Page 24 of Consumed
It knocked him down and fell on top of him in a profane caricature of sex, humping its body against his and dripping saliva onto his face. When Con tried to claw at it, it caught his wrists. When he tried to roll away or buck it off, it remained in place with little effort. Maybe in his prime Con could have fought it off, but not now.
He could no longer see it well. It was just a shadowed weight above him. That made things a little easier: at least he was no longer looking at a parody of Isaac’s face.
Isaac. God, what if he was still alive but wounded? If Con gave up, Isaac would die too, and that wasn’t fair. He was far too full of life.
The ghoul bent low, its breath foul against Con’s neck. Itlickedhim.
“You’re worse than the fucking orcs,” Con gasped. He jerked his right hand desperately and managed to free it from the ghoul’s grip. He now knew that punching and scratching would do him no good, so he scrabbled for anything he could use as a weapon—even a goddamn cactus would do.
His fingers brushed against the familiar metal handle of his cane, and he grasped it.
The angle wasn’t good, but Con bashed his fist—handle and all—into the side of the ghoul’s face. It made a surprised yelp and rolled away, and Con shocked himself by quickly scrambling to his feet. When the ghoul came at him, snarling now instead of laughing, Con swung the cane into its skull. There was a satisfying crack, another yelp, and the ghoul fell back a few feet.
It wasn’t seriously injured, and Con was pretty sure that he couldn’t exert enough force with the lightweight cane to bring the monster down.
The training manual. The holy shit-fucking Bureau training manual. What did it say about ghouls?
Prayer. Flames. Or… a sword.
Con didn’t have a sword and the knife was lost in the night. No fire handy either. But he flipped the cane around and tore the rubber tip off the bottom. He hurled the tip at the ghoul; it bounced off the creature without any effect. The end of the cane was now a ring of slightly sharp aluminum. Not a sword, but the closest he had.
Con waited for the ghoul to lunge at him again. When it did, instead of falling back he stepped into the attack with his cane raised, driving the end into the beast with all his might.
The metal sank into the ghoul’s body with a horrifying yet satisfyingcrunch.
It shrieked and struggled to extricate itself, but the cane had gone all the way through, and Con still held the handle. After a few frenzied shudders and a gurgling gasp, the ghoul collapsed.
Unsure whether his foe was truly dead, Con yanked out the cane, retrieved the fallen flashlight, and returned with cane raised, ready to strike again. But before his eyes the ghoul shriveled, as if rapidly dehydrating, until it resembled one of those naturally mummified bodies sometimes found in the desert. It gave one final croak, sounding almost reproachful, and then it crumbled to dust.
“Isaac!” Con wanted to collapse onto his knees and have a breakdown. Instead, supporting himself with the cane as well as he could, he hurried to the mesquite where the ghoul had been hiding.
And behind it was Isaac—the real one—sprawled face-up on the ground, unmoving, blood staining his white shirt.
CHAPTER9
Con fellto his knees beside Isaac and didn’t register any pain with the impact. When a quick check found a strong pulse in Isaac’s neck, Con gave an incoherent cry of relief. Isaac was breathing well, and although the blood came from what seemed to be a bite on his shoulder, the wound appeared shallow.
But Isaac remained unconscious, and after a moment Con discovered why: Isaac’s head lay on top of a fallen gravestone. There didn’t appear to be any open wounds on his scalp, but the stone surface would have been more than sufficient to give him a concussion.
“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity FUCK.”
Swearing felt good but, unfortunately, it didn’t solve anything.
Con checked his cell phone, but as he’d expected, he had no reception. There were no houses within shouting distance. He could drive for help, but he didn’t want to leave Isaac alone. What if the ghoul had friends? According to Bureau materials, they usually operated solo—but not always.
“Isaac? Can you wake up?” When that didn’t work, Con poked him hard in the uninjured shoulder, at the same time leaning in close to his face and shouting, “Wake up!”
When Isaac’s lids fluttered open, Con almost cried in relief. The relief was somewhat lessened, however, when Isaac made a gagging noise, rolled onto his side, and vomited. Luckily he rolled away from Con, but still Con fell backward onto his ass when he reflexively jerked away.
It took a minute or two, but eventually Isaac was sitting up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and squinting at his shoulder in confusion. “What…. Where…. Did youbiteme?”
Con gave a hysterical little cackle. “Not me. Ghoul.”
“Ghou— What?”
“We need to get you to the hospital. Can you walk?” Because there was no way that Con could carry him.
Isaac had bits of debris in his hair and looked thoroughly bewildered. “What?”
