Story #193 - Hounds

Hounds

Three.

There were at least three chasing him from the sound of the hooting calls that echoed off the ancient trees nearby. Trill had been foolish to come into the woods alone, but it wasn't as though he'd done it on purpose. Julie had been furious and unreasonable again, and in his haste to put some distance between them, he'd taken a wrong turn up Old Mill Road. One of the things had savaged the right rear tire as he drove past, and suddenly he found himself running; the metal and plastic of the door would do nothing against the razor-sharp teeth of the beasts.

Duskhounds.

They had another name, but no one in the city knew it any longer. For at least a year they'd been prowling the woods, killing all the local wildlife and any humans who happened to stumble into their path. Rumors were that they'd now turned on each other with no reliable food source left, and there had been no reports about litters of the things being born; the company who had created them claimed they were sterile.

Trill didn't care about that – he'd have preferred if they were mating instead of trying to run him down, the fate of other animals in the area be damned. In less than five minutes he knew he'd be overtaken, and his would be just one more corpse for the duskhounds to scavenge in the forest.

A fourth call joined the three behind him, and he felt his heart beat faster. He had an entire pack on his heels, and that meant there was no chance they were giving up. Once a pack had a scent, the chase did not end until the prey died or one of the hounds themselves dropped dead from exhaustion. Either way, the pack ate.

Images of their snarling faces churned through his head as he ran; of the slick teeth and wide-open maws they'd displayed as they tore his car to pieces. It was clear why those in town had named them duskhounds – they had fur in shades of amber and dark yellow, short and spiky tufts that prickled from their bodies. Had they not been trying to chew the steel of his car and swallow him whole, he would have called them beautiful and ferocious. As it was, they were just terrifying.

The lead hound snapped at his heels as he rounded a corner, and his feet nearly failed him. A single fall and he would be dead, torn to pieces before he had a chance to rise again. Craning his neck, he looked quickly over one shoulder and saw that all four were only a few steps behind him, dark saliva flying from their mouths as they ran.

By the time he turned back to the forest path in front of him, it was too late.

A hole in the ground had opened up in front of him and he fell, arms going out in a desperate attempt to save his face. Years of minor-level martial arts training kicked in, and he pulled in his arms and rolled forward as he hit the ground. Even under threat of a quick death from the hounds behind him, he was sure the hole he had landed in was not natural; the surface underneath him was too cold and slick to be forest floor.

Climbing to his feet, he spun, but the the hounds were nowhere to be seen. Looking up, he could see four dark shapes outlined against the edge of the hole he had tumbled into, low growls rising in their throats. They could easily make the jump down – why didn't they?

It was a flickering light to his left that gave him the answer. Under its wan glow was a metal sign, blue background marked by raised gray lettering.

“Unified GenCorp, LLC”

He had found the lab.

It was no wonder the hounds wouldn't return to the place of their creation. They were born of a need for genetic experimentation and control, not the natural processes that should have controlled their evolution. Early reports from government studies of the company showed a complete disregard for both the safety of their workers and the animals under their care, and it appeared that even duskhounds were not so desperate for a meal that they would return to the scene of their making.

Climbing up out of the pit was not an option. The sides were too steep, and Trill knew he would find a gaping mouth waiting for him at the top. Scanning the wall in front of him, he saw what looked like a protruding metal handle, and a few experimental tugs produced a squealing protest but movement just the same. Hauling hard pulled the door open and revealed a hallway lit by flickering emergency lights like something out of a B-horror movie. As the snarls of the duskhounds faded behind him, he had to admit that perhaps an A-grade was warranted – Unified GenCorp had done some truly awful work.

Three branching hallway intersections later and he was lost. There was no signage on the wall to indicate where he might be going, or how far he was from his destination. The company did have an above-ground entrance, somewhere, but it was becoming apparent that their underground operations were much more robust than their surface presence.

Laughter stopped him at the next hallway crossing.

It came again, a mad hooting that reminded him eerily of the hounds he had left behind, but with an all-too-human tone. A light at the end of the hallway to his right told him that someone was still alive and working down here, and that someone might just know the way out.

By the laughter, they might also gut him as soon as talk to him, or unleash some new creation to feast on his bones, but he had no chance down here alone. Slowly, Trill moved through the hallway to find the source of such hilarity in the midst of chaos.

- D