Deadworld

by Bryan Smith

  He glanced up and saw that whatever had struck the car had been heavy enough to crumple the front end of the roof. Miraculously, the rear windshield was still intact. He peered through it and glimpsed a huge fire burning in the distance. After a while, he gathered his courage and climbed up to the level of the blown-out back door windows. He glanced through the space where the window on the driver’s side had been and got his first glimpse of the thing that had hit his car.

  One of those winged things.

  It was dead.

  He stared at it a moment longer, then thought, Oh, fuck it.

  He climbed out of the car, then stood on the sidewalk on legs still stiff from the hours spent curled up in the trunk. He glanced again at the dead demon, then did a slow turn and surveyed his surroundings. He saw more dead demons. One was sprawled across the roof of an apartment building on the opposite side of the street. Another was impaled on a spiked fence. There were others in the streets. They were all dead. He knew because he didn’t hear that eerie wailing sound anymore.

  What the hell?

  He couldn’t fathom this new development. He was glad to see the things were dying, of course, but what was the reason? Had the government unleashed some sort of poisonous gas into the air? But that made no sense. Surely something deadly enough to destroy these creatures would have killed him just as effectively. Or maybe they simply had severely limited life spans. Like flies.

  Like deadly, bloodthirsty demonic flies. From hell.

  Aaron giggled.

  A mad sound. A lunatic sound. He flashed back to his vivid fantasies of the night before, the things he’d imagined he would do to Emily once she was under his control.

  And he giggled again.

  A mad sound. Yes, that was appropriate, wasn’t it? After all, madness had come to this world, had overtaken it, in fact. From where he stood, he could see human limbs that had been tossed aside like toothpicks. Dozens of them. He saw torsos without limbs. He saw the head of an elderly woman perched atop the hood of a car. He saw wet organs glistening on gray asphalt, saw strands of intestine dangling from tree limbs like Christmas tinsel. He giggled yet again. How horrible. How delightfully, wonderfully horrible it all was.

  He glanced again at the thing that had struck his car. His curiosity piqued, he knelt next to it for a closer look. It was like an unholy synthesis of dragon, serpent, and super-sized bat. He’d thought they were demons from the beginning, that they’d literally come pouring out of hell, Satan’s legions come forth to wage war on humanity. Maybe that was true. It made as much sense as anything else he could think of. But maybe they were from somewhere else. Maybe what those wackos had been saying on tv was true, that they had come from some alternate dimension, emerging through holes in the decaying fabric of reality. He’d been so obsessed with his plans for Emily that he’d only half paid attention to any of that babble.

  And speaking of that lovely lady…

  She was probably dead now, but he wanted to verify that before moving on.

  He moved to the rear of his Lexus and smiled when he saw the keys on the ground, still where they’d fallen when he’d leaped into the trunk. He picked them up, opened the trunk with the keyless entry button on the electronic fob, and retrieved the burlap bag of dark goodies.

  Then, whistling a sunny tune, he set off in the direction of Emily’s apartment.

  * * *

  Emily scurried back under her bed when she heard the footsteps. Someone was entering her apartment through the place where the front door had been. Earlier in the day she’d been awakened by the commotion outside. Upon parting the curtains covering her bedroom window to get a glimpse of what was going on, she was unable at first to accept what she was seeing. It was too much like a scene from some wild disaster or fantasy movie. The huge black things with wings couldn’t possibly be real. But that sense of numb detachment only lasted until one of the flying things came hurtling out of the sky on what looked like a direct path to her apartment.

  So she dove for the nearest cover available, which turned out to be the underside of her bed. And there she’d remained most of the time. She listened as more of the things crashed into the building, their bodies punching holes through brick and mortar with distressing ease. She heard the heart-rending, soul-freezing screams of some of her neighbors as they were plucked from their own bedrooms and living rooms.

  Twice before she’d gathered the courage to leave behind the dubious shelter the bed afforded. These were during relative lulls in the destruction. She’d still heard screams, still heard the leathery flapping sound of huge wings, but these sounds had been distant, far enough away that she should be safe. Relatively speaking. But each time she got lucky, catching glimpses of nearby creatures before they could see her. They were patrolling the sky above the city at this point, groups of them turning in lazy circular patterns. The frenzy of before was not in evidence, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still a threat. But when she spied one perched atop a power line—and saw another gliding some thirty feet above the ground over Fairfax—she retreated to her bedroom sanctuary.

  The next time she ventured forth was hours later, well after the last time she’d heard any sounds whatsoever from outside. She got as far as the living room, where she saw pieces of the shattered front door scattered across the floor. Also, the window overlooking the parking lot had been blown out, as had a big segment of the adjoining wall. The sofa was turned over and the coffee table was in splinters. But none of the damage to the furniture meant anything to her. Nor did seeing the mangled remains of Henry, who’d been dead already anyway. The thing that stole her breath and brought her to the brink of passing out was seeing what remained of Michelle Anderson.

  Pieces of Michelle’s legs were on the floor. After gnawing them down to the bone, something had tossed them aside like discarded chicken wings. The woman’s head lay near the demolished section of wall. A piece of the spinal column was visible. It looked like a large, segmented yellow worm.

  Emily wondered why the woman had been killed here rather than in her own apartment, or out in the hallway. Not that it mattered now. She was dead and the thing that had killed her was gone. It disturbed her that something so hideous had occurred so close to her hiding place.

  She was consumed then with a need to be away from what was left of Michelle’s ruined body and so stagger-stepped toward the door. But she stopped cold when she heard a new sound. She listened to footsteps ascending the staircase outside and experienced a burst of something that may or may not have been precognition. This new presence wasn’t otherworldly. It was human. It moved with stealth and deliberation. Emily knew she should be eager for human company, for someone to commiserate with, but she felt suddenly sure she didn’t want to be seen by the stranger.

  So here she was again, hiding under the bed, listening to the creak of the floorboards beneath the man’s shoes, and straining hard not to make the slightest sound. She kept her breath tightly regulated, allowing it to ease slowly in and out. She prayed she wouldn’t suddenly hiccup or cough.

  The man was moving around the living room. She heard him kicking aside bits of broken furniture. At one point she thought she heard him make a sound. It took her a moment to identify what she was hearing because it was so incongruous given the day’s events and the presence of Michelle’s mutilated body in the living room.

  Then she heard it again and now there could be no mistake.

  He was giggling.

  She drew in a sharp breath and felt a chill spread through her body. Whoever he was, the man was a complete nutbar. The unfairness of it made Emily’s head ache. Christ, it wasn’t enough that she had to figure out a way to survive in a world ravaged by demons from another dimension—now she had a garden variety human psycho to contend with as well.

  The footsteps grew louder, then she saw the man’s shoes appear in the doorway. He whistled as he entered the bedroom, some cheerful, off-key tune that made her cringe and want to cover her ears. The man t
urned to the right and moved over to her dresser, where he pulled open drawers and rifled through her clothes. She saw tops and t-shirts fall to the floor. Another drawer opened and the man breathed a sigh of deep contentment and pleasure. She heard him draw in a deep breath and knew the perv was sniffing her panties.

  Emily suppressed a groan. This violation coupled with the still-fresh images of Michelle’s bloody death was just too much. Fighting back a tide of nausea required a fierce determination of will. In that moment Emily figured she had a pretty good idea what it was like to have to lie absolutely still in a trench and pretend to be dead while a platoon of enemy soldiers goes marching by.

  The man dropped her undergarments and moved to the opposite side of the room, where he yanked her closet open and swept back all the clothes on hangers. She turned her head and saw him squatting there as he dug into the recesses of her closet, tossing old shoes and boxes aside in the process.

  For the first time, it occurred to her to wonder who he was. She could tell by the body type—and expensive shoes—that it wasn’t Rick. Who did she know who was this creepy?

  Phil.

  But her boss had been missing since yesterday. Besides, this man was buff and athletic. Phil was heavyset.

  It came to her in a flash.

  That belligerent yuppie, the one who’d been hitting on her for months at the pub. She’d last seen him the night the president died. He’d hit on her, as usual, and she’d rejected him more brusquely than usual, probably because the memory of her humiliation at the hands of another arrogant male was still so fresh in her mind. That, and she’d just been tired of the guy’s bullheaded persistence.

  He’d found out where she lived—not a difficult thing to do, she knew—and now here he was, probably thinking he’d take advantage of the mass chaos to take by force what she refused to give up willingly. The thought made Emily shudder with fear. She had no weapon, nothing with which to defend herself against a man so much bigger and stronger than she. She could scream and call for help, screech herself hoarse even, and no one would come. Anyone within earshot would be too concerned for their own safety to come running to her aid.

  The man, Aaron, ceased tossing the contents of her closet all over the room. He sat cross-legged on the floor, stroking a red vinyl go-go boot with a platform heel. She’d last worn the things the previous Halloween. She’d dressed as a sexy devil. The outfit had been quite the hit with the boys at the pub. But now, as she watched Aaron push the sole of the shoe against his crotch, she knew she’d never wear the boots again.

  Christ, what a sick, sick bastard.

  Once he found her—as he surely would—what would he do with her with no one around to intervene? She had a feeling a man like this one wouldn’t be satisfied with raping and beating her. He would need to do something to put her in her place, to make her really regret all the times she’d turned him down and bruised his ego.

  He’ll torture me, she thought. Maybe for a long, long time.

  Then he’ll kill me.

  She thought of that old adage about cockroaches and lawyers being the only creatures hardy enough to survive all-out global nuclear war. She figured the list should now be amended to include Ted Bundy wannabes like this asshole.

  Aaron groaned and rocked on the floor, rubbing the sole of the boot harder against his crotch. It struck Emily as ridiculous. The big, bad psycho getting himself off with a piece of her footwear. But thinking that failed to make what she was seeing any less frightening. The man was preoccupied at the moment, but soon he’d be done with this exercise in weirdness. Then he’d be looking for her again. And it would only be a matter of time before he thought to check under the bed.

  So she had to make a move while she still could.

  She drew in a breath and held it. She laid her hands flat on the floor and, with exquisite care, moved very slowly to the left. The edge of the bed was still a few feet away. When she reached the open space beyond it, she would move into a crouch, get her feet firmly planted beneath her, then bolt out of the room like an Olympic sprinter. With any luck, she’d catch him by surprise and get enough of a head start to get out of the building and duck down an alley before he could catch up to her.

  First, though, she just needed to get there. So she flexed the muscles in her shoulders and slid again to the left. Then again. Flex and slide. Flex and slide. Then she was at the edge of the bed, about to emerge into the open. Aaron was still at the closet. She heard him groaning. She heard him say her name. He was really working himself into a frenzy. Wouldn’t be much longer before he was done.

  Emily readied herself to slide to the left one last time.

  Then she heard something.

  More footsteps. But not Aaron’s. He was still on the floor in front of the closet, still engaged in his tawdry intimacy with her go-go boot. But clearly he’d heard the footsteps, too. She heard him draw in a sharp breath. Then there was a small thump. The boot being tossed aside. She turned her head in that direction and saw him get to his feet.

  The footsteps from the living room moved closer.

  Then there was another sound. A voice: “Emily? Are you here?”

  Jake Dunham!

  She heard a soft scraping sound, something moving against fabric. Aaron removing something from a pocket? She moved into the open and jumped up just as Jake came into the room.

  “Jake!”

  Her exclamation elicited a surprised shriek from Aaron, who whirled in her direction. She saw the gleaming serrated hunting knife in his hand and felt a chill finger of fear reach into her heart. Then Jake came rushing into the room and swept Emily into an embrace. She looked over his shoulder as the lanky stoner boy crushed her against him in relieved exuberance. He wasn’t yet aware someone else was in the room. She looked at Aaron’s eyes, saw the malevolence glittering there as he glared at Jake’s back. The fingers of his hand turned red as his grip tightened around the knife handle.

  He moved one careful step in their direction. Emily braced her hands on Jake’s shoulders and pushed with all her might, breaking the embrace then spinning him around to face the other man.

  Jake said, “Whoa.”

  Aaron froze. His gaze flicked from Jake to Emily and back again. He licked his lips, then his mouth hung open. He looked like a coyote contemplating prey.

  Jake loudly cleared his throat. “Listen, dude, I don’t know what you’ve got in mind with that knife, but I’d think twice about it if I were you. It might wind up up your ass, y’know?”

  Aaron sneered. “Yeah, right. Why are you two looking at me that way anyway?” A smile lifted the corners of his face, an expression that did nothing to diminish the feral, predatory gleam in his eyes. “The world is coming to an end, or haven’t you noticed? We’re under assault by legions of flying demons, for Christ’s sake. I’d be crazy to be out without some kind of weapon. So knock off the paranoia, okay?” He made a show of putting the knife away. “There. You happy?”

  Jake shook his head. He glanced at Emily, read her opinion of the knife-wielding intruder in an instant, and stepped in front of her. “No. I’d say we’re pretty fucking unhappy, actually. What are you doing in my friend’s apartment?”

  Aaron opened his mouth to say something, but Emily pushed Jake aside and took a defiant step forward. “You came here to rape me didn’t you, Aaron?” She grunted, a sound that articulated her disdain for the man better than mere words could. “You know what I saw this creep doing while I was hiding under the bed, Jake?”

  Aaron’s face flushed red and the tight line of his mouth quivered slightly as he ground his teeth.

  Jake draped a protective arm over her shoulders. “Tell me, Emmy.”

  Emily made the same sound of utter disdain. “He was pleasuring himself with my go-go boot.” She nodded at the spot on the floor where the boot had landed upright. “That one right there.”

  Jake scowled. “Aw, man…you fucking pervert.”

  Emily nodded. “He sat on the floor grindin
g it against his crotch and groaning.”

  Aaron’s face was so red now he appeared to be on the verge of a stroke. “You shut up, bitch.”

  Now Emily smiled, a small one that just lifted the corners of her mouth. “I’ve never seen anything so disgusting.”

  Jake chuckled. “I bet.”

  Aaron knelt and grabbed a burlap bag off the floor. “Go to hell, cunt.”

  Emily arched an eyebrow. “What’s in the bag, Aaron?”

  Aaron managed a mad grin. “Like I said, go to hell. Cunt.”

  “Come oooon.” She adopted a mocking little girl pout now. “Show us what’s in the bag, ‘kay?”

  His wild grin still in place, Aaron slung the bag over his shoulder and moved toward the door. “Maybe some other time, slut.”

  And then he was gone. They listened to his footsteps as he moved through the living room then out into the hallway beyond.

  Jake breathed a big sigh. “Jesus.” He looked at Emily with concern. “You okay?”

  Only then did she realize how very weak she felt. Her legs buckled and she let herself pitch backward onto the bed. Jake sat at the edge of the bed and held out his arms. She crawled into his embrace and clung tightly to him while the tears flowed.

  * * *

  Aaron thundered down the stairs, kicked open the building’s back door, and rushed out into the early evening gloom. He marched toward Fairfax. He quaked with fury. Much of his rage was of course directed at Emily, but a significant portion of it was channeled inward.

  He’d never in his life known such humiliation. No one, especially no woman, had ever talked to him like that. He should’ve kept the knife out, should’ve gutted the both of them like the stinking hippie pigs they were.

  He came to a stop in the middle of Fairfax and glanced back at the building. He pulled the knife from his jacket pocket and considered going back to do what he should have done in the first place.