Prologue
The fox watched the rabbit with a patience born from untold eons of evolution. More than two hours passed as it watched the little herbivore transit a tiny grove in the woods, picking and eating the tender shoots of the early spring grass. The rabbit was wary, knowing instinctively that hungry predators would savor its flesh. The fox certainly coveted that flesh; it desperately needed it to survive. The winter had been long and harsh, keeping creatures like the rabbit in their burrows weeks longer than normal. Hunger gnawed at the fox’s being like a primal scream.
Finally, after all the waiting, the rabbit moved toward the fox, who watched it with ravenous eyes, barely moving. Inch by inch, succulent fresh clover to wild grain sprout, the rabbit moved closer. Then the time was right. The same ancient instincts that kept the fox still announced the prey was close enough, and it was time to pounce. Muscles tensed, whiskers twitched, and it leaped.
The sky exploded with light and fury, and a thunderous roar followed a half second later. The fox’s leap was off by inches, and the rabbit spun and wiggled sideways to escape the hungry jaws, leaving the fox with only a few wisps of fur for its effort.
The light and the roaring grew in intensity, chasing the fox under the gnarled roots of an ancient oak tree. Running was out of the question. In seconds, the light grew to many times that of the noonday sun, and the sound became a physical force of pain. The fox had been shot at before—once while stealing chickens and another time while pursuing a little dog. This was louder, and it went on and on.
The sound and light cut off in an instant, and the ground shook violently. Dirt rained on the fox’s head, and it yipped in fear, darting from cover and running blindly into the gathering darkness.
Two days passed before the fox ventured to the same stretch of woods again, this time near evening. Three mice, six lizards, and an unlucky cardinal had found their way into his jaws since the night of light and sound. The fox’s mind wasn’t designed to remember events in detail; it only knew that caution was called for in returning to this place. It was the memory of the rabbit that drew it back. Curiosity had served numberless generations of the fox’s predecessors well, helping them find food…and enabling them to carry on their genes.
There was the faintest hint of the rabbit’s scent. Perhaps enough to trail it to its den? The fox worked back and forth, its nose busy digging into leaves, grass, and dirt for any sign of the rabbit’s passage. There was a strange, foreign smell that kept interfering. Not man-smell; it was different, yet also similar. Nothing in the fox’s experience could make sense of it. Then it caught another smell, more familiar—the smell of death.
The scent of decay mixed with the strange new smell. A new kind of death. The curiosity that served its species so well drew it toward the source. Even in death there was often benefit. The fox’s metabolism was tolerant of carrion. It wasn’t a favorite food, or even preferred in any way; however, an empty stomach spoke of opportunity. Even an animal dead for several days might have a few pieces of edible meat, especially a larger animal.
The rabbit forgotten, the fox easily followed the smell of decay to its source. Near the source was a structure like a man-thing. It was not large, not like a chicken coop. Saliva dripped from the fox’s jaws as it approached a still form on the ground next to the structure.
Flies circled without landing as if they also sensed the strangeness of this dead thing. Its shape was completely unfamiliar. The head was strange, shaped somehow wrong, and the limbs were also different. The fox paced back and forth for a while, looking at the animal and sniffing the air. No other predators were nearby, and no carrion eaters, either. Everything was wrong about this. Everything except the fox’s undeniable hunger as it finally turned and moved in.
The fur of the animal was smooth and green in the diffused sunlight. The fox sniffed tentatively before reaching in for a bite of dead flesh—only it wasn’t dead. Fast as lightning, the strange creature spun its head and bit the fox. Needle sharp teeth easily penetrated fur and hide, and the fox yipped in pain and panic.
Just as quickly, the animal released the fox, which spun and raced off. Some distance away, it stopped and licked the tiny wound on its foreleg. It stung, but bled only slightly, the blood already drying. It looked back in the direction of the not-dead animal ruefully, regretting the loss of a meal, regardless of the price.
As night came on, the fox lay under a bush, blind hot with fever and shaking uncontrollably. By morning the fever was gone, and it was surveying the woods with a quiet intensity. Its memory yielded some details, and the fox set off through the underbrush.
The sun beat down on it as the fox passed another of its kind. The other fox sniffed as its fellow passed and shied away from the wrongness. The first fox regarded the other for a moment, then it moved on.
Half a day of travel brought it to a road that bisected the woods. It watched with calculating eyes as first one automobile, and then another, rumbled past. The fox came to a decision, and it set out along the road in the same direction the last vehicle had taken.
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