The Secret: A Thriller

by David Haywood Young

  Eisler spat onto the ground. “That arrogant bastard tells me I should trust the process. I figure he’s waiting for me to turn into one of his slaves, and meanwhile…anyway, just go.”

  I stepped forward. “Mike? Come with me?”

  Eisler breathed out through his nose. “My guys are still here. Where’s your family?”

  I shook my head. Not a question I would answer.

  Eisler scowled at me, then nodded. “Not here, I know that. Your brother saved my ass in Iraq, man. And we both know what it cost him. So that’s something I owe you for. Your family. But…this is it, this makes us even, Ash. No more freebies. Don’t be surprised.” Then he tossed me a set of keys. “Take the cruiser at the end.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears. I’d started to believe Eisler was unaffected. Mentally. By whatever was going on. Was he? Or…

  He glared and brought the gun up again, aiming it squarely between my eyes. “Go!”

  I turned and ran for the car.

  * * *

  I drove as fast as I dared, headlights off. Nobody followed me. I slowed, pulled off the highway onto Ninth Avenue—it would take me back toward downtown, which was probably a bad idea, but it also gave me a little peace of mind to get off the main roads.

  What was safer? Driving across town, attracting attention, or getting out and walking back toward my family?

  Then I heard helicopters again. No way I’d be able to hide from them in the car, if they were after me—I opened the door, cursed when the dome light came on, and jumped out.

  Shoving the door back into place, I scanned the area. Where…?

  There! I spotted a house I knew, that backed up to Fish Creek, and ran for it.

  The choppers came closer, their blades chewing the air and roaring overhead…

  And then they were gone, moving through the night toward the high school.

  I crouched in an oversized culvert under F Street, near a favorite fishing spot for kids, and shivered. The night was chillier than I’d realized.

  Unarmed, hungry, scraped, unbelievably smelly, surrounded by strange creatures I didn’t understand…I smiled, a little, surprising myself.

  It was good to be out of the shelter. I’d start from that.

  But I decided to wait where I was until morning. I didn’t want to drive the police car any further, because it would be too easy to turn a corner, get spotted by someone looking for me or it—if anyone were looking—and then what would I do? Easier to walk, obviously carrying no supplies—no reason, maybe, for anybody to mess with me.

  I could almost believe it would work.

  But the cold air wasn’t doing me any favors. My left foot, leg and shoulder ached beyond belief. Pretty soon I’d need to find some medical supplies.

  Which reminded me of Abigail, and how I still didn’t know what to do for her. If she was still alive.

  I wanted to go to her right away. But…to do what?

  Somehow, I slept.

  * * *

  When I woke the moon had set. My head felt a little clearer. I started moving along the creek bed, wending my way between strange backyards. Up ahead would be one more bridge, and in a couple of places I’d need to climb up and walk across a road where the creek passed through a smaller culvert…but the creek was still higher than usual, and made what I hoped would be enough noise to cover my passage.

  I hung a left where the creek split. This branch—I didn’t think it had a name—connected to Bois d’Arc creek, which then branched out into three or four other creeks in the area.

  One of which went into the scrub woods, and eventually became Great-Granddad’s stock tank.

  The sun rose as I picked my way along the creek within a few blocks of Rose’s house.

  I hesitated. Abby needed me. Rebecca probably needed me. And Rose had been gone the last time I’d stopped by…permanently, for all I knew.

  It didn’t matter. I climbed out of the creek and walked, slowly, hands visible, down K Street.

  I’d abandoned Rose once, in the Walmart parking lot. That was more than enough of that.

  * * *

  My truck stood in Rose’s driveway this time. I approached the house, slowly, not daring to hope—and then I walked into a familiar stench.

  I stopped in Rose’s front yard and closed my eyes. Maybe it really was a deer this time. Or a dog, or a neighbor I didn’t know. The usual suspects, who never seemed to be guilty…

  Enough. I had to keep moving. So I did.

  I spotted a denim-wrapped leg poking out from around the side of the house, and the dread settled deeper into my chest…Rose had always loved her blue denim coveralls for any work she did in her flower beds…but I got closer, and took a deep breath of relief, and regretted that immediately.

  But it wasn’t Rose.

  Some older guy I didn’t know, lying spreadeagled with his face—not his eyes; they were gone; eaten by birds or other small animals, I supposed—anyway, with his face turned to the sky and still somehow looking surprised at what had happened to him.

  I stood above the dead man, breathing through my mouth, and relief washed through me.

  But if this guy had been driving my truck…where was Rose? She wouldn’t have left a body lying beside her house to rot—no matter that he might be too big for her to lift; she’d find a way—so she was either far away, or…

  I checked the house first, but nothing had changed inside. Then I saw her.

  In the backyard, sprawled across her azaleas. I didn’t want to see any more, but I walked over to take a closer look anyway. I’d abandoned her often enough. Maybe now that it didn’t matter, I could do better.

  Her body…it was…Rose hadn’t died easily. I’ll leave it at that. It’s not something I want to remember.

  I went inside and sat for a while. Eventually I went to my truck, got my spare key from its hiding place in the left rear wheel well, and opened it up.

  I found my computer inside the cab, in the passenger-side foot area. God knows why. Had Rose tried to bring it back to me for some reason?

  I carried the machine inside, then sat and stared at it.

  I didn’t really want to look for more news from out of town. I figured I wouldn’t learn anything good. Otherwise why were we still on our own here? But I knew I had to look. Plus, maybe there would be information that would help Abby.

  First, though, I went into Rose’s shed and found a shovel.

  I buried her next to her home, right where she’d fallen. I tried to save the azaleas, but I wasn’t sure whether I’d succeeded. If they didn’t make it, I decided, I’d come back and plant more. If I could.

  Standing over her grave, with a light rain falling on me, I tried to think of something to say. But I’d never been the sort to pray. Or be there for Rose, either. Though I’d have given a lot to change that.

  “I’ll miss you, Rose,” I said finally. “I hope you’re in a better place.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I booted up the computer, but Rose’s satellite box couldn’t get a connection.

  Maybe the uneven current from my cheap inverter had damaged it. Or…not. Maybe the satellite itself had quit working, or was no longer accepting connections. Or had burned up in the atmosphere after stumbling on aliens.

  Whatever; I felt almost relieved. Getting online was the practical thing to do. But success would have felt—disrespectful. Somehow.

  But it meant I still didn’t know how to help my daughter. If she still needed me.

  I gathered some food—mostly canned goods—and put them in a makeshift sling I’d made out of a bedsheet. It wasn’t far from Rose’s place back to the woods, and I wanted to show up with food in hand when I got to the basement. Where I might find more evidence of my failures. Had I ever, at any point in my life, really known what I was doing? Or had I always just muddled through like this?

  It mattered, now. I needed to come up with a plan.

  The food bag was heavy—too heavy, probably. I took it all any
way. If I had to I could find a place to stash some of it partway.

  * * *

  I found the creek again, and nearly gave in to a bizarre impulse to clean myself up before finding my family.

  I fought it off, and moved further into the scrub woods.

  Though I did smell pretty awful. Maybe I could toss the food to Rebecca from a distance? And then go clean myself up?

  Screeching, in the distance. I paused. For the moment at least, though, it had nothing to do with me.

  Over the next rise, and the basement would be in view. I wanted to shout, but held myself back. No sense attracting…

  * * *

  The wind shifted. Suddenly I was sure Rebecca wouldn’t care how I stank.

  Because the stench coming from the basement was far worse.

  * * *

  I dropped the food bag. I suddenly realized I’d carried it all, all the way—and my muscles hadn’t strained much either—but I didn’t especially care.

  I felt a scream deep in my throat, and my eyes wanted to bathe themselves in tears. But first…

  I walked forward, somewhat careful about making noise but not very. If whoever had done this was still around, unarmed or not I’d—

  * * *

  I saw a ribcage, picked mostly clean, by the basement door, and started to sink to my knees.

  But then the door opened. “Daddy!” Abigail called—and then she put her hand over her mouth, looking frightened.

  I grinned at her, unable to speak.

  She beckoned me closer. I moved in—I must have been walking but it felt like floating—and opened my mouth. “Oh, honey…”

  Then my daughter’s eyes went wide. Looking right at me she raised her hand to her mouth. And screamed.

  What? Was I…I felt normal. I looked down at myself. Nothing unusual; no spare parts. I tried to smile, “Hon, I don’t—”

  And the world went dark.

  * * *

  Waking, I didn’t know where I was. I hurt, and I spun. Or the room spun…was I in a room?

  I heard a voice—a voice I loved, a voice I’d been trying to reach—and it soothed me.

  Someone removed my clothes and cleaned me. It was warm, wet, thorough…again, I slept.

  * * *

  “Daddy? Daddy, are you awake?”

  I opened my eyes to see Abigail staring worriedly into my face. “Daddy, it’s been two whole days. You need to eat something.”

  I shook my head. Two days?

  I peered around. I was in the basement, on a pallet. Under a blanket I was naked. “Is your mom—”

  Abby was shaking her head. “She’s out hunting.”

  God, that was good to hear. I smiled at my daughter. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Oh. Mom kind of cut those off you. But here, I picked out an outfit for you!” Proudly, she pointed at some jeans and a T-shirt, folded in a pile against the wall.

  She turned her back and I got dressed. “So Mom’s out hunting. How are you set for water?” I asked, turning around.

  Abby shook her head. “We don’t have very much.”

  “But your mom cleaned me up anyway? That’s okay; I can go try the old well. Maybe it’ll work. If not, I’ll—”

  Abby was still shaking her head. “What?” I asked. “You didn’t clean—”

  She turned bright red. “No, Daddy! It’s just…you can’t go outside right now.”

  I looked at my daughter. She seemed to be in relatively good shape. Not obviously hungry or injured in any way…my heart filled with gratitude.

  But…“Look, Abby. I’m okay now.” I was, too. Mostly. “It’s okay for you to worry, but I’ll be fine.”

  I moved to the door. But Abby grabbed my shirt from behind. “No, Daddy! Mommy’s friend is out there! I call him George. He’s the one who hurt you when you got here, and Mommy was so mad but he’s sorry now but still you shouldn’t…”

  Still facing the door, I stopped moving.

  Mommy’s friend?

  I opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine. Peered around, saw nothing unusual, and called back to my daughter. “Hon? Can you tell me—”

  I heard a hoot from above, and turned to look. In an ancient and gnarled live oak…clad only in a yellowed, torn pair of jockey shorts that might have been, a part of myself that I couldn’t silence commented critically, even older than the tree…crouched a naked hairy guy. With fangs.

  He hooted again.

  “Abigail?” I asked.

  She came up behind me. “He won’t hurt you if you stay in here,” she said. “He was really mad when you first came here, but Mommy made him leave you alone.”

  I swallowed, then cocked my head to the left. “Um. How did she…?” I stopped and looked around. The stench up here was still terrible. I could see the remains of two deer and a couple of rabbits. At least I thought they’d been rabbits—they might have been cats instead. I decided it didn’t make a difference. And I didn’t want to know.

  I also didn’t want to hear my daughter’s answer to the real question in my mind. The one I had to ask. I didn’t get to choose—this was my family. And Rebecca wouldn’t have left that mess lying there. Unless.

  But I couldn't come straight out with it either. “Abby, how is your mother? Is she okay?”

  “Oh, Daddy.” She started crying, and I took her in my arms. “Mommy’s just. Um, she’s different, now.”

  Oh my God. My sweet Rebecca…I couldn’t stand thinking about it.

  But I couldn’t stop. So I stood there, and I held my daughter close. And cried with her.

  Behind us, from his perch in the tree, my wife’s new friend hooted mournfully.

  An answering hoot came from somewhere not far away, and I closed my eyes.

  * * *

  A few minutes later I heard her drop from a tree but I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t.

  Abby looked past me, then up to my face, and turned away. She opened the door to the basement—I hadn’t known she could do that by herself; even with the counterweight the door was heavy—and went in.

  I heard a shuffling sound behind me. George shifted in his tree. He looked…uncertain?

  What did it mean to him, that Rebecca had put me under her protection? Did he see me as a rival? Or…a pet?

  A plaintive hoot from behind, more shuffling, and a hand clasped my shoulder. I didn’t look at it.

  Slowly, she turned me around and simultaneously moved, placing herself between me and the basement. Was she trying to keep me away from Abby? From our…our daughter?

  I studied my feet. She put a finger—a finger with a two-inch claw—under my chin.

  I met her eyes.

  She was beautiful still. Maybe more than ever. But not remotely human. Her eyes, always hazel before, had turned bright green and were slitted like a cat’s. Her jaw had lengthened and her nose had shortened. Hair sprouted lower on her forehead, and she had a sort of mane under her chin. Or a beard, I guess.

  Her breasts had shrunk, and she squatted more than stood.

  She was…very hairy. And naked.

  Oh god. I jerked my gaze back up. Her labia had been enlarged by the transformation, and were colored a bright red.

  She looked directly into my eyes. I couldn’t stand it: I looked away.

  The creature that had been my wife gave a sad, whimpering hoot. Then she turned and bounded off into the woods.

  George gave an unhappy grunt, glared at me, and followed.

  Down at my feet, I saw Rebecca had brought us a rabbit.

  I tried not to think it—but it reminded me of the mice and birds my cat used to bring me, before he’d disappeared last year. Only the rabbit, today, was skinned and gutted.

  Mr. Claws had never taken his gift-giving quite that far.

  I sat for a few minutes, breathing hard, and tried not to pass out. Losing my mind entirely would have been okay right then. Or…almost. There was still Abby to think of.

  So I started gathering twigs, and the
n larger sticks, for a fire.

  * * *

  “Abby? Are you okay in there?”

  No answer. It was the third time I’d knocked. I couldn’t imagine how hard the last few days must have been for her.

  I’d set everything up for a fire, dragged partially-eaten and rotting carcasses of previous meals off into the woods, and tried to get my head together.

  Yeah. That was working well.

  This time I pulled the door open. “Abby? I’m coming in.”

  * * *

  I found her huddled on a pallet. Looking around inside, I could see very little had changed since I’d left them a few days ago. Someone had eaten all the Pop-Tarts, nuts, and other snackable items. But nothing that required cooking appeared to have been used at all. Logically enough.

  I found the matches and regarded my daughter. “C’mon, honey,” I said. “Let’s go sit outside while I fix lunch.”

  * * *

  The rabbit wasn’t bad once I seasoned it—the spices hadn’t even been unpacked, but we’d thrown several into a bag when we’d come out here. Abby ate slowly. Using, I was glad to see, a fork and knife.

  Would she too turn into …something nonhuman? Would I? Had we already?

  Suddenly I wondered—with all the hunting Rebecca had apparently done—“Abby? Has…has your mom been feeding you?”

  Abby looked up. “Sometimes. She likes it when I eat what she brings.”

  The cooking supplies had been unused. And I couldn’t see any evidence of previous fires.

  “Okay,” I told her. “Do you want to stay here?”

  Abby shrugged. “Mom doesn’t let me go very far.”

  I frowned. Maybe the best thing would be to grab some stuff right now and—

  A crashing sound in the brush. I stood up and grabbed the shotgun I was keeping near. But I recognized the fangs, and lowered the gun’s muzzle to the ground.