Lot Lizards

by Ray Garton

  A.J. fell on her ass, gasping her shock, and Bill dropped to one knee at her side, whispering, "God, I'm sorry, A.J., I'm sorry, but I just—"

  She slugged him in the stomach so hard and so unexpectedly that Bill doubled over with a startled grunt. She was sitting up straighter to hit him again when a beefy black hand clutched each of them and held them apart.

  "Don't you think enough people have been hurt out here, dammit!" he barked, shaking them. "Now knock it off before I hafta beat the shit outta both of you!" He seemed embarrassed then and dropped his hands, wincing. "I'm...look, I'm sorry, but I'm just, y'know, kinda..." To Bill: "Listen, man, that cop over there is dead. You hear me? He is dead. Now I don't know what the story is with you two and I probably don't wanna know, but there's one thing I do want and that's for you to explain to me what the fuck I just saw out here because I don't think I'm too fuckin' sure, you know what I'm sayin'?" He'd grabbed the collar of Bill's coat in both hands and was shaking him as he roared in his face.

  Bill wrapped his bony fingers around the man's thick wrists and squeezed. He felt weak and looked frail—although his face was barely visible to them in the snowy darkness and for that he was thankful—but he had enough strength to freeze the black man and make him tremble with pain as he squeezed the wrist bones hard and harder.

  "What's your name?" Bill asked.

  Through clenched teeth: "By...ron."

  "Calm down, Byron. Okay?" Byron stared silently for a moment. "Okay, Byron?"

  He nodded slowly at first, then his head bounced up and down like a ball. "Y-yuuhh...o-o-o...yuh-yeah, okay."

  Bill's mind raced. He knew he could erase the memory of the last few minutes from the minds of both Byron and A.J., but then he would have no one to help him. He needed someone to help him. He smiled a little and spoke softly. "Listen to me, Byron. I need you to help me. You, too, A.J." He turned to her; she was staring at him with a sort of horrified fascination. To Byron again: "I don't want to hurt anybody, Byron. Really. What just happened here—" He gestured to A.J. "—well... it's kind of, um, complicated. She's my ex-wife."

  Byron nodded quickly, wide-eyed. "I kinda figured."

  "Right now, there are a lot of people in danger, Byron. They're snowed in here, there's no power, and there are some people wandering around here who want to hurt them. Do you understand?"

  "I think I do, yeah. Now, I mean, after that, yeah."

  "Well, I think I might be able to keep them from being hurt. But you have to believe that I don't want to hurt them. And you'll have to listen to me when I explain this. I mean, you'll have to listen to, um...to some stuff you might not want to believe."

  Byron nodded.

  Bill turned to A.J. "And you have to believe that I'm going to get Jon out of there. And...and that I want you and the kids...and Doug...to get out of here safely."

  She seemed shocked by his knowledge of Doug, but nodded slowly.

  "Okay," Bill whispered, preparing himself. "Okay." As briefly as possible, he told them everything...

  CHAPTER 13

  Bill talked so quickly that he sometimes stumbled over his words and had to start over. He tried not to look at their faces, afraid that he might see disbelieving eyes and, even worse, mocking smirks. But when he looked at A.J., he saw horror and sadness and confusion. Seeing her again made talking difficult. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, to ask her, and he knew he'd never see her again after tonight.

  After what that creature had told him, he seriously doubted he would be seeing anyone, anything, after tonight.

  Byron listened intently, nodding and making small sounds of shock, but he never showed any signs of disbelief.

  When he finished his story, he turned slowly to A.J. He knew he was still no more than a faint silhouette in the dark to her, but the horrified expression on her face suggested that she could see him clearly.

  "Why... I don't understand why you didn't... call or write," she whispered, as if she hadn't heard his story at all. "You could've written, at least. And...if you'd told me what was wrong...I would've helped you."

  "What could you have done?"

  "I could've tried. I've...well, I...I know I'm the one who left, but... I've missed you. We all have. Jon especially. You're still all he talks about and he's always—" She stopped and her gaze turned to the black Carsey Bros, truck. Her eyes teared up again and her lips quivered.

  "We're gonna get him out of there," Bill said, as firmly as he could. He reached out to touch her, but she shrunk away convulsively.

  "I-I'm...sorry," she whispered, turning away from him.

  "You say garlic might help?" Byron asked.

  "I think so. At least, with the girls. I'm not sure about that thing in the truck. The queen. That's gonna be tough."

  "Well, I know where we can get some garlic. There's a shitload of it in the basement of the kitchen."

  "Can you get to it?"

  "I'm the janitor. I can get to anything."

  Turning to A.J. again, Bill said, "Look, you've got to tell Doug about this. Make sure the girls are with one of you at all times."

  She nodded.

  "And as soon as you can, get out of here."

  "We don't have a car. We had a wreck."

  "What? Why didn't you tell me? Was anyone hurt?"

  "No, no. We're fine. Except for the car."

  He looked at her a long time, then asked, "Is he good to you? This Doug?"

  She chuckled coldly. "Sometimes I think he's too good to me. Like you were."

  "Then I'm glad. I'm glad." He nodded and turned away from her, resisting the urge to touch her again.

  "Look," Byron said, "I hate to wreck your reunion, but whatta you say we go down to the basement."

  Bill started to reply, then remembered Claude Carsey. "Shit, that's where I put him."

  "What?" Byron said.

  "Carsey. One of the drivers. After I knocked him cold, I put him through a basement window behind the restaurant."

  "But it's kept locked."

  "It was open a crack."

  "Shit. Don't sound good to me."

  "Yeah," Bill said. "Let's get in there."

  The restaurant was chaos. After the lights went out, a startled murmur passed over the tables and booths in a wave, then someone laughed, someone cursed, a baby shrieked and the auxiliary power clicked on. It sounded to Kevin like the curse came from Jenny. It came again.

  "Shit!" she hissed, brushing by him behind the counter. She spun around and stalked back to his side. "Look at this." She waved her arm toward the crowd of diners.

  There were only three auxiliary lights lined up over the pick-up window facing the dining area and they cast a harsh, shadowed glow over the tables. Each light was powered by its own battery pack—the generator had been stolen over a year ago and never replaced—and lasted only an hour if the batteries had been properly charged. A man shouted, "Shut those damned things off!"

  "Do you believe that?" Jenny whispered. "He wants total darkness. Like this isn't bad enough." She swept a hand over her face, then back through her hair. "Do you know who's working the floor right now? Maybe I can get a cigarette break."

  Kevin glanced at the clock. "I don't know, but I'm taking mine."

  "What? You're getting a break in all this?"

  "Hey, I asked for an early break about half an hour ago and he said yes. I'm gonna hold him to it."

  She looked at him curiously, cocking her head slightly, as if there were something odd about Kevin. "You all right? You seem different."

  Still thinking of Amy, Kevin smiled and nodded and said, "I'm fine," then headed down the corridor, punching out and grabbing the basement keys on his way. As he opened the door, he heard voices and froze. Had someone gone down there and found Amy? He'd be up shit creek if it was Craig. He quickly stepped through the door, closed it and peered down the stairs into the dark.

  Amy was kneeling on the floor between the legs of a man slumped against a stack of crates beneath
the window.

  "Amy?" Kevin whispered.

  She looked over her shoulder so quickly that her hair parachuted around her head. In the dark it was hard to tell, but it looked to Kevin like she was smiling. Grinning, actually. And there seemed to be something—two small things—hanging from her upper lip. Two small sharp things glistening with dark fluids.

  She laughed.

  "God, Amy, what...what're you..."

  She stood and rushed toward him so quickly that he flinched. "Kevin!" she hissed. "You're back!" She wrapped her arms around him and held her face close to his. There was a wet, coppery smell to her breath that made him grimace. She seemed happy, giddy as a child. "I have so much to tell you!"

  Kevin stiffened, backed away, but she grabbed his arms and pulled him toward her, whispering, "What's the matter? I thought you wanted to come down here so we could get close." She pressed her breasts against him and ran her hands over his chest lightly.

  Kevin looked down at the man sprawled on the floor and a cold clutching feeling in his chest told him that something was very wrong here, so wrong that he wasn't going to be able to ignore it or walk away from it or keep anyone else from finding out.

  The man stirred, his head lolled to one side and a booted foot scraped over the concrete floor.

  "What's happened?" Kevin rasped. "Whuh-what've you done? Who's that man?"

  "Someone who wanted to hurt me. Someone who's been hurting me for a long time. You wouldn't want someone to hurt me, would you, Kevin?"

  Her satiny voice seemed distant and Kevin wanted nothing more than to get away from her, but he couldn't take his eyes off the man on the floor and that sharp odor he was smelling was beginning to make him feel a little queasy... and Amy was moving her hand down to his belt...then below his belt to his fly, where her fingers moved with purpose, pulling the zipper down with a hiss.

  "Look at me, Kevin."

  He did.

  "You don't want to stay around here forever, do you?" she whispered, easing her hand into his pants. "You want to go away and see other places, right?" She began to stroke him gently. "You want to make lots of money, don't you? And you'd like to be with me...wouldn't you?"

  In a heartbeat, the man on the floor was forgotten...

  Mrs. Tipton touched a match to the last of three kerosene lanterns, casting a hazy orange glow over the dark room. "It's just the snow," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "Come over here by the fire and keep warm, honey."

  Shawna moved to the fireplace, but kept looking over her shoulder at the front window. Mrs. Tipton had closed the drapes again and only a half inch or so of night-black space remained between them.

  "What do you say we turn on the radio and see if we can find out what happened to the power, okay?" Mrs. Tipton turned on the small AM/FM radio on the lamptable beside her rocking chair. Turning the dial slowly, she stopped at each station and listened for a moment with a frown before passing onto the next in search of some news. A sound from the kitchen startled her and Mrs. Tipton jerked her head toward the hallway, then looked at Shawna and smiled through the murky flickering dimness.

  "It's just the cat, honey," she said with quiet reassurance.

  There was another sound, louder this time, a clatter, and Mrs. Tipton's hand jerked away from the radio. She turned to Shawna, her smile gone, mouth curled into a wrinkled little O.

  Something welled up in Shawna's chest, a terrible thickness that made it difficult to breathe and she clutched her hands together. "Let's go, Mrs. Tipton!" she hissed. "Let's get out of the house! Now!"

  The woman's mouth trembled into a hesitant smile. "Oh, sweetheart, don't be ridiculous. It's just Tug." She started to get up. "He's probably up on the counter making a mess and looking for foo—"

  An even louder clatter was followed by footsteps.

  Mrs. Tipton froze in a hunched, half-standing position, all confidence gone from her face. Shadows deepened her wrinkles and the lantern flames glistened in her eyes.

  "Puh-please, Mrs. Tipton, we have to go!" Shawna whispered. "It's something bad, just like I said something bad!" She backed toward the window, chest heaving as she stared at the black hallway that led to the kitchen. The darkness oozed and Shawna threw herself at Mrs. Tipton, clutching her hand and screaming, "Now Mrs. Tipton now we have to—"

  They were in the living room in an instant, as if they had melted out of the darkness, two young women—girls, really— with skin like ivory, sunken cheeks and thin necks with muscle cords pulled taut. And they were smiling.

  Mrs. Tipton screamed and clutched Shawna close to her side.

  The girls moved toward them smoothly, confidently. One had blond hair and wore a long, tattered wool coat; the other wore a blue ski cap and a grey down jacket. The blond whispered, "Hi, little girl. What’s your name?"

  "You leave her alone!" Mrs. Tipton shrieked, stepping in front of Shawna.

  The blond stopped, nodded and said, "Okay. What's your name, old lady?"

  They moved quickly and were on Mrs. Tipton in a heartbeat, pushing her to the floor, embracing her, their faces pressing to each side of her neck as she struggled helplessly. Her screams were brief, and then she became silent, her wide eyes staring at the ceiling, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, hands clenching and unclenching, feet twitching.

  Shawna held in her scream, hugging herself as she backed away clumsily until her shoulders were against the window-pane, then she spun around and screamed with all her might, pounding her fear-weakened fists on the glass: "Heelllp! Somebody heelllp!" She screamed the words over and over again until—

  —hands clutched her shoulders and turned her around and Shawna looked into the white, smiling, blood-smeared face of the blond. From beneath her upper lip curled two long narrow fangs—just like the fangs on Mr. Edell's German shepherd next door—and each of them glistened with dark blood.

  "Don't be afraid," the girl hissed, blood spattering from her lips. She pressed a bloody hand over Shawna's mouth, spun her around and embraced her from behind.

  The other girl rose slowly, her tongue running over her lips, and stepped in front of them. Her eyes were heavy, as if she'd just awakened from a deep sleep. Her nose twitched a few times and she winced at Shawna. "She smells funny," she said.

  "So?"

  "I mean she smells...sick, maybe."

  "Don't they all these days? She doesn't smell as bad as some. Probably just a bad diet. This is hicksville, y'know. They probably live on grease around here. You bleed the old lady?"

  "Course not, idiot. She's alive."

  "Well, kill her. She'll talk."

  The girl in the ski cap went back to Mrs. Tipton's side and the blond turned to watch. Shawna wanted to close her eyes, wanted to struggle, kick and fight, but she was simply too weak

  1

  and terrified to do any of those things, so she watched as horror churned her insides. The girl bent down and held the old woman's head between both hands. With a sudden jerk, Mrs. Tipton's neck cracked sharply.

  Shawna struggled then, tried to scream again, but only for a moment; she grew tired quickly and the girl's arms were like iron bars.

  As the girls wrapped her up in two blankets, the blond smiled down at Shawna and said gently, "You're gonna come with us. There's somebody who wants to see you. Somebody who'll like you a whooole lot..."

  CHAPTER 14

  "Wait a sec," Byron said to Bill and A.J. before they went inside the truck stop. He jogged to a battered white Chevrolet pick-up, opened the door and reached behind the seat, retrieving a handgun which he stuffed beneath his belt under his jacket before he slammed the pick-up door and led them inside.

  Inside, it was noisy and dark. They shouldered their way through the crowd, through the travel store and, after Byron stopped to get a flashlight from a utility closet, into the restaurant. Byron led them behind the counter toward the hall that led to the basement. A weary looking waitress holding two plates of half-eaten food stepped in front of Bill an
d A.J. and said, rather curtly, "I'm sorry, but you are not supposed to be back here."

  Byron turned and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Jenny. They're with me."

  She turned to him. "Byron, you look like shit. You okay?"

  "Nope. Look, we' re going down to the basement. Anybody says anything, tell them they're with me and it's okay."

  Looking confused and concerned, and glancing at Bill with a sort of sickened fascination, she nodded and hurried away.

  "Bill?" Adelle whispered hesitantly. "I should go talk to Doug. He should know about...about what's happening."

  "Okay." He squeezed her arm. "Remember, stick together and don't go outside, but get away from that guy at the next booth."

  She nodded, looked sick for a moment, as if she might vomit or pass out, then began to cry quietly.

  "Don't worry, A.J. We're gonna...we're gonna..." When she looked up at him, he couldn't finish, he couldn't look her in the eyes and say it, so he held her to him, looking instead at a stack of dirty plates as he said, "We're gonna get him out of there and he's gonna be fine."

  "Somebody mind telling me what the hell's going on here?"

  The man's voice trembled only slightly with quiet, contained anger and when Bill turned to him, he knew somehow that it was Doug.

  Adelle wiped her eyes and sniffled. "Doug, this is Bill. My ex-husband."

  He said nothing, just stared Bill in the eyes. He looked angry at first, defensive, jaw set and eyes narrowed. But as he continued to look at Bill in the poor light, his expression changed to one of curiosity, then he backed away a little, frowning, all of his anger gone.

  "We have to talk, Doug," Adelle said.

  Doug's eyes darted back and forth between Bill and Adelle, suddenly worried. Her lips were quivering and she was about to start crying again. "What's going on here?" Doug asked.

  "Just...Doug, please, come to the table. We have to talk." She sounded impatient. With another glance at Bill, she took Doug's hand and led him away.

  As they started down the hall, Byron shook his head and said, "I bet you've had better days."