by James Sperl
“You see?” Janet spat. “Lunacy.”
Alvin looked at the floor, nodded. “An hour, you say?” he spoke, glancing over at Catherine.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Alvin, don’t tell me you’re eating the shit she’s spooning,” Janet railed.
“What harm can it do, Janet?” Alvin said. “That thing is clearly staying in the light. If it’d wanted to come in it would have. I’ll trade an hour of my life if it means not putting anybody through any more hell than is necessary.”
“Thank you, Alvin,” Catherine said.
Janet folded her arms and scowled.
“That being said,” Alvin continued, “if sixty minutes from now those things are still blocking our way or the shade hasn’t extended as far as we thought, then we have to move to plan B.”
Catherine bowed her head. “If after an hour we can’t safely leave, I’ll put her down myself.”
“All right, then. Agreed?” Alvin asked Janet.
“Fine,” Janet sneered. She checked her watch, setting the timer. “Sixty minutes.”
“Hey, uh, guys?” Oliver’s voice sounded from behind them. “There’s another one. It’s a guy. And he’s, uh, naked.”
Everyone flocked to the door, Catherine pulling it open, as they jostled for a view out onto the pavement.
A man, indeed nude, stood beside the Mrs. Delaway likeness. He was covered in a milky brown substance, almost oily. His posture was similar to that of Mrs. Delaway, only with more pronounced slouchiness, as if it were trying desperately to learn how a human stands. His eyes were puffy and barely open, his hair a matte of vile, crusty nastiness. And like Mrs. Delaway, his feet were planted just outside the reach of the shadow.
Catherine reached for the doorknob. Alvin grabbed her hand.
“What the hell’re you doing?” he demanded.
“I’m going to try and talk to them.”
Alvin blinked. “You’re gonna try and talk to—”
“You said it yourself,” Catherine defended. “If they were able to come in here they would’ve done it already. There’s nothing stopping them except for that shadow on the ground. Which shows we learned something about them today.”
“Learned?” Madeline said meekly from the back corner of the foyer. “What have we learned?”
“That these things not only need light, they need to be in direct contact with it. Like they feed off of it or something. We all more or less suspected it, but this proves it,” she said, indicating her front walk with a nod. “I’d like to see what else we can find out.”
“Mom, are...you sure that’s a good idea?” Abby asked, her arms encircling Tamara.
“Somebody’s got to try and learn about these things if we’re ever going to find a way to rid ourselves of them,” Catherine said. “Just stay by your brother. Both of you. Everything’ll be all right.” In stark contradiction to her words, Catherine removed the nine-millimeter from her waistband and clutched it firmly.
Alvin let go of her arm. Janet glared at her.
Catherine opened the door.
“Hello, Mrs. Delaway,” Catherine said.
Mrs. Delaway smiled, this time more sincerely. As if the synapses in her mutated brain had fired and made connections, familiarizing themselves with the parts that knew of a person named Catherine Hayesly.
“Hello, Catherine,” Mrs. Delaway said.
The sound of the thing’s voice calling Catherine by name was unnerving. It made her feel unclean and ratcheted up her desire to sink into a hot, soapy bath where she could submerge her head and not resurface for a week.
With all of her talk of attempting communication, Catherine found that now that she was face to face with these New Humans she couldn’t for the life of her think of a thing to say.
“How do you feel?” she asked, at once deeming the question absurd.
“How do I feel?” Mrs. Delaway responded. “Glorious, dear.”
Glorious. This had been Mrs. Delaway’s favorite word for describing her state of being. And it was always glorious. Catherine could scarcely remember a time when the woman wasn’t feeling glorious. She seemed to be in a perpetual state of enlightened euphoria, as if the world could do no wrong to her. Warren and her girls chalked it up to her sunny disposition. Catherine thought it might be the felony-sized amounts of pot she smoked continually.
“You’re not Mrs. Delaway,” Catherine stated. “I’m not sure if your consciousness allows you to recognize that or not yet, but mine does.”
“Well, then,” Mrs. Delaway said dryly, “Who am I then?”
“That’s the question of the century.”
The man gurgled something, tried to make words. Brown gunk oozed from his mouth in a thick rivulet.
“Do you know this...man?” Catherine asked.
“I’ve never seen him before,” she said, her eyes never wavering.
“Yet, you’re comfortable enough to stand next to him? This naked man whom you’ve never met?”
“He poses no threat to me.”
“How do you know?”
Mrs. Delaway remained mute, her gaze never faltering.
“The Mrs. Delaway I know would have run far away from anyone who looked like him. Do you still really expect me to believe that you’re her?”
“We don’t expect anything of any of you. That much we’ve learned.”
She’d used the word “we”. We. Did this imply a collective intelligence to which all New Humans were privy? Or was there a more physical meeting of the minds, a sharing of information, exchanging of ideas. Whatever the word “we” meant, one thing was undeniably clear: the human race wasn’t up against random or pocket forces—it was up against an entity.
“What do you want from us?” Catherine said, her voice cracking.
“The same thing you want from yourselves.”
“Which is?”
For the first time, Catherine saw what looked like a true sign of humanity in Mrs. Delaway’s face as she grinned.
“The leaves are already starting to change on the trees, have you noticed?”
Catherine scrunched her face, unclear what this had to do with their current conversation.
Mrs. Delaway continued: “I think fall may just arrive early this year. It’s always been my favorite time.”
The creepy smile remained on Mrs. Delaway’s lips as she spoke. Never once did her head turn or her body adjust as she engaged with Catherine. Yet what was most disturbing was that Catherine couldn’t decipher whether or not this last sentence uttered was merely a random, residual thought left over from the original Mrs. Delaway, a simple statement of anticipation plucked out of the air as it bounced around inside the brain of the monstrosity before her. But the truer belief, Catherine felt, lay in the notion that the point had been implicit, that a declaration of a bleak and dark future had been made.
Without warning, Mrs. Delaway and the man took a step back in unison. Catherine startled at the sudden movement, but glancing down realized the house shadow had encroached perilously close to the New Humans.
“Have it your way,” Catherine said, sitting on the walkway and crossing her legs. She set the gun down in front of her.
And waited.
As predicted the advancing shadow of the home eventually forced the New Humans beyond the vicinity of the pathway and bus. Under the eerily watchful eye of the Mrs. Delaway replica and the filth-covered man, group eleven managed to transfer every box, bottle and bag of food and drink from the foyer to the bus in three and a half minutes.
But to everyone’s chagrin, an unexpected wrench had been thrown, unsuspectingly, into the works—the bus had a flat tire.
It took Oliver, Alvin and Josh the better part of two hours to replace it. From unpacking the spare from the now overstuffed bus to locating the jack to unearthing the lug wrench that would make it all possible, the chore of changing a tire had never been more frustrating. But in the end they had prevailed.
The group exhaled a collective sigh of re
lief at the departure of the New Humans, the descending sun forcing their hand as they retreated to someplace unseen. A relative peace and sense of accomplishment swelled among the individuals on the bus. Having evaded conflict while at the same time procuring food and water had done much to lift their spirits.
Oliver cranked the engine without an invitation to do so, immediately putting it into gear and coasting out of the driveway.
Catherine glanced out the rear window and watched her house dissolve into the dusk, the orange-red glow of the bus’s brake lights only briefly illuminating the haunted shape that used to be called home. With a final, painful twist in her seat, Catherine faced forward, lacing an arm around Tamara who slept soundly at her side. Abby curled up in a single seat, a jacket for a pillow under her head. Josh and Shelby spoke quietly two seats up, their proximity to one another the kind only the mutually interested shared.
A solitary tear escaped an eye and Catherine quickly swiped it up. She would not cry for an object, she argued. It was just a house. Stone, mortar, wood. Everything of value to her was in the bus, sitting in the seats, sleeping beside her.
Catherine placed her hand on the key in her pocket, felt its shape through the thick denim overlaying it. She breathed easier, as if verifying its existence for the hundredth time would quell any future bouts of panic.
Soon, she thought.
The bus accelerated back toward the exit and the stone archway, which now loomed ominously in the dusk. Alemonte subdivision faded into the pitch, much like its memory eventually would.
15
The Key
The bus rolled on for hours, the first hint of daylight just beginning to peek over the horizon. Perhaps it was the onset of nightfall or the sheer exhaustion that consumed everyone, but sleep had never been more of a welcome friend. All thoughts and worries of potential encounters had been allayed for the time being so that a proper night’s rest could be entertained.
Oliver had valiantly volunteered to continue on behind the wheel despite the fatigue that surely plagued him. Derrik sat with him, stoically, silently, as the rest of the group on the bus sawed logs.
Everyone, that is, except for Catherine. Certain her eyes would clamp shut the moment her head rested against the seatback, Catherine was surprised to find that she was inexplicably wired. Her mind raced with all that had happened, the first true moments of silence providing her over-stimulated mind a chance to sort and ponder. To rationalize how such a thing could possibly be. How could something like this have happened? she wondered sadly. How could such an event have snuck up on the world without any notice?
Catherine felt for her key again and her heart jumped. Jumped at the realization that in a few hours time she would have the answers to all her questions. If Warren were able to follow through, all would be known.
She stroked Abby’s soft hair as she lay in her lap. Around midnight, Abby had taken to vomiting again, depositing her contents into a gallon sized freezer bag hastily retrieved from the supply cache.
Upon hearing the news regarding Abby’s pregnancy, Catherine had been furious. What mother wouldn’t be? And had life proceeded as normal, before strange creatures appeared, killing and replicating the seemingly vast majority of humanity, Catherine would still have been livid. Livid at the decision she would have been forced to choose between for the sake of her fourteen year-old daughter and her future. But now the choice was a simple one in that there was no choice. And in a bizarrely twisted take on the matter, Catherine was almost thankful for all that had occurred in the world. Thankful she would never have to be put in the situation to choose.
Abby stirred beneath her hand. She blinked her eyes a few times then cautiously sat up.
“How you doing, kiddo?” Catherine said quietly, her hand still in Abby’s hair.
Abby folded her arms instinctively over her stomach. “Okay, I guess. I just wish that...how long is this gonna keep happening?”
Catherine raised her eyebrows. “It’s different for everyone. I had friends that had morning sickness for their entire pregnancy and others that sailed through all nine months without a hitch. It just depends on the person.”
“Morning sickness,” Abby repeated. “It feels more like all-the-time sickness.”
Catherine smiled as she tucked a lock of greasy hair behind Abby’s ear. “You know, when I was pregnant with you, I could barely get out of bed in the morning.”
“Really?”
“It’s true. You were like clockwork. Somewhere between nine and ten in the morning I’d get hit with crippling nausea. Had to run to the bathroom on a number of occasions. Sometimes I didn’t make it.”
Abby grinned.
“But as the pregnancy went along, it got better. And I think it will for you, too.”
Catherine folded her hands in her lap absentmindedly. “Did Taylor know?”
Abby looked to the ground, shook her head. “I didn’t say anything because...because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.”
Catherine nodded.
“I just wish I could go back and do it all over again,” Abby said, tears welling. “You know? Make a different decision.”
“Your grandmother used to say that hindsight’s always twenty twenty. You know what that means?”
“No.”
“It means that if we could all have the benefit of knowing what the right thing to do all the time was then that’s all we’d ever do. But it’s the mistakes in our lives that help us to grow and learn. Become better people.”
Abby looked up at her mother. A tear streaked down her cheek.
“I think what’s really got me disappointed, Abby, is that you didn’t feel you could come to me about it. Haven’t I always told you, all of you, that you could talk to me about anything?”
“Yes, but—”
“No, Abby,” Catherine interrupted. “There are no ‘buts’. A mother’s love is unconditional. She would do anything and everything to protect her children.” Catherine placed her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “Something you’ll discover soon enough.”
“Hey, Catherine,” Oliver said in a hushed whisper from the front seat.
“What is it, Oliver?” Catherine replied, attempting to keep her voice low.
“I think we’re coming up on two thirty-three.”
Catherine pressed her face to the window and stared out at the forest that lay beyond. Trees sped by, their shadowy silhouettes just starting to catch glints of light from the rising sun.
They were here.
Catherine stood beside Oliver, one hand clasping a support rail behind his head, the other resting on her pocket and the key contained therein.
She hadn’t considered the fact that they would be arriving by school bus, a vehicle not at all suited for the pitfalls of a narrow dirt road and all the damage nature could inflict upon it. But the road was in fine shape. No massive holes to circumnavigate. No weather damage or standing water with slippery mud basins. No downed trees to remove. If Catherine was a praying woman, she might deem the conditions miraculous. But Catherine the rationalist surmised that much of the anticipated damage had been avoided because man hadn’t been here to contribute to it.
The bus approached a rocky road that connected with forest road two thirty-three at a forty-five degree angle. A wooden, hand painted sign with the words “No Trespassing” stenciled on it was staked just back from the intersection.
“This is it,” Catherine declared. She eyed the impossible turn the bus had to make. “Think you can get us back there?”
Oliver chuckled. “If you’d seen some of the driveways and country roads I had to maneuver in a bus twice this size you wouldn’t even ask.”
Barely slowing the vehicle, he swung the wheel around, seemingly overshooting the road. But when the nose of the bus straightened dead center of the new, gravelly path, Catherine couldn’t help but be impressed.
“You go, boy,” she said playfully.
“We there?” Janet said groggily from over C
atherine’s shoulder. She rubbed at her eyes, scrubbing the sleep from her face.
“Just about,” Catherine said. “Another four miles along this road.”
Four miles. Catherine actually felt giddy at the sound of the number. In four miles the overlong detour through the wastelands of downtown and the saddened return home would finally meet its end. She would have all she needed to reunite with her husband and provide a substantial shelter for her and her children, safely removed from the horrors that now lurked and roamed the earth.
The bus wound its way along the narrow lane. Low hanging trees scraped at the windows, jarring everyone from their slumber.
A look of utter confusion washed over Oliver. The road ahead of him came to a halt, the final vestiges of it dissolving into mud and a carpet of pine needles before the forest claimed it. A rusty, slackened chain lay across the road. Another “No Trespassing” sign barely clung to the soil into which it had been driven, it leaning limply to one side.
“Open the door,” Catherine said to Derrik who held his position beside it. He reached for the lever and swung the door inward.
Catherine hopped out and stepped over the dangling chain. Beyond it, a heavy patch of downed tree limbs and scrub littered the area, seemingly impenetrable. Catherine disappeared into the thicket then, in a matter of moments, began to drag large chunks of forest debris from the road.
Oliver leaned over his steering wheel, his mouth agape. The inhabitants of the bus crowded around him, equally amazed at what they were seeing. For when the final branch had been cleared, a level, well-maintained gravel road revealed itself.
Catherine tossed the limb aside and looked up at the bus. The windshield was crowded with faces.
The trees removed, she climbed back onboard, resuming her position alongside Oliver. Everyone made room, shifting and moving, as if Christ himself had just boarded.
“Follow that road,” Catherine said, her voice carrying an air of obviousness to it.
