Page 76 of Small Town Hunter

Am I dying?

Head Trauma.

With all the strength I have left I raise my right hand and touch my scalp.

FUCK.

That hurts. Christ.

My hair’s matted with blood, my scalp is in bad shape, and all of it burns like the flames of hell.

And I’m in jail.

Awake, alive. Think. Think through the pain.

My cellmate says, “This isn’t how I thought we’d meet.”

I force my eyes to focus, blinking through my failing vision.Blood loss.

Who the fuck–

He looks like an evil fucking fox. His red hair glows bright as hellfire under the jail lights, and his green eyes dance with what I know to be insanity. He’s even larger than I thought — a freak of nature like me. Well, we are technically related, that same festering lineage coursing through our veins.

“McCall,” I rasp.

“Crash.”

“Where are we?”

“Tippalonga Jail,” he tells me. “What are the odds us Virginia boys get locked up together?”

He stands up and I tense. I’m no match for him right now. McCall crosses the cell and sits next to me, stretching his long legs out. His jeans are ripped and stained. Bloodstains. His boots are the same, hanging open with no laces. His hands are mottled with ugly bruises, the skin shredded.

“Did you…did you put me in here?” I heave. The words are coming easier now.

“Didn’t have the pleasure,” McCall answers dryly. “I heard they found you passed out somewhere. Apparently you got raked across the head by some large feathered animal.” He shrugs. “Just what I heard.”

“And…you?”

He smiles. “Got in a fight.”

“You almost killed my cousin.”

“Who’s your cousin?”

“Mully Walker.”

The silence passes. I can’t be dying. This can’t be it. For Christ’s sake…Large feathered animal?

“He needs a doctor,” McCall calls out to the guard.

“No can do,” replies the same jolly, stupid voice.

“Fucker. You got a needle and thread?”

“Be quiet, Red.”

“You got liquor?”

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