Camp Driftwood

Chapter 25 - Monster

Chapter 25 - Monster

First, darkness. Almost non-existent pinpricks of light shone through the holes within the stitching of the bag, nowhere near enough to gather any sort of bearing. His body didn't react to his commands at first, remaining immobile and limp. As his senses slowly came back to him, he grasped the thick wooden beam he had been tied too, hands restrained by heavy ropes behind his back. Rectangular beam, most likely part of some structure, no discernible airflow, the stench of many bodies crammed into one space for too long without bathing. A cabin, maybe? A semblance of den; definitely.

"Wakey wakey," he heard a muffled voice through the bag on his head, finally regaining enough strength to pull at the bonds around his wrists. The ropes strained, but held firm. "Rise and shine, leech."

Henry didn't respond, controlling his breathing and keeping his head facing forward. This Ghoul had already made a big mistake by not simply killing Henry while he was unconscious. It was one that he would pay for, dearly.

"Strong silent type, are we?" The voice mocked from very close, barely two feet to his left. "I get that, I can respect a man of few words."

Still Henry said nothing, listening very carefully to the space around him. As he fell into an almost meditative state, he noticed several things. First, and most obviously, the dull droning of motorcycle engines. The light whine of dirt bikes, at least two, growing steadily closer. As he attuned himself to quieter sounds, his focus shifted. Second, the footsteps. From some distance away, presumably in the next room, three sets of heavy boots were walking slowly back and forth. Male, most likely. Third, he heard what he had been truly listening for. Heartbeats.

In this room alone, he could hear five. Underneath the bag thrown over his head, he allowed himself a small smile. Four of the heartbeats were clustered on the far side of the room, each pounding considerably harder and faster than a standard resting pace. They were afraid, and rightly so. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to revel in the fear he inspired in them, before pulling himself back to a state of absolute calm. Sometimes the bloodlust was difficult to control, but he was fully in control. He shrugged it off and focused on the fifth and final heartbeat.

This one was beating steadily, two feet away from him. The leader. For the most part, Ghouls were cowards by nature. They hunted in packs to take down anything that could be perceived as a threat, but did so viciously and without falter if commanded by a strong leader. As he refocussed on the leader's heartbeat, he considered all he had learned in the past few moments. There were ten Ghouls in the immediate vicinity, at the very least. Their leader was either very confident in his own abilities, or very stupid. In Henry's experience, the leader of a Ghoul pack tended to be a little of both.

With a pack of this size, they'd need to hunt at least twice a week; more if this wasn't all there was. This was more than likely their arrangement with Hale, defending his area of the forest in exchange for any food he threw their way, and safe grounds to hunt as they saw fit.

"To be honest, I'm getting a little tired of being ignored," the voice was less cheery this time as the Ghoul's patience wore thin.

With a rough tug, the bag was pulled from Henry's head. He didn't even bother to look at the Ghoul's leader, instead staring directly past him and into the eyes of one of his underlings. The lesser beast held his gaze for a long moment as they stared each other down in silence, and Henry's face broke into a smile, showing the oversized canines that extended to just below his bottom row of teeth. The Ghoul looked away, and Henry turned his attention back to the leader. As he did, he could hear the other four heartbeats pounding even faster. Psychological warfare was one of his favourite tactics.