Demon Harvest

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Demon Harvest Page 18

by Patrick C. Greene


  This man and this woman gave him Halloween.

  Everett tried to stand, to hug his friends. The man put his hand on Everett’s shoulder and stopped him. “You’re wounded yet, dear boy.” He pointed at Everett’s stomach, where Glory Brightwell had stabbed him. “This must heal.”

  Everett knew what these words meant, and he did feel some hurt there, though he didn’t mind it. But he reasoned that if the blood came out again, he might feel weak, like before.

  The nice man had given him his mask back. Maybe the man and his lady friend liked Halloween too.

  Everett lay on his back and closed his eyes. He would trust these people for now.

  Later, when he was better, they would all probably decorate the town for Halloween together. Everett hoped so. He didn’t want to make them die.

  He would surprise them by starting early.

  * * * *

  Modern day

  “I don’t think I’d have even seen you without your rain slicker,” said Deputy Astin as Hudson plopped into the passenger seat. “Did you really see some kind of monster out here?”

  “I’m not out in this storm for my health, Astin.” Hudson worked his way out of the reflective county-issue rain gear. “And I’m guessing there are more of them out here, heading into town. Did dispatch radio the National Guard?”

  “Yessir. But they said they can’t send choppers in this.” The young deputy frowned up at the cruiser’s roof like he was checking the clouds. “They’re gonna be on wheels—and it’s gonna take a while.”

  “Did you get ahold of all the off-duty boys and neighboring counties?”

  “Well…get ready for bad news,” Astin said. “The phone lines are fubar.”

  “Orange bastards must have taken ’em out…” Hudson stiffened as they passed a sign that read:

  you are now entering ember hollow–

  pumpkin-growing capital of the world!

  “Head to the evidence building, then the station. And step on it.”

  * * * *

  “Class B,” whispered Yoshida, as he examined the fire extinguisher under Pedro’s kitchen sink.

  “Is that the recommended type for fighting devil pumpkins?” asked Pedro.

  “Do you have hair spray or anything like that?”

  “I think Jill left a can when they crashed here one night after a gig.”

  “Grab it.”

  Seconds later, Pedro met Yoshida at the door. He didn’t see the pumpkin things moving around outside the window. Thumping and cries of terror from the other apartments told him why.

  “Spray them in the eyes,” Yoshida muttered.

  “Right. Think they’ll wait while I get a ladder?”

  “You’re gonna have to be a little more creative than that, smart-ass.” Yoshida opened the door and dashed out into the rain with the fire extinguisher, Pedro hot on his tail.

  Two of the demons scrabbled on the side of the building, poking murderous tendrils into broken windows. The third crept along the edge of the roof.

  “Hey!” Pedro grabbed a handful of gravel and began pelting the nearest demon. It swung its bulbous body to glare at him, giving the deputy and the death rocker their first decent look at its bizarrely human face, briefly rendered in unsettling detail by a red flash.

  “Crap on a kickball…”

  The thing leaped off the wall like a cricket, landing atop a car behind Pedro. Its mouth opened to issue a hissing scream, revealing its human teeth and orange gullet.

  Pedro threw another rock as it lunged toward him, then raised the can of hair spray, waiting to push the button until the damned thing was nearly face-to-face with him.

  The burst of aerosol drew another shrill hiss from the creature and made it scuttle backward. One gnarled limb punched through the sunroof of an SUV, trapping it for the moment.

  Yoshida had more range with the fire extinguisher. He sent a ropy stream ten feet with one burst. Perhaps owing to the deputy’s marksmanship, the fluid met the second creature directly in the eyes before it could pounce off the wall. The foam expanded, thoroughly blinding the creature.

  “Come on!” Pedro and Yoshida ran into the breezeway and up the stairs to the second floor. Pedro kicked the door to Ophelia’s apartment off the hinges and dashed into the darkened dwelling with the hair-spray can raised like a flamethrower.

  Two thick forelimbs, invading through the window, crashed around the living room in search of prey. A broken body lay near the door, the tiny handgun they had heard lying nearby.

  “Pedro?” The little girl peeked out from her hiding place, a lower cabinet in the kitchen.

  Yoshida flip-rolled across the living-room floor and came up with a blast of the fire extinguisher, right down the monster’s maw.

  “Where’s your ma?”

  “It got her!” cried Ophelia.

  Pedro pushed her back into the cabinet and ran to help Yoshida. The deputy lay pressed flat against the wall under the window, too close for its long, sweeping limbs.

  Pedro charged, grabbing the extinguisher to bash the monster.

  Screeching, it fell away from the wall, crashing onto a car with a distressed squeal.

  “The one on the roof!” called Pedro, as he pulled the crying Ophelia out of the cabinet and held her. “It’s gotta have her mom!”

  “How do we get up there?”

  Pedro stood and set Ophelia on the floor. “We’re going to get your mom.”

  Ophelia crawled back into the cabinet as they ran out to the breezeway. “We gotta hurry. The rain is washing that shit outta their eyes.”

  Pedro arced the spray can over his head and onto the roof, then pulled himself up on the walkway’s iron rail and deftly leaped up to grab the lip of the gutter and hoist himself up.

  Yoshida did the same, raising his head over the roof’s edge just in time to see the plump orange spider slashing down at him. He moved his head just in time.

  Pedro tackled one of its appendages and tried to drag the thing away so Yoshida could finish his climb. It spun and plucked Pedro up with two whip-quick tentacles.

  Yoshida pulled himself up onto the roof and dove for the fire extinguisher. Hearing a scream, he followed it—to see Ophelia’s mother, Camilla, hanging from the end of a jagged leg out over the edge of the roof. With her eyes closed and lips mashed tightly closed, it was clear she needed to scream. Yosh understood that the only reason she didn’t was Ophelia.

  Pedro’s dropped his spray can—just before a thorny-clawed limb descended to crush it.

  Yoshida tried a blast of the fire extinguisher, but the monster moved too fast, darting away from the stream. At least, it also brought Ophelia’s mother back across the edge.

  Ducking behind an air-conditioning unit, Yoshida found a collection of spare pipe lengths lying haphazardly around the base, the longest around five feet.

  Pedro briefly tried to power out of the rope-like tentacle but lost heart when the gourd focused its maleficent stare on him, an uncanny snarl blooming from its lips. It opened its mouth to engulf his head.

  Then it projected a stinger from its tongue.

  No, not a stinger…

  A pipe, penetrating from below. Shocked by the sudden pain, the thing dropped Pedro—and Camilla.

  Pedro landed on his hands and legs, splashing into a shallow puddle. A quick glance told him Yoshida had thought one move ahead, leaping to catch Camilla after stabbing the demon.

  The horror wrapped a tentacle around the pipe and pulled it out. It swung the weapon at Pedro’s head.

  “Let’s go!” he called as he ducked. They dashed back to the roof’s edge. He grabbed the gutter and swung himself down to the walkway, waiting there to help Yoshida and then Camilla.

  As she began to lower her feet, a gnarled vine-tacle whipped down and belted Pedro in the side, sendin
g him rolling away—and Camilla dangling like a ragdoll, soon to fall, and likely smashing across the iron rail en route. Pedro picked himself up and lunged, catching her around the waist and spinning her away from the rail. “Get inside!”

  “Yoshi!” he called, watching the edge. Just as he decided to climb back up to help, Yoshida was there, reaching for Pedro’s hand as he made the awkward leap.

  “Move!” Yoshida pulled Pedro along as he ran away from the thick leg hooking toward them.

  A split second later, they were back in Ophelia’s apartment. Mother and child had their rushed reunion as Yoshida went to check the man on the floor, while Pedro up-righted the front door and pushed it into the frame, leaning heavily against it.

  Yoshida’s expression told him that Ophelia’s father was dead. “Better get away from that window, dude.”

  Yoshida went to Ophelia and Camilla. “Lost the extinguisher. You folks have one?” Opening the cabinet under the sink, he found it.

  “Fire extinguishers and hair spray ain’t cuttin’ it, Yosh.”

  “Yeah? What’s your big strategy, Sun-Effing-Tzu?”

  “You ain’t gonna like it.”

  “…I already don’t.”

  Chapter 26

  Too Fast for Blood

  “If we live through this,” Yoshida began, “I’m having you committed.”

  “I don’t know if you noticed, genius, but they’re growing,” said Pedro. “I think it’s the rain.”

  “Your point?”

  “Desperate times call for blah blah blah.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Camilla.

  “You tell her,” Yoshida insisted.

  “Okay…Yoshi here got bit by a biker chick and now it makes him go all Monster on the Campus every night when he falls asleep.”

  Yoshida face-palmed.

  The squash demons called to each other, their spine-shocking cries hitting an unpleasant frequency.

  “They’re making plans, bro,” said Pedro. “Or arguing over pie recipes.”

  “Just what the hell do you propose, Petey?”

  Pedro shrugged. “You wolf-out and dig up the garden.”

  “What!?” Yoshida looked like he had been betrayed. “How? Sleeping pills?”

  “No, man,” Pedro said. “I’d have to K.O. you.”

  “You think I’m gonna let you punch me, you beefed-up butthole?”

  “Not punch, man,” said Pedro. “The sleeper hold. From wrestling.”

  Yoshida blinked at both the insanity and the soundness of the stratagem.

  “What if you put me out and I don’t change? Then I’m a useless limp body for you to deal with. What if I do change…and go after you?”

  “They ain’t gonna just ignore you.”

  Yoshida stared at him, the dark making him appear half-transformed already.

  “I just wanna get those chicks clear,” Pedro whispered. “Then I’ll come back and do whatever I gotta do to help you.”

  “But I’ll probably attack you, man.”

  “Wolves are smart, and you are too, Yoshi. I’m guessing you’ll make those things a priority.”

  The pumpkin’s multi-jointed limb, notably thicker since they had last seen it, punched through what was left of the living-room window.

  “Back bedroom!” said Yoshi, sweeping up Ophelia as Pedro huddled her mother close.

  * * * *

  McGlazer leaned into the Community Center’s oily old drill until the screw caught and pulled the plywood flush against the door frame. It felt strange that Kerwin Stuyvesant, who, before being mutilated, had never been a fan of manual labor, was so quick to hand him the next screw and press his body against the plywood.

  The drill died in McGlazer’s hands, along with the lights.

  Kerwin raised his voice modulator. “They took out the power.”

  “Are they capable of…?”

  “Much worse.” Kerwin knelt to grope for a hammer in the toolbox.

  The silence was filled by the unearthly call of one of the pumpkin demons, all too close.

  Another one answered, nearer.

  “There’s a deer rifle in my truck,” said Timbo Linger, still dutifully adorned with a red foam nose and tiny derby hat.

  “Get it now,” said McGlazer.

  Kerwin patted Timbo’s shoulder twice and raised the hammer, nodding to say, “I’ll cover you,” then they were out in the blasting rain.

  “He’ll be right back, don’t worry.” McGlazer told son and daughter.

  “Can we pray for him?” asked the girl.

  McGlazer didn’t stop for a dramatic pause. “Yes, let’s pray.”

  * * * *

  Timbo’s GMC Sierra was parked halfway across the lot. With rain pelting them so hard it was painful and scarlet flashes rolling across the skyline, Timbo and Kerwin felt like they were on another planet. “Hop in!” Timbo called over the roar. “I’ll drive us back!”

  As Kerwin slid in, he realized his false chin was fully exposed under the truck’s interior light. Timbo glanced at him, his gaze drawn to the prosthesis.

  Kerwin raised his amplifier, prepared to apologize for the offense of his appearance.

  Timbo waited for him to speak. Kerwin decided to stay silent.

  “Check the glove box for the shells, will ya?” Timbo said, starting the engine.

  * * * *

  Across the gym, Bernard cursed at the sudden darkness but did not slow as he raised a folding table and considered what would be the strongest angle to brace it against the center’s doors. Perhaps he had expected this, things getting worse. As they did every Halloween.

  Bernard also considered how he had battled the mushroom monsters a year before. These…sentient pumpkin arachnid things the mayor had described would be operating under different rules. And he didn’t have any of the magnesium strips he’d used against the fungus fiends.

  Brinke appeared at his side, startling a cry out of him.

  “Sorry.”

  “Well, it’s not like I wasn’t already scared, so…”

  “I need a ride,” said the witch.

  “What? Are you…?”

  “The boys said Ysabella is at the inn, and not doing well.”

  “Yeah, true.”

  “If it was closer, I would go there on foot.”

  “I’ll take you,” said Bernard. “I need to check on my girls anyway.”

  Chapter 27

  Night Time Crawling

  Settlement era

  “We have visitors, sir!” Chloris called. Having heard the horses from her bedroom, she was out of bed and at the door before the knock came.

  “Where’s Bennington?” asked Adonijah Cooke without greeting. “I need to speak to him.” The second of his four sons, Jonas, coaxed his mount to the corner of the house where he would keep watch.

  “He’ll be along in a minute,” Chloris told him calmly. “Hello, Adonijah. Boys.”

  Cooke and his grown boys had long served as a police force for the settlement, due to their strapping size and legendary ruggedness. The oldest, Phineas, was considered Ember Hollow’s best marksman, given that Chloris had never challenged him for the title. Their gruff demeanor was part of the job, a necessary emotional distance they could take on and toss off like a garment.

  Their visit meant they suspected Bennington of something. Chloris immediately thought of their gaunt visitor and patient. He had, after all, been found bleeding—and then tried to kill her.

  Initial panic told her to tell the Cookes about Everett here and now, before Bennington came. They would take the oddball away, and what a relief that would be.

  But this was not what her employer had instructed.

  “Gentlemen,” came his booming voice as he entered, ending her inner deliberation. �
��It’s late.”

  “Go with Jonas,” Adonijah told Elias. “Stables and barn.” He summoned Rufus to follow him inside. They brushed past Chloris, holding their matchlocks low.

  “Have you seen Hezekiah Hardison?”

  “Not in quite a few days, I’m afraid,” Bennington answered. “He’s friendlier with Conal these days.”

  Chloris glanced toward the short corridor that ended in the guest room, where Everett lay recovering, and realized her hands were trembling.

  “Glory Brightwell is missing as well.” Adonijah surveyed the room. “Their cabin is in shambles.”

  “Forgive me, sir,” Chloris said. “Perhaps she and Hezekiah…”

  Adonijah spun to glower at her in rebuke. “Bennington, kindly instruct your servant to be silent unless questions are asked of her.” He directed his son toward the corridor.

  “Chloris may speak as she wishes in her home.”

  Adonijah glowered at Bennington. “You may be the town’s governor, sir, but I am its law.”

  “What law are you upholding tonight, Adonijah?” asked Bennington. “And at the behest of whom?”

  Chloris watched Rufus go into the first room—hers. Where she kept her diary. Which told of their visitor.

  “I don’t favor Conal or anyone in my work,” said Adonijah.

  “I’m relieved.”

  Adonijah went to the corridor and met Rufus coming out. He hadn’t stayed long enough to have picked up the diary. Adonijah stepped into the room across from hers, a sewing room, while Rufus moved along.

  Chloris whispered, “What will we tell them about the young man?”

  “The truth. Adonijah can decide for himself if he wants that boy on the back of a horse behind him or his sons.”

  Adonijah ambled back into the corridor. “When last you met with Hezekiah, were there words?”

  “Of greeting, perhaps. Nothing more.”

  Rufus reached the door at the end.

  “You, ma’am?” Cooke asked Chloris.

  “Me? No.” Her voice quaked as Rufus stepped into the guest room.

  “And what of Glory Brightwell?”

  “No.”

  Cooke regarded them like he would a sheep or cow, judging. “Are you well, ma’am?”

 

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