Emerging (Subdue Book 2)

by Thomas S. Flowers

  “Make yourselves comfortable. Drinks are on the table,” called Maggie, her voice drifting in from the kitchen. “Did you enjoy the fair?” she asked pleasantly.

  “Yes, it was…fun,” said Jake, watching Johnathan carefully in his peripheral.

  “Did you find Bobby?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Sad.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, have a drink.”

  “Listen, Mags. Do you mind if we clean up first. It’s raining pretty badly out there and I’d like to get changed,” said Johnathan, staring at the bottles of liquor on the coffee table.

  “Sure. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, so don’t take too long,” sang Maggie, her voice warm and friendly.

  “We won’t,” said Johnathan, glancing at Jake, gesturing silently toward the stairs. He led the way, carefully putting most of his weight on his cane in hand. At the top he turned to face Jake who stood a step below him.

  “Look,” he started, “I don’t know if you believe me or not. There is something wrong with this place. We need to get Mags outta here before it’s too late.”

  “Johnathan, listen to yourself,” Jake pleaded in a rushed whisper.

  “I know. It sounds bat-shit crazy. Maybe I have gone off the reserve. I don’t care. I’m getting her out of this house,” Johnathan whispered back in that growling hushed voice.

  “And what are you planning to do?”

  “Let’s just have dinner. I’ll talk with her then. I’ll tell her everything.”

  “And what happens when she says no?”

  Johnathan blinked and turned to walk back to his room.

  “What happens when she says no, Johnathan?” Jake called after him.

  Johnathan said nothing. He disappeared inside his door.

  ***

  Johnathan

  The image that glared back through the vanity looked horrid and grisly. Johnathan hardly recognized himself. His hair was disheveled, face unshaven, eyes bloodshot. And his residual limb ached as it had the very first day he wore his prosthetic leg, nearly a year ago, causing him to lurch crooked, putting more weight on his good leg. He could see the bag from Bud’s Guns sitting on the bed.

  “Ricky…what am I supposed to do with that?” Johnathan moaned.

  Silence.

  “Ricky?”

  Nothing.

  “Are you gone now, is that it? Said your piece? Done with us? You know, this whole thing would be a hella lot easier if you’d talk to Maggie yourself. No? Nothing? Fine. Let me be the crazy one.” Johnathan sat on the bed, the bag rustling with the vibration of his weight. He’s gone, isn’t he? The way he left wasn’t like before. Like some nightmare, he’d vanished before, but not this time. This time he looked…scared. And then he crumbled into nothing. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Nothing left but the critters searching for a new roost.

  Outside, thunder crashed. Lightning flared. Rain hit the bedroom window as if demanding to be let inside.

  “Come on, Ricky…what am I supposed to do with this? What am I supposed to say to Mags?” he moaned.

  Nothing.

  Silence.

  Ricky was not coming.

  With a heavy sigh, Johnathan unpacked the Bud’s Guns bag and took out his purchase. The British Bull Dog revolver felt oddly heavy, given its small size, in his hand.

  “Are you really the one who assassinated President Garfield?” he asked the revolver, gripping the ivory handle, angling it as he inspected the design. “Are you going to kill tonight?”

  The revolver felt like dead weight. Johnathan rubbed his eyes against some festering itch, and then pulled out the ejector rod and began loading the special .44 caliber rounds Rusty “Gonzo” Gonzalez had given him into the cylinder. Before heading back downstairs, he changed out of his wet clothes, shaved, combed his hair, and replaced the sock on his gnarled stump.

  Standing in the living room, Johnathan could hear the rain rattling against the porch as he gazed down at the bottle of Johnny Walker and the crystalline glass sitting next to it. The British Bull Dog revolver sat like a hard lump in his back pocket. Jeez, what if it goes off when I sit down? Wouldn’t that be a fine conversation starter!

  ‘Hey, Johnny-Boy, what was that?

  Oh, this? Just this revolver I bought at the county fair.

  Why did you buy the gun, Johnny-Boy?

  Good question.

  No. Seriously. Why did you buy the gun?’

  “Make your way to the dining room, please,” Maggie called from the kitchen. Johnathan could hear pots clanking together.

  “Need any help?” he asked.

  “No. I’m fine. Go on in. Jake’s already sitting down. Fix yourself a drink.” Her voice carried the same serenity as before, pleasant, but unlike how she had been this entire weekend. Different. Changed. Maybe she’s turned a corner, Johnathan thought.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” he answered. Reaching for the bottle of scotch and the glass, he poured the dark brown contents, ignoring the ice. He took a sip, grimaced, and then went in through the door to the dining area. Jake was already at the table. He looked nervous, his eyes widening when he noticed the glass in Johnathan’s hand.

  The table was nearly all set. Food of every sort covered the length, from the end where Maggie would probably sit; a large glass bowl filled with mashed potatoes and beside that a basin with earthy brown giblet gravy. Farther along, another bowl filled with fluffy golden biscuits and beside that a bowl toppling with cornbread. There was also dishes of cranberry sauce, dressing, creamed asparagus tips, baked carrots, grapes, apples, a green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, some kind of corn and vegetable mix, golden macaroni and cheese, collard greens, broccoli and cauliflower au gratin, bacon and brown sugar glazed Brussels sprouts, and wild rice pilaf all spread down the table. At the end, several dessert dishes were piled together, including a steaming pan of lattice-topped apple pie, caramel apple cheesecake, apple spice cake, apple fritters, pineapple upside-down cake, pumpkin bread, lemon meringue pie, and one large pecan pie. Johnathan had never seen so much food in one place, well, not seen the holidays he had spent in Iraq at the KBR run DFACs on Camp Victory. It was an impressive sight. Odd. And a bit unsettling. He looked at Jake queerly and then sat down.

  A moment later, Maggie walked in through the door leading to the kitchen carrying a large tray with a golden roasted turkey perched on top. A green, mossy looking garnish encircled it on the silver platter. She leaned past Jake and sat the bird at the very center of the table without any noticeable strain. She then walked to her seat and sat down, smiling.

  Johnathan couldn’t keep his gaze from her. She looked…different. She was smiling, but her face…her skin looked deformed and strangely colored. As if she had gained a massive amount of weight and lost it all in a matter of minutes. Folds drooped down. The saddle bags under her eyes looked kneaded and dark. Her eyes were bloodshot, almost completely red. He glanced over at Jake and could see the same bewildered glare.

  “Johnathan,” said Maggie.

  “Yes…” Johnathan whispered. His thoughts numb behind his eyes.

  “Would you carve the turkey?”

  “The turkey?”

  “Yes. The turkey, please.”

  “Okay.”

  Johnathan stood and reached for the trident looking fork and the long knife idling beside the silver platter. He began to carve, hardly able to take his eyes on his friend. Maggie…

  Johnathan finished and plated the cuts of turkey. He sat back down, ignoring the painful pinch of the revolver and stared at his plate and then looked at the two empty seats where Karen and Tabitha would have been if they were here. I’m too late…He looked up at Jake who seemed to look just as unsettled as he was. Ricky was right…I’ve failed.

  “So…Maggie,” said Jake, his voice cracking.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “What’s with all the…” Jake gestured to the spread of food.

  “Well, I thoug
ht we should have a celebration,” Maggie said, matter-of-factly.

  “For?”

  “Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanksgiving’s in November.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s March.”

  Maggie spooned some sweet potatoes onto her plate. She answered without looking up. “It’s just an expression, Jake.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  They filled their plates in relative silence, the only sounds of clanking silverware and the soft plop of food smacking against porcelain. They ate without a single word. Even Maggie ate, forking massive portions into her sagging mouth. Johnathan finished his hearty glass of Johnny Walker, allowing the warm flow to loosen his mind. His eyes were already beginning to feel full from the meal.

  “Mags…we need to talk…” he said looking at Jake who looked as if he was half asleep.

  “Yes,” chimed Maggie, jubilantly.

  “This house…” Johnathan struggled to say, his thoughts felt dumb, his jaws stiff.

  “Yes. What about the house?”

  Johnathan swallowed. Despite the food and the drinks, his throat felt barren and dry. His eyes began droop as if weighed down by sand.

  “This house,” he started again, “is wrong. We need to get you out of here. You look…terrible, Mags. Ricky said it was too late, but I don’t believe him.” Johnathan felt drunk.

  “Johnathan,” Jake hissed sleepily.

  “Ricky?” asked Maggie.

  “Yeah…your husband. About this high. High and tight hair. Blue eyes. Collected comics. Watched horror movies. Remember?” said Johnathan, the confusion unmasked by his stupor.

  “Oh. Yes. Ricky.” She went back to her plate, gobbling away between a chunk of cornbread and a heaping spoon full of dressing.

  “Maggie…?” Johnathan pleaded.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Yes. Ricky told you this house was wrong and now you think I should leave.” Maggie spoke between chews without any sort of emotion or surprise or disbelief.

  “Yes.”

  Maggie looked at Johnathan for a long time without saying another word. Johnathan shifted uncomfortably, wishing he still had more to drink.

  “Sure,” said Maggie and went back to eating.

  “Sure?” chimed Jake. “Did you hear what he said? Did you hear what he said about Ricky? And the house?”

  “I heard, Jake. If he wants me to leave, fine. I’ll leave.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Johnathan began to push back from the table. His head swirled as if someone had placed the world on a dreidel and given it a spin.

  “Not yet,” said Maggie holding up her hand as if to signal a halt. Her flesh looked as kneaded as her face, the color turning yellow in the soft glow of the dining room light.

  “Why?” Johnathan protested.

  “Let’s finish our meal, first. Wait for the storm to pass, and then we’ll go, if you still want to. Promise.” She smiled, but it didn’t feel warm or friendly anymore, if it had at all, her smile now looked unnatural, abominable even.

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Jake, yawning, blinking wildly as if fighting to stay awake.

  “Sure—” Johnathan slurred. The table pitched back and forth like some Alaskan lobster ship caught in a perfect Arctic storm. His vision blurred and cleared. The food changed. The succulent heaps of potatoes rotted, gushing with a menacing looking earthworm he had never seen before, a worm with vicious tiny circular pointed teeth at the ends of its snake-like body, chewing and biting on the wanton Thanksgiving feast. Swarms of some conjoined insect slithered in the corn and vegetable dish. Opaque maggots poured from the wounds Johnathan made on his cut of turkey, squirming upon one another in some bizarre orgy. Some sort of leopard printed centipede horde traversed through the desserts, gnawing away chunks of pecan pie and pumpkin bread. He heard Jake’s chair push back, followed by a pained hiss, and then a heavy thud as he fell to the floor.

  “Mags…what is this…?” Johnathan gagged, clutching his stomach, teetering in his chair. His cane fell and clattered to the floor. He ignored it. The world was spinning.

  Maggie smiled with chunks of food and larva in her mouth, dribbling back down onto her plate which was covered in a sea of dark evil congealed slithering things.

  “Take. Eat. This is my body…” she said, laughing manically. Her voice sounded muffled with the food, almost liquid and gurgling. Alien. The table shook. The air was full of some awful stink, rotting meat perhaps, or maybe it was the bacteria Johnathan was watching bloom into purplish-blue horrid flowers across the green bean casserole.

  Johnathan lurched and vomited and then fell out from his chair hitting the floor in a heavy and painful thud. He watched the slithering worms and maggots and black eyed cretin’s rain down from the table. And then, nothing. He screamed silently as he faded into a terrible dream filled with large red eyed monsters and Ricky, with bone chewed fingers and his grave ruined ACUs, screaming at him, crying out, but the only word Johnathan could understand was but for one.

  Nashirimah…

  Nashirimah…

  Nashirimah.

  CHAPTER 28

  REUNION

  Before Johnathan opened his eyes he knew he was not lying on the posh carpeted floor of the dining room. This was harder. Stonier. A dull chorus of clicking echoed somewhere in the distance. The smell of the place was of some hot humid rot, like spoiled milk, or raw meat left for the flies to lay their eggs. His skin felt clammy and wet, his clothes damp as if he’d sweated through them. The hard lump of the revolver was missing. Carefully, he opened his eyes. Darkness welcomed him, at first. As they adjusted to the soft yellow glow, his gaze fell on the iron shackle clipped to his jean trouser leg, and then to his surroundings.

  The hell…?

  He was lying on the ground of some cavern. Stalactites hung from the high vaulted ceiling like thin gnarled fingers. Stalagmites protruded from the ground in some places like fat dwarfish columns, and beyond those stone walls, polished and etched with some sort of design of shapes. The drip of condensation, perhaps, or maybe rain soaking into the earth above, joined in a strange sundry with the clicking, chirping echo. He felt deep, the kneading pressure of the depth hung on his heart. Johnathan had no idea if he was correct in his assumption, but he could feel it was so, he could feel the weight of the world above him. There was rattling near him. He jerked his neck. Jake was lying next to him, assumingly unconscious. Next to Jake, another form took shape in the faint yellow light of the cave.

  “Bobby?” Johnathan called, the shock unmasked in his desperate voice.

  “Hey, Johnny-Boy,” answered Bobby. He spoke through clenched teeth, trembling, his knees cradled to his chest, rocking back and forth on the ground.

  “Are you okay?” asked Johnathan.

  “Am I okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, Johnny-Boy, I’m not okay.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Here!”

  Johnathan looked around the cave again. “Where are we?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who did this?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “Mags…?”

  “Somethings wrong with her. She’s…?”

  “Changed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know…I…? Bobby, are you okay. You look terrible.”

  “It’s nighttime, isn’t it.”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I can feel it.”

  “What do you mean, you can feel it? Feel what?”

  “The moon. It won’t be long.”

  “What are you—?”

  “Ugh!” cried Jake, sitting up, cradling his head between his hands.

  “Jake, you okay, buddy?” asked Bobby, reaching over with a trembling hand and touching his shoulder.

  Jake flinched as if struck with some scolding thing. “I think so. Bob
by? Bobby! Where have you been? Jesus, you’re burning up.”

  Bobby recoiled, returning to his cradled position, rocking, trembling. “It’s good to see you too, man.”

  “Johnathan, is that you?” Jake asked, turning toward him.

  “Yup. One big happy reunion, huh?” quipped Johnathan.

  Bobby laughed, painfully.

  “What is this?” Jake pulled and tugged fiercely on his own shackle.

  “Give it up, man. We’re locked up tight. We’re not going anywhere unless They want us to,” said Bobby, struggling to speak.

  “They?”

  Jake and Johnathan both looked at their friend. Bobby said nothing, but in his eyes was a look of horror, wide, wet, and terrified. Another sound, the sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, closing in, coming closer.

  “Who’s there?” called Jake.

  They watched the shadows carefully. Eventually a dark shape emerged from the yellowish sand looking gloom. Maggie Smith appeared before them. Her skin looked impossibly deformed, drooping, sagging like some horrible ptosis disease, as if her flesh were fleeing from her bones.