***
Hell was freezing cold. Nonstop tremors wracked Vrain but couldn’t dispel the ice solidifying his marrow. His sodden boots squished with each step and ice water dripped from his body. So this is what it feels like to play the hero. Numb legs carried him across the street and around the monsters collecting their human harvest. A breeze stole whatever heat his body managed to generate. Next time he got the urge to rescue anyone, somebody needed to shoot him.
“So what did you do before?”
Vrain ignored the slap of his wet pant legs against each other and glanced at the major.
Moonlight bounced off her silver veil. “Vrain?”
“Picked a bad day to stay sober.” He ground out. Granny’s two blocks translated into a quarter mile. An eternity as a human Popsicle.
“Not much further.” The major helped him as he stumbled over the wooden blocks passing for his feet.
He couldn’t even manage a grunt. Hell, even his vocal cords were frozen. They slowed to a walk at the corner. Danavas paraded up and down the street, and strutted around the parking lot. Judging by the number of demons carrying limp corpses through the broken glass doors of the supermarket, he and the major weren’t the only ones shopping.
“We’re here.”
Vrain checked to see if the iced handkerchief covered his mouth and nose before sliding the borrowed glasses over his eyes. The world swam in and out of focus. Vrain struggled to read the store signs in the moonlight. Salon. Bookstore. Army Surplus. And a moving maze of demons in between.
“Ready?” The major’s voice trembled.
“Yeah.” Vrain’s heart pumped faster and harder with each step across the parking lot. Five feet then ten. A Danavas landed two feet from him. The ungodly stench of it made his eyes water. Vrain stopped, his heart hammered his chest. Fear replaced the frigid cold in his bones. “Christ.”
“Don’t touch them.”
As if he needed to be told. The demon faced Vrain as its cowl retracted. Bits of flesh and offal darkened its sharp fangs while its eyes sparkled like rubies. “Ugly bastard.” Vrain’s bravado couldn’t shore up his shaky voice.
Just as he dodged to the left, the creature spread its wings and leaned forward. Hot breath stinking of rancid meat blasted Vrain. He dropped to the ground. Rocks and other debris cut into his knees, elbows and belly as he scurried forward. He cleared the wings then scrambled to his feet and sprinted few yards, dropped and rolled under another Danavas. His lungs burned from the exertion. His muscles screamed. Vrain pushed forward not more than three feet behind the major. The sidewalk between the store and the parking lot remained free of the creatures. He kept his goal in mind as he maneuvered around the demons.
When the major tried to veer toward the hardware store, Vrain tugged her toward the left. “Army surplus.”
She shook her head and gasped for breath. “It would have been picked clean a long time ago.”
“We should look.”
“Why? We’re wasting time.” The major quickly pulled up her sleeve. Her watch glowed like a green eye in the night. “With all the stopping and weaving to evade the creatures, we’ve already used up thirty-two minutes.”
“Glass is heavy. You really think Granny can carry her share for six miles?” Vrain left her to chew on his scenario and zig-zagged around three Danavas to step through the window of the Army Surplus store.
“See.” The major flapped her arms toward the empty shelves. “Looted long ago.”
Vrain strode to the back of the store. The padlock to the storage room was intact. He removed the .38 Special from his ankle holster, emptied the chambers and smacked the lock with the butt of his weapon. The lock broke and he quickly opened the door. “Bingo.”
“Emergency blankets.” The major pawed a few onto the ground, before reading the packaging. “Blocks ninety per cent of body heat. Clothes too.” She ripped the plastic off one blanket and shook it. The material made a crinkling noise as it unfurled. “Find your size pants and change. We’ll stuff these between your skin and the clothes.”
“Keep watch.” Vrain draped the silver blanket over his body and started stripping. Boots first. Socks. His jeans and boxers. The rolled up garments splatted against the ground. He tugged on the Hoodie, lost his balance and slammed into the shelves. Items rained down on his body.
“You need help?”
In previous life, he might think the major was hitting on him. The Danavas in the parking lot undoubtedly put it in correct context. “See if you can find boots.” Vrain looked over his bare shoulder. “Men’s twelve.”
“Twelve?” The major’s shadowy form disappeared into the darkness.
Vrain used a handful of tee shirts to dry off. The circulation of blood pricked his flesh like hot needles. Life hurt. Hissing through the pain, he jerked on a pair of camouflage pants and a black thermal shirt. After slipping wool socks over his stiff toes, he liberated a few plastic bags from under the counter and swept the contents of the shelves inside. Four bags. He tested the weight. He could carry three. “Major?”
“They’re thirteens.” She stood up. A boot-shaped shadow sailed toward him. “Give me a minute to get the other one off.
“Off?” Vrain caught the shoe and set it on the counter while he draped the Mylar blanket around him. Flexibility and coverage were key.
“It’s not like he’s using them.” The major melted behind the shelf. “Fortunately, there’s only a little rigor mortis, so you shouldn’t have an extra toe inside the boot.”
“They don’t have any alien snot on them, do they?” Vrain opened a blanket designed for infants and maneuvered it over his head so the elasticized opening surrounded his mouth, nose and eyes.
The major rose and tossed the other shoe at him. “The demons didn’t get him.”
“Great.” Vrain caught the boot and shook each one before slipping them on. The stiff leather rubbed against his heels. He’d have blisters by the time they reached the Armory but at least he could feel his toes again. He adjusted the blanket over his head. “How do I look?”
The major scanned him with the camera. “Not bad except your face.”
“The hardware store should have a supply of safety glasses.”
“Plastic should work.” The major hefted one of the bags onto her shoulder. “Why are these so heavy?” She dropped the bag to the floor and opened it. “Solid fuel tablets? Flares? Are you nuts?”
“You never know when we’ll need a diversion.” Using his pocket knife, Vrain cut a square off the Mylar blanket, made a small slit for air and placed the material over his mouth and nose. The glasses covered his eyes
She shook her head, closed the bag then swung it over her shoulder. “Shit!”
A Danavas crept inside the store. It craned its neck before emitting a clicking noise.
Keeping the shelves between himself and the creature, Vrain made his way to the window.
As the major jogged along the opposite wall, the bag thumped against her leg. Without warning the Danavas pushed over the shelf. It crashed into the next one then the next like dominoes. The major disappeared just as the shelf nearest to her toppled over.
“Major!”
“I’m okay.” Her voice rang against the metal shelves. “But my leg is stuck.”
“Damn.” Vrain stopped as two more creatures entered the store.
The first one plucked the shoe donor off the floor and shook him. The remains of the man’s head flopped back and forth before his neck snapped.
Vrain’s blood ran cold despite the heat radiating from the blanket. What if the demons used more than one sense to hunt? “Can they smell blood?” Or fear?
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because they went right for our bootless friend.” Vrain looked away as the Danavas congregated in the back to enjoy their snack.
“Uh, maybe you should leave me.”
Leave her and save the others. His debate died with one fact: she had saved his life. “Why?”
“Sit tight.” Vrain shrugged the bag off his shoulder, fished out a handful of the solid fuel tablets and ripped them out of their packaging. If they were lucky, a heat source would make the demons forget about the smell of the major’s blood. He scrambled through the window and spied the dumpster. Perfect. While dodging the demons, he gathered paper bags, newspapers and other flammable scraps. His eyes teared when he stopped next to the garbage heap. Was it the rancid odor or the exercise? Kneeling, he wrapped the tablets in the refuse then quickly lit the bundle and dropped it into the bin. Running away, he hurled two orange glow sticks at the smoking dumpster.
Vrain sprinted to the Surplus store. Something crashed against the dumpster. He glanced back in time to see a dozen creatures swarm his diversion. Just as he turned his attention forward, he collided with one of the beasts. His breath left his body as he hit the asphalt. Stunned, he stared at the stars. A Danavas loomed over him. Vrain rolled onto his belly and scrambled under a SUV. The demon’s cloven feet clacked around him. Something scratched metal then glass shards rained down.
Vrain’s world shrank to the area under the Ford Escape. His breath filled the space and marked time. The demons circled, danced away then rushed back. Vrain counted the seconds. At ten, he wiggled out then sprinted to the store. “Major,” he yelled, leaping through the window.
“Oh, thank God.”
“I bought us about fifteen minutes.” He stopped as her white legs caught the moonlight. “Where are your pants?”
She
2012: Winter Harvest Page 4