Creek stepped inside and I quietly moved in behind him. He fumbled around on the wall for a light switch, but he must have been practically blind with that cumbersome helmet on. Just before he found the switch and the living room was awash in light, I spotted the still form of Chod sitting in the easy chair next to the fireplace. I extended the 1911 and almost fired, but quickly stopped and realized it was just an ugly woman’s pantsuit, arranged to resemble a human form.
The light came on and I realized I was correct on both counts. Dr. Chod’s desiccated skin was fully clothed, but all innards and moisture had been sucked right out of her. It was a pantsuit on top of a skin suit. A floppy, shriveled, pitiful thing that only faintly echoed what it had been. Like a fresh snakeskin, it conjured fear because it was a reminder of what had been inside it only a short time before.
Creek pulled off his helmet and dry heaved several times, then turned away from the body. Apparently, my mental gag reflex had been too desensitized to acknowledge this repulsion, because all I felt was pity for Dr. Chod and what she’d undoubtedly had to endure. Once he’d composed himself Creek said, “She doesn’t have eyeballs or even a fucking tongue anymore. Carrion-Six-Toes tossed her aside like a pair of smelly sweatpants.”
“But why?” I asked. “Is it possible that Dr. Chod was the last body that thing had? Do you think it could have given up?”
“Probably,” Creek said. “I don’t think they like to run around without a host, it leaves them too vulnerable. Maybe it has some sort of escape plan, like an underground tunnel or some shit like that. Maybe it figured facing us just wasn’t worth the risk. It used its psychic powers to temporarily shut down our symbiotes long enough to get out of here. Probably to go away and regroup and start over somewhere fresh.”
“Works for me,” I said. “Bogart told me that they don’t think of time in the same way that we do. Could be that its idea of regrouping is to build up another chicken farm in Indonesia and by the time it’s a threat again we will be dead and buried.”
“Suits me,” Creek said. “I wasn’t really that eager to deal with Carrion-Six-Toes in the first place. I’ll take a truce. No harm no foul, but . . . ”
“Yeah?”
Creek took a deep breath. “But I’m not going to leave those other chicken houses. What if those things in them are still maturing and in a month or two there are thousands of Carrion-Six-Toes running around?”
“I can’t imagine,” I said.
“I can. Two more chicken houses worth of ticking time bombs. I have to burn all of those monsters and then it’s square. I’ll never get another good night’s sleep again after this and I’ll spend the rest of my life waiting for Carrion-Six-Toes, but at least I won’t hate myself anymore.”
“Amen,” I said. “Let’s deal with the third one first, I’m not quite ready to go back inside the one where that fucker was keeping my daughter.”
We slowly walked back towards the chicken houses and suddenly an Ear Worm invaded my consciousness: Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay, Doggy Dogg is in the mother fuckin house.
I hadn’t heard that song in years, but it reminded me of my college years and of drunken binges. I tried to dismiss dark thoughts, but as we stepped in front of the third chicken house it continued: Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay
Death Row’s in the mother fuckin house.
When Creek slid open the door to the chicken house, I experienced déjà vu as I watched him methodically stomp his way toward the front. Strangely the chickens never even glanced at him, instead focusing their blank-eyed stares at me.
Creek turned to me. “Okay, it’s about to get very hot in here.” He pulled the helmet back over his head and aimed his nozzle at the flock.
Something brushed against my leg and quickly ran past me. It was Dante. The stupid dog hurtled right through the chickens and finally stopped right in front Creek not a moment before he shot off a burst of flame. Creek gently kicked at the hapless English bulldog, but Dante just stood there adorably staring up at him, oblivious that he’d almost been burned to a crisp.
Bow wow wow yippy yo yippy yay, Death Row’s in the mother fuckin house.
Again, the Ear Worm invaded my thoughts, but this time I realized it wasn’t Snoop Dogg rapping the lyrics. The voice was much more familiar.
Bogart?
Creek pulled off his helmet and screamed at Dante, “Get your ass out of here, you dumb mutt.”
Death Row’s in the mother fuckin house.
“Shoot him,” I screamed. “It’s—”
Carrion-Six-Toes poured out of Dante’s mouth with the speed of a King Cobra—dark tendrils rising out of the dog’s gaping maw and wrapping around Creek’s legs, slithering up toward his exposed face.
I can recall it all now with the clarity of memory, but in the moment, it was a slideshow set to hyper speed.
In this slide I see Creek screaming as a tendril shaped like an obsidian Indian arrowhead rushes towards his fearful eye. The barbed tip pierces his pupil and the tendril moves into him quickly as it leaves its prior host.
The dark curling mass unraveled out of Dante and I watched as the last of it fell out of the dog’s mouth and plopped down amidst the chickens like a foul pile of afterbirth. I recalled Shadow’s pet hermit crab and how, when we found it dead last year, I had gently pulled it out of its shell and saw that the part it always kept concealed was a pale, fragile, fleshy lump.
Even as the tendrils poured in through his eyes, ears, and mouth, Creek pulled the trigger, shooting out purifying flames from the nozzle. Dante avoided the initial burst and ran with a speed I didn’t know the sluggish dog possessed as he moved past me toward the exit.
The flame swathe aimlessly poured out toward the front of the chicken house but far too high to even burn a single prone chicken, then Creek’s body began to shake violently and he fell to his knees as his life ebbed. The tip of the nozzle dropped toward the ground and the crowd of chickens erupted in flames.
The burst of flame ricocheted up from the ground and bathed Carrion-Six-Toes and Creek. The dark, shimmering flesh of the Elder burned even as it poured into the safety of its new host. Creek’s face was melting, but his flame-retardant suit seemed to be deflecting the burst and protecting most of his body.
Surely Creek was already dead, but his finger was locked in place around the trigger and the flames were hungry. The two of them formed a grotesque Yin/Yang—the impossible blackness of the monster still rapidly pouring into its host and the static pallor of a protective suit that had failed.
All of it awash in terrible fire.
As I tried to process this horror I could not get a repetitive refrain out of my mind: Duuun duuun. Duuun duuun. Duuun duuun.
Of course, it was the most recognizable bit of movie soundtrack of all time—the theme from Jaws. The brilliantly simple John Williams score that was primarily just a tuba alternating notes.
Duuun duuun. Duuun duuun. Duuun duuun.
Carrion-Six-Toes had almost completely crawled into Creek, and I watched as the last bit of it, that strange, placenta-like pile of filth, flowed past his lips and disappeared somewhere within.
Duuun duuun. Duuun duuun. Duuun duuun.
Bogart? Why are you putting that in my head at a time like this? I get it, Carrion-Six-Toes is the great white shark and I’m Brody waiting to be eaten. Of course, Roy Schneider’s Martin Brody wasn’t eaten. Hell, he even appeared in the vastly inferior sequel. He was able to live because he shot the air tank lodged in the shark’s mouth and blew the shark to . . .
I fired my 1911 at the gas tank strapped on Creek’s back and instead struck him in the shoulder.
As Creek turned towards me with smoke rising off his head, I recalled the Nazi doctor from Indiana Jones as the Arc of the Covenant was opened and his face melted.
I fired again and struck him in the chest.
Creek slowly raised the nozzle towards me and I realized I was a blink away from being burned alive. I fired wildly in the monste
r’s direction as the rising heat brought tears to my eyes. There was a brilliant flash as a wild bullet struck the gasoline tank.
The explosion lifted me off my feet and sent me hurtling into one of the large metal fans. There was a loud pop and I felt something inside me break, but I had no time to assess the damage because I was on fire. I rolled around in the chicken feces until I was certain I’d put out the flames.
I realized I no longer had my gun.
It was a divine struggle to stand and in doing so I realized my left arm was either dislocated or broken. Like a scene from Platoon, the chicken house was filled with mutilated bodies and piles of burning manure. Thousands of feathers still gently floated toward the ground. In the place where Creek had stood was a small fiery crater. I quickly scanned my surroundings and saw a human leg and a few feet away what might have been part of a torso, but for the most part Creek was gone. I searched for bits of the obsidian shell that seemed to cover Carrion-Six-Toes, but there was no darkness to be found.
Bogart?
Silence.
If Carrion-Six-Toes was still alive it must have crawled into one of the few chickens that weren’t burning, because I quickly scanned the chicken house and there was no sign of it. I slowly backed toward the exit with my eyes fixed on the chickens, their eyes still sullenly staring into mine. I waited for Carrion-Six-Toes to emerge from one of them and wrap around me and pour into my body, but without the gun and with only one functional arm I had no real chance of defending myself.
I got this feeling, inside my bones. It goes electric, wavy, when I turn it on. All through my city, all through my home. We’re flying up, no ceiling, when we’re in our zone.
Bogart? What are you trying to tell me?
I was almost at the exit when I heard the chittering; it was coming from directly above me. I hadn’t even thought to search the ceiling. I glanced up and saw a massive, dark, spindly thing hanging from the rafters. My first association was that it was an enormous granddaddy long legs, but then I saw that what I had mistaken as its abdomen was actually an enormous mouth filled with several rows of barbed teeth.
I got that sunshine in my pocket.I got that sunshine in my pocket.
It dropped down and nimbly landed next to me. Several of the appendages that I’d assumed were smaller sets of legs were eye stalks that were reminiscent of those of snails or slugs. The black bulbous eyes stared at me and I suddenly felt weak and powerless. Why bother fighting something that was clearly indestructible? Better to just let it consume me and put an end to a lifetime of misery.
I got that sunshine in my pocket.I got that sunshine in my pocket.I got that sunshine in my pocket.
The horrifying creature was the most intimidating thing I’d ever seen and seemingly immortal, but I could also see that it was leaking a foul brackish fluid from several gaping wounds. Smoke poured out from beneath its chitinous exoskeleton, like a lobster that had been boiled and cracked, and was ready to be dipped in butter. It raised up on its hind legs and I stared into an enormous disc-shaped mouth filled with several rows of gnashing teeth. I compliantly knelt my head as if I was standing in front of a god that I was prepared to pray to, and if need be die for as well. My final act on this miserable planet would be a noble sacrifice to an entity that was obviously far superior to me.
I got that sunshine in my pocket.I got that sunshine in my pocket.
My hand slowly moved to my pocket as if independent of my thoughts or will.
The creature moved toward me and I could smell a foulness like spoiled menudo. The rows of teeth parted and the mouth formed a circle wide enough to engulf my entire head.
I got that sunshine in my pocket.I got that sunshine in my pocket.
My hand came out of my pocket griping several cloves of garlic. Just as the creature lurched forward to decapitate me I stepped aside and my independent hand tossed the garlic inside its maw with the casualness of a Michael Jordan free throw.
The rows of teeth reflexively closed and grinded.
I wish I could tell you that there was some major cinematic moment as Carrion-Six-Toes exploded into tiny pieces, but that would be a lie. Just as Bogart had predicted, it all ended not with a bang, but with a whimper. Carrion-Six Toes fell over on its side and then it quickly shriveled into itself until all that was left was that foul, bulbous organ that most closely resembled a placenta.
With no deliberation I stomped on the fleshy mass and watched as bile poured out of it and seeped into the manure-covered earth.
We did it, kid.
Is it gone?
It’s gone.
Are you sure? I mean certain?
Nothing is certain, but I don’t know what more you can do.
Bogart was right, I had nothing left to give. Maybe I should have stayed and spent the time necessary to destroy the creatures in the other chicken house, but I didn’t. Instead, I slowly walked outside and stared up at the merciless stars. The smoke had begun to obscure the sky, but the stars were unaffected.
I trudged toward the truck and halfway there Dante ran up to me. The poor thing looked terrified and seeing him still reminded me of Fieldy far more than Carrion-Six-Toes. I knelt down and when he licked my cracked face, that was the moment I remembered the explosion and the heat that had sent me flying. I wondered how hurt I really was.
I’ve almost got your arm repaired, kid, but your face. I was able to keep you from going into shock and I’m healing the internal damage at light speed, but most of this is third degree. The nerves have been too badly damaged to be fully repaired. Your skin is never going to heal.
That’s alright. I never was a looker anyway.
She looks like the real thing.
She tastes like the real thing.
My fake plastic love.
But I can’t help the feeling,
I could blow through the ceiling,
If I just turn and run.
And it wears me out.
It wears me out.
It wears me out.
It wears me out.
—Radiohead
20.
Monster
Shadow was sleeping. I put a gentle hand on her shoulder and she quickly sat up. When her eyes locked on my face I assumed she’d scream, but instead she said, “Daddy you are burnt. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I’ll be okay.”
“You look like a bad guy,” Shadow said. “Like that Nightmare on Elm Street guy you showed me on Halloween. Freddy.”
“I know.”
“And you stink, daddy.”
“I know.”
Somehow Shadow smiled. “Daddy, is this your dog?”
“No,” I said. “It’s yours.”
Shadow smiled and my heart nearly broke.
She spent the next few minutes nuzzling next to Dante, while I slowly drove us away from the horror. About twenty minutes later we pulled up behind Larry’s Service Station, a single pump gas station.
I turned to Shadow. “I’m going to call your mom and she’s going to come and get you. I have to go away for a while.”
Shadow nodded and then buried her face in her hands, sobbing.
I pulled out Creek’s cellphone, grateful that someone as paranoid as he was didn’t bother to lock his home-screen. I was able to recall the correct number on the third try and Dare answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” I said.
“Where are you?” she screamed. “Do you have Shadow? Is she . . . ?”
“She’s fine,” I said. “I saved her.”
“Bring her back,” Dare shouted. “You killed my . . . you’re a monster.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “Come and get Shadow at Larry’s gas station outside of town. Don’t bother to call the cops, I’ll be gone.”
“Okay,” Dare said.
“One more thing,” I said. “You’re wrong about me. I always thought that I wasn’t good enough for you, but I was wrong. You were lucky to have me.”
I hung up. That was the last time I ever spoke to my wife.
Shadow stared up at me with glazed eyes. “Daddy?”
“Mommy’s coming, baby. You will be okay.”
Shadow nodded and reached up, pulled my face down to hers, and whispered, “Are you coming home?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t. I don’t expect you to understand this and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I have to go away, Shadow . . . for a long time.”
“How long daddy?”
“Forever. I’m sorry.”
“To Heaven?” Shadow asked.
I nodded and then I held her while she cried. Her tears were warm on my cracked cheek.
When she had calmed down I said, “I have to go now. Go inside the gas station and wait for your mother. They are going to tell you lies about me, but you remember the truth.”
“That you love me?”
“That’s right, baby. The truth is I love you.”
***
Kid, why are you driving back to Nacogdoches? You know the cops are looking for you and now they are going to think you also killed your therapist and burned down her chicken farm.
I know, but who the Hell is going to recognize me now?
Valid point.
Besides, I just want to die where I was born. It feels like a resolution, of sorts. I need to at least end my chaotic life with some semblance of control.
So you know you are dying? That I can’t help you out much longer?
Yeah. I can feel it. You aren’t really part of me anymore, more like a passenger.
I wish I could say you were wrong . . .
Is this the way it’s really going down?
Is this how we say goodbye?
Should have known better when you came around.
That you were gonna make me cry.
It’s breaking my heart to watch you run around
‘Cause I know that you’re living a lie.
That’s okay, baby, ‘cause in time you will find:
What goes around, goes around, goes around
Comes all the way back around.
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