“He’s not well.”
Piper sighed. “He never is. Get him.”
The creature hurried away, apparently to get this Warder person.
Debbie turned to Heather. “What’s happening? What the hell is all this?”
Heather shook her head. “I’m not even sure…”
“They killed Shaun…”
Heather felt a hole open inside her. She saw Chad with his gut frayed wide, gaping like a maw spewing innards. The intestines uncoiled as they poured out. They made awful moist plops when they hit the ground, like rotted fruit busting open.
“No!” Heather cried out.
Chad reached for her, mouth moving without words. He stumbled a couple steps. His hands pawed at her, fingers brushing her coat as she trembled, frozen in place. He dropped to his knees in front of her, looked up, eyes round with shock and regret, mouthed something of an apology and dropped onto his stomach.
A dark blob spread out from under him.
Heather started crying, triggering a meltdown from Debbie as well.
“So you two know each other?” said Piper. “That figures. Everyone ends up here eventually.” He chuckled. “Crying isn’t going to get you out of it.”
Heather sniffled, trying to pull it all back. “Is anyone else alive?”
Debbie shook her head. “I doubt it…”
Heather closed her eyes. She held her breath to keep from crying harder. When she opened them, she noticed the creatures around Debbie were smiling. A slimy tongue slipped out from a mouth and curled a tacky trail across its thin lips.
She quickly averted her eyes to the ground. The snow looked pretty in the firelight. How it gleamed like a river of tiny diamonds was almost stunning.
“What’s your name, princess?” Piper asked.
Heather had already told him hers, so he must have been directing his question to Debbie.
“Duh…Debbie…”
“Debbie.” He seemed to savor this a moment. “I like that. Not many people nowadays with that name.”
“Are you going to help me?”
Heather wasn’t sure why Debbie had asked. Maybe she just needed to hear him say that he wasn’t, as if all the details she’d already seen weren’t enough validation.
“That depends, sweetheart.”
“On what?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see on that one.”
Debbie wept. Her tears made tiny wet holes in the snow as they trickled from her eyes.
A body dropped between them, landing on its back with a heavy thump. Arms fell out to each side. The hand was just inches from Debbie’s knee, as if reaching out to touch her.
Heather traced its arm to the body where a heavy coat puffed. It reminded her of the way swimming trunks sometimes got those air bubbles that made men look as if they had a giant swollen testicle. She recognized the garment right way, but looked at the face, and wished she hadn’t when she saw the deep jagged gash in his throat.
“Ted!” Debbie shrieked through her wails.
Tears filled Heather’s eyes, making everything blurry. She was thankful for that, so she wouldn’t have to see Debbie’s dead cousin.
“I take it you knew him,” said the cop without any morose.
She heard the ripping sounds of Ted’s clothes. In blurred, dark smudges, she saw little creatures scurrying around him. They were stripping him. The sounds carried on for a few minutes before finally stopping.
The tears cleared long enough for her to see a little blade start slicing Ted’s penis. She quickly screwed her eyes shut. It protected her from the sight but did nothing to cover the wet sawing sounds. There was one final juicy rip; then all she heard was a trickling sound like a spigot that hadn’t been turned off all the way.
Oh God—why are they doing this? Why!?!
For some unknown reason, she opened her eyes.
And saw the long dowel clutched in their hands. The tip had been filed down to a sharp point. They struggled to line the tip up with Ted’s gaping mouth.
Then they shoved it in. She watched it vanish down his gullet like a sword being swallowed by a magician.
Debbie screamed so hard her throat sounded like a distorted speaker.
The noises the rod made during its plunge sounded like soggy cabbage being shredded. More moist rips and the tip burst through the serrated dark nub where his penis used to be. The rod was soaked in paste-like blood.
Debbie vomited all over the ground. It made a sound like a bucket of water being dumped onto the ground. Some of the spew splashed Piper’s boots, making him jump back.
“Watch the shoes!” he yelled.
Coughing and gagging, Debbie leaned her head back. Thick spittle clung to the corners of her mouth as she groaned queasily.
Ted’s nude body was hoisted off the ground. A group of the little things held him up by the rod, his arms and legs dragging across the snow as they carried him over to a pair of X-shaped racks. The setup was like the pig pickin’ cookouts her grandparents used to have. Moving around so the rod was in line with the racks, they raised their arms and dropped each end into the brackets.
More monsters hurried over there. Some hugged bundles of twigs to their chests and others carried Ted’s torn clothing. A smaller one in the rear struggled with Ted’s shoes. It dropped one more than once. They began stacking everything under Ted, forming a teepee of broken sticks and sheared fabric under him.
Then set fire to the twiggy mound.
There was nothing to shield Ted’s flesh from the licking flames. They reached up, waving tips, painting black streaks across his stomach. His arms hung in the fire, as if he were elbow deep in a puddle of flames.
They stopped working at the rustling sounds of approaching footsteps and a faint peep as if on a loop. Dropping to their knees, they bowed their heads. The others spread out around the area followed their lead.
What’s happening?
“It’s about damn time,” said Piper.
Heather noticed a trio of tiny females. They were dressed in clothes that might have been stripped from baby dolls. Old and ragged, they hung in stained tatters on their frail bodies. Curly hair dangled by their faces, bits of leaves clinging to the spiraled locks.
Together, the females were pushing some kind of cart. The quick, soft yelps were caused by the wheels. As it rolled closer, the pale object formed into a shape.
A sopping blob of red, burned flesh was molded around the cart’s platform, held in place by bungee cables. The indurated flesh looked brittle and dry, threatening to crack like plaster—like a seventh-grader’s volcano experiment that had exploded. The desiccated skin seemed to gleam as if painted in honey glaze.
It was only when the thing was placed in front of her that she could detect the smallest hint of a face. Stretched and pockmarked in third-degree burns that hadn’t healed right, a tube went in its mouth, feeding down its throat. Each time it breathed, Heather heard a sound like someone with emphysema sucking the froth of a milkshake through a ribbed straw.
The eyes were lidless orbs, unblinking and spinning around as if they might plop out. They glared like two flashlights shining hatred.
Two narrow flaps of lips quivered around the tube, slurping and grunting.
Debbie was screaming again, but Heather hardly noticed. Her mind seemed to be flooding with darkness, shock threatening to deluge her thoughts and make her numb. She welcomed it.
One of the females spoke. “Warder—our liege—has spoken to me! He will hear what the Watcher has to say.”
“Do we have to do this every goddamn time I come here?” said Piper. “I’ve got meat for you bleeding in the back of my Bronco.”
She hissed at him. Piper held up his hands as if trying to circumvent her hostility.
The area seemed to fill with even more creatures, assemblin
g like a congregation rallying around a great speaker. Heather spotted both males and females, all around the same size, their wrinkly flesh like rotten apples.
The man’s story in the diner returned to her in resonant drones. She wished she would have taken what he’d said more seriously.
Warder’s eyes rolled from Heather to Debbie, flipping around. Then those bouncing orbs looked where Piper stood.
“Brooke got away,” Piper said.
The tiny woman snarled. “You let her escape? She’s going to come here. She’s going to come after the girl!”
“Cool your panties, small tits. I seriously doubt she’ll make it through the night. She’ll probably freeze to death. She’s barefoot, wearing nothing but your flimsy gown and a coat. Nothing much to keep her warm. She won’t make it. Plus, it’s not like anybody around here would help her if she asked them to. They know the code. They interfere, they die.”
What the hell is going on? Why did we come here!?!
The glob in the dolly started making exasperated sighs. Small Tits leaned in, putting her ear close to its mouth. That swigging sound repeated, this time juicier as its lip slits aspirated around the straw.
The slurps seemed to go on forever.
“What the hell’s he saying?” asked Piper.
“He wants to know why you’ve come here. Her escape is no matter of his.”
Piper held out his hands. “Well…I thought this would be a good place to intercept her…”
“But you said she wouldn’t make it,” said Small Tits, cutting him off.
“I know what I said, and I believe it. But, just in case, I figured coming here would be a good idea.” He looked down at Debbie again. “If I would’ve known you had something like this waiting on me…”
“She is for our use,” said Small Tits.
“Well…I seem to be missing my prize for the services I provide. They gave me a girl that has been in this camp for too long. She learned to take care of herself. I wasn’t prepared for somebody like her. She caught me by surprise. So, her getting away was your fault, the way I look at it.”
Small Tits made a face that showed how much she abhorred this man. “Is that so?”
“It is if you ask me. I need one like this one here.” He pointed at Debbie. “Look at her. There’s no fight left. That’s how I like them. Placid.” He spit. A wad of blood-mixed spit punched a small crater into the snow. “Defeated. Plus, I’m bringing you this woman here.” He petted the top of Heather’s head. “And her boyfriend’s body is in my ride. He’s yours as well. Even trade if you ask me.”
Small Tits was about to speak when a course of frenetic smacks stopped her. Keeping her eyes on Piper, she listened to the whispering slurps.
Heather didn’t know how much more of that repulsive sound she could take. She looked at Debbie, who only sat on her knees. Her sobs had dwindled to sporadic sniffles. Her eyes stared at the ground. Poor Debbie. Piper wanted to take her with him. And if he got his wish, Debbie would only be trading one nightmare for another.
But what about me? What kind of nightmare am I in?
Small Tits took a step toward Piper.
“Well?” said Piper.
“You may take her if it will get you away from us so we can continue with our feast.”
At the mention of eating, Heather’s eyes glanced to the spit where Ted was impaled. His front side was a golden brown, as if he’d used way too much spray-on tan.
“So, we’re good?” Piper asked.
Small Tits nodded. “For now.”
He was reaching for Debbie when Small Tits responded. His hands paused inches from her shoulder. Debbie had noticed him coming and swayed backwards to avoid his hands.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Piper asked.
“Nothing.”
Piper’s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. What did he really say?”
“You better leave now. Warder is through talking to you.”
“Well, I’m not done with him.” He reached out to grab Small Tit’s arm.
And a hole blew through the top of his hand. The resonance of the gunshot came a split second later.
Small Tits reeled back, screaming. Piper jerked his hand to his chest, holding it with his other when a clout of red burst from the side of his face. Heather heard the ricocheting clamor of the bullet as it kept going. It struck the bushes farther away, sending tiny leaves flying.
Piper landed in front of Debbie, inducing a scream.
Heather threw herself back, her rump landing in the snow. She crawled in reverse as gunshots erupted from the shadows beyond the camp. She saw the spitting bursts of flame from each blast.
Small Tits was thrown back by the bullet slamming her.
Warder was hit twice in the chest. Blood shot out of him in twin arcs. The dolly spun around on one wheel. It balanced at an angle as blood continued to spurt from the quarter-sized holes in his chest. His round eyes twirled in all directions as if he was trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then another bullet took off part of his head, leaving behind a jagged red slide down to the nub of his chin. Gray matter sloughed from the gaping darkness.
Warder’s dolly fell over. Pulpy chunks plopped onto the white ground.
Creatures scurried around like ants after their hill is knocked over.
Gunshots continued to explode around her.
Wendy
The bullet pegged her below her collarbone, throwing her backward. The snow was cold under her back. Groaning, she reached up and put her hand against the wound. Blood streamed through her fingers.
Damn, it’s kind of bad.
She hadn’t seen the bullet coming. It must have hit Piper’s face, torn through and somehow turned in her direction.
Who’s shooting!?!
Didn’t matter. Whoever it was definitely wanted to make sure these evil fuckers got what they deserved.
Then she realized they probably wouldn’t care who they hit, even if it meant little Gary.
Get up. You have to get up.
After several deep breaths of preparation, Wendy pushed herself up. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected, but it still stabbed her with agony. She poked her head above the bushy wall and smiled at the carnage. Haunchies were scattering, clueless and screaming, as others were shot and dropped.
Some crouched around Warder, shaking his dead body as if it would somehow make him wake up.
Warder’s dead, boys.
Finally. You’d think a bullet through the head and being set on fire would have done it. Wendy had left his body burning with Amy’s after she’d shot him. Too busy, distracted by Amy’s satisfying tune of slow death, she hadn’t noticed Warder was still very much alive.
Not anymore.
Wendy understood this was only a temporary victory. The Haunchies had been surprised, and they’d regroup.
And she hoped to be well on her way, with little Gary in tow.
She struggled to her feet. Standing with a slight slouch, hand nursing her wound, she looked once more at the screaming woman. She sat on the ground, crying and shrieking like a child lost in an amusement park of derangement. Too much for her to conceive, all she could do was sit and scream.
The other woman looked much more aware of the elements. Lying on her stomach, her arms were folded behind her head as if to shield it from the gunshots.
It was only then that Wendy noticed the shooting had stopped.
Brooke
Brooke threw the handgun down. She’d known it couldn’t hold as many bullets as she wanted, but she was still frustrated when she pulled the trigger and got nothing but a click.
She felt a mild touch of panic. Now what? She couldn’t go in there empty-handed. No way. She would be dead in an instant.
Brooke turned her head toward Piper’s SUV. Its metal frame gli
nted in the shadows. Feeling the smile forming on her face, she ran to the vehicle. Her feet slipped in the snow, but she didn’t fall.
She slammed against the driver’s side door. Both hands slapped the dark window. She pressed her face to the cold glass and saw what she’d hoped for.
A shotgun was mounted between the seats.
Yes!
Her hands fumbled with the door before catching the handle. She flung the door wide and dived inside. Her hands were already pawing at the gun before her rump landed in the seat. Tugging at the weapon, it wouldn’t come free from the clasp it was secured in. She felt her throat release a soft whine as she fought to free the pump-action shotgun.
A small rack of shells was attached to the top of the gun’s chamber. She counted eight red tubes capped in copper. Didn’t matter if it was a hundred, the ammo was useless if she couldn’t get the gun out of the contraption it was in.
Brooke forced herself to stop. She pulled her hands away from the gun and sat them in her lap. She closed her eyes. Taking several deep breaths, she steeled herself and demanded the bewilderment to stop.
She opened her eyes, looked back at the gun. Her eyes examined the base where the wooden stock was clicked in. She realized right away what she’d been doing wrong. All this time, she was trying to pull it out with the barrel facing her. Probably for safety, this was an impossible feat to accomplish. Grabbing the curved underside of the pump, she pulled it in the direction it was faced.
And heard the ratchet-like click of it coming loose.
Now the noise in her throat was a squeal of delight. She dropped the gun into her other hand and slipped her finger through the trigger guard. The tiny metal arch tickled her skin.
She knew how to operate the weapon. Anyone who’d seen any kind of action movie should be an untrained pro at it. She jacked a round into the chamber, smiling when she heard the shell being pushed into place. Her thumb found the safety button and pushed it out.
The gun was ready to fire.
Brooke climbed out of the seat. Her feet stepped down in the snow and kept going. She fell out of the SUV, landing on her knees. The gun flew out of her hands. It hit the snow with a padded thump.
The Lurking Season Page 27
