The Fifth Part

Kenneth crouched in the damp earth. He could smell every distinct odor in the soil. The smells of decay had a sort of hopeful scent to them. In the death, the life was teeming. It was all a big circle.

Just like Mufasa always taught us.

With his heightened senses, Kenneth could make out individual voices conversing quietly by the camp fire. They were still more than 200 yards away. Kenneth had already run the perimeter with deadly stealth. He had counted 37 people there. Kenneth liked hunting up here in the mountains. It was bear country after all, and occasionally, a camper would just disappear. Tragically, Search and Rescue would find only shredded bloody clothing and back pack bits. And with all the hikers, people were bound to get lost... But Kenneth had not come up here to hunt tonight though.

I'm just keeping up my tracking skills. It's okay, if I see any human meat pies, I'll just practice stalking. No eating. I'm cool, I'm cool. Besides, I'm full. The new leaf has been turned. Tofu for me from here on out.

"You have an amazing capacity for self-deception."

Thank you Madam President.

Kenneth hated when his brain backsassed him, especially with Battlestar Galactica quotes.

If only we could take this rationalization and channel the energy into werewolfing, you could be on the board of the DWB chapter by now.

Kenneth almost started to argue about how social prestige didn't matter to him, but then decided not to give that smarmy prick the satisfaction. Kenneth turned his attention back to the social gathering. He had seen plenty of drunken frat parties up here, but this was different. What was with the robes? Kenneth wished he had arrived earlier, there was an impromptu stage set up and folding chairs scattered around. There was an air of relaxed informality about the people which seemed to indicate that the official festivities were at an end. These people smelled... wrong. With only the stirring of the air to betray his presence, Kenneth moved closer.

Something is so odd about this gathering.

Oh, you mean besides the culty robes?

Shut up brain.

You shut up.

"Smart ass." Kenneth muttered under his breath. As he approached closer, he could see someone lying on the ground in the midst of everyone. Was he just passed out drunk? He seemed to be lying on some sort of round blanket. It looked like some sort of emblem. Kenneth was now within a hundred feet. Everyone else was alert, and few had any bottles in their hands.

Not drunk then. Hmm.

Wull gall professor, how'd ya figure?

NOT ANOTHER WORD!

Something in the back of Kenneth's mind nagged at him. Something was out of place here at Satan's kegger. The wind suddenly shifted and Kenneth was overwhelmed at the sweet scent of human blood.

Mmm. That would be so good with some eggnog!

Stop tempting me.

Oh yes, the nutmeg would be the perfect accent!

With the smell of blood filling his mind, the subconscious nagging thought jumped to center stage of his mind.

Spoons!

Almost every one of the people there were holding a spoon. Kenneth circled the camp trying to see the man on the ground more clearly.

His head is... off?

The top of the mans head was sitting next to his body and his skull was emptied out like a jackolantern.

Lords of Kobol!

The mans brains had been completely scooped out!

"Eww." Kenneth said out loud. He hurriedly slapped his hands to his mouth. But it was too late. One of the culties looked in his direction. Kenneth froze in place.

Why am I standing up? Oh crap. He sees me.
The cultie was now moving toward Kenneth with purpose and was being flanked by three of his cohorts. Each one carried their spoon. Kenneth swallowed.

"Gulp!"

Bad men! Let’s get out of here!

I heard that!

Don’t let them eat me!

Kenneth turned to run, his rock hard lupine muscles forcefully contracted causing him to explode from where he was standing. Kenneth was now no more than a blur. His werewolf hubris caused him confusion when he suddenly found himself on his face, convulsing in pain. His body felt like it was on fire. The barbs from the Taser were firmly lodged in his right butt cheek.
“Owwie!” was the last thing Kenneth spit out through his clenched jaw before he lost consciousness. When he woke up, he was staring at the stars and his arms were being held down. He had only been out for a couple of seconds. The wrong smelling men were trying to tie his hands. Rage boiled up inside of him and he could feel his pants beginning to tear. A primal growl bubbled up from his core into a deafening snarl. It was apparent from the smell that the culties had poor bladder control. There were a couple of clipped screams choked out before the thrashing blur stilled them. There was some futile gurgling and twitching, and then only silence.