Monstrous

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Delilah had fallen to the floor. She looked up to see that the others were already on the move, heading down the corridor toward the skywalk exit. She looked behind her at Deacon, who still leaned against the door. She could hear the intensifying sounds from the other side, and she knew there wasn’t much time before that door also came down.

  “Go! Go!” Deacon screamed as bugs filed through tiny openings beneath the door.

  Delilah got up as the others reached the skywalk exit and rushed through it into the passage. She was moving to follow them until she realized that Deacon wasn’t with her. She looked over her shoulder and froze.

  Bugs were pouring underneath the door as the metal was torn away by thousands of eager, yellow-toothed mouths. She knew that Deacon couldn’t hold the door for much longer and as soon as he stepped aside, it would fall.

  She knew he’d never make it.

  Frantically Delilah looked around, and her eyes fell on the door marked 8TH FLOOR almost directly across from her.

  The Vegetable Patch.

  Without a thought, she made her move, darting toward Deacon and grabbing his wrist, pulling him away from the door. Almost immediately it started to collapse inward, but Delilah was already hauling the startled head of custodial services along, the sounds of hundreds of thousands of claws scratching upon concrete only inspiring her to move all the faster. She thought of her mother and her son and made a silent pledge that she would get home to them.

  That she would see them again.

  She was moving so quickly that she slammed into the door, Deacon crashing into her back. Both fumbled for the handle, but she won out, slamming it down, and pulling the door toward her. She rushed through, Deacon stumbling in behind her. In unison they spun and pulled the door closed.

  But it wouldn’t shut.

  “Look!” Delilah screamed, pointing to the door’s edge. Rats were attempting to wedge themselves through as cockroaches flowed around them.

  “No more,” Deacon bellowed, giving the door an almost inhuman yank, slamming it shut.

  And three severed rat heads dropped to the floor.

  Their horrible mouths still working, biting at the air.

  * * *

  Delilah and Deacon stood in the dimly lit, powder-blue corridor leading to the Vegetable Patch, soaking in the silence, their eyes darting about, searching for signs of danger, but at the moment . . .

  Her eyes met Deacon’s, and something passed between them, something that said it’s all right—for now.

  And Delilah immediately began to cry.

  It wasn’t the sad cry of loss, or anything connected to emotion. This was a cry of utter relief, as if her body had absorbed so much from her harrowing experiences that it had to release some before it could function normally again.

  Finally, she was able to wipe away her tears and immediately felt a flush of embarrassment. She gave Deacon a sideways glance from the corner of her eye and saw that he too had tears streaming down his face as he bent forward, breathing heavily, hands clutching his knees.

  His gaze shifted from the darker blue carpet to her, and he saw that she was looking at him. Delilah could not control it—she smiled.

  And Deacon began to laugh.

  Within moments they were both laughing, crying, and barely holding it together.

  “What the hell is going on?” she asked in between gulps of air as she tried to get control of herself.

  Deacon was wiping at his eyes and shaking his head. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” he repeated as he took in deep lungfuls of air. “But I’m guessing that it’s big . . . that this . . .” He looked around at their surroundings, and she understood that he meant the entire hospital. “That this is just part of something bigger going on out there.”

  “I have a little boy.” The words tumbled out of her mouth.

  He nodded. “I’ve got three grandbabies,” he said proudly. “Live with their parents in Roslindale.”

  “Do you think they’re safe?” she found herself asking.

  He thought for a moment, his expression growing dim. “You good?” he asked her instead.

  She could only nod.

  “We still need to get to the parking garage,” he said, looking back in the direction they’d come. “But I can’t imagine we can use the skywalk now.”

  “Do you think the others made it?” Delilah asked.

  Deacon’s face took on that grim look again, and she thought he would once more change the subject. “I can’t say,” he said instead. “We might’ve bought them enough time to get to their cars, but . . .” He stopped.

  “I think they did,” Delilah said firmly. “And maybe they’re sending help.” She studied Deacon, looking for just a glimmer of hope but seeing nothing but doubt.

  “It would be something,” he said, turning away from her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Sidney was on her knees in the back of the van with Cody and Rich, holding on to the front seat and staring through the dusty windshield as the bread truck picked up speed.

  Sayid and Snowy still sat in the front beside Langridge, who struggled with the ancient steering wheel to keep the bread truck on course.

  They careened into the marina parking lot at thirty miles an hour, narrowly avoiding several cars that were still parked there. The sky above them was filled with writhing darkness, a storm of birds sent to prevent them from reaching their goal.

  The marina office was coming closer, closer, and then the front tires of the van hit the concrete curb. The van bucked and tilted to the side, its momentum carrying them through the air and into the side of the building with a horrendous crash, followed by the shattering of glass and the sounds of splintering wood.

  Everyone in the truck had become airborne, but then gravity reclaimed them as the van settled on its side, and they slammed back to earth in a heap.

  * * *

  There was a peaceful silence that seemed to go on forever, and Sidney wondered what was happening. She tried to open her eyes, but there was only darkness.

  A darkness so very deep and all encompassing.

  But then she saw . . .

  It was dizzying and nauseating, and it took her a few moments to realize that she was looking through eyes not her own, and not through just a single set of eyes but . . .

  Hundreds . . . thousands.

  And the things she saw: people hunted, attacked . . . murdered.

  As her brain attempted to understand, she felt nothing but the alien presence, so very cold in its efficiency. It had one purpose—to take as many lives as it could to create terror and confusion.

  While the next phase of the attack was assembled.

  The next phase?

  * * *

  The taste of blood filled his mouth.

  Cody lay on his back, feeling his body scream in protest over the beating it had endured throughout the past thirty-six hours or so. He opened his eyes and looked around. He, Rich, and Sidney were practically on top of each other, but he managed to push himself away and cautiously sit up.

  As always, Snowy sat obediently by Sidney’s side. Sidney seemed to be stirring, and although Rich looked very pale and sweaty, his eyes were already open. The van was resting on its side, the windshield shattered but intact. He could just see Sayid and Langridge over the front seat, pressed together against the passenger door.

  Keys, he thought. I’ve gotta get the keys for the boats.

  He crawled over to the back doors of the truck and gave them a kick with both feet. It took two tries before one popped, falling open.

  Cody peered out into the lot. The sky above the truck was filled with birds, and he knew they’d be on him in an instant. It wasn’t far around the van to the office door, but he’d have to be quick before . . .

  He saw the body lying in the lot. There was no question in his mind whose body it was.

  He saw it again, replaying inside his head. They were running for the SUV, the birds nearly upon them. His father had pr
actically thrown him into the backseat, sacrificing his own life so that his son could live.

  Cody remembered the nightmarish sight of the birds as they descended on his father, tearing him apart. He had wanted to go to him, had tried to save him, but . . .

  The guilt was like a weight around his heart, a weight made all the more heavy by the sight of his father’s body, alone and unprotected, lying in the middle of the parking lot.

  * * *

  Sidney returned to consciousness with a nearly overpowering sense of dread.

  The next phase.

  She had no idea what that was, but she understood enough to know that they had to get to Boston.

  She pushed herself over onto her side. Snowy was there to lick her face, and she reached out to give her best friend a loving pet.

  “That’s my Snowy girl,” she said, eyes focusing on the inside of the tipped-over bread truck. Langridge was coming awake and had a nasty gash over her eye. Sayid seemed to be underneath her somehow, but he too was beginning to awaken. Rich was beside her, simply lying there, eyes gazing blankly at the other side of the truck that was now the roof. He still didn’t look so good.

  “Hey, you okay?” she asked, crawling over to him. She touched his arm, and his skin was burning hot.

  “Not sure,” he said, his voice sounding raspy and weak.

  She pulled up his sleeve to look at the wound on his arm. The arm was swollen, the skin a dusky shade of red.

  “Hey, Dr. Sayid,” she called. “I think you’d better take a look at this.” As the words left her mouth, she realized that Cody wasn’t in the van. “Where is Cody?” she suddenly asked, eyes darting about.

  “Where’s who?” Langridge asked groggily.

  “Cody,” Sidney clarified, and then she saw the open rear door.

  She crawled over and peered out.

  In the distance, near the middle of the parking lot, she saw him, swinging a pipe at a flock of birds that swirled silently around him.

  Not too far from him, a body was lying on the ground.

  And then she felt a whole new world of sick descend upon her.

  “We have to get out there,” she yelled, looking for a weapon.

  She found another of the pipes they’d used to fight the spider creatures and grabbed it. She jumped from the back of the truck and was immediately set upon. Enormous gulls dropped at her, beaks ready to peck and tear, but she swung the pipe with crude efficiency, knocking them out of the sky and stomping on their heads when they hit the pavement.

  She could see that Cody had made it to his father’s body, still swinging his pipe against the onslaught of birds, but she knew that neither one of them could keep this up for long.

  “Cody!” she called out to him.

  “I’m not going to leave him here like this,” he shouted, and as she drew closer, she could see the intense despair filling his eyes.

  Gun shots suddenly rang out, and then Sidney was hit by a stream of water. She chanced a look behind her and saw that Langridge and Sayid were shooting at the birds, while Rich had found the fire hose left by Cody’s father. With renewed hope, Sidney raced to Cody’s side.

  “Pick him up,” she said, lashing out with the pipe and taking a gull to the ground.

  He looked at her for a moment as if not understanding, then leaped into action, bending down and picking up his father’s ravaged body. Together they raced for the safety of the marina office. Rich continued to spray the hose, giving them a somewhat clearer path back, while Langridge and Sayid shot any birds strong enough to resist the torrent of water.

  They burst through the office door. Cody continued on into a small back room and laid the body down on a cot his father had kept there for the busiest times of the summer. Sidney held the door open for Langridge and Sayid, who were followed closely by Rich and Snowy, then slammed it closed the best she could.

  The door frame was bent, probably thanks to the bread truck’s impact with the side of the building, but the door seemed to be staying closed for now. She pressed on it again to be sure, then turned around to see that Rich had collapsed.

  Sayid was already kneeling beside him. “He’s in tough shape,” the man said. “He’s burning up, and this arm is definitely infected. He really needs antibiotics, but it might help if I can at least get the wound cleaned.”

  “Maybe there’s a first aid kit around here,” Sidney offered as she started going through file cabinets and drawers.

  Langridge pulled open the desk drawers and rummaged around. Neither of them found anything.

  Cody was still sitting beside his father’s body in the back room. Sidney hated to disturb him, but Rich needed help. Slowly she approached, tentatively clearing her throat.

  “Yeah?” Cody asked, without looking at her.

  “Rich is pretty bad,” she said quietly. “Is there a first aid kit or something around here that Dr. Sayid could use to help him?”

  Silently Cody stood and walked to a small closet in the far corner of the room.

  With him gone, Sidney could look directly upon the body lying there. It was horrible—made worse by the fact that it had once belonged to a person—a living, breathing man who had loved his son very much.

  “Not really sure what’s in here,” Cody said, turning from the closet and holding out a small white plastic box.

  “Thanks,” she said as she took it from him. “Why don’t you spend a little more time with your dad while we look after Rich, but then we’ve got to get going, okay?”

  Cody nodded, quickly turning away and returning to his seat beside his father’s body.

  Without another word, she stepped out of the room, pulling the door partially closed behind her.

  “That’s his father?” Sayid asked as she handed him the first aid kit.

  “Yeah,” she answered. “We came here to get him out, but he ended up . . .” She stopped. She didn’t have to say it. It was clear how he had ended up. Instead she concentrated on Sayid as he opened up the kit and riffled through its contents. “Will that help?”

  “Better than nothing,” the doctor said, already getting to work. “I’ll see if I can’t clean out the wound and bandage it up. We’ll just have to hope for the best at this point.”

  “Found some aspirin in the bathroom,” Langridge said as she approached, holding up a small white bottle.

  “Good,” Sayid answered. “That’ll help bring his fever down.”

  Sidney stood silently and watched as the man cared for her friend, but her mind had already begun to wander . . .

  Whatever this next phase in the invaders’ plan was, it had to be stopped.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Doc Martin quietly poured herself some water from a jug on the counter. Clara had fallen asleep in her chair, and she wanted to keep her that way for as long as possible—she’d heard more than enough about the Russians and their coconspirators, the Chinese.

  The actual truth really didn’t matter to Clara; she had her own, which was just fine with her.

  There was blood on the kitchen floor and something in a little bed in the corner, covered up with a sheet. Doc Martin guessed it was what was left of the old woman’s dog.

  She leaned against the counter and stared out the window at Clara’s backyard, where the woman had said she’d seen Isaac. Nothing was showing any interest in him at all. Doc Martin sipped on her lukewarm drink and thought about those words. She had wondered about the young man’s strange connection with the alien presence and considered that perhaps that connection was getting stronger. She thought of Sidney and what she was going through. Might Isaac be going through something similar?

  “See anything good?” an old voice asked from behind her.

  Doc Martin turned to see Clara standing in the doorway. “Oh, you’re awake.”

  “Yeah, I ain’t croaked yet,” the old lady said, her gaze drifting over to the corner of the room. “I guess you seen that,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Doc Martin answered.


  “Didn’t have the heart to put her outside. She loved that bed.”

  They stared at the little mound under the sheet for a few moments, and then Doc Martin decided a distraction might be in order. “So where does that path go?” she asked, pointing through the window at the backyard.

  “That heads out to the marsh and the south cliffs,” Clara said. “My husband used that path for fifty years to go fishing, but then the cell phone company came and bought up a lot of the land and put up their goddamn towers.” Clara waved her hand in disgust. “Actually had my husband arrested for trespassing once. Like he gave two craps about their cell towers!”

  Doc Martin found herself staring at the path and thinking of the young man out there alone. She’d made a promise to Sidney and the others to look out for him. Not good, she thought, sipping her water. Not good at all.

  “I think your buddy is starting to come to,” Clara said, hooking a crooked thumb over her shoulder toward the living room.

  Doc Martin took a final look out the window, at the path that disappeared into darkness, before heading back into the living room.

  Burwell was awake. “Things are a little bit fuzzy,” he said. “How about filling me in.”

  Doc Martin held her water out for him. “Drink?”

  He nodded, reaching out with a trembling hand.

  “Might want to sit up first,” she said, pulling the glass away and practically falling to her knees beside him. She helped him maneuver into a sitting position, then pulled a chair over for him to lean against before giving him the water.

  Burwell grunted, wincing in obvious pain.

  “Where are we?” he asked, bringing the glass up to his mouth.

  “Clara was nice enough to take us in,” Doc Martin said, looking over to the old woman, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

  “Yeah, I’m a regular saint,” Clara grumbled. “Anyone want a sandwich?” she asked, turning around and heading into the kitchen. “Might as well use up the bologna before it goes rotten.”

  “She seems quite pleasant,” Burwell said as he finished the water with one last gulp.