Swathes of bluebottles fizzed on the drying blood like an undulating black curtain. Max walked past the empty shop and paused, his nostrils twitching as the heat of the meat hit him like a drug. Not again! He looked around, checking nobody could see, and shoved through the locked door with the strength in his bulging, stretching muscles. Inside was even hotter than the sun-scorched street, and the smell was eye-watering. Max took several deep breaths and fell hard onto all fours, howling and clawing at the bloated corpse. Chunk by rancid chunk the meat went down, flies and all.
Author bio: Carolyn Ward is a writer from Wolverhampton, UK. She lives for horror and even a smidge of gore.
For more follow @Viking_Ma
Corpsewolf is part of 101 Fiction issue 20.
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