“Psst,” Murphy whispered.
When that failed to get his attention, Murphy put away his watch and grabbed his weapon. When he peeked over the crater wall he saw it immediately.
Against the rolling fog there was a gangly man in tattered clothing, an outfit more appropriate for someone interred at a cemetery. It had an unusually long nose, bald, ashen skin and beady black eyes.
What was most disturbing was the fact that it was gnawing on O’Reilly’s arm. Tearing flesh from bone with a casual indifference that was hard to imagine even the worst of the Huns doing. That’s no man.
Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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