Blood of Gato

Cain pressed harder on the gas, every muscle in his body screaming from the tension. The engine roared beneath him, but the thing behind them roared louder. As the miles slid past beneath their wheels, the noise faded into the night... but Cain didn't trust his own ears. His teeth dug into his lip, and again and again his eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, as if he half-expected the creature to burst out of the darkness at any moment.

"Think we lost it…" he muttered, though the shake in his voice betrayed the doubt he couldn't swallow.

Leticia leaned closer to the window, letting the cold night air brush across her cheek. The scent of pine drifted in, threaded with something sour and foul—like rot clinging to the wind itself. Her brow creased, but she kept quiet.

In the shadowed backseat, William sat as still as a child hiding in a closet during a storm. His eyes darted restlessly, yet they carried a hollow emptiness.

"Maybe we did," Leticia said, low and careful. "But sugar, if I were you, I sure as hell wouldn't be thinkin' 'bout stoppin'."

Cain gave a dry laugh.

"I'd be glad not to. But our gas tank doesn't share the sentiment." He nodded at the trembling needle sinking into the red. "We're runnin' on fumes. Miracles only, from here on out."

And as if the night had heard him, a rectangle of pale yellow light cut through the black ahead.

"A gas station. Guess Pennsylvania's merciful to folks dying of thirst—gasoline thirst, anyway," William said with a crooked grin, though the smile was lifeless, flat as a corpse.

Cain felt some of the weight ease from his shoulders and steered toward it.

"We'll fuel up. Quick in, quick out."

"And then what?" William suddenly blurted, his hands clawing at the armrest. "Where are we even goin'? Why are we runnin' at all? Maybe…" He sucked in a breath, gathering nerve. "Maybe it'd be easier to just kill that thing. Kill the wendigo."

Leticia turned her head toward him slow, like her neck moved on someone else's command. The glow of the headlights flickered in her eyes—and William swore he saw something foreign looking back, something not meant to belong inside a human soul.

"Kill a wendigo?" she repeated, her voice sharp as a snapped twig. Then she gave them both a long stare and shook her head. "Boys, y'all best toss that foolishness right out the window." A smile ghosted across her lips, but the laugh that followed was brittle, barking, wrong. "Cher, you ain't got the slightest notion what you fixin' to deal with. It ain't no animal. Ain't no man neither. You don't kill somethin' like that, not truly. You cut it, maybe. Hurt it a lil'. But put it down for good? Mm-mm. I'd have a chance, maybe, if I weren't half broke myself. But darlin', in the state I'm in…" She touched her cheek softly, as if making sure her skin was still there. "...leavin' a scratch would be a blessin', and that's the god's honest truth."

She straightened a little, voice dropping again.

"Our best chance is gettin' back to my place. I've got somethin' there—somethin' might scatter his trail, buy us some time. And after that..." she dragged her palm down her tired face, "...we'll figure the rest when it comes."

Cain clenched his jaw, keeping whatever was on his tongue buried. Some feverish part of him wanted to believe that if it came to a fight, they could win. It was just "some cannibal," wasn't it? A monster, sure—but not a god. The reckless whisper stirred in his mind: What if we tried? He shoved the thought down deep, banishing it to where bad thoughts go.

William hunched, arms folding in tight. He didn't share Cain's illusions of glory. No, picking a fight with that thing was nothing less than shoving your head straight into a fire. Even now, his nostrils swore they could smell it—that foul cocktail of rot and gamey venison that clung like smoke. No matter that they'd lost it on the road. The stink had branded itself into him, seeping inside his lungs. The memory stank so hard, it felt like he was breathing the wendigo still.

The gas station loomed closer. Bright light slashed through the dark, sharp and unnatural, like they'd stumbled into some forgotten stage set dropped in the middle of a wasteland. Nothing moved outside—no cars, no people. Just a squat building with a peeling, paint-faded sign that rattled in the wind, sending out a weak, metallic clatter.

Cain frowned. Slowly, as if piecing the thought together, he said:

"Leticia… been thinking here. Wendigos, don't they kinda hole up like bears? Store up, sleep through the cold? But why him?"—he jerked his chin toward the back seat. "Why William? What the hell did he do? A bear don't pick a favorite when it just wants to eat."

Leticia let out a long, tired breath, the kind that left her shoulders sagging, like the words themselves pulled the strength right out of her.

"Darlin'… he don't just fill his belly, non. Wendigo's hunger got no bottom. He feeds for power. World's got one cruel rule, sugar—the strong eat the weak. Now us… folks like me an' you, phenomena —we all got our own path to strength. Some take it from blood, some from pain. Some from the mind." Her voice darkened, curling low. "That bastard takes his from the gut."

She turned, fixing William with a look heavy as a death sentence.

"For somethin' like him? Special folks like us—mm, we a delicacy. But we dangerous, too. Too much trouble on the plate. Meanwhile him…" She tilted her chin toward the boy.

William flushed, folding his arms across his chest like a thin shield. His voice came quiet but steady:

"I only just woke up. I don't even know who the hell I am yet… or what I can do. Half the time I scare myself more than I scare anyone else. To creatures like that…" He pressed his lips together, then forced the words out. "To them I burn like a goddamn beacon. Can't hide it. They all come flyin'. Every last one."

"Fine," Cain cut in, his voice dry as gravel. "We gas up, keep moving. But if that bastard shows his face again…" He trailed off, his fist clenching tight.

"Then we gon' pray," Leticia finished for him, her eyes steady.

Cain shoved his door open, stepped out into the harsh electric light humming above the pumps. The bulb spat and hissed like it hated being alive. He squinted against it, heading for the pump, then stopped short. Cursing, he slapped the van's roof with his palm.

"Goddammit. Gotta pay first. Hey, William—you go handle it?"

The boy blinked out of his empty stare, breathing a tired sigh.

"I ain't got any money."

Cain rolled his eyes skyward.

"Of course you don't…" He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a beat-up leather wallet. Fishing out thirty crumpled dollars, he handed it over. "Here. Pay for the gas. Grab somethin' to eat, too—we've still got miles left ahead."

The bills trembled between Cain's fingers before William took them with a short nod. He opened the door, starting out, when—

"Wait," Leticia called softly.

William turned, eyebrows lifting.

"What?"

She looked at him a long moment, her lips parting like something heavy perched on the edge of them. But instead of words, she forced a thin, strained smile and waved him on.

"Nothin', cher. Go on now."

William frowned but let it drop. He pulled his jacket tight around himself and headed toward the convenience store. Gravel crunched loud under his boots, and the light above stretched his shadow long and skeletal across the lot.

Inside the van, Cain stayed silent, his eyes tracking William until the boy disappeared through the door. Then he leaned closer to Leticia, whispering harshly:

"You sure about this? 'Cause you know damn well he won't survive what's coming."

Leticia didn't answer at once. Her gaze lingered on the gas station, the peeling sign, the buzzing lamp. The place looked colder by the second, lonelier, like it had never known the living. Finally, she turned to him.

"Cain…" Her voice came low, rough, and a little broken. "We ain't got no choice. We made a bargain—you remember. An' that poor boy…" She swallowed, eyes clouding with grief. "...that boy's the precious coin in the deal. We handed him to that no-good son of a bitch the moment we said yes."

Cain gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles blanched bone-white.

"Goddamn it, Leticia… but he's just a kid—"

"Start the engine," she cut in, her voice like frost rimmed with a sad kind of tenderness. "Later gon' be too late, cher."

There was something uncanny in her tone—a clash of icy command and quiet sorrow.

Cain shoved a hand under the seat, yanking free the hidden gas can. The liquid whispered and sloshed as he poured it, his trembling hands fighting to keep steady. Moments later the van coughed, then came roaring back to life.

The headlights carved a pale canyon out of the night. Leticia looked one last time toward the convenience store before whispering, almost too softly to hear:

"Forgive me, boy. In this world… trust don't belong to nobody."

The van rolled forward, then snapped into speed, vanishing down the road and leaving behind only choking exhaust and the sharp stink of gasoline.

******

William stepped into the store. The dying neon above buzzed and flickered, cracking like an insect trapped in its wires. Inside, silence weighed heavy. Behind the counter, a man leafed through a dog-eared magazine, not so much as glancing up.

The boy pulled the folded bills from his pocket—but then froze. His ears caught the faint, distant growl of an engine. His heart skipped a beat, stuttering. Slowly, with dread creeping into his veins, he turned back toward the glass door.

The van was gone.

"Wh… what?" William's lips shook as he stumbled outside.

The wind hit him like a knife, cold and merciless. His wide eyes darted along the black, empty road. Far off—so far it was already fading—two weak beams of light dwindled into nothing.

His chest went hollow. "What the hell—what the hell did you do?!" His voice cracked and broke against the night. "You left me? You left me?"

The words dissolved into the dark, swallowed. Panic gripped his ribs like a vice. He lurched forward, tripped, nearly smashed onto the gravel.

"You bastards!" The scream tore out of him like glass in the throat. "Coward sons of bitches—why?!"

Tears burned down his face, hot and shameless. He dragged his fingers into his hair, pulling, folding near in half till he almost crumpled to the ground. His lungs rasped as if the cold air itself wanted to choke him, and his heartbeat pounded so loud it seemed set to burst through his temples.

"God… why?" he whispered, broken. "I thought we were… I thought we were friends."

His head spun dizzy, his breath hitching in frantic gulps. The image slammed into him unbidden—the hunter, its awful shape sliding through the trees: arms long and bony, stretched by hunger, skin strung tight, and jaws packed with yellow, jagged teeth.

"Where do I go? Run?!" His voice cracked, half-hysterical. "Run from that? Hell no. Even the damn van couldn't—"

A strangled laugh spilled out through his sobs, tipping toward hysteria, caught in his throat. "I don't… I don't even got a phone. Can't even call Mom. Can't tell Sam goodbye…"

He sank down, pulled his knees to his chest, sitting in the gravel while cold grit and dust smeared his face with his tears. His voice broke sharp, sharp enough to bleed:

"This world's so goddamn unfair… I don't wanna die! I don't—"

The cry cracked into jagged pieces, then shrank into a trembling whisper.

And then… from inside his skull came laughter. A low, mocking rumble curling right out of the dark corners of his mind. The beast's voice. The one he feared more than death.

"Well, well" it crooned, cruel and savoring. "They abandoned you. Didn't I tell you, little fool? The jackal and the snake wouldn't save you. Call 'em friends? Hah. You're bait. That's all you ever were."

"Shut up…" William whispered, smashing his palms against his ears.

"I warned you," the voice purred, stretching each word like it savored the pain. "Shoulda gutted 'em both when you had the chance. Now look at you… sitting here, waitin'. Poor boy. You're on tonight's menu."

Then it came. Long, hollow, shaking the marrow in his bones—a distant howl tearing out from the tree line. And with it, movement. The sound of something stirring in the black of the woods, something that had been listening all along.