Talented Failure: The Works of A.T. Prenger

Ah’ bet to an outside observer the four of us made an interestin’ sight: Me, the dead mule I was shackled to, the stumbler, and the vulture pecking at his rottin’ flesh. Just my brand a’ luck. Not only did I get run out of town I had to deal with a flesh-eating monster while my hands were tied and I had no gun. The sun was at high noon, beating down on my bare head, having had my hat stolen. Being both close to the mule and downwind from the stumbler meant that I couldn’t smell nothing but decay. I’d have puked if there was anything in my belly. After a day’s ride and a day spent dragging the mule my body was completely empty. If I could’ve died from this, I would’ve. I looked behind me and saw that, sure enough, the stumbler was still frantically crawlin’ after me. We’d been at this all mornin’. It was only sheer luck that I had woke up before it started chewin’ on me. There was no way to outrun it, hampered as I was, and it could follow me since it was following a trail of blood ...

We buried Wyatt the next day early in the morning. Beth wanted to get it done before it got too hot. We had to go into town later to see the Psycho Surgeon and get my nose fixed. Pete, the other ranch hand, was a fairly good medic with the supplies he had, but if I didn't get the work done I was going to look like a monster for the rest of my life. Because I was hopped up on painkillers and pretty loopy Beth did most of the digging. I sat on the truck bed and watched her sling piles of dirt out of the ground. There vultures lazily circling in the air overhead. Beth told me not to worry about it. They wouldn't come near Wyatt's body while I was sitting next to it. They still made me uneasy. While Pete wasn't the greatest at medicine, he and Jeremy were very good at body disposal. They wrapped Wyatt up tight in plastic sheeting. If there wasn't a well of crimson blood pooling at one end you would think you were only looking at a well trussed up pervert in a gimp s...