La Muerte Lobo (Death of a Wolf)

The Man stood in front of the church. Behind him the Lobo lay, lifeless. The Man had brought him to his death, now it was time to deliver.

La Muerte Lobo

(Death of a Wolf)

By Mitchell Tierney

 

The Man with the red bandana in his pocket stood in front of the church. He wiped blood from his nose and watched as the sun came up over the tier of the roof. The large cross broke the sun’s glare into four rays. He stood in its shadow.

The desert wind kicked brutally, lashing his skin, then died quickly and without noise.

The Man squinted and held one hand up to cover the bright light from his eyes. He looked at the church with curiosity. The stained glass windows where old and cracked. He looked left and then right. Either no one lived in this old town, or they had seen him dragging the Lobo across the dirt last night and were too afraid to come out. He thought the later was more correct.

The Man turned and looked at the Lobo. He lay on the ground behind him. His dark olive skin was marked with scratches and scrapes. Blood covered his body like they were lightly painted with a red brush. The Man had dragged his dying carcass all night to get to this church. He hauled him over rocks and plants, down ravines and across water. The Lobo had been trampled by horses in a surprise attack late yesterday afternoon by local sheriffs. The Man had killed two law enforcers and scared one off.

Lobo groaned. His ribs broken and one wrist snapped cockeyed to the side. The Man turned to study him. All his clothes were ripped or had been taken off in the journey.

‘We are here,’ he said in Spanish.

The bloodied Lobo didn’t reply. The Man took the bandana from his pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead. He used the now damp cloth to get the dried blood off his hands. He never entered a church with blood on his hands, never. He placed the bandana back in his pocket and took several steps closer to the Lobo until he was standing over him. The Lobo tried to wave a hand in front of him.

‘No...more,’ he replied.

The Man took a deep breath and bent down, placing his arms under the armpits of The Lobo. He heaved him up and started walking backwards. The Lobo was being dragged again. His legs left twin lines in the dirt. The Man sweated again and moaned from the weight of the Lobo. He was nearly twice as heavy as he was. They reached the steps of the church. Lobo was dropped, lifeless and filthy back onto the ground. The Man shook his head disappointed. He reached down and clutched his unbroken hand and started towing him up the three steps to the church entrance. He felt the arm give and heard a pop as it slid out of its socket. The Lobo didn’t make a noise. The Man heaved and tilted his weight away from the sack of bloodied flesh. Slowly the Lobo was pulled over the stairs. His head bumped and thumped on each step in turn until they were on the small balcony.

The Man took a second to catch his breath and opened the church doors. The smell inside drifted up his nostrils and it brought back memories long forgotten. His father and mother. Long since dead, but he could smell his father’s aroma, oil and hair cream. His mother’s cooking and the sweet smell of her breath.

The Man looked through the church doors and could see the alter at the very end. It is not long now, he thought to himself. He clutched the Lobo’s hand for the last time and dragged him through the doors. As he passed the threshold the Lobo screamed. His voice was blood curdling and deeply agonizing. The Man ignored it. He hurried as he felt the Lobo try to struggled out of his grasp.

He reached the alter and fell to his knees, crossing his chest and praying. The church doors slammed shut and the candles lining the small church flared high, before dying down to a small flame. Above the Man, Jesus hung on a wooden cross. His features etched from wood and painted with delicate care and time.

‘I have brought him.’ The Man muttered, crossing his chest once again and standing up.

There was dead silence in the church. The Man looked around, suddenly feeling vibrations under his feet. The Lobo gasped, as if choking. In the middle of the floor, a pew slid across the room. The wood floor, where it had been, suddenly blackened. A scorched and horrific hand reached out from the darkness.

‘Bring him,’ an unknown voice said.  

The Lobo opened his puffy and bruised eyes. They were filled with terror. He tried to kick backwards, but his legs weren’t corresponding. The Man walked around the panicking Lobo and picked up one foot.

‘No...please!’ The Lobo begged.

The Man looked him in the eyes and saw his horror. He did not care. He lugged him to the darkness. Not too close, but close enough. The Man stepped quickly over Lobo. Then, his hand shot up and clutched his leg. The broken and trampled fingers wrapped around the Man’s leg with vigour. Lobo muttered something through his dislocated jaw, but the Man didn’t understand. He shook his weak grip off him and stood back.

The blacked, burnt hand, stretched its fingers out wide, as if freed from a tomb of a thousand years.  It reached over to the Lobo. Its elbow and shoulder now in full view from the pit of darkness. It gripped the Lobo’s leg. A hissing noise split the dead quite church, followed by the howling pain from the Lobo. Thin curls of smoke raised from where the dark creature held his skin. Slowly, the Lobo was pulled towards the pit. The Man watched as the hand dragged him down into the abyss. The Lobo cocked his head and took one last look at the man who had brought him to his death. As his body was swallowed into the darkness, several more blackened and burnt hands raised up, clutching the Lobo’s face, hair and neck, then he was gone. The black pit swirled around in circles, like water down a drain and was gone from sight.

The Man waited until he was certain the abyss was gone and moved the pew back to where it had been. He pulled a dirty and torn piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He crossed off the Lobo’s name with a piece of charcoal and read the next name. He refolded it and slipped it back in his pocket and left the church.

THE END