Consequence

by C R Langille

  Evard froze. Two competing commands ran through his brain. Fight or flight. Get in the car and go or kill the woman. Yet, all he could do was stand with the gun pointed to the concrete.

  The woman made it to the driveway. She let out another cry, and his ears started to ring. There was another noise as well, a buzz in the background of his mind. The crazy lady ran straight for him but hit the rear fender of the car, which caused the entire vehicle to shake. She spun once and hit the ground. The woman looked up at him from all fours and screamed.

  Her eyes were coals, smoldering in the night. The inky liquid poured from her mouth as well as seeped from the wound on her neck. The veins close to the wound were a bluish-purple color and travelled the length of her neck and down onto her chest.

  The buzz turned into something recognizable—Linda’s voice.

  “Evard, damn it. Come on!”

  “Come on, grandpa!” Sebastian yelled from the backseat.

  Evard shook his head and took a step back. The woman jumped up and lunged at him. He brought the gun up and fired, causing the ringing in his ears to intensify. The bullet hit her square in the chest, and black blood exploded from her chest. It didn’t stop her. She didn’t even stagger at the shot but plowed right into Evard and drove him to the ground. He slammed into the concrete, and the wind rushed from his lungs. The keys flew from his grasp, but he somehow kept hold of the gun. The slight twinge in his chest took a sharp turn, and he struggled to breathe. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

  Instinctively, he brought his arms up to protect his head from the rain of blows. The woman was an animal and tried to claw him and rip the skin from his face and neck. She continued to shriek longer than any person should have been able to.

  He kicked and tried to buck her off, but she stayed glued to his thighs. Evard shot at her again, but the woman hit his arm at the same time, and the shot went wild.

  The car door opened and knocked the woman to the side. Linda swung the door two more times and smashed the woman until she rolled off Evard. He scooted up into a sitting position and shot again. This time the bullet hit the woman’s shoulder. Bone shattered as the bullet tore through flesh and muscle. She fell to the driveway when her arm gave.

  Within seconds, she propped herself up and scrambled toward Evard. He shot again, and this time hit her between the eyes. The woman’s head snapped back, and she fell to the ground. The black, blood oozed from the wound and crawled toward Evard’s feet. Evard stood and scrambled away from the body as if it were radioactive.

  He looked to Linda. She clutched the handle of the door like a weapon. She opened her mouth to say something, but the combined shrieks of half a dozen people cut her off. The yells came from all different directions, but they had one thing in common. They were getting closer.

  “Let’s go,” Evard said.

  He snatched the keys from the driveway and got in the car. The lightning flashed once more, and for half a moment, he caught a glimpse of a white figure crouched in a tree. When the lightning flashed again, it was gone. He paused for a moment and strained to see it again.

  “Come on,” Linda said.

  Evard pushed the key into the ignition. The Impala roared to life. The engine rumbled like a grizzly bear. It did little to drown out the cries of the oncoming mob.

  He threw the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway. The night sky lit as lightning flashed, and for a moment, the pale figure stood near the garage of Linda’s house. He caught another glimpse of it, and it waved and then disappeared into the dark.

  “Evard,” Linda said.

  “I know.”

  He slammed the clutch onto the floorboard and pushed the gearshift into first. The ’66 Impala squealed in delight as rear tires spun and tried to grab onto the asphalt. Finally, Evard found something loud enough to drown out the rushing onslaught.

  The car’s headlights illuminated two of their attackers. Two girls, both dressed in matching pajamas with Pegasus designs, rushed the car. One of the girls had a ragged tear across her face. A liquid seeped from the wound and was more viscous than normal blood. The other girl lacked three fingers from her hand. Both of their eyes smoldered, similar to the woman who had jumped him earlier. They screamed and ran straight toward the vehicle.

  The tires caught hold, and the car fishtailed into motion. Evard tried to maneuver around the pair, but he clipped the first kid with the front left fender. The car bucked as it rolled over her, and he winced as her body thumped underneath.

  The second kid was quicker and jumped up onto the hood. She rolled and came to stop when she hit the spot where the windshield should have been. The child kicked and screamed as she tried to get at Evard and Linda.

  Linda let out a scream and pushed her. The child tried to grab her, and Linda shrank into the seat. Evard just growled and tightened his grip on the wheel.

  “Hold on,” he said.

  He slammed on the brakes, and the kid rolled off the car and onto the street. Linda held onto the dashboard and stared forward with a wide-eyed look. It only took seconds, and the girl was on her feet again. A large gash on her forehead showed sickly and wet under the headlights. Evard swerved around the child, but the car wasn’t as forgiving. As it fishtailed around, the rear end slapped her, and she rolled into the bushes.

  Evard’s body shook as adrenaline coursed through his system. The realization of what happened hit him hard. He kept blinking as fast as he could to keep the tears from welling up. His chest rose and fell as he took in deep breaths of air, a slight wheeze sounding with each exhale. But they weren’t kids anymore, were they? They were something else. Evard focused on those thoughts to keep his sanity in check.

  The rest of the attackers came out of the darkness and ran toward the car. Evard pushed down on the gas, and the engine roared in ecstasy. A mob of people with glowing eyes faded into the background.

  “What the hell is going on?” Linda asked with tears in her eyes.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is Dad okay?” Sebastian asked.

  “I hope so buddy,” Linda said.

  “He’s alive,” Evard said.

  Linda shot him a look. “How do you know?”

  “I just do. I’d know if he were dead.”

  “Just like you know—” Linda stopped herself and looked away.

  Kelly.

  Evard tightened his grip on the wheel but remained silent.

  “I’m sorry,” Linda said a few moments later.

  Evard nodded. He took a deep breath, held it for a few moments, and then let it out. Evard moved his hand to pat Linda on the leg but stopped himself when her body tensed. He let out a sigh and put his hand back on the wheel.

  “I don’t know how I know, I just do. I’ve always had some sort of connection with him. When he was a boy and I was out trucking, I had a bad feeling in my gut one day and turned around from a haul. Got home to find him in the emergency room.”

  “That’s when he fell out of the tree, right?” Linda asked.

  “Dad fell out of a tree?”

  “Yes, when he was about your age,” Linda said.

  “There were other times too.”

  Linda stared out the window but turned to Evard after a moment of consideration.

  “And now? What do you feel?”

  “He’s alive.”

  His lack of confidence filtered through his voice, and Linda didn’t look relieved.

  Ever since the storm started, he couldn’t trust his gut anymore. Toby was alive, but he wasn’t doing well wherever he was.

  “I think he’s alive too,” Sebastian said.

  Evard looked at the boy through the rearview mirror. Perhaps the kid was like him and Toby.

  They continued to drive through the suburbs and made their way to the interstate. Some neighborhoods looked normal, as i
f nothing had happened. Others were war zones. They passed numerous burning houses. Several decapitated bodies lay in a pile outside one home, arranged in a pattern that made his eyes hurt. Evard sped past a mini-store where a pack of people tore an elderly man apart in the parking lot.

  Every now and then, Evard caught glimpses of things in the shadows or through the windows of houses. Different shapes of beings which chipped away his courage—shapes that shouldn’t have moved.

  Things were getting worse.

  Chapter Eleven

  Darkness and pain filled Toby’s world as the black smoke burned and twisted closer to his face. Brock reeled him in like a fish on the line.

  Toby struggled for footing, tried to plant his feet, but it was too much. He tripped and fell to the ground, and Brock continued to bring him ever closer. When he tried to focus and grab a spark of energy, Brock laughed a deep wet laugh, and the pain intensified. The spark Toby desperately tried to harness dissipated into nothing along with his hopes.

  The smoke crept up his neck and made it hard to breath. Toby’s consciousness started to slip away, and he imagined Sebastian playing in the back yard with a large metal Tonka truck. The truck used to be Toby’s when he was Sebastian’s age. Sebastian had loved the toy ever since he found it in the basement, and Toby was more than happy to pull it out and dust it off. It was an icon of an older generation of childhood, and now it was part of a new generation.

  “Yes! Continue to dream, and let me eat those memories,” the Brock creature said.

  As it continued to speak through Toby’s mind, the creature took on more and more of Brock’s vocal mannerisms.

  “We can fill it with his innards and make him push it around the street before he finally bleeds out. How does that sound, T.D.?”

  Its voice was full of gravel and came from all directions.

  The horrible images pulled Toby from the darkness. He tried to say something, but it came out as a scream and burned his throat.

  “Or maybe I’ll make Sebastian carve out the fetus in your whore wife’s stomach?”

  Even through the pain, confusion wracked Toby’s mind. She wasn’t pregnant, was she?

  “Of course she is. She’s a slut, amigo. Only a matter of time before someone planted a little bastard in her,” Brock said. “Or maybe I’ll make you carve it out with your son’s skull.”

  The smoke receded, and Toby found himself at Brock’s feet. The smoke swirled like a small cyclone and retreated into Brock’s body through his neck wound. When the last bit disappeared down his throat, Brock licked his lips with a large and elongated tongue.

  “Fear and pain… wonderful stuff,” Brock said.

  Small puffs of the dark mist shot out of his neck with each word.

  The black spot on Toby’s chest throbbed like a burn, but the skin itself was ice cold. Small, soot-colored tendrils already worked their way outward from the spot in all directions. His skin crawled, and he wanted to throw up.

  Toby looked at Brock. A large grin sprouted from the thing’s face, too large to be normal. Blood, bile, and bits of flesh hung from the man’s beard and glistened under the glow of his red eyes.

  “Oh, you noticed your little friend there, eh? It won’t be long before I take you from the inside. You might as well submit to my will now. Save yourself the pain, amigo.”

  “Go to hell,” Toby said.

  “I don’t think so. Not a big enough imagination in the Pit,” Brock said.

  Chuck circled around and positioned himself behind Toby. Dave stood beside Brock, one hand planted on his stomach to keep his innards from falling out again. Toby couldn’t see them, but he knew a mass of the pig-creatures stood around the group in a large circle. Somehow, he knew they waited with anticipation to see Brock devour his body and soul.

  Toby staggered to his feet. Every bone and muscle in his body screamed at him to lie back down on the cool dirt. Every bruise and cut ignited as he moved, and it took all of his willpower to stay upright.

  “Let us in,” Chuck said from behind him.

  “Or don’t,” Dave said. “We’ll consume you either way.”

  “And once we do, we’ll go find your whore wife and brat son. They will be a great dessert,” Brock said.

  Toby let out a growl and threw a right hook at Brock. Brock brought up a hand and caught his fist. Toby regretted the decision and pain drove him to his knees as the black stain on his chest smoldered. Brock smiled and squeezed harder, and the smolder flared. The burning sensation crawled all the way up his neck as each tendril squirmed and burrowed further into his body. He wanted to scream, but the burn was so intense he couldn’t make a sound.

  Brock nodded to Chuck. The big man picked Toby up as if he was nothing but a sack of potatoes. The pain in his chest subsided.

  “Enough play time,” Brock said.

  Brock put his hands on Toby’s shoulders. The red of his eyes burned hot, and Brock opened his mouth. The dark cloud spewed forth and wrapped itself around Toby’s feet and worked its way up his body.

  It was as if he had stepped into a whirlwind of broken glass. This time, his screams echoed through the mountain night. He fought to keep his mind in check, but as the darkness engulfed him, his sanity left him piece by piece. Only one emotion crept back in—rage.

  It started as a small red dot in the back of his thoughts. Images of Linda and Sebastian dying at the hands of this beast fed the dot, and it grew into a blot. The threats against his family fanned the flames, and the blot grew into something tangible. Toby could almost taste it, spicy and bitter.

  It was the accusation of his wife’s infidelity that turned the rage into an inferno. Brock lied of course, as it was only an attempt to get a rise out of him.

  Wasn’t it?

  Their marriage was solid. But, she did have a thing for Brock. She admitted as much.

  That was a long time ago, before we were married.

  Yet, it was a year ago she and Brock…

  The rage exploded in his chest, and he opened his eyes. The smoke consumed his body and entered his lungs through his nostrils and mouth. The black spot on his chest burned like Chuck and Dave’s eyes. He didn’t care about it anymore. Toby only cared about destroying the three creatures around him. He wanted nothing more than to obliterate their very essence.

  Toby stretched his fingers out, and bits of burning ash fell from his palm to the ground like dying fireflies. A red flame sprang to life in his hand. As soon as the fire came to life, it connected to him, and Toby made the fire submit to his commands. It was all the anger and hate in his body, balled into his fist.

  He focused his rage, and the fire burned white hot. Toby curled his ashen fingers into a fist and punched out toward Brock. Flame shot forth in a small stream. Brock’s red eyes widened, and the smile disappeared from his mouth. He waved his own arm in front of his face and sent a wall of smoke to billow out in a cloud.

  The fire punched into the cloud, and it passed by Brock’s form and slammed into Dave instead. The flame hit his body. Dave ignited as if he was wicker. Dave only had enough time to let out a small gurgle of a cry before he slumped to his knees and fell to the ground. Within moments, the stench of burning flesh and hair filled the air. Dave’s body curled into a ball and sizzled as the flames ate him into nothing. A human-shaped shadow drifted up from the burning body only to dissipate into the wind as ashes.

  Brock’s attention dropped at the display, and the smoke receded from Toby’s form. Toby scurried back on his hands and ran into Chuck. Chuck stared at Dave’s burning body and then down to Toby.

  “Well, that wasn’t nice,” Chuck said.

  Toby tried to reach into his rage and burn Chuck down, but he was empty. Not hungry or starved, but somewhere between exhausted and void of rational thought. The anger was still there, but the wildfire was nothing more than an ember. Try as he might
, he couldn’t form another ball of fire.

  Chuck tried to grab him, but Toby slipped around him and crawled away. Even such a small amount of physical action left him gasping for air, and he fell to the ground.

  Brock turned his attention back to Toby. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of chanting stopped him short.

  Brock’s face scrunched up in confusion. Chuck took a step forward, but Brock lifted a hand and stopped him.

  “Wha—?” Chuck asked

  “Silence,” Brock hissed, his voice no longer familiar. Brock’s new voice was old—older than the woods.

  The chant grew louder and louder, and the beat of drums soon accompanied it. Toby took advantage of the situation and crawled to where his muzzleloader sat discarded on the ground.

  Brock’s wet laughter cut through the noise. He spun in a circle with his arms out wide.

  “I was curious as to when you would show yourself. Have you come to finish it, Spirit?” Brock asked.

  As if in answer, dark storm clouds rolled and spun overhead. They twisted in a circle like a hurricane and picked up speed as the chant started to crescendo. Deep booms of thunder accentuated the rhythmic drumbeats in the air.

  “Show yourself!” Brock said.

  Lightning arced from the sky and crashed to the ground. Toby caught a glimpse of Chuck and Brock flying through the air in opposite directions before his world went completely white and then dark.

  ***

  Toby woke and found himself in a cave. Rough stone walls rose up all around him and stretched about ten feet up. A rabbit cooked over a small campfire next to him. His stomach grumbled as the smell of the seared meat reached him.

  His muzzleloader, possibles bag, and makeshift backpack of supplies lay in a neat pile at his feet. He tried to get up but immediately laid back down as his body refused to cooperate.

  “I would take it easy. It’s like you went twelve rounds with Tyson.”

  The voice was kind and elderly. A man sat across the fire from him. He wore a red plaid button-up shirt, dirty jeans, and a grimy trucker hat that said “Chick Magnet” across the front. Long black hair fell on either side of his shoulders in two braids. A small leather bag with a faded beadwork design hung from the man’s neck. Deep wrinkles etched the corners of his mouth and eyes but gave him a grandfather-like expression. The man’s skin was dark and sun blasted.