in one of the books her old monitor read to her. Spotted black and white cows, little yellow chicks, a jaunty farm dog, and of course a huge red barn. Forty wonders if that's an accurate depiction of what she'll find out here, but then again humans have disappointed her so far. She can't believe she used to worship them, used to want to be a human.

"Look, I hate when you do that little I'm not going to eat thing. If you faint, I'm leaving you," Thirty-Seven continues, flitting nervously around Forty. The heat from his body is irritating her. The midday sun is entirely too hot, but deep down a little part of her is pleased that he's being such a mother hen. It gives her an uncharacteristic boost of confidence, just enough to push her boundaries.

"You won't leave me," Forty says, watching as his expression falls. "And I won't faint," she adds quickly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh!" He suddenly stands stock still, looking like a meerkat in those old documentaries Forty used to watch. His nose twitches, then suddenly his eyes get that pink tint to them and he hunches over, claws extended.

"What is it?" Forty whispers, senses on the alert in case he's caught onto someone nearby.

"It's beef," Thirty-Seven slurs, his teeth extended past his lips. "About a mile away."

"A lot?" Forty asks, just to see if her farm hypothesis is correct.

"A fuck-ton," Thirty-Seven growls, practically walking through Forty as he turns and faces an eastward direction. He breaks into a run. Forty lets out a squawk, completely unprepared to take off after him. Thankfully, her back has pretty much fully healed and she easily sprints in his wake, catching up only a few moments later. He looks determined, almost fully transformed, and Forty can understand the rush as she gets closer to the source and the smell becomes heady. The promise of a larger meal after scavenging for a week almost makes Forty forget her dislike for killing. She can feel her teeth start to extend, then suddenly a wall of human odor hits her full in the face. She skids to a stop, just barely grabbing the tight black curls at the nape of Thirty-Seven's neck before he runs full-force into the sight line of a group of people.