A Taste for Something New

By Jay Lamborn

Someone or something is roaming Southwest Florida, leaving bloody human wreckage in its wake. Crytozoologist Martin Schott offers his assistance to baffled detectives. Some in the law enforcement community accept his wild assertions as fact; the evidence leaves them little choice. Others, however, are convinced that Schott is a charlatan seeking his own fame. The bodies are stacking up and something must be done. Will investigators come together in time to stop more deaths? If Schott is willing to put his life on the line, is he really a charlatan?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Lamborn
• Release date: Feb 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310692758

Jay Lamborn

Jay Lamborn has been writing stories since a very early age, often inspired by games of Dungeons and Dragons with his friends, or just imagining what something he saw in the sky might be. These imaginings began, as did his faith and most other things in his life, on the farm where he grew up in West Grove, Pa. Since then he's moved around the United States and visited a couple of other countries, most of these moves courtesy of the United States Marine Corps. Since leaving the Marine Corps he has worked in the IT industry, obtained two degrees from Edison State College, and become dad to five amazing kids. He's also managed to become, despite what the kids may say, the chief human in their dogs' lives. Jay writes when he's not busy being dad, husband, or volunteer. He lives in Florida with his wife, three of their five children, and the aforementioned dogs. He won't often admit to it, but they have a cat, too.

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A Taste for Something New

By Jay Lamborn

Copyright © 2016 Jay Lamborn

Cover Design by Scroll Media Company. All rights reserved.

www.ScrollMedia.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2016 Jay Lamborn

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

ISBN-13: 978- 1310692758

ISBN-10: 1310692758

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

A Humble Request

About the Author

Cover Design

To Carolyn

Acknowledgements

No work is possible without the help of others – teachers, mentors, family, and friends. God, for starters, gave me a talent (or not, you decide) that I’ve worked at since I was a kid. My parents encouraged me when I was six and writing stories in a notebook about toy robots turning into world-class heroes. My teachers at Avon Gove High School did a wonderful job, especially Mr. Frank, my senior year English teacher. Thank you, sir. I hope you see this note from your seat in Heaven.

My writing took a new turn after I became a Marine. Phillip Thompson agreed to give me a chance as an untried combat correspondent in the Marine Corps. He’s gone on to write some great fiction himself; check him out. He put a guy named Michael Mink in charge of training me. Mink did a decent job, I think, despite my best efforts to thwart him. Later, I got some formal training and a very fine gentleman named Bob Dillier hammered a lot of lessons home. Somehow he turned me into a journalist.

There are a lot of other folks whose work has impacted me, both good and bad, through those years and beyond, but those who had the most impact on this particular work are late in coming to my life. John Pelot, my creative writing professor, encouraged me to enter The Final Mile (now the prologue of this book) in a contest. When it won an award at Edison State College, my friend Kevin Bertsch looked at me and said, Turn it into a novel. We rode around in his Cherokee and talked about what could happen. He planted the seed for A Taste for Something New. My wife, Carolyn, watered that seed, finally setting me down and telling me to make it happen. I don’t think it would have happened, though, if Kevin hadn’t introduced me to another author, a local guy, named C. F. Waller. He’s an award-winning author of several novels who made successful writing personal to me and not just something that belonged to the Kings and Pattersons of this world.

Prologue

The rhythmic slap, slap, slap of running feet echoed off the trees along the deserted stretch of dirt road. Music was barely audible from the jogger’s headphones. It was a typical late-summer evening in southwest Florida. Hot, and full of bugs who gathered around the sweat-drenched runner’s head and shoulders. The humid air served as both lubricant to his muscles and a blanket on his lungs.

Swamp stretched off to the left before blending into the Peace River. Acres of orange groves on the right made it clear this was a lonely place, uninhabited, quiet, and slightly wild.

A dog ran out of the trees on the right. Twilight made it hard to make out, but it looked big. The dog stopped about midway across the road and squared off toward the runner, who slowed, then stopped.

A vicious growl cut clearly through the music coming from the smartphone strapped to his arm and the runner began to jog backwards, keeping his eyes on the dog.

The teeth showed white in the fading light, looking way too big as the dog advanced slowly. A stray sunbeam broke through the low clouds and cut through the surrounding foliage giving the man a clear look at the dog. It was a mastiff, with fur matted and its ribs showing through. Feral, he thought, taking in the dirty black-gray fur. His eyes continued to scan the animal. What was it about the dog’s teeth? Rabies?

The word sliced through his mind like a knife coated with a poison called panic. He turned and ran, heading for a point where the road cut through the orange groves, hoping he might be able to get away from the dog in the trees.

The dog barked once, a deep, ferocious sound that added wings to the runner’s feet. He turned his head and saw the dog break into a sprint, gaining ground quickly, but he could tell he’d make the trees first.

Run. Run. Run, sang the voice in his headphones. A wild laugh escaped him as he dodged to the river side of the road, now his right. The dog was still back there, chasing him silently.

A grunt escaped him as he careened off an orange tree. He staggered, caught himself, and began to look for a tree he could get up in high enough to be safe.

It was quiet out now, just his panicked breathing, the slap of his sneakers, and the pounding of the dog’s paws.

Then he was climbing. Reach, pull, push with his feet. Not a moment too soon, either. He lifted his left foot up to another branch just as the mastiff leapt for it. Wet warmth spread across his crotch and down his legs.

The dog continued to leap and scrabble about the base of the tree. The man scrambled a little higher in the tree.

That was when the silence hit him.

He reached up to get the ear buds out and found nothing but his ears. He reached down and found them coming out of his shirt. His left hand reached across to the band on his right arm and began to undo it.

Just need to call someone to come out here and get me, then I can get out of this mess, he said, looking down at the dog’s foaming muzzle and shuddering at his close call. The band loosened and slid down his arm. He pulled it free and gazed at his phone.

The smashed face of his phone gazed back uselessly.

Oh, God, why?

The dog began to bark again, foam flying as it circled the tree. Twilight moved into night. He struggled to remain in the tree, grateful for the clear sky that allowed him to keep the dog in sight.

The moon seemed larger than ever before as it moved overhead, casting wild shadows as a light breeze moved through the orchard. The dog, tiring, but still driven to madness, now sat below him, staring malevolently upward, bloodlust evident in its eyes as the moon intermittently shone upon its face.

A growl ripped from the dog’s throat. The barks had stopped a while ago. The man was still not sure how good a thing that was. His butt and back hurt from being wedged into the v between two branches and his hands ached from clinging to the limbs of the orange tree. His legs were starting to cramp from being drawn up as much as he could manage to ensure his feet did not become snacks for the beast below.

Snap.

It was a quiet sound, but it was definitely there. The man looked around wildly, seeking its source. Maybe help was on the way. The moon was nearly overhead, full, and no clouds were in the sky. The wind died, stilling the shadows. There!

A figure crouched about 30 feet away, clearly caught in the open.

Help! The man’s voice was a barely audible squeak. Fear and exhaustion had tightened his vocal chords. He tried to clear his throat.

Over here! Help me! Please! This time his voice was louder and not so much like that of a frightened little girl.

He saw the moonlight shine on a pair of eyes as they turned his way. The figure was probably not much more than five feet tall, but looked powerfully built. The dog began to bark again, coming to its feet and pacing back and forth.

The figure took a tentative step in the direction of the tree the man was in. The dog stopped pacing, faced the figure, the compact canine body seeming to lock into position, hair standing up, ears back, tail still. Foam flew as the dog’s throat erupted into action once more, drowning out all other sounds. The man was scared to move anything other than his eyes now, afraid of drawing the rabid animal’s attention back to himself. The figure stood completely still, seeming to lean forward like a runner waiting for a starter’s gun.

Several things happened at once. The moon moved just enough to break clearly through the trees, showing the figure clearly – a compact, hairy form with an apish face. At the same moment, that face looked skyward and let out a blood-curdling howl. The dog burst into motion, flying towards the creature.

As fast as the dog was, the creature was faster, exploding into motion a split second after the dog did and meeting it well before the dog reached the halfway point between them. The dog leapt for the creature’s throat.

Its arms came up, catching the dog, turning its body and crushing the dog to the ground beneath it. Howls and barks came from both as they struggled. The battle seemed to last an eternity to the man trapped in the tree, but he was unable to even begin thinking get out, now! before it was over.

The dog let out a horrifying sound that made the man’s stomach heave, and then it was silent. He watched in terror as the beast ripped the dog’s jaws apart, the sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh carrying across the suddenly still night. His stomach convulsed again, more bile spewing to the ground below him.

The strange creature looked up at him, then stood, holding one of the dog’s paws, dragging it along with him as he moved toward the tree.

Guh, guh, go. Please dear God, please go. Go. Away. The man could barely speak now, the timid little girl’s voice taking over again.

The creature issued a few grunts and sat on the orchard floor, pulling the dog in front of him, alternately watching the man and looking at the carcass of the dog. Finally deciding, it seemed, it ripped one of the dog’s legs off and began to chew on it, fur and all. As it chewed, it leaned back on one arm, legs akimbo before it. The obscene parody of a man would, from time to time, lean down and lap up the blood of the dog, or wipe it off its face and then lick the sticky crimson mess from its clawed paws. Hands? Then it would go back to munching, crunching, and watching.

This went on for a while. The man had lost all track of time in his terror. How often had he run in this area with no idea such a beast lived here, too? If he’d had any idea such a thing was here he would have never come this way again. He would certainly have told someone where he was. He wasn’t going to make it out of this, of that he was certain. His one hope was that maybe the creature was afraid of daylight and maybe he could make it until dawn. How much longer that would be was anyone’s guess at this point.

He was, he figured, a dead man. A low moan escaped him as the realization sunk home. The creature looked up, set down a part of the dog’s ribcage and belched. It wiped its shaggy left arm across its face and stood up.

This was it, the man thought. His heart was pounding and he could barely breathe. He couldn’t make his legs work, though he tried to push himself to a standing position. His bladder let go, again, and hot urine ran down his legs. The creature sniffed a few times, surely aware now of the fear that riddled its prey.

Instead of coming for the man, though, the beast pushed some of the ground debris away to clear a space several feet in diameter. It quickly went to work scooping out a hole a few feet deep, watching the man as he worked. A short time passed and the dog’s remains were buried, the excess dirt spread about, and you could hardly tell that the ground had been disturbed at all.

Well, the man thought, at least now I know how it has lived here undetected. His back ached, his legs had gone numb, and his hands were cramped from holding on to the tree. The alternating periods of abject terror followed by mere fear had taken their emotional and mental toll, as well. He was exhausted. His head throbbed, especially around his wide open eyes, which he thought would forever remain protruding from his eye sockets after all they had seen this night.

It had been several minutes since either the man or the beast had moved and birds and bugs were starting to make themselves heard again. The man could hear his shallow panting and the deep rumble of the beast’s low growl. The stooped creature shambled about, rechecking its camouflage job from burying the dog and then circling the tree. It could easily reach up and touch the man. The man could see the beast knew it, too. He saw an eerie intelligence reflected in those eyes; cunning and ferocity, and maybe some kind of madness, if a beast were capable of having such human traits.

Without warning the beast snarled and took a step closer to the tree. Suddenly the man’s legs could work again, scrambling and scrabbling against the tree bark, trying to push him higher, to no avail. There just wasn’t anyplace else to go in the low orange tree.

The beast backed away, making a sound something like a jackal’s laugh. The misbegotten thing was laughing at him! The man went from terror to a burning anger in a heartbeat. He was not going to die as some anachronistic creature’s plaything.

The man’s breath came more deeply, slowly now, his body changing from flight to fight. He flexed his hands and adjusted his legs. His eyes scanned the ground around the tree. If only he could find a weapon. He had no illusions of taking the beast on unarmed. It was obviously much stronger than him, and much more ferocious.

A gust of breeze allowed the moon to shine on the ground briefly. What was that? It had been visible for only a moment, but the man was certain he had found his salvation. There had been something that looked like a broken shovel handle, about four feet long and pointed at the broken end. The creature was between him and it, though, and had been standing on that side of the tree for several minutes now.

The man continued to move about in small motions, trying to keep his body from locking back up on him. He was going to need his body ready to go when the time came. It would be easier to get out of the tree in the direction opposite of the handle. How could he make that work? He adjusted his body that direction and the creature slowly shambled that way as well.

Problem solved. Maybe. Now the man was going to have to focus his attention in the direct opposite direction of the one he wanted to go if he was to have any chance of success. He began to mentally picture the tree and terrain behind him, moving his hands and feet in an effort to map out the limbs behind him. His plan was taking shape, but he had no idea how it was going to work once he started moving. That thing was fast. He couldn’t let himself forget that.

The slow movements helped restore circulation to his limbs. Painful pricks of returning feeling were sheer pleasure to him, now. His body was alive and working. His chances of success seemed to improve. Maybe not realistically, but at least in his mind.

There. He was lined up the way he thought would get him out quickest. The beast was watching him intently now. The moon was low on the horizon now and the bird songs were starting to change. A low breeze made some branches creek and something snapped behind the creature. The man snapped his eyes that direction, allowing hope to shine in them. The beast turned, alarmed.

The man leapt backwards from the tree, stumbled, rolled over, arm outstretched searching for the handle.

Nothing.

He came to his feet and the beast was already rushing around the tree. He tripped over something, falling backwards. There it was; he’d found the handle. He dropped down to get it.

Just in time.

The creature was already launching itself where his torso had been a moment ago. Its claws reached out, scoring his back and turning his shirt to rags in the blink of an eye.

Pain shot up his back