Animal Smiles (warning: language and gore)

Klingon Hamlet

This popped into my head when it got dark one night and I realised how a change in light can make the harmless seem macabre. Plus I like writing drunken paranoid characters. Let me know if you think it's sh1t. And pardon the language but it fits the dude in my head.

ANIMAL SMILES

It's night so I'm walking the beat. Ten blocks around my house. I always bring my gun in case I come across a Thing. Body armour too, light on the shoulders but able to take a pounding. It's wintery, real frosty, so I'm kinda shaky. Plus it's my dead wife's birthday. Irene, all smiles til the Things came and chewed her face off. I'm sipping on a naggin. Kills the pain, steadies the shakes, makes that pretty smile fade away.


It's cold. I said that already. But it's important. See they don't like the cold. They're hot-blooded, just like us. And they shed skin a lot faster than us (we shed skin---see dust? That's mostly yours, Reader). Whole layers just peel right off under their clothes, like snakes. Leaves them raw, exposed. They find warm nests, burrow deep, wait til the sun comes back. Weeks, sometimes months, of pure, unadulterated bliss.


But tonight was fucking different.


The whiskey's made my belly warm, and to be honest I'm a little dizzy. Only three blocks to go. Another sip, why the hell not. Happy birthday, love. Rest in pieces. I chuckle, then break my **** laughing. It's unfunny as fuck but I'm bent right over, ass to the moon, laughing hard, thinking she's up there now, shaking her head, trying not to laugh too. I'm heaving til my eyes sting, and I finally get my breath back and hear the noise.


It's like a dog panting, or those excited grunts before the big white splurge. I straighten back up and he's there, leaning against a car, breathless. I can't see his eyes, but I know they're blood-red, and I know what he is. My hands are numb with the cold and the booze, and like a pure green-horn I drop the naggin. The smash is loud enough to wake the dead. I panic, grab my gun and point it at his bowed head. Bowed---he isn't looking at me. Just at the ground. Eyes down. Can it be this easy?


I waste no more time. Two flicks of the trigger—pop pop—and the gunshots fill my ears, echo through the street. Head goes back, damn near snaps off. Body falls back too, legs comically up in the air. Bam bam, dead and down. He's not even twitching. They normally twitch. He's just a few feet away, but something says don't go over there. Is it my wife? I can hear her. Stay away. I tell her to fuck off, and I go over. The eyes are shut. The face is so relaxed, like he's just sleeping, and he could be, except everything from his forehead up is a mess. Skull-bits and brain-bits all swirling in dark blood.


I'm looking, and I'm realising. I'm starting to panic again. Where's the scars? Where's that constant, twisted grin the Things have? Where's the blue veins, the blotches, the fangs? Fuck.


Fuck.


When the craziness all started, info-packs were mailed to everyone. ID the monsters real quick, get them before they get you. Some bore some tell-tale signs, most bore all. But this dead guy was just a regular dude. Probably going for a run.


A run.


He was being hunted. Oh shit. OH SHIT.


The eyes flick open, and now my heart's going nuts. The eyes have no pupils. Might as well be cue balls. The smile appears. Cheeks go up, teeth yellow. He lunges for me but I jump back and pop another bullet right between the eyes. The head literally explodes. Steam rises from the ravaged neck. He's dead. Really dead this time.


This is a bad fucking sign, ladies and gentlemen. They're playing games with us. They're roaming at night, in winter. And this fucker wasn't afraid to die.


I'm sober as hell now. Gotta run home. Ring the guys. Warn them before they get lured in like my schmucky self.


Still two bullets left in the chamber. I keep the safety off, turn towards my street and see five figures waiting for me. It's dark, but I can still see their animal smiles.

pickarooney

Where does this take place? There seems to be a mixture of American (distances in blocks, 'real quick', 'regular dude', 'schmucky') and Irish ('naggin', 'armour').

sNarah

Has a bit of Sin City feel to it I find.