by Hunter Shea
Knowing it wasn’t something they could eat, they would head back to wherever they’d planned to take her. She couldn’t let this opportunity slip through her fingers. It very well could be her last shot.
Better to die here than go through what Jane and the others did.
Heather’s mind calmed, then her body.
The Devils had let the pieces of the drone sprinkle among the scattering people, snapping at the heads of anyone close by.
One of the Jersey Devil’s wings brushed against her as it worked to hover over the scene, screeching to its children, most likely urging them to come back.
She could see the intricate pathways of veins in the membranous wings. As much as the thought sickened her, she knew what she had to do.
When the wings brushed against her again, she grabbed one with all of the strength she had left in her body. Letting out a wild shriek, she opened her mouth wide, clamping down on the foul-testing flesh of its right wing. It tried to pull away, but she held fast. The Jersey Devil had a hard time maintaining its balance, and she felt herself tipping.
It dropped closer to the ground, frantically trying to free its wing from between her gritted teeth.
Don’t let go. Don’t let go. Not yet. Just a little farther.
She felt its grip around her waist weaken.
The Jersey Devil enfolded her in its wings, pulling back with enough force to pull her teeth from her mouth. Heather watched in horror as white flecks stained red at the roots, oh Jesus, her teeth!—pelted off its wing, tumbling away.
She’d never imagined there could be so much pain. Her mouth quickly filled with blood. The Jersey Devil lost its grip and she started a free fall, hoping she wouldn’t land atop someone, her only satisfaction seeing the beast was also falling, a hole torn in its wing big enough to ground it, hopefully forever.
* * *
Ben slammed on the brakes. There was no way he could navigate through the crush of humanity headed their way.
“It’s definitely that way,” he said. “We’re going to have to fight against the tide.”
Boompa and Daryl had already opened the secret compartment in the floor of the van, extracting as much firepower as they could all carry. Ben parked the van on the shoulder of the two-lane road.
He looked back at his grandfather, whose face had taken on a gray, death mask pallor. “Why don’t you stay here, Boompa?”
The old man snapped, “Just get your gear. We don’t have time to waste.”
They spilled out of the side door.
The moment they stepped out of the van, they were buffeted by a steady stream of people, most of them screaming for their lives. They heard shots fired in the distance, which only got the frightened crowd moving faster, getting deadlier in their stampede. Of course. There were always police at outdoor events. And if they were shooting, it meant the Devils hadn’t up and disappeared.
Ben told everyone to get behind him. It was easier to cut through the scrum in the formation of a knife. He pushed forward, batting people away as kindly as possible, though he knew he’d hurt some with the stiff arms he had to employ to keep from being bowled over.
Boompa fired his rifle in the air. The crowd stopped for a moment, saw that the crazy people running to the madness were carrying weapons, and parted like a Biblical sea.
“Thought that might make things easier,” Boompa said.
“With age comes w-wisdom,” Norm said, pushing his straw hat harder onto his head.
“Stay close to me,” Ben said to April. He knew she was hurt more than she was letting on. For now, the numbness that followed shock was keeping her from howling in pain.
“I’m with you,” she said. “Come on.”
As she brushed past him, blood from her arm streaked across his shirt. He hooked a finger into her belt loop as they ran to the center of the storm.
Chapter Forty-five
The Jersey Devil made a sound that caused Heather’s heart to miss several beats. No longer screeching, it was bleating like a wounded goat, then whinnying like a crazed horse, both sounds blending into one another to produce something otherworldly.
This was the sound of the Devil, not just the Jersey Devil. When Armageddon came and souls were swallowed up, it would be to this siren call, a bleating for the damned to come home.
She was on her back, unable to move, watching the creature hit the ground hard, tumbling into a couple of teen boys, one with a guitar strapped on his back. As it scrambled to regain its feet, the Devil’s talons and hooves tore the flesh from the boys, leaving them a shredded pile of remains.
Oh, God, I think I broke my back!
Heather couldn’t feel her legs at all, and her arms were afflicted with painful pins and needles. It was a chore just to lift her head off the ground, in time enough to see the Jersey Devil stalk toward her.
Its two diseased children jumped from person to person, tackling them and taking chunks from necks, faces and arms thrown up in helpless defense. They were gorging like there was no tomorrow, the feast of terrified humanity too much to pass up.
The world spun. Heather had to lay her head back down, closing her eyes tight. Someone stepped on her hand but she couldn’t move out of the way.
Hot, foul air blew across her face.
Her eyes snapped open.
The Jersey Devil loomed over her, its hideous face inches from her own. It twisted its long neck until its head was between her legs, sniffing loudly. She willed her legs to draw up and kick it, but they were completely detached from any commands her mind could give.
The creature’s head rose up and it sneered at her.
She was too tired to scream, incapable of even getting up.
“Go on,” she said, finding it hard to draw enough breath to be heard above the wails of the people and creatures around her. “Finish me.”
If there was one speck of luck left in her fleeting life, the Devil would bite her in an area that had already gone numb. She wouldn’t feel a thing. She’d simply grow tired as she bled out, dying in her sleep. After everything that had happened, it seemed almost too much to hope for.
The sound of gunfire crackled behind her. She was flipped onto her stomach as the Jersey Devil, perhaps with its tail curled under her, leapt away to avoid being shot.
She saw a man in police uniform, legs spread apart, both hands on his gun, pulling the trigger again and again until he was out of ammo. She couldn’t turn to see if he’d hit the demon.
“Thank you,” she muttered, sure he couldn’t hear her.
Just as she was about to pass out, either dying or her body’s response to remove itself from the severe trauma it had endured, she saw a look of panic wash over the cop’s face. There was a brown blur, and after it had passed, the man’s head was no longer there. Jets of blood pumped from his open neck like sprinklers on the back lawn. His knees gave out, his body collapsing, blood washing over her. She could feel it pooling around her head.
Heather tasted the bitter copper of his blood. She tried in vain to turn her head away from the river of crimson, slipping away as some settled into her open mouth while most of it was absorbed by the lush earth.
* * *
The scene unfurling before them was beyond April’s worst nightmare, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was all their fault. Food stands were overturned, bodies were everywhere, some writhing in agony. When she saw a baby strapped in an overturned stroller, her blue eyes vacant, deadening with each passing second, she wanted to cry until her heart gave out.
No. You can’t blame yourself. Those things were moving outward before you got here. Just think of all the ones we’ve killed so far. What would this place be like if there were more of them?
Whatever toxic waste that was in their systems had driven them completely mad, filled with an insatiable lust for food and mayhem. They were like a pack of rabid dogs.
The Jersey Devil ran—no—galloped toward a group of people running for the beach about a hundred yards aw
ay. The two smaller ones were diving at people and taking back to the sky, up and down as if they were on an invisible trampoline. They no longer looked so small. It appeared as if they had gained mass, bones stretching taller, since they’d first appeared at the hospital.
“Norm,” she said, “do they look bigger to you?”
They watched as one plucked at the back of a woman lying in the grass, tearing some meat from her shoulder. She didn’t move or make a sound.
“Sweet Jesus, I think they do. There’s no way their metabolism could speed up like that.”
“Maybe with all the feeding they’ve been doing . . .” April’s thoughts trailed off when she saw the Jersey Devil spread its wings, using them to smother a running man and woman, driving them to the ground. Its head flicked up, blood splattering in a spreading arc.
“Not knowing what th-these things really are and what toxic sludge they were f-feeding on, I shouldn’t say no to anything at this point.”
The few police that were standing were talking frantically into mics clipped to their shoulders. It was a safe bet to assume they had spent every bullet they had, unable to stop the slaughter.
“We need to come at them rationally,” Ben said. “April, Daryl, Norm and Boompa, you concentrate on the small ones. I’ll sweep behind Big Daddy and take it out before it even knows I’m there. It’s bleeding pretty bad. That should slow it down just enough.”
Boompa shook his head gravely. “I’ve got him, son. I didn’t come out here to hide behind you.”
“You can’t. You’re better with moving targets anyway, and those two are moving pretty damn fast.”
“This is not a debate, it’s an order. Now hurry before more people get hurt.”
April shouted, “Wait!” but her grandfather was running away before anyone could stop him.
Daryl followed after him, as she knew he would.
“Goddammit!” Ben hissed, punching his AR-15.
“You want to help Boompa? Then let’s kill these fuckers fast,” April said. She took quick aim at a swooping Devil, fired but missed. Norm, taking her cue, did the same, with the same results. The beasts were getting faster, smarter. It was as if they could hear the bullet the moment it left the barrel of the rifle, making impossible moves to avoid being a target.
The only mercy now was the fact that most of the people from the fairground were gone. But that also meant the Devils might move on from here, so they had no time to waste.
The recoil of the rifle, though not much, brought fresh waves of pain to her arm, waves that went straight to her head, making her vision and balance waver. She tried firing in places where she thought the Devils would be next, but even then, they seemed to read her mind, zigging left when she fired right.
With sickening dread, it dawned on her that even they might not have enough ammunition to keep going like this. And when they were done, the creatures would flit away, unscathed, growing deadlier by the kill. If the Jersey Devil could no longer procreate, what was left but to feed along with its diseased offspring?
“If we’re going to nail them, we have to get closer,” April shouted over the sharp crack of gunfire. “Like right on top of them. Literally.”
“Watch it!” Norm shouted just as a Devil swooped over their heads, knocking the hat from his head.
This was insane. When it came back around, April flipped her rifle in her hands, swinging at it with the barrel like it was a flyswatter. Her palms burned from the piping hot steel. She missed and dropped it, waving her hands to take the sting away.
“You’re not going to be able to beat them to death,” her brother said.
“We have to do something before they move on!” April said, scrambling for her rifle.
Norm tapped her shoulder. “I d-don’t think they’re going anywhere soon.”
She looked to where he was pointing. People in bathing suits were running from the beach directly into the hell that the fairground had become.
“What the hell are they doing?” she said.
It only took seconds to answer her question.
A half dozen more Devils flew low enough to knock the sunbathers over.
“The fucking cavalry,” April said, feeling all of her energy flee her body like air from a popped balloon.
In all of the madness, she’d forgotten about the creatures that had gotten away from the bar. The bar where her father’s body was now, his last dying act saving his children.
It was now five against nine in an open space. Nine creatures that moved faster than their bullets could travel.
They were royally screwed.
* * *
Somehow in the mad panic, Erik Smythe found himself trapped under the fallen zeppole stand. He was pretty sure his leg was broken. He didn’t have the strength to lift if off his midsection. Maybe staying put was his best option. Those Jersey Devils—wasn’t there only supposed to be one?—zeroed in on anyone on foot. They’d passed over him a couple of times, so he’d been relegated to watching the event he’d been so proud of turn into Grand Guignol theatre.
He heard people shooting but couldn’t sit up enough to see. Now there was a new wave of screams, and he wondered if he’d died and was in hell or some kind of purgatory for people whose good intentions went bad.
Something clutched at his shoulders and he screamed.
“Dude! It’s me! We have to get you out from under there.”
Erik breathed a sigh of relief. Darren crouched over him, his face streaked with blood.
When Darren noticed him looking at his face, he said, “Not mine. But it will be if we don’t get the hell out of here. More of those things just arrived. The cops are dead, but there are some crazy asses shooting at them.”
“I think my right leg is broken. Go and get help. They’ve been ignoring me. Maybe they think I’m dead. I’ll be all right.”
Darren shook his head savagely. “No, you won’t. They go back to the dead ones and pick at them like prehistoric vultures. I’ll carry you if I have to. When I lift the stand, use your arms to pull yourself out from under it.”
The veins stood out on Darren’s neck as he lifted the cart. Hot oil spilled out, singeing Erik’s chest. He wailed in agony.
“Holy shit! I’m sorry!”
“Keep . . . keep lifting.”
Despite the blinding pain in both his chest and leg, Erik dug his hands in the grass and managed to extricate himself far enough for Darren to drop the cart. Powdered sugar puffed out into a thick cloud, choking them both.
Erik looked down to see his right calf at an angle it was not designed to be in.
Darren hooked his arm over his shoulder and lifted. He stumbled and almost dropped him, but managed to recover in time.
Now that Erik could see the total destruction, he wished he were back on the ground under the perceived protection of the cart. So many people dead. And so many more being attacked as they fled the beach. He saw too many of his classmates, bodies torn open, limbs missing. His gorge barreled up his throat.
“Come on,” Darren said, hobbling under his weight. “My car isn’t far.”
Erik’s burned chest smelled like barbecue. It reminded him of a pig roast his family went to on their vacation to Hawaii when he was twelve.
The stench made him vomit, chunks splashing his feet.
He saw Darren’s car, a beat-up Nissan, several hundred feet away. So close.
Spotting something from the corner of his eye, Erik said, “Hold up.”
Darren stopped. Erik’s foot caught against something, twisting his leg. He bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood.
“Why are we stopping?”
“There’s a kid over there.”
A boy no older than four, tears streaming down his cheeks, walked in a small, stunned circle, crying for his mother. Erik saw a woman’s body not far from the boy, the head missing.
“We can’t leave him,” Erik said.
He felt Darren tense. “I know. You all right if I put you
down?”
“Yeah.”
Darren laid him down as gently as he could and ran to the boy. Without saying a word, he scooped him up in his arms.
“Darren! Duck!”
His friend never saw the flying monster as it craned its neck down close enough so it could clamp its jaws over the top of his head. The boy spilled from his arms. Darren’s arms swung wildly, hitting the creature’s legs to no effect. When it did fly away, it did so with a section of his skull in its maw.
“No! No! No!”
Erik scrambled across the dirt, skin pulling free from his fingers as he fought to make his way to his friend. The little boy was on his knees, crying harder than ever.
He saw the gray and red of his friend’s brain. Darren’s body twitched, his legs and arms gyrating. Erik looked up to see the creature coming back for more.
Only it was coming for the boy.
“Stay there!” he shouted. The boy looked at him, his crying momentarily stopped, eyes wide as he stared at the fast approaching monster.
Erik draped his body over the boy an instant before the creature was able to snatch him away. He felt the skin flayed from his back.
With his mouth right next to the boy’s ear, he said, “Don’t move, kid. Just stay right here. You got me?”
His head nodded, his body hitching with sobs.
Erik’s shuddered as more of him was claimed by the beast. His vision darkened and he could hear his galloping heartbeat as if it were a bass drum beside his head.
“Just . . . don’t move.”
His lungs felt like they were filling up with water. But he knew it wasn’t water.
Before he closed his eyes, he told the boy he’d protect him. What he didn’t say was—alive or dead.
* * *
Joanne held onto Noah’s hand for dear life. What was happening was impossible. Even covered in the warm blood of other people, her mind couldn’t handle what she was seeing.
The sky was filled with monsters. The fairground was cluttered with bodies, both the dead and the maimed. She tripped over the shredded torso of a man. Noah jerked her arm to keep her from falling.
