The Feeders

17 - Filbert the Pervert

[[A/N: this whole chapter will change. I don't feel like the vibe fits the rest of the story, but Filbert will still be a victim, only under different circumstances.]]

My brother is smart, but can he get away with murder? Can he help me get away with it?

I'm sitting on a bench in the closest park to our house. It's less than a mile, and I walked here with that silly mask over my nose and mouth. I already know there won't be any children here in this park. It's too dangerous to let children play outside when a sick one or even a dead one could come out of the woods and snatch them at any time. Salem is nearby, with my dad's service gun, loaded and ready to go. The original plan had the gun in my hands, while Salem pursued another plan altogether, but to be honest, I've never been any good at shooting. The one time dad took me to the range, I almost shot my own toe off. He took the gun from my hands and never handed it back after that moment. For Salem, it came as natural as blinking. With papaw Red's handed down hunting skills, and dad's tips he'd picked up as a police officer and board into Salem so many years ago, paired with Salem's natural know-how when it comes to practically everything, it's no wonder he's the sole descendant of the Hunter's hunting gene.

I sit on a bench quietly, while Salem hides in the nearby bushes with dad's Berretta, just in case any zombies lurk about. The person I'm waiting on is still alive, at least he was a few days before, when I saw him sitting here reading an old newspaper as usual. The papers don't run anymore, but Filbert Hawk is clearly unwilling to let his old habits go, even with the changed world. In fact, since the government is a little preoccupied at the moment, I'm guessing some of Filbert's old habits have gotten worse. That's what Salem is counting on.

Fil happens to be listed on a very specific list on the world wide web. The kind of list that one must register their current address on if they ever move. He's been there for years with the same address, and he's been coming to the same park for all those years, sitting beside parents as their children played in the park, unawares of what kind of monster he is.

"Him," Salem had said. "Nobody will miss him. And maybe...maybe we'll be doing someone a favor."

It may be terrible, but I agree. There's still a sick feeling in my stomach as I wait for ol' Fil to come along at his regular time and sit next to me in his regular spot on the same old bench he's been sullying for years. I'm wearing a silly flowery dress that I haven't worn since I was about thirteen. It's too tight and too short. I would have liked to slip on a pair of leggings underneath, but Salem said that for Filbert's type, it would be better if I didn't. The wind is a little chilly against my bare legs, and I snuggle my jacket tighter around me. Filbert comes strolling along from down the corner, right on time. Just like Salem said, clockwork. He's pudgy in the middle, average height. His thick glasses are tucked into the breast pocket of his blue sweater vest. His head is bald on top, with a thick strip of grey and white hair on the back from ear to ear.

He sits beside me, clears his throat, and opens his paper, giving me only the vaguest of glances. The air around him feels like looking into a deep pit with snakes at the bottom. I don't like him at all, but I do what Salem says and I sit here, looking sad. He chances a look at me, then a subtle scan of the area. Nobody is out. People are getting too afraid, but Fil doesn't know how to be afraid. It's not in his nature to fear, it's in his nature to be the thing to fear. Salem was so very right.

Fil peeks over his paper again. "You're Janie Hunter, aren't you?"

He's noticed me before, even knows my name. He has probably noticed all the young girls in the neighborhood. My throat burns with the bile that I want to hurl right in his lap. I swallow hard and stick to the plan.

"Yeah," I say quietly.

He lowers his paper, folding it neatly in his lap. "What's troubling you, Janie?"

"I can't go home. A raccoon got in the house somehow. I can't catch it, and there's nobody else there to get it out. It's scary. I don't know what to do."

The sick man. The sick twisted man. He can't believe his luck. Here is little Janie alone, telling him her house is empty and that she needs help. I can see the look in his eyes, like he's just won the lottery. I already don't like anything about the way he's expecting me to repay any services he offers.

"I can help you," he says in a put-on kind voice. I can tell he was faking. He's using the same friendly voice door to-door salesmen used to get you to buy their vacuum cleaners.

I smile to myself. That's just what I was hoping for.

I hate walking beside Filbert the pervert. He's on my right side and my skin there is crawling, like snakes are where my veins should be. He makes small talk, but it's all creepy stuff. Asking when my dad is coming home. Where are my mother and brother? He knows too much about me, and I'm extremely uncomfortable. How long has he been watching me?

I try listening for soft footsteps to assure me Salem is nearby. The sound will reassure me and calm me. However, it's difficult to hear anything over Fil's deep breaths. His body is as unhealthy as his mind. We can't reach the house soon enough for me, and when we do, I pretend to open my door cautiously, as if I'm worried a raccoon might run at me. In all honesty, I don't expect anything to run at me, but something does, and it comes fast.