By the time they approached the old Packard Automotive Plant, Von thought they’d lost the creature. There’d been too many vague glimpses on darkened streets and abrupt reversals of direction. Every shadow had become a living thing, every distant movement a sign. It was as if the creature existed only in hints and patches.
“There we go!” Teyo called out. “The trees!” His inner coil tightened. This was the kind of excitement he’d been craving.
Von spun the SUV onto Medbury Street. He spied what could have been the creature’s humped back in the shadow-flicker of sickly gum and ash trees. Un-fucking-believable.
“That’s it,” Deliza said from the backseat, a cell phone to her ear. She kept her voice low in case an emergency dispatcher came on the line. She’d been on hold for over five minutes. Not unusual in a city where the average police response time was almost an hour.
Von slowed the vehicle, positioning its headlights for maximum coverage. Nothing stirred the sultry air. Not a murmur sounded. The foliage was like a mess of Rorschach-blots. Von tensed for the creature to burst from its hide in a killing rage. Seconds stretched into ages. He couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t right there. The fitful beating in his chest was everything.
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David W. Edwards is the writer, director and producer of the feature film Nightscape and author of the novels Nightscape:
The Dreams of Devils and Nightscape: Cynopolis. He attended the University of Southern California’s prestigious screenwriting program and earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees in English Literature while working for a variety of
Hollywood production companies. He’s the founder and former CEO of a successful high-tech market research firm, and a former two-term state representative. He currently lives in Hillsboro, Oregon with his family.