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Rat AnatomyBy Colin J. KorneyCANADIAN SHORT STORY CONTEST WINNER 2005 - THIRD PLACE |
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The moon hung low over the COGVILLE CITY DUMP sign, casting eerie shadows along the rough, dirt road leading into, and between, the massive piles of refuse, scattered about the landfill’s dump zone. The air was quiet, and thin clouds of smoke floated up from several piles, and across the moon, slicing it in half. The sound of padded feet, scurried across the dash of a busted ’67 Buick, and a pair of shimmering dots, appeared from the darkness of the Buick’s cab, between a jagged slit in the car’s windshield. The dots hovered, then a twitching nose appeared, slender whiskers, and a silky face, with a pair of soft, rounded ears. The rodent sniffed, then cautiously stepped through the slit, and onto the Buick’s hood. A sudden flash of light blinded the rodent. The crack of gunfire broke the silence, then the frozen sound of metal piercing metal, as a bullet tore a hole, about the size of a quarter, through the Buick’s hood, an inch below the rodent’s front paws. The rodent scrambled back through the slit, cutting its left paw on a shard of glass. A bright light illuminated the spot, where the bullet had struck. ‘Did I get ‘er?’ ‘Nope . . . but I thought you did. Missed ‘er by about an inch, I’d say . . . I can see a blood trail, right there . . .’ Sammy cocked the 45 magnum, ready to fire another shot, where the flashlight shone on the slit in the windshield. Dan held the flashlight level over the barrel of his 22 automatic, and in the flashlight’s glow, the Buick took on the features of a ghostly face: the slopping forehead of its cracked windshield, two large, roundish headlights for eyes, and the jagged smile of its front grill and bumper. The flashlight quivered. ‘ There she goes . . .’ The 22’s flashpoint blinded the front of the Buick, then the sound of shattering glass, and several bullets ricocheting off the metal dash. The flashlight’s beam bounced across the Buick’s hood, as Sammy and Dan chased after the rat. ‘ Woo – wee . . . number nine for the night . . . one more, and we got enough for a case of beer!’ Dan kept the 22’s barrel level with the hood. ‘Filthy, no-good, varmints . . . how much is Old Wessel paying us, again, for shooting rats?’ ‘ Two bucks a pelt, and all the bullets we need . . .’ The magnum fired, exploding the remained of the windshield. ‘ Damn it, Sammy . . . will you quit firing off that cock-shot . . .’ Sammy’s teeth glistened in the flashlight’s beam. ‘. . . givin’ me the willies!’ ‘ Thought I saw that varmint scurryin’ over there . . .’ Dan shone the flashlight on the shattered remains of the windshield. Shards of irregular-shaped glass, covered the Buick’s front seat. ‘ Must have winged ‘er . . .’ Tiny hairs protruded from several stained shards. ‘ Well . . . she can’t be too far.’ Sammy went around to the Buick’s passenger side door. He jumped, when the rat scurried past his boots. ‘ Damn it, Dan . . . git’ that torch over here!’ Dan held the flashlight over the Buick’s hood on Sammy, who stumbled backward, the magnum’s barrel pointed at a pile of worn tires. He fired three shots into the pile. ‘ Help me move them . . .’ Dan set the flashlight on the Buick’s fender. He hurried over to the tire pile, and began tossing tires away from the pile. ‘ Hold it . . .’ Sammy paused, bringing his finger to his lips. Dan stopped, to watch him. The sound of a semi-truck, gearing down and then accelerating, passed off into the distance. The sound of their breathing filled the silence, then a squeak. Sammy smiled, and gently cocked the magnum’s hammer. He nodded at a spot behind the tire pile. Dan quietly retrieved the flashlight from the Buick. ‘ You go around the other side . . .’ whispered Sammy. ‘We’ll trap ‘er in a cross-fire.’ Dan crouched, and skulked around the tire pile, the flashlight’s beam pointed at the ground, and his finger tense upon the 22’s trigger. He nervously licked his lips, and leapt around the tires. The rat squeaked, and stood on its hind legs, sniffing the air. Dan squeezed the trigger, firing half a dozen shots into the ground between Sammy’s feet. ‘ Don’t shoot . . . damn it!’ Sammy scrambled behind the tire pile, firing the magnum into the air. The rat scurried off, in the opposite direction. ‘ Get the hell out of the way – next time!’ Dan chased the rat toward a pile of refrigerators, the flashlight’s beam bouncing along the ground. Sammy cursed, and cocked the 45. He ran toward Dan, who was firing wildly into the refrigerators. ‘ Next time, I’m gonna blow your damned head off . . .’ Dan hushed him. Sammy stopped, his eyes peering through the flashlight’s glow, at an old rusted refrigerator, with chrome detail and a rounded door. The refrigerator was leaned up against a stove. A muffled squeak could be heard, coming from inside the refrigerator, then another squeak, followed by several more. ‘ Must be a whole nest of them, in there . . .’ Sammy smiled greedily at Dan, who peered anxiously at the refrigerator’s door. ‘ Old Wessel ain’t got enough bread, to pay us for all the pelts we gonna smoke . . Dan’s hand quivered, and he reached for the refrigerator’s handle. Sammy quickly grasped his forearm. ‘ I gotta reload.’ Dan watched Sammy fidget with the bullets, as he slid them into their holes in the magnum’s chamber. ‘ I’m ready.’ Dan grasped the handle. He leapt beside Sammy, their guns leveled, as the refrigerator door swung open. The shelves and racks, inside of the refrigerator, were covered with an awful-smelling, molding mess, which oozed through the slits in the racks, and dripped down the front of the fridge. ‘ Whoo . . .’ Sammy turned away, his eyes tearing and nostrils burning. Dan’s stomach twitched, and he covered his mouth, the reek emanating from the refrigerator, overtaking him. ‘ Must be where the little varmint stashes everything . . .’ A shrill chorus of shrieks filled the air. Hundreds of rats appeared in the flashlight’s glow, covering the top and sides, and the molding mess inside the refrigerator. Dan dropped the flashlight to the ground as the host of rats surged forward, blanketing Dan and Sammy in a wave of fur, and teeth, and claws. ‘ Sammy -’ Dan screamed, unloading the 22’s clip on the rats. He fell to his knees, and rolled on the ground, the rats’ teeth and claws slicing through his shirt and jeans, and flesh. He managed to loosen the rats from his back and head, and rose to his feet, shaking the rats from his arms and legs, and pulled himself to the top of one of the refrigerators. The flashlight wobbled on the ground, as the rats scurried over it. Sammy stumbled against the refrigerator, covered with rats, waving his arms and the magnum wildly about him. ‘ Hold on, Sammy!’ Dan shot two of the rats clinging to Sammy’s legs. The rest of the rats let go, and followed the others into the darkness. Dan gasped, the barrel of the 22 smoking, and his hand trembling. Sammy peered into the darkness, where the rats had vanished, appearing bewildered, and dropped to one knee. Dan climbed down from the refrigerator, and picked up the flashlight. ‘ Damn . . . I’ve never . . . There must have been thousands of them . . .’ He shone the flashlight at Sammy. Blood welled from the deep gouges in Sammy’s face and arms. His hair lay matted against his scalp, and his eyeballs bulged from their sockets, bobbing wildly. He glanced at Dan, then back at the darkness. He cocked the 45, and stumbled forward. ‘ Where do you think you’re goin’ . . .’ ‘ I’ma gonna kill me some rats . . .’ ‘ No – wait . . . get back here! I ain’t reloaded, yet . . .’ Dan fumbled the 22’s clip, dropping it on the ground, as he dug into his pants pocket, for a handful of bullets. He cursed, as a drop of blood fell into his eyes. He wiped it away, and picked the clip off the ground. Sammy faded into the darkness, beyond the flashlight’s glow. ‘ Hold up . . .’ The 22’s chamber clicked, as Dan slipped the clip into the gun’s handle, then cocked it. He picked up the flashlight, and chased after Sammy. ‘ Sammy . . . Sammy -’ Dan turned a corner around a pile of scrap metal, his breath escaping his trembling jaw in shuddered puffs. Sammy screamed, then the sound of the 45, followed by the sound of crashing metal. ‘ Sammy -’ Dan turned another corner, to where he had heard the noise coming from. The flashlight’s beam illuminated a small clearing, where a rat, the size of a large bull, snapped its jaws on Sammy’s upper torso, clamping down upon his abdomen. Hair and blood flew in every direction, as Dan unloaded the 22’s clip on the rat. The rat made a gurgling noise, as it tried to get away from the bullets. It slammed into a pile of scrap metal, behind it, and coughed up Sammy. It bounded to the top of the scrap metal pile, disappearing into the shadows. ‘ Lord . . . sweet Jesus . . .’ Dan fumbled, grabbing more bullets from his pocket. He ran over to Sammy, who lay staring at the night sky, his eyes bulged and mouth gaped, the expression frozen onto his face as he stared at the terror, in the last moments of his life. His arms and chest were gnawed, punctured by the giant rat’s teeth, and appeared pale. Thin trickles of blood appeared in the dozen or more cuts on his body. Dan dropped to his knees, his hands coming up to his temples, and he screamed. A soft glow covered the ground where Sammy’s body lay, and humming sound resonated from behind. Dan turned, the 22 leveled and cocked, ready to fire. A smooth being, with twiggy arms and legs, large bulbous head, and a pair of domed eyes, hovered from the glow. The being’s head craned to the one side, and Dan stumbled backward, tripping over Sammy’s body, and falling to the ground. ‘ Stay back . . . I’ma warnin’ you . . .’ The being stirred. Dan’s trembling finger froze to the 22’s trigger, and the gun fired, until it clicked. The being reached for Dan, and the light became brighter. Dan felt a chill shoot up his spine. He straightened, and rose to his feet, dropping the flashlight and the 22 to the ground. He began marching toward the being, as if drawn by some invisible prod. Strange clicking noises emanated from the being. Hundreds of rats appeared from the darkness, surrounding the being. They began to morph, their bodies stretching and becoming smooth, like the being’s, until hundreds of beings stood gazing at Dan. The large rat appeared, and transformed, sprouting a pair of wrinkled arms and legs beneath its coveralls and faded, checked shirt. The rat’s face melted, revealing silvery hair and the loose skin of an old man’s face. ‘ Damn . . . that little varmint shot me . . .’ wheezed the old man. He peered down at the dozen, or more, bullet holes covering his body. The being turned toward the old man, touching his body where the 22’s bullets had pierced him. Flattened fragments of lead popped from the holes, making a clinking sound, as they fell to the ground, and the bullet holes covered over. The old man peered at the being, who was gazing down at him. ‘ How’d I do? . . . These two are good enough, ain’t they? . . .’ Very good . . . Wessel . . . These two are wonderful specimens . . . ‘ You still stickin’ to our agreement?’ A thin smile appeared on the being’s face. Once their vitals are drained, you may have what is left of their potential . . . Old Wessel chuckled, and greedily rubbed his hands together. Ever since the beings crashed into his landfill and cured his wife’s cancer, sixty years ago, he had been supplying them with a steady supply of human life. In exchange, they provided him and his wife with an endless supply of life energy, enough to keep them alive, all these years. At first, he did feel a bit guilty, luring young people down to his landfill and paying them to shoot rats, but found it much easier, as the years passed, and he began attracting more of the seedier characters from Cogville. Sammy rose off the ground. He floated beside Dan, and their bodies began shaking violently, as the light grew brighter. Old Wessel turned his head, noticing his wife appear from behind a scrap metal pile carrying a shovel. He lovingly took the shovel from her, and held her hand. They watched Sammy and Dan’s bodies smolder, and wither. A wave of light passed through their bodies, filling Old Wessel and his wife with the sensation of youth that long passed them by, sixty years ago. The light vanished. Old Wessel and his wife stood alone in the clearing, a smoldering heap of charred glob on the ground before them. ‘ Better git’ this away, ‘fore the police come lookin’ for them . . .’ Old Wessel scooped up the smoldering glob, and carried it toward the pile of old refrigerators. The sound of padded feet scurried across the dash of the ’67 Buick, stopping, as a pair of shimmering dots appeared in the cab, and a rodent stuck its head through cracks of the blown out windshield. It watched the old man slam the refrigerator door shut, and walk away. The rodent licked its injured left paw, then sniffed the night air. It squeaked, and vanished back into the shadow of the Buick.. |
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| ABOUT THE AUTHOR Colin J. Korney lives in Preeceville, Saskatchewan, and has been a writer for several years, only in the last two becoming more serious with his work. He have several pieces under consideration, and he enjoys writing poetry, short stories, novels, and plays. | |