Chapter 4

Three days later, the metallic smell of blood hung heavy over Bottle Creek.

Panic gripped the town. Several livestock animals had been found torn to shreds near the woods. The local sheriff issued a red alert, warning everyone to stay indoors. A massive, mutant cougar was hunting in the area.

Agents Fletcher and Kowalski were eating eggs at the local diner when the alert came through. They drew their weapons, ready to assist.

The diner windows were fogged up. Suddenly, a massive silhouette emerged from the morning mist on the main street.

Alton walked down the center of the asphalt. He wore a dark tactical jacket smeared with mud and dark, drying blood.

Over his broad shoulder, he carried a heavy military canvas bag. It was completely soaked in crimson. With every step he took, thick drops of blood splattered onto the road, leaving a horrific red trail behind him.

A woman inside the diner screamed. Everyone thought the killer had finally snapped and butchered a human.

Fletcher kicked the diner door open. He aimed his Glock straight at Alton's chest.

"Drop the bag and put your hands in the air!" Fletcher screamed, his finger trembling on the trigger.

Kowalski rushed out right behind him, his hand gripping his holstered weapon. His eagle eyes tracked every micro-movement of Alton's muscles.

Alton stopped. He looked at Fletcher's shaking gun barrel. A microscopic hint of disgust flashed in his gray eyes.

He didn't raise his hands. Instead, he slowly let the canvas bag slide off his shoulder. It hit the asphalt with a sickening, heavy thud.

"What's in the bag, Combs? Who did you kill?" Fletcher yelled.

Alton used the toe of his boot to kick the drawstring loose. A foul, wild stench exploded into the air.

The canvas flaps fell open. A massive, golden-eyed cougar head rolled out onto the street. Its jaws were locked in a permanent snarl.

The entire street went dead silent. The cops and agents gasped, their lungs freezing. The beast was monstrous, a true apex predator.

Kowalski stepped forward. He crouched next to the carcass. His shock rapidly morphed into pure, unadulterated horror.

He ran his fingers over the fur. There were no bullet holes. The only injury was a single, devastatingly precise blade slice across the jugular vein. It was a kill strike that cut deep into the bone.

Kowalski snapped his head up, staring at Alton. His mind couldn't comprehend how a human being could engage a beast of this size in close-quarters combat and win with a blade.

"How... how did you do this?" Fletcher stammered, lowering his gun.

Alton reached into his pocket. He pulled out a standard, cheap folding knife. The short blade was coated in dried blood.

"It was in my way," Alton said. His voice was a flat, gravelly hum.

The sheer arrogance of the statement hung in the air, but no one dared to challenge him. The physical proof of his lethal capability was bleeding on the street.

Kowalski stood up. He grabbed Fletcher's arm, forcing the younger agent to back down. Kowalski knew a killing machine when he saw one. Interrogating him was suicide.

Alton bent down. His massive bicep flexed as he grabbed the bag with one hand. He hoisted the two-hundred-pound carcass off the ground as if it weighed nothing.

He walked right through the police perimeter, heading straight for the hardware store. The armed deputies instinctively scrambled out of his way, their eyes wide with fear.

Fletcher swallowed hard, watching Alton's broad back. "What the hell is he, Kowalski?"

Kowalski pulled out a cigarette. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely light it.

"Jesus Christ. The guy fights like a cornered animal," Kowalski whispered, his eyes narrowing at the blood trail. "Must've learned how to butcher in the prison yard. Still, something's not right. I'm putting a flag on his parole file. We need to keep a much closer eye on him."

Alton walked away, his jaw clenched tight. He knew the kill was necessary to establish dominance in the town, but he also knew Kowalski wasn't stupid. The real trouble was coming.