Tuskers. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The pigs are herding me, Mark realized.  Away from his apartment, away from Peggy.  He stopped and loaded the rifle, then poured the rest of the bullets into his pocket, where he could get at them easier.

Two can play at that game, he thought.

Every time they got in his way, he lifted the rifle and fired.  He hit his target every time.  He’d always been a good shot.  He spent hours in an old cinderblock building at the edge of town, wearing earmuff, shooting at targets on wires, pulling them pack, checking his score.

He was just lucky this rifle was miraculously zeroed in.  Either that or it was miraculously compensating for his being off target. 

He smiled grimly.  He still couldn’t believe these pig creatures could hurt him.  But he’d seen the tusks on the first one he killed, so he was wary.

Then he stumbled across his boss.

The javelinas were herding him into the mouth of an alley.  He stood his ground, sensing that if they managed to corner him in there, he was done for.  He shot a charging javelina and reloaded in seconds.  He was getting pretty good at it already.

His pocket was half empty of ammo, but all he wanted to do was make it home.

He started to walk away from the alley, when he saw the body just a few feet in.  That was shocking enough, but when he’d saw the red coat, he nearly buckled at the knees.

Joe Sanders was a loud, garish kind of guy.  But nice as could be.  He wore a red sports coat to work.  Called it his uniform.  His signature look. 

Now his face was as red as his coat.  His trousers were red too.  His viscera spread out all over the alley was red, and yellow and…

Mark leaned over and threw up.

A javelina took the opportunity to charge.  He stood and blew the creature backward.  Then he keep marching toward the pack, firing and reloading, firing and reloading, killing one of the pigs with every step.

When there was only two left, they bolted. 

Mark turned around and walked straight for his apartment, gun at the ready.  Twice more he saw one of the javelinas, twice more he fired and hit. 

His pocket was no longer jingling with bullets when he reached the grocery store.   Peggy worked there, and got off a couple of hours before he did.  They’d gotten a sweet deal on the apartment, so much so that even though both of them weren’t earning much more than minimum wage they were managing to save money. 

The money was for sending him to art school, or so Peggy thought.

But the money was really for buying a ring and getting married.  That’s what Mark thought.

The door at the side of the grocery was unlocked, and he entered warily.  Then realized there was no way the damn pigs could turn the nob.  He stopped and counted the bullets left.  Fourteen out of fifty.  How was that possible?  It seemed to him that he’d rarely missed his target.  Just how many of those monsters were there?  Why did they keep throwing themselves at him?

Just what the hell was going on?

He looked down at his trousers.  They were his work pants, the only pants he owned that weren’t jeans.  The bottom was covered with mud and blood and viscera.  How was he going to explain that to Peggy?

He tromped up the stairs and tried to open the door.  It was locked.  He was stunned.  It was never locked.

“Peggy?” he said, in a low, wondering voice.

The door flew open and she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in.  Not until the door slammed shut, and lock was turned, did she throw himself into his arms.

“Thank God, you’re home.”

And Mark knew he didn’t have to explain the blood and the mud and the viscera.