Grownups Must Die

by D. F. Noble

  Dean took this chance and pushed the man away from him (which wasn’t too hard since the freak was already crumpling over and gurgling plasma). It swiped at Dean with its knife, but the blade only caressed Dean’s helmet, and as Dean pushed on its chest and stomach, trying to get the thing off him, Alex stepped forward again and speared it in the ribs.

  It was enough force (just enough), and Dean pushed the thing off him and crawled to his feet. He had dropped his paper cutter, and his own hockey stick had snapped on the ground when the bastard had tackled him, so Dean grabbed his weapon and turned to his attacker.

  Alex’s hockey spear was lodged in the psycho’s side, and sprouted into the air as the man struggled on the ground like some brutal and primal flag. Dean circled around, not wasting a second, and went in for the kill. The paper cutter came up, then came down and buried itself into the man’s skull. The crunch wasn’t sickly to Dean anymore, the sound was satisfying, and the fucker let out one sigh and lay still.

  Dean wrenched his weapon free, placing a foot on its neck to gain leverage, and Alex did the same, pulling his hockey-spear free. They both spun, taking in their surroundings, looking for other adults. There on the street, a fat woman in sweatpants was power-walking their way; and from the other direction, a guy who had to be almost seventy, wearing red suspenders and slacks, was bearing down on them. They both carried weapons: the fat woman, a pair of bloody scissors; the old fart, a hammer.

  “Which is Ottoman's car!?,” Alex asked.

  “The red one!”

  Alex took off towards the car, and the old man burst into a shambling sprint towards them. “Let’s flank him!” Alex yelled.

  “Flank?” Dean asked, taking off after him. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Circle around him! You go left, I go right!”

  Dean had an idea what Alex meant, and a second later, they had closed the gap between themselves and the deranged elderly man. Alex had caught the adult’s attention first, and the monster lumbered straight to him, raising its hammer above its head. Alex moved like a boxer, ducking left and right while backing up, prodding at the psycho, keeping its attention.

  “Now, Dean!”

  Dean sprinted behind the bastard and pounced like a tiger—a tiger with a paper cutter—and hit the elderly crazy with a solid stroke that opened up his scalp and revealed the grey-white of skull. It let out an oof and dropped its hammer, stammered, and toppled over. Before Dean smashed its brains in, the thing’s mouth opened and let out that static-like sound. From behind them, the fat lady in sweat pants responded with a burst of static of her own. Dean’s weapon smashed into the old man’s head then, and Alex had turned towards the woman, took two big steps and threw the spear.

  This is one mean little nerd, Dean thought, and watched the makeshift spear sink into the woman’s massive gut. It wasn’t heavy enough to sink far, though; it pierced her shirt, and undoubtedly pierced her belly fat, but the fat bitch swiped it away and it fell to the ground.

  “Stupid,” Alex said and drew his butcher knife.

  “Flank her?”

  “Yeah, watch for those scissors!”

  And again, they set to their game like two circling wolves; except this time, the fat lady wasn’t playing along. Her power-walk turned into a jiggling sprint, and she came straight for Dean.

  “Oh fuck,” Dean blurted, trying to step out of the way of this charging bull, but she was damn fast for a big girl. Dean instead turned tail and ran, keeping her at bay and giving Alex a shot to come in for the kill.

  Dean spared a glance over his shoulder and caught Alex going for his spear. Oh god, make it quick, dude! Don’t let this heifer catch me! He heard the scissors cut the air just behind his head, and Dean sprinted faster, thanking God for the football helmet, and with the next thought cursing God for letting this shit happen.

  A shocked grunt then came from behind Dean and he spared another glance. Alex had caught her from behind and had plunged his spear deep into the fat lady’s back. The spear had sunk deep, but still not far enough to poke out of her belly. Instead, you could see a point of raised flesh, as if a baby inside her was pointing a finger. The fat woman grunted again, and Alex should have dropped the spear, for the next second, the woman backhanded Alex hard across his helmet. The strike was hard enough and had enough weight behind it to send Alex flying, almost in a half-cartwheel. Her back was to Dean then, and half the spear sprouted from her back.

  “Got her,” Dean exclaimed and swung for her head. The hit was solid, and the big bitch took a sidestep, but she didn’t go down. Oh fuck, Dean thought and swung again, and again, clubbing her about the head. What the fuck, she won’t go down! Too much padding! Blood pooled from her head like a fountain. There were three deep lacerations in the back and side of her head, but still the monster stood.

  Then Alex was back, coming in with his knife and going low. Dean wondered what the kid was doing, shooting between her legs like that, but when he stabbed her just above the heel of her bare foot, he knew.

  Smart fucker, Dean thought, went for the Achilles tendon!

  She took two more awkward steps, and with her arms flailing wildly, the fat lady went down like an ogre from a fantasy movie. It looked like she was trying to swim on the pavement, or make a snow angel while lying down face-first. Alex got to his feet beside Dean, and together they wrenched the spear free from her.

  Dean patted Alex on the shoulder, and both of them were breathing heavily. He was about to tell Alex thank you, but from the corner of his eye, he caught more movement from down the street. A group of adults—maybe six strong—was coming their way, carrying various melee weapons. Dean was glad to see none of them were carrying guns, but that was as glad as he got.

  “More coming,” Dean blurted.

  “Leave her,” Alex said, catching his breath. “Let’s go!”

  ***

  “They see us!”

  Some of the adults—the ones carrying carcasses of their children down the street behind the high school—dropped the bodies they carried and began scaling the fence. It started with one or two, and then that sound rose—the signal—as more and more took notice and stormed the fence. The sheer weight of them against the chain-link made it bow, made it look as if it were about to topple.

  Dean and Alex made it to Ottoman's car as the first few began crossing the football field. Dean fumbled with the keys, dropped them, picked them back up.

  “Hurry, Dean!”

  “So many fucking keys!”

  “They're coming!”

  “Fuck! Fuck!”

  “DEAN!”

  Dean looked up. One of the grownups—a younger guy in incredible shape, washboard abs, and wearing only a speedo—tore a path to them so fast that his feet kicked up clumps of dirt. A few more seconds and he'd be on them, raving mad and murderous.

  “Fuck it!” Dean yelled and then smashed out the driver's side window with a powerful blow from the paper cutter. He handed the keys to Alex and said, “Start the car! I'll hold him off!”

  Alex didn't argue, just handed Dean his makeshift spear and then almost crawled through the window. Instead, thinking on his feet, he unlocked the car and jumped inside. Outside, Dean raised the spear and planted his feet.

  Three, Dean counted, watching the psycho's muscles flex and pump. Several more were just yards behind him. Some carried knives, pipes and wrenches.

  Two. Dean took a deep breath and calculated how the crazy would attack.

  One.

  The grownup leapt forward, flying, hands outreached, coming in for a tackle. Dean pivoted and turned the spear towards the monster's chest. Momentum did the rest. The spear sank, gouging, tearing flesh, pushing ribs apart. It sank further till it slid through a lung and came out between the grownup's shoulder blades with a blob of meat and gore.

  Dean screamed and rolled onto his back. With all his might, he used the spear to guide the grownup over him, using the spear like a fulcrum, using the monster's weight and
speed against him. Midway, soaring over Dean, the spear snapped in two inside the muscled adult. Splinters and shards erupted in his body and blood gushed from its wound and splattered Dean. Its velocity carried it over, and with a little help and guidance from Dean's foot against its pelvis, it flew a few feet and hit the parking lot's asphalt face-first. It slid, leaving a trail of blood and ragged strips of flesh, screaming inhumanly.

  Dean jumped to his feet. More were coming, getting closer. He plucked the paper cutter from the ground and looked up. Three more—close enough to play a game of catch with—power-walked his way, smiling, as if they were happy they only had ragged holes for eyes.

  Beside him, the car sputtered. “Almost got it!” Alex yelled. “Get in!” Alex turned the key again and the car purred to life. “Come on!”

  Dean jumped in the passenger seat, paying no mind to the shattered glass which seemed to fill the entire cab. “Go!”

  The engine revved but the car didn't budge. “Jesus,” Alex yelled, “it's stuck!”

  “It's in park!” Dean yelled. “Put it in Drive, goddammit! Put it in drive!”

  “Don't rush me!”

  The back window exploded. Glass flew. Something rocked the car. The grownups were on them. Footsteps thumped overhead across the roof. Thump, thump, thump. A smiling, horrid face leaned over the windshield above them, followed by a crowbar. Crack! The windshield splintered and the boys screamed. Grownups were circling them now, coming up on each side, whacking and pounding on the car.

  Then, screaming like a banshee, Alex found the shifter, stomped the gas and the car shot forward, tires squealing and smoking on the hot asphalt. The grownup on the roof fell back, his asscheeks denting the roof above the boy's heads, and tumbled off into the horde. There came a rumble of thuds as the car roared away. Dean looked through the back window and saw them. Dozens of mad, monstrous people, their mouths opened in wide “O”s. The sound of them, that static, so loud, like they were an approaching train filled with chainsaws and terrible TV reception.

  Dean turned back and faced forward. He noticed Alex was literally hugging the steering wheel, pulling himself up so he could see over the road. Even if Alex hadn't been wearing a bloody football helmet, the look on his face would have made Dean laugh.

  “Jesus,” Dean chuckled madly, “pull up here a bit and let me drive!”

  ***

  The roads were almost impossible to navigate. When the signal went off, grownups must have just leapt from their cars or drove willy-nilly as they ripped their eyes out, Dean thought. A fire hydrant spewed water into the air. The truck that hit it was tangled up in a telephone pole a few feet away. Beyond that, a massive pileup blocked the intersection. It was sheer chaos. Bodies and body parts littered the streets. A dank smoke filled the air, and embers came down like rain; some building out of sight was on fire.

  Dean put on the brakes. They'd have to find another way. As he began to back up, Alex said, “Look! More kids!”

  Dean turned to look just as several teenagers came out of an appliance store ahead of them on the corner. Two of them were carrying a gigantic TV. Another raised something in his hand towards them.

  “What the fuck?” Dean wondered aloud.

  He saw the flash before he heard the gunfire. Pow-pow-pow! A quick succession of shots sent sparks flying up from the hood of Ottoman's car. The last round punched a hole through the windshield between Alex and Dean and buried itself in the backseat, sending up a white puff from the cushion.

  “Shit! Fuck!” Dean screamed, and slammed on the gas pedal.

  “Why are they shooting at us!?” Alex screamed back and tried to scrunch his body into the floorboard.

  “I don't know! Hold on!” Dean whipped the car around and sped back the way they'd come. Down the street, tiny figures marched shoulder to shoulder, like a mob from a Frankenstein movie. Fucking crazies are following us! He cut onto another street, squealing the tires as he dodged an abandoned vehicle and cut through a yard.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaah!” Alex shrieked as they burst through a picket fence and then wiped out a bird bath. The car hopped the curb and hit the street with a shower of sparks. Barreling through suburbia and cutting through side streets, they found themselves back in the center of town, staring at droves of adults. They were like ants carrying sugar back to their queen. Lines of them, with dismembered limbs, all of them soaked in blood.

  “What the-”

  “Holy shit,” Alex murmured. “It's like a pyramid...a burial mound...”

  Adults swarmed around a flagpole that marked the center intersection of Hopp's Hollow. Around that pole they had piled bodies, and piled them high enough that the mound was taller than the adults. They passed along limbs and carcasses like a chain gang, passed them along like they were relics or the communal plate at church. It was a hellish conveyor belt; sicker and more disturbing than either one of the boys could ever imagine.

  Dean felt as if he were glimpsing into Hell itself. The grownups weren't just crazy. Crazy people don't work together like that, he thought. This was something else…this was insidious, demonic, and utterly alien.

  He put the car in reverse. He'd drive through a house if that's what it took to escape this place.

  “It had to be the signal SETI found,” Alex mumbled. Even though he was black, he looked shades paler, like all the blood had drained from his face. “Maybe they didn't have to search too hard to find it. Dean, maybe it was targeting us.”

  ***

  “Take this street,” Alex said, but instead Dean pulled the car over next to a gray colored granite building with bars on the windows. “Wait! Why are you stopping?”

  “Pawn shop!” Dean blurted and jumped out of the car. “Come on!”

  “Why are we going to a pawn shop!?”

  Jesus, Alex thought and looked around. The street was empty, so he stepped out brandishing only the kitchen knife he'd picked up from the school cafeteria. His spear was broken, and this butcher knife did not comfort him much.

  “Have you never been to a pawn shop!?” Dean asked and ran up to the door. He yanked at it, and it came right open.

  “Maybe,” Alex hollered after him, “once or twice! I don't know! What the hell are you doing? We need to get the fu-”

  When Alex stepped inside he understood immediately. A glass counter to his left and a rack behind it spanned the entire length of the wall. It was full of guns, boxes of ammo, and every weapon he could think of: assault rifles, shotguns, pistols, bows and arrows, swords, nunchaku, and even medieval axes and maces and flails. In the back corner stood a mannequin. It wore armor that looked like something straight out of a gladiator movie. A bronze shield leaned up against its leg. The muscled body armor caught his eye. The helmet, with its red plume, called out to him from the history books. It’s Spartan, Alex thought, maybe Trojan or Greek. Holy shit.

  Dean smashed open a glass counter and pulled out a revolver so big that it looked like a club. “Grab everything you can and start loading the car,” Dean said. “We need to look through the tools and find a bolt cutter to cut the rifles free.”

  Dean caught Alex staring at the armored mannequin in the back. “Don't even think about it,” Dean said and locked the door. “That's mine.”

  ***

  Dean dropped his football helmet at the base of the mannequin. He undressed it: its helmet, the chest piece, the arm guards and bronze shin guards all came off. He didn't know if they were authentic, if they were actual museum pieces—and it occurred to him that they probably weren't—but the metal was thick and the weight comforted him as he slid the gear on and strapped it down against his frame. He hoisted the shield up and drew the sword and cut a figure eight in the air before him. It was heavy. It was sharp. It would do fine.

  Dean turned to Alex, who was staring at him with a blank face. “How do I look?” Dean asked.

  “Like...” Alex swallowed. “Like you're fucking crazy.” Then Alex laughed. “You're wearing black skinny jeans and Roman armor, D
ean. You look...crazy...as in...you look scary as shit right now.”

  “Awesome,” Dean said and grinned like a wolf.

  By the time they were done, Alex was wearing a Katana on his hip and a tactical vest. An old leather gun belt crossed his waist and was stuffed with two high-capacity 9mm's. A gigantic knife with brass knuckles was strapped to his thigh.

  Dean mixed and matched some of the same gear, wearing a shoulder holster over his bronze body armor that held the short sword, the revolver hung from his hip, and a gigantic two-handed sword was strapped to his back. Once they loaded their personal weapons and filled their belts, vests, and pockets with spare clips, they began loading up boxes of ammo in any kind of bag they could find. There was tons of stuff…there was no way they could grab it all.

  “Let's load these,” Alex said. “As many as we can. We might need them.” It took some time and figuring out and looking over boxes of ammo and double-checking what kind of bullet went to what gun, but they worked quickly, loading several assault rifles, shotguns and pistols. Time weighed on Alex: just because they had outrun the grownups didn't mean those things weren't still trailing them.

  Dean checked the windows, and when he saw only smoke and a desolate city street, he unlocked the doors. He ran and opened the car's back door, then popped the trunk. “Alright!” he hollered. “Let's load it up!”

  Then behind him, he heard the telltale sound of grownups. Their static cry echoed down the streets and grew louder. It raised in frequency, as if some hidden DJ was steadily turning up the volume. Dean couldn't see them yet, but he knew time was short. There must be a hundred of them following us, Dean thought, and sped back into the store, grabbing armfuls of rifles. Alex shot out the door beside him, coughing in the smoke. He threw a duffel bag full of ammo into the back.