Colony of the Lost

by Derik Cavignano

  Calhoun cocked his head to listen. Was that a rustling in the trees? He crept toward the sound.

  “That’s it,” the voice said. “You’re getting warmer.”

  Calhoun drew his weapon, and Adelson followed suit. They tiptoed to the junction ahead. Adelson looked petrified, sounded like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

  “You’re getting closer,” the voice said.

  Calhoun turned right.

  “Wrong way.”

  Turned left.

  “That’s it.”

  “Why the game?” Calhoun asked. “Why not tell me where you are?”

  “And spoil all the fun?”

  Calhoun peered between the trees, searching the shadows for movement.

  “You’ve almost found me.”

  Something rustled in the underbrush.

  Calhoun and his partner fired, the flash from the muzzles momentarily lighting up their faces.

  A scream rang out from the trees. Something thudded to the ground and a hoarse voice croaked, “Friendly fire.”

  Adelson glanced at Calhoun, his eyes huge. “Oh my God!” He scrambled to reach the fallen officer.

  Calhoun stood there, too stunned to move. And then he heard that same gravelly voice on the radio. Except, this time, he could hear it behind him as well.

  “You missed me.”

  Calhoun whirled around, and what he saw there, crouched within the shadows, paralyzed him. For a moment, his gun was forgotten. But a moment was all it would take.

  The blood-red light cast by its eyes shone upon him ... and Calhoun screamed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tim’s mom passed a bowl of mashed potatoes to his dad. Afterward, Dad picked up a steak knife and waved it in the air, punctuating some point that Tim wasn’t listening to. He could easily imagine Dad reaching across the table, grabbing him by the hair, and slicing the knife across his throat while Mom munched on a sliver of steak.

  Sorry, Tim. Trell’s orders. Hey Hon, could you pass me the broccoli?

  The crazy thing was, it wasn’t all that far-fetched. Trell wanted him dead, and what better way to kill him than by seizing control of his parents? Staying here definitely put them all at risk. But where else could he go?

  We should’ve crashed into Trell again, killed it while we had the chance.

  He stared down at his steak swimming in its juices and pictured Frank’s mangled corpse lying in a pool of blood. Jay had told him about it on Saturday after he and Maria showed up at Jay’s doorstep.

  “Timmy, what’s the matter? Aren’t you hungry?”

  Tim glanced up to find both of his parents staring at him, their faces wrinkled with concern. “Just got a little stomachache, that’s all.”

  “Your father heard that the superintendent canceled school until this maniac is caught.”

  Tim nodded. He’d heard it too—on the radio at Maria’s house. They called in sick to school and spent the day hanging out in her bedroom. They talked for hours about music and movies and their plans for the future. Maria wanted to travel the world, join the Peace Corps, and become a doctor. Tim wanted to become a writer or a journalist and was always up for playing doctor. Maria called him a perv and pushed him onto the bed, and they made out for what seemed like hours.

  Neither spoke about the horrors they’d witnessed at the compost dump, though they both agreed to stay inside to avoid any chance of running into Randy’s goon, Lenny.

  He’s not Randy’s goon anymore. He belongs to Trell now.

  “Well I sure hope they get this guy soon,” Dad said. “I’m beginning to regret moving here.”

  “You just make sure you stay indoors, Timmy. And don’t let in any strangers.”

  Tim rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

  When dinner ended, Tim retired to his room and locked the door. He lay in bed and watched TV, but his mind kept circling back to the day before yesterday when Randy and his goons chased him through the streets of Glenwood and cornered him in the compost dump. When Randy pulled out that gun, Tim thought for sure he was going to die right there in the mud.

  He thought of Maria lying on the ground beside him, her legs glistening with rainwater, her black panties molded to the curves of her body like a second skin. Selfishly, he was glad she’d gotten dragged into this mess. She was smart, beautiful, and funny. And he could talk to her—really talk to her—about his hopes, his dreams, his fears.

  The whole situation with Trell had brought them a lot closer than they would’ve been under normal circumstances. He just hoped she felt as strongly for him as he did for her. And more than anything, he hoped they’d live long enough to find out.

  ***

  Night crept like death through Glenwood, smothering the last bastions of daylight. Maria lay on the couch and leafed through an issue of Glamour magazine. She flipped absently through the glossy pages and tried to focus her attention on the articles.

  But it wasn’t working.

  Her mind kept looping back to when Randy showed up at her house on Saturday, begging for another chance. She couldn’t believe she had actually agreed to go out with that loser in the first place. And to think she had let him talk her into having sex, not once, but twice. How could she have let that maniac touch her?

  Outside, the wind gusted, rattling the shutters against the window frames. Maria hugged her knees and shivered, recalling how Randy had yanked her from her house and stuffed her into the trunk of his car while Lenny and Brett laughed like hyenas in the backseat.

  She always knew Randy was a little crazy—and maybe at first she was attracted to the danger—but she never thought he was crazy enough to kill someone. But that was before he took her to the compost dump, before he whipped out a .357 Magnum.

  She had a vivid recollection of Randy brandishing the gun in the rain. She had been more afraid for Tim than for herself, and whether that was because she really liked Tim or because she didn’t believe Randy would actually kill her, she couldn’t say for sure.

  But then Randy threatened to gang rape her, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he meant it. She tried not to imagine what that would’ve been like, but her mind betrayed her and she pictured them on top of her, one after the other, laughing and hollering as they forced themselves on her.

  She wiped her eyes, not at all surprised to find that she was crying. Somehow, things had gotten even crazier from there. A creature born out of some half-forgotten nightmare appeared out of nowhere and killed Randy and Brett.

  How could such a thing even exist? It was all scales, claws, and teeth. And if Tim and Mr. G were right, then this thing was responsible for the disappearances in town and wouldn’t stop until it killed everyone. The police wouldn’t believe a word of it. So that meant it was up to them to put a stop to it. But how were they going to do that?

  The doorbell startled her out of her thoughts. She hopped off the sofa and ran into the hall. “I’ll get it!” But when she opened the door, nobody was there.

  She peered into the darkness. “Hello?”

  The wind answered her with a moan, ripping the screen door from her hands. “Hello?” she called again. She was about to close the door when she heard a rustle emanate from somewhere beyond the porch.

  “Tim?”

  No answer.

  Don’t even think of going out there.

  But a part of her wanted to go out, a part of her wanted to see, had to see, what was there. She had been scared enough over the past two days. And she hated it. Hated living in fear. Besides, it was probably just a cat.

  Then who rang the bell?

  She brushed the thought aside. She had to see for herself, had to prove to herself that she needn’t be afraid. Trell was injured. Maybe even dead. She was getting herself all worked up over nothing.

  The rustling sounded again.

  Don’t be stupid.

  But she wouldn’t be stupid. She’d be careful.

  She stepped into the blustery night, the porch
entrenched in shadows. She walked half the length of it and then stopped. What was she thinking? Putting herself at risk just to prove a point? Screw it. She was going back inside. Who cared what was out here?

  Something moved in the dark, something just beyond her field of vision.

  She heard a squealing shriek and turned toward the sound. Then she stumbled backward, staggered through the door, and sank to her knees in the foyer.

  Thank God, she thought ... and then realized that there was something on her face, something dripping into her eyes.

  Something sticky and black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sarah lay awake and stared into darkness. It was quarter of ten—way past her bed time—but with no school tomorrow, it didn’t really matter. She knew she should be in a good mood because of it, but she wasn’t in a good mood at all. She was worried about Mom.

  I think she’s sick, she’d told Jenny earlier. She looks pale. Plus, she’s acting kind of funny.

  Lately, Mom seemed really nervous, always reacting to things that Sarah and Daddy couldn’t see. She jumped at every little noise and sometimes even talked to herself. Sarah didn’t want to admit it, but it seemed like Mom might be going crazy.

  She thought back to a few nights ago when Mom came into the house all covered in mud. When Sarah had peeked into her bedroom to see if everything was okay, Mom had yelled at her.

  Maybe Mom and Dad are fighting again.

  That might explain why she was so angry all the time, but not why she was wandering around the woods after dark, getting all muddy. Could Mom be pregnant? Didn’t hormones make women crazy when they were having a baby? Maybe that’s why Mom was rubbing her belly so often.

  Or was it something else? When Mom yelled at her the other night, there was a moment when her eyes had almost looked red. Hadn’t Tim said something like that about the bad man from the library—that his eyes had changed from brown to red?

  She scratched Mr. Whiskers behind the ears. She’d probably imagined the thing with Mom’s eyes. Dad always said she had an overactive imagination, and she guessed she couldn’t argue with that. But still, something was wrong with Mom. She just hoped it wasn’t anything bad like cancer or AIDS because you could die from those.

  After awhile her eyes grew heavy with the weight of sleep. In her dreams, a shadowy figure chased her through the woods, sometimes running upright like a man, sometimes dropping to all fours like an animal. But no matter how fast she ran, the figure was always a half step behind her, the slits of its eyes gleaming red.

  Going to kill you, Sarah. Going to kill your whole family.

  She raced through a darkened section of Washaka Woods, trees crowding her on either side, their knotted trunks transforming into ghoulish faces. Branches reached for her, smacking against her body. Wrapping around her legs. She lost her balance and crashed to the ground. A creature loomed over her, its lips parting to reveal a mouth full of razor sharp fangs.

  Get up, Sarah! Before it’s too late!

  But the voice didn’t belong to the creature; it belonged to Samuel. And it sounded like he wasn’t in the woods at all. But if he wasn’t in the woods, where could he be?

  My room!

  She awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright and throwing off the covers. Samuel appeared at the foot of her bed, a pale blue light pulsing around him. From far away, he’d seemed like a lost little boy, but up close … up close, he looked scary. His eyes were black, without any whites, and his teeth were small and yellow and sharp. His skin was blotchy and bloated—like the flesh of a toadstool—and a purple gash flapped open at this throat.

  “You must listen, Sarah. You are in grave danger. The beast I warned of controls the will of your mother. You must leave. You must escape at once!”

  Sarah stared at him. What did he mean? Why would Mom want to hurt her? “Mom’s just sick. That’s all.”

  “The beast is the cause of her sickness. She is a slave to its will, a soldier to its dark intents. Only in its death can she be saved. That is why you must go to the others. Tell them what I have told you. Tell them that its strength is fueled by the blood of its victims, that the pool sustains its life.”

  Somewhere beyond the walls of her room came the stealthy creak of footfalls on the hardwood floor. Samuel jerked his head toward the door. “Go Sarah! Hurry!”

  Samuel had to be wrong. Tim said that the beast was a gray-haired man with red eyes. How could he make her Mom do bad things?

  Suddenly she heard a voice—Mom’s voice—drifting through the house. “Oh Sarah. Wake up, darling. Mommy wants to talk to you.”

  Mr. Whiskers squatted at the foot of her bed and stared at the door, his back arched. Growling.

  “The window, Sarah. Go!”

  The urgency of Samuel’s voice snapped her into action. She rolled out of bed and scrambled to the window.

  Fingernails tapped against her bedroom door. “Open up, Sarah. Mommy’s got a surprise for you.”

  Sarah slipped on her sneakers and opened the window, but she struggled with the locks to the screen. She glanced over her shoulder at the eyehook lock securing the bedroom door. Daddy had agreed to install it two years ago after her recurring nightmares about monsters creeping up from the basement to eat her. Once the lock was in place, the nightmares stopped. But now that she was older, she knew that no flimsy little lock could keep a monster out.

  Mom rammed into the door, and the wood around the lock splintered.

  “Daddy!” Sarah cried. “Help!”

  Another crash.

  This time the eyehook pulled free and the door slammed against the wall.

  Sarah backed away from the window, a scream lodged in her throat.

  Mom stepped through the doorway, her eyes glowing red. She wore a silky black nightgown and a crazed expression on her face.

  “Daddy!”

  Mom shook her head and pointed at Sarah with the blade of a butcher knife. “Mommy doesn’t like tattle tales.”

  “Leave her be!” Samuel cried.

  The Mom-thing sneered. “What are you doing here?” And then it grinned. “Do you recall the night you came to me in the forest? Ah, how the blood gushed from your throat, young Samuel. So rich, so sweet. Your family came looking for you, scouring the forest by torchlight. Such simpletons. They died because of you. And now, all these years later, you’ve done it again. How will it feel, Samuel, to witness her death, to know that you brought this fate upon her?”

  “You would have killed her eventually. Whether she could see me or not.”

  The Mom-thing grinned. “So true,” it said, waving the knife in the air. “Who’s going to save you now, Sarah? Your imaginary friend?”

  Sarah bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “You’re not my mother,” she said. “I don’t know what you are, but you are NOT my mother.”

  From the hallway: “Sarah? Margaret? What’s going on?”

  The Mom-thing lunged for her, and Sarah tripped over a bundle of blankets and fell to the floor. Mr. Whiskers sprang off the bed and attacked, his claws ripping into the thing’s cheeks.

  The Mom-thing peeled Mr. Whiskers off its face and held him by the scruff of the neck.

  Sarah jumped to her feet. “Don’t you hurt him!” She grabbed the nearest thing she could find—a ceramic unicorn—and hurled it at the thing that wasn’t her mother. The base of the figurine struck it in the temple and sent it stumbling into the wall.

  Mr. Whiskers dropped to the floor and scurried underneath the bed.

  Sarah dashed out of her room and into the hallway where she collided with Daddy. He caught her in his arms and held her by the shoulders. “Sarah, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Mommy! There’s a … a …” Her brain screamed for her to spit it out.

  “A what?” Daddy asked.

  “A monster inside her!”

  Daddy moved her aside. “It’s all right, honey. She’s probably just having another bad dream. I’ll go talk to her.” />
  “No, Daddy! Don’t go in there!”

  But Daddy just smiled and went into the bedroom.

  Samuel floated right through Daddy’s body. “Go, Sarah. “Save yourself. Trell wants you, not your father.”

  But Sarah just stood there with her back pressed against the railing, one hand curled into her mouth.

  “Go, Sarah! I cannot remain here much longer. My time in this world grows short.”

  And then he faded before her eyes and dissolved back into the night.

  The monster disguised as Mom lurched into the hallway, its eyes fixed upon Sarah. Daddy held the Mom-thing back. “Margaret, honey. Relax. It’s just a dream.” He tapped her on the cheek, then paused to examine the blood that seeped onto his fingers. “You can wake up now. It’s alright.”

  But Sarah could tell from his voice that he wasn’t so sure anymore. “Be careful, Daddy.”

  The Mom-thing smacked Daddy’s hands away.

  “Honey, stop.” Then Daddy glanced down at the knife. “Margaret? What are you doing?”

  “Daddy, no!”

  The knife disappeared into his stomach, and he fell against the wall, his mouth locked in a silent scream.

  The Mom-thing pulled the blade free, and blood spattered the wall in a glistening arc.

  “Margaret?” he croaked.

  “So stupid,” the Mom-thing said. “But then, you always were.”

  “Daddy!”

  “Run Sarah!”

  Sarah hurried toward the stairs.

  “Nowhere to run, Sarah. No one to save you now.”

  Tears blurred her vision as she scrambled down the stairs and stumbled into the foyer. She turned the corner and charged out the front door and into the darkness of night. The cold air prickled her flesh with goose bumps and turned her breath into rolling puffs of white vapor.

  She had to find help for Daddy. But where could she go? Who could she tell?

  She crept across the lawn and passed through the trees marking the entrance to Washaka Woods.

  The Mom-thing stormed outside and stood on the front lawn. “Sarah?” she called in a sing-song voice. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”