BLACKMANE Chapter 66

As he entered the tunnel now with his kill on his shoulder, Adam wondered if Moe would approve. He found her asleep and had to shake her to wake her up. She sprang up, wide-eyed, then rolled over to her hands and knees and coughed.

Adam dropped the carcass on the ground near her.

“Whuzzat?” Moe blinked, coughed again. She crawled over, leaned down to see. “Where the hell did you find that?” she asked. “Ain’t no pig farms ’round here.”

Adam cocked his head.

“Shit, I know what this is! It’s one a’ them Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs! This here was somebody’s pet!”

Adam waited.

“Well, shit, I told you no puppy dogs, but I didn’t say nothin’ ’bout pot-bellied pigs, did I?” She chuckled. “Hell, pork is pork, I guess.” She looked up at him. “You done good,” she said. “You done real good. Now let me get a fire goin’ an’ I’ll fry us up some bacon.”

Adam sat down. Moe, down on her knees, cut into the kill with a rusty knife. She paused, looked over.

“Oh, right. You, uh, you don’t need any a’ yours cooked, do you?” She examined the carcass. “You ain’t eat none yet, though. Was you waitin’ to give it to me? Well, ain’t you the gentleman. More polite than most men I ever knowed. Most men I ever knowed was selfish pigs.” She looked down at the carcass. “Oops. Bad choice a’ words.” She cackled.

Adam forced himself to wait. His stomach rumbled.

That is your kill! a voice, more of a feeling, inside him said. Claim it! You should have the first of the meat, the best of it! Drive the woman away! After you have filled your belly the woman can fill hers with the remnants, like the hyenas and the wild dogs and the birds! *No. There is enough meat. I will get most of it. I will wait.*

Yet when Moe had sliced off a few pieces for herself, Adam dragged the pig away and sat hunched over it, growling, as he tore into it. Mine! the voice/feeling said.

He ate in the darkness away from the fire, his back to it. He glanced over his shoulder at Moe. He growled again, tearing loose a strip of cooling, juicy meat. It tasted good. He swallowed. Moe stared back at him but said nothing.

“Most men I ever knowed was selfish pigs.”

Adam tore off another bite, began to chew.

Men and pigs, he said to himself. They do taste much the same.

By The Evil Cheezman

WAYNE MILLER is the owner and creative director of EVIL CHEEZ PRODUCTIONS (,, specializing in theatrical performances and haunted attractions. He has written, produced and directed (and occasionally acted in) over a dozen plays, most of them in the Horror and Crime genres. His first novel, THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER: WEREWOLF, is available for purchase at MORTUI VELOCES SUNT!

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