A New World: Untold Stories by John O'Brien

flowing outward, the man growls and rises quickly, going for Mark again.
    “Stay…the fuck…down,” Mark grunts, delivering another solid punch to the head.
    The man falls, apparently disoriented, but begins rising again. Gaining his knees, Sam sees a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. The movement becomes clear as a large branch, wielded by James, slams into the man’s face toppling the attacker backwards. He falls to the ground and doesn’t move, blood streaming from his nose and the corner of his mouth, mixing with that already on his face.
    “That’s one tough motherfucker,” Mark pants.
    “Are you alright, Mark?” Meg asks.
    “Yeah, man, are you doing okay?” Sam adds.
    “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” Mark answers, wiping his face.
    “I can’t believe he bit you,” Sam states.
    Mark pulls his T-shirt to the side, exposing a gouge with teeth marks surrounding it. Blood is smeared on his skin around the injury, both Mark’s and the attacker’s.
    “I’ll be damned,” Mark comments.
    “Why would he attack us anyway?” Meg asks.
    The rest of the group, Sam included, are still in place, shocked by what just transpired but slowly coming to their senses.
    “I don’t know,” Sam replies, stepping closer to the unconscious man. “Look at him. He seems sick. Maybe it’s some sort of fever thing brought on by the flu.”
    A wailing siren picks up intensity. All eyes turn down the street thinking someone, in fact, did call and the wreck reported. An ambulance, the first moving vehicle they’ve seen, shoots by a cross street several blocks away, quickly appearing and vanishing. The siren fades, becoming just one more of the many heard across the city.
    “Well, we should go see how the driver is doing,” Sam says.
    The feeling of being on some sort of adventure has left the group as they walk cautiously across the road. All but Mark and James still have their bottles in hand, but they are forgotten as they approach the open window.
    “Meg, stay back,” Sam says as he sees what lies inside.
    “What?” she queries.
    “Seriously, you don’t want to see this,” Sam states.
    “He’s right, sis. Keep back,” Mark says.
    Even from a few paces away, it’s easy to see the mess inside. Blood is splattered on the inside of the shattered windshield and slow-moving streams trickle down the outside of the door. Through the open driver’s window, a body lays slumped back in the seat, bloody and unrecognizable. The remains of a spent air bag hang loosely from the steering wheel.
    “What the hell, man? Did that happen from the wreck?” James asks.
    “I don’t think so. The windshield isn’t broken, only starred, and the air bag would have prevented them from slamming into it,” Sam says, looking over the scene.
    “Are they…dead?” Mark asks.
    “I’m not reaching in there,” James declares.
    “Chicken,” Sam says.
    “Right. And who is the one who didn’t even set their beer down when that dude attacked?” James responds.
    “I didn’t…well…fuck you.”
    Sam approaches and reaches through the window. With an unsettled feeling in his stomach and nausea rising in his throat, Sam presses against what he takes to be a man’s bloodied throat. The man’s face has gouges and chunks ripped away with a large flap of skin hanging off his cheek, exposing several bloodied teeth. He holds his fingers against the cooling flesh feeling for a pulse. Finding none, he backs off, close to throwing up.
    “Fucker’s dead,” Sam says, recovering and wiping his hands on his jeans.
    Mark steps closer. “It looks like the dude who attacked us was, well, eating him.”
    “Seriously? That’s way fucked up,” James says, remaining a few steps away.
    “I don’t know. It sure looks like it though,” Sam adds.
    “That’s disgusting as hell,” James states.
    “Well, what do we do?” Mark asks.
    “I’m not sure there’s much we can do. I suppose we go back to the house and call