He took another look at the project on the monitor and smiled. He had finally worked out all the kinks and errors. Not wanting to tempt fate, he saved the screen and then typed in another URL to check the sports scores. Atlanta was playing Boston in an interleague game tonight and he wanted to see if his Braves had found their offense after being waxed the previous night, 14-0.
The game popped up and he cringed. The Braves were down 16-0 in the top of the seventh and it looked like four different players were doing the damage. The only good news was that the game, already delayed three hours by that last thunderstorm, was in danger of being called by another approaching thunderst–
“Yahh! What the hell?”
He shoved the keyboard drawer in and slapped at his left leg. Looking down, he curled his lips in disgust when he saw a roach scurrying away. Angrily, he spun around and stomped on the bug, smearing its body across the cement floor.
Damned roaches, he snorted. Buggers were getting bolder, crawling right up his leg like he was a piece of furniture.
It was the rain and the heat and the humidity that was driving more of the pests into houses all over the neighborhood. He’d already killed a dozen this evening alone. It had gotten so bad that he had taken to keeping a fly swatter next to his computer workstation.
He lifted his foot and looked at the remains on the floor. At least these were easy to kill. It was those giant cockroaches that really got him. He still remembered the one he’d smashed that very morning. It had scared the crap out of him, coming in under his bedroom door and running right across the rug, straight at him.
Was it really trying to get at him or was it running for cover to get out of the open? Clyde didn’t care. He stomped on it as soon as it got close. Then he stomped on it again when it kept on running. Finally, he had to step on it, twist his foot and then drag it across the rug, leaving roach parts behind.
Remember, Clyde, they're not cockroaches.
His neighbor, Roger, had pointed that out to him one day. The giant insects were really called Palmetto bugs, but they looked like roaches. And they could fly. Well, most roaches could fly, but these…Palmettos…could fly across a room.
Suddenly, one flew right by his head and he jumped back, sending his chair rolling back until it hit the far wall. Struggling to catch his breath, Clyde watched the thing alight on his flat-screen television. He got angry. It seemed as if they were trying to take over the whole damned house.
He grabbed his fly swatter and edged over to the television. The bug stopped, its antennae twitching as if it knew he was there. He feinted at it and it took off, toward for the far wall. Clyde smiled, happy that the stupid pest had taken his bait. He swatted at it with a forehand worthy of Steffi Graf, which connected and sent the bug bouncing off the opposite wall. He followed up by crushing it with his booted foot when it landed, stunned, on the floor.
It took him a few minutes to retrieve a paper towel to clean up the remains of both roaches and dispose of them unceremoniously in the garbage. He came back and sat down at his computer again. He figured he might as well do some more work instead of going to bed.
Quite frankly, he really did not want to sleep. He was worried about the roaches. A few days earlier, he’d slapped away a Palmetto that had crawled across his stomach as he’d read a book in bed. Now, with the windows open to let in positive air flow to replace what the exhaust fan took out, every time a breeze disturbed the hair on his legs, he was slapping at them. He had red marks everywhere.
He’d finally convinced himself that he was being foolish and would fall back asleep long enough to get a decent night’s rest before work. The effort of convincing himself usually took an hour, thanks to his insatiable curiosity for useless information. How many times had he read about horrible mishaps involving cockroaches crawling into ears, up nostrils and into people’s mouths as they slept? Sometimes, he wondered if he wasn't too smart for his own good.
He brought his screen back from screensaver mode and scrunched his face. His project was almost finished, yet whenever he took a fresh look, he found something he wanted to change. He supposed that maybe he was trying to be perfect with this little scheme.
Little?
If all went as planned, there would be nothing little about it. He’d get back at them. And the best part would be that they would be the cause of their own downfall.
Finally, he finished and set up the project for delivery. He made it for the next morning, at two a.m., well before even the early risers were up. Satisfied with himself, he leaned back in his chair and let out a deep breath.
That’s when he noticed it.
Sitting right on the paper loaded into his printer holding tray.
Antennae twitching as it looked at him, unfazed by the fly swatter sitting nearby.
My God, that roach is huge, Clyde thought, sitting upright. Normally, they were slightly larger than his thumb. This one was bigger than two thumbs side by side.
He thought about his swatter, but reaching for it would make the roach scurry away and he didn’t want something that huge crawling around his house. Besides, sitting on the edge of the stack of printer paper, it did not have enough of a foundation beneath it to be crushed. He’d swat it and the paper would bend, taking out most of the kinetic force of the swing.
Instead, he reached over to the other side of the computer and grabbed the roach spray. He normally kept it on hand for the smaller roaches because they died almost immediately after being sprayed, but the big ones died more slowly and more violently, thrashing about, running to and fro, flitting this way and that.
They’d run up the wall, take flight and land in his food and drink.
He didn’t have a choice this time, though. He switched the can to his right hand. Making sure he wasn’t aiming at himself, he leaned forward and caught the roach full in the face with a burst of spray.
He breathed a sigh of relief when the roach leaped away from him. He watched it disappear into the dark space behind the printer stand. For good measure, he stood, leaned over and sprayed two blasts into the darkness.
He decided that it was time for bed. He didn’t want to be around for this roach’s death throes. He had already set his computer to send out the e-mail, so there was nothing else for him to do anyway.
He logged off, pushed back from the workstation and got up. Stretching, he grabbed his swatter and his spray and headed upstairs. At the top of the stairs, he hit the lights and sent the den into darkness.
A moment later, he came back to the top of the stairs and stared down at the bottom.
He listened but caught nothing. Hmm, he was sure he’d heard something. He finally told himself that he was tired and had imagined he'd heard something out of the ordinary. Yeah, just like that light he thought he'd seen in the woods, he mused.
Despite the mental reassurance, deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was happening down there and it was more than just the death throes of a bug. Quickly, he reached back and turned off the exhaust fan. He then turned to the switch on the opposite wall and clicked on the light at the bottom of the stairwell.
He saw nothing and sighed in relief.
Then, a chill ran up his spine and he shivered. Why was he letting himself get so unnerved? Had the roaches gotten him that upset? If so, maybe he should spend the money for an exterminator.
He thought about letting loose some more spray toward the bottom of the stairs, if only to give him some false bravado. He didn’t, though. That would only acknowledge that his unfounded fears were true, and he couldn’t afford to show fear. Not now.
Chiding himself, he turned off the light again, set the security alarm on the wall unit by his bedroom and turned in for the night. If all went well, he’d have a big day tomorrow. Even better, those environmental bastards and their eco-babble about the habitats he would be clearing for his latest strip mall would be dealt with once and for all. Best of all, there wasn’t anything they could do about it. People needed job
s more than they needed bird nests.
In the darkness of the stairwell, something moved up the wall.
The peacefulness of the Stone Mountain neighborhood was shattered again by the ear-piercing sirens and bright red and blue flashing lights of the DeKalb police cars. Nobody’s sleep was disturbed, though. Everyone on the block was already awake when the two police cars screeched to a halt before 981 Cabot Court.
Sergeant Oliver Danbury was out of his car like a shot, sprinting across the lawn, through the house's open front door and up the staircase. He and the officer behind him had their hands on the grips of their pistols the whole time.
A female officer stood in the doorway of the bedroom, but she was turned away from them, her hands covering her mouth. Danbury pushed past her, vainly looking for someone to tell him the situation.
Exasperated, he looked around. The bedroom was a mess. It looked as if a tornado had swept through.
Danbury saw something in the far corner, strode over and cringed when he saw Gaudin’s body splayed half off the bed, arms and legs akimbo. Danbury was sure that he'd never forget the horrific look on Gaudin's face. My God, he thought, it looked as if the man's eyes were about to burst from his skull.
Danbury looked back at the female officer and, for the life of him, he couldn't imagine such a seasoned veteran gagging at the condition of the corpse.
"Fletcher, pull yourself together," he snapped. "What the hell happ–"
He stopped abruptly and looked down. Something was wrong with the body.
He leaned in for a closer look.
Gaudin's cheeks puffed out. Something was inside Gaudin’s mouth and it was moving.
Then, Danbury saw the corpse's lips move, the mouth open and thumb-sized shapes flood out, across the dead man’s face. Two of the shapes quickly sprouted wings and took flight even as Danbury suppressed the urge to scream.
Gaudin’s mouth was full of giant roaches!
While the female cop might have turned away from the terrible sight, Fergis, the other officer in the room, went one further by heading downstairs to the den as fast as his legs could carry him. He stopped by a computer, leaned against the wall opposite it and took several deep breaths to suppress his gag reflex.
He didn't notice the computer screen suddenly come to life and display a short message.
"Delivery failed! Do you wish to debug the application?"
The following is an excerpt from Hunters, the upcoming full-length novel from Gregory Marshall Smith…
Hunters
Prologue
Kane could not believe his luck. In all his years of hunting and prowling, he had never found a woman so exquisite. He pulled back, gazing longingly into her eyes.
He smiled as her near perfect body writhed in the ecstasy he’d now given her. He felt an incredibly strong pull from this seemingly delicate creature, trying to take him back down to her as they lay on the grass. She was completely oblivious to anything, except the sensations he knew must be sweeping through her body.
The rustle of the trees. The crush of leaves across the jogging path. The almost hypnotic lapping of the Trinity River against a nearby boat dock. All of these served to make the intercourse of Kane and the woman, known as Heidi Nguyen, as close to love-making as either had experienced in far too long.
Kane smiled and, in that moment, decided she had to be his. There could be no leaving her to wake up in the daylight, groggy and unsure of what had happened. He knew he’d regret it much longer than she would, if she even vaguely remembered him at all.
Pulling back his lips, he bared his inhumanly long incisors and plunged them back into her throat. At that, she peaked yet again, arching her back and shaking as she clung to him like a second skin. All the while, he drank furiously, with each drop of her blood taking her closer to his world and further from hers.
“So, you like this, do you?” Kane said, pulling back for a breath of air. “Trust me, my dear. You’ll come to love giving this to others very soon.”
He hadn’t known what drove this lovely young woman to suddenly get out of a car on the Main Street Bridge and walk down to the poorly lit jogging path along the river; but he didn’t care. He’d felt her blood pulsing through her veins because she had been angry, possibly at the man in the car. That did not matter now, it was her mistake, and his fortune, that allowed him to pull her into the shadows under the bridge.
Kane never had a problem attracting women. He’d once been one of Europe’s top fashion models, with long wavy hair, a chiseled jaw and muscles like granite, features he kept even after being turned. But, he had only attracted shallow women, who did not have the intellect to sustain the kind of relationship he craved.
It would not be so with Heidi Nguyen. She was beautiful, her body sensuous and powerful. He could feel the intellect flowing behind her almond-shaped eyes. He felt himself blessed by the fates, she’d allowed emotions to overrule that intellect at just the right time for him.
Suddenly, his senses flared, like a four-alarm fire. Someone was coming. He pressed a hand lightly over Heidi’s mouth, melting back into the shadows, nearly becoming one with the darkness. He knew he could easily kill whoever was stupid enough to interfere, but he had someone else to think about now. A cry of help from this stranger, before he died, might elicit the police and force him to abandon his newfound love. No, he needed to err on the side of caution and, if need be, strike at the most opportune time.
Then, to his surprise, he sensed more than one presence. He sniffed the air. Human. He could only wonder why they were on this jogging path, at this ungodly hour; and, he thought with an involuntary shudder, they were walking deliberately toward the bridge. He caught his breath, the silhouettes now producing flashlight beacons to stab into the darkness, playing them across the shadows, toward him.
Impulsively, he leapt forth into the nearest beam, fangs bared, hands now transformed into clawed weapons that could rend flesh as easily as a knife through butter.
“Another fly come to my web?” he said, fiercely. “Or a hyena trying to steal the kill? Which will it be?”
Kane never saw who shot him, but he felt it. The intense pain, as something pierced his thick skin, embedding itself deep into his chest, was nearly unbearable. He could not scream, his mind racing wildly as it fought to comprehend its sudden change in status – from hunter to prey.
“Y-you dare,” he gasped as he staggered back, acting more like a man offended than one who’d been assaulted. “D-don’t you know who I am? We own this town.”
“Yeah, well, we should all have a dream,” a deep, disembodied voice replied.
The pain in Kane’s chest was excruciating. He looked down at the stubby piece of wood protruding from his torso. His usually sharp mind could not comprehend what it was.
His legs gave up and he felt himself falling – he gasped for air and feebly waved a clawed hand at his attackers. Soon, he found himself tumbling into shadows much darker than that from which he had sprung.
Alas, even the thought at having finally found eternal companionship abandoned him, for his final thoughts did not include a wisp of Heidi Nguyen.
Above Kane’s body, the two silhouettes stopped. One stepped forward, into the moonlight, pulling something long and shiny from somewhere on his person. He raised it and, with one swing, made sure Kane would never take the blood of anyone again.
“God, I hate it when you do that, Ryker,” said the woman next to him.
“Show some backbone,” the man called Ryker snorted. “For a change.”
The woman glared at him, but stopped when she heard a moan nearby. She played her flashlight back into the shadows. Cursing, she moved over to Heidi’s body.
She didn’t pay attention as Kane’s corpse suddenly flared up like a match, dying out almost as quickly. Caring only about Kane’s victim, she called Ryker over to her.
“What about her?” she queried, sounding forlorn and sad. “She’s lost a lot of blood. She’s well into the turn
. You know we can’t let that happen.”
“No, we can’t,” Ryker agreed. “But she might be one for the doc.”
“Always the pretty ones, right Cantrell?” the female commented, with disgust.
“Au contraire. I saved you, didn’t I?”
Glaring at him, the woman fought the urge to hit him with her flashlight.
“Very funny,” she said finally. “Okay, check her out then. If you think she’s worth salvaging, we’ll take her. But, if she can’t be helped, you’re the one who has to finish her.”
“So I have to do all the work, eh?” Ryker commented. “What else is new?”
Ryker looked down into Heidi’s eyes, feeling pity instantly. He knew she was yet another innocent victim, in a war she didn’t know had been declared. He saw her eyes darting wildly side to side, as if the brain behind them could not handle what was happening to it. Shaking his head, he checked her throat, touched her carotid artery, and looked at her skin pallor.
“I’m truly sorry about this, Miss,” Ryker said. “I really am. But, it’s war and everybody dies.”
As he lifted his obscenely long knife into her field of vision, her eyes stopped darting and grew wide in stark fear. Breaking contact with her almost pleading eyes, he lifted the knife and brought it down toward Heidi’s head. Seconds later, he pulled the knife out of the ground, the blade now clean of Kane’s blood.
He looked down at Heidi, showing no surprise, and saw those beautiful almond eyes rolling up into her head, taking her body into sweet oblivion. He glanced up and across the dark river toward downtown Fort Worth. Standing to his feet, he held his knife up to the moonlight and sheathed it.
“One more down, Riordan,” he said to himself. “And one step closer to you.”
Dark Tidings: Volumes I & II Page 9
