Violet Eyes

by John Everson

  From the highway, they heard the staccato report of a machine gun. Rachel started to get up from the ground, but Terry laid a hand on her back. “Don’t,” he whispered. “The best thing we can do for Anders is escape.”

  Terry led the way, crawling through the waist-high grass towards the tree line a few yards away. Anders had gotten the SUV at a perfect strategic angle. Rachel and Eric crawled along behind him, the shadow of the SUV covering their escape.

  When they were inside the tree line, Terry stopped and risked a careful look behind them. Rachel joined him, and Eric sat up as well. The three of them peered through the leaves and branches and saw a dozen silver-suited forms converge on the prone body of Anders, lying facedown in the middle of the field. Two of the silver figures were walking towards the SUV. They held guns in front of them, at the ready.

  “C’mon,” Terry said. “They’re not sure if the car was empty or not. And we don’t want to be here if they decide that Anders wasn’t alone.”

  Eric was crying, and Rachel looked as if she might be about to. He took both of their hands, and led them through the brush, slowly. Hunched over.

  “Quietly,” he whispered. “Watch your feet.”

  Terry led the way, hunched over almost in half. Rachel followed, holding Eric’s hand. They stepped carefully, but still cracked twigs every few feet, and Terry would hiss a quiet shhhhhh. But slowly, the field and the noise of their pursuers disappeared into the brush behind them.

  “We can’t get complacent,” Terry said, though he was now walking straight up, not hunched at all. He led the way through the trees, winding them deeper and deeper into the woods. The sound of the planes and trucks on the highway had disappeared.

  “Do you know where we are?” Rachel asked.

  Terry nodded. “This stretches on for a few miles bordering the ocean. Up around Elena it thins out, and then you’ve got the Columbia River valley that cuts in just north of there. But if we can get to Elena, I think we’ll be okay.”

  They walked together in silence for a few minutes, and then Rachel stopped. She slapped at Terry’s shoulder to alert him, and then bent down. Terry waited.

  Eric’s shoulders were shaking.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” she asked. Still, she kept her voice to a whisper.

  “Dad is…” he began, but couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he let out a series of coughing sobs.

  Rachel pulled her son close. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling, and she couldn’t lie and say that his dad was okay. “He got bit,” she said. “And he knew that he was going to die from that. So he tried to save us. We have to take that, that…gift he gave us. And make it work.”

  Rachel looked around at the dark leaves and cloistered branches. “We have to live.”

  Eric nodded his head, though he didn’t look terribly convinced.

  “He gave us this chance,” she said, and felt a piece of her heart twist inside her. “We need to make it work.”

  “And right now, we need to go,” Terry hissed. “Hurry.”

  “What’s the matter?” Rachel asked.

  “Take a little breath?”

  She did, and the acrid scent of pesticide suddenly made itself known in her head. “They’re spraying.”

  “All over here,” Terry agreed. “We need to get ahead of it.”

  He motioned them forward, and in a few minutes, they were short of breath and walking along a deep-set, root-tangled creek bed. The water level was low, just a trickle, but Terry led them along it. He knew that eventually, it would wind its way out to the sea. And if they reached the ocean, they’d ultimately reach another inhabited town.

  “Breathe as little as you can,” he warned. “And hurry up.”

  Terry led them along the bank. Rachel could feel the sweat streaking her back, and Eric’s hand holding her own had begun to feel slippery and hot.

  “Get down,” Terry hissed. He dropped prone to the earth. Rachel and Eric did the same, hugging close to a cypress.

  Overhead, a helicopter passed slowly.

  “What if…” Eric began, but Terry shushed him.

  The echo of the chopper blades slowly faded, and eventually Terry pulled them up from the dirt. “Come on,” he said. “We have to keep going.”

  “I can’t…” Eric began, but Rachel shook her head.

  “We have to,” she said. “We have to keep going.” She hesitated a moment, and then added, “For your dad.”

  Terry didn’t miss the tear that stained her cheek as she said it. He didn’t say anything. What could he say? Who could understand the reasons a man and woman fell in love? Who could understand the reasons they abused each other under the auspices of love?

  He didn’t try to refute or change it. Nobody could ever get in the middle of that and come out the better. She had chosen Terry, regardless of whatever she’d still felt about Anders. That had to be enough. It didn’t matter what she felt about Anders now. Anders was unreachable. Terry kept his mouth shut, and only led them on.

  And after a couple hours of walking, they arrived at last on a dirt trail.

  “We need to rest,” Rachel said. She was gasping for breath, and wiped a slick of sweat from her forehead.

  “I think we’re almost home,” Terry said. He wasn’t sure he could go on too much farther himself; while he was in shape from hiking the trails, the sweat was running down his back like a small river. The heat of the day had grown, and the humidity of the swampland made the air heavier and heavier the longer they walked. It felt harder and harder to breathe.

  And then over the course of a few steps, the tree cover broke, and they were standing in a clearing. The grass stretched out unbroken in front of them for a hundred yards. Beyond that, a thin asphalt parking lot broke the grass, before a long brown brick building rose a couple stories in the air.

  They had exited the swampland in the back of an industrial park.

  “I think we made it,” Terry said.

  “Can we go home now?” Eric said. His face was flushed, his hair sticking to the sides of his cheeks.

  “I don’t think so,” Rachel said. She pictured their home in Passanattee briefly, and then saw in her mind’s eye the ramshackle home she’d shared with Anders for a decade. Neither seemed to be viable options to call “home” at this point.

  “I don’t think we can ever go home again.”

  Epilogue

  Milo, Florida

  Wednesday, May 22. 9: 04 p.m.

  “The area surrounding Passanattee has been evacuated today, due to the release of a dangerous pesticide from the Triple T industrial complex on the west side of the town,” a female news commentator said. “It’s unknown at this point what the cause of the leak was, however, authorities have confirmed that the leak is under control. At the same time, firefighters from the surrounding county have gathered at the south end of town, fighting an unrelated, but equally dangerous swamp fire that began sometime yesterday afternoon. It is unknown at this time if there have been any fatalities due to the leak or the fire, but Passanattee Mayor Ivan Pelford confirms that the evacuation was initiated this morning.”

  The newscast flashed to the face of a tall, thin man with graying hair and thin black glasses. “We’ve gone house to house today to make sure we got everyone out of harm’s way. Hopefully, tomorrow, when the air has cleared, we will assist everyone in returning to their homes. Once it is safe.”

  The scene flashed off of the mayor’s face and back to the blonde commentator. “Currently all telecommunication to the area of Passanattee has been interrupted due to the chemical leak, but we are assured that this should be restored by tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, anyone with concerns about family members in the area, should contact this number.”

  An 800 phone number flashed on the screen as the blonde smiled and gestured behind her at the sports arena behind her. “The Red Cross has brought in cots and supplies here to keep everyone comfortable until tomorrow. It’s expected that this will b
e a short evacuation, and once the fires are out and the leak contained, people will be going back home tomorrow.”

  “Can we go home tomorrow?” Eric asked. He sat on one of the two hotel beds, with very little expression. Earlier they had walked through the industrial park and down a quiet main street through the center of a town called Milo. After having burgers at a local grill, they had found a small motel on the outskirts of downtown, and booked a room.

  “I don’t think so, sport,” Terry said.

  “Why not?” Eric asked.

  “Because they’re lying,” Rachel said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was no chemical spill,” Terry explained. “And I think they started those fires. They probably intend to burn the place to the ground. Did you notice they didn’t say anything at all about the spiders? Nobody is going back to their homes tomorrow. They’re just inventing a cover story about why nobody is going to hear from anyone in Passanattee for a while. They don’t want people to panic. And by the time people really start to question…the whole place will have been sterilized, and cleaned up.”

  “But what about all the people?” Eric asked.

  Terry nodded. “What about them indeed?”

  “How are they going to explain where all the people went?”

  “I don’t know,” Terry said. “Maybe the fire will take a ‘tragic turn’ and wipe out the temporary shelter they’ve set up. The government is pretty good at containment. They’ll lock this up tight. Our job, is not to get contained!”

  “How do we do that?” Eric asked. He stifled a yawn with his fist.

  “Let us worry about that,” Rachel said. “Right now, I think you should try to get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

  “A long crazy day,” Eric added.

  She nodded. “Long and crazy indeed.”

  She knew just how tired he was when he didn’t protest. Eric started to take his shirt off, but then stopped. His expression looked puzzled. “I don’t have any pajamas,” he said. One arm was out of the sleeve, pulled up to his chest, while the sleeve hung slack at his side. He was frozen, not sure whether to keep undressing. “And what about brushing my teeth?”

  Rachel smiled. “You can sleep in your underwear with grungy teeth tonight. There’s nothing to do about it right now.”

  “Okay,” Eric said, though he sounded less than sure. He pulled the shirt all the way off, unbuckled his pants and stepped out of them, and then dove into the queen bed as Rachel pulled the covers back. Terry sat on the other bed as she tucked Eric in. She leaned down to kiss him, and whispered in his ear.

  “Sleep tight,” she said. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Ma,” he said, and rolled over, clutching his pillow. He was asleep in minutes.

  Rachel sat down on the other bed with Terry. Her breath came out like a balloon deflating. She felt as if she couldn’t hold any of it in anymore. “What about the military?”

  “What about them?”

  “They’ll be looking for people who got out, won’t they?”

  Terry nodded. “Probably. And hotels will be the first place they’ll look. We’ll check out in the morning. My aunt’s got a place up in Georgia we can head up to. There’s gotta be a place in this town we can rent a car or catch a bus. But I think we should get out of Florida for a while.”

  Rachel nodded. “I’m not sure I ever want to come back.”

  Terry grinned. “You will after you stay with my aunt a few days.”

  Rachel snorted, and pulled the covers down on the bed. She pulled the shirt over her head, and unbuttoned her jeans, shimmying them off to the floor. Clad only in her bra and panties, she slid a bare leg under the sheets, and then let the rest of her follow. Her sigh was louder than she intended as she let her head sink back into the pillow.

  Terry watched her undress, not moving. After she’d settled, he stepped around the bed, and bent to give her a kiss. Just a peck, on the lips. Then he reached over her for the spare pillow.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m being a gentleman,” Terry explained. “I’ll grab the spare blanket in the closet and sleep in the bathtub.

  Rachel snorted again. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “If you think I’m going to let you sleep in the bath, you’re a complete moron. Get in here!”

  She threw the covers back, exposing her bare thigh and the curve of the pink panties that clung to top of her hip.

  “What about Eric?” Terry asked, still looking unsure. She thought he was cute. Trying so hard to do the right thing.

  “He’d better get used to it. I expect he’ll be seeing you next to me a lot from now on.”

  Terry grinned, and flipped his shirt off in a heartbeat, exposing a wide chest thick with black curls. His jeans joined Rachel’s on the floor and he slipped in beside her. She loved the feel of his leg as it slipped next to hers.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, and rolled over to put an arm around his shoulder. “We wouldn’t have made it here without you.”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to make it here without you,” he said. His face was serious.

  “Well, good thing that you didn’t have to,” she smiled, and kissed him. He pulled her closer, and it was awhile before Rachel came up for air.

  “Hang on,” she said, breathing hard. Her heart was pounding. “Eric doesn’t need to see this.”

  She reached over him and turned out the light.

  Rachel woke to the sound of SpongeBob laughing on the television. The morning sun was blinding through the crack in the blinds; they hadn’t pulled them quite tight enough. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of dreams from her head. She’d been thinking of something happy, something pleasant, something like…her smile broadened, as she looked at Terry still out cold on the pillow beside her. His mouth hung open; he looked like a statue, frozen in place in her bed.

  “Turn it down a little, okay?” she asked Eric.

  The boy was sitting up in his bed watching. He nodded and pointed the remote at the TV. “Sorry, it was all that was on.”

  The volume diminished, and Eric got out of his bed and went to the bathroom. The flush is what finally woke Terry. He stretched and rolled onto his back as Eric walked back from the bathroom.

  Rachel put her arms out to him, begging for a morning hug.

  “My head hurts,” he complained, walking up to her side of the bed, and gripping her tightly.

  “Did you sleep okay?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I think so.”

  The boy pulled back from her then, and Rachel could see a look of puzzlement on his face. His brow furrowed, and he stretched out his arm. A small spider crawled across his wrist. It darted to the tip of his forefinger and dropped to the bed.

  Rachel slapped out her hand to crush the thing. But even as she did so, Eric reached up to the side of his head and rubbed it. When his hand came back, another spider was crawling across his arm.

  “My head really hurts,” he said again. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He was trying to be brave. But he knew.

  He knew.

  That’s when Rachel saw the motion on the pale skin of her son’s ear. Two hairlike arms reached out from the opening. The feelers almost looked as if they were sniffing the air. And then, when they decided it was safe, they pulled a black body etched in a purple bolt of lightning from the depths of Eric’s ear. Gestation time was over.

  Trembling at the ticklish feel of the spider’s touch, Eric giggled slightly. But he knew it wasn’t funny. And even as he smiled, a tear finally escaped his control. Somewhere in the distance, came the sound of helicopters.

  Terry swallowed hard, and put a comforting hand on Rachel’s shoulder. There was nothing he could say. His touch was all he could offer. His strength. She was going to need it.

  Eric looked at his mom and said the hardest words she would ever hear.

  “I don’t want to die.”

  Rachel pulled him
close, squeezing him tighter. Her action only seemed to make matters worse. As if in response to her hug, a stream of small black spiders exited faster and faster from Eric’s ear to run down his shoulder. She ignored their bites on her arms, and only held her son tighter.

  Silently, Rachel began to cry.

  About the Author

  John Everson is a staunch advocate of the culinary joys of the jalapeno and an unabashed fan of vintage 1970s European horror cinema. He is also the Bram Stoker Award-winning author of seven novels, including the erotic horror tour de force of NightWhere, the occult/urban legend mystery of The Pumpkin Man, and the dangerously seductive dark fantasy of Siren. Other novels include Covenant, Sacrifice and The 13th.

  His tales have been translated into Polish, French, Italian, Turkish and German and optioned for potential film development. His short stories have been gathered in a handful of collections, including Cage of Bones & Other Deadly Obsessions and Needles & Sins. A 10th anniversary edition of his Vigilantes of Love was reissued in 2013, and the full story of what happened to Billy, Casey, Mark and Jess on Sheila Key can be read in “Violet Lagoon” in the collection Creeptych.

  For more information on his fiction, art and music, or to sign up for his e-newsletter, visit www.johneverson.com.

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