The Rage

'Tyson, an Alsatian who was once the family's pride, now neglected, roaming where he can to scavenge enough food to survive. The rage burning inside him as he sits quietly in the shadows, hearing the human's muffled screams as the other moves behind her. Sniffing the air, he smells the fear. Something deep inside him senses danger, but with the 'disease' taking over, he suddenly smells the death.

The thick white foam forms around his nuzzle as he snarls, the light of the moon reflecting from his clenched teeth. Shuffling on his hind legs, he waits for the right moment to pounce. Feeling the undying itch coursing under the layer of skin standing his fur on end, he charges.

Leaning over to be certain she's dead, George Stevens waves his hand in front of her dilated pupils. Hearing the sudden rustle of something moving in the near distance, George holds his hands out in front, too slow as the force of the lunging dog forces him back. Sinking it's razor sharp teeth into his lower lip, he feels the searing pain as the dog jerks its head, tearing the flesh from his face.

Tyson flicks his head sideways, tossing the piece of flesh aside, he growls. The growl coming from deep within, something possessing him as he stands with his paws pressed onto the human's chest.

Feeling his mouth quickly fill with the sticky warmth of his own blood, George grabs the dog hard, rolling his body so that he's pinning the mongrel down, it's teeth savagely lashing at his arms as it tries to break free. As he reaches inside his back pocket producing a knife, he thrusts it into the side of the dog. With a deafening yelp the dog scampers to its feet, disappearing into the black of the night.

Getting to his feet, George hovers over the lifeless body, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he pulls, tearing the sleeve from his shirt. Wrapping it around his face, holding it to his mouth tight as he stumbles blindly towards the vacant parking lot.

* * * * *

The night was balmy. Not the kind of night Norris liked to be out, preferring to be in front of the TV sipping on a good brandy, but that call had changed his plans. The scene, not unlike many others, yet one he'd hoped wouldn't happen; this being the third homicide this week. Guessing her to be in her early thirties; looking at her supple bosom and toned torso, it was obvious she'd kept herself in shape. Covering her face with the sheet he waits for forensics to arrive, the stream of blood making its way along the road suggesting she'd only been dead a short while.

Jack Norris had been working the case since the first body was found slumped beside the dumpster in Emerson Lane. Being in an upper class part of town it was rare that he was called here, mostly he spent his days investigating the underworld cases on the east side. This one was different. All three bodies had identical markings; they were all naked, and the stocking tightly wound three times around their neck leading him to believe he was dealing with a serial killer. The first two bodies had both been of young, attractive females. Both had a similar physique to that of the Jane Doe laying before him, slim, toned, all three having bodies like that of an athlete. His first assumption had led him to the Spa and Sauna, the uppity gym that many of the locals seemed to haunt. Still with no firm leads, he lights a smoke and inhales, watching as two officers interview a couple of onlookers.

"Hey, Norris, get a load of this," McNally calls over his shoulder. Poking his tweezers at what appeared at first to be a tongue, but when he flipped it over, it was clearly a piece of lower lip. Holding his hand to his mouth, McNally runs to a nearby bush hurling up his last meal.

Crouching his hefty 6'2 frame, Norris gently picks up the lip with his tweezers, holding it closer to the street light above as he turns it slowly, inspecting the jagged edges, he carefully places it back from where it was found for forensics to examine later. As the police cordon off the area, Jack moves over to the body. Lifting the sheet from her face he looks closely at her vacant stare. Her blood drenched hair splayed out to one side, the stream turning a dark shade of crimson as it begins to dry.

"Hey, McNally, over here." As he approaches, Norris slips on a glove. "Notice anything strange about that blood?" he asks, gently moving her face to the side. The pool of blood starting inches away from her skull suggesting that maybe it isn't from any wound, but could possibly be that of her killer's or even another victim. "Have forensics check for DNA. I need the results on my desk ASAP."

"Sure, Jack." Pulling the sheet back over her face, McNally looks at Norris. "Any leads yet?"

"Nothing yet." Pulling himself to his feet, Jack shrugs. "It looks like our man is getting sloppy, so hopefully forensics can help shed some light for us. That lip has to belong to somebody, I'm hoping the test results will point us in the right direction. Get the boys to do a check of all the hospitals in the area, see what they can come up with."

* * * * *

Crouching by the edge of the water, Jordan Carter watches fascinated as his paper boat floats with the gentle current. Being mid June, Lake Conroe abuzz with the happy sounds of campers, campsites littered throughout the woods as the holiday makers make the most of the warm Summer sun. Oblivious to the squeals around him as a line of children take it in turns to swing out from the rope, releasing as they splash into the chilly waters of the lake, he blows gently on the boat's makeshift sails, sending it spiraling as it moves along the shore.

Hearing a soft rustling stirring from the bush behind him, Jordan forgets his boat momentarily as he cocks his head to the side and moves curiously toward the sound. The small shiny black nose visible from the undergrowth, Jordan holds out his hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over his middle and index fingers.

"Here little fella," he coos. "I won't hurt ya."

In a blinding second, the raccoon lunges, sinking it's teeth deep into his finger. The ear piercing scream silencing the lake as everyone looks to see from where it came.

* * * * *

Resting his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, Norris runs his hand through his hair. Just as he'd thought, the DNA from that of the blood matched perfectly with remnant of lip. 'There still may be another victim,' he thinks as he reads through the report. Slapping the back of his hand against the papers, he reaches for the phone.

"McNally, it's Norris. I think we've found our guy."

'Forensics already in?' McNally asks.

"Sure is," Jack says, picking up his smoke taking a long inhale he continues, "The lip, the blood, even the samples taken from under her fingernails all match. Either she put up a really good fight before she died, or we're looking at a possible double homicide." Putting his smoke back in the ashtray, he scans his eyes over the report again. "Only thing I can't put my finger on is how the lip was torn. There were no traces of saliva on her hands whatsoever."

Turning the page over as he rests the receiver against his shoulder, Norris' eyes open in stupor. "Listen to this!" Clearing his throat, he holds the paper in one hand, his head tilted as he holds the receiver in place against his ear. "'Tests confirm traces of saliva were found to be from that of an animal. After thorough examination, we have confirmed that the animal was undoubtedly canine; the saliva also containing strong traces of the viral disease RNA, in short, rabies.'" Putting the report back on his desk, Jack picks up his smoke. "That could explain the lip and the pool of blood."

'Rabies? In this part of town? Shit, if the press get wind of this it could cause mass hysteria! Remember the case of that boy bitten by the family dog? Holy shit! With the flood of abandoned animals, the shelters couldn't keep up!'

"Any word on the hospital check yet?"

'Nothing. I had the boys check hospitals as far down as Houston.'

"Damn, that means he's still out there. If he hasn't bled to death already, I'm guessing our boy will be dead soon if he doesn't get medical attention pronto." Stubbing out his smoke, he fingers the report. "Look, I'm going to make a few calls, see if we can't get a trace on this DNA. If you hear anything more from the hospitals let me know."

'Sure, Jack.' After a momentary pause, McNally adds, 'I saw Carol yesterday.' Silence. 'She looks well.'

With a grunt of indifference, Jack grabs for his packet of cigarettes. His brows drawn together as he thinks back to that night. With a flick of his thumb he sparks up the lighter, inhaling deeper than usual as he sucks the smoke deep into his lungs. 'Twenty-two fucking years' he mutters to himself, thinking back wondering if there may have been some clue he'd overlooked that could have given away their affair. In all his years of being one of the state's top criminal investigators, he'd overlooked something as simple as his own wife's adultery. That had been six months ago. The look of sheer horror on her face still clear in his mind as he recalls walking into their bedroom, seeing her with her legs cocked up like some cheap marionette being dangled from its strings. A heat rising to his face as he remembers his co-partner's dumbfounded expression as he'd pulled his face away from her cunt long enough to realize the game was over.

"Fucking bitch," he mutters almost silently.

* * * * *

It had been a long day for Jad Williams. Their property vast, relying on the old tractor to turn the soil had seemed to take forever.

"Come on old girl," he'd said, patting affectionately against the side of her guard, feeling the strained hum of the motor as it works hard to keep up with the grueling task of ploughing through their hundred acre land. The tractor humming, then shuddering to a halt as he climbs down from his seat, Jad smiles seeing his wife leaning against the open door way of their haven; her hair piled high in a loose wearing ponytail, fixed in place by a free flowing scarf. With the evening sun setting, the amber glow cast upon her, giving her an almost angelic appearance, a look Jad finds almost resistless.

"You're late back honey. Did the tractor break down again?" his wife Julie asks, straightening her skirt as they move inside.

"Nah. Damn animals have broken through the fence again. I'll call Ranger Thomas in the morning. It's them damn strays, something has to be done about them." Hearing the sudden nicker of the horses, Jad rushes to the window. "Quick Jules, get me the shotgun! That damn dog's back."

Snapping blindly as he moves through the bucking mares, the rage burning inside as Tyson stealths closer to the farmhouse. The cool night air stinging his face as the saliva drizzles freely from the sides of his snout. The pains searing through his body as he creeps causing him to yelp softly as he moves.

Cocking his gun, Jad aims and fires. The bullet soaring through the air before piercing the skin just below his ear, Tyson lets out a whimper as he falls, his body twitching momentarily before falling silent and still.

* * * * *

Sitting in an old abandoned warehouse, George Stevens sits curled up in a fetal position; his knees tucked up under his chin with his arms tucked in tight around them. Burying his face in his arms to protect it from the stinging breeze, his pants damp from the incessant stream of saliva dripping from his mouth. With the pains coursing through his body, he cries out against the agony. Hydrophobia setting in, he dares not swallow, knowing the excruciating agony that follows. Feeling another wave of nausea hit, he leans to his side and vomits up a combination of gore, saliva and bile. Holding his bloodied shirt sleeve to his face he feels the darkness envelop his soul.

* * * * *

The woods forming an eerie darkness, the occasional ray of sunshine manages to break through the tree tops sending an illuminating glow to the forest floor. Through the trees the dogs band, the packs formed by the stronger remaining survivors. Cowering below the density of the underlying shrub lay trembling the few new 'lost' dogs. Being of all breeds, all shapes and sizes, the packs circle as they smell the fear. Seldom newcomers to the forest get out alive unless they are willing to fight for survival. As one of the leaders growls, the fight begins...

Food a precious commodity in the forest, the packs edge closer to the holidaying campers in a desperate search for nourishment. Banjo, the leader of one of the packs, a Bull Mastiff now fierce and once forgotten, leads the dogs near the edge of the woods that borders the lake. Only the occasional snapping of a twig, breaking the drone as the happy sounds of the children playing echo through the silence of the forest. As the dogs move cautiously closer, forever wary of the elders keeping a vigilant eye on the young ones, they sit, silently waiting for the signal to attack from their leader.

Shaking his head, scratching at the large gash under his right eye, Banjo growls. He circles petulantly, restlessly waiting for a moment to charge. Gnawing viciously on a stick, his gums bloodied as it snaps in two. The sudden breeze blowing over the lake burning his eyes, sending a fury broiling inside as Banjo snarls. Without warning he races out of the darkness toward the unsuspecting campers, followed almost instantaneously by the rest of the pack, coming from all angles they surround the holiday makers.

* * * * *

'Hey, Jack? It's McNally. Just had a report come in of a couple of kids playing at the old warehouse near the Williams' property. Seems they discovered a body there, and going by the description his face was pretty messed up. This could be our guy.'

"Have forensics been notified yet?" Jack asks, putting down his coffee cup as he reaches for his jacket.

'They're on their way there now.'

"Good. Meet me there in ten minutes." Hanging up the phone Jack grabs his keys and heads out the door.

* * * * *

The large glass door sliding away as Judy Carter runs into the foyer. Her son in her arms, his limp body damp as the fever breaks. Running up to reception, Jordan's mother is almost frantic. Seeing her obvious distress, the charge nurse beckons her over.

"What seems to be the problem?" she asks.

"I... I don't know," Mrs. Carter stammers. "He was complaining of a headache this morning. Then the vomiting and fever started... " her voice trailing as the nurse places her hand against Jordan's forehead, his face feeling as though it's on fire.

"Bring him in here. Get those clothes off him while I page the Doctor," the nurse says leading them into an empty examination room. Jordan's mother lays him gently on the bed. "Get those clothes off him!"

Through tear stained eyes, Jordan's mother unbuttons his pajama top as he shakes violently through a series of convulsions.

Clearing his throat quietly to make his presence known, Doctor Martin puts down the medical chart and moves beside Mrs. Carter. Sliding a thermometer into Jordan's mouth, he checks his blood pressure.

"How long has he had the fever, Mrs. ahh...?"

"Carter. Judy Carter," she says. Her knuckles white as she wrings her hands together tight watching the doctor. "The fever started about two hours ago. It's the vomiting and convulsions that worry me."

"Convulsions? Has he eaten anything strange that you know of? Or been near any strange animals?" Pressing the stethoscope onto Jordan's chest, a concerned look crossing his face as the young boy's body suddenly jerks wildly. "Mrs. Carter, I'm going to order some tests. I need to take a sample of blood."

* * * * *

The smell of death fills the small warehouse as Jack surveys the scene. The floor of the building littered with papers and rubbish, the dark patches surrounding the body providing evidence that he'd obviously spent his last dying days here. The body slumped in a sluggish brown stain of what appears to be a mix of blood and bile, a blood stained cloth clings to its face covering the mouth and chin. Slipping on a latex glove, Jack carefully peels the bloodied shirt sleeve away from the dead man's face. The coagulated blood providing some resistance as Jack inhales before placing it back over his face.

"It's definitely our man," he says, holding his handkerchief over his mouth he motions for McNally to follow him outside. Taking a deep breath, Norris coughs as his lungs suddenly fill with the crisp cool air. "It doesn't seem to matter how many times you see a body, it's the ones that have been dead for a while that are always the worst."

"God, I know!" McNally says as he inhales the fresh air greedily. "The smell of death. There's nothing worse." Wiping his sleeve over his eyes, he nods as the forensics team arrive.

Lighting a smoke, Norris watches as the team adorn themselves with masks, some pulling on surgical shoe covers before they grab their equipment and move inside the warehouse.

* * * * *

Aiming his rickety old tractor toward the east side of his property, Jad Williams points to an area of fence as Ranger Thomas surveys the damage. As the tractor pulls to a slow halt the pair jump down and walk slowly along the fence line that separates the property from the vast forest that leads to Lake Conroe.

"It's them damn strays, Thomas. I shot one of the bastards last night. Bloody thing bit three of the geldings, nothing a bullet to its head didn't fix." Lifting his hat, Jad wipes a sleeve across his brow as he follows the ranger back to the tractor.

"I'll have to make a few calls, Jad." Thomas picks up his phone as he continues, "We've had an increasing number of reports where stock have been killed by stray dogs. We're going to have to set traps. It seems they're increasing in mass proportions, the hungrier they get the more likely it is that they'll venture out of the forest. That's when it can get nasty."

"Did you hear that?" Jad asks, straining to listen. The pair stand silent hearing the soft songs of the sparrows singing in the trees. Over the sweet song comes a barely audible, but unmistakable scream.

"It sounds like it's coming from the lake."

"Let's go in the truck," Jad says as he climbs up onto the tractor. "I'll grab the gun, just incase."

As they head back to the house, Thomas double checks his rifle is fully loaded.

"I'll run get the gun," Jad says as he tosses the keys for the truck to Thomas. As he runs inside he quickly grabs his shotgun and a round of ammunition. "Okay, let's go," he says as he quickly jumps up into the cabin.

As they near the neck of the woods, they see the bloodied bodies littered ahead of them as the pack of dogs savage them. Raising his rifle Thomas repeatedly fires, the noise deafening as the dogs look up bewildered before scampering into the safety of the trees.

* * * * *

"'News just in, a nine year old boy is fighting for his life after being air lifted to the Houston Base Hospital. Tests reveal he is suffering from an advanced case of the deadly strain of rabies which specialists call Furious Rabies.'"

Turning up the volume, Norris listens intently as he makes his way back to the office.

"'Left untreated, this form of the disease will invariably result in death. His mother, Mrs. Judy Carter, reports her son being bitten by an unknown animal while camping in the Lake Conroe National Park a few weeks ago. People living in the near vacinity are being urged to update their animal's rabies vaccinations and are warned to keep away from any stray animals until authorities have had the chance to thoroughly investigate the incident.'"

Pulling into the parking lot, Jack sits listening to the end of the report. Seeing McNally running toward his car, Norris winds down his window.

"There's something going on down by Lake Conroe." Climbing in beside Jack, he continues, "Ranger Thomas and Jad Williams are on there way there now. Apparently they heard someone screaming, said it sounded as though it was coming from by the lake." Feeling the pulsating hum of his phone, Jack pulls it from his pocket.