Free Feral by Brian Knight

Chevelle and laid rubber out of the driveway. Something slammed down on the trunk, and she saw a large man puffing after them in the rear view mirror.
    The rubberneckers were out in force now, drawn by the shouts and gunfire.   Shannon saw their blurred faces in windows and doors as she turned the corner and sped away.
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    G ordon reached the front just in time to see the Chevelle round the corner and disappear.
    â€œDamn!”   Charles slowed to a jog at the mouth of the driveway, stopped at the sidewalk and bent over, hands resting on his knees.
    Gordon stopped behind him.   “Come on,” he yelled.   “They’re getting away!”
    â€œThey’re gone,” Charles said.   “We’re parked too far away to catch them.”   An old woman poked her head from an open door across the street.   “Call the cops!” he shouted to her.   “There’s been a murder.”
    The old woman popped back through her door, like a reverse jack-in-the-box.
    â€œWhat do we do now?” Gordon asked, near panic again.
    â€œYou calm down, and we wait for the cops.”   Charles re-holstered his gun and sat on the curb.   “The police have a better chance of finding them than we do, and if they don’t know what’s going on, Charity could end up getting hurt.   If they think Shannon is the killer it’ll turn into a manhunt. Hell, it might be headed there already for all we know.”
    â€œYou don’t think it’s her.”
    â€œDo you?” Charles countered.
    â€œNo,” Gordon said, remembering the man in the bedroom, her brother, split down the middle like an overcooked sausage.   “I don’t think she could have done that.”
    â€œI don’t think so either.   I wondered if it was her, but . . . ” Charles seemed to struggle for the proper words.   “Whatever that was in there, that scream.”   He closed his eyes, rubbed his temples.   “It didn’t sound human.”
    He laughed for a second, a dry, humorless sound.   “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
    Gordon sat next to him on the sidewalk.   “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.   “I’m sorry I got in the way back there.”
    â€œYou lost your head for a minute, that’s all.”   He put a hand on Gordon’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.   “Don’t dwell on it, but don’t let it happen again.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œGordon, there’s something you’re not telling me.   What is it?”
    After a pause Gordon said, “You’re going to think it’s crazy.”
    â€œI already think it’s crazy, old friend.   It’s the craziest damn thing I’ve ever seen.   If it’s going to get crazier I want to know.”   He looked at Gordon. “Don’t worry, I’m not flaking out on you now.”
    Gordon told him while they waited for the police to arrive.   He told him about the terrible night frights that afflicted him as a child.    He told him about the bed-wetting.   He told him about the dream back at the motel room.
    Gordon told Charles about the Bogey Man.
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    T hey were out of town within minutes, headed east along the highway.   Charity glanced in the direction of Feral Park as they passed the old sign and the blocked off entrance.
    â€œNo,” Shannon said.   “I’m not taking you there.”
    â€œI know,” Charity said.
    Seconds after passing the last streetlight outside of town, something hit the Chevelle’s roof, hard, pushing it down in the center.   They screamed in unison, and Shannon almost lost control.
    â€œ Give her back, you bitch .   She’s mine !”
    â€œNo!” Shannon screamed, and slammed on the brakes.
    The Chevelle came to a bouncing halt.   He flew off the hood into the headlight’s beams, and was