the smuggler’s bible


The worst of the confusion is hidden by the fog. Trees appear, looming, and recede again as Cormac runs in the direction of the house. Muzzle flashes glare white in the hazy distance to either side. Voices ahead—five or six men, maybe—then someone shouts and gunfire erupts, rattling through the branches.

Cormac hits the deck and covers his head. He can smell a thick animal pungency under the tang of rifle smoke, hear whimpering and a hideous crunching. Swift motion nearby leaves the fog swirling over the carnage, and the night is cut by a single, brutal howl.