“Yeah, but those shoulders, man. Not to mention we’re having a hard time keeping up.”
Dan couldn’t argue with the latter. He’d been doing the math along the route and so far their average speed was just under 90 and on some of the open stretches they’d had to push their vehicle well over the 150 mark. Nonetheless he shrugged. It was important to keep a lid on Cally’s anxiousness, bottle it up until it became useful. “Our vehicle can handle it, and the guy hits the gym once in a while. So what?”
“Yeah, well, when the time comes, maybe you should take him and I’ll go after the girl.”
“Don’t be stupid, and don’t forget who she is. We stick with the original plan. You’ll be fine.”
Ed arrived in a fanfare of plastic bottles and chip packets, all of it dumped on the rear passenger seat. “The car is sweet. Is it a ’69?”
Dan grinned, couldn’t help it. “Yeah, and there’s a chrome wolf’s head on the stick shift.” He glanced over his shoulder at the detritus in the back. “Couldn’t you have gotten me a sandwich?”
“From a gas station? Hell, no. You’ll get food—“
The throaty eruption of a nearby engine brought the exchange to a halt.
“Okay, he’s rolling,” Cally announced. “Time to go.”
««—»»
Movement in his peripheral vision. The girl had woken up and was stretching. A moment later she was leaning over the back, looking out of the window. It had been two hours since they’d pulled in for gas and for the thousandth time he checked the Charger’s gauges; temperatures looked fine, a quick calculation using the trip and they were still on target to arrive at the West Coast at noon the following day. They were also half way down on fuel, which was to be expected, but the needle still taunted him and reminded him those bastards would more than likely try something at the next stop.
“Still there?”
“Yes,” she said. “Maybe half a mile back, it’s hard to tell.”
He nodded. They both knew what was coming, ever since the other vehicle had gotten bold and joined them way back on the I-70 at Columbus. A quick glance at the rear view mirror, but his eyes didn’t linger. Hard to look at that boiling wall of cloud in their wake, hanging heavy and painting the sky black. No doubt the locals would put it down to an incoming storm, they were used to such sights as this. But this was no mere storm. Winter was on their tail, pushing them to their absolute limit.
He sensed her attention shift toward him. All that threat of ice, wind and rain, it was nothing compared to the power behind her eyes. And now she was staring at him while her fingers played with the talisman around her neck—a five-pointed star and a tiny bundle of twigs the color of gray bones, tied together with a jolly pink ribbon.
“We’ll be fine,” she said.
Her voice made him believe, and he attempted to relax as they sped toward the inevitable. Nothing to do now but let the car eat up the road and watch the horizon shift color as the sun went down. Another hour and it would be dark, front and back.
Subconsciously, he began to go over the odds and what was at stake. He hadn’t paid much attention during the briefing; he’d been in the midst of withdrawal, flushing out the drugs. Consequently, most of the stuff they’d told him he’d forgotten, which was probably for the better after one of the assassins had shown his face at the last rest stop. Something about the guy...
We’ll be fine. The words sang loud in his head like church bells at a wedding. They papered over his disquiet and made light of the monster inside. Because those boys back there weren’t alone in their menace. Did they know whom they were up against? Maybe they did, and had planned accordingly. He never ceased to be amazed at the different methods people tried in order to get the better of him. Or maybe they were going in blind. It brought a smile to his face until he considered he was operating under a similar delusion.
At least the girl had faith.
The car got on with the real business and swept them across the plain. He fell into its powerful rhythm and let it soothe him, let it carry him and his precious cargo toward the failing sunset. And in no time at all twilight arrived and brought with it a horde of birds and insects. Bugs hammered the windshield and fogged the view. He’d driven this route before, albeit under different circumstances, but he’d never seen it as crazy as this. It was an extension of what had begun as soon as they’d left the cities; flora, fauna, they had all reached out toward his passenger, had stretched out wings, claws, leaves and roots in worship and accolade. It was a riot out there and it wasn’t until complete darkness arrived that the cacophony subsided.
Twenty or so minutes from their destination, he could see the headlights of their pursuer in the mirror. “Why this place in particular?”
“It’s quiet,” she said. “It’s somewhere we can finish this.”
“You know, once it begins...” But her attention had left him. It was back out there in the silent fields, dancing in the dark with the wheat and the moths. And left alone he looked at his hands, thick fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. Part of him was already listening to his own siren song. A rallying call that silenced some fears and aroused others; that despite the drug-induced dormancy, his body hadn’t forgotten, and that events would follow the usual course and people would get hurt. He took another look in the mirror. Hopefully it would be the right people.
««—»»
“So, what’s the record for the Cannonball Run?” Ed’s breath wafted over the back seat, carrying the sour aroma of half-chewed corn chips.
“Across country? No idea.” Dan’s stomach rumbled.
“Thirty-two hours and seven minutes,” Cally said. “Nineteen eighty-three, Diem and Turner, in a Ferrari 308. And it’s not the Cannonball anymore.”
“Nineteen eighty-three?” Ed laughed. “A hundred bucks says it’s already been beat. Hell, the speed we’re going, we’ve already got it licked. ”
“Don’t be stupid. No way anyone could do it now. Cops, radar, helicopters, congestion—”
Dan sat back and shut out the banter. For the past half hour, something undeterminable had been rising in his gut. Hunger, he surmised, having stayed clear of Ed’s smorgasbord of indigestibles. And yet it felt more like a warning, one that had yet to reveal itself. Better hurry up and show your face, he thought. It’s almost time.
He settled in the front seat, took comfort in the thick darkness traveling in their wake; a cold wall from which he gathered strength. That and the artifacts lying in their precious box in the trunk. No way that little girl could put up a fight against those. And she was the real threat, despite Cally worrying over her companion.
“Lights up ahead. I think they’re pulling in.”
“Easy, easy.” Dan waved his hand. “Don’t get too close.”
“Is this it?” Ed was already checking his guns and knives, his beloved packs of chips forgotten.
“Yes. You remember the drill?”
“Let’s just get it over with.” Cally’s anxiety was cranked up again, but he brought the car in smooth and parked a good three lengths behind the Charger, over at the next pump.
“Shit. They’re already out.” Ed opened the rear door.
Dan saw the girl and her companion heading toward the store. He leaned over, grabbed Cally’s keys and popped the trunk. “They’re splitting up. He’s hitting the restroom.”
“That means they don’t know we’re coming.” Cally looked relieved. He was reaching under his seat. A knife. A shotgun. They both emerged.
“Now?” said Ed.
“Yes, now.” Dan got out and approached the rear of the car. He watched his companions leave the vehicle and cross the forecourt, carrying their weapons in the open, making no attempt to hide their intent. A quick look around. Lights in the overhead canopy lacked luster, as if this particular gas station didn’t care one way or another if it was ignored by passing traffic. And no other vehicles, except for their target. Perfect.
He raised the trunk lid
and reached for the box. Condensation dulled its surface and dampened his fingertips as he twisted the locks. And just for a second, he paused. He’d got that feeling again. Nothing he could pin down, so he lifted the lid.
The weapons appeared carved from ice. Opaque, pale, they seemed too delicate to be of use. Dan stared in awe. Jack’s own precious blades. Entrusted to Dan because old Jack still held the North in his cold embrace and wasn’t about to give it up. Not yet. He gripped the handles, felt the charge of deadly cold vibrate through his wrists. A stark contrast to the vehicle crouched on the forecourt like a fire dragon on wheels, breathing intolerable heat after carrying them across the plain at such high speed.
Wielding the blades, Dan stepped back and headed for the store. He could see the girl inside, talking to a guy behind the counter. It wouldn’t be a problem; he’d take them both. Off to his right, the shadows paled. Clouds in the east were shifting, and a fraction of the moon was beginning to shine through. He looked through the window once more. The girl had her hand raised, finger pointing, still talking to the man but her eyes were looking beyond the glass, out toward the sky. He dipped low. No need to announce his presence just yet.
To the left—a grunting noise, followed by a sharp hiss of pain. No sign of Ed, or Cally. They’d gone around the side of the building, but the sound told him the fight had already begun. He smiled and increased his pace. Until movement from that same direction forced him to look.
It was Ed, stumbling forward, his arms wrapped tight across his waist. The man fell to his knees and blood spattered. He relaxed, his hands came away from his abdomen and his guts writhed forth and spilled across concrete. “You never—“ he began, and fell forward.
“Where’s Cally?” Dan crouched alongside. With the blades in one hand, he hauled on his companion’s shoulder. “What happened?”
Ed laughed, regurgitated blood. “—never told us it was a full moon.”
Dan stood up. Nothing he could do. His companion was fading rapidly, life and heat expanding into the night air. He wondered about Cally and hoped he was keeping their assailant busy. Must have been armed with one hell of a knife to draw a man’s guts like that. It gave him pause, but only for a moment. The girl’s protector was stronger than he’d thought but there was still a job to be done.
His stride resolute, he approached the store and threw open the door. The enemy had shown its hand and the time for stealth was over. Shelves to the left and right. The counter was to the rear and he saw the girl, no sign of the proprietor. He switched one of the weapons to his left hand. Ten paces. That’s all he needed to close the distance. She was smiling at him, not in the least bit afraid.
Movement. A round object like a soccer ball bounced down one of the aisles and arrived at his feet. It was accompanied by a sour, musky odor that turned his stomach. He looked down. One eye in Cally’s severed head was staring at him, while the other was missing, replaced by a gaping socket. Wreckage at the throat suggested the head had been bitten off, rather than cut. Not a knife, then. Teeth. And Ed had said something about a full moon.
A low growl from the end of the aisle made him look. But despite the horror it was a distraction. He had to get to his target. But when the monster lowered its shoulders and got ready to charge he knew he had no choice; he’d never make it to the girl in time. He turned and faced it. It was the shape of a man, but the face, ah, the face...
Purely on instinct he brought both blades to the fore and watched the monster pause, saw the head shift and the eyes glitter with cunning. A bitter grin escaped him. He let the weapons fall open to either side, offering up chest and head as a target. A recognizable feint to those with any skill, but to a creature such as this—
“What are you waiting for?” He shifted his balance, better able to fend off a frontal assault. “Come on, you fucker. Taste the spirit of Winter!”
««—»»
The collapse of the man’s guard inspired opportunity and he was already powering down the aisle before the words were done. He slammed into the guy a fraction of a second after those nasty-looking blades snapped back, front and center. One skewered his sternum like a pile driver. The other slid into the flesh of his neck and exited close to his vertebrae. But his jaws were already wide, and although they didn’t achieve their ultimate aim, the damage was more than enough.
Stapled together by the blades, they fell in unison and slid along the aisle. He could see the girl’s shoes. Any closer, he mused, and she’d be bowled over like a ninepin. The thought drifted on a sea of pain. The blades radiated cold; they chilled muscle and turned blood to sleet. Funny, how extreme cold always felt like burning.
The man underneath him was gasping, struggling for his last breath through a ripped throat. He wondered if he’d share the man’s ultimate fate. The cold was extending, burrowing in. He feared he would die and it all seemed such a waste. “All this?” He swallowed; it hurt to speak in this guise, “For just a few more weeks of winter?”
The guy stared, hands too weak to grip his weapons and abruptly the cold bond between them collapsed. A smile, and the man was gone. Meanwhile, the cold traveled into his gut and his shoulders felt numb, and in a fever of pain he saw the girl’s shoes, closer this time.
“Quickly,” she said, entirely unafraid of the horrors at her feet. She gave him a push and deftly retracted the blades. The weapons folded in her hands, or so it appeared through his filmy eyes. The cold disappeared but the burning remained. Quickly, she’d told him, and so he did his best.
In a fetal position he went through the bitter throes of change. Regaining his humanity was slow, for the lunar orb still had him and her grip was strong. When it was done, he slowly regained his feet. Three men dead and it was only by the grace of the moon he hadn’t joined them. He looked to the counter. No sign of the proprietor and he wondered if the girl had killed him.
He watched her fingering the talisman around her neck although he doubted she’d ever need such a thing against the likes of him. She bore a faint smile, a beatific aura of success. It seemed at odds with the carnage until he considered she was entirely indifferent. In their annual tugs of war, the seasons invariably killed thousands. Winter might well have lost his battle out here on the plains, but further north he was still burying the unwary in snow or just plain old freezing them to death, while Spring’s subsequent thaws would no doubt follow and drown those he’d missed.
He saw movement by the counter. It was the proprietor, waking from a deep slumber. She had been merciful after all. At his feet, the body of the creature he’d killed was already turning to water. Just another casualty of Equinox.
The girl beckoned and he followed her outside. The wall of cloud had disappeared and the air felt warm and seductive. Insects danced under the dull lights, and the moon still shone and bathed the surrounding fields in silver. But his lunar mistress was keeping her distance, her grip on him now softer and more benevolent. She’d had her fun and was now content.
The gas station guy joined them. He was scratching his head and staring out into the dark. “Funny,” he said. “One hell of a storm brewing earlier. And now it feels like spring is in the air.”
He left the proprietor and the girl chatting about the weather while he filled up the Dodge. He looked toward the restroom. No sign of the other bodies and he didn’t quite understand why. They’d tasted human enough, but all that remained was their silver BMW parked at the next pump, and as he waited for the tank to fill he wondered what she had done with those lethal blades.
He paid the man, and he and the girl jumped back in the car. He gunned the engine, saw her face light up as it roared. “No need to go so fast, now,” he began.
“Oh, but you must,” she said. “I enjoy the speed.”
He shrugged, put the vehicle in gear and rejoined the narrow asphalt road that stretched toward the western horizon. Sixty, seventy, eighty and up, the engine took it all in stride while Spring rode alongside him with a bold grin on her face. Her mood wa
s infectious, but ultimately it was a strong sense of relief that bore his spirit from the depths and made him thankful of his own gifts and the good grace of the moon.
They passed beneath a bridge, where swallows were diving in the early dawn. Behind them, master of them all, the sun was on the rise, spinning webs of light through thin cloud. It was going to be a beautiful day.
— | — | —
THROWING MONSTERS
JONATHAN JANZ
Sarah Slover told her three-year old son, “Put the brick down.”
The brick remained poised above Daniel’s head. His bland gaze didn’t waver. She forced herself to maintain eye contact, to for God’s sake not lose a staring contest to a toddler, but she felt her resolve weakening.
Daniel peered into her eyes, his little body as moveless as the brick above his head.
Breathe, she told herself. Breathe.
“Daniel,” she said with a calmness she didn’t feel, “you’ll hurt yourself if you don’t put it down.”
Or worse, she thought, you’ll hurt me.
Daniel held her gaze a moment longer.
Then he let the brick fall.
It landed an inch from his feet, gouging the ground and coming to rest on its side. She glanced up and down the country road, but of course there was no one there. There never was. It was one of the few things she still liked about the country: no one was around to witness her crappy parenting.
She crossed the sidewalk, bent, and grabbed his shoulders.
Alarm bloomed in his little face. “I didn’t throw it, Mommy.”
“I know that,” she said and struggled to quell her anger, “but it was still dangerous.”
“I put it down.”
“No,” she said. “You held it above your head and dropped it like a bomb from an airplane.”
Daniel wouldn’t meet her stare. “It’s just a brick.”
She resisted an urge to shake him. She said, “It could have broken your foot. Another inch and it would have.”
Piercing the Darkness: A Charity Horror Anthology for the Children's Literacy Initiative Page 16
