When the hunter awoke the sky was dyed in ombre tones as the sun peered from behind the crested hills.
Distantly he heard the clucking of chicken in their pens and the faint lowing of cattle.
Dregs of sleep crusted the corners of his eyes which stared at the ceiling in dull recognition. Despite the night shower his body still held the faint smell of petrol and blood, her blood.
The woman.
He looked to his hands and traced the dark blood beneath his nails as though reminding himself that the night and his encounter with the woman had been real.
She was real.
His eyes slipped shut and his ears tuned out the outside world and narrowed to the walls within, specifically the room just down the hall where the young human lay beneath blankets to ward off the night chill.
Her breathing was slightly heavy and there was a rattle in her chest like the shaking of coins in a closed fist.
A few days off the harvest ranch and her immune system was already compromised.
The hunter pushed off the bed and swung his legs over the edge, running a rough hand through his hair and down his face he sighed.
"Bear traps, monolithic bullets, cartridges, grease…" He muttered in tandem with each step taken in the direction of the bathroom.
Heading into town was something he avoided like the plague preferring the seclusion of the woods and his own company, and perhaps if he's far too lonely he may keep a kill alive for sometime. But the depletion of his resources required him to make a trip into town.
"Gloves, wool socks, milk…" Flipping on the bathroom light he ran the tap and cupped his palms under the cold water, splashing his face one-twice and running a damp hand through his dark curls sleeking them back.
Grey eyes in the mirror blinked at him and the bathroom light caught the thin rim of yellow that circled his pupils. A smudge of dark shadows formed crescents under his eyes but not from lack of sleep.
He had not had a proper meal in days and his body was beginning to show for it.
The hunter brushed his teeth and spat into the bowl of the sink. He ran a tongue over his teeth and lingered on the sharp edge of a canine thinking of all the flesh he could have sunk his mouth into had the famine not hit them.
"Gloves, wool socks, milk… tea leaves," Angling his face in the mirror he scratched at his cheek feeling the whiskers rub against calloused fingers. "Razors."
Drawing on jeans and grabbing a plain grey shirt, he wore it while walking down the hallway and paused at the threshold of her bedroom.He pressed a palm on the door and nudged it open, leaning a shoulder on the frame whilst crossing both arms over his chest.
The woman had not changed positions since he had laid her in bed.
She was facing the ceiling, the blanket drawn up to her chin. The dark room did very little to conceal her as his eyes adjusted instantly, picking out the unconscious frame in the black.
Her hair was a matted haphazard mess as though she had gone through a storm and blood had dried on her cheek where shards of the windshield had broken.
But that was all superficial.
Her true injuries were hidden beneath the blanket, and he wondered if he had not found her would she have died from the shock, trauma or her inability to neither walk nor crawl towards the highway.
If an animal did not get to her first.
The hunter turned away and quietly shut the door behind him.
His morning routine was succinct and simple; a grounding act that kept him sane even in the season of famine. As he filled the kettle with water and set it on the stovetop, he made a mental note to check the traps later on in the night.
Maybe prey had finally wandered onto his property.
He leaned against the sink bowl and stared out of the window at his backyard where a trap had been set near the fence. Sometimes hunger would urge an animal closer towards his home, daring to scent him out in hopes that he was just as weak if not weaker.
The trap was empty.
He blinked out of the daze as the kettle whistled.
Three teaspoons of instant coffee in a chipped mug with the words 'World's Best Father' he had found in an abandoned thrift store and a cold plate of beans, cabbage and tortillas, the hunter sat by the small three legged-table and ate quietly.
All was silent except for the sound of his chewing at the ticking of the clock overhead.
His eyes lingered on the staircase. From where he was sitting he could see the edge of the doorframe that led into her bedroom.
She was going to be out cold for a long time.
If the fever didn't keep her under, maybe the pain medication will.
"Or maybe she'll just die." Dumping the dishes into the sink he washed and rinsed then set them on a rack.
It wasn't something new or foreign for human creatures to die once they escaped from ranches. They were considered the most fragile of species, a little lower than the rabbits.
But what if she survives?
"We'll cross the bridge when we get there." He finished the thought while lacing on boots and shrugging on a worn jacket that smelled redolent of the woods.
Locking the door behind him, he walked towards the truck, pausing once to glance over his shoulder at the window on the second floor with its drawn curtains. He made a mental note to draw them open when he returns, sometimes sunlight might wake someone.
The truck was a piece of junk that ran off fuel and hopes of it never breaking down at some point while he was on the road. It coughed and grunted as he tried the key, sparking once then rumbling to a quiet halt.
The hunter sighed patiently and tried again until the engine revved to life and spurted out a dark cloud from the exhaust pipe. Backing out the driveway, he steered it onto the road and made his way to town.
The first store he entered was the grocery building; a small shop with isles that had goods scattered about in no particular order. He walked down each aisle slowly, eyes scanning over cans of foods and boxes of dry goods.
A woman was bouncing a red-cheeked crying baby on her hip, trying to shush it. The hunter gave her a passing glance, noting the sallow cheeks and the dull shine to her eyes. When she opened her mouth he saw the brittle edges of canines with small sutures like cracks on a wall.
The baby was an apparition of what a toddler should look like. A bag of skin and bones bundled up in blankets. Its cry was powerful then drawing thinner as he walked in the other direction towards the dairy isle.
The cashier at the front was an old man with skin so wrinkled it looked the hills on his forehead could hold a diamond. His eyes moved slowly, the yellow rims around them dulled to a mustard yellow.
The hunter nodded and placed his items on the belt.
"Long night?" The old man asked conversationally.
"Long days."
He nodded and moved each item through the scanner. The sound of beeping filling the unspoken space between. Suddenly his hand grew still while holding the bag of bread, and the hunter looked up just as the old man's head slowly turned in the direction of the large windows that overlooked the parking space.
The hunter noted how his chin trembled slightly. He followed the line of his vision and saw a handful of animals walking out of the treeline and crossing the road. From afar he could tell they had just finished a night of hunting, their torsos were bare and bloodied but not with their own blood.
They walked with an air of arrogance, arms slung about each other's shoulders, some had their claws still out, and their feet were bare tracking mud and dirt onto the street and soon, the store.
"They found food." The old man muttered to himself.
The hunter paid and bagged his items as the front door bell tinkled and the animals spilled in with loud guffaws and growls reverberating from their chests.
He turned away and began to make for the exit just as one of the animals reached onto a shelf for a bag of chips and tore it open, tipping it upside down and pouring it into his large mouth serrated with rows and rows of teeth.
Their vocabulary hadn't returned to them just yet. Whatever nonsense was spilling from their mouths was obscured by their extended jaws, crowded teeth and serpent tongues.
Give them a few more hours and their bodies would adjust back to their normal states.
The hunter walked past them, his gaze lingering along his periphery at their backs distended in awkward S curves. They were ransacking the store and the owner was standing nimbly by the cashier, twiddling with his thumbs like a nervous child.
One of the animals turned in the direction of the hunter, as though sensing his sly stare.
"Augheh–" It bared its teeth in a wide smile and lifted a hand missing its middle index, blowing him a grotesque kiss.
Outside the air was chillier. Winter would soon be arriving.
Making the final rounds in town, he picked all that he needed to sustain him for the next few weeks before heading back home.
The gate had not been touched and no trap alarm had gone off since he left.
Good.
He parked the car in its usual spot and leaned back on the seat staring at the quiet house, a structure he had repaired and built after its owners had been devoured decades prior.
The world around him was quiet yet his mind had begun its wandering, not without intention. The images of the woman came unbidden to him, the car she had wrecked, her body slumped on the wheel.
The barcode behind her ear.
He stepped out and carried the grocery bags up the stairs and into the house.
The animals that destroyed the store had clearly done so in eagerness, they were unlike the cashier and withering lady with her baby. Their bodies had moved with a vitality that only meant they had found a nice kill during their hunt.
Whether it was a human kill or something else, he would not know unless he decided to play detective.
He set the bags on the countertop. "You have bigger fish to fry."
Arranging items in the fridge and shelves. He washed his hands and heated up a pot of water, pouring salt and vinegar mix into it.
Opening a drawer his eyes roamed briefly over the vast array of knives; from hunting to cooking, and settled on a small one the size of his palm. He thumbed the edge, pressing the calloused flesh of his thumb with enough pressure to draw blood.
Dull.
He wiped it clean and set it back then picked another, testing each on his thumb until blood ran in little rills down his wrist.
Finally he picked one that nicked his skin without any pressure applied and dropped it into the boiling water to be sanitized.
She was still unconscious when he stepped into her room on silent feet. The carpet absorbed his weight as he approached her bed with the knife. The hunter crouched low by her bedside and leaned forward.
In one hand was the knife while the other reached up, halting inches from her hair which curled at her temple. Her breath was warm against his sore skin. He cupped her jawline and angled her face away from him giving view of her ear and the barcode beneath her lobe.
Lifting the blade to her skin, he pressed its sharp edge there and let it rest, feeling her pulse against the metal.
Predictably, she did not move.
He began to curve.