Patrick "Pops" Mclanahan was... cold.
He knew he was cold. He was always cold. But tonight... tonight, the damp... it was in his bones.
He was seventy-three. Or... he thought he was. He was a bundle of rags, of memories, of... everything... all bundled up behind the boiler vent of the Oaktown Public Library. It was his... spot.
The boiler... it would kick on... at 4 AM. And... it... it was... warm.
He was... dreaming. He was... dreaming... of... soup. A... a... a hot... soup.
A shadow... fell... over... him.
Pops... he... he... he didn't... startle. He... he was... used... to... shadows. Cops. Teenagers.
He... he... he opened... his eyes.
He was... not... cold.
He was... freezing.
He was... so... cold.
The shadow... it... it... it was standing... over... him.
It was... so... tall.
He... he... he couldn't... see... it. It was... it was... just... a... hole...
He... he... he... tried... to... speak.
"P-p-p-please..."
The Husk... it... looked... down.
It felt... the flicker. The... tiny... weak... flickering... heart-fire.
It was... pathetic. It was... barely... a... snack.
It... would... do.
The Husk... it... raised... its... hand.
It was... not... a... hand. It was... five... long... tattered... shadows.
Pops... he... he... he watched. He... he... he couldn't... move. He... he was... frozen.
The... shadow-hand... it... moved.
It... didn't... touch... his... rags.
It... went... through...
He... felt... it.
No...
No...
No...
It was... inside... his... chest.
It... wasn't... painful.
It... was... just... cold.
So... cold...
He... he... he felt... the shadow-fingers... close. They... closed... around... his... heart.
His... eyes... snapped... open.
He... saw... it.
The... face.
The... nothing.
The... two... red... embers.
He... gasped.
The Husk... pulled.
It... didn't... rip. It... didn't... tear.
It... phased.
It... pulled... its... hand... back. Through... his... flesh. Through... his... rags.
And... in... its... hand...
It... was... not... a... heart.
It... was... a light.
A... tiny... tiny... flickering... red-gold... light. It... was... pulsing. Weakly.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
It... was... his.
The Husk... it... brought... the... flickering... light... up. Up... to... the... hollow... nothingness... of... its... face.
It... inhaled.
The... light... it... streamed... into... the... darkness.
It... was... gone.
Pops... he... he... he slumped.
The... cold... it... was... gone.
Everything... was... gone.
He... he was... just... tired.
He... he... he closed... his... eyes.
The Husk... it... felt... stronger.
It... turned.
And... glided... away.
Kraven's radio crackled to life, a sound that sliced through the thick, 2 AM silence of his unmarked sedan. He'd been driving. Just... driving. Sleepless. Haunted.
"...all units... report of a 10-56, possible DOA... alley behind the public library... reporting party is a... uh... sanitation worker..."
Kraven's blood froze.
The library.
He knew that alley. He knew who slept there.
"Pops," he whispered.
He slammed his foot on the accelerator, the engine roaring in protest. He wasn't responding. He was racing.
He got there in two minutes. The garbage truck was still there, its lights flashing, the driver, a big man named Sal, leaning against the cab, his face a pale, sickly grey.
"Don't... don't go back there, Detective," Sal stammered. "I... I... I just... I... I thought he was... asleep... I... I... I... I went to... to... to... wake... him... so... so... so... I... I... I could... get... the... dumpster..."
Kraven pushed past him. He had his heavy Maglite in his hand.
"Pops?" he called out, his voice sharp, echoing off the brick. "Pops! You... you... you decent?"
He turned the corner.
And the beam of his flashlight found him.
Pops Mclanahan was... slumped. He was... sitting... against the wall, in his nest of cardboard and rags, his eyes... closed. He looked... peaceful.
"Pops," Kraven said, his voice softer. He... he... he hated... this. He... he... he knew... this... cold... would... get... him... one... day...
He reached out, to... to... to... check... for... a... pulse.
His hand... stopped.
He... saw... it.
The rags. On... on... on... his... chest.
They... were... not... ripped.
They... were... just... open.
And... inside...
Kraven... stopped... breathing.
The beam... of... his... flashlight... zeroed... in.
The hole.
The... clean. The... cauterized. The... impossible, gaping, empty... hole.
It... was... not... the... woods.
It... was... not... the... state... line.
This... was... Oaktown.
This... was... home.
He... was... here.
The... Spiral... it... it... it wasn't... a... journey.
It... was... a countdown.
And... the... clock... it... it... it... had... just... hit... zero.
The... hunter... was... in... his... town.