by Crae, Edward
Dan reached out to remove the mask, stuffing it in his backpack. He would have to remember to wash it. He stood and turned to the L-shaped kitchen behind him. The counters were bare, and the refrigerator door was open. Nothing inside. He went through the cabinets, ignoring the spices and boxed pasta helper meals.
The corner cabinet was stuffed with canned vegetables, tuna, beans, and even a couple cans of chili. He quickly loaded them in his backpack. The next cabinet was a pharmacy. He grinned and stared like a kid who had just discovered the doorway to Narnia.
“Holy shit,” he said.
There were vitamins of all types, some OTC painkillers, and an entire shelf full of prescription meds; including Viagra. “Of course,” he mouthed.
Without looking, he swept the entire cabinet’s contents into his pack, turning to face the refrigerator again. A case of light beer, mostly full, sat beside it, along with a twelve pack of diet cola. He slung his shotgun and backpack over his shoulder, grabbing them, and headed for the front door.
Drew was still pumping gas, leaning against their pickup, smoking a cigarette.
“Are you fucking nuts?” Dan asked him, throwing the cola and beer in the back of the bed.
“Fumes, man,” Drew said. “It’s all fumes, and cigarettes don’t get hot enough to ignite them.”
Dan shook his head, throwing the backpack on the passenger-side floor. “Good score in the kitchen,” he said. “There was a dead merc in there, too. Looks like Daddy got one. I’m going back in to check the bedrooms.”
He went back in, heading to the left this time. The hallway floor was covered with fallen pictures, and the three doors were open. The first room was a child’s bedroom, complete with crayon drawings on the walls, toys scattered on the floor, and a messy bed. The child himself lay there on his side, filled with bullet holes.
Dan sighed. Poor kid.
The next door led to the bathroom. It was fairly clean, but the medicine cabinet was open and empty. Nothing in there. The bathtub was filthy, coated in grime and soap scum. Also empty.
He went back out into the hallway, peering into the last room. A man and woman about his age lay face down on the floor, with pools of dried blood surrounding their shattered skulls. They had been killed execution style; one bullet in the back of the head. They had been murdered in cold blood by wannabe soldiers.
“Fucking animals,” Dan said.
Daddy’s shotgun lay near him. It was an old Ithaca; dusty and corroded. It probably jammed after Daddy blasted the merc in the kitchen.
There was nothing useful in here, either.
He turned, jumping as he saw Drew standing in the doorway.
“Fuck dude!” he shouted as Drew grinned. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Tank’s empty now,” Drew said. “We probably got about twelve gallons. Anything good?”
Dan stepped to the side, showing Drew the two bodies. Drew frowned when he saw them.
“Damn,” he said. “This was like a Gestapo raid.”
“You don’t wanna look in the other bedroom.”
Drew nodded. “I’ll take your word for it. Let’s move on.”
The next house over was in pretty much the same shape. Though there were very few useful items, they managed to score a small solar charger. It would work with Dan’s laptop. The only other item was a .44 caliber revolver. That would be useful, too.
Across the street, a decrepit shack-like house was nestled back in the trees. It was sided with corrugated metal in a few places, and the roof had patches of blue tarpaulin covering what were probably rot holes. The chimney was collapsing, and the windows were mostly boarded up or covered in milky white plastic.
“What a shit hole,” Drew said.
Dan pulled in the driveway next to the rusted Pinto. Drew got out and checked the gas tank.
“It’s full,” he said. “Do your thing and I’ll do mine.”
Dan grabbed a few empty bags from the floor of the truck, doubling them up for strength, and walked up the cracked sidewalk. The porch slab was cracked and crumbling, with small piles of gravel and lime scattered around it. The smell of garbage—and possibly shit—hung in the air like a dense fog.
“Oh man,” he whispered as he opened the screen door with his shotgun.
A cat banged against the door, prompting a trigger pull, and disappeared around the corner. The door jamb exploded with the shotgun blast.
“Fuck dude!” he heard Drew say behind him.
Dan shook his head, stepping into the shithole house. The carpet was filthy, caked with cat shit, spilled food, and something white and sticky-looking. It seemed to be pooled in the center of the room. The pool rippled as something dripped into it from above. Dan looked up, seeing a dark stain on the ceiling. White fluid dripped slowly from its center, down into the pool below. Dan swallowed, fearing whatever could be in the attic.
The fluid looked similar to what he saw spewing from the cat’s cocoon once it exploded in the fire. But with the volume of the disgusting stuff that was here on the floor, this was no cat cocoon. It was probably something bigger; the owner perhaps.
He quickly exited, running up to Drew as he pulled the hose form the gas tank. “There’s a cocoon in the attic,” Dan said. “Probably a big one.”
“Did you go up there?” Drew asked.
“No. But there’s a giant puddle of goo on the living room floor, and the whole place smells like ass.”
“It probably smelled like ass before,” Drew said. “So what do we do? Burn it down?”
Dan looked back at the house. It was probably a good idea. Whoever lived here was unlikely to have anything of value. He was obviously dirt poor, and a hermit. But, he could have something. “Maybe if we’re quiet, we can scope it out for a minute.”
“Quiet?” Drew laughed. “You blasted a hole in the door jamb.”
Dan nodded. “True,” he said. “But let’s both go in and look real quick.”
Drew threw the pump back into the truck and grabbed his shotgun. They quietly returned to the house, looking out for asshole cats, and stepped inside. Drew stared at the pool of goo, a disgusted look spreading across his face.
“Fuckin’ gross,” he said, looking up. “Yeah, there’s definitely something nasty in the attic.”
Dan crept through the mess, looking around the living room for anything useful. There was very little in the way of modern technology; a CRT TV, a remote, a gaming console he didn’t recognize, and a large ashtray full of unfiltered cigarette butts.
There was also a tray of weed.
“There you go,” Dan said, pointing at it.
Drew cringed. “I don’t know, man,” he said. “If there’s a baggy lying around, I’ll grab it, but I’m not smokin’ that.”
Dan shrugged, turning the corner to peer into the hallway. The carpet was ripped in places, showing the plywood floor underneath. The walls were punctured—probably punch holes—and filth ran down them in a surprising quantity. There looked to be dried vomit, handprints, and mold. Dan held his breath as he walked, keeping the shotgun held out with one hand.
“I’m checking out the kitchen,” Drew said.
There were two doors in the hallway, both of them missing their actual doors. One was a bathroom with its door covered with a hanging curtain with weird paisley designs on it. Dan didn’t really want to go in; it smelled horrible.
The second door, also covered with a curtain, led to a bedroom. From the hallway, Dan could tell that it was going to be filthy. Even the first few feet of the floor showed grime, dried cat shit, and piles of caked in vomit.
He stuck his shotgun through the curtain, moving it aside as he stepped in front of the door. There was a dresser with the drawers open and piled with clothing, and a single bed—with an occupant sitting on the edge, staring out the window. He was a fat man, with a filthy white wife-beater, and striped boxers. He was unmoving, but breathing heavily and wheezing.
“Hey, buddy,” Dan whispered.
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br /> The man sulked, teetering from side to side. He burped, lifting a half full bottle of whiskey to his lips and taking a swig.
“Hey, man,” Dan said.
The man slowly turned, dropping the whiskey bottle and staring at Dan with oddly shifting eyes. He was missing teeth, and his hair was frizzy and sticking out.
“Hi,” the man said.
Dan swallowed. “Are you alright?”
The man turned his eyes to the floor, grinning crookedly. “No,” he said loudly, but not yelling. “But I wasn’t… wasn’t really… alright before.” He looked back up. “What are you… doing… in my house?”
“We’re just out looking for supplies,” Dan said. He could hear Drew coming down the hallway.
“I don’t have nothing,” the man said, turning back to the window. “I… never… had nothing.”
Dan thought of the possible cocoon in the attic. “Do you live here by yourself?” he asked.
The man shook his head, still staring out the window. “Wife, too,” he mumbled. “She’s in the attic.”
“You know she’s infected, right?” Dan said.
The man nodded. “She’s my wife,” he said. “I… still love… her… or it.”
Dan swallowed. “When she comes down, she’s going to kill you.”
The man puked on the floor in front of the window. The smell of whiskey and bile filled the room. “She loves… me,” he said. “I’m waiting for her. We’ll go to Valhalla together.”
Valhalla?
“She’s my little shield maiden,” the man said.
Dan wasn’t sure what he meant, but didn’t care. He heard Drew sidle in behind him.
“If you want to stay here, I won’t stop you, but I can’t walk away and let that creature live.”
The man suddenly stood up, stumbling against the wall as he struggled to keep his balance. Drew cocked his shotgun. Dan did the same.
“Chill out, man,” Dan said. “It’s not her anymore.”
The man turned, stumbling toward them with crazy eyes. “You can’t hurt her!” he shouted. “I love her!”
He charged forward screaming, his face twisted in rage. Dan shoved the shotgun parallel to his chest, blocking the man’s advance. They struggled, both of them twisting and shoving the shotgun in an effort to push the other back. Drew stepped to the side, leveling his shotgun at the man’s head.
“Back off, fucker!” he shouted. “Back off or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off!”
The man loosened his grip, jumping onto the bed and scrambling over the blankets to attack Drew. Dan bashed the man in the head with the butt of his shotgun, and stepped back in surprise as the man shrugged off the impact.
But Drew fired.
Blood and brains splattered back, coating the bed sheets and part of the wall. The man’s headless body slumped over the edge of the mattress, slowly sliding to the floor as the two men backed away.
“Fuck, man,” Dan said. “Crazy fucker.”
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Drew said, pulling Dan with him as he charged out of the room.
Then, a hissing jingle came from the attic above. They stopped at the end of the hallway, listening in terror as the sound echoed from above. Drew ran over to the edge of the puddle, aiming the shotgun upward. Dan joined him, judging the right angle to hit whatever was above.
“On three,” Drew said. “One… two… three!”
They fired in unison. The ceiling exploded in a cloud of plaster, wood, and slime. The howl of agony that came through the opening chilled their spines, and they stood frozen as two slimy white tentacles snaked down through the hole.
“Oh, fuck,” Drew said. “I think we just pissed it off.”
“Fuck this,” Dan said, stepping forward and blasting the writhing appendages. They dropped to the floor, squirming and flailing. Dan pointed his shotgun upward into the hole, firing and pumping until his shotgun was empty. Drew stomped the tentacles to oblivion, splattering slime everywhere. He moved up to empty the rest of his shells into the opening, and the creature’s hissing became more frantic and agitated.
“Come on, man,” Dan said. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll meet it outside.”
They rushed out the door, fumbling in their pockets for shells to reload. They stopped in the center of the yard, waiting for whatever would come through the open door. From inside, a splattering thump shook the house, and growls and moans echoed out. The sounds were horrifying, sending Dan’s nerves into an uproar. Whatever the creature was, it was attempting to call to its husband.
“Lennn…. Lennnnnnghfgg!”
“What the fuck?” Drew said. “Lenny? Leonard?”
“Who gives a shit?” Dan said. “Kill the bitch.”
The door jamb exploded outward, revealing the creature’s wretched form. It was mostly white, hunched over and crippled, with glossy skin, black eyes, and a wide, gaping mouth that snapped shut like a steel trap. Its limbs were twisted and nearly useless, and it dragged itself forward on spindly, skeletal arms. Whatever it was becoming, it wasn’t quite finished.
They aimed and blasted it repeatedly. The slugs exploded into its hard skin, slinging black and green fluid around and pissing the thing off with every hit. It roared, its transparent fangs dripping with slime as it charged.
Drew dropped his empty shotgun, pulling out his Glock. He fired several rounds at the creature as it neared. Dan aimed, waiting for the perfect opening to blast the creature’s head. It turned to him, screaming and jingling as its snakelike tongue shot out. Dan dodged, rolling behind it and blasting it in the back of the head.
Drew fired several more shots, putting holes in the creature’s back. Finally, with one last shell to go, Dan stomped it to the ground, putting the barrel of his SPAS-12 against the creature’s skull, and fired.
Green slime and chunks of white bone and flesh splattered, and the thing collapsed. As the two men stepped away, the body convulsed and quivered. Dan ran to the truck, starting it up and pulling back.
“Where the fu—“ Drew cursed.
Dan punched it, bouncing over the rough ground toward the creature’s body. Drew jumped out of the way as Dan rolled over the body, slammed on the brakes, backed over it, and ran over it again.
“Die, motherfucker!” Dan shouted, his heart pumping with excitement.
Drew could only laugh as he watched. “Okay, man!” he said, holding up his hands. “I think it’s dead.”
Dan slammed on the brakes again, backing over the pulverized body one last time and stopping near the driveway. He laughed out loud, banging his fists on the steering wheel. Drew hopped in, his face beaming.
“I’m fuckin’ pumped, dude!” he said. “Let’s go kill some more shit.”
Dan put the truck back into drive and ran over the creature again, skidding into a turn back onto the street. He floored it, squealing the tires, and yipping like a hillbilly as they shot down the road.
Chapter Nine
With one last gas tank to fill, they pulled into the driveway of another decrepit house that was settled far back into the tree line. It was in slightly better condition than Lenny/Leonard’s house, and looked like it might have actually been nice at one time.
It was a stone cottage-type; with cracked sandstone wainscoting and mossy, dry-rotted panels layered on the top half. The roof was made of green shingles, and a single, sandstone chimney poked up on one side of the peak. Two of the front windows were shattered, and the paving stone walkway was slightly crumbled.
The driveway was rough; mostly cracked concrete with areas of crumbled slab and gravel where tall grass poked through. A single car, a Chevy Lumina, was parked near the house; black, and in much better condition than the house itself.
“Looks like a cop car,” Drew remarked. “Unmarked.”
Dan looked at the license plate. It was a standard civilian alphanumeric license. “Could be,” he said. “But he probably got it at an auction.”
“Do you know who lives here?
” Drew asked, preparing the pump as he got out.
“Nope. I don’t know anybody on this end. I’m surprised I even know the people I do.”
Drew opened the gas cap on the Lumina, shoving the hose into it. “Mostly full, looks like,” he said.
“I’ll wait this time,” Dan said. “No more surprise fat psychos for me.”
They stood waiting as the pump did its thing. Dan looked around while Drew bobbed his head to imaginary music, staring at the house with a tight-lipped, humorless smile.
“A Band of Orcs,” Drew said.
“What?”
“There’s a band called A Band of Orcs.”
Dan nodded, smiling. “Yeah, they’re fuckin’ great,” he said. “What about them?”
“Nothing. Just making conversation.”
Dan shook his head, turning back to the house. After a few minutes, the pump began gurgling, telling them the gas tank was empty. Drew pulled out the hose, throwing the pump in the bed and screwing the cap back on their tank.
“Still about a third of a tank left to fill,” he said.
“Alright, let’s see what’s behind door number one.”
They approached the house with their shotguns poised. Drew had brought an incendiary grenade this time; procured from the Humvee. The smell of shit and garbage assaulted them suddenly, slamming into them like an invisible force field of decay. Drew made a gagging noise.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Doesn’t anyone clean up after themselves?”
“This is the country version of the ghetto,” Dan said. “It’s what I like to call cousin territory.”
Drew laughed. “Cousin territory,” he repeated, grinning. “That’s stellar. Yee-fuckin-haw, y’all.”
Dan pumped his shotgun, stepping onto the porch to open the rickety screen door. Drew stood back, covering the entrance as Dan pulled it open. It creaked the first few inches, then fell off its hinges, smashing into the concrete just as Drew stepped aside.
“Yikes,” Drew said. “I hope the inside is a little better.” Dan shot him a skeptical look.
The heavy wooden door creaked, too, but opened inward without falling off. A wave of stench blew out, causing both of them to back away.
