Savage Species

by Jonathan Janz

  Without ruminating more on it, Sam began a hurried shuffle forward. The surface of the ledge was slick and treacherous, but the shimmering water was so close, so deliriously close, and if he weren’t so deathly afraid of being swept back downstream toward the Children and the Night Flyers, he’d kneel down and toss more scoopfuls of the black water into his mouth, he’d revel in the brackish taste of the stuff because they were almost out, dammit, they were almost safe!

  “Ohmygod,” Charly breathed, and though he knew it was unwise, he turned back to see her face. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, the most extraordinary thing. It was the apotheosis of all things good, of all things not lost, and for the first time in hours he allowed himself to wonder how their life might be if they survived all of this, how their life might be together.

  The baby uttered a sudden and ecstatic cry, and for the first time since they’d rescued the child in the arena, Sam gazed down into the child’s face. It had never occurred to him till now to examine the child, to study the curious little eyes, the tiny pink nose, and the mouth, God, Charly’s mouth, the same shape and the same perfect lips.

  Sam saw they were nearing a bend in the river, a place where the silvery moonlight spilled its brilliance onto the chugging water. The ledge there narrowed, but it didn’t matter; they were nearly out.

  A hand fell on his back, Charly’s hand. She was moaning expectantly, sounding even more excited than he was. Jesse started to laugh and Emma joined him, and Sam had a sudden, ghastly thought, that all this was a final joke being played on them, that the moment they rounded the corner and beheld the world again, the mouth of whatever cave they’d reached would be circled with leering faces, the Children and Night Flyers mocking them one last time before ripping them apart.

  Sam listened for the confirming voice of the Old One, but the blaring presence in his brain was silent for the moment. Sam reached the bend in the tunnel, pressed his back against it, began to navigate the diminished ledge. And as he did he saw it—the low-hanging ceiling ahead, the opening overhung with weeds but unmistakably a gateway to the outer world, the one he’d been sure he’d never see again.

  “There it is!” Jesse cried out.

  Sam winced, almost reminded the kid to keep his celebrations to himself so they didn’t alert the creatures to their whereabouts, but Charly beat him to the punch, telling Jesse firmly but kindly that they weren’t safe yet, they had to be careful until they were far away from this godforsaken land.

  They sidled forward, the illuminated waters bubbling with grasses and sticks. The exit was only forty feet away now, no more than that.

  Sam wondered how far away from the original cave entrance they would come out. He estimated that they’d moved in roughly the same direction as the original cave entrance, but what did he know? His head was full of dead fathers and godlike monsters—how could he be trusted to know anything?

  The Old One hasn’t spoken to you for several minutes now, he thought.

  Biding its time.

  No!

  They were twenty feet away.

  Ready to snatch you up and make good on its promise.

  Closer, the outline of the cave exit was resplendent with pallid light.

  Ready to eat you alive…waiting

  Ten feet. Charly’s hand on his back, patting him in excitement.

  …waiting…just outside the cave—

  Sam lunged through the opening, the down-hanging weeds dragging wet streaks through his hair.

  Into the moonlight.

  He reached back, helped Charly and Jake into the limpid brilliance. She threw herself against him, kissed him on the mouth, then Jake several times, then him again, the three of them gripped tightly in a laughing cluster. They barely noticed Jesse and Emma stumble out after them. When Sam finally looked up, tears streaming down his face, he saw Jesse kissing Emma, the two looking like something from a movie, and he supposed they deserved to look that way. Then he reminded himself to enjoy this moment, to by God kiss his own girl, which he did. Then he kissed Jake too, and the boy smiled. Sam laughed and was still laughing when he discovered something that made his spirits rise higher, which he hadn’t thought possible.

  The entrance to the cave they’d found earlier that day lay less than a football field away, its frowning black mouth like a scar on the pearlescent nightworld.

  They didn’t need any prompting to get them going. Sam moved ahead of Charly. Hand in hand, Jesse and Emma came after.

  The ground underfoot squelched with each step. These lowlands were flooded—in many places the sable waters glittered like dark gems—but it appeared there was enough decent ground on which to tread. As they moved, Sam cast frequent glances at the cave entrance ahead. He’d not be taken by surprise.

  A nagging worry that this was all a snare tickled at the nape of his neck, but that was giving the beasts too much credit. Or rather overestimating what the creatures thought of Sam and the rest. The beasts would consider their quarry too helpless to find a way out of the underground labyrinth and would therefore focus their hunt on the network of tunnels. Maybe after several hours the creatures would allow for the possibility that their prey had escaped, but by then Sam and his group would be long gone. Sam patted the pocket of his jeans to make sure his truck key was still there and was spared the ultimate cruel joke of finding it missing.

  They were almost upon the original cave entrance now. Without thinking about it, Sam positioned himself between that black scar and the others. They moved slowly past it, Sam’s eyes never leaving the dark semi-circle.

  They skirted the cave entrance without issue.

  Less than a minute later they reached the base of the hill.

  This time Charly let Jesse have a turn carrying the baby. The two ladies moved on either side of Jesse to make sure he and his precious cargo didn’t slip on the sodden ground. Sam hung back for several moments surveying the hill rising before them. It would only take them a few minutes, even with the slick scum of dead leaves and mud impeding them. But it wasn’t time that was bothering Sam.

  It was being exposed.

  Funny, he mused, how much he’d hated being underground earlier, scurrying around the dank catacombs like some sightless mole. Nevertheless, there was a part of him now that longed for the obscuring darkness. Out here he felt like he’d been thrust onstage just before some unrehearsed show. Who knew where the creatures were? They could still be underground, but what if they were up here already, lying in wait on the hillside or up at Charly’s house, ready to—

  An icy tingling started at his shoulders.

  Like he was being watched.

  Sam whipped his head around and stared at the cave entrance.

  Empty.

  But still, he stared at it a full ten seconds longer, somehow convinced an ancient, leering face would materialize in the shadows.

  Nothing was there.

  He swallowed.

  Turning back to the hill, he saw the others had made good progress, were already a good thirty feet up.

  Sam followed them, moving as quietly as he could.

  He took care to step on patches of ground that were free of debris. He didn’t want to crack a twig or trip over a downed branch. Sure, the Children and Night Flyers would be able to spot them if they passed close enough, but it still seemed wise to do all they could to avoid detection.

  His mind drifted to the Night Flyers. He hadn’t paid them enough mind, hadn’t thought about how their ability to fly could change things. What if they’d been sent out on patrol, winging their way through the moonlit night to reconnoiter the area? He tried to estimate their numbers, but the sheer size of the underground world defeated him. Who knew how expansive that labyrinth was, how many other arenas just as large or even larger were hidden down there?

  Sam looked up and was stunned to find they were nearing the top of the climb. This is where they’ll attack us, Sam thought. Just before we make it to the truck. They’ll hit us with everything
they’ve got—Children, Night Flyers, the Old One.

  Especially the Old One.

  Sam shook the thought away, a superstitious dread of attracting the monster’s attention making him grasp for other thoughts, other images: pink elephants, burning buildings, little kids playing in an opened fire plug.

  Charly nude on a bed of rose petals.

  Sam smiled. That one did it.

  When the picture of Charly’s gorgeous body dissipated from his imagination, he saw that the others had waited for him. Charly clutched her baby again. Each set of eyes lay fixed on Sam, clearly hoping for guidance.

  If you all are counting on me to lead you, he thought ruefully, we’re all screwed.

  He joined them about twenty feet from the top and did his best not to sound out of breath. He said, “We’ll take my truck. That all right with everybody?”

  Emma shrugged. “My car’s back at Red Elk’s house.

  “Can we all fit?” Charly asked.

  He nodded. “It’s a crew cab. These two’ll be snug back there, but I doubt they’ll mind too much.”

  At that Jesse smiled shyly at Emma.

  “You have the keys?” Charly asked.

  Sam nodded. “Might as well head up now. We don’t want those things getting wise to us.”

  They started up the hill, but Sam said, “Hold on a second.”

  They stopped and waited, their eyes wide and anxious.

  He said, “Just in case there’s trouble up there, you need to know something.”

  “Robertson’s hunting rifle?” Charly said.

  Sam nodded. “It might not be loaded, so be sure to check. And there’s a crowbar under my seat. It’s for fixing a spare, but the spare has a hole in it.”

  “Mr. Prepared.”

  He chuckled. The others did too.

  Then their smiles faded.

  Sam peered up the hill with narrowed eyes.

  There were voices up there, screaming.

  Charly said, “Oh no.”

  Sam looked at her, his heart hammering in his chest.

  “That’s Kate’s voice,” she said. “My daughters are up there.”

  Chapter Six

  They took off up the hill, moving as fast as they could against the steep angle and the sloppy terrain.

  Sam kept his voice as low as he could. “You said they were at your mother-in-law’s.”

  “They were,” Charly said, her voice edging toward panic. “They were supposed to spend the night there.”

  “You suppose she…” he began, then broke off lamely. Wasn’t it obvious? Florence’s parents had brought them back. The girls probably missed their mom, and who could blame them? Their baby brother had been abducted.

  Sam got an arm around Charly and helped her reach the crest of the incline. Then they were in the vacant lot to the left of Charly’s, gazing diagonally at her house. Sam could see nothing wrong with it from the outside, but the shrieking from within told a very different story. Little girls’ voices and a grown woman’s, each of them a shrill of terror.

  Sam said, “Get Jake to the truck.”

  Charly was shaking her head. “Can’t…got to get my girls…”

  “We will,” Sam said. “But first you and Jake are gonna get safe. Emma too.” He looked at Jesse. “We go to the house.”

  Jesse nodded.

  But Charly was moving forward.

  Sam took her by the shoulders, stared hard into her eyes. “You don’t wanna let your baby get taken again, so you have to stay with him. You can’t bring him in the house because there might be some of those things—”

  Charly cried out, took a step that way.

  “And that’s why,” Sam hurried on, “this is the only way.”

  He nodded at Emma. “Give me the buck knife, and get them to the truck.” He held out the George Strait keychain and put it in Emma’s palm. Nodding, she took Charly by the arm and led her through the tall grass, moving toward the road where Sam’s blue Chevy sat parked.

  Charly obeyed, but her eyes kept flitting to the house.

  Sam and Jesse jogged toward the back deck. The screams were still blaring into the night, which he took for a good sign. Before he and Jesse slipped behind the garage, he caught one last glimpse of Charly, who was almost to the truck.

  Then the image of her was gone. Sam tried to banish the certainty that he’d never be with her again, but it crystallized in his mind like an immutable fact.

  He and Jesse stepped onto the deck and moved to the sliding glass door.

  Jesse didn’t see it until they stepped inside, and he supposed that was for the best. Had he known what awaited him in Charly’s house, he might not have followed Sam.

  The furniture had been tumbled against the walls as though some surly giant had decided to redecorate. And, Jesse realized as he took in the macabre scene, that was exactly what seemed to have happened.

  Charly’s daughters were both huddled behind an overturned sofa, their eyes huge and starey. They were screaming themselves raw, which Jesse felt like doing too if only he could find his voice. What they were screaming at was a giant white creature, one of the Children, but larger than all save the Old One. It was mostly naked, but there were still scraps of clothes hanging off its hips.

  Eric Florence had transformed.

  At the Eric-thing’s feet were the remains of a man.

  At least, Jesse thought it had been a man. The corpse was so mutilated it was difficult to discern its former shape.

  Charly’s daughters continued to scream, but it was Florence’s mother that shrieked the loudest. The Eric-thing held her aloft, its hands squeezing her by the hips. Her white sneakers kicked the air ten feet off the ground. The woman had short black hair, looked like she was in her sixties. Even in the wan light of the family room, Sam could see how deeply tanned she was.

  Sam was saying, “Put her down, Eric.”

  The beast glanced at Sam without comprehension.

  At the sound of Sam’s voice, the girls behind the sofa looked up, a flicker of surprise on their little faces, followed by recognition.

  Sam was staring at the beast, but at waist level he was gesturing for the girls to come out. They stopped screaming, but they didn’t budge from their hiding place.

  “You’re not going to hurt anybody…” Sam soothed. Then his eyes flickered down at the mangled body of what once might have been Eric Florence’s father. “You’re not gonna hurt anybody else,” he amended.

  The Eric-thing continued watching Sam.

  Sam said, “A few hours ago you were one of us. Am I right, Eric?”

  Eric’s mother was sobbing quietly now, her mascara-smeared eyes on Sam.

  “You’re gonna put your mother down,” Sam said to Eric. “Then we’re gonna get you some help.”

  Sam shot a look at Jesse, jerked his head savagely at the girls.

  Jesse realized he’d been gaping at the tableau like an idiot. With a start, he hurried over and bent down to the kids. One looked six or seven, the other a few years younger.

  “Your mommy’s outside,” Jesse said, trying to keep the edge off his tone. “She’s waiting for you.”

  That broke through the membrane of terror holding them inert. They accepted Jesse’s hands, and he’d started to lead them around the upended couch, when a gasp sounded from across the room.

  Where Charly stood transfixed, baby Jake in her arms.

  Sam reached into his pocket, grasped the handle of the buck knife. He caught a distant screech and wondered whether it was some harmless night bird or something far deadlier, something with black wings as wide as this room.

  Peripherally, he could see that Jesse had the girls just about herded outside, and that was good. When he stabbed the Eric-thing, he didn’t want the girls anywhere near. He wanted Charly and Jake far away from the Eric-thing too, but damn her, she was stepping closer, talking to it now.

  Charly said, her voice barely more than a whisper, “Please put her down, Eric. You’ve alrea
dy killed your dad.”

  The Eric-thing opened its mouth in a lurid grin. Jesus, the teeth in there like mottled spears. Its head swiveled slowly toward Charly’s mother-in-law, whose kicking grew more frantic. Eric’s mother began to scream.

  “Please,” Charly said in alarm. “Please, don’t.”

  Sam slid out the knife.

  Behind him, Jesse and the girls glided through the open door and into the night.

  Its huge hands wrapped around the woman’s waist, the creature drew her mid-section and the womb in which it had once lived closer to its open maw. Eric’s mother batted at the Eric-thing’s face, her stumpy legs scissoring in the air.

  “Don’t do it!” Charly shouted.

  Sam strode toward them.

  The Eric-thing’s bear-trap jaws clamped down on his mother’s blue-jeaned crotch.

  The woman threw her head back and wailed.

  Blood washed over the creature’s flexing jaws, and beyond the struggling pair Sam glimpsed Charly rushing over and slapping at the Eric-thing’s shoulder.

  With all the strength he could muster, Sam pumped the buck knife into its ribs.

  The Eric-thing tossed his shrieking mother across the room, her neck snapping as she struck the wall. Then it seized Sam by the throat and lifted him into the air.

  When the Eric-thing hauled Sam toward its mouth, Charly was certain it was all over. If Sam got killed, it was only a matter of time before she died too. And of course if she died, Jake was lost as well. She was thinking of her son transforming into one of them when Sam kicked the handle of the knife and the Eric-thing erupted in fury and pain. Sam dropped to the floor in a boneless heap, and the Eric-thing doubled over. And though it cost her a supreme effort, she placed baby Jake on the carpet and reached into her pocket. Jake began to fuss.

  Her eyes never leaving the bent-over Eric-thing, she whispered to Jake, “Mommy’s here, honey. Mommy’s not leaving.”

  Charly stood, Sam’s pocketknife in her hand, and stepped toward the Eric-thing. The kick had been a good one, Sam’s boot driving the handle so far in it was flush with the Eric-thing’s skin. She stepped closer, her fingers swinging the knife on its hinge so the business end pointed out.