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Woody Johnson’s meat (Redux)

What if he had dodged.

By Yusuf AdamaPublished 3 years ago 30 min read
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“Damned antifa bastards! Make sure he hits the pavement hard!” Woody was furious. Well, furious was probably an understatement. He had almost been killed, or at least very nearly been maimed, and for a man that couldn't even handle the inconvenience of buying his own coffee, the thought that he could have been subjected to a life of disfigurement, death, or the worse outcome: an early retirement, filled him with the kind of rage that he could feel all the way under his fingernails.

“Of course sir! We’ll call the police but-” The security officer that currently had his knee on the neck of Woody's attempted assailant began.

“-He’s lucky we don’t call the morgue!-” Woody yelled, walking hurriedly towards his car, the anger he felt slowly being eclipsed by the only thing that mattered to him more than money.

The security officer grunted as he lifted himself and the potential assailant off of the parking lot ground.

“Wait! Sir, you may need to stay to give a report!” The officer yelled at Woody as he watched him open his car door.

“I’m not going to be late to my daughter's birthday because of some ecoterrorist! Give a report on my behalf and make sure that bastard rots!” Woody slammed the door to his 2036 Buggati Rhamnousia, physically and mentally blocking out the officer’s objections, and hastily pulled off.

He tried to calm down, realizing he was gripping his steering wheel so tightly the ridges and curves of his fingerprints were leaving impressions in the top of the line, ergonomic, memory-leather steering wheel.

“Call ‘Love of my life.’” He unclenched his jaw, relaxed his shoulders, and exhaled in a deep sigh, hoping he could steady his breathing enough that his wife didn’t notice his irritation.

“Yes sir, Calling sir.” The car confirmed before quickly transitioning to his wife’s ringtone.

*Click*

“Oh thank god honey, I expected you to be talking to the cops still! I already told Daisy you might not be here for a while, she was sad but she’s just glad you’re ok.” As upsetting as his day had been, he felt the vexation slipping from him at the sound of Angela’s voice.

“Ah, wait- Who told you?” Woody felt the slightest bit of annoyance creep back into him; his attempts to be discrete already foiled. He hated how fast news traveled in this day and age.

“Oh, Jenny from the front desk. She called and told me what happened as soon as the cops showed up! Are you ok honey? How long are they going to need to hold you?” Woody made a mental note to have a talk with Jenny about confidentiality.

“I’m fine honey really, just some African thug trying to take a shot at the big boss.” Woody felt a smile form on his face as he realized he could still turn this around. “The police said I might be here for another 3 to 4 hours, just wait up a little, I’ll be home as soon as I’m done filling my report.”

“Well, I’m sure the guest will understand. What did he want? What could make a man do something as terrible as dumping acid on a person?” Angela whispered the last sentence, presumably to prevent any of the children that may have been near from being frightened.

Woody reflected on his company’s, “Woody Johnson’s Meats,” most recent, and most profitable, business venture. Woody Johnson’s Meats, or ”WJ Meats'' for short, had just acquired over 600,000 acres of land in West Africa for pennies on the dollar. However, the land acquisition wasn’t even the most lucrative part of the deal: his company would appropriate over 8 million cattle over the next 3 years, and was, in fact, already in the process of butchering a shipment of bulls that had been sailed over earlier in the week. Not only would this make Wj Meats rival any American beef producer, the wild cattle that had been discovered deep in the heart of a previously unexplored area of dense African forest, had muscle and fat compositions that were sure to produce amazing steaks and roasts. Just the thought of the money John would’ve missed out on, had his would-be-assassin succeeded, nearly redoubled his anger.

“Something about the land being the resting grounds for his ancestors and a curse, the same tribal bullshit all these socalist try to claim. They hate seeing a man make money unless it’s a handout!” The audible stretching of the leather steering wheel reminded Woody to calm down. He steadied his voice then continued. “But they didn’t get me today. Speaking of, did those steaks get there?”

“A little late to ask now, don't ya think?” His wife chuckled playfully, a sound that made Woody’s heart flutter in affection. “But yes, they got here this morning. One hundred t-bone steaks for our one hundred guests! They were set to be done in a few minutes actually, but we’ll hold off until you get here hon-.”

“-Is that Daddy!” His daughter’s voice blasted over the car’s speakers. “Let me talk to Daddy!” John almost chuckled thinking about how pleasantly surprised his two favorite girls would be when he got home early.

“Well, that’s the sign that our conversation has gone on for too long. Don’t worry about me though, you guys start eating, I don’t want anyone going hungry and I know the place must smell amazing, plus that chef is hourly and I don’t need her lingering around. Tell Daisy I love her.”

“Your father loves you sweetheart!” She said loudly away from the phone. She continued in a whisper, “and when you get here I have a surprise for your ‘steaks’ too mister.”

*Click*

Woody’s smile was beaming as he merged onto the highway towards his two million dollar estate. In spite of the incident in his company’s parking lot, he was going to keep having a good day.

He arrived at his home no more than an hour and half later, traffic being unusually light for an end-of-day commute. He admired his car’s completely nuclear powered, virtually soundless engine, being grateful for the ease at which he could stealthily pull into his driveway. He reached to his side, carefully grabbing the large beautifully wrapped gift he had transported on his passenger seat. He made sure not to let his door slam as he opened it, then carefully used his elbows to shut it just as quietly, glancing around discretely to ensure his presence wasn’t being noticed. He approached his house like a cat, staying alert, ready to duck if he saw movement in any of the manor’s numerous windows, until he found himself at his front door. He pondered how quiet it was while his door scanned his retinas. He had expected to be able to hear festivities, music, talking, the clinking of forks and knives coming from inside, but the numerous cars going down his family's half-mile driveway was the only indicator that there were other people on his property.

The door clicked open, he grabbed the handle before it could creak, peeking his head into the foyer before cautiously slipping inside, removing his shoes, and sneaking towards the dining room. The aroma of seasonings and cooked meat got stronger as he walked down the hallway that led to his kitchen and dinette, but there was another smell hitting his nose that he couldn’t quite grasp. Iron? Rust? What is that? He thought to himself before springing into the large doorway of the dining room.

“Surpris-Oh!” He tried to brace himself as he slipped on something wet that was covering the tile of the dining room floor. Woody caught himself before he could fully fall, bracing his legs but to no avail, as his foot tried to gain traction but only continued to slip on the oily, coagulated, crimson liquid. It was blood.

Woody stumbled, dropping the gift as he stopped his fall with his hands. There was no way? He had only seen the dining room for an instant before he had fallen, but he did not dare turn his head to look a second time. He shut his eyes tightly but the image that he saw seemed like it had been tattooed on his irises. There was blood everywhere. Patches of skin, tufts of hair, and bone fragments sat on top of a crimson tide that pooled on the floor in his dining room. He tried his hardest not to vomit as his nose was assaulted with the smell of death, and not the processed, pungent, refined death he was used to being around, this was human death. His stomach, which had been rumbling in anticipation just moments ago, was beginning to cramp as he started to dry heave and panic. He tried to stand up and nearly fell again, sobbing as his heel squished into something that he knew wasn't ground beef.

“D-daisy?” He stuttered, he tried to say more, to call out for his friends and family but he could hardly stay conscious, much less coherent.

He tossed his arm across his face and backed out into the hallway in despair. He slipped a third time, staggering backward until he felt the cold textured hallway wall on his back. He slid down the wall, coming to rest in a heap on the floor as he succumbed to his anxiety attack. He tried to catch his breath, to ground himself, to be present in any way, but his mind was completely overwhelmed.

*Crick*. He was so utterly distracted by his own collapsing mentality that he barely heard the faint cracking and crunching of breaking tile that was coming from the far end of the hallway. *Crick… Chink*. Woody inhaled quickly, holding his breath as he shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and quickly turned his head towards the sound. A few summers ago his mother-in-law had complained that his house was too big. She had scoffed at the idea of a three person family living in a 11 bedroom, 6 bathroom home. He had nearly agreed with her, willingly admitting the house was more of a vanity purchase than one of necessity, but at this moment, as he stared at the monstrosity 300 yards down from him, he doubted he had ever made a wiser decision in his life.

He was paralyzed with fear, unable to move as the monster down the hallway made a couple of motions forward. *Crick Crack*. The end of the monster's front limbs were boney and heavy, they sunk into the tile, crushing it under the weight of its massive body. The creature was unbelievable, truly, it’s physiology, while familiar, defied reason. It was huge, almost as wide as the hallway was, and easily 3ft taller than Woody’s own impressive 6ft frame. It had large, pronounced shoulders leading to muscular front legs that ended in hard hooved feet. The beast reared back slightly and bellowed, and he could see that it also possessed a pair of hooven back legs. It lowered its head and began shaking it from side to side. It had a face like the devil, complete with a pair of horns, each ending easily 4 ft from where they protruded from the animal’s forehead. No, not the devil. Woody thought to himself. A bull. Only a moment of disbelief passed through him before he was hit with the understanding of what its presence meant: this must be what killed everyone, it’s hide was still red from their blood. It was a blatant follow up attempt to ruin his life by Antifa or Peta. Extremists plotting against him had been getting more drastic as his company grew, and while letting a drugged up super-bull loose into his house was further than he’d ever thought they’d go, the happenings of this morning showed that those who opposed him were stepping up their game and, apparently, didn’t care who they hurt in the process. The gargantuan bull exhaled loudly, blood misting from its fist-sized nostrils as it stomped its front legs and lowered it’s head. It was preparing to charge.

Woody looked around for anything he could use, not knowing if he planned on trying to fight The Bull or distract it, not even knowing if he cared enough to move at all. He thought about Angela, his beautiful wife, and Daisy, sweet Daisy, he would never see them again. His friends, his parents, all reduced to pools of blood.

His pessimistic train of thought was cut short by a clanging in the kitchen. The kitchen, of course! The door frame was steel, and, more importantly, was only about 3 feet wide, meaning there was no way The Bull could get through the barrier. The guest must’ve been trapped in there after hiding! It was obvious, there was no way a bull could’ve killed 100 people, no matter how big it was, his daughter could still be alive! He didn’t have time to revel in his realization as his immediate problem became significantly more pressing: The Bull was beginning to charge. It’s size was even more daunting in motion, running with such lumbering force that it casually tore through the sections of the hallway wall it’s bulk would inadvertently slam into as it charged. Woody knew he wouldn’t stand a chance facing off against the monster. He also knew he had less than 7 seconds to reach his sanctuary.

He willed his body to stop shaking, even as the floor beneath him trembled from The Bull’s mass, desperately trying to find some stability as he scurried towards the steel doorway. He scrambled on his hands and knees, The Bull now more than halfway to him, its body rushing towards him, all of its momentum coming to a point at its two jagged sharp horns. He gathered his legs underneath himself, The Bull yards away. Time seemed to slow as he channeled his will to live into one mighty lunge, propelling his body through the metal doorway.

“God damn it!” He had avoided being gored, but The Bull's leg had barely collided with his own, and with The Bull’s mass, even being grazed resulted in his ankle becoming instantly sprained, maybe broken. The Bull's inertia prevented it from stopping once it missed its target and Woody heard it crash into the marble wall at the end of the hallway. The pressure wave created by The Bull's collision with the wall was impactful enough that it was nearly deafening, it reverberated through his torso like a firework. He screamed out his pain one more time before dragging himself further in the kitchen. Before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, the murderous bovine was back at the doorway. Woody’s faith in the kitchen doorframe teetered as The Bull’s shoulders threatened to collapse the entire wall in. The steel of the door continued to stress and dent in response to The Bull’s efforts, but it was holding for the time being.

“What?… What the hell!” Woody thought he must be delusional, that he was delirious from the pain, or the absurdity of the situation as a whole; but as The Bull’s wide head slammed around Woody finally fully took in it’s form. It truly was a monster, and not just in the sense of its massive size. He had thought The Bull’s hide was tinted red from the blood of its victims, he had even considered that it’s unusual shade of crimson was its natural hide color; assumptions that were based on his previous experience, on rationality, on logic: the sight that presented itself before Woody went against all of that. He didn't know which hellish feature caused him the most discomfort, he found himself so terrified his fear had left him awestruck, and without even realizing it, he had stopped backing away from The Bull to gape, slack jawed at its appearance. The Bull's fur wasn't red, because The Bull had no fur, skin, no top layer, nothing keeping it’s muscle and fat from being exposed to the air, and while the blood accumulated over it could have been from guest at his daughters party, a majority of the blood on The Bull had to have been its own. Terrified as he was, he still considered how much pain the animal must've been in, as it pummeled it's bloody, raw neck into the sides of the doorframe, but the pain didn't seem to hinder the animal at all, as it continued to try to reach its target.

"Those sick sons of a-! And they try to say I'm the one hurting the animals‽ Those cucks skin a bull and let it loose in my home and I'm the one that's draconian‽- Gah!" He fell back on his butt, fear reclaiming his heart as The Bull gave another vicious push, bringing its horns another centimeter closer to its objective. It's horns weren’t smooth like he had originally thought either, they were jagged and gnarled, cracks ran through them and even their ends seemed to be a culmination of many smaller jagged bones, rather than one cohesive horn.

The Bull gave another determined snort, blood from its nose splattering on the kitchen floor. The steel door frame had finally set in a way that it could no longer be warped by anything short of a grenade or a bulldozer. Woody was able to relish in the slightest sense of security knowing he'd be safe for the time being. The Bull raised its head and enormous shoulders away from the kitchen opening. It dug its hooves into the ground twice, almost seeming to jeopardize the integrity of the floor it stood on, deep cracks expanding more than a yard in all directions. The Bull backed up with an ominous and uncharacteristic steadiness, it's head moving slowly side to side. It began to reorient itself, turning back towards the dining room, the side of its face now facing Woody. It gave one decidedly malicious look with its large angry eye and began to mozy away. As it left, Woody was treated to its side profile and in that moment he understood that what was happening couldn't be from the ecoterrorist, couldn't be from anything in this world, in that moment he decided that his first conclusion had been the most correct; this creature was the devil. It's flank was more exposed than he had expected, the monster's guts and organs could be faintly seen pulsing as it moved. The stench was even worse, it smelled like the worst parts of his company’s butchering department and a morgue, a smell of decay and death emanating from the beast that further contradicted it's living appearance.

The beast disappeared from the doorframe, it's footsteps dissipating until Woody could no longer hear anything, a fact that actually served to increase his anxiety as he strained his ears and drove himself mad trying to understand how the maybe-2-ton monster could possibly be that quiet.

He placed his hand on his chest breathing deeply as he attempted to calm himself down. At least he was safe for now, he reasoned. He gathered himself then turned around to face the interior of the kitchen. The hope he had held out vanished but, if he was being honest with himself, he knew there was no way 100 guests could be hiding in the modest 4 stove kitchen, perhaps that was just the excuse his body had needed to snap himself out of shock earlier. The kitchen was empty, and not only that, seemed to have been untouched, outside of the dishes that fell as The Bull was trying to force itself in, no one had even made it far enough to hide there. Whatever outcome he had briefly hoped for, the reality of the situation was that he was alone and trapped.

Could he risk trying to run to the front door? No, he had barely managed to make it across the hallway and that was before his injured leg, if he tried to make it to the door he would surely be killed. He reached in his back pocket, his hands touching broken glass and plastic, calling for help was out of the question too. Did he have any other choice but to run? Woody brought himself to his feet, testing out his ankle, he gritted his teeth as he gradually put more of his weight on it. The pain was immense, but not unbearable. He tried taking a step, fully putting his weight on his injured leg.

“Gah!” He screamed out in pain stumbling backwards trying to catch himself. He fell to the ground once more after stepping on a rolling pin, a situation that would have been comical in other circumstances. The rolling pin was launched across the kitchen towards the hallway. As Woody groaned on the floor trying to regain his breath after having the wind knocked out of him, the rolling pin crossed over the kitchen threshold into the hallway. Just as quickly as it had disappeared, The Bull charged back through the hallway, stepping on the rolling pin and leaving it in splinters. Running was definitely out of the question. He stayed on his back, knowing that once he got up he’d have to start thinking of a plan.

There was a sound again. Something near him, he had come to the kitchen because of a noise in the first place, he still didn't know what had made it. He sat up and listened more deliberately, hearing the noise again; a faint scraping coming from… The freezer? Yes, that was definitely where it was coming from, a consistent scratching sound emanating from the kitchen's large walk-in meat freezer. He approached the freezer door, acknowledging its locked state, praying that he wouldn't open it to find another monstrosity waiting for him. He lifted his hand to the door slowly then knocked on it twice quickly with his knuckles. The scratching noise stopped suddenly, reactively. He held his breath in anticipation, not really knowing what response he should be looking for, but felt a glimmer of optimism run through him all the same when two faint knocks rang from the freezer. He fumbled with the freezers magnetic locking system, entered the short code, and let the metal door swing open slowly.

“Gloria?!... Oh Gloria, I’m so happy to see you.” It was his family’s personal chef, Gloria. He couldn’t tell how long she’d been in the freezer but the slowness of her movements and the choppiness of her voice let him know that she had been subject to the 20 degree temperatures for a substantial amount of time.

“Oh my God, Mr. Whtman?” The young cook began, teeth still chattering and eye’s frosted over. “Mr. Whtman they’re dead, they’re all dead Mr Whtman. Everyone else is dead!?” She stumbled forward out of the freezer, falling onto her knees from hypothermia and fatigue, almost dropping the small child she was holding in her nearly frostbite arms.

"Is that?.." His voice caught in his throat, and his chest tightened once more, he felt like he might cry all over again, this time for significantly different reasons. "Daisy?"

He bent down quickly and embraced the two girls, ignoring the painful chill that rushed through him when he made contact with them.

"Oh Gloria," He began, voice nearly breaking. "How could I ever repay you?" He wrapped the chef and his daughter tightly trying to will the warmth from his own body into the girls’. “Daisy? Daisy dear?” His daughter wasn’t conscious, her eyes remained closed and she wasn’t responding, but she was slowly breathing so he held out hope. It was unusual though, where Gloria’s arms and fingers had begun to turn pale and almost blue at her fingertips, Daisy’s skin looked flushed and warm, her circulation appeared to be fine even as ice had begun to form under noise and at the corners of her eyes.

“She’s been like that since that thing showed up. She just-” Gloria’s voice broke and she began to sob. Woody leaned forward and scooped his daughter from the young woman’s arms into his own, cradling his daughter’s head in his shoulder, trying to do everything he could to warm her.

“Gloria, not even two hours ago I called my wife and everything was ok. I come home to… This?… What happened here?” He asked hesitantly, knowing her attempt to reveal the undoubtedly traumatic origins of their situation could potentially throw her into a state of hysteria.

Gloria immediately stopped shivering, her eyes became focused and she tightened her hold on her knees. “It was horrible.” She began.

Woody braced himself, fully knowing this story would end with the deaths of his friends and family. He rested his back against the kitchen wall, being careful not to make any noise as he slid down it.

“Everything was normal until a little after Mrs. Whtman called you.” Her voice had become unnervingly steady. “I was putting the steaks into the ovens so they wouldn’t get cold while we waited for you, but then Mrs. Whtman said we’d be serving everyone on schedule at your request. I was overjoyed, I had to cook 100 steaks in a way that they were all warm and ready at the same time, it was the biggest culinary challenge I had ever taken on, a delay would have derailed the experience. After the guests were served Mrs. Whtman gave a toast, a nice one about life and you and Daisy. Everyone clapped and dug in, Daisy didn’t eat though, she wanted to wait for you still, even as Mrs. Whtman tried to convince her to take a bite.” Woody gave his daughter a light squeeze as a tear rolled down his cheek at the thought of how much love his family had shown each other. Gloria continued, “and that’s when that… that thing… it killed them…” She had paused, tilting her head sideways perplexedly.

“Did… Did that thing eat them?” Woody offered, his brain trying to understand how the scene she was describing could possibly lead to where they were now. He was taken aback when Gloria smirked, it almost looked like she had to stifle a chuckle, as if his question was so ridiculous it had to have been a joke.

“No, of course not Mr. Whtman, cows don’t eat meat.” She stated matter-of-factly, as if it was the most obvious line of logic anyone was ever expected to follow. “No, what happened to them was much worse. It started with one of your neighbors, he had finished eating first, didn’t even take him 10 minutes. When he started choking everyone just assumed it was because he had been eating too fast, and that’s when it all went to hell. He just kept hacking and wheezing, drinking water, the whole 9, but the man can’t stop choking. Eventually someone gets up to give him the heimlich but the moment that guy stands up, he starts choking too. At this point people are freaking out, but another guy gets up, all snarky, like their choking is ruining his dinner. This third guy gets up and goes behind the first choking guy and wraps his arms around his diaphragm.” She paused again, unlocking her hands and clenching them each into fists. “And the moment he squeezed that guy’s torso, the first guy’s, he just started vomiting, but it was more than that, it was like this guy's skin was a toothpaste tube and his insides were the toothpaste.”

Frank stared dumbfounded. “Did- Did Daisy see?” Knowing that a sight like that could scar a child forever.

Gloria didn’t even acknowledge his question, too engrossed in her retelling of events. “Well, after that everyone started freaking the fuck out. People are screaming and talking about calling the cops and all this other stuff, when the third guy starts coughing too, then another person, and another person. Everyone who ate starts going into coughing fits, and then the second guy explodes too. People are crying and choking and more people are throwing up their literal lives; hearts were ejected out of people’s faces, people threw up organs and spinal cords. Some people tried their hardest to hold it... Themselves, in. Angela came to me, her face red and strained and pleading, both her hands over her mouth, looking around trying to understand what was happening. I looked at her and cried when her eyes popped out of her skull and her guts poured out of her neck. It wasn’t long until everyone had exploded into pools of meat all over the dining room. I didn’t know what to think. Was it poison? Microscopic bombs? Was it airborne? Was I safe?” She rattled of the questions quickly, her voice becoming increasingly unstable, before she settled back into her previous cadence, regaining the composure she had. “ I threw up. A lot. Then, through tears and vomit, I started walking to find a phone, or leave,or something. I saw Daisy, passed out, the only survivor. I went to pick her up and noticed that all the… Meat… Everyone’s insides, and their outsides, and the portions of steak they didn’t eat, all started slithering… All of it just started… Bunching up together. People's bones snapped together, their skulls cracked and reformed, I’ll never forget it. I wasn’t going to stay and see what it all formed into though. I picked up Daisy and started to run outside but then that… Gross mass of bones and flesh slid across the floor right between my legs. It got to the front door before I did, and by the time I got down the hallway it was already there, now with a skeleton and horns. I ran as quick as I could and it shambled after me. In hindsight, I don’t think it could run well before it’s muscles set, but it chased me into the kitchen, so I hid in the freezer. I’m sorry Mr. Whtman, I wish I could’ve done more!”

Woody was floored. The story was horrifying, unbelievable even. If he hadn’t seen the tank sized monster he would’ve thought Gloria was suffering hallucinations from being locked in the freezer. ”That’s… That’s wow.” He couldn’t even form a sentence, his brain was reeling. He steeled himself, clearing his throat and trying to say something, anything. “Gloria, I can never thank you enough. Because of you, my daughter might make it out of this. Now that Bull is just that, a bull. We’re going to find a way past it, and we’re going to get out of this. I

Promise you-”

“Mr Whtman!” Woody looked at Gloria’s face, now covered in the blood that had spurted from his mouth, in shock. He felt a great pain in his back, then nothing below his chest, as his spinal cord was torn apart. His eyes widened as he felt his heart was pushed to the side while his lung was punctured, as a jagged horn ran through his chest cavity. He coughed up more blood as the bones of his sternum separated violently, until the horn stuck out from the middle of his chest. He had reflexively thrown his daughter and was able to feel one last bit of gratitude towards the young cook as he watched her scoop the young girl into her arms once more.

“Gloria-” He managed to croak out in between ragged breaths. “Run.” The Bull raised its head, its horns tearing straight up the wall separating the kitchen and dining room. Gloria nodded, tears welling up in her eyes, and turned to run with the 6 year old child.

Woody brought his hands to the horn protruding from his chest. He didn't have much energy, certainly not enough to save himself, but he used the last of his effort to try to use his body to oppose The Bulls attempts to pull back its horn and, assumedly, pursue the girls.

The Bull threw its head from side to side, sliding his broken body along the crumbling wall, but he held on. His group began to loosen, the blood that should’ve been delivering oxygen to his brain had now made itself an obstacle against his ability to grip the jagged horn. The Bull snorted louding, giving a herculean push and crashing the front half of its body through the wall and into the kitchen. As Woody’s mind began to shut off from blood loss, it wasn’t his own life that flashed before his eyes but other, unmistakingly forgien, events. He felt his insides stretch and contort as images of grassland and the bright sky flooded his vision. He saw boats, and bodies, black ones and cow ones, he saw meat and shackles and the sea. While his body was broken, his bones snapped and his muscles liquified, all being absorbed by The Bull, increasing its mass and its strength, as his mind was assaulted. He saw his business partner and best friend, Johnson, the other half of the namesake of his company’s moniker, he saw a slaughterhouse and dismembered men,he saw rich bankers and higher ups rubbing elbows and eating, and the more he saw the more he felt his mind fill with rage. The rage, the anger, the unbridled hatred, replaced everybit of his previous essence, until he was staring and the remains of Woody Whitman’s body being compressed and absorbed into his own. He stamped his hooved feet and snorted loudly. He could hardly see anything, his vision was red, like he had been stabbed through the eye. He couldn’t focus, his own anger seeming to overlap and intermingle with a deeper, darker, more overwhelming sense of anger, a collective anger that tore his own apart, dispersing the last of his rage throughout the beast. The Bull raised its head, hearing footsteps running away. The hunt was not over.

It ran through the kitchen, bypassing the metal doorway completely, The Bull slammed through the wall beside it, crashing through to the hallway, and plunging its horns deep into ti’s walls.

“Holy fuck!” The Bull had missed its target, the noise continued. It tore it’s horns from the wall and directed its charge towards the labored breathing and desperate steps of its quarry. It swiped its head quickly to the side, attempting to cut down whatever was running in front of it, only succeeding in lacerating its soft back.

“Gah! Oh God, oh God! Please!” The sound shifted suddenly, almost causing The Bull to trip over itself as it tried to quickly change direction.

“Door open!” The Bull heard a sliding, the same sliding that brought that other presence into the house earlier, its most recent victim. The Bull lunged one final time, it’s rage abating for what felt like an instant of elation, as a sense of euphoria pulsed through its undead body; it had hit its target. The Bull felt hair and warm brain matter enveloping its horn. It gave one last bellow before receding back into the house, pulling its victim, twitching and lightly flailing, back into its domain.

“In local news; a birthday party became a Tuesday mystery when law enforcement arrived at the house of multimillionaire, and possibly soon-to-be-billionaire, Woodrow Whtman. Authorities say they had come to follow up on a previous attempt at Mr. Whtman’s life, but found only his 6 year old daughter, a driveway full of cars, and a dining room full of blood. This news is made all the more shocking as a report of an accident at Mr Whitman’s and his partner’s, Mr. Johnson Jackson’s, butchering facility was filed just hours ago after an employee came to the facility to find that the entire second shift crew had decided to walk through the facility's industrial meat processor. Law enforcement currently does not know if the events are related and the FBI is being requested to look into the incidents. Citizens are being asked to call in with any information regarding the dreadful events or the location of Mr Jackson. Up next: ‘The Ozone, can it be recovered,’ this is Linda Mcree at J-23 News.”

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