by Hunter Shea
“Come on, we have to get the hell out of here.”
His friend practically carried him up the creaking wooden steps. Matt’s head swiveled on a neck made of hot taffy. Gregory Simmons must have hit his head on the bare concrete wall. He wasn’t moving. Matt’s gun was right by his fingertips.
“The gun,” Matt said.
James tugged him hard. “We don’t have time!”
Gregory’s son was slow getting up, his face a mass of knots and blood. James didn’t look much better.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?”
James gave a clipped reply. “I never fought before in my life.”
And there was his father, lying so still in a pool of crimson.
My father killed Stella, Matt thought.
No matter who or what she was, she was still a child. How could he have done such a thing? So what if she was different. So what if she’d been hard to control. She was a part of Mom, which meant there had to be some good in her.
He should have never come back. Maybe none of this would have happened.
The Ridley curse was clear – they destroyed everyone around them, whether intentionally or not.
“West and Debi,” he spluttered as James tripped on the top step into the kitchen.
Gregory said he had something in store for Debi.
His father had said that when they mate outside their family, monsters were born. Jesus fucking Christ. Was Gregory planning to do that with Debi?
James was breathless. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them. If they’re lucky, they’re as far from this insane asylum as they can get. What the hell has been going on out here?”
Matt shook his head. It only made the dizziness worse. “I don’t know. Not even when I was living right in the middle of it. I had no idea.”
James huffed with each breath. Something wet and dangerous rattled in his lungs. They scooted down the hallway. Matt kept trying to get his legs under him. The way James was sounding, he didn’t need the extra weight holding him down.
“I have to find my family.”
“We will, buddy. We will. We just need to get the cavalry.”
Matt tried to slip free. James had to lunge to grab him. “No. No time. I can’t just leave them here.”
James stopped and held him against the wall. “Look, I know exactly how you feel. The thing is, they could be long gone by now.”
Matt squirmed under his grasp. “Or they could be right outside.”
“You’re in no condition to help them. I’m not much better right now.” As if to prove the point, he started coughing, spitting a gob of red tinted mucous on the runner.
Matt was somehow able to break free. “You go. Get the cops. I’ll wait here.”
It was their only chance to get out of this alive. Matt couldn’t drive. He could barely walk right now. The fate of his family rested with his old friend.
“Those guys aren’t dead. They’ll be coming up here any minute now.”
Matt concentrated as hard as he could, trying to morph the three images of his friend’s face into one. “I’ll be fine. Go and give me one less thing to worry about.”
James sighed with resignation, shaking his head. “Hide yourself somewhere, at least until they leave.”
Matt gripped his arm. “I’ll do whatever I have to do. Now go. We don’t have time to waste.”
“I’m not going to lose you, buddy. Not after all those lost years.”
Matt stood straight as possible, trying not to weave. He hoped he was giving the impression that he was better than he felt. He needed James to think he wasn’t leaving him to his death.
“The feeling’s mutual.”
Matt heard footsteps behind him. As he swung around to face Gregory or his son, there was a tremendous boom. Something sizzled through the air, just missing the tip of his nose. He turned in time to see James’s right eye explode. His friend’s head snapped back and his body fell forward, knees collapsing. His ruined face bounced off the floor.
“That was a very touching goodbye,” Gregory Simmons said. The gun was now pointed at Matt. “I should have done that downstairs. But, woulda, coulda, shoulda.” He motioned with the gun for Matt to follow him. “You’re needed in the basement.”
The vertigo released its grip on Matt’s brain. For the moment, he could walk without needing to feel out for the walls. He didn’t dare look down at James for more than one reason.
“What do you want from me?”
Gregory pushed him hard toward the cellar steps.
“You’re going to get my daughter out of that damn room. Alive and well.” He flashed him the key but didn’t hand it over.
“Why don’t you just open the door yourself?”
Gregory looked as if it was taking all of his self-control not to strangle Matt to death. “If I didn’t think your father was a murdering son of a bitch, I would. But I don’t trust him. Just like you don’t trust me. You’re going to have to talk him into giving her back.”
They walked down the steps. Gregory’s son had recovered, but looked like he’d need a doctor. He was missing several teeth and his nose was at an unsightly angle. He wiped snot and blood from his face with the back of his hand and painted the basement floor with a flick of his wrist.
Abraham was in the same position, arms at his sides, not moving. At least the corona of blood encircling him hadn’t seemed to have grown much. The tourniquet must have worked.
“And what if I refuse to help you?” Matt said.
Gregory’s son grabbed him by the throat. His hands felt like they were made of brick. They were rough and thick and felt strong enough to crush steel.
“Then I kill your wife and son in front of you.”
Matt struggled for air.
Gregory cocked an eyebrow at him. “Think I’m shitting you?” He took a cell phone from his pocket, his thumb working the small screen. “I’ll just have my wife bring them on down to the party.”
He set the cell to speakerphone. It rang four times, then was answered by a voicemail message, “Hi, it’s Sarah. Leave a message.”
Gregory’s air of cockiness deflated instantly. He put the phone close to his mouth. “Sarah, I need you to bring the bitch and her dumb ass kid down here right now.”
Matt managed a smile, the fingers around his throat loosening. “Looks like… someone ruined… your plans.”
He was released and hit the floor. His respite was brief. All the breath was knocked out of him by a swift kick to his solar plexus.
“Drag him over to his dying asshole of a father,” Gregory said.
The meaty hand clamped over Matt’s shoulder, dragging him along the floor the way children tote their favorite blanket around. His hands landed in his father’s blood.
Gregory dialed the phone again. He said to Matt, “You better hurry. Doesn’t look like time is on your side.”
Struggling to breathe, Matt choked, “Just… give me… the… key… and I’ll open… the door… myself.”
“Not gonna happen. I bet you’d like to see my daughter dead. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Start sweet talking the old man.”
His father’s face was ashen, drenched in sweat. His mouth hung slightly open, the faintest of breaths whistling past his parted lips. He and Matt may have not gotten along, but seeing him like this was worse than the choking or the kick. He placed a hand on Abraham’s shoulders, leaving scarlet handprints.
“Dad. Can you hear me?”
There was no response.
A shadow draped across them. Matt looked up and faced Gregory’s son looming over him, his fists clenching and unclenching.
He’s waiting for dad to die. Once he does, I’m not far behind.
With his back to them, Gregory said something into his phone but too low for Matt to hear. He did sense a twinge of desperation in the tone of his voice.
He gently shook his father. “Dad, I need you to wake up. West and Debi’s lives are depending on you.”
An eyelid quivered. Abraham took a deep breath, his mouth moving soundlessly.
“That’s it. Come back to me. We need your help, bad.”
A horn bleated somewhere outside. It sounded close.
Gregory pocketed his cell. “Damn phones aren’t worth shit out here. Son, go upstairs and help Sarah.”
Matt’s heart sank.
No! Not West and Debi.
All along, he’d been hoping they’d somehow managed to get away, that they were in a police car or station at this very moment telling them what had happened. That help was on the way.
The son turned and went upstairs like a voodoo zombie heeding its master.
Matt tightened his grip on his father, jerking him harder.
“We don’t have any time, Dad. Talk to me. How do we get the girl out of the room? I need you to tell me. No one else needs to get hurt tonight. Just tell me what I need to do.”
Abraham opened his eyes. “Come closer,” he whispered.
Matt knelt over him, his ear a hair away from his father’s lips. He started to speak, and Matt prayed to God what he was saying was wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Debi was covered in sweat. Part of it was the shock and mild concussion. The rest was from working frantically to pile as much rotted and jagged planks of wood she and West could find within the rubble of the collapsed barn. The bed of the truck was loaded. Their hands and arms were pincushions for dozens of splinters. The large pieces were easy to pluck out. Smaller slivers just dug in deeper as she gripped the steering wheel.
She looked back through the small window to West who was standing in the flatbed atop the lumber. What she couldn’t see were the trio of split boards that were sharp as spears resting on top of the truck’s roof. West insisted he be the one to hold them down while she drove. Even though he was a couple of years away from being able to get his driver’s permit, Debi had been slowly teaching him on back roads. Right now, though, they needed someone more than capable behind the wheel.
The entire thing was insane, but sanity had departed the Ridley farm hours ago. At least they were in a vehicle that could get them the hell out of here. Their Ford was toast. If nothing came of this, she was taking them straight to the nearest police station.
With the farmhouse in sight, she laid on the horn, flashing the brights. The truck jounced as it dipped into a deep hole.
“You okay, West?” she shouted.
He knocked on the roof in reply.
Debi looked at the passenger seat, the blood staining the tan fabric. She hadn’t meant to kill the girl. But dammit, she wasn’t going to let Faith hurt West any more than she had. Her death was an accident, but Debi was finding a hard time feeling bad. It worried her. She’d just taken a life and felt no remorse. Was that what this place did? Turned you into a cold-blooded killer?
She had to believe that the guilt would settle in later, once they were all safe and far, far from the farm. It was the first time in her life she craved regret, just to remind herself that she was still Debi Ridley.
Breaking through the overgrowth, she stopped the truck fifty yards from the brightly lit house but kept the engine running. She’d made enough noise to wake the dead. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
“Come on Matt, where are you?”
Or if not Matt, at least one of the Simmons family.
She laid on the horn again, tapping the accelerator.
Someone was in the kitchen! She couldn’t make out who it was, but their silhouette was plain to see. The back door slammed open.
Who the hell is that?
The body filled the entire frame of the doorway. Matt’s friend James was big, but not that big.
The immense figure waved to her.
He can’t see that I’m not Sarah. He may even think that’s Faith standing in the back.
She kept the brights on so he couldn’t make them out against the harsh glare.
West knelt down and spoke to her through the open half-window behind her head.
“We have to get him out of the house.”
“I know. I’m thinking.”
For the moment, whoever was waving to them was safe from their plan. They couldn’t drive through the house to get him.
He thinks I’m Sarah. I can’t imitate talking like her. Why won’t he just come over here?
Debi stuck her arm out of the window and waved him over.
At first, he didn’t move.
Not being able to see his face, there was no way to know his reaction. Was he wary? Confused? Upset that she wasn’t driving to the back door to meet him?
She gave the horn two quick taps, then motioned to him again.
Come on, King Kong. Just a few steps.
The giant must have read her thoughts, because he took one careful step, then another. But he paused, hands at his sides hanging so low, resembling a gorilla.
Debi honked again, hoping he could detect her irritation. It was the way she urged West to get going when they were headed somewhere and he couldn’t get his ass moving. She knew the horn itself sounded the same as always, but her intention always seemed to imbue a sense of urgency.
It seemed to shake the hulking man out of his indecision. He took several long strides toward the truck.
“Now, Mom,” West said.
Debi mashed her foot on the gas pedal. The truck’s tires spun in the grass and dirt, then caught. They shot forward with a tremendous jerk. In the rearview mirror, she saw West stumble backwards but he managed to stay on his feet and regain his position.
The man stopped but didn’t turn to run back into the house, even though a four thousand pound vehicle was hurtling right at him.
When he appeared in full in the headlights, Debi gasped.
Everything about him was oversized, including the features of his face on a skull that appeared twice as big as it should be. His nose looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it. He stared at her with slack incomprehension.
She questioned whether she was doing the right thing, was about to make a sharp left and veer around him, when she saw the blood on his hands. He’d been hurt, but it looked like he’d done his share of damage as well.
She didn’t need much imagination to consider who had been at the other end of those massive fists.
West shouted, “Stop!”
Debi slammed both feet on the brakes, her knees and elbows locking.
She saw the pointed slats of wood fly off the roof, guided in part by West.
Two of them sailed past the beastly man, disappearing into the dark.
But they only needed one.
And it struck home, right in his stomach.
Amazingly, he stood his ground, even as the makeshift spear pierced his gut, ripping through his back. He didn’t scream. He didn’t fold in on himself.
He just stood there, glowering at them.
“Oh shit!”
Debi started to shake all over.
How is that possible? He should be dead already!
Blood leaked from his mouth.
He started walking toward the truck, the rotted wood in his stomach pointing at her accusingly. You did this to me! And now you’ll pay!
She put the truck in reverse, but couldn’t seem to find the accelerator to back away.
“Finish him, Mom,” West said.
Finish him.
Jesus.
This wasn’t a wrestling match, choreographed for the masses.
But he was right. She couldn’t just cut and run.
Dropping into drive, she found the gas and floored it, thinking of Matt and what had most likely been done to him at the hands of this monster.
His knees buckled and he pitched forward, the end of the wood sticking in the ground. His body hung forward, unable to fully fall.
It was too late to avoid him.
A split second before impact, he raised his massive arms, as if to stop the speeding truck. There was a brief, terrifying moment when it felt as if h
e had indeed halted its forward momentum.
Because somehow, he had.
In her panic, she took her foot off the gas. The truck moved backwards a foot or more.
“No, no, no,” Debi sobbed, her foot accidentally smashing the brake.
“Punch it, Mom!” West shouted.
The giant was pinned to the ground on one side, the stake driven deep as a fence piling, and heaving against the truck on the other. No man could do that. She’d heard of adrenaline giving people temporary strength that defied logic, but this was beyond the pale.
“Go back! Go back!” West screamed.
She fumbled with the gearshift, pulled it down to reverse, and finally found the gas pedal. The truck roared away from the monster’s impossible grasp. She backed up until the truck was a good thirty yards away.
He struggled to pull the stake from his stomach. Still on his knees, he wrapped his hands around the bloody end of the stake, inching his body forward.
Her stomach turned at the sight, his gore spilling from what should have been an instantly fatal wound.
She didn’t need West to tell her what to do now.
There wasn’t time to spare. If he somehow managed to free himself, God only knew what he was capable of. She’d have to leave the farm behind, which meant Matt, James, and Abraham would be at his mercy.
And he didn’t seem the least bit merciful.
Screeching until it hurt, Debi sped straight toward him. If he tried to stop the truck again, she had no intention of letting up on the gas.
The crown of his skull was right in line with the grill of the truck. He looked directly at her, his uncomprehending black eyes chilling her to the core. She heard his skull shatter. The truck flew in the air for a moment as it rolled over his body. She braked hard as the four wheels touched back down, praying West had secured himself.
They came to a stop and she swung the truck around so she could make out the dead man in the headlights. His body was twisted like a pretzel. The top part of his head was gone. Brain matter oozed from his nose on down. Debi wanted to throw up. She could still feel the girth of his body as the truck rolled over him.
Her heart froze.
West was gone!
“No!”
She clambered out of the truck. “West!”
