“Karl, no!”
He bent his wrist and pressed the barrel to her abdomen.
Years ago, when she’d drained her liquor cabinet over a long weekend, she’d spilled a bunch of secrets. Chief among them was her own trade. In the late Eighties she had been diagnosed with a rare form of intestinal cancer. The doctors said it should have killed her.
Now Karl decided he would finish the job.
“This is for the Traders.”
He shot her three times in the gut.
83
Ash kept running. Ever since she’d entered this woodsy section, she’d struggled to keep pace. With Jake weighing her down, she could barely keep Mick in sight. Her flashlight found him and lost him again and again. Even running her hardest, she could barely see the snowy spray his feet kicked up.
Before long, a cold despair sank through her, sapping her remaining strength. A cramp swelled beneath her ribs. Her stride broke. The chase had never looked more futile, yet she had to keep pumping her legs. Had to keep fighting the terrain. Had to—
Gunfire barked in the distance.
Mick stumbled as if he’d been struck. He doubled over, hugging his stomach as he collapsed into the snow.
No bullet could have hit him, not through the surrounding pines. Ash assumed someone’s traded parts were damaged. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t enough to keep Mick down. He writhed in place for mere seconds before climbing to his knees.
Snow nipped Ash’s sweaty face. Wind pierced her jacket and jeans. The cold devoured her. Even though Mick’s fall presented a golden opportunity to gain ground, she found herself wishing she could pass out instead.
She recognized this feeling. It overcame her countless times when she was hunched over her guitar. It reminded her of all the mercilessly late nights she crafted riffs and solos. Of all the doubt she’d endured. Of all the band breakups, low-paying gigs, stolen gear, and every setback in between. If she could overcome that shit, she could overcome bodily exhaustion and the weight of a shivering boy.
“Hang on, Jake!”
Jake moaned and hugged her neck tightly.
Ash sprinted ahead. A powerful urgency surged through her thighs—warmth, strength, need. She would catch Mick. She had to. Once she got within range, she’d pump every last bullet into his head.
His footprints led her out of the woodsy area. Ahead a narrow muddy lane stretched between the creek and the pines. She followed it and saw him stumbling ahead of her, clutching his gut. Ash realized he was rushing toward the thickest fog. Toward the bend. She knew better—he meant to drink the bend water. It was the safest way to return his traded parts to Snare. If he succeeded, Ash wouldn’t get the chance to wreck Snare’s brain.
Clutching Jake tighter, she pumped her knees. The cold stopped bothering her. Even the kid’s weight stopped mattering. He felt as light as a guitar strapped across her shoulder.
That’s all this is, she thought. Another show on the road. Big stage, huge stakes. Time to rock.
The bend was close now. She’d have to shoot soon.
“Hold tight, Jake,” she said. “Wrap your legs around my back. Pretend you’re a monkey.”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“Do it!”
His shoes brushed her thighs. They scraped past her hips and curled loosely behind her back. Not the surest hold, but better than dangling like a sixty-pound necklace. With one arm secure beneath his butt, she lifted the other from his back and stuck her flashlight between her teeth. Jake’s weight dragged her forward, but she leaned her shoulders back to compensate.
Once she was balanced, she withdrew the handgun from her pocket.
Mick glanced over his shoulder. When he noticed her outstretched gun, he turned, ran a few more steps, and dove into the creek. Water leaped in a massive splash. He swam frantically, arms windmilling.
Ash fought to maintain her balance against Jake’s dead weight. Danger pressed in on both sides of the narrow pathway. To her right, branches hooked and clawed. To her left, the creek rushed, eager to douse her like a fading fire. Before long she could only drop one boot directly in front of the other. With each step, the balancing act grew more demanding, like a guitar solo just beyond her skill level.
Ahead, the creek curved along the rock cliff. Despite the fog, things looked familiar. She smelled the muddy, fishy stench of the bend. Tasted its mucky air.
The sound of Mick’s splashes intensified.
Lifting her chin, she spotted him dead ahead. A leftover lantern illuminated him at the cusp of the bend. There was no sense in hesitating. She aimed for him and fired.
Boom.
His body jerked.
She’d hit him!
But only in the shoulder. Fuck.
She was lining up another shot when he dove into the bend.
After setting Jake safely aside beneath a tree, she rushed toward the bend. Standing over it, she realized the surface was stiff as glass, surreal. It neither flowed nor rippled, despite Mick’s underwater thrashing.
She searched for his head. She spotted the vague outline of a leg.
Then his chest.
Neck.
Face.
She fired.
The bullet ricocheted off the creek surface. Impossible! She fired again. The second bullet bounced.
“Goddammit!”
In the lantern light she saw his mouth was wide open, drinking an overdose of bend water. Bubbles left his bearded lips. They floated like a necklace string, bursting as they reached the surface. Soon the bubbles stopped rising. In their place, his body rose. Mick floated to the surface, and the creek nudged him downstream, gently, as if it felt guilty for using him.
Ash noticed his jaw was missing.
That meant his brain was gone too.
84
Now there was only one way to kill Snare.
But before Ash could finish the dam, she needed to get Jake out of his wet clothes. He shivered as she lugged him over to the duffle bag Lauren had left behind just before sunset. Hard to believe how much had changed since then. The bag was covered in snow, but the clothes inside were dry. Cold, but dry.
Jake shivered as she peeled away his wet jacket, shirt, jeans, and underwear. He moaned as if she were peeling his flesh off along with them. She briskly dried him with a fluffy bath towel his mom had packed. His body looked pale. Ghastly pale. Pink blemishes covered him like bruises. The sight worried her.
She wrapped a fresh towel around his wet hair. That would at least shield his head from the elements. For extra wind protection, she propped the folding table on its side, sheltering him.
Jake started shivering more slowly, less emphatically. Ash realized he was weakening.
“Don’t fall asleep.” She lightly slapped his cheek. “You hear me?”
Jake blinked. The flesh surrounding his eyes remained scarred and ugly, but two healthy brown orbs looked up at her.
“Ash?” he said. “You have…freckles?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Listen, let’s get you into your spare clothes. They’re gonna feel cold, but you’ll warm them up.”
Jake whimpered.
She helped him into dry jeans. Then she handed him his socks. Then his shirt. Though he was dry and dressed, his teeth chattered. She couldn’t imagine how bad it was freezing your eight-year-old ass off. Poor kid. He moaned, and something melted inside her. Her eyes stung, hot despite the cold.
Her teeth chattering, she unzipped her jacket and shrugged out of it. Then she removed her hoodie. Wearing nothing above the waist but a tank top and bra, she shivered brutally. Her exposed arms went numb as she tugged the hoodie over Jake’s tiny body and draped the jacket around him. She tucked his arms through the sleeves and zipped him. Then she undid her belt and double-wrapped it around his waist to trap whatever heat he might generate.
“How you feeling?” she asked, rubbing her arms.
“Better, I guess.” He blinked. “Aren’t you freezing?”
“Nope,” she lied. “My tattoos keep me warm.”
“Tattoos can do that?”
“If you have lots and lots, yeah.”
“Sure you don’t need your jacket?”
“Nah. Besides, it looks good on you.”
“Can we leave?”
“Let me finish damming this creek. Then hopefully everybody’ll go back to norm—” She stopped. Jake didn’t know about the fog disease. Best to keep it that way. “I mean, yeah, we’ll head home soon.”
“Is my dad coming with us?”
“I hope so.”
“Why’d you shoot him?”
Ash opened her mouth, intending to bullshit him, but decided to tell him straight. “Snare, the creek ghost, is trying to kill us. Only way to fight back is by hurting our traded parts. That’s why I shot your dad’s leg.”
“Is that why he shot that girl? The one who was with you?”
“Yeah…that’s why.”
“Oh.” He swallowed. “Where’s my mom?”
Ash sighed. Kids asked the worst questions. “In her car.”
“Can you call her?”
“My phone’s dead.” Just like Lauren, she thought morbidly. “Hang tight. I’ll finish this dam, then we—”
The water splashed. Not the usual trickle but an ocean-caliber flush. Ash turned to see, holding up a lantern.
Something broke the creek’s surface.
At first it resembled a fat red worm. Then three more worms poked up alongside it. No, not worms—fingers on a hand. A red hand without flesh, the muscles and tendons exposed. It rose from the water, revealing a skinless, muscled forearm that dripped with syrupy blood.
The hand reached ahead and slapped the bank. The fingers clenched earth. Flexing its bicep, the arm dragged out the body attached to it.
“What the fuck…?”
In the light of the lantern, a blood-slathered skull rose above the surface. Two hollow eye sockets stared out at her. As more of the creature lurched onto dry land, she noticed the chest was shriveled, evidently lacking a ribcage. Then she noticed that the left arm ended at an empty wrist. She knew exactly why it was empty.
“Snare,” she said, grabbing her gun.
The beast lifted its head. Ash fired.
85
Bullets passed through the body like it was composed of water. The Snare-Beast didn’t even flinch. Ash kept squeezing the trigger, hoping to strike a weak point, but even a lucky shot to the face had no effect. Nothing did. The gun went empty with a hopeless click, and she flung it at the creature in a panic, the weapon bouncing off its shoulder and into the creek.
The beast drove its lone fist into the snow, followed by its empty left wrist. It pushed itself up, straightening its sturdy, bloody arms until it assumed a gorilla-like stance, dragging its legs—limp and useless below the knees—behind. Despite its compromised legs, the creature moved with speed and tenacity, rushing toward Ash as she dove behind the table.
Clutching Jake, she braced for impact.
None came.
The beast overshot them and crashed into the thicket. After ripping itself free, Snare tilted its gruesome head, turning an ear toward them, evidently listening in its blindness. It reset its stance and charged again, shifting trajectory when Jake whimpered.
Ash rushed him away from the table, toward the far pines. A thundering smack sounded behind her. She turned around in time to watch the table bounce halfway across the clearing. One strike from Snare’s shoulder had sent it flying. She couldn’t believe the monster’s strength. Her stomach plummeted.
“We need to split up,” she whispered to Jake. “I’ll head toward the trench. You stay quiet and avoid that thing.”
“No, wait, don’t leave—I’m scared.”
“It can’t see us. Stay quiet and you’ll be safe.”
Jake nodded. “You be safe too.”
“I will.”
She circled toward the trench, knowing that the sound of her footsteps would draw the beast like blood draws a shark. She looked back and saw the skinless head tilt, listening. She was almost within reach of a shovel when the monster darted toward her, closing the gap in a split second, raising its thick red hand to strike. Her reflexes kicked in, and she dove sideways, dodging a vicious swipe. The beast’s fingers caught the back of her leg, however, and knocked her flat on her chest.
“No!” Jake shouted.
The beast spun toward him.
Ash rushed to grab the shovel and held it defensively in front of her, like a spear. “Over here, you bitch!” She slapped the spade against the snowy ground, trying to lure the beast away from Jake. “Right here!”
Snare whirled, tossing bloody spray into the frigid air. Its arm swung in a wide arc. Ash sidestepped the swipe and thrust the shovel hard, driving the pointed tip into the creature’s lower back. The spade passed through with a crunchy squelch.
She expected a death scream, but the beast merely snorted. It twisted around, seized the shovel, and tore it free of its lower back. The gashed muscles sealed instantly, like some dark miracle.
As Ash turned to run, something plowed into her back like a minivan. It leveled her so fast she didn’t remember hitting the ground. She rolled onto her side, gasping for air. Then a subhuman fist struck. Pain exploded across her body, agony so perfect she wasn’t sure where she’d been hit.
The arm rose for another punch.
“Ash!” Jake yelled. “Get up!”
The beast hesitated. Ash knew it wanted Jake, wanted his eyes.
She seized the moment of distraction and rolled into the trench. The arm swung for her and missed, blood dripping hot onto her bare shoulder.
“Ash!”
Again, Snare whirled, scraping a bloody path through the snow. Jake lunged forward a few steps, announcing his position. Snare adjusted and launched across the clearing toward him like a cheetah.
Jake screamed.
Ash pulled the knife from her pocket. Earlier she couldn’t bring herself to destroy her hand. Even now she hesitated as she angled the blade toward her palm. Stabbing it would waste all the sacrifices from the past two days. It would—
Do something great with that hand.
Breathing heavily, she watched the monster leap at Jake.
Jake struggled through the shin-deep snow for a few steps and then stumbled, fell. He lay there, a bug waiting to be squashed.
The beast raised its fist.
“No!”
The fist propelled downward.
Ash drove the knife through her palm.
Fire burst between her fingers and shot up her forearm. Her head pounded. Her vision blurred. She tumbled sideways, shrieking, until her head thumped the bottom of the trench.
She forced herself to sit up, blinking away tears, and saw Snare writhing beside Jake. The beast clutched its empty wrist, sharing her hell.
Jake sat petrified, his face white with horror.
“Get outta there, Jake!” she yelled, her voice edged with pain. “Follow the creek! Find your grandpa! He’s out there somewhere—run!”
Hesitating, Jake backpedaled toward the creek. He looked at Ash—maybe for the last time—then plowed through the snow to the edge of the thicket and disappeared.
Snare rolled onto its stomach and propped itself up on its elbows.
Ash twisted the knife, and they both screamed.
Karl stretched two fingers deep into his throat. Tears stung his eyes as he scratched a moist softness behind his tongue, triggering his gag reflex. His throat hitched before he puked up gunky fluid. He spat it out but was still aware of something foreign moving inside his stomach.
Good God.
What had Narducci said about drinking creek water? Fifteen minutes till Traders started losing their parts?
A few minutes had already passed. No telling how much time he had left.
“Grandpa!” a voice cried in the distance. “Grandpaaa!”
Karl bolted upright and ran toward the sound.
�
��Jake! Little fella! Where ya at?”
Jake shouted again, and Karl answered as he ran.
Karl planned to make his final minutes count. Soon as he found Jake, they would rush back to the bend. Karl wound finish the dam. That would be easy. At this point all he needed to do was break the trench wall, jam the table into place, and redirect the water down the spillway. Easy, but he had to hurry. Once he lost his skin and knees, he’d be done.
As he listened for Jake’s calls, he wondered how much skin would vanish. Maybe just a thin layer. More likely, he’d lose all of it, and everything inside would spill out, uncontained. He didn’t want to picture it.
He had to keep moving.
For Jake. For Trent. For Ashlee.
For the people worth living for.
Worth fighting for.
He raced along the creek, arms and legs pumping. The wind sliced through him. His muscles shrank and tightened around his bones. He could’ve used a coffee from the Downhill Diner right then. Anything to fight off the chills.
Up ahead, he saw Jake pushing through the snow toward him.
The look on the boy’s face left Karl even colder.
86
Every time Snare threatened to rise, Ash jerked the blade penetrating her palm like a lever. White-hot bolts shot through her hand and arm. Her skull felt like a glass ball cracking against concrete. Her consciousness flickered, yet the beast kept rising. Kept recovering. Though they shared the pain, they didn’t share the damage. Destroying her hand wouldn’t destroy Snare.
But the dam might. She had to finish it.
Trouble was, she couldn’t imagine crawling in her current state, let alone grabbing the table and shoving it across the trench.
Do something great with that hand.
The blade still embedded in her palm, she propped herself up on her free arm. The cold no longer bothered her bare arms. It seemed her pain receptors were too occupied with the knife to react to anything else.
Across from her, Snare also propped itself up, mirroring her. The blood-slathered creature crawled forward.
Bad Parts Page 29
