The past two days a blizzard had cut through the region and engulfed everything in a blur of white including the car which had been wedged up to its wheels in mountains of snow.
Ezekiel's breath plumed against his face.
He turned in the direction of the highway where the distant roar of an engine caught his attention. Glowing lights appeared moments later, growing in intensity as a car wheezed past with the driver's face a short smudge of brown.
His attention averted to the car.
Hiking his rifle higher on his shoulder he gripped the handle of the driver seat and pried it open. The hinges had been solidified with ice and ice crystalized every window concealing the inside.
It was minus thirty outside.
Temperatures so low icicles began to form on his lashes but his body adjusted accordingly, muscles loosening as a vibration began at the base of his spine and up his back. The heat spread evenly and settled in between the layers he wore.
Ezekiel shut his eyes against the oppressive dark, waiting for his pupils to dilate and adjust, then opened them. The interior had been powdered with snow and frost.
His hand skimmed over the headrest where her blood had dried into something burnished and concealed beneath ice.
Ezekiel stared for a bit before lowering himself onto the seat and resting his head on the back where her blood had been.
He waited for something in particular of which he had no idea.
But the woods around him were a silent thing.
In the distance he dimly heard the movements of little creatures, the steady dripping of ice onto snow and the wail of wind so mournful it seemed that grief hung heavy.
"If I were a human," he began, staring through the windshield at the cracked tree trunk which stopped the car from catapulting down stream. "Where would I run to?"
It was clear she had escaped the farm and was on a run even disabled.
He knew this from the misarranged state of the room each time he got home and entered her bedroom – a sign that she was walking about, or rather trying to – from the flushed spots of her cheeks and the muted sighs of relief when she thought he did not realize what she was doing.
"So eager to run." The hunter said, his thumb tapping a rhythm on the frozen steering wheel.
His eyes slid to the right where the passenger seat was covered in snow. Reaching across he opened the glove compartment.
Stray papers slid out onto the floor which he picked and flipped through slowly, pausing to lean out of the car and lift the paper into the moonlight as he squinted against the indecipherable writing.
"Bacardi." A name and signature besides the detailed car inspection and insurance papers.
He progressively scanned through the rest noting the repetitive name over different ownership parts until the last page where a stamp had been imprinted.
The insignia was a serpent wrapped around the mane of a lion's head, hanging low with its head tilted towards the lion. Ezekiel thumbed the stamp thoughtfully.
"If I were a human," he repeated, "where would I run to."
For a woman as small as her, he felt a slight respect in the audacious attempt at escaping the harvest. It was scarce to hear about the roaming of a stray.
Once or twice a decade there would be a flood of soldiers walking through the towns clad in simple attire and severe eyes that held questions their lips could not utter.
Have you seen a stray human?
The answer was almost always, no.
Except that one time an animal was questioned; Ezekiel had stopped for gas and happened to chance a look in the direction of the soldiers leaning into a short stout man that was forking a toothpick between teeth that had scarcely had a passing acquaintance with a toothbrush.
The man shook his head in remorse, a chubby hand splayed over his chest. But upon closer inspection of the toothpick in his mouth, Ezekiel realized it was a bone too fragile to be an animal.
And strands of golden hair were found in his boots.
The humans that weren't caught by officials and returned to the farms often met their ends in the mouths of animals.
Folding the papers and shoving them into his back pocket, Ezekiel exited the car and shut the door.
"If I were a human–" he paused, the idea of her face glinting in his periphery.
The memory of that flushed face with terrified eyes and lips parted in shock as his middle finger traced her nipple softened by the warm water.
"If I was a woman, I would have nowhere to run."
Grabbing the chains he dragged them with ease across the snow and rounded to the back of the car where he kicked a hole through the boot and opened it, linked the chain through and set it with a grunt over his shoulder.
Ezekiel pivoted on his heel and dug into the snow, teeth clenched against the weight of the car dug into the snow. He took a heavy step forward, paused and readjusted the chain around his palm until the metal bit into skin.
He began to pace himself step by step.
Another grunt and the car creaked as if coming alive.
The snow dug into the tires resisting his pull. A dark curl fell from the leather band and brushed his temple.
He moved slowly, veins the size of pencils surfacing along his neck and pulsating at his forehead.
The vehicle lurched, grunted, groaned— and yielded against the inexorable pull of his chain. He glanced over his shoulder once watching the car trail behind like a shadow, and leaned forward as if against wind.
The land began to decline gently at first and his grip eased from the chain.
At the bottom of the hill the muted sound of water rushing beneath layers of ice echoed. He could distantly perceive the serpentine river winding through the valley like a silver streak.
Ezekiel tasted sweat on his lip. His breath was warm and the adjustments his body was making at warming himself paused and reversed, cooling him off.
The decline sharpened and the weighted chain on his shoulder slumped as the car moved on its own accord with the help of gravity.
Dropping the chain, he unhooked it from the boot of the car and stepped around it to the front. With his boot braced on the bonnet he gave it one last shove and watched it wheel downhill slowly cutting through the snow until it hit the bank.
The ice cracked with a sharp reckoning sound that cut through the forest. It was loud enough for Ezekiel to look up and around the forest, waiting.
Currents rushed over the car filling it from the windows.
Bubbles broke the surface and the vehicle began to sink beneath the surface at a lumbering pace. He waited watching until the hood sunk beneath the dark depths, then wrapped the chain around his shoulder and began his ascent.
He didn't make it far when the sound of bristling footsteps echoed. There was chatter as well.
Ezekiel's steps faltered.
He rounded the corner slowly and stopped short of a tree's shadow watching as someone hunched over the area where the car had been a moment ago.
The animal held a flashlight between his teeth using one hand to rub at the snow with its dried blood and the other resting on bended knee. Though his back was turned to him, Ezekiel could make out his starved form.
He was not wearing a shirt and when he bent over the snow shoveling the old cold blood into his mouth with a hungered moan, Ezekiel saw with clarity those sharp bones running down his spine.
The animal was chewing on the snow and grunting. He grabbed fistfuls of the snow and chomped on it, swallowing hard and making a sound of dissatisfaction in the back.
Ezekiel's hand lifted to the rifle's strap and thumbed it.
He did not move, only watched as the animal raised its head and sniffed the air once with rivulets of saliva and water dripping down its mouth corners..
His skin was a translucent pale, paler than the woman's.
Milky white and beneath it blue veins traced like endless tributaries.
And he was a skinny thing, a small thing.
A meager meal.
If not her... he would suffice.
Ezekiel quietly removed the rifle from around his shoulder and raised it with the butt firmly braced against his shoulder. He pressed his cheek on the stinging cold stock and peered at the fish-like spine on the man's back.
The first shot cut through the air lightning quickly. A pool of blood spread out like the dyeing of cloth on snow as the man's body jerked forward. His head whipped about in a frenzy, ropes of saliva spraying about.
Ezekiel set his rifle down and calmly reached into his back pocket as the man spotted him and began to race across the snow careening towards him a careless burst of anger and hunger.
The knife glinted in his hand as he swung it in a swift upward arc and buried it into the underside of the man's jaw as he lunged.
Up close Ezekiel watched those beady eyes peer at him like small hungry animals from within a dark cave. The man's mouth opened in a small O, the edge of his blade winking from within.
Grabbing a fistful of the man's hair at the crown, he lifted him off the blade and held him suspended there while wiping the blood on his thigh. Blood spilled in a perpetual flow from the gaping hope.
"Nnngh– hrrr–" The animal choked on its blood a slight wheezing sound escaping through the cut.
The hunter silenced it with a final slash across the throat, his movement clean and effortless. A thin red line formed. Then spread.
The dead animal dropped to his feet in a crumpled mess.
Ezekiel looked about the forest one last time ensuring that the man had no other partner, much less was part of a group before his eyes landed on the figure in mild satisfaction.
He crouched low and brushed away strands of hair away from his forehead, tilting his head towards the moonlight. His gloved palm stroked down the length of his neck feeling the stillness of pulse, and lower still splaying across the fragile barrel of his chest.
The tips of his gloves ripped as claws began to protrude from the nail bed and pierce the skin with the ease of a knife cutting butter. He placed his other hand on the man's diaphragm and artistically began to pierce through that space, cracking open the ribs that cradled his organs.
He was warm.
Steam rose from the pool of life within and Ezekiel could not help but wet his lips.
Immediately he stepped into his home, like clockwork, Ezekiel heard a mute thud and yowl as something – or someone– hit something.
He looked up at the ceiling where her bedroom would be situated and listened to the scurrying motions then stillness and finally a creaking of bed as she tried and failed at lowering herself quietly.
He unslung his rifle and set it beside the door, stomped the snow from his boots and shrugged off his jacket. His gloves had been discarded off in the forest.
"A new pair." He uttered while turning on the kettle and removing a mug from the cupboard.
Her scent had threaded itself into the lower ground despite only residing upstairs; something soft and earthy and sweet... Ezekiel ran a lazy tongue over his sharp teeth, pausing at a piece of wedged flesh.
She had a distinct smell that was far from animal– human. That tenderness, the fragility of it, the blood and life that pulsed through her veins pervaded his every sense and room.
And if she could fill the house while only remaining in one place, how much more if she were outside?
Opening one of the cabinets he removed the box of quick oats and measured out a half cup into the bowl with water and a splash of milk. That was the one consistent meal he had been feeding her other than soup; it was fast and simple and required little effort or thought.
And as far as Ezekiel could tell, she had not complained.
Her scent grew stronger as he climbed the staircase but this time he could smell his own mingled within. From using his soap and shampoo and wearing his clothes.
The woman was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling with her hands clasped over her belly like a waiting nun. He could tell she was nervous from the way her throat bobbed with each swallow.
Ezekiel's eyes cut across the room and found the seat set in an awkward angle, the carpet beneath it disturbed. His gaze calmly returned to her.
"Did it hurt?"
She blinked as if disturbed from a trance. When she looked at him he realized that the shadows beneath her eyes were fading.
Good, she was resting enough.
"Huh?"
He gestured at her foot with his chin while setting the bowl on the nightstand, "Your leg. You hit it."
"I didn't–" The human paused and drew in a small breath.
She suddenly looked away from and towards the wall. He saw the slight flush coloring her cheek and spreading like a wildfire to her eartips. When she spoke her voice was a muffle; "A little actually."
"Would you like me to check it?"
"No thank you."
There was a moment's respite. A pause where neither spoke and in it her face swiveled carefully back to him then the bowl.
Ezekiel didn't miss the scrunch of her nose and dismayed look that came upon her visage at the sight of oatmeal.
He studied her expression, something hot curling in him.
She didn't like oatmeal.
But rather than speaking against the food the woman reached for the bowl with a wobbly grateful smile and sat upright.
"I went back to the vehicle." That you stole.
The spoon stilled halfway to her mouth. Her eyes cut in his direction and held his gaze. Ezekiel gestured at the hovering spoon, "Eat."
And she did but with a wariness.
He lowered himself onto her bedside and reached into his back pocket where the papers had been folded. They were slightly cold from the weather and damp. He opened them, drawing out the process while relishing at her unconscious reaction of leaning forward.
Close enough for him to notice the nick beside her nostril and the double line of her upper lip.
"What are those?"
"Documents for the car."
Her eyes flicked to him then the paper and back up once more in question.
"You're not the owner of the car, are you?"
"No."
He waited.
"I... stole it." The explanation was presented like a timid offering, hopefully enough to keep his questions at bay.
Ezekiel thumbed the page while staring at her. He considered asking her more but settled for a simple bite. "The owner's name is Bacardi."
The woman blinked in confusion.
"You said that you didn't know his name."
And then it hit her, like a lightbulb going off in her mind. "Bacardi," she tested in a whisper staring at the bowl then him, "Bacardi is his name?"
"It is."
She was nodding her head now as if puzzles were slotting themselves in her mind. Ezekiel expected her to continue eating or mention what had intrigued her about the name but she looked up then, wide-eyed and curious.
"What is your name?"
The silence was deafening.
He stared at her open face that was wilting in on itself as if only realizing what she had just done; and if it was wrong. But then he spoke.
"Ezekiel."
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until next Sunday
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