Spawner- Mangling Black Goat

Behind her, the Black Goat screamed.  It was the kind of scream that someone made when their arm was broken, except that scream was one of surprise and agony, it rose, hit its crescendo, and then fell, so breath could be caught, and the next scream could begin.

The Black Goat reached the crescendo, then managed to squeak out another, shorter, more intense scream with that reserve of oxygen he kept in his lungs.

The third scream cut in before he could gasp in a breath, if it could even be called a scream.  It was to screams what the dry heave was to vomit.
...

She reached up to rub his upper arm as she turned and walked away.  She approached the Goat, who was reduced to crawling, burbling his screams more than anything.

Her approach took her in the opposite direction that the procession line of lemon-sized bugs traveled.  Bugs with snips of skin, chunks of meat…

She walked so her left foot was to her right and her right foot was to her left, weaving her way along the line to where the bloody goat crawled.  She had to abandon her skipping game because a group of very enterprising bugs were dragging a length of intestine out.

Looking back, she could see the bugs climbing up Spawner’s legs and finding holes to nestle into.  Holes in the thigh, in the very nice but alien buttocks, in sides, back… they brought the food in with them, to deposit it inside and feed their mother-father.  The pieces helped accelerate the man’s regeneration, replacing missing skin and muscle.

The bloody goat crawled toward his one doll that had no injuries yet.

She stepped on his hand, boot heel on skinless fingers.

“Oh, sorry about that,” she said.  She didn’t take her foot off of his hand.  “How rude of me.  I wanted to say, I really hope we didn’t get off on the wrong foot.”

She checked.  One of his feet was still intact.  The other was in the process of being dismantled, razor mandibles and multiple bugs working to pull apart the segments.

Really, it was marvelous that he was still somehow aware and conscious.  A testament to character.

He bled from the mouth, eyes widening as a new reel of intestine was tugged out of his abdomen.

But he managed something resembling a nod.

“Let’s get you some help,” she said.  She took her boot off his foot, then walked over to the unused doll.  Bending down, she took him by the hand, then led him to the silly, bloody, one-footed goat.

By the time she got there, the goat wasn’t moving.  She nudged his head with her foot, and saw him rouse.  Then she saw the flickering begin.  The transfer of wounds started, one by one.

- Ward, Interlude 15.y