The Jersey Devil

by Hunter Shea

  “Motherfucker!” Ben spun in a circle, trying to dislodge the Devil.

  There was a loud smack, and suddenly he was free. Boompa had brained it with the butt of his rifle. His hand went to his neck. Blood trickled between his fingers.

  “April!” he shouted.

  Her legs were writhing underneath the attacking Devils, but he couldn’t see the rest of her.

  A rumbling cry caught his attention. He spun to see his father drop his weapon, running to April. The man he’d always thought of as bigger than life in more ways than one jumped on the demons like a wrestler taking a leap from the top turnbuckle.

  “Get the hell off my daughter!” he roared.

  His massive hands grabbed each Devil by the back of their long, muscled necks. Snatching them away from April, he clapped their heads together with a snap that sounded like a two-by-four breaking.

  When Ben went to help his bloody sister up, another Devil hit him from behind. He collapsed next to April. Somehow, he’d also lost his gun.

  Now on his back, he watched as part of the roof collapsed. Instead of the trapped Devils using it as a means to escape, more came diving in.

  “Come on, you sons of bitches!” Boompa wailed.

  “Stay down!” his father said, covering Ben and April with his body.

  “No, let us get up to help,” April wailed.

  Ben tried to slip out from under his father, but the man’s massive body had him pinned.

  He looked at them, and for the first time in his life, he saw fear in his father’s eyes. That and a sadness that knew no bounds.

  “Just stay still,” he said calmly, wincing. His teeth ground hard on the stale lump of gum.

  “No, Dad, we can get them off you,” Ben said.

  He shook his head. “Too many. I can protect you.”

  April was crying. “No, you can’t. Not like this.”

  Blood ran down his neck, dripping on them. His body jerked several times as the Devils tried to pull him away, but his weight was too much for them.

  “Please, Dad,” Ben said.

  “Just hold tight. I’m working on a theory here,” his father said between gritted teeth. “They’re not biting me. Just trying to pull me.”

  The sounds of gunfire increased and Ben heard his grandfather cursing up a storm. He and April lay there, unable to help, eyes locked on their father’s as he desperately tried to protect them.

  Miraculously, the madness began to recede. Ben watched as the remaining winged Devils flew out of the hole in the roof, circling in the sky above the bar.

  His father’s eyes closed, sweat running down his head like he’d just emerged from the shower.

  “They’re leaving,” April said.

  His father nodded, grunting as he pushed himself to his knees.

  “Oh, my God, Bill!”

  His mother came rushing from the van.

  Ben and April scrabbled to their feet. Boompa and Norm’s chests were puffing hard. Their eyes were on the sky, light filtering into the bar for the first time.

  “Dad?”

  Ben saw the blood pooling around his father.

  It was bad.

  Real bad.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  At first, Daryl thought he’d slipped into some kind of communal grave, like one of those potter’s fields they had on tiny islands around Manhattan and the Bronx. Once upon a time, they’d been a fascinating and ghoulish subject for his teenaged mind. But the more he looked around, the more he realized it was some kind of feeding pit.

  The skeletons belonged to all sorts of animals, from squirrels to deer and what looked like the remains of a big-ass bear. That he could deal with.

  There were other bones down here that were most certainly human. He counted four skulls alone in the mass of jumbled bones. Some of them were yellowed with age.

  The woman had intentionally led him here to serve him up to whatever gnawed the meat from these bones.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to assume what was feasting in this pit. The Jersey Devil was the number-one predator out here. There were enough of them flying around to fill this pit several times over.

  I wonder how many other feeding pits there are in the Barrens?

  And where the hell are the Devils?

  Maybe they only fed at night.

  The biggest question was, how on earth had this woman become their helper, like that crazy bug-eating guy who assisted Count Dracula?

  Of course, he could be wrong and she was the one doing the killing for herself. He’d grappled with her and knew she was a hell of a lot stronger than she looked.

  Daryl glanced up at her. She stared down at him with vacant eyes. Any hopes of being able to reason with her died the moment he saw those flat, emotionless orbs.

  “If you think I’m going to sit down here and wait for whatever it is to add me to this collection, you’ve got the wrong idea.”

  He began piling some of the larger bones—femurs, rib cages, clavicles—against the wall. He’d use them to clamber his way out and hope she didn’t swat at him with a large stick or something to knock him back down. He didn’t want to stab her, but he would if he had to.

  “I bet you thought I’d break something when I fell so I couldn’t even try to make my way out. Is that how you work it? Or do those Devils bring their kills here? Maybe you’re just the one in charge of luring people here.”

  As the pile grew, so did the look of concern on her face.

  “That’s right,” Daryl said, taking a pained gulp of air as he hefted an armful of bones. “I’m not sticking around. Just need a few more solid ones and I can climb right on out of here.”

  There was an especially large leg bone protruding out from a tangle of bones at the farthest end of the pit. Grunting from the exertion and the agony, he tugged and tugged until it finally pulled free, sending him sprawling onto his ass.

  The rest of the bones that had been on top of it cascaded onto the pit’s floor like Death’s dominoes.

  Holding onto the leg bone, Daryl used it to prop himself up.

  The bones had melted away, so to speak, revealing several industrial steel drums. None of them had lids.

  “Don’t look,” Daryl said. “Nothing good can be in those things.”

  With their revelation came a noxious wave that made him stagger back until his back hit the earthen wall.

  “Jesus, what the hell do you have in there?”

  The woman looked to the barrels and became agitated. She scrabbled around the rim of the pit, pulling back, then peering over again.

  “It’s good to see something can scare even you, crazy lady.”

  As much as he didn’t want to look inside, he knew he couldn’t stop himself. The smell dissipated quickly, the first blessing of the day. Using the leg bone as a cane, he cautiously approached the barrels.

  There was writing on the side, but years of filth had obscured most of it. He did see what looked like a Danger sign, a yellow triangle that lost its impact considering all he’d been through over the past two days.

  Steeling his courage, he took a deep breath, held it and craned his head to look inside.

  They were empty.

  Not a thing in any one of them.

  If she doesn’t use them to put stuff inside, what did she take out of them?

  Using his boot, he wiped some of the dirt away from the front barrel.

  “Oh, crap.”

  Rubbing even more grit away, he was able to read everything. Someone had tried to scratch the name of the company away, but Daryl could piece it together. His heart went into overdrive.

  GENODINE CHEMICALS

  DANGER—TOXIC MATERIALS

  HAZARDOUS

  DO NOT BREAK SEAL!

  For all he knew, just being here with those open barrels was taking years off his life with every breath.

  He made a mad dash to the bone pile, scuttling up them on all fours, the knife in his teeth. To his surprise, the woman didn’t make
an attempt to drive him back into the pit. Instead, she cowered before him, her eyes wide and afraid. Her fingers nervously picked at a series of scabs at the bottom curve of her breasts. On her knees now, her head only came up to his thighs.

  He took hold of the knife, flexing on the handle.

  “I should just leave you here,” he said.

  Wherever here is, he thought. I’ve got to find a way to mark this place so I can get the authorities to find it. Between the bones and the toxic waste, they’ll have a frigging field day.

  He was startled from his thoughts when the woman spoke in a scratchy voice that sounded as if it hadn’t been used in years. There was a passing cloud of clarity in her eyes when she said, “Please . . . help me.”

  * * *

  Bill Willet knew something was wrong. He couldn’t focus on Carol’s face, or Ben’s. They were close. He could hear them. But he couldn’t speak. His body was betraying him. In fact, he no longer felt safely ensconced within his frame. His mind was like a kite, floating above, the tether to the man he was thin as a taut string.

  He was dying. There was no denying it.

  It wasn’t painful. In fact, he felt nothing, at least physically.

  He wanted to tell them that it was an accident. If those Devils wanted him dead, they could have easily chewed him to pieces. Something must have happened when they were straggling over him, trying to yank him away.

  It was the mark that kept them from making him into their next meal.

  But they desperately wanted his kids. He didn’t know whether it was Ben or April or both they were after.

  And he knew he never would.

  Each breath became a laborious task.

  Screw you, Huntington’s disease. I beat you to the punch.

  He wanted to tell his family he loved them.

  He wanted to know Daryl was safe.

  He wanted.

  He wanted.

  He...

  * * *

  Norm thought he saw a couple of people behind the bar before. One guy was on the bar itself, opened up like a butterflied chicken breast. The drip of the man’s blood as it pattered on the floor was disconcerting.

  He kept his eyes on the hole in the roof. Ben’s idea had been on the money. They’d thinned the herd of Jersey Devils immensely. He saw only a few swirling above the bar before they flew away. That didn’t mean there weren’t stragglers left behind to take them by surprise. He was beginning to realize the scope of their cunning, and wasn’t about to let his guard down.

  The Willets surrounded Bill. Carol had broken out the first-aid kit and was trying to stop the bleeding around his neck. Norm thought it best he keep a lookout for them so they could concentrate on the big man.

  “Anyone back there?” he said.

  A man stood up clutching his arm near his shoulder. “I think one of you shot me,” he said.

  “I b-believe we did. Sorry.”

  “What were those things?”

  Norm looked over the bar and saw the dead woman, He immediately pulled away.

  “You from a-a-a-round here?”

  “Yeah.” The man opened a bottle of cheap Scotch and poured it over his wound.

  “Then you know about the Jersey Devil.”

  “You telling me all those things were the Jersey Devil?” He sucked in a pained breath when the alcohol bathed the bullet wound. “If I didn’t see it, I wouldn’t believe it.”

  Norm looked at the bodies scattered all over the bar.

  “People will h-have to believe it now. You know where they keep the garbage bags?”

  “In back,” he said, motioning with his head.

  Norm made a quick trip to the less-than-hygienic galley kitchen. He found a box of lawn and leaf black garbage bags. When he came back to the bar, he handed the man his rifle. “Just keep a lookout for me for a s-sec.”

  The man stared at the gun as if it were a unicorn’s horn. “Man, I need a doctor, not a goddamn rifle.”

  “P-please, just for a moment.”

  Norm shook out a bag, using it to wrap around one of the more complete Devil bodies. He tied it up tight, and did the same with a second. Flipping the lid of the cooler behind the bar, he emptied out the bottles of beer and settled the two bags inside. When they were ready to leave, he’d ask Ben to help him load it in the van. When the police came, the whole incident would be escalated to the state troopers, then possibly the Feds. Fearing a cover-up, Norm had to make sure he had proof. He’d held a long suspicion that there was a faction of the U.S. government that worked very hard to keep people in the dark about the strange wonders of the world. If he had a chance to break through that wall, he was going to take it.

  “Dad! Dad!”

  Norm took the rifle back from the wounded man. He ran over to the Willets.

  Bill Willet leaned his head back, eyes closed, chest barely moving. Carol and Ben were covered in his blood as it continued to leak from the ragged gash in his neck.

  April was trying to dial 911, but couldn’t get reception.

  “I think it nicked an artery,” Carol said in a tone of cold certainty that these were her last moments with her husband.

  “Is there anything I c-can do?” Norm asked.

  Sam Willet slowly shook his head, watching his only child take his last, ragged breaths. Ben clung to his father, urging him to wake up, to fight it. Carol pressed wads of gauze on the wound, but they were quickly saturated. She pulled her husband to her chest, kissing the top of his head.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m right here, baby. I love you so much. I won’t leave you. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Norm’s eyes teared up. April launched her phone against the wall, collapsing at her dying father’s side. Wife, son and daughter held him long after he breathed his last.

  Sam Willet gripped Norm’s arm.

  He said, “Did you see the big one at all?”

  “No,” Norm replied, feeling as if all of the wind had been driven from him.

  “We have to find it. And we’re not stopping until every last one of them is dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Heather knew they were on the right path when she heard a car’s engine in the distance. Daniela had been holding her hand so hard, she’d lost feeling in it about an hour ago.

  “Did you hear that?” she said.

  Daniela wore a quivering smile. “Yes! We must be getting close to a road!”

  Heather wanted to run, but her body wasn’t up to the task. She just hoped that once they got to the road, someone would pick them up. On the one hand, she knew they looked pathetic—they were filthy and exhausted. Then again, their appearance might scare someone from stopping to let them in.

  We’ll get a ride if I have to lie down in the middle of the road.

  They came upon a small house that looked as if it had imploded decades ago. Oddly enough, the roof was still in pretty good shape, though now it was only protecting collapsed ruins.

  “Why would anyone live out here?” Daniela asked.

  Heather spied the detritus of late-night parties— empty beer cans, a sweater, food wrappers and a busted Styrofoam cooler. She’d lay down good money that if she kicked the leaves around she’d find used condoms.

  “Where was this place when we needed it last night?” Heather said, kicking a board. “I guess whoever lived here just wanted to get away from it all. I used to feel like that sometimes.”

  “When we get back home, I’m moving to New York. I don’t want to see trees or open spaces ever again.”

  Heather nudged her shoulder. “You want a roommate?”

  “You sure you can take the whispering when I tell my family I’m gay?” Daniela gave a faltering smile.

  Heather had to stop for a moment when her stomach cramped so hard, she couldn’t take a breath. It was the dehydration. Her heart had been getting into funky rhythms all morning. It was going to be hard to control herself when she finally got something to drink. The urge to chug a g
allon of water was overwhelming.

  As the trees thinned out, she was finally able to see the road. It was just wide enough for two cars. There was no blacktop. Just hard-packed earth.

  “Damn,” she hissed.

  “What?” Daniela said.

  “That’s some dinky side road. For all we know, one car a day drives on it. Probably leads to some redneck farm.”

  “Then we should follow it.”

  “But what if we go the wrong way?”

  Daniela said, “There is no wrong way. If it leads to a farm, that’s at one end. At the other has to be access to a main road.”

  Heather could have kissed her. “Thank God one of us is still capable of rational thought.”

  That was a small miracle, considering how sick Daniela had been. Since they woke up today, she’d rallied a bit.

  Their boots crunched on the road. They looked both ways, deciding which direction to take. Now, out from under the cover of the trees, the full heat of the day hit them hard. Fat mosquitoes pecked at them, attracted by their sweat.

  “Which way, Columbus?” Heather asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I guess that way?” Daniela said, pointing to their right.

  “Works for me.”

  A large shadow skidded over the road before them. It was gone in a flash.

  Daniela pulled back.

  “Maybe we should go the other way.”

  Heather bit her bottom lip. “How about we go back under the trees, but keep the road in sight and follow it that way?”

  She wanted to believe the shadow was a passing hawk, but even her dazed brain couldn’t buy that. Had it been following them all along, or did they give themselves away the second they stepped onto that damn dirt road?

  Before they could head back under the tree cover, the shadow returned, this time sweeping across the road from the opposite direction. Heather looked up, her eyes catching the blazing sun. She blinked back tears, temporarily blinded.

  “Did you see it?” she asked Daniela.

  “No. It disappeared too fast. Come on, we have to get off the road.”

  Heather still couldn’t see. Looking at the sun had driven a spike into the center of her brain.