by Pawlik, Tom
Like a coward.
Mitch ran his hand through his hair. He hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time. His dreams were haunted by visions of Jason. And slowly a grim resolve began to grow inside him.
He had to leave.
The other image haunting his thoughts was that of the stranger he’d encountered the week before. This Nathan guy who seemed to know Mitch. Who had warned him to leave the farm. To get away from Howard.
At the time, Mitch was still doubtful. Still unsure. Maybe still afraid to leave. But now? Now he was afraid to stay. It was as if this farm were cursed. Anyone who came here disappeared one way or the other. Mitch knew these creatures weren’t going to leave them alone. They weren’t going away. And it was just a matter of time until they came for him.
Mitch went to the kitchen window and glanced outside. It was only midmorning, and Howard was busy in the barn, changing the oil in the generators. The milk truck was parked next to the barn. It had been their main source of transportation over the last five years, but Howard also had a pickup in the garage next to the house. He’d use it occasionally when they needed supplies on a non-gas-run day.
Mitch went to his room and threw a few items into his duffel bag. Then he grabbed the keys to the pickup from the drawer and stole out the front door. He slipped into the garage and carefully rolled up the main door, wincing at every loud squeak and rattle. The noise seemed intensified against the eerie stillness of the gray, overcast world around them.
Mitch peeked back at the barn but couldn’t see any sign of Howard. He didn’t know why he was worried. It wasn’t like the guy would be much of a challenge in a fight. But still, something urged him to be as quiet as possible.
He slipped the truck into neutral and pushed it out of the garage. He recalled that the thing was in need of a new muffler and thought he was better off not starting it up until he came to the end of the long driveway.
Mitch pushed it slowly down the driveway and winced again. The dry crunch of the tires on gravel seemed as loud as gunshots. The driveway ran on a slight decline toward the road, and Mitch hopped inside once the truck began rolling on its own.
He kept one eye on the rearview mirror until he reached the road. Then he took one last look at the farm. The old clapboard house and outbuildings stood like a dismal oasis against the gray skyline. Flat, brown fields stretched out in all directions, broken only by occasional patches of barren, skeletal trees.
Mitch turned the key and the engine chugged and sputtered. A chill swept over him. “C’mon,” he whispered.
He tried again. The engine chugged to life, fired a moment, then died with a loud pop.
Mitch swore and tried it again. He glanced at the barn.
Howard was standing in the doorway. Hands on his hips. Staring at him.
The old truck sputtered to life and Mitch gunned the accelerator. The tires kicked up gravel as the pickup fishtailed out onto the road. Mitch took off south, toward Harris. Back to where he had met Nathan. He could get one of the Harleys, find the key, gas it up, and be gone again within minutes.
The truck rattled and squeaked as it barreled down the narrow county highway. Mitch kept a constant watch on the rearview mirror. No doubt, Howard would pursue him in the milk truck. Try to talk him out of leaving. Probably scold him for being so foolish.
Above the din of the engine, Mitch could hear a low rumble. Deep and sustained, it seemed to grow louder every second. The steering wheel began to vibrate.
As he approached an intersection, he spotted movement in his rearview mirror. Something was coming up behind him. He craned his neck to get a better view. Something big and black rumbled across the sky just overhead. It overtook him quickly. A huge, black mass—like a meteor—tumbled and rolled through the air, leaving a billowing trail of smoke in its wake. The whole truck rattled as it passed him with the roar of a jet. It was no more than a hundred feet in the air and descending quickly.
It smashed into the ground in the middle of the intersection, spraying chunks of asphalt and rock into the air. Thick, black smoke billowed around the crater. Mitch swore and slammed on the brakes. The pickup swerved sideways as it skidded to a stop.
Mitch could barely see the object itself amid all the smoke. But he glimpsed something that looked like a huge, charred mass of tangled branches and limbs—as if someone had uprooted an entire tree and rolled it into a ball, like crumpling up a piece of paper. Mitch peered at it, his heart pounding. Then his eyes widened.
Inside the smoke and debris, something moved.
21
NORMAN LEWIS GAZED at Conner without expression as Conner finished recounting the details of his experience. The storm, the creatures, the seizures and visions. All of it. The guy might think he was crazy, or maybe just tell him to leave, but Conner didn’t care anymore. He was desperate for help. In for a penny, he thought, in for a pound.
Lewis shook his head. “That is without a doubt the most incredible story I’ve ever heard.”
“You don’t believe me, do you.”
“Of course I do. There’ve been plenty of hellish near-death experiences reported by people.” Lewis shrugged. “But I’ve never heard anything this detailed before. It’s pretty amazing. And your revival at the hospital sounded nothing short of miraculous.”
“That’s my thought exactly,” Conner said. “So God obviously brought me back for a reason. I think He wants me to do something.”
“You mean saving Mitch?”
“That’s what I believe.”
Lewis drew in a breath and leaned back in his chair. “Hmm…”
Conner spread his hands. “I’m just guessing here. I’m new to all this.”
“Well, there may be many reasons He saved you. He’s given you quite a story. Maybe He wants you to share it with others.”
“But how do I know? I mean . . . how do you know what He wants you to do?”
Lewis laughed and rubbed his eyes. “Conner, that’s the million-dollar question. Everyone struggles to understand what their ultimate purpose in life is.”
“But what about the short term? Shouldn’t I be concerned about Mitch? His life is hanging in the balance and I need to do something. I can’t let him die. I can’t let him go to hell.”
Lewis’s face grew serious. “You’re right. You should be concerned. I think if all of us could get a glimpse of how terrible eternity without God is going to be, it’d give us a whole new perspective on life. And a greater sense of urgency.”
“But everything I’ve tried so far has failed. It’s like God keeps shutting the door in my face. I don’t know what to do anymore. And now I hear that Mitch’s father has already made ‘final arrangements’ for him.”
“God doesn’t hold you accountable for things outside your control. If you’ve done everything in your power to help Mitch, you have to leave the rest to God.”
“But that’s just it. I keep wondering if I really have done everything in my power to help him. I feel like God keeps telling me Mitch needs my help, but I don’t know what more I can do.”
“Are you talking about your dreams? Is that how you think God is speaking to you?”
Conner thought a moment. He had described his recurring nightmares and his sense that God was somehow using them to urge him to action. “I guess so. Does that seem a little too weird?”
“Well, I generally view dreams and visions with a healthy dose of skepticism. I’ve seen way too much false teaching come through somebody’s so-called personal revelation,” Lewis said. “In your case, it might just be your mind’s reaction to such a traumatic experience. On the other hand, there’ve been times when I’ve felt the distinct impression that God has placed a burden for someone in particular on my heart.”
Conner slumped in his chair. “So you’re saying maybe He is trying to tell me something or maybe He’s not.”
Lewis chuckled. “You’re right, I’m not being much help. But consider this: what if it’s not Mitch?”
“What do you
mean?”
“What about Devon or . . . this Howard Bristol? What if God is trying to tell you something about one of them?”
Conner rubbed his jaw. “Well, I finally went to see Devon this morning. He was so freaked out, he didn’t even want to talk to me.”
“What about Howard?”
Conner stared at the pastor. He had to be kidding. Howard Bristol? The guy who had purposely deceived them? who had led Conner into a trap? The man was probably demon-possessed—supposedly lying in a coma somewhere in Indiana. Conner just wanted to stay as far away from him as possible. “You’re joking, right?”
Lewis smiled. “I know you said he was working with those creatures, but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he’s trapped and God is moving you to help him. After all, your dreams have been centered on his farm, right?” He shrugged. “Maybe this isn’t about Mitch at all.”
22
MITCH SAT IN THE TRUCK, gaping at the smoldering object in the road. Black smoke billowed up in a thick column. Inside, the charred and twisted mass seemed to shudder. Then it began to uncurl slowly, as if unfolding from within itself. Long, gnarled limbs emerged, reaching up and stretching out to the sides. Still shrouded by smoke, the thing lurched and straightened up.
And up.
Mitch’s eyes widened. The thing rose—as if on haunches—as tall as a tree. Like an enormous, contorted skeleton of some prehistoric beast. It was roughly bipedal, with a misshapen torso resting on a pair of what appeared to be legs. Two elongated, multijointed arms protruded from its upper body like black, gnarled branches.
It bent forward and stretched its massive jaws open with a roar. A deep and deafening bellow that rumbled into the distance. It was like no creature Mitch had ever seen. Like something out of a nightmare. It had no eyes or snout or ears, just immense jaws, bearing a tangle of black and twisted fangs that dripped with tarlike saliva. Multiple horns and protrusions curled up from its head and shoulders. It almost appeared to be more plant than animal.
But it moved like an animal. Stepping out of the smoke with a single, giant stride, it reached one of its arms toward the truck. Huge claws unfolded.
Mitch threw the truck into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. Tires screamed and the pickup lurched backward as the beast’s claws crashed down, embedding themselves into the pavement.
Mitch squealed backward away from the intersection, then jerked the wheel hard and spun the truck around. He caught a glimpse of the creature in his mirror, struggling to loose its claws from the asphalt. Mitch slammed the truck into drive and tore off.
He glanced back and watched as the creature managed to free itself. It lurched after the truck with huge, awkward strides. Half upright, half on all fours—like a gorilla—the giant beast pounded after him. Mitch could feel the road shuddering beneath the truck. His hands tightened, white-knuckled, on the steering wheel. The creature roared a second time and Mitch looked back again.
It filled the entire rearview mirror.
Once more, the creature reached out and swiped at the pickup. A massive clawed fist smashed onto the road, just missing the back of the truck. Mitch swerved, but the beast was too fast. It swung its arm again and knocked the truck’s back end sideways. Mitch lost control and the pickup tipped on two wheels, then flipped and started rolling.
Mitch felt his head snap forward and smash into the windshield. Everything flashed red and he could feel himself tumbling in the cab. A dizzying blur of weeds, sky, and asphalt whipped past the windows. Glass shattered, metal crunched. And then everything stopped with a sickening thud.
Mitch found himself lying crumpled on the inside roof of the cab. Dirt and weeds filled one of the windows, but Mitch could see a strip of gravel and gray sky out the other side. The ditch. He still had the presence of mind to realize he’d landed in the ditch.
Mitch could hear the creature bellowing. It was somewhere close. And coming closer. The truck shuddered with its footsteps. Mitch’s vision blurred, then began to fade. He could feel himself losing consciousness.
A shadow passed over the truck and something now blocked his view of the sky. The last thing he remembered was the sound of crunching metal as the whole truck shook.
Then everything went black.
23
JUST AFTER TWO O’CLOCK, Devon and Pale Man approached the apartment building on West Seventeenth Street. Now that Devon had gotten a jacket, Pale Man informed him that the next thing he needed was transportation.
They scanned the street in both directions. There would be police, no doubt, watching. Devon pulled the hood lower over his face, hurried into the building, and slipped up the back stairwell. It was graffiti-laced and littered with flattened plastic bottles, wrappers, and other trash collecting in the corners. They climbed to the third floor and moved down the hall. Stopping at one of the doors, Devon knocked twice.
Nearly a full minute later, he heard feet shuffling on the other side. Then a woman’s voice, soft and hoarse, came from behind the door.
“Who is it?”
“Me.” Devon pulled the hood back off his head and moved in front of the spy hole.
After several long seconds of silence, he heard the click of a dead bolt. The door cracked open as far as the security chain would allow. Puffy, bloodshot eyes peered at him from the darkness inside.
“What are you doing here? When did you get out?” The woman hissed.
“This morning.”
“They let you out?”
“Not exactly.”
The woman swore. Her tone grew harsh. “No! You gonna drag me into all your mess? Just go away.”
Devon clenched his fists. He could feel the anger roiling inside of him. An uncontrollable rage. He leaned in toward the opening. “I need your car.”
The woman laughed out loud. “Cops gonna pick you up before you get to the end of the block. I ain’t giving you my car.”
Pale Man was leaning against the wall. He sighed. “We don’t have time for this, chief. Get the keys.”
“Mom—” Devon placed his hand against the middle of the door—“I need the car.”
He shoved the door open, tearing the security chain’s bracket right out of the doorframe. The woman screamed and retreated down the hall.
Devon was inside in an instant, caught his mother by her neck and spun her around. She was frail and thin, her hair a tangled mass hanging over her eyes. She wore only a large T-shirt that draped down to her knees.
Clutching her by the throat, Devon forced her into the kitchen and up against the wall. She flailed wildly, knocking a pan off the stove. She clawed at his hand, cursing him in gargled rasps.
Pale Man followed close behind him. “Don’t do anything stupid. Cops won’t make you a high priority. So far you’re just a street punk stealing a car from his crackhead mother. No big deal. But we don’t need any corpses lying around.” He chuckled softly. “Not yet.”
Devon leaned close to his mother’s face and hissed through his teeth, “Where are the keys!”
But it was not his voice.
His mother stopped struggling, her eyes wide. She pointed a trembling finger to the cupboard across the room.
Devon glanced over his shoulder, then let her drop to the floor. He opened the cupboard to find a key ring hanging from a nail inside. Snatching the keys, he turned and glared at her.
“If you call the police, I’ll kill you.”
His mother clutched her neck, sobbing and coughing in a crumpled heap.
Devon turned back down the hallway and a moment later was out the door.
24
MITCH FELT HIS BODY FLOATING in darkness. He sucked in a breath and sat up straight. And winced. His temples throbbed. He ran his fingers across his forehead and felt the soft texture of a bandage around his head. His hands were scraped. His vision was blurred but he could see he was back in Howard’s living room. Back on the farm.
It was growing dark outside. The gray daylight had faded into dusk and the room was li
t only by a few candles. How long had he been out?
“Welcome back.” Howard’s voice startled him. It came from the shadows of the corner where Howard was sitting in the rocking chair.
Mitch’s heart pounded as the memories of his encounter rushed back into his head. The creature. What was that thing? And how had he gotten back here? What had happened to the truck? Had it all been just another hallucination?
“Wh-what happened?”
Howard sniffed and clicked his tongue. “You tried to steal my truck.”
“Did you see that thing? That . . . that . . . What was it?”
Howard shrugged. “I didn’t see anything.”
“How’d I get back here?”
“I brought you back.”
“You did? How? That thing smashed your truck. I thought for sure it was going to kill me.”
“Don’t know what to tell you.” Howard glanced out the window into the growing darkness. “I tried to follow you in the milk truck and found the pickup all smashed to pieces. You were inside, out cold. I figured you just lost control and went off into the ditch on your own.”
Mitch rubbed his head. “I didn’t. I saw this big black . . . monster. I mean it was definitely something we haven’t seen before. It was huge. Big as a tree. It smashed your pickup and me along with it. All in broad daylight. I swear that’s the truth.”
“Well, I didn’t see anything. Just you layin’ in the ditch.”
“You believe me, don’t you?”
Howard rubbed his jaw. “Mitch, I opened my home to you. I’ve done my best to be welcoming and hospitable. And I don’t mind you borrowing my truck from time to time if you need it. I’d just appreciate it if in the future you’d ask permission first.”
“Dude. You have to believe me on this. There’s something new out there. Something we haven’t seen before. Something worse than those gray things. Man, a lot worse.”
“It didn’t kill you, did it? Didn’t carry you off somewheres?”
“No. You’re right. It must’ve just left me there. Like it was just trying to…” Mitch frowned. “Just trying to keep me from leaving.”
