by Fore, Jon
"The blood in there, some of it is still wet."
Maria sucked in a short breath, "Oh, shit.” She began to walk faster, now leading Jackson.
Deprived of any real sight, Vega squinted her ears, listening for the slightest sound. Their feet made a crisp crunching noise on the road, hissing when they dragged their feet. What the hell could tear someone apart like that, more or less three or five someones at one time. Not those beetle things, not them. They couldn't even get in that car. Unless the passengers let it in. Maybe there was more than one.
When they made the car, Jackson let Maria climb in first, then climbed in beside her. Vega leaned in, "Hand me that rifle, would you, Jackson?"
Jackson reached for it, but stopped halfway, "Why?” He turned a reproachful face at her.
"I'm going to look at a couple more of these cars."
"Why?"
"I just need to see if they are all the same, and how far this backup stretches."
Jackson pulled the rifle, barrel first, into the backseat. "You know what you’re doing?"
"Not at all," she said, and took the rifle by the barrel. She offered him the M-9.
"I don't know how to use a gun."
"I do," Maria said and leaned over to take the pistol.
"Shut the doors and lock them. I'll be five minutes. Don't shoot me when I get back..."
Vega went to the vehicle directly in front of them, a large pickup truck of Russian make. It had two front seats and two tumbler seats behind these, and a whole nightmare's worth of blood and remains drying inside. The windows were shattered, which is how whatever it was got in. This time she found the head, only one head, only one victim. This much blood from one victim?
Beside the truck was a sedan, a Chevy painted deep blue. When she peeked inside this one, there was no blood inside, but the other door was opened, the passenger door, and a foot lay on the passenger seat, its leg extending into the darkness on the far side. She flicked the rifles light on and the corpse came into sharp focus, really just a red tissue laden rib cage and more scattered parts.
Bringing the rifle around to the car in front of this, she found another, the back window sprayed and coated with blood, thinned on the glass. The stark red made the defroster element stand out in sickening detail, and Vega had to swallow hard.
As she brought the light to the car stopped in front of the truck, she caught movement between the rows of traffic. A flicker of glossy black whipped between the cars and their ruined occupants. Just a flash, just enough to stop her, just enough to make her question if she actually saw anything at all. It had been about a hundred yards up, if it had been anything, and that was about where the graveyard traffic jam ended, at least as far as she could see.
She held her eyes down the row of cars for a long while before abandoning her position. If she stared at one spot too long, the thing could flank her. She began walking backwards, keeping the light dead ahead, lifting her foot, crossing behind the other, and planting it on the ball, then rolling it flat. Her breath was heaving again and she forced herself to slow, and breath deep. As she past the bed of the pick-up truck, an object caught her attention. She dipped her light a second to see, then aimed it back down the road. It was a shotgun, a tactical shot gun laying in the bed with what looked like packages of food stuff. That was too much luck to let go.
Dipping behind the truck, she raced to the other side, catching Jackson and Maria's eyes as she did, then took a shooting position on the other side. She stared down the road's shoulder for a bit before going back to the truck bed and opening the cap. She signaled Jackson and Maria to watch both sides of the truck with hand signals, and hoped to hell they understood what she was trying to tell them.
After slinging the rifle she drew out the shot gun, eased the breach open to insure there was a round in the chamber, which there was. Then she went back into the truck and grabbed what looked like a gun cleaning kit, a first aid kit, and a box she hoped had food in it. She hustled back to the car, opened the driver's side door and tossed the loose items into the passenger seat.
"What's going on?” Jackson asked.
"Did you see something?” Maria asked at the same time.
"Just watch both sides of the truck. Yell if you see anything coming down the road."
Vega jogged back to the truck and loaded up again, taking more of what she hoped were boxes of MREs or some other survival food supplies, and running back to the car. After a third trip the passenger side was loaded to the roof, so she climbed in, shut the door, and handed the weapon over her shoulder. "I thought I saw something about a hundred yards up the road, just a movement. Can't be sure. The traffic breaks again at about the same place but we got to take the shoulder all the way up."
Jackson had the shotgun in his hands and looked as uncomfortable as a whore in a church.
"Don't shoot me with that thing.” Vega said as she backed the car a bit.
"The safety is on.” Maria assured her and then showed Jackson where that was, along with how to pump a new round into the breach should he have to shoot.
Vega cut the car around the truck and began driving up the shoulder as fast as she dared, which was about forty five. Her heart was racing again, but she couldn't do anything about that now. Her breath was coming short, and she fought hard to inhale. Then as they were about to clear the last car in the jam, something landed on the hood and windshield, peeling off before any of them could scream. It drew long claw marks across the hood and bellowed as it pulled free and slide down the side of the car. Vega punched the gas with more strength than she needed and felt the thing go under the driver's side back tire.
The car lifted briefly on that side, the side Jackson was sitting on, then came down with a skid-plate scratching thump before the Mercedes found open road.
"What the fuck was that?” Maria screamed much too loud for the confines of the car.
Vega was struggling with her deep breathing, and the transition from shoulder to road without fishtailing.
Jackson cleared his throat, "I didn't think they were this far north yet."
"We are heading almost due west," Vega managed. "I hope that thing didn't damage the tire."
Why did you have to say that, you twit!
That’s when the wobble started. It was small, not much at all, but it was going to be bad soon.
"I think it did," Jackson said dryly.
"Yeah, but I am going to get as far away from that thing as I can before we stop. Does anyone know how to change a tire?"
"I can do it," Jacksons said in his calm voice.
"How fast?"
"As fast as needs be."
Chapter 9
In moments, the car began to thump hard on the left side. They were only about a hundred yards from the traffic jam and Vega was sure it wasn't far enough. But as the tire thumped, the car's speed fell, slowing the thumping, slowing their progress, adding mass to the sinking futility in Vega's chest.
"You got to stop, Vega. You're going to damage something," Jackson advised from the backseat. He had abandoned the shotgun to the bench behind him in preparation of the tire change. Jackson was no pit crew member, but he knew he could sling a wrench with the best of them. What concerned him most was where the jack, the tire iron and the spare were. Had to be in the trunk, but for that, they didn't have a key.
"I can't see behind us," Maria said. She was kneeling in the seat and leaning toward the back window, searching the matte blackness.
"You need a light.” Vega said as she slowed the Mercedes until the thumping stopped. It wasn't a complete stop. Vega knew they had to put more distance between where that thing fed and themselves. It was hurt. It went under the car after all, but she had no clue how fast the thing could travel or how wounded it actually was. After some minutes, the urgency of getting away fell under the need to have a working car, and she eased it to a stop in the middle of the black abandoned highway.
Before she could say anything, Jackson barreled through the
door like a penned bull.
"Jackson!” Maria shouted, clutching at him but missing.
Vega yanked the combat rifle from the passenger seat and kicked her own door opened. When she spun towards the rear tire and flicked on the Surefire flashlight, she found Jackson at the tire already, running his hands around the exposed tread. Maria suddenly filled her view with the back of her head, the shotgun tight in her hands.
"We need the jack and spare and all that," Jackson said calmly. "All that should be in the trunk."
"We don't have the keys," Vega said, then began sweeping the street with her flashlight, looking for another car they might be able to hot wire. There were none.
"The trunk latch might be in the front of the car.” Maria said and brushed past Vega, nose diving into the driver’s seat.
Jackson moved around to the back of the car in anticipation of the trunk opening.
Vega walked to the rear of the car, to the quarter panel and trained the light back to where they hit the monster thing. The blackness was complete and flat, as if made of construction paper. It stole depth from the world around her, squeezing perception, closing in. It drove her heart to a new rhythm and sent a chill across her shoulders, colder than the weather. Unlike before--when she wore no amulet in her flesh--the fear didn't rule her thoughts, only her respiration. Her eyes focused nowhere in the darkness, but she could feel the contour of the trigger on her fingertip, the metal hash marks of the offhand grip, smell the copper of the blood, and sweet rotten potatoes, the reminder they were not alone on this highway.
The trunk popped with a dull thunk, and Jackson threw it open so hard, it almost bounced closed again. After some rattling, a jack fell to the blacktop, then a tire wrench, and finally a spare tire. To Vega's relief, it was a full sized tire and not some doughnut newer cars hid in their trunks. Jackson lifted all of this at once and carried it in a hurry to the flat tire.
"Go as fast as you can, Jackson.” Maria had come up beside Vega and took a very military stance next to her, the shotgun pointed in a businesslike manner.
Vega knelt, "Get lower, Maria. It makes you less a target."
"For sure," Maria agreed.
The air split with the high pitched howl of the first lug nut.
Vega felt another otherworldly chill run the back of her arms and scalp.
"These things are stuck pretty hard," Jackson grunted as the second lug nut whined in complaint as it let go.
There was no other sound, which was what Vega was searching for. There was no motion in the blackness, nothing darting across her flashlight glare. But somewhere the sensation of some presence came to her, wafted through her mind like some mental odor. It had no specific location but it came from the slaughter, back on the highway. If she spread her arms shoulder width, she could indicate about where the presence was, but there was no question of what it was. The demon breed was coming with its injured body, dragging something it seemed, and dripping with murderous intent. The thing was bloated with its own rage.
"It's coming," Maria said softly as another lug nut let go.
"You can feel it?” Vega asked, trying to find the mass of the demon with her flashlight.
"Yeah, actually, I can."
Another lug nut squealed.
Maria sounded afraid, terrified really, but to Vega's relief, she didn't sound as though she were about to turn-tail. There was no way to know how good she would be with that shotgun, but Vega was comforted nonetheless.
Another lug nut screeched.
Maria remained standing even though Vega was kneeling, and she could see on her periphery the gaping maw of the shotgun over her shoulder. It tracked along with her own M-18, which lent credence to their ability to feel where the demon was, or at least Vega hoped.
The last lug released with another rusted metal squeal.
The sound of dragging meat reached her ears, and Vega's breath halted as she strained to get a fix on the beast's location, maybe even distance. Whatever that thing was, it had killed the people it found in the cars, and she did not want to become another of its many victims. She didn't want anyone else ever to become one of its victims.
The dragging fleshy sound was still distant. Moreover, it was sporadic, as if the demon struggled as it moved. The car may have wounded it more that she thought, they being demons and all. But then she remembered how readily they fell under gun fire. Why would being hit by a car be so different? She reached out to Maria and Jackson with her heart, feeling for their feelings, and found only an urgent need to hurry.
The jack began cranking its clicking song as Jacksons pumped it like a dying man at a well.
Five more minutes, Vega thought, then we can be on our way. But not until that thing is dead. No more innocent travelers will die. Vega clicked on the Surefire again, illuminating the road for many yards, and the sound of dragging flesh stopped instantly. "I can't leave it here...” Was all Vega could say before standing and striding into the gloom.
"Wait!” Maria took one step to follow Vega, then stopped. "We can't leave Jackson here to change the tire alone!"
"Watch out for him.” Vega said flatly, almost too soft to hear across the growing distance.
Vega led with the barrel of the rifle, her light lending a near blinding truth to the black veiled scene. Somewhere close was that monster, and now all she had to do was find it before it found her. Considering it was wounded, that shouldn't have been hard. But it had stopped, ending the scraping knee sound it was making before. It was entirely black, making it nearly impossible to find in the darkness. But she could feel it, generally, and knew she was getting closer. That and she could almost trace the acrid smell of rotten potatoes as it became stronger.
The distinct sound of a tire wobbling to rest on its side reached her, and she knew that Jackson was mounting the new tire and soon it would be time to go. The need to destroy this thing--to keep it from preying on any others fleeing the south--was almost overpowering. It didn't settle in her mind well, as if she was driven by another moral need, but then again, she was different. Vega never pictured herself a hero, like those of legend, hunting and slaying that terrible beast that plagued some village for so long. But here she was, hunting, bent to the kill, needing for her own reasons to end this monster. Then a segmented arm swung at her from the dark.
Vega almost didn't see it, the black on black with thorny protrusions, but her inner self screamed for her to duck. So she did. One of the spines parted her hair, grazing her scalp and sending an explosion of burn there. Thoughts of tractors tilling dirt in a field shot through her head as she brought up the rifle.
It was still invisible, impossibly not there, and Vega had to guess at about where the thing was, and she fired. The rifle bucked three times in rapid succession, and she leapt to the left and back, expecting another segmented leg. She wasn't wrong. It came down this time, striking the blacktop where she was just standing, one of the spines embedding then snapping off as it was drawn back. But now Vega had a good idea where the thing was and she fired another volley of three rapid shots, this time catching a bit of reflected firelight off the monster's carapace. She fired again.
Next to her, Vega felt a presence, crouching low, and before letting go the scream suddenly in her throat, an explosion lit the scene in a brief camera's flash, and Vega saw the vague outline of Maria, down on one knee, barely containing the kick of the shotgun before the blaring explosion went dark. This shot drew from the demon a high pitched scream, very insect like, and Vega felt another flood of adrenaline surge through her, flooding her mouth with bitter copper.
Maria, just behind and to the right, made Vega feel better, but also concern for the girl. Now she had to manage keeping two of them alive. But the best way to do that was to send rounds down range, so she returned her attention to the fight. The Surefire now revealed a crushed bit of shell and that horrible bluish wetness. She knew the thing was bleeding--bleeding and moving to her right. It wasn't like the demon was fleeing, but trying to
flank them, and Vega pulled the trigger again, sending three more rounds right at the large hole Maria had made.
Two rounds made new holes low on the shell, the third making a wet splashing burst in the wound, then Maria's shotgun barked again. A new wound opened near the first, and another scream emitted, this time thinner and shorter. The blue spots revealed by the flashlight seemed to quiver and turn.
Now the thing was retreating, but it was so wounded, it was having trouble turning.
Vega and Maria fired almost simultaneously.
"Let's go!” Jackson shouted from behind them.
Vega fired again.
"Coming!” Maria shouted back, then fired again.
Vega fired into an almost still body, the shell chipping away, releasing more of the blue liquid and rotten potato smell. She could not tell if the thing was dead yet, but was certain it was dying.
Maria fired again, the explosion blinding and ear shattering.
"That's good!” Vega shouted over the ringing in her ears. "It's dead!"
"Good! Let's get back!"
By Maria's shouting, Vega could tell she was a bit ear-dazzled by the shotgun's report. Not wanting to become separated in the darkness, she took Maria's arm, and headed back in the general direction of the car, leading with the flashlight.
Maria allowed herself to be led backwards and she kept the shotgun trained toward where the demon breed had fallen, half expecting something to grab for her. Nothing did.
Vega found the vague outline of the car, then the car's interior dome light, God bless Jackson for leaving the door open. Vega walked Maria to the back door, next to Jackson who was still outside, holding the pistol in his hand. It looked almost toy like in the massive meaty mitt, but Vega knew it wasn't.
Maria slid into the back seat, keeping her shotgun trained at the roof of the car, and as Vega climbed into the driver’s seat, she felt Jackson get in, the car drifting downward noticeably. Vega drew the shift back into the big D, and gunned the gas, her adrenaline still somewhat in charge. The old Mercedes tires screamed in triumph before grabbing the road.
