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Cassata kept his distance from the boy as he walked through the woods, making sure to keep at least thirty paces behind the child. As the snow picked up, keeping that distance and remaining hidden got much harder.
Be careful, Parker. You can't let him get away with your food. Look at his fat little belly.
The Whisper was right. The boy didn't need whatever he carried with him. He lived out here and knew the terrain much better. Whatever food the boy had belonged to Cassata. He was older, much bigger, and stronger. That was the law of the jungle. Or in this case, the word of the woods.
CCCCRRRUUUNNCCHHH
Lost in his thoughts, Cassata stepped too hard and his foot sank into a snowbank. The boy paused and turned his head to see Cassata struggling to pull his foot from the snow.
He sees you, Parker.
The boy's eyes grew.
He knows you don't belong here. Say something.
"Hey, kid! I'm stuck. Can you help me?"
The boy stood for a moment and looked at the failed mob enforcer with a foot stuck in the snow. The boy turned back around and took off sprinting into the brush.
He's running away, Parker! He's escaping with your food!
Cassata finally pulled his foot from the snowbank and gave chase. The boy was going to take his food away. Cassata couldn't let that happen. The boy was fast, but Cassata was driven by hunger. He knew this boy had never been as hungry as him; never been this desperate. But the boy was fast.
When he finally reached a clearing, the boy disappeared. Cassata took two steps and paused. He turned in a small circle. The only sound he heard was the winter wind shaking tree branches. The boy was gone. Vanished.
No! You let him run away!
"No, no, no, no!"
With frenzied eyes, Cassata kept spinning in a circle. The boy's tracks ended at the clearing. He disappeared like he had never been there at all.
Cassata clenched his teeth and let loose a scream that shook his frail body. Blood trickled up from his strained vocal cords. His body heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.
Shhhhh! Listen.
Cassata heeded the voice and held his breath. In the silence, he heard the snow lightly flecking against the ground.
CRUNCH
He snapped his head around and saw the boy across the clearing. How did he get there? Cassata's mouth hung open.
Find him!
Cassata tore back into the canopy, closing in on the boy. This time, Cassata moved with the fury of a desperate man. The boy quickly scaled a tree. When Cassata tried to claw his way up after him, a rock flew down and cracked against his nose. Blood immediately trickled out from the broken cartilage piercing his nostrils.
The sweet coppery flavor filled Cassata’s mouth and rolled down his tongue. He stopped for a moment and licked his lips, almost trance-like. Parker reached up and wiped the blood from his shattered face. He licked his fingers like they'd been holding a succulent piece of fresh fried chicken. The taste of his own blood warmed his frigid stomach. For the first time in days, he was almost satiated.
Almost.
Another rock sailed down from the treetop. This one bounced off his forehead and buckled his knees, bringing him out of his blood-induced fever dream.
Cassata growled and tried scaling back up the tree. The boy tossed two more rocks down on him. He must have collected them while Cassata was wailing in frustration back in the clearing. Both bounced off his shoulder, but neither slowed him down. He was a man obsessed.
Cassata reached for the boy's ankle, trying to pull him down. With his free leg, the boy kicked Cassata in his broken nose. The pain was enough to knock him back down to the hard forest ground.
With the wind knocked from his lungs, Cassata was trapped in his own shocked body. The boy hopped down from the tree and ran back into the deep brush.
If he gets away, you will die, Parker. He will make sure they find you. He will make sure they kill you.
Parker Cassata’s body, still slightly numb, turned over. He reached out and clutched the stone that broke his nose. Pushing down against the rock, Cassata pulled himself back to his feet and found a new rush of energy. He took off in a full sprint and closed in on the boy, but he was still too far away to reach out and grab him. Cassata stopped and looked down at the stone in his hand—the stone that shattered his nose, but brought the first sweet flavor he'd tasted in days. Instead of running, Cassata hurled the rock into the air. He watched it push through the sideways blowing wind and snow, almost magically, until it struck the boy in the head.
Now, go feast.
Parker ran to the downed child. Part of him hoped he had only winged the boy. All he wanted was food that was rightfully his. He wasn't trying to kill anyone. He just needed to eat. Another part of him felt different.
Cassata turned the boy over so his face was up. He didn't move. That didn't mean anything, though. The boy could just be unconscious or trying to play dead, like a possum. Neither mattered. Cassata patted the boy's coat up and down. Reaching into the boy's pockets, he searched for the hidden morsels buried in the boy’s belongings. Nothing.
He turned the boy over again and patted the back pockets on his pants. Still nothing. Parker turned the boy over a third time and tried to pull the coat from the child's chest. He was so consumed in his search that he didn't notice the boy's hand starting to move. The child grabbed the stone and smashed it against Cassata's face.
The blow gave the boy just enough room to slide out from underneath. It stung Cassata's jaw. As the boy tried to make another break, Parker Cassata hopped up and tackled the child to the ground.
This time it was the boy who needed to be stopped. Cassata took the rock and sent it crashing into the boy's skull. Over and over, Cassata tried to awaken something in the boy's mind, the same way the stone woke something inside him when it struck his nose. Finally, the child stopped moving.
"What did I do?"
You survived.
"Not again."
Pushing the guilt from his mind, Cassata took the boy's coat, rummaging for something to eat, but again found nothing. He patted the small pants down again as well, but just like before, the pockets were still empty.
"No!"
Cassata buried his head in his frost-bitten fingers. He wanted to cry but couldn't. He wanted to say the dehydration made crying too hard, but that wasn't true.
You need to eat, Parker.
"There's nothing to eat."
Yes, there is. You tasted your own already. Imagine how sweet it would be coming from him.
"What?"
The boy's. Taste the boy's.
"No, I couldn't."
Survival, Parker. You've managed to always survive. But why not thrive in this mad, cold world? Why not embrace a new existence?
Cassata wiped away tears that weren't there and looked at the body of the dead boy. A body, if left out here, would feed some savage scavenger.
Why not?
He heard the Whisper, and for the first time in days, Parker Cassata dined. The visual of the boy’s carcass made Parker quiver. But once he got past the visual, he found the boy tasted pretty good.