I don’t need a degree in occultism to know what’s going on: that’s Ñox Cayu in front of us. In the flesh.

I do mean flesh quite literally: its giant mass seems to be made entirely of indistinct strips of flesh. In places they’re still together enough for me to know that thing is build with dead bodies in place of building blocks. Lots of poultry there, it makes sense for it to be his prime material, but I think I see human remains as well. All if it is shifting and moving like the creature is still shaping itself.

Of course I think of all of that later, when I’m done panicking and we’re all in the truck at a fast enough speed that it couldn’t possibly follow us. First we face that ugly mess rising from where the meat chute stood and we just run. Domenica grabs Nathan like she’s gonna score a touchdown and she bolts towards the pickup. She left it open. Dave is already at the door, ready to get in and drive. I have three confused and afraid people depending on me.

The broken container helps me out: bits and pieces still restrain the headless thing like a metal cage. Instead of charging at us, it fights against its restraints, ripping through it like it’s made of cardboard. The chute isn’t gonna last long.

The woken up town folks use that time to stumble away and most likely pee themselves in fear. I’d do that too, but I have three people to shove in the back of a truck. Now that we’re here, I don’t feel so guilty about not saving everyone: I mostly wanna live.

It’s pretty hard to strap them in, they won’t stop asking questions. The boxes filling the trailer are also not helping. I hope there’s nothing too fragile in there, because this is no time to be delicate. We’re just stepping on stuff.

“We don’t have time for that now!” I say to the tenth ‘what’s going on’ I hear. I’m gonna have to stay with them or they might do something stupid. My dad in particular looks like he’d jump off the truck to get away faster if he could. I hold his arm tighter and knock on the rear window. No point in calling them out: the rotten giant shape is still letting out that unhinged howl, I’d have to scream to hear myself. I haven’t realized the sheer volume of its yell yet, nor have I questioned how it can even have a voice while being headless. All things in due time. The sound is not the most shocking of what’s happening here.

I knock again. They hear me this time and we maneuver towards the exit in a fashion that makes me think I’m not the only one panicking. As we accelerate I get a clearer view of the mad god than ever before, its shape unmistakable: it’s a giant plucked chicken with a sort of face on its belly. So that’s a thing? That’s reality now? We drive faster, putting coops and buildings between it and us. The wind hits my nape and face. I feel like giving up on a lot of things right now. I don’t wanna have time to think about all this. Can’t I go into shock again? Please stop flipping my world upside-down.

---

A few kilometers down the road towards the town, we pause on the side of the road. I requested it: Tig has started puking. The poor thing seems to be really unwell, not like I can blame her. I’m trying to bandage my dad as well, he’s the most hurt of the bunch. His left arm is in a pretty bad shape. Thankfully it seems to be on a surface level. They have stopped asking questions, probably realizing I have no answer to offer them that would make sense. They saw the oversized raw chicken just as well as I did.

Domenica gets down the cabin. “Deb, we can take a few minutes here but I think we should hurry,” she says. I nod in agreement while I hold up Tig’s hair. How could I not see what a mess you’ve become? I’m a really shitty friend. It’s a good thing now is not the time for self-loathing, because I got bucket-loads of it at the ready. Domenica must have sensed something because she walks up to me and simply places a hand on my back to support me. It makes me feel so accepted.

“It’s OK,” she says and I can hear how shaken she is. Well, duh. We just got chased by a evil god made of dead flesh. I’m panicky at best. Her soothing voice gets me back on track. “It’s gonna be OK,” she says, “we’re gonna get away from here and let whatever agency deal with it. We’re gone now. It’s not our problem anymore.” That is a relief.

“It’s not true,” says a tiny voice. It’s Nathan, who has climbed down from the cabin. He’s pale, but he looks determined, his hands clutched, his lips pressed together. “We have to go back, now,” he says. “We need to get to the mountain altar before it does.”

I’m getting concerned. If even Nathan is getting disturbed enough that he starts spewing bullshit, it’s probably the right time to leave. “What are you talking about, little buddy?” I say in an attempt to make him cool down. He looks like he wants to play hero again, but now is really not the time.

He looks at me and explains, very seriously again. “We need to climb to the altar and seal him. Seal Ñox Cayu again before he gets his strength back. He’s not supposed to be here.”

It’s weird, how serious he has gotten. For the first time I really start wondering what his deal is. He really is a special kid, right? Domenica seems pretty upset.

“Nathan, did you remove your amulet?” she says, anxious. Nathan opens his hand: he has a sort of pendant all curled up in his palm. It’s shaped a bit like a pine seed, but dark blue. “I had to,” he says. He has a look that says he knows he’s in trouble. “I’ll put it back on as soon as we’re done, I swear. But we have to handle this. I’m sorry.”

Domenica frowns and takes him in her arms. “Who warned you?” she says. He replies by giving her a hug.

“It was the green hand this time,” he says quietly. I don’t get much of all this, but it’s obvious he has more weight on the conversation than I thought he would. Domenica turns towards Dave and me. She looks pretty serious now.

“Nathan sees and knows things. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you please trust my son like I do?” she says. She seems embarrassed but determined.

“Well,” I say, “I can’t say I understand what’s going on, but believing you, Nathan, it doesn’t seem crazier than what we’ve seen today, right?” Just thinking about it makes me shiver. “Are we sure that thing didn’t follow us?” I say, rather anxious.

“It would be better if it had,” says Nathan. “It’s gone for the mountain top. It’s climbing El Pollo as we speak.”

OK, mountain climbing. It doesn’t seem to be that threatening. “What happens if it gets to the top?” I say.

“My best bet is, it’s going there to find its head. If it does find it, it won’t just be a monster. It will be an actual god.”

This sounds a lot worse. My parents are getting down the truck, still shaken and very lost. For a moment I feel like I’m dealing with an older version of them with Alzheimer. How will I do then, when it’s not a trick? The day they’re not getting better, not shaking away the blur? For what it’s worth, beyond the annoyances and the discomfort, they’re pretty much the place I can return to unconditionally. If I accept that I’ll be judged and told how life works as if there’s only one way. It’s a trade off.

“Deborah,” says my mom, “what’s going on? Why are we not going home?”

I don’t know how to explain this, but Domenica jumps to my rescue. “Excuse me,” she says, “we really have to make a stop somewhere and fix some things. Can you bear with us for a while?”

I’m looking for other ideas. “We could always drive them home and come back, we’re not that far from town,” I say.

“By then it will be too late,” says Nathan.

“I don’t get it, Nathan,” I say, thinking out loud. “Is your skill… like predicting the future? Or is it more of a vague feeling you’re having? Because you seem a little too sure of what’s happening, if I can say that nicely.” I’m embarrassed. It’s a little shameless to attack a kid on credibility grounds with a miniature apocalypse in the background, but I can’t let him put my weary family and friend in harm’s way for anything but the best reason.

Dave answers in his stead. “That amulet you have, it’s not the one you mother has, right? It’s not meant to shield you from the supernatural, I bet.”

Nathan nods and looks at him straight back, very calm. “It makes me more human,” he says.

There is a blank in the conversation and I couldn’t fill it with the help of a philharmonic orchestra. “OK,” I finally say, “we’d better get going if we want to catch that undercooked thing. Should we get going?”

To my surprise, everyone agrees, like we would rather have something super important to do rather than having to answer the million question in our heads, ‘our’ being mostly my mind. We drive off to the mountain again, loaded with sick people, an old man and a child.

Who are we supposed to be fighting again?