THE SCAVENGERS

by

J. J. Ploss

It was impossible to ignore the howling of the beast. It had grown in volume until it drowned out the blaring of the television, the soothing aspects of beer. The beast demanded food and was not to be denied. Defeated, the man rose from his chair and headed into the warm spring night.

Knowingly, the man guided his car to a large city park. In its shadowy confines he knew that he could satisfy the beast as he had satisfied it before. Slowly he drove along one of the twisting roads, his eyes searching the benches that stood on the grass, straining to see the solitary figure that would quiet the beast. The parked cars he passed were given the once over as he passed them, another in the rear-view mirror. Once he stopped and entered a public rest-room, but emerged alone and continued his hunt; and all the while the beast within him thrashed and wailed for food.

Then a car ahead of him attracted his attention and he slowed so as not to pass. It, too, slowed, then stopped at a rest-room. Two youths stepped out and made their way to the stone building. The man pulled ahead, parked with his motor running and waited. In a few minutes the other car passed him and as they passed he took a long look. They stopped at the next rest-room, but when the man passed, they followed.

The man turned on a side road, the car behind followed. At the top of a hill, just beyond a street lamp, the man pulled on the shoulder. In a few seconds the other car was beside his. The beast whined.

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