He shrugs. “Whatever she’s open to. I find her . . . comforting. You, I find . . . Well, I haven’t decided yet.”
Better to ignore such an obvious lead. Besides, there’s something that really should be out in the open, and I doubt Ron has brought it up. I grip the steering wheel, contemplate what I’m about to tell him, and am sure it’s the right thing to say. “Ron has . . . a secret. She’s not as she seems.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Cut the comic book superhero horseshit and listen. The reason Ron has such low standards is because she’s trying to find someone who will accept her. She scrapes the bottom of the barrel because she thinks lowlifes will have no choice. She sees that you’re from this weird, thrilling world, and she thinks you’ll prioritize your respect for her over . . . what you’ll soon find out about her.”
His smile is gone. “And you think I’ll reject her.”
“I think you’ll kill her.”
We’re silent for a long minute.
He gives me a sidelong look. “I hope I prove you wrong.”
“I hope you do, too. If you do, I’ll have a hell of a lot more respect for you. But the moment you hurt her . . . Let’s just say I keep a shotgun around for a reason. Doesn’t matter if you’re a Juggalo or an Edward Cullen wannabe.”
He laughs, startling me. “You and vampires. You have some kind of obsession.”
I meet his eyes for the first time since I parked the car. “You nearly died back there.”
Tedrin stares at me. “Not even close.”
A chill runs through me. The guy bled a bucket, had holes clear through his chest, was stumbling around with his eyes going insane — but how much of that was feigned? How much injury can his needle-rebuilt body take before it falls apart like the giraffe’s did?
“What would it take to bypass your healing power and kill you?”
He grins, delighted. “That’s a pretty ballsy thing to ask.”
“Ron isn’t the only one of us with balls. You already know my weakness: I’m made of delicate meats and lots of fluids. It’s only fair that we know yours.”
He smirks at the dashboard for a moment, shaking his head a little. And then he blinks, and his smile disappears. “Well . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“No thanks.”
“I’m not the devil. You won’t lose your soul.”
“Still sounds like a bad idea.”
“I heard you out; now it’s my turn.” He points out into the night, vaguely northward. “There’s an abandoned church at the top of a hill. I’ve scouted a little and am sure there’s a monster, like the plant-eating one I killed, using it as a home. If they’re so harmless, and you’re so smart, I’m sure you could learn a thing or two from watching it. If I’m right about you, and you have the potential to understand — I would be happy to bring you into my confidence.”
I need way more leverage over this psychopath than completion of his weird little quest. As a last resort, I could contact the police or media, but they would never believe—
The entire time, I had a smartphone in my bra, camera facing outward, flash shining ahead. Another five seconds of tapping, and I could have been recording. I would have footage of the dying giraffe. If I’d thought of it sooner, before we even got there, I’d have footage of the herbivore, and the attack.
I resist the urge to rip loose the steering wheel and begin beating myself with it.
“I probably won’t go tonight,” I lie. “But what’s the name of the church?”
He tells me, and I punch it into my phone’s GPS. We’re only a few miles away. “If you decide to go tonight,” he adds, “you should know that Veronica and I will probably swing by around midnight, in case you get into any trouble. And you can always call her.”
If anything attacks me, I have the gun, and can hunker down in the car.
If he’s right, and this is another of the herbivores, I might be able to capture it, maybe even tame it. We could learn so much about its behavior and biology, maybe get an edge on the real monsters — and on Tedrin. But that can wait; filming it is the priority.
Get footage, get out, go home. Place the footage in three different dead man’s switches that will email it to police and media if I don’t log in every day. Use them to blackmail Tedrin into agreeing to: 1) leave Ron alone; 2) not kill me, and 3) help me investigate 3a) the origins of these monsters, 3b) how to send them back or humanely destroy them, and 3c) everything to do with Tedrin, his symbiote, and how to destroy him.
The goal of that last one, by the way, isn’t to kill him. I’m not a monster. It’s to bring him back down to Planet Earth with the rest of us mortals. I’ve read A Book, I know that immortality and amazing powers are a recipe for thrill-seeking and sociopathic behavior. Better to nip that in the bud.
And then, if necessary — that is, if I don’t solve this entire thing myself — take our findings to the authorities.
He pushes open his door and gets out. “See you later, and looking forward to it.”
I nod vaguely, but he’s already shut the door. He taps the top of the car twice, a gesture I’ve heard before and never understood, and heads into the Burger King. Ron greets him inside, and they move to the front counter to order. People stare at Tedrin’s torn, blood-soaked t-shirt, but no one says anything; it’s that kind of neighborhood.
I force myself to admit that they look kind of cute together. Ron shoots him an admiring little smile and says something, and he laughs.
There’s a pain in my chest, and I inspect it. There’s confusion and anger and fear and anxiety. I ask myself: Is there jealousy, too?
Answer: The barest amount. Not enough to be concerned with. The ‘danger! danger!’ klaxons are much more urgent.
I watch them for a moment longer, praying that Ron won’t get hurt again.
Then I put the car in reverse.
By the time I’m out of that area and headed for the church, the radio clock reads 10 PM. The sidewalks are deserted in this part of town, and there are only a few cars on the road. The summer air has started to cool, so I roll down my window and cruise.
Crazy little realizations start to filter down through my mind. How long before people find out about these monsters? How much longer after that before they find out about Tedrin? About Ron? Will they be treated as mini-celebrities or criminals? Will they really be kidnapped by the government? Will I be questioned, or even taken?
Where the hell are these monsters coming from, anyway? The way Tedrin talked, it sounded like they sprout from the shadows, but that doesn’t make sense. Either they’re living and feeding and reproducing among us, or they’re coming from somewhere. Could they be aliens? If so, there’s no question of whether our society will implode, only how.
I turn off down a road with woods on either side. Lit only by my headlights, the effect is creeeeeeepy. At least there are leaves on the trees and it’s a warm night; I can’t imagine how bad this scene would rattle me if the branches were bare and scratching up into the sky, lit by a gibbous moon.
I make a right down a driveway and find myself in another empty parking lot full of cracks and potholes. At the far end is a stone walkway built into the side of a hill; about fifty feet up is a disintegrating church building. Not handicap accessible. No wonder they closed.
I park with the headlights facing the walkway and rig my dashboard settings so they’ll stay on. Hopefully I won’t be gone long enough to drain the battery.
On my phone, I get the camera app ready to film. From prior experience, I know it can only hold about half an hour of video, and the battery will drain quickly. I’ll have to wait until I’m closer before I start recording. I stash it in my bra for later.
I dig in the glove compartment for a moment and come out with my Maglite; I switch it on and momentarily blind myself. The batteries aren’t just good, they’re working overtime.
From the back seat, I retrieve my shotg
un and snap the Maglite into my jury-rigged bike light holder. Loading the gun — one, two, three, four, five, pump, six — helps my confidence, even as a breeze blows through the parking lot and rattles branches overhead. I fill my pockets with rounds, close the car doors, and stand for a moment with the gun in my hands, staring at the patch of gravelly asphalt it illuminates.
Deep breaths. This won’t be so bad. Tedrin does this all the time, with no idea what he’s up against, and he doesn’t seem to care. Granted, being immortal must help. Then again, his bravado might be fake. He’s probably cried himself to sleep at least once after seeing the things he’s shown me tonight. I’m not sure whether that makes me feel better or worse.
I start up the walkway with the gun pointed at the ground in front of me, safety on. I hate the idea of aiming in order to direct my light — don’t point a gun at something you don’t intend to destroy — but I find helmet-lights goofy, and my phone’s battery will last about five minutes if I film with the flash on.
The walkway is precarious, formed of found stones and secured to the hillside with pieces of rebar. A few have come loose and slide around beneath my feet; in some places I have to walk in the grass to progress. At last, I come to the church’s front porch, and find that the front door and windows are barred with rough-cut chunks of plywood. I’ll have to circle the building to figure out how Tedrin got in.
The church is surrounded on sides and back by forest, and I suppress a shudder as I make my way around. I keep the light focused on the tall grass at my feet, occasionally stopping to look around at the boarded-up windows and into the forest. The air is still and quiet, except for the occasional breeze whispering through the branches. I expect the sounds of night birds and frogs and crickets, but the area is as silent as winter.
The first side and back show no entry points, but as I come around the other side, I spot an unbarred window near the back corner of the building. Plywood and rusted nails lie in the grass beneath it. I step up to the window and shine the light inside, finger on the safety, but all I find is an empty room. No furniture, no decorations, not even carpeting.
The hairs on the back of my neck tingle so strongly that I jerk away from the window and shine the gun-light into the forest, absolutely sure that I’m being watched.
In my head, I hear Tedrin snickering. She talks a big talk, he would say, but when adventure finally comes, she wants to run back to her car and go home and watch kitten videos until the sun rises.
Coming here in the dark was a stupid idea. Coming here alone was incredibly stupid. Christ, coming here on what amounts to a dare from a psychopath was so stupid, I want to slap myself. But now that I’m here, I’m frozen to the spot, unable to turn back. If I do, I’ll never be able to take myself seriously again. And frankly, I find that hard enough as it is.
I check the room one more time and notice that the door on the far wall is closed. I dread opening it. There’s a closet door hanging open, and I can see that the closet is completely empty, without even a shelf or rod.
Slowly, cursing myself for giving up weightlifting, I heave myself up over the sill. My feet hit the wooden floor with a soft, dusty crunch of dead leaves, and I stand completely still for a long moment, gun in hands, listening. Nothing comes stomping in to chase me, but my heart won’t stop pounding. If it really does turn out there’s only a lone herbivore in here, I’m going to slap myself. If it turns out there’s nothing, I’m going to slap Tedrin.
I move quietly to the door and listen some more, but there’s no movement outside. I reach out a hand to the doorknob, turn it, and ease the door open. My deepest prayers are answered: The hinges don’t make a sound.
Outside is a hallway, which dead-ends immediately to my right. Directly across is an open doorway, through which is an empty room. To my left, the hallway continues for about twenty feet and has two doors on the far side — spaced in such a way that I assume they’re restrooms — and another door on my side.
I move across the hall and into the second room, and find a pile of empty soup cans and an old mattress. There was a squatter here, and recently. The closet is empty. I notice that all light fixtures have been removed, maybe to be sold for scrap metal; the dark holes in the ceiling make my blood run cold.
There’s a piece of plywood leaned against the wall behind the mattress. I ease it forward a little and shine the light into the space. The concealed area of wall is splattered with something black and chunky. There’s no smell, as if whatever happened here has faded from the building’s memory. I suppress a shudder and allow the plywood to fall back into place.
Well past time to start my phone filming. I experiment for a moment to make sure it picks up whatever is in front of me and in the light, then head for the door.
As I make my way slowly down the hall, I try to reassure myself that this isn’t nearly the worst situation Ron has gotten me into. The Juggalo I’m always mentioning? He was a piece of work. Ron had known him about a month when they decided she should move in with him. That first night, he almost slit her throat. She locked herself in the bathroom and called me; she wanted me to come help her escape. I called the cops. Turned out he had meth in the house, and she nearly got arrested.
I think she’s always resented me for not coming to rescue her, even though it was before I bought the gun. I resent that she always calls me instead of the cops, so we’re even.
Down the hall, the third room is as empty as the first. The restrooms are disaster areas; the stalls were partially dismantled and then left to sag and crumble over each other. The toilets and sinks are gone, but the floors are sticky and the linoleum is swollen in places. The smell is awful.
The end of the hallway opens onto the sanctuary, and I’m surprised to find two rows of pews still in place and relatively undamaged. There’s a little stage on my side of the room, but whatever podium and other furniture once graced it are gone. There are Bibles and hymnals scattered everywhere, some torn apart. The carpet is sopping wet under my feet, and when I look up, I see stars through the many holes in the roof. On the far side of the room are the front double doors, sealed shut with planks.
Until this point, the air has been utterly silent, but now I detect a rhythmic clicking coming from the other side of the room. I follow it slowly, gun pointed at the floor in front of me, and find a door on the far side of the stage. Through it is a spacious, high-ceilinged room that probably once held tables for potluck dinners and bingo night, but is now empty. The noise is coming from the area to my right, a kitchenette with an island. The refrigerator, stove, and sink are gone, and probably the copper wiring and the plumbing, too.
The clicking is coming from one of the cabinets. I stand a few feet inside the big room and find that I can’t move. My adrenal gland is beginning to scream at me — WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE ALONE, AT NIGHT, WITH A SHOTGUN?
For the first time, I question Tedrin’s story about seeing an herbivore in here. How would a monster that size even get inside this building, with its boarded-up windows and doors?
Click click click goes the cabinet.
GET THE HELL OUT! DON’T WALK, RUN BACK TO THE HALLWAY AND THE WINDOW AND THE CAR AND GET THE HELL OUT OF—
One of the cabinets swings open, and with a click click click click a spider the size of a basketball walks out.
My shotgun comes up, the light centers on the spider, and
BLAM
The cabinet door shreds into chunks of wood as my eardrums go on vacation. I shine the light around wildly and see nothing. Something glints along the wall, and I pump, raise the gun
BLAM
It’s on the floor now, flitting across the r— HOW CAN IT RUN THAT FAST WHY AM I HERE PUMP THE GODDAMN GUN AND MOVE MOVE RUN GET AWAY FROM IT RUN— HOOOOOO SHIT THERE IT
BLAM
JESUS IT’S THE SIZE OF A RAT TERRIER WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I
CLICK
PUMP THE GODDAMN GUN FIRST YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D NEED A SEMI-AUTOMAT—
; BLAM
I move backward as quickly as I can. My hearing returns a little, and someone is shrieking. Oh, it’s me. I shut up and keep moving, breathing hard, swinging the gun around at the floor and walls and ceiling. A shadow—
BLAM
I startle myself with my own gun and finally notice my panic. I fight for control, but here in this moment, filling every surface with holes feels good, like it’ll help.
I’m pretty sure the gun is empty. I’m pretty sure I fired six shots. But no matter how hard I prompt myself, my hands will not move to reload it, partly because that would require putting the safety on and pointing the gun-light at the floor, and partly because the gun feels very safe and helpful right now. I’ll have to take a chance and pray I only fired five times.
The spider is nowhere to be seen, and I start to hope I killed or maimed it with one of those shots. I hurry backward into the first hallway, shining the light all around, and make it to the door to the first room. It’s closed, and I don’t remember closing it.
I grab the knob and try to slam through.
I bounce off.
The door is locked.
There’s no way in hell I locked— I raise the gun and stand facing the hallway —didn’t even close it— the spider is nowhere in sight —there’s no wind in here to blow the door closed, and no way it could have locked on its own—
Behind me, whispered, “Having fun yet?”
In one smooth motion born of panic, I swing around, bring the gun up
BLAM
In the beam of the flashlight, Tedrin’s shoulder blows apart, and his left arm hits the floor. His pinprick eyes go wide with pain, and he roars in surprise.
“Holy shit!” I scream at him, and fumble in my pockets for more rounds. “Jesus! I’m sorry!”
He sags against the wall, clutching at his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, sucking in breath after agonized breath.
“Why would you sneak up on me like that! Did you see that thing? Are you okay? Can that heal? There’s a spider thing! Are you okay? I’m so sorry!”
“I’ll be f-fine!” He barks a psychotic laugh and reaches down to retrieve his arm.
Eden Green Page 4
