The portal opened up on a scene that would seep into her subconscious and stain her nightmares for years to come.

"Good lord.  I don't think I'll ever eat pork again."

Somewhere far above, on the surface, the sky was brightening and the morning took hold.  But deep in the bunker night still ruled.  Emily's fatigue made the spacesuit feel heavier than usual.  She lumbered into the enclosure with a tower of plastic containers balanced precariously in one arm and dragging a shovel behind her with the other.

Horus chuckled.  The laugh came across the intercom like a staccato of interference.  "My doctor would love to hear me say that.  Maybe I should have been the one to go in there."

"Dude, if what you're seeing isn't putting you off your lunch, I doubt anything will."

The girl wolfing-out always left the pen in a disgusting mess, but this was the first time that blood painted the walls.  The pig hadn't just been eaten—it looked like it had been detonated with a bomb.  Little Porky hadn't stood a chance against the big bad wolf.

R.J. had been hoping that introducing live prey to the monster would stir it up.  The plan had worked without a hitch.

Emily had watched through one of the small monitors in the OC, and the attack was no less horrific on the grainy video image.

Around 10:30, Amy was cowering in a corner as far from the animal as she could get.  She had exhausted herself with her pleas and her crying.  Her face was in her arms and she may have been sleeping when the change took over without warning.

The girl was collapsed against the wall.  Her body almost folded in half with her knees up, her arms crossed, and her head down.  The pixels on the screen blurred, unable to capture the rapid transformation.  Then the beast was standing there, ready to launch into action.  Its ears twitched as it became aware of the new reality forming around it.  Perhaps if the screen had been larger, a flicker of the nostrils would have been seen as it sensed the pig.

The creature's huge head swiveled toward the little animal.  It lowered as it turned until the snout was only inches from the ground.  The wolf crossed the room in a blur.  No hesitation.  No pursuit.  It simply lunged for the defenseless creature.

The jaws caught the piglet around its midsection and snapped it in half.  The pig's mouth widened in pain.  The sound from inside the pen was turned off to protect the observers from the monster's terrifying howl, so Emily's imagination had to fill in the horrible shrieks of pain.  It was a task her brain was only too willing to do.  The broken animal kept trying to open its mouth wider and wider as though making more noise might save it.  Bloody foam began collecting at its lips.  Its front paws flailed dragging it slowly across the blood slick concrete.

The monster wasn't so quick to go in for the kill.  It circled the prey, while entrails dripped from the carcass in its vain escape attempt.  The wolf leaned in and took a nip at a long scarlet strand of tissue and yanked the pig back with it.  The pig responded with frantic convulsions. 

The werewolf spent another few agonizing minutes playing with its food before digging into the throat and ending it.  Then it scarfed the animal down energetically, spraying gore around the room.

Gore that Emily had to clean up.

She was regretting her decision to bag the evidence instead of cleaning the girl.  It seemed like the right choice when she'd been given the option.  She only felt marginally safer around the girl than she did the wolf—she still dreamed of that fucking beast all the time.  Emily had already been in the cage with her once that night—and that was enough.  Besides, cleaning the pen wasn't anything unusual.  Normally it just meant hosing it down.  But lucky her: today was special.

"I guess I should get started."

"You're a better man than I," Horus said from the comfort of the OC.

"Yeah, that's why I have the shovel."  She brandished it in the air for a second before tossing it to a relatively clean part of the floor.  She dumped the plastic containers next to it and surveyed the carnage to see where to begin.

That most obvious place was the pile of dung that sat nauseatingly in the center of the room.

Emily fought to get the lid off one of the large containers.  Her heavy gloves made her fingers clumsy and every action awkward.  Once she had it open, she retrieved the shovel and got to work.

"Damn!  Even its shit is evil."  She carefully dumped the first scoop into the bin.  Putrid black strands clung to the shovel as it slid off like chunky molasses.  "I'm glad I can't smell anything through this suit.  It's like Satan's fucking toilet in here."

There was a warm, heh-heh-heh, as Horus laughed appreciatively.  "It's no different than having to scoop up after your dog."

The second shovel full filled the sample box.  The werewolf had many scientifically-curious attributes.  Its incredibly rapid digestive tract appeared to have processed its midnight snack in a few short hours.  But the biological wonders were lost on Emily as she trudged over to grab another box.  

She glanced up at the smoked glass, toward the spot where Horus would be sitting and said, "If you think that, maybe you should be the one in here."

"No.  No.  You're managing just fine.  You seem to have a knack for it."

"Ha-ha.  You're a riot."  She probed the remainder of the pile with the tip of the shovel.  Her sarcasm vanished replaced by a more concerned tone.  "What's this?"

"What?"  Concern crept into Horus's voice.  Emily could almost sense him leaning over the console to get a better view.

She sighed and picked up another shovelful.  "Tell R.J. to cancel his dinner plans.  There's a big bone fragment in here."

"Well, that's just gross."

Emily abruptly straightened up and stopped tapping the sludge off the shovel.  "Sheesh.  I meant he'll have a hard-on for examining it.  Not that he'd eat it.  Good Lord, what the hell do you take me for?"

Horus's laugh boomed through her helmet.  "I don't know, girl.  I don't know.  The things you say."

With the monster's shit bagged.  She went about collecting all the scraps of skin or bone she could find.  The monster had concentrated on the big pieces.  The smaller bits that escaped its slathering maw were left to decorate the pen.  There seemed to be pig everywhere, even the ceiling.

Her first stop was a chunk coated in coagulated blood stuck to the wall.

"Skin," she announced.

"How can you tell?"

"Hair.  It has bristles on it."  It went into a clear plastic bag.

There was only one good thing about this job, and that was it took her mind off her worries.

The moment dawn had hit the horizon Max had left the Music Box.  He didn't say a word to her—didn't even glance in her direction.  But he didn't need to.  They had already said their goodbyes.

There was a new lead on Benicio and Aaron.  Max was on a plane to Honduras to check out some report that he had gotten from a government source.  He kept everything vague—supposedly for Emily's own protection.  But she couldn't help feeling helplessly left in the dark, especially as each of the tips he got turned into dead ends.

It would be Aaron's birthday next week.  He would turn four without her.  Instead, her precious little boy would be celebrating it with that douche-bag, Benicio.  It ground a shard of glass in her gut.  The image made her want to stop—stop thinking, moving, breathing.

A year ago, when they were still together, Emily had decorated their place in Manchester, New Hampshire with balloons and cardboard cutouts of Winnie-the-Pooh she had lifted from Wal-Mart.  The weather had turned with Labor Day and the baseboard heaters clicked and gave off an acrid smelling heat.

Aaron played with a toy bulldozer.  The huge plastic yellow truck had been too big to steal, so Emily had to use some of the little cash she had.  She had cut far too many bad checks in the area and was quickly burning through the meager savings she hid behind the toilet tank.

Emily finished icing the cake and fished three unbroken candles from a crumpled box.  It had gotten crushed at the store when she stowed it under the waistband of her jeans.

The knock at the door killed the smile on her face.  No one ever came by with good news.

On her way to answer it, she ran her fingers through her boy's gleaming black hair.  When he glanced up at her, she placed her finger against his lips.  His zroom-zroom noises stopped.  She had taught him that sometimes it was important to be quiet.

She carefully peered through the window to see the landlord knock again.  Louder this time.

"C'mon, I know you're home."

Emily smoothed out her hair and took a deep breath before opening the door.  "Hello, Mr. Preston.  How are you today?"  She smiled at him, her lips drifting into leering territory.

"Mrs. Weaver—Mary, I'm sorry to bother you."  He looked at his shoes, and she waited for him to say, but.

Emily shifted her feet letting the movement draw his gaze to her bare legs.  His eyes slithered up her shin, over her knee, and slowly across her thigh, until the hem of her skirt, where it appeared as though his imagination took over, derailing his thoughts away from the purpose of his visit.

As much as she wanted to get rid of him, she let him take his time.  There was absolutely no point in reminding him of his business.  A rain damp wind streaked across the balcony and she exaggerated a shiver, letting her body writhe in front of him.  His jaw went slack.  He had yet to look her in the face.

A pickup truck with a shoddy muffler came to life in the parking lot below the gallery.  Its engine started up with a sound like stuttering thunder and it roused him from his fantasies.

"It's cold out here," he said to her chest.  "Perhaps we should speak inside."

Emily crossed her arms in front of her in an attempt to accent her breasts while looking like she was shielding herself from the weather.

"Actually it's a relief.  I've just been baking.  That kitchen gets so hot.  Makes me all sweaty."  No fucking way did she want him in there.  Not with Aaron home.

"Well, umm...I hate to bring this up, but the rent is late again.  Last month you said you'd be able to pay both months if I let it slide until September.  That was due last week.  I really hate to do this but if you don't have the money I'll have to evict you."

She unfolded her arms and took a step out onto the gallery, closer to him.  She rested her hand on his bicep.  "I know you hate doing this, Drew.  It's Louise that's asked you to.  Isn't it?"

He looked her in the eyes for the first time.  There was anger in his squint.  Did he sense he was being played?  Did her flirting only reveal to him his weaknesses and failings?  "It has nothing to do with my wife.  This is a business.  And I know you have a little one, but I need that money."

"And you'll get it.  As soon as my lawyer shakes the child support I'm owed from my ex."

"You've said that before."

"He's promised me it'll be any day now."

"You've said that before too.  You also said you'd get a job, but I know you're not working."

"It's just with this economy..."

"I think I've been more than generous.  You need to get your stuff and leave.  I really don't want to have to call the bailiffs to lock you out."

Emily felt the panic building in her.  The apartment was a shit-hole but it was also the longest home Aaron and she had ever had.  Running again was a sickening thought.  The last time, they had slept in the car for a week before she was able to get Drew Preston to turn a blind eye to her lack of references and bank account.  But that had been in the summertime.  Now it was too cold to put her son through that.

"But we love it here."  She put everything she had into making it sound like it was a wonderful place to live and not merely a convenient one.

"I'm sorry but that's the way it is."

She needed more time—time to scrape together a bit of money.  Maybe swipe a credit card or two.

Another step closer and she was toe to toe with him.  Coffee breath and a beany smell wafted through the very brief space between them.  He had on a thick gray work shirt.  She reached up and fixed his collar with both hands pressing herself against his chest with only her thin arms separating their bodies.

"Isn't there some other way?"  She batted her eyes, drawing him a map of where she wanted his thoughts to lead.

"Damn, Mary. You know I'm married."  He shook his head but didn't pull away.

"I know.  But I also know that Louise is so busy.  I bet with all her running around she's awfully tired at night.  Maybe too tired for a big, strong man like you."

She was laying it on so thick she ran the risk of him laughing at her for her hammy performance.  But if there was one thing she had learned: never underestimate a man's overblown sense of worth.  No matter how pug-ugly, they always thought they deserved women falling at their feet.

Drew pushed against her, driving her towards the open door—his erection pressing into her side.

"Wait.  Not now.  My son is right there.  Tomorrow I'll get Mrs. Carlisle to babysit and you can come by.  Okay?"  Emily played her fish—reel it in, then give it some slack—tempt then delay.  She'd buy another day with her teasing, but she knew the game was running its course and she was on the losing side.

"Are you okay in there?" Horus asked, breaking what felt like an hour-long silence.

"Yeah.  Almost done."  Emily finished boxing up the remains and turned her thoughts towards hosing down the pen.

"You're a trooper."

"Just doing what needs to be done.  Like I always fucking do."  Cleaning a monster pen was as shitty a job as they came.  But she'd done a lot worse.