Feral by Brian Knight Read Free Book Online Page A

him.
    â€œBullshit, Charity, or whatever your name is,” he said in a softer voice.   He looked to Shannon for help, but found none.   “Look, I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you need to tell us the truth.   Forget Bogey Men and Lost Boys, we need to know what’s going on here.   You need to tell us who he is so we can protect you from him.   He killed my niece; he needs to go to prison.”
    â€œIt’s not bullshit,” Shannon said at last.   “Something happened to me in there last night.   If Charity hadn’t come when she did I might not be alive now.”   She reached over and squeezed Charity’s shoulder, and the girl smiled at her, a smile that reminded her of Alicia.   The sight hurt her, but somehow made everything better, as well.   Suddenly it was very difficult for her to speak, but she swallowed hard and did anyway.   “Whatever lives in there would have had me.   When she showed up it let me go.”
    Shannon realized she was about to say something that made her sound just as crazy as Charity, but said it anyway.   “I don’t know the Bogey Man from Jack The Ripper, but I know I heard kids in here last night.   And music.”
    â€œI know,” Jared snapped, turning away from them and waving a hand in disgust.   “Heavy Metal.   You told me.”
    Shannon said nothing more.   She knew her brother well enough to recognize his bluster.
    Though he didn’t want to, Jared believed her.
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    D avid Trudoe , or Dirty Dave to those who knew him, waited until they were gone, then entered the park from the trees along the highway.   Once a young executive with a promising future, he was a mess of matted, filthy hair and baggy urine-stained cloths.   He mumbled to himself as he walked, looking at his old worn workbooks.   He didn’t look up as he approached the playground, several bags of old food culled from fast-food dumpsters hung from his gnarled fists.   A collection of tacos, burgers, and fried chicken left to the rats and cats.   The smell of prepared food was maddening, but he resisted.   They were not for him.
    He circled the playground without looking up, entered it, ducking automatically where the playground equipment was too low to pass unscathed.
    He stopped by the sandbox, and waited for a while, almost comatose in his stillness.   Then he dropped the bags in the sandbox and spoke aloud to the playground.
    â€œMy children of the wild,” he croaked, his voice strange and out of practice.   “Be damned if you’re not causing trouble again.”   He cackled, scratched his chin through his thick beard, and pulled something from the inside pocket of his dirty wool jacket.   It was far too hot for the heavy clothing, but the jacket was like a security blanket—he never took it off.
    He dropped a compact disc next to the bags and walked away.
    â€œBe good, children,” he said.   “Your uncle Dave loves you.”
    Before he left the playground, the bags of food and the CD were gone.
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    T heir late lunch consisted of drive-through cheeseburgers, fries, and ice water.   Jared drove them to Riverside’s little mall and bought Charity new clothes and shoes.   Then they drove back home.
    Shannon walked stoop-shouldered toward the house, the heat, the lack of sleep, and the shock of the past day dragging her down.   Charity wasn’t much better.   She needed a shower, her hair hung in her face like strands of frayed rope.   Her clothes, Alicia’s clothes, were filthy and wrinkled, the shoes worn almost to rags.   What she needed more than a shower and change of clothes was rest.   She was a nine-year-old hag.
    Only Jared seemed vital—perhaps the stress and physical demands of his previous career prepared him better for what they were going through.   Or perhaps he was only better at faking it.