The Last in Line

by Thom Erb

  “Oh, I'll tell you. Some goddamn maniac jumped your son and decided to take a bite out of him. How the hell do you like that?” His Dad's words came sharp and cut deep as Warren shrunk against the man’s harsh news. There was no denying that it was his fault.

  Mom's voice came low, confused. “What? But who? How? The fence...”

  Dad pushed Warren backward until the coldness of the stone wall chilled him to the bone. The man's strong fingers dug deeper into Warren's flesh, and they drew blood. He felt the warmth running down his shoulder.

  From the far wall, Maico began to bark.

  “Not sure how Mr. Graham got through the fence, Maggie. Not one damn clue. But that doesn't change the fact that the old farmer took a nice chunk out of your other son's flesh.” Dad knelt on the cot, pressed his knee into Warren's stomach, and leaned in close. “And it's all Warren's fault. All, because he was worried about his boyfriend, Dexter freeloader Lee. That worthless piece of trash. I certainly hope you're, happy, pal.”

  Warren turned his face away, doing all he could to squirm away from his enraged father. It was to no avail. His father was bigger and much stronger.

  “Da...Dad. I...I'm so, sorry, I nev—” Warren pleaded.

  Maico’s panicked barks turned to a low growl.

  “Shut that damn dog up and you, save your breath, son. It's too late for that bullshit.” His Dad glared at him, pushing and digging harder into his skin.

  “I know...yo-you, just don—” Warren turned his head toward where his Mom and brother were on the cot and the shocking sight caused him to scream.

  “What the hell, boy?” His dad grimaced. With each wrinkle, Warren counted the ways his father hated him. And there were plenty.

  “D-Dad!” Warren cried out, pointing at the cot.

  Andy knelt over his mom, who punched and kicked him. A bloody geyser sprayed into the air, painting the walls and ceiling above them. His hands violently tore into her face and neck, ripping flesh and skin and shoving handfuls into his grinning maw.

  “Jesus Christ,” his dad shouted, leaping toward Andy and yanking him backward, off of Warren's mom. They crashed to the floor, and Andy rolled on top of his father, attacking him like a feral animal. Warren had to look twice because he thought he saw Andy's dead eyes glowing red.

  No way in hell, Warren thought. The loud cries of his mom shook him, and he got to his feet and ran to her. There was so much blood.

  “M-Mom,” Warren said through gathering tears. He grabbed a pillow from the cot and tried to cover one of many gashes in her flesh. It was useless. Tossing the soaked pillow aside, he yanked his sweatshirt off and pressed it over the gushing bite on her neck. Her eyes were wide with panic and shock. Her small hands grasped at Warren's shirt, pulling him closer in desperation.

  “Oh...shit...Mom... I-I-I...” Warren's voice left him. Replaced by tears as he stared at his dying mother's face. There was so much blood. Way too much. Her skin turned the color of a sheet of paper, and her body stopped fighting, arms and feet going still.

  Behind him, the struggle between his father and brother, or whatever the hell he was now, raged on. The sounds of furniture breaking and beastly snarls and Maico’s growls filled the cellar.

  “War—Warren...” the soft, gravelly voice of his mother drew his attention back, and he leaned closer and wiped the blood from her face.

  She seemed coherent, but the blood still soaked through his sweatshirt.

  “Mom. I-I-I'm so Sorr—” Warren cried, hurriedly brushing the gore-streaked hair from her face.

  Reaching out her thin, quivering, blood splattered hand to touch his cheek, her ghostly pale face broke into a pain-filled smile. “Shhhh, it's okay. It's not your fau—” A coughing spasm shook her, and a thick glob of blood bubbled up from her mouth, painting her face and Warren's shirt.

  Wiping the blood away, Warren frantically used his sleeve to clean his mom's face, and through blinding tears, he stared into her eyes.

  “It's going to be okay. I promise. You are destined for great things, and they’ll need you to be strong.” Her words were weak and but a whisper, Warren had to lean in close, his ear touching her lips.

  “What do you—?” Warren said.

  “I love you, my shining light. Don't forget they'll need...” Her words slowly drifting into nothingness, and were fleetingly lost in the crashing and sounds of struggle behind him.

  “Mom? Mom? NO!” Warren screamed. His chest seized and a torrent of tears mixed with the blood on his face. Staring at her now calm, placid face, he sensed she was at peace still, his body ached and his gut felt like someone tossed a hand grenade inside, and all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die.

  He felt nothing. Numb from head to toe.

  Warren fell to his knees, his mind reeled hearing his father calling for help, and the violent sounds of the cellar being torn to shreds filled his ears, but he was somewhere else. It wasn't until the weak, panicked voice as his father cried for help that he shook free from shock and looked at his father.

  “W-Warr— Help, goddammit!” His Dad's pleas filled the cellar, and Warren forced himself to his feet and turned to see Andy's teeth tearing deep into his father's forearm. Immediately he yanked his head away, bringing with it jagged chunks of flesh and streams of blood with it.

  His father screamed in agony and kicked Andy off him, rolling away, crashing into the shelving. The loud crunch of metal and breaking glass echoed inside the stone cellar.

  Warren ran to the gun rack, pulling the shotgun free, and aimed it at his brother, who turned toward him. Black pits took hold where his bright blue eyes used to be, accentuated and replaced by two burning red orbs that washed his face in an evil glow.

  “Andy, no!” Warren yelled, bringing the Deerslayer to his eye. His hands shook and tears blurred his vision.

  Andy, his face awash in blood, torn flesh, and those glowing red eyes, snarled at him like a bear. No, a monster. Warren's racing mind fought to keep focus. His hands shook and felt like they weight a hundred pounds.

  “Stay away, man,” Warren said, backing up until he felt the cold steel of the cellar door.

  Andy twisted his head and stared at him, slowly chewing his father's torn flesh that hung from his mouth as calm as a cow eating its cud.

  A rush of acid and vomit filled Warren's mouth, and he fought to keep it all down. He held the gun forward, aiming, but praying he wouldn't have to shoot.

  “C'mon, C'mon. I-I Don't know what the hell's wrong with you, but please, stop. Please,” Warren said, with tear-filled eyes.

  His bigger brother's shaggy, dark-blond hair flopped to the side as he stepped closer; swallowing what Warren could only assume was a piece of his father.

  Acid rolled again in his throat, and Warren felt the tears run down his face.

  Andy stopped abruptly, his athletic body lost in shadow as the light from kerosene lantern snuffed to black.

  “Shit,” Warren heard himself squeak.

  The cold air hung thick with the darkness.

  Warren tightened his grip on the shotgun and tried to remember how to breathe.

  A spastic flicker from another lantern illuminated enough of the cellar for Warren to find his breath; only to lose it again as his brother's red eyes pierced the depths before him

  “Child of Light.” A ragged, guttural voice came from the shadows. It wasn't Andy. It doesn’t even sound human, he thought, wishing he could phase through the door at his back.

  “Whoa, man. Child of what? Stop, don't make...” Warren took a deep breath and held the gun up again, aimed.

  Warren caught Maico barking and running around the cellar but lost him in the chaos.

  The lantern skittered across the floor and rolled, causing the light to shift, revealing Andy's full form, now standing mere inches from the end of the shotgun's barrel.

  Andy no longer looked like the same Andy.

  His face was flushed of all color, replaced with a sickly yellow, jaundiced flesh
that lay slick with a scaly, blood splattered covering. The eyes still burned a fiery red, but something ran down his cheeks.

  Tears? Warren contemplated for a second, and then his brother lunged at him.

  The cellar filled with growls and screams.

  Andy didn't weigh as much as Warren, but he made up for it in height and lean muscle. His lanky body slammed Warren into the cellar door, causing Warren to drop the gun and freeing his rancid breath with it, once again.

  “You...Light...Child...Belong to the Master,” Andy growled in Warren's face as he turned just in time to save his cheek from being torn into.

  Warren brought his knees up, along with his forearm, lodging it under Andy's throat, blocking the chomping maw.

  Driving rain pounded at the door and small tendrils of freezing wind crept inside the dank cellar. The lone light of the rolling lantern cast misshapen, erratic shadows on the sandstone walls as Warren struggled to keep his brother's hungry teeth from tearing into his flesh.

  “Andy!” Warren shouted, rolled onto his back by his brother's unnatural strength.

  The lantern finally stopped rolling, casting a wide-arcing shadow over them. Warren shifted his right hip, turning his brother's mass to the left. He hoped it would send Andy off balance, giving him a chance to roll free.

  “Come on, man! Please stop,” Warren said again.

  Andy surged downward, his face now mere inches from Warren as he lay on the cold stone and dirt floor of their family's cellar.

  Warren fought to not make eye contact with his sick, infected brother, but suddenly a strong hand gripped Warren's jaw, yanking it upward to stare straight into Andy's crimson, crying eyes.

  His arms burned and Andy's weight was crushing him in half, allowing only a small bit of air to sneak into his compressed lungs.

  “A-Andy, plea...” Warren's words were but lost wisps as Andy violently closed on him, chunks of rented flesh still stuck between his gore-stained teeth.

  “The Dark One will feast on your flesh and will once again...be free.” The cold, vacant words slithered from his brother's slack mouth. All the while, those red eyes cried tears, black tears. They landed on Warren's chest, like icy daggers that soaked his shirt, burning his skin as if it were smothered in dried ice.

  Andy's hand gripped Warren's elbow, yanking it free, creating an opening. He twisted his body so he landed squarely on top of Warren. Andy’s flesh-slathered teeth snapped at the air, nearly tearing Warren’s nose off.

  Crying out, Warren instinctively reached frantically around for anything.

  “Die, child...die!” Andy bellowed, and then froze, lifting his head, as if hearing something in the distance.

  Warren's mind circled and whirled, trying to calm himself enough to react to this otherworldly situation.

  Andy, or the thing that used to be Warren's brother, spoke into the air as if there were someone in the room the dark, desiccated voice in control.

  Finally, Andy turned back to face Warren, his red eyes staring. Black tears still dripped from his face.

  “Yes, Master. We shall bring him to you,” Andy said, still holding his brother against the cold floor.

  Warren didn't know, nor cared who his crazy brother thing was talking to. He'd seen enough horror and needed to act now.

  “The Dark One and the High Priest want you, child. I will take you to them.” Andy sat back, releasing his grip for Warren to react. He shifted just enough to elude his brother's relentless, savage attacks, Warren's sweat-covered hand found purchase on a handle of some kind. Paying no heed, he swung the object up and drove it toward his brother's thrashing head.

  “No!” Warren heard the words power from his mouth as a sudden warmth inside him grew, and an explosive wave of heat shook throughout his entire body. It felt just like when he fought with the DeRueter jerk. A shocking burst of light shot from his body, covering him in a pure white glow.

  “Aahhhhghghghg! NO!” Andy screeched, covering his eyes and leaping away from Warren.

  Warren stood, wide-eyed, mouth agape dumbfounded, not knowing what just happened. He didn't have time to question, only enough to react.

  The Andy-thing tumbled backward over his father's body on the cot and fell on the other side.

  Warren ran and snatched up the shotgun, and aimed in the direction of the cot. As fast as it happened, the white light was gone.

  The Andy-thing shouted in a language unlike Warren had ever heard as he slowly made his way toward it. His brother was lucky if he could pull English off, let alone a foreign language, and this didn't sound like anything he'd ever heard before. It was harsh, guttural, kind of Klingon, Warren thought

  “A-Andy? Is that you?” Warren knew the answer. He could hardly think, seeing his parents lying on the cots dead, their flesh torn and bathed in their own blood. Warren held back his tears and fought from vomiting, closing his eyes for a split second, hoping to wash the nightmarish images from his mind.

  Warren reached his father's body and froze. Forcing himself to not look into their blank stares, he raised the shotgun, “I have no goddamn clue what you are, man, but there’s no way in hell, that you’re my brother. What do you want?”

  The distant pounding of thunder and rain drumming against the metal door were all Warren heard.

  The cot kicked up in the air, launching his father's body onto him. Warren reflexively caught the body and stumbled backward, falling onto the other cot on top of his mother.

  A sinister growl filled the cellar and, in a second, the Andy-thing was on him. Only his father's body kept the monster at bay.

  What sounded liked dozens of fists pounded at the door, followed by more groans and calls for the thing called the Child of Light. Warren had no damn clue what it was.

  It didn't matter.

  The gnashing teeth of his once living brother tore into their father's shoulder, rending more flesh from bone, spraying blood over Warren's face.

  The thing drooled blood onto Warren and smelled of the miasma of rotting flesh, blood, and rotten eggs. He turned his head and a burst of vomit gushed from his mouth, splattering the wall. He held his face away from the attacking zombie-thing and saw the shotgun on the floor, only a couple of feet away.

  Warren reached for the gun, but it was just too far. With his father's weight, and that of the thing, he could barely move. He kicked and shoved upward with all he had, but his limbs felt like they were filled with lead.

  Beneath him, he felt something moving. Mom, his mind shouted.

  The Andy-thing gripped his father's body, yanked it backward off Warren's body, and he heard it land with a sloppy splush.

  “Child...” it said, turning back toward Warren.

  A hand gripped Warren's shoulder from below and Warren let out a scream that bounced off the stone walls.

  “Give in, child. The Dark One needs your soul. Let the darkness take you, my son.” A voice came from his mom's mouth, and just like Andy's, it wasn't hers.

  Warren felt every inch of skin prickle and tremble with fear. His heart pounded, and he thought he was losing his mind.

  He never stopped screaming as he jumped onto the floor, the sharp metal of the shotgun digging into his flesh as he landed with a thud.

  A living nightmare. He ignored the pain in his stomach and rolled onto his backside, bringing the gun to bear.

  His heart felt like it was being yanked from his chest by the inch as he watched his dead brother, joined by the awkward form of his dead mother, her once soft, loving eyes now mimicking Andy's. The same red glow mixed with the black tears streamed down her white, gore -matted face.

  “No...no..no...no, Mo-Mommm,” Warren cried, shaking his head in disbelief.

  They slowly lumbered toward him, mother and brother. Their eyes glowed and outstretched hands grasped at him. Warren pushed himself against the wall, nowhere to run.

  “Stay away. Oh, Jesus, please.” Warren's arms shook as he held the shotgun toward his family.

  Maico’s sharp
bark and growls brought the promise of savage rage and filled the cellar.

  More movement to the left caught his attention. Warren's shoulders slumped as the disfigured body of his father struggled to get to his feet.

  “This shit can't be happening, no fucking way,” he shouted, raising the gun.

  For a split second, Warren contemplated turning the gun on himself. A piercing voice exploded in his mind. One word.

  “No!” it ordered.

  As if on command, a loud growl came from the shadows behind the shelving, and Maico lunged at Warren's father, knocking his undead body to the floor in a crash.

  Warren turned his attention back to the two shambling forms a mere few feet away.

  “Stop, goddammit. Don't make me... Please!' he screamed through sobbing tears.

  “We shall take you to the Master, child. Let your flesh usher in the new world.” Mom and Andy spoke the same, gruff dark words.

  The pounding on the door increased, and the metal started to buckle under the relentless assault of the dead things outside.

  “No!” the voice inside Warren's scrambled mind spoke again.

  In a flash, the shotgun roared to life. The first slug sent Andy sprawling backward, collapsing in a heap.

  Mom lunged at Warren just as he racked the second round and fired. It turned her head into a chaotic explosion of fragmented flesh, bone, and gray matter. Her body slumped to the floor like a puppet whose strings were cut.

  Warren collapsed, dropping the barrel to the floor. A wave of nausea and rage rippled through him as the tears poured from his aching eyes.

  Maico's growls were muffled from behind the upturned cot, but Warren's father's legs twitched and suddenly ceased moving.

  The metal door shook with the attack of the dead things on the other side, and Warren fought to focus or even care.

  That's when Andy stood back up, his red eyes flickered with rage and hunger.

  “Son of a bitch, stop!” Warren shouted, forcing himself to stand. He raised the gun again. Every part of him shook with fatigue and pain. A small pulse of energy lay below the surface, and he felt the same energy that coursed through him before, ebbing.

  The Andy-thing stepped closer, over the headless body of his mother.