Hawg Read online

  The two men returned and looked down at her. After they exchanged a glance, Elias asked, “You going to shoot her again, Mr. Solow?”

  Solow shook his head and directed Elias to take up her left arm. “Hawg won’t want her dead.”

  Though Iris planned to resist, her arms acted like they were replaced by rubber stems and her actions of protest amounted to nothing. Solow and Elias drug her away to the huge barn with ease, each man handling her as if she were a child. The piglets in the holding pen stared at her as she went. Soon, they returned to sniffing and rooting in the dirt.

  “Sin had separated them from him, and they were afraid, because their minds were corrupted by filth. When you have filth in your mind, and filth in your soul, that is all you can produce. Garbage in, garbage out.”

  Solow held her under the armpits as Elias unlocked a sturdy wooden door. He then unlatched a metal screen door and then unlocked a third door, this one made of bars. Closing the doors behind them, they started down a flight of wooden steps. She labored to say something about the drugs inside of her that they were practically ready to pass through her labia lips and stop at the huge pad she wore, but the words got lost on the way to her mouth. The sight of the inner barn, sunken into the earth a full story, took up her breath.

  A few lights glowed, showing her a circular pen that reeked of pig feces and fresh cut hay. Several bales of hay strung around the edges of the circle. A series of bales appeared by their boxy construction and placement, built into a children’s fort. Between these long lines of bales lay bedding and a filthy pillow.

  Iris didn’t see Ricky at first, for she was far too distracted by the oppressive stench. She then spotted him strung up about the same time as she saw Elias pull a grimy blanket off a shiny steel fixture. Ricky hung from heavy chains on the ceiling, not far from the rectangular steel case Elias wiped off after he folded the blanket. Ricky’s hands gripped a pair of rusty hooks, as if he really had life enough to hold on. It was all wrong, she saw him die. No tears came for Ricky, as she didn’t love him, nor like him much. But her eyes grew bleary for her fate loomed.

  The question as to why she was alive boiled in her brain, and the answer glistened before her. The rectangular object reminded her of a tiny dog run made of stainless steel bars. Nevertheless, some sloppy substance clung to the short gates of the steel fixture, mostly at the front and rear.

  Iris struggled with the farmer stronger than before, but he was too sturdy to break. Her ears heard the scrape of metal as Elias opened the nearest gate of the metal rectangle. While Solow pushed her down and into the opening Elias made, she heard the slobbering sounds of an animal. Her mind panicked as she thought of some brute they kept in here…her fears were quickly confirmed as they slid her into the chamber and cuffed her in place on all fours. Eyes bugging, she saw the animal. She saw the thing the farmer had called Hawg moments before…at Ricky’s calves.

  The pain in her wrists and ankles from the steel restraints never blocked out the horror she witnessed. Certain the packets of drugs in her vaginal canal had torn and she was really in a drug hallucination, she started to giggle. Be it the dope escaping or her mind refusing to deal with reality, she laughed loud as Hawg turned to face her, chewing on a portion of Ricky’s calf muscle.

  The fluorescent lights cast a halo around Hawg as he crouched. At first glance, Hawg may have been taken for a huge man in a bad Halloween boar’s costume. When he planted his feet…God, she thought…hooves…and stood up, he was easily seven feet tall. His frame reminded her of a professional wrestler, huge, thick, defined in places, but not ripped like a body builder. Naked, fleshy in color, Hawg seemed not embarrassed by his curled penis nor his excrement tainted thighs. Aside from the curly penis and a series of abdominal muscles that multiplied into an impossible array of pectoral formations, Hawg almost would pass for an ugly man…save for the face.

  Bald and sleek, she expected to see folded over ears on Hawg. Either he had none, had been clipped, or they lay close to his head. His jaw slung low, Iris beheld teeth in there glistening red, and couldn’t make sense of where his curled tusks originated…or why they seemed by their glint to be made of steel. These objects seemed to retract in a bit, then curl out more as he worked his maw.

  Though his back legs sported hooves, or feet split to appear that way, his long arms sported fingers…hands not to be mistaken for claws. Sharp and dangerous, Hawg flexed these digits and they cracked, popping like farts in the bizarre acoustics of the round barn.

  Hawg snorted as he reached down and tore loose Rick’s leg at the shin. He snapped the joint like rotten wood and pulled the muscle from bone as easily as meat at a rib restaurant. His nose was big and wide, but not as swinish as she’d assumed. His eyes, though, glowed red in a pinkish background, hooded by a heavy brow like a primitive man she’s seen depicted at the Chicago Field Museum. Hawg munched the muscle from Rick’s leg, sniffed the raw end he bit into, and then sucked at the shards of bone protruding from the piece. Marrow ran down his chin and dribbled between his pectorals.

  Still, she laughed. It was insane and her screeching increased as hands clasped firm on her pants, fumbling with the snaps and zippers. She never fought them as the two men pulled her pants off her rump and yanked them to her knees.

  When her panties fell, Elias said, “She’s raggin’ it, Mr. Solow. See the big pad?”

  A matter of fact voice responded, “You know Hawg don’t care none ‘bout that. I think he likes it better that way.”

  She heard sloppy steps trod on the floor as the men backed away from the securement chamber. Elias said, “I don’t see her bleedin’, sir, but her snatch looks too big.”

  Solow coughed and then added, “It don’t have to be pretty, Elias. She’ll bleed like Niagara Falls when ol’ boy gets done with her.”

  On cue, Hawg dropped the gristly piece of Ricky and danced on two legs, nearer to them. Hawg dropped to his all fours and made a few strides. In a moment, he was behind her, gripping the sides of the chamber that held Iris fast.

  Hawg made a whining sound. It was mournful in a way.

  Elias’ voice said gently, “I’m on the way, Hawg.”

  Iris felt a human hand brush her thigh as Hawg’s curled penis slapped her on either side of her buttocks. Elias grabbed the creature’s penis and guided him to her labia lips. The hand drew away and a corkscrew inserted inside her, extended deep and started ramming like mad.

  She heard Solow laugh as Hawg went wild. “Happy birthday, son,” Solow said. Suddenly, the two men started to sing happy birthday, barely able to restrain their laughter as the beast grabbed her and forced himself inside her, over and over. His shouts of joy and snarls of anger were one in the same. Hawg gripped the bars on the side of the chamber at first. The nails on Hawg’s hands sank into the muscles of her upper back, and slowly slit her open down to her buttocks. Still, he rode her hard, screaming, squealing more like a rusty gear creaking than a pig in the fits of orgasm. Spit flew from his mouth and rained over her back and hair.

  Then, it all went wrong.

  Hawg started to tremble. Iris’s air was nearly gone, unable to draw in a fresh breath from the assault, she gasped with vigor as Hawg ceased in his thrusts. His big body shaking like old leaves in the wind, Hawg started to grunt in short intervals. Iris assumed he would come and kill her.

  “What is it, boy?” Elias asked just before Hawg drew out and held up his arms. A stream of semen flew over her back and into her hair like a jet of water, but she also felt the packets of drugs once stuffed deep start to vomit out of her vagina. They spilled, but not in their containers. Hawg’s curled member broke all of them, she guessed, as the ooze of mucky dope and powders leaked from her snatch. A condom fell from her and hit the ground. She’d felt that before, but not with a half human pig beast shooting come over her body like a kid with a super soaker.

  The beast was away from her and running around the perimeter of the round barn. His screams rang frantic and the two men
’s voices held concern. Round and around he went until Hawg impacted on the inner steel door. With a loud howl, he pulled it free.

  “Christ, the locks!” Solow shouted.

  From her position, Iris’ bleary eyes saw Hawg tear loose the screen door like it was tinfoil. He then stabbed at the wooden door near the handle, lowering his head and using his steel tusks. The tusks sank in the wood abruptly and Hawg yanked back, splintering the door around the lock. His squeal shrilled in glee as the door was open and the fading light of day spilled in.

  Once outside, Hawg paused, raised his arms, and beat down on the earth before running away on his all fours.

  “My God, Mr. Solow,” Elias said, stepping into Iris’ view and watching Hawg go. “What happened? Hawg done went feral!”

  Solow’s voice sounded calm to Iris, even in her groggy state. “See here, Elias. This rotten bitch had dope stored in her pussy.”

  The old black man stepped behind her and said, “Damn, sure enough. One of them there mules we heard tell of. What a damned world this is getting to be.”

  Iris heard the rustle of denim and then felt the sensation of a flat cold steel object on her neck. Solow’s voice was very close as he said to her, “At least we know no one will ever miss them.”

  CHAPTER ONE Feral

  Andrew White was visiting the crypt of his great grand parents when he heard the distant scream across the countryside. The sound echoed in the fading daylight, but drew his attention due to its strangeness. Andrew stood from his task in the crypt, stretching his six foot five frame. He held open the metal doors to the family crypt and listened again, certain the scream came from the Solow farm not three miles from his house and two miles from the graveyard. He’d hunted and field dressed everything legal and Andrew had never heard such a cry.

  “Roasting a pig alive at this hour?” Andrew laughed to himself and stepped inside the small stone building. He eyeballed at the two long granite sarcophagi and frowned when another scream resonated in the evening. “All my forty years, never heard anything like that,” he said to no one as he grabbed the edge of the stone coffin on his left. He turned a small key on a clasp underneath, returned the key to his pocket and took a breath. “Hello, Gramma,” Andrew grunted as he slid the cover away, the stone felt cold to his hands. His skin, so rough from years of hard labor, gleaned relief on the cool surface. He reached inside the box and pulled out a Colt 45 revolver. “What folks won’t pay for a genuine relic of the West. Minh, I gotta like your money, though.” He then reached back into the box and pulled out a small hand grenade. Andrew thumbed the ridges of the deadly pineapple and smirked. These items went into the pockets of his leather jacket. Andrew closed the lid on this coffin and opened the other coffin in a similar fashion. Again, in the distance, he heard a bizarre wail. These sounds never concerned him as he produced a box of shells and a quarter stick of dynamite.

  Once outside the crypt, he locked the iron door, glanced at the crypt next to his family’s and adjusted his biker jacket. Hand stroking down his beard once, Andrew walked to his Harley and swung his right leg over it. Hands on the grips, he listened again for the sound. Andrew heard nothing. His Harley roared to life and the straight pipes bellowed.

  He had business to do. A late night pig slaughter or a critter getting after Solow’s hogs wasn’t his concern. Andrew hated to sell one of his collected guns to Minh in IT at work, but it was better than that perfumed prick Dinsdale from Customer Service. Tim Dinsdale worked at the same factory as Andrew and was a wanna be gun nut. Minh, though, was an earnest collector of historical items. He wanted the gun, had the cash and the ability to keep his trap shut. Andrew owned the guns he had hidden from a recent BATF raid and needed cash, nothing too religious about it. As he guided his Harley on the paved road outside the cemetery, he glanced at his father’s grave and nodded. The tiny American flag Andrew’s son Jordan often replaced there still flew proud.

  Over the straight pipes, Andrew couldn’t hear the screams.

  ***

  Tim Dinsdale could hear them, though. In his hyper euphoric state, he ignored the weird cries at first. Sweat beaded on his brow, nearly making the mousse in his hair congeal. It was easy to block out the world with one’s cock in a woman’s mouth. Seat reclined in his BMW, the second in command of the Customer Service Department at Ambrose Brother’s Printing enjoyed the abilities of the skinny girl from the bookbindery section of the factory. Sure, Andrea was fifteen years younger than him, had no discernable morals and rotten front teeth from crystal meth abuse, but she sure knew how to give head…much better than Tim’s eclectic wife. Andrea would even swallow for him, unlike his overweight spouse. Fat bitch ate everything but cum, he thought with a smile. He fondled Andrea’s firm tits as she bobbed on his cock, breathing through her nose, humming every so often. Andrea’s breasts were so solid that he doubted they were real. Had she sucked enough dick to earn a new pair of titties from some sugar daddy? It didn’t matter, all in all. This evening, she was his and that was all that was important. They shared a love for weed and sex, so that was enough to have in common. Though a typical girl of her generation…pallid, low rise pants, tattoo on the pit of her back, and dull witted, she had a few talents.

  When the howls outside the car on the gravel road started, Tim barely noticed. They became louder, closer, and he still blew it off, thinking it a crow or a coyote. He was safe and the heat in his balls grew. The cries ceased and he concentrated on his fantasy, of this scab of a crack-whore dressed in lingerie, her normally flat hair poofed up like 1980’s porn stars on parade, offering him her ass at last, begging for it that way.

  There was no cry or howl when the passenger side window shattered. Glass rained on them and the only sound was a grunt so deep it sounded like an elephant fart underwater. Tim’s eyes opened in time to see long claws grab Andrea by the back of her head and the seat of her pants and yank. The deed was crude, executed with great force, enough to make her clamp down and bite through Tim’s penis before the claws pulled her away. Her spine snapped as the intruder ripped her through the opening and out into the grassy ditch.

  Tim heard her scream, gag, and cough a few times, but then the great cries of a thing he couldn’t identify rang out. He had bigger troubles than her health, though. Tim gawked down and saw his penis entirely gone, savagely removed by the sudden action. Warm blood spurted with his heartbeats and his scrotum ran scarlet. His blood covered his new tan pants and the leather steering wheel, but soon, the gushes grew slower and his head fogged. Andrea made no sounds and only the rumble of the beast that busted her in half thudded in his ears. His screams and grunts were regular until punctuated by a torrid scream. Then, it was quiet.

  Tim stared over as the thing stood up. One huge claw on the windshield, the monstrosity’s tongue slathered its lips and the metallic horns near its mouth. Hastily, the creature twisted and dropped to its all fours, scampering away into the fields.

  Tim’s mind couldn’t focus as the darkness weaved in about him. He didn’t know what he’d tell his wife, anyway.

  ***

  “Jordan, come in here,” came the voice from the big white house.

  “On the way, Ma,” Jordan called out, but he knelt by a mound of dirt behind the garage. In the back part of a disused pony pen, Jordan White said a prayer for his dead dog.

  “I know you don’t have a soul, Buddy,” Jordan said to the ground, eyes on the cross made of two branches. “But I miss you anyway.”

  Though tears were close, Jordan suddenly grimaced. The stench in the air made him almost gag. “Mr. Solow spreading poop already this year?” the nine-year-old boy wondered aloud. He looked in the general direction of the Solow place, heard his mother call again and decided to get up.

  He walked around the garage and beheld his mother in the doorway. Busted at the dog’s grave again, Jordan hung his head.

  “It’s all right,” she said, sweeping her long auburn hair back. “Just don’t let your daddy catch you back there t
oo much.”

  Jordan nodded. “I miss him, Mom,” he confessed and walked to her. “I don’t want another dog. You know Mr. Ellington bought a pit bull when Cassidy’s puppy got run over. I don’t want anything like that.”

  She gave him a hug, tussled his brown hair, frowned and said, “Cassidy’s dog Genesis is a menace. Don’t you ever get close to them things. They are killers and would make a cheeseburger of your little brother.”

  He said, “I know it’s not like when we went hunting and skinned the rabbits. I know Buddy has no soul, like gramma said.” Eyes suddenly alight, Jordan said, “The snapping turtle thing when we went hunting was cool!”

  She rolled her eyes to heaven. “Your father and his biker pals shouldn’t have nailed that turtle to the tree and gutted it in front of you.”

  Jordan seemed excited by the memory. “I thought it was like in cartoons, but the turtle was stuck to his shell.”

  Her face grew dark. “You step in something?”

  He conferred his tennis shoes with a grimace and shrugged. “I think it’s from Solow’s place. Bad for sure.”

  She gazed off up the road North toward the Ellington place and then said, “I can hear the straight pipes of your father’s bike. I can tell by how his cylinder misses. He’ll be home soon. Genesis up the way is barking her fool head off.”

  “All right.” He thought about his grampa, and how much he missed him as well. He had a soul and Jordan thought of visiting his grave after school. He liked going to the graveyard. It was near the closed up mine where grampa used to tell him stories and serve him sandwiches. Grampa was a funny guy and used to tell him so many yarns of the war and how to fight. “Mom, don’t tell dad about me back there, ok?”

  “Do your reading homework and we have a deal.”

  Jordan smiled. “Deal.”

  ***

  The Ellingtons went out for pizza that evening and had left their enormous pit bull Genesis to roam the fenced in back yard. When Hawg passed by, he sniffed the meaty scraps left for Genesis. Like most dogs of her ilk, she went to the fences and barked at Hawg. A piece of muscled anger, the dog growled and slobbered, ready to fight fast to the death.