Chapter 5

Tulenar Internment Camp

First Night of the Full Moon.

There wasn't an inch of earth the beast didn't know. It had roamed the world since the dawn of humanity, its memory rich and full, flowing through muscle and brain. Loping along the road to Tulenar after the long, burning run, it was confident in direction, comfortable with the path, eyes bright and fixed toward its goal.

A quarter of a mile before reaching the camp, it veered toward the hills and climbed to a weather-ravaged point that overlooked the high, new fence and lighted windows. The moon shone down from a stark, cloudless sky, and the breeze rippled the beast's silvery coat. It waited as the camp's lights began to wink out.

The tales of scents floated up to the beast and it sorted them at leisure. The guards at their post were of no interest. The wooden structure on the hill, its little village of fresh lumber houses, emitted anxiety but the beast ignored these, too. The best kills were in the camp proper. It padded down the hillside and circled to Tulenar's eastern edge.

The new barbed wire snapped like sparrows' bones between its jaws. The metallic taste was interesting, but the beast's desire lay beyond. The kill it sought was warm and moving two structures ahead. An old male. By the way his scent filtered through the smell of wood, the beast knew he was still in the barracks.

It swivelled its ears forward to where the prey sheltered. The smells and sounds of future kills became subdued as they settled into sleep. But in a moment the distinct sounds of the chosen one sifted away from the others. His were lazy sounds at first -murmurs, shuffling- then gradually he became more active, moving to the far end of the barracks.

The prey emerged. But with him were two younger ones, a male and female, their scents betraying agitation well before their tense gestures and noises did. The prey walked a few paces from the barracks with them, his head down as if listening intently to the young ones. When their nervous chatter quieted, the old man stopped walking with them and spoke, his voice low and earnest.

The prey's soothing speech and motions didn't hint of his own anxieties, but this was often true with the old, wise ones. That was precisely what made them choice kills. The beast found it hard not to fidget. The more outwardly calm the old man appeared, the more tenderly he comforted the younger ones, the keener became the beast’s hunger.

But at last -at last! - the young ones went back into the barracks, leaving the beast and its kill to one another.

The prey settled gingerly upon the steps of the barracks and lit a cigarette, then looked up into the round, blanched face of the moon, his white hair glowing. The beast began to salivate. It backed up, sat and waited, holding the temptation, holding the exhilaration. Wait, now. Wait.

In time the cigarette was smoked, the old man stood stiffly, stretched, and stepped away from the barracks. He sauntered toward the fence, away from the beast. It tensed, eyes darting quickly, ears swiveling as it considered the need to follow, to stalk.

But after stopping for a moment, gazing past the strained tendons of the barbed wire, the prey turned back, directly into the path of the beast. So very easy, this one.

The old man saw it. The beast caught him with its steady gaze, sensed and smelled the amazement, knew the man was captured by its awful beauty. It curled its lips back from its fangs, the saliva slick against the gums, and that was when it was struck with the tangy must of awe lurching into terror.

Now.

The beast leapt with the grace and strength of millennia. The old man hadn't even time for a muffled gasp. The jaws locked upon his head, smothering his face, and the beast dragged him through the fence, shards of barbed wire tearing through the shirt to his flesh.