Chapter 2:

What do you know about common sense? We used to think we knew it all—but, in the end we were wrong. - TA

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No matter how primitive or sophisticated, clothing is always a sign of some level of intelligence and culture. And where culture exists, so too does language, society, and the people groups that form it. Of course, humans understand that instinctively. Yet, Rowan struggled to reconcile his instincts with the creature before him.

After all, it looked like a cross between a lizard and an off-brand hulk—more like something out of a horror film instead of civilized society; yet, nevertheless, it wore an ornate necklace carved of wood, as well as bracelets, anklets, a kilt, and a belt with an actual skull attached to it. Oddly, the skull didn't belong to any animal Rowan recognized; however, it said a lot about the creature: namely, that it had its own sense of style (however morbid) and the necessary understanding of self to preserve its modesty.

As he observed it, Rowan rubbed at his eyes, trying to massage some sense into them; yet, without success, he turned to face Cherry in the hopes that she might have answers to the questions written on his tired face. For her part, though, she was dealing with a burgeoning crowd, and her voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, drowned out most of the surrounding noises—even the quiet, barely audible, creaking of metal.

"Listen, folks, it's a mess over there," She said, "and until we get things properly sorted, we need your patience and cooperation to make sure traffic can be directed in a safe and orderly manner. Please return to your vehicles and wait until..."

Cherry's voice quickly faded into the background of Rowan's thoughts. Clearly, she was busy and wouldn't be of any help. But that did little to change the fact that he had a body to deal with. It was a sight to see the creature splayed out against the front bumper of the semi-truck that hit it; it almost looked like it was resting. However, Rowan's pupils dilated, and his breathing quickened as he analyzed it, because for a second, he thought—

Did it move?

Watching a corpse to make sure it was dead was something Rowan hadn't done since his days as a rookie roadkill collector, and in fairness, that had paid off at least once, but could this thing be alive when it was so severely wounded? A sharp gash ran across its midriff while small pits had somehow been torn out of its arms and legs; its forearms were a mess and bent out of place. Its head was somehow unwounded, although it was paling due to blood loss. But, even if all that was negligible, it had crashed into an object weighing several tons at high speeds and...

Rowan shook his head. Was it alive? What a silly thought.

Determined to not waste more time, Rowan retrieved a pair of work gloves out of his jean pockets and put them on. All the while, he tried to not think about how little sense the day was making. After all, what did that matter?

Rowan decided there was only one thing to do given the current circumstances, and that thing was his job.

He sighed as his feet carried him forward, painting over the red stains of his boots with a wet, acrid purple. He grabbed the creature's body by the hooves, trying to get a preliminary feel for its weight, although it was much heavier than it looked—and that was something because it didn't look light in the first place.

The creature dwarfed any bear Rowan had ever seen, and its scales and the meat of its ankles felt unbelievably dense against his hands, like solid rock. He'd helped move some heavy things in his life—but this? After pulling, tugging, huffing, and puffing, Rowan managed to tire himself out. Nothing else.

As exhaustion hit him, Rowan released the creature's hooves from his grip and stood there, breathing hard. He bent down briefly and tried to move it again, just out of stubbornness. But, in the end, it didn't budge in any direction, so there was only one sensible thing to do.

He called Jimmy and decided to wait for his co-workers; the call connected almost immediately.

"Hey Jim—" Rowan said. "Yeah, I'm at the site.—No, no one else has shown up yet. I'm the first. But listen, we'll need a truck with a Bristow bed, my Toyota's too small.—Yeah, it's that big. Call Tyrone; I think he just bought one. We need a tarp too, or maybe several.—What? No, it's not a bear." Rowan looked over his shoulder, then turned back around and walked away from the corpse. "God knows what this thing is..."

As Rowan focused all his attention on the call, the faint sound of metal creaking rose from behind him. It started low and got louder, but Rowan kept talking, completely unaware.

"...You should get a look at this thing, man. I've never seen anything like it. They'll probably put it in a museum.—No, I'm serious. It's at least ten feet tall and wider than a linebacker on steroids.—Yeah. It might be an alien, but it looks more like some sort of… I don't know, caveman..."

The sound grew louder under the cover of Cherry's voice coming through her loudspeaker. In fact, everything was kind of noisy, and Rowan covered his ears to hear Jimmy better.

"...I think it must weigh way two tons, at least." He said as a soft clack sounded against the asphalt road. "Yeah, man. I'm telling you, it's got no eyes. That's probably why it ran into the truck."

Rowan kept talking as Cherry's voice halted mid-speech, and a shadow crept over him.

"Rowan!" Cherry said, but Rowan was still covering his ears, and Jimmy's voice rattled on and on the other side of the call.

"...You're pulling my leg, man," He said. "Who put you up to this? It was Carl, wasn't it? That asshole."

A gunshot sounded, ricocheting off something nearby, followed by a low growl, finally grabbing Rowan's attention. He furrowed his brows, the noticed the shadow looming over him. At first, he was confused by the sudden shade, but then that confusion turned into an awful dread that gripped his chest.

Rowan turned around carefully and with great effort, like a rusty machine cog. All the while, something was breathing over him, smelling of sewage. Rancid, like death.

"What the fuck was that?" Jimmy shouted, but now Rowan couldn't afford to pay him attention.

Trembling, he gulped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath as he felt drops of cold sweat form underneath his armpits. Briefly, he recalled that he was supposed to have a day off tomorrow. Yet, as his heart began to beat faster in his chest, and he opened his eyes to the dripping fangs of the strange, eyeless creature standing before him, he screamed and dropped his phone with all the certainty in the world that day wouldn't come.

A roar resounded through the night, followed by more screams. And jimmy's voice continued to come from Rowan's broken phone.

"Rowan? Rowan?! Rowan, what's going on!?"