Endurance (A Novel of Terror)

by Jack Kilborn

  Kelly wasn’t sure how far or how long they ran, but Cam got winded before she did. Then Kelly took the lead, urging him on. They darted through the trees, plowed through bushes, traversed a deep ditch, and eventually the ground became rockier and they began to run uphill.

  “I can’t,” Cam finally said, heaving. “I need to rest.”

  “It might still be behind us.”

  Kelly knew Cheetahs could run over sixty miles per hour. She didn’t know the land speed of cougars, but she knew they were faster than humans.

  “Just gimme a minute,” Cam said. “My lungs are gonna pop.”

  Kelly stared into the forest, listening for movement. She closed her eyes to tune in better. There were normal forest sounds. Crickets. An owl. Some kind of night bird, chirping. And something else.

  Running water. A brook, or a maybe a river.

  “Do cougars track by scent?” she asked.

  “What? I dunno.”

  “Come on.”

  Taking Cam’s hand, she dragged him toward the sound. It wasn’t easy to pinpoint, and she had to stop often to listen. Eventually, they made it to the bank of a brook. The water was black, maybe fifteen feet wide. She had no idea how deep it was, but it didn’t seem to be moving very fast.

  “We need to get across,” Kelly said.

  “It’s probably freezing. It’s coming down from the mountains.”

  “It will wash off our scent. And I don’t think cougars can swim. Right?”

  “I thought they could, but they just don’t like water. But you’re right. We’ll be safer on the other side.”

  Pleased that Cam agreed with her, they made their way down the slippery bank. Kelly thought about taking off her gym shoes so they wouldn’t get wet, but there could be sharp rocks at the bottom of the creek. She chose to keep them on and plunged her foot into the dark water.

  The temperature made her gasp. The weather was nice, probably around seventy, and Kelly wasn’t chilly even though she only wore jogging pants and an oversized tee shirt. But the stream felt like stepping into a bucket of ice.

  “Is it cold?” Cam asked.

  “Real cold.”

  “Then let’s move fast. The less time in the water, the better.”

  Once again Cam grabbed her hand, and he led her into the water. Each step she took, the water climbed a few inches, and each inch made Kelly catch her breath. By the middle of the stream she was waist-deep and starting to shiver.

  “Almost there,” Cam said. “You can do it.”

  The bottom was muddy, and sucked at her shoes. The current was also much stronger than it looked, and Kelly could feel it beginning to push her away from Cam. She clung tightly to his glove, afraid she was going to lose her grip. If Cam let go, she’d get washed away.

  There are waterfalls around. I saw one. I’m a strong swimmer, but how long would I last trying to swim upstream? What if—

  Then her footing slipped, and she fell forward in the water, dunking her face, dropping her scalpel, sure she was going to be carried off.

  But Cam held on. He pulled her past the deep part, and Kelly managed to stand up again. Cam continued to guide her along until they were climbing up the opposite bank.

  They sat down on the dirt. Wet. Shaking. Exhausted.

  “Thanks,” she managed.

  As pumped up as Kelly was, she still yawned. She had no idea what time it was, but it had to be getting close to dawn.

  “We need to keep going,” Cam said.

  “I’m freezing.”

  “Come on.”

  They trudged another hundred yards into the woods, but Kelly was getting colder rather than warmer. Her teeth began to chatter.

  “I’ll build a fire,” Cam said.

  Kelly shook her head. “Those men might see it. Or the cougar.”

  “We need to warm up or we’ll get hypothermia. Come here.”

  She went to Cam, and they sat down next to a large boulder. Cam put his arm around her, holding her close.

  It warmed Kelly up. But it did more than that. For the first time in hours, she felt safe.

  “What about my family?” she asked, her face against Cam’s neck.

  “We’ll find them in the morning.”

  “And JD?”

  “I dunno. Maybe he’s okay. Did you see the cat kill him?”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe he got away. He saved our lives, Kelly.”

  She hoped Cam was right. And then, on a wild impulse, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  The first boy I ever kissed.

  “What’s that for?” Cam asked.

  “For keeping me safe.”

  Then Kelly closed her eyes. She was cold, frightened, hurt, worried out of her mind for those she loved. But resting on Cam’s shoulder, his strong arm around her, Kelly somehow was able to fall asleep.

  Florence Pillsbury had seen death. She’d seen it up close and personal. Messy, terrible death. Quiet, peaceful death. Death by war and disease and famine and disaster.

  She didn’t fear death. Death was part of life.

  Florence knew she’d had a good life. She’d seen things. Done things. Raised a terrific daughter. Lived to the fullest, and cherished every day.

  Now, it had all come down to this. All of her years of work, and wisdom, and experience, were reduced to this one, penultimate moment.

  I will not let any of these bastards get my family.

  The first freak lurched forward, waving his arms, howling through a deformed mouth.

  Florence drove her knife into his throat.

  Two more came.

  She slashed at their faces, their hands. Kicked one away. Stabbed the other in the heart.

  Three more came.

  Another jab in the throat. A punch in the face. A kick between the legs. Two more swipes of the blade.

  Three more came.

  Florence backed up. She bent down, took a handful of dirt, threw it in their faces. Slashed one. Punched one. Kicked one. Stabbed another that had gotten back up.

  Four more came.

  Florence hacked and poked and pushed, and their precious blood poured from their wounds.

  You won’t get my family.

  The freaks formed a half-circle around Florence, closing in. Some had weapons. Knives. Sticks. A pitchfork.

  Florence advanced, hyper-focused, letting one of them stab her in the arm so she could slash his throat and take his knife. With blades in both hands, she backed them up, cutting off the fingers that reached for her, poking at them superficially, hoping their hemophelia would prove fatal.

  And the bodies began to pile up. Five. Seven. Ten.

  But more kept coming. A seemingly endless army of mutants. Florence was finding it harder to lift her injured arm. She chanced a look and saw the wound was bad.

  Then the pitchfork hit her in the stomach.

  Florence dropped both knives, grabbing the handle of the pitchfork, pulling it away from its owner. She spun it around, jabbing everything that moved. The horde backed away, staying out of range. There were still at least a dozen left.

  Florence advanced again, but felt something rip in her belly. She knew what it meant.

  My injury is fatal.

  I’m dead.

  I don’t have long left.

  The old woman ground her teeth together.

  But you still won’t get my family.

  More freaks came in. With more weapons.

  Florence limped into the fray. She kicked until she had no energy to kick anymore. She jabbed at everything that moved, jabbed as her insides burned and twisted, jabbed until her entire universe was reduced to one overpowering thought:

  YOU! WILL! NOT! GET! MY! FAMILY!

  And they fell. One by one they fell. Eleanor’s terrible progeny. The killers of countless innocents. Florence stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, and then she upgraded the pitchfork to a machete and chopped at the monsters until there was nothing left but a gigantic pile of lifeless, missh
apen flesh.

  Then, clutching her stomach, Florence collapsed onto the ground.

  She was light-headed. And cold. So cold.

  The first symptoms of shock.

  But it’s okay. I did it.

  They’re safe.

  My family is safe.

  Goodbye, Letti.

  Goodbye, Kelly.

  I love you both so very much.

  “Well, lookee what we got here.”

  Florence glanced up. The man who spoke was massive, wearing some sort of padded body suit. Long gray hair poked through the football helmet on his head.

  “Y’all do this by yourself, old lady? Shee-it. Momma gonna be upset. Now she gonna have to start all over again.”

  The man reached down and took the machete from Florence. She didn’t have the strength to fight him.

  “You must be one tough ole bird. Y’all know what we do to old birds ‘round these parts? We cut off their heads ‘n cook ‘em up in a soup.”

  The man cackled, raising the machete.

  “What’s your name?” Florence asked. It took practically the last of her energy to speak.

  “Millard Fillmore Roosevelt,” he said proudly.

  “Well, Millard Fillmore Roosevelt. I have a daughter. Her name is Letti.” Florence smiled at the man. “And my Letti is going to fuck you up so bad your momma won’t recognize your dead body.”

  And then Florence laughed. She laughed so deeply and heartily that she didn’t feel a thing when Millard chopped off her head.

  Letti was torn between worrying about her mother, worrying about her daughter, and worrying about herself.

  Mal led the way through the luggage maze, using his cell phone’s screen to illuminate the pathway. The smell started off bad, and then got worse. Letti held her nose and stepped carefully; she didn’t have shoes on.

  Kelly got away. And any second now, Mom will be coming up behind us.

  Irrational as it was, she kept repeating it in her head, over and over.

  “Are you okay?” Deb, the one with the artificial legs, whispered to Letti.

  “I’ll manage.”

  “You’re Letti, right? I’m Deb. Your mother was a very brave woman.”

  Letti noted Deb’s use of the past tense, but she didn’t contradict it.

  “I have to find my daughter.”

  “We’ll find her.”

  We’ll find her any second now.

  “Oh, shit.” Mal called back to them. “Ladies, we’ve got a lot of dead bodies up here. And some rats.”

  Letti looked down at her bare feet.

  “How many rats?” Letti asked.

  She found out a moment later. They stampeded her way, covering the ground like a moving, squealing blanket. Letti tried to stay calm, but once the first one ran over her naked toes she freaked out and began to run forward. Within seconds, she caught up to Mal, who was so startled by her he dropped his phone.

  The room blinked into darkness. A rat hopped onto Letti’s calf, and she flung it off, backing away, stepping on—

  “Jesus!”

  The pain rocketed up through Letti’s foot, making her fall onto her butt.

  The rats swarmed on her.

  Little feet and greasy fur and rubbery tails soon covered every inch of her body. They climbed up her shirt. They got in her hair. Letti squeezed her eyes and mouth closed and kept absolutely still, even though her every nerve told her to start screaming and slapping them off.

  Don’t attack them, and they won’t bite.

  It seemed like an eternity, but the rats eventually climbed off, continuing on their way. Except for the one tangled in her hair. Letti bit her lower lip and grabbed it behind the head. Then she gently pulled it free and tossed it into the darkness.

  The cell phone light came back on, and Mal knelt next to her.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “I’ve got something in my foot,” Letti said.

  He shined the phone’s screen at her legs, and Letti saw what she’d stepped on.

  A skeletal hand. One of the finger bones is sticking through my arch.

  “I got it,” Deb said. Without warning, she yanked the old bone free.

  Letti bled like wine being poured.

  “Can you make it?” Deb asked.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Bring the light over here, Mal.”

  Mal came over, pointing his phone at the wall of suitcases.

  But they weren’t suitcases anymore.

  They were corpses. Stacked up everywhere. A wall of decaying human beings.

  Letti flexed her toes, and winced. It felt like there was something still stuck in there. The thought that a fingernail, or part of a bone, was still in her foot was worse than being trampled by rats.

  How strange the rodents just ran past like that. Almost as if something were chasing them…

  Deb found an older body—a man dressed in a moldering suit—and began to untie the laces on his shoes. When she tried to pull off the shoe, the foot came with it.

  Letti appreciated her efforts, but, yuck.

  Deb managed to empty out the shoe and she threw it, and a holey, smelly sock, at Letti’s feet. Letti tied the sock around her wound. The old leather shoe was big enough to fit over the makeshift bandage, but when she tied it the laces broke off. She managed to make a good knot, and then Deb tossed her its partner.

  “Come on,” Deb said.

  She and Mal helped Letti up. When she took her first step, she felt like crying. It hurt worse than childbirth. Letti thought about telling them to go on ahead of her, but then remembered Kelly and willingly bore the pain.

  “There’s a gate,” Mal said. “Right up ahead.”

  Letti limped forward. A gate meant Kelly got out. Maybe she was nearby. Maybe she was—

  “Oh, shit.”

  That’s apparently Mal’s catch phrase.

  “What is—?”

  “Shh!” Mal hissed. “We need to go back. Fast.”

  Letti shook her head. She wasn’t going back in that house, ever. She was going to find her daughter. Pushing past Mal, she shoved the wrought iron gate, welcoming the cool night air.

  That’s when she saw it.

  A mountain lion.

  It was big, and in the moonlight Deb could see the blood on its face.

  That must be what the rats were running from.

  Letti backed up, but the lion had already noticed her. It dropped low to the ground, stalking forward, taking its time. Letti tried to close the gate, but it had no latch. The cat was going to get in and slaughter them all.

  “Hold this” Mal said, handing Letti the cell and pushing her aside. Then he reached for something on his belt.

  The plastic bag with his severed hand in it.

  “Here, kitty kitty kitty,” Mal said. “I’ve got a treat for you.”

  Then he threw the bag into the woods.

  Incredibly, the cat bounded after it, vanishing into the underbrush.

  “Well,” Mal said. “I guess that came in handy.”

  Then the trio ran like crazy in the opposite direction, blending into the forest, dodging trees and rocks and bushes. Each step was agony for Letti. Pain, compounded by uncertainty for Kelly.

  The cougar had blood on its face. Had it gotten my little girl?

  They ran until Deb tripped, falling onto her suitcase. Letti helped her up.

  “Can you make it?’ Letti asked.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  They trekked onward. Letti knew that she might be getting close to Kelly, or might be getting farther away from her. She had to know which.

  “Hold up,” she told Mal and Deb. “I have to call for my daughter.”

  “We’ll help,” Mal said.

  Even though Letti was exhausted, frazzled, and in pain, the gesture touched her.