by Jason Brant
My height still allowed me to see the buildings across the street and some of the people on Main. They worked together to accomplish the most grisly of tasks. They moved the dead and gathered severed body parts. Groups searched for what I could only assume were people like Nami and me—those who hadn’t been driven insane.
“What are we going to do, Gigantor? They have to know we aren’t in the pharmacy by now.” Nami glanced back at the sheriff. “What about him? We can’t—”
Someone banged on the door at the bottom of the stairs. It was faint at first, but grew increasingly more violent.
“Check the rooms back the hall for a way out.” I ran for the kitchen.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find a way to slow them down.”
Nami headed back the hall behind me, cursing the entire way. I had to hand it to her; she had a vocabulary of four-letter words that made me jealous. Shocking people with vulgarity, both in words and actions, was a guilty pleasure of mine.
She took it to another level.
The kitchen had the same cramped, simplistic nature as the rest of the apartment. A small bistro table and chairs sat in the corner opposite the door, newspapers covering the top. The appliances and cabinets were off to the left. Laminate peeled from the edges of the counters. Poisonous ant traps surrounded the fridge and oven on the floor.
I grabbed one of the chairs and ran back to the living room. The construction of the front door wasn’t exactly military grade, but I figured it could stand up to a few shoulder thrusts before it broke open.
There were two locks on the door: one on the knob and a sliding chain above it. After I worked both. I jammed the chair under the knob. I kicked at the legs, digging them into the laminate floor as best I could.
Chairs weren’t the best barricades, but it would give us just a little more time.
The door at the bottom of the stairs cracked. Voices poured into the hallway.
They were on us already.
My hip slammed into the television as I ran passed it, sending a bolt of pain into my leg. I forgot how heavy those old things were. “They’re coming up the stairs now.”
All three of the doors were open. The first led to a small, dingy bathroom that hadn’t seen a cleaning since the Reagan administration.
The back two were bedrooms.
Nami stood at a window in the far one, waving for me to hurry. “We’ve got a fire escape here!”
I wanted to jump in the air and click my heels together. The odds of finding a fire escape in a building like that were astronomically low. It was our first stroke of luck all morning. Through the window, I could see that the street behind the apartment didn’t have any crazy people milling about.
A few parked cars sat by the curb, but none had anyone behind the wheel.
“Get going.” I pulled the pistol from my waistband and handed it to her. “The sheriff and I will catch up in a minute. Don’t shoot unless you have no other choice. The sound will attract the whole town.”
Gunshots cracked from a few streets over.
Nami said, “I’m not sure anyone would notice.”
I spun on my heels and started toward the living room to grab Adams.
Nami shouted after me. “Dude, you can’t carry him down the fire escape. You’re going to get all of us killed by—”
“You’d want me to carry your ass, wouldn’t you? If I leave him on the couch, those people will—”
Thuds against the door to the apartment shook the floor. The hammering blows were much too powerful to be coming from any of the people I’d seen coming down the alley for us. It sounded like they had a battering ram.
The door exploded inward as I reached the end of the hall and stepped into the living room. Two of the legs on the chair blew apart. The wood in the door split down the middle, sending half of it flying into the far wall. The other half dangled from the top hinge.
My shoes skidded on the floor as I stopped beside the old television.
One of the biggest men I’d ever seen ducked through the door and lumbered into the room. He had corded arms and a neck built for hauling horse buggies around. A deep, permanent tan darkened his skin. Dirt highlighted the crow’s feet around his eyes.
He wore heavy, canvas pants with dirt stains on the knees and smudges covering the thighs. A flannel shirt covered his torso, despite the heat that was descending upon the morning.
Most of his hair had split town a long time ago.
It was a rare occurrence that I actually had to look up to someone, but Paul Bunyan had at least half a foot on me.
A man’s hands were a good indication of his lifestyle.
Powerlifters and athletes had big hands from slinging around a lot of iron.
Farmers had the same meat hooks at the ends of their arms, but they also had thick knuckles and leathery fingers. They were built for power and gritty endurance.
The monster in front of me looked like he was wearing catcher’s mitts on each hand. He could have folded me up like a paper airplane and tossed me to the other side of the state.
And then I saw what he was dragging along behind him.
The end of a handle jutted from one hand, running down to the massive head of a hammer that scraped along the floor. It dug deep grooves in the peel-and-stick laminate. The handle was as thick as a baseball bat, the head the size of a cinder block.
The massive size made it look almost cartoonish.
Blood and hair and gore covered the business end.
That was no cartoon.
The man saw me standing in the living room and turned toward me, a humorless grin spreading across his lined face. “Howdy.” The man had a voice so deep that I had to look out the window to make sure it wasn’t thundering and lightning outside.
He swung the hammer in front of him, his free hand grabbing the other end of the handle, just below the head. He held it in front of his waist like it weighed little more than a bag of groceries.
I couldn’t even figure out what someone would do with a tool like that.
Drive telephone poles through the crust of the Earth maybe.
“I would have appreciated it if you’d knocked first.” I wanted to kick my own ass for giving Nami the pistol. “The landlord is going to be really pissed off about the door.”
“Where’s the girl?”
Two more people appeared in the doorway behind him.
A middle-aged woman cradled a cleaver in front of her chest. The blood covering it hinted at the atrocities she’d committed that morning. Her silver hair had gone astray, standing at odd angles.
Behind her stood a man of maybe twenty. He had a double-barrel shotgun held by his waist. Both of them looked at me like I was a turd stuck on the bottom of their shoes.
“What girl?” I turned my attention back to the Jolly Green Giant.
“Tell me where she is or I’ll pull your arms off.” The man raised the hammer above his palm and let it pat back down. The strength it must have taken to the lift the hammer with just a flick of his wrist astounded me.
I didn’t doubt that he could tear my arms off and beat me to death with them.
The sheriff hadn’t moved an inch on the couch. His breathing had slowed to a point of serious concern. Getting him to a doctor in time didn’t look all that likely considering the mental state of the people outside.
And that wasn’t counting King Kong with a hammer standing between the door and us.
The only thing going for me at that moment was the fact that the man with the hammer filled the space in front of the door. The other two sadistic bastards couldn’t get around him.
I raised my hands up, palms out. “We got off on the wrong foot. Let me introduce myself. My name is Ash, and I have a package for you.”
With my cat-like speed and reflexes, I shot forward and landed an Asher Benson Special Delivery right to his boys. It didn’t matter who you were fighting, a kick to the ol’ crown jewels would put any man down.
The big man grunted.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
He glowered down at me.
I stared back at him in utter disbelief. Either the man was a eunuch or he had balls of steel. Judging by the way his shoulders bulged, and the ache in my foot, I went with the steel theory.
Moving with a speed that caught me off guard, he jabbed me in the chest with the hammer.
The air exploded from my lungs as I flew backward like a mule had kicked me. The back of my head cracked off the far rear wall of the living room.
I crumpled to the floor, one hand on my bleeding scalp, the other on my chest. My lungs decided to stop cooperating, so I couldn’t even get a sip of air in.
Stars twinkled in my vision.
The room swirled.
I blinked hard.
He’d beat the hell out of me with one blow.
And he hadn’t even taken a swing. He hit me with a simple jab like we were fencing.
A wisp of air made it down my throat, and my eyesight cleared.
I wished it hadn’t.
As I pushed myself to a seated position, the monster clogging up half the living room swung his hammer over his shoulder. The arc of the weapon was short and tight, the low ceiling keeping the man from taking a full swing.
The head of the hammer hit Sheriff Adams dead center in the chest.
The din of shattering ribs filled the room like firecrackers.
Blood splattered my face and chest, splashing against the furniture and walls.
The legs of the couch broke under the power of the blow.
Adams never woke up. He didn’t scream, blubber, or gurgle on his blood.
He simply lay there, dead.
And that was a good thing. His chest had flattened, unspeakable solids and liquids leaking from the hole punched in the center. A single blow had turned his innards to pudding.
The woman giggled in the doorway.
“You fuck!” My words came out as little more than a whisper. My breathing had begun to return, but I still couldn’t speak normally.
The giant straightened out and tried to lift the hammer from Adams’ chest. The sheriff’s body lifted several inches from the couch before the hammer’s head slid free with a slurping sound.
Goo dripped from the tool.
I got to my feet, my chest aching as I continued sipping in air.
Rage consumed my mind, my thoughts venomous and incoherent. That big bastard had just killed an unconscious man for the joy of it.
I didn’t know what was going on in Arthur’s Creek and, in that moment, I didn’t care.
“My turn,” the young man in the doorway said. He shoved the middle-aged woman out of his way and lifted the shotgun.
Seeing the double barrel snapped me out of my murderous wrath.
I wanted revenge, sure, but that would be hard to accomplish with my brains splattered all over the floor.
“Out of the way, Butch!” The kid moved inside the apartment and shoved his shoulder against the giant’s side. “Let me in.”
Butch, I thought. Should have expected a name like that for a man the size of a mountain.
The kid squeezed into the living room, jutting the stock of the shotgun against his shoulder.
I spun around and sprinted down the hallway, the agony in my chest forgotten.
The shotgun boomed behind me as I passed through the doorway of the back bedroom.
Pain stabbed into my left shoulder. It felt like someone shoved me forward and my balance skewed, my feet fighting to stay under me.
The window Nami had escaped through was open just a few feet ahead.
“You winged him,” Butch thundered behind me. He roared laughter. “Where’d you learn to aim, boy?”
I dove headfirst through the window. There was no time to worry about what waited for me outside—a shotgun and a gigantic hammer were coming for me inside.
My eyes didn’t adjust to the blinding light of the early morning before I crashed headfirst into the metal railing of the fire escape. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears as the rest of my body slammed into the rusted iron.
The force of my lunge yanked the fire escape from the exterior of the building.
I looked at the grated floor and saw bolts breaking free of the brick. The metal struts holding the fire escape in place slowly moved away from the wall.
“Oh shit.” I tried to scramble to my feet, but the way the floor tilted under me made it impossible. My back slammed against the railing as I fell back again, accelerating the free fall I found myself in.
My gut constricted under the feeling of weightlessness that grabbed hold of me.
The fire escape tore completely free of the wall as I watched, helpless to arrest the fall.
The young man appeared in the window as I tumbled from the second story.
More agony spiked into my back and shoulders as the fire escape crashed into the street. The railing dug into my muscles and skin, hitting pressure points and smashing into bone. My left arm went numb.
Metal screeched.
Sparks flew.
I bled.
My limbs splayed out as I slapped down on the pavement. I could have made blood angels if moving any part of my body felt even remotely possible.
Nami shouted something from the other side of the street, but I couldn’t make out what she said. The clatter from the fire escape hitting the road still rang in my ears, drowning everything else out.
It didn’t matter anyway.
In the window above me, the twenty-something smiled and aimed his shotgun at my face.
17 – Tongues Aren’t For Decoration
Sammy grabbed Drew’s arm, whispered, “Are those tongues on his belt?”
He nodded. “Looks like it.”
“I know him.” Allison slid closer to Drew, kept her voice low. “He’s my doctor. He wouldn’t harm a mosquito that was feasting on him.”
“I guess he’s had a change of heart.” Drew raised his pistol in front of his chest. “I might be able to take all of them right now, but the shots might bring more company.”
Allison snapped her head around and glared at Drew. “You can’t shoot him. Whatever is happening around here isn’t his fault. If you shoot him, you’ll just be killing a sick man.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Drew glanced at her before returning his gaze to the doctor. “At this point, I’d rather shoot him than have my tongue hanging in his collection.”
Dr. Franklin and the biker moved closer.
Sammy pulled at Drew’s arm. “She’s right. Let’s just outrun them.”
Drew watched the advancing men. “You two take off. I’ll cover your backs and then catch up.”
“We can’t leave you here.” Sammy shook her head. “We have to go together.”
“They’re going to see us when we take off. I’ll stay hidden and pop off a few shots if necessary to keep them back.” Drew looked to Allison. “Stay low and move fast. Stick to the trail so I can find you.”
Allison nodded. Her hands had begun to shake again. She wasn’t built for this kind of stress. Drew didn’t seem nervous. He was alert and calculating, but not anxious.
Sammy looked like her blood pressure might make the top of her head burst. She kept shifting her weight from one leg to the next. Her fingers thrummed against the top of her tan thighs.
The doctor moved along the edge of the tall grass, watching the trees thirty feet to the left of their hiding spot. “You can come out now. We won’t hurt you.”
Allison would have found it more convincing if he weren’t holding a bloody saw in his right hand. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at the tongues dangling from his belt.
“Go!” Drew hissed. He aimed at the biker. “Now!”
Sammy jumped up and sprinted through the trees with Allison hot on her heels. They crashed through brush and branches, holding their arms up to protect their faces. Ten yards in, they fou
nd the trail and cut left, running along its packed surface.
Sammy ran with a smooth, practiced stride. Her arms pistoned with perfect form.
Allison struggled to keep up. She walked the trails a lot, but hadn’t run much in the past decade. It was clear to her that Sammy had spent a lot of time on a treadmill.
The doctor shouted behind them.
The truck’s large engine rumbled to life.
They ran on.
Allison sucked in air, her lungs already straining to get enough oxygen.
Drew hollered.
And then a gunshot cracked.
Sammy slid to a stop on the trail. Allison crashed into her, sending both of them sprawling into the dirt. Tiny pebbles bit into Allison’s palms as she put her hands out to stop her fall. She jumped to her feet and looked down the trail behind them.
The ragged whistle of her breathing made it hard for her to hear anything else.
Sammy stood and dusted off her knees and shorts. Her enormous chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. “Do you hear—?”
Three more shots came in quick succession.
They stood beside each other, listening to the sound of the rustling trees around them.
Allison looked to Sammy. “We should go back for him.”
“Give him a few seconds. He knows what he’s doing.”
Panic nibbled around the edges of Allison’s thoughts. She was running from a man who had helped her through the hardest time in her life. The idea of Dr. Franklin harming anyone was beyond absurd.
Drew burst onto the trail and stopped, his head swiveling left and right. He spotted them and shouted, “Go!”
Allison hesitated. She had to know what had happened. The thought of Drew shooting her affable doctor made her want to scream.
“Run!” Sammy grabbed her arm and jerked her around.
Reluctantly, Allison got her feet moving again.
They sprinted down the trail again, Sammy in the lead.
The giant truck rumbled down the road to their left, unseen through the trees. The sound drifted by as the vehicle drove faster than they were running. Allison wondered if they should veer to the right and put more distance between them and the road.
Drew caught up to them a few seconds later, his face red and pinched from running. “I had to shoot the biker. He had a pistol and—”
