“Dad, what’s wrong?” Ashlee asked from the porch.
“Stay back, Ashlee,” Karl said. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”
Off to his left someone sobbed. Swinging his light toward the living room, he noticed a woman sprawled across the doorway, her face the color of milk gone bad. She wasn’t moving. He stepped over her and saw more Traders. Or what remained of them. Paul Ellsworth, the owner of the Downhill Diner, sat slumped against an end table, arms dangling limp at his sides.
Karl knelt beside him. The man’s face was sweaty and strained. “What happened?”
“My shoulders.” Paul winced. “I traded them. Now they’re gone.”
“Did you drink creek water?”
“We all did.”
“Where’d you get the water?”
“They…they…”
“Officer Hudson!” a voice called.
Karl spun toward the sound of his name. He saw nobody at the far end of the room and feared he’d stumbled into a trap. Then Berke Toyama bounced to her feet, shaking like she’d been struck by a live wire. Gina Narducci also rose, red-eyed and trembling.
“Berke! Gina! You okay?” Karl asked.
“Berke!” Ashlee came running in. “Berke, what happened here?”
“I-I don’t know,” Berke answered, hands jittering. “G-Gina and I didn’t drink the creek water. Everyone else did. They started yelling and screaming. Some went crazy, started killing each other.”
“Good God,” Karl said. “What happened?”
“We were told to drink that water,” Narducci said.
“Who told you?” Ashlee asked.
“Mick, Candace, and Trent.”
“Trent?” Karl’s thoughts spun like a car on ice. He hated to think his son was involved. “He did this?”
“N-no,” Berke said, steadying herself against the wall. “Trent brought the water, but he gave me a look when he poured mine. It was like he didn’t want me to drink it. I told Gina, and we only pretended to drink.”
“Everyone else did, though,” Narducci said, anxiously scratching her neck. “They lost their parts ten or fifteen minutes after drinking that shit.”
Karl glanced around the room. Very few folks were still alive. To think that minutes ago he’d expected to marshal a small army. Now he wondered how many able-bodied folks he could muster. “Where’s Trent?”
“He and the Lapinskis went to the creek. Mick said they’d bring back more water. He promised that drinking the water would protect us.”
“What about Jake?” Ashlee said, her voice rising. “He didn’t drink, did he?”
Berke shrugged. “I didn’t see Jake here.”
“Fuck,” Ashlee said, slumping against a window. “At sundown he was at the creek with Trent. If he never came here, then…”
Karl’s legs turned to linguine. He reached for a nearby barstool to keep from falling. The thought of little Jake dying sucked his spirit out of him. What was even worse was that Karl should’ve been guarding the creek at sundown. He should’ve been protecting his son and grandson. If he hadn’t been so stupid about trading his skin, they could be safe right now.
“This is just a guess,” Narducci said, squeezing his forearm, “but I think your grandson’s alive.”
Karl swallowed a lump. “You think?”
“Trent seemed preoccupied while he was here.” Narducci dabbed her eyes. “Any parent would be falling to pieces if they knew their child had died. Hell, the only reason I’m still standing is because I haven’t gone home yet. I haven’t seen my two boys. I want to believe they’re okay, but honestly I’m afraid to look. I’m afraid they’ll…they’ll…” She wailed before collapsing into his arms.
“Gina, Gina, slow down,” he said, clutching her. “Listen, we’re gonna bring everyone back. Your boys’ll be fine.”
“Right. So will Jake,” Ashlee said, raising her voice above all the sobbing. “Let’s gather everyone available—anyone who can walk. Soon as we’re set, we’ll march into the woods, build a dam, and dry up that fucking creek.”
73
They loaded three vehicles with shovels, backpacks, flashlights, LED lanterns, and a large folding table. The table would serve as their dam once they dug a spillway. Much as Karl was looking forward to the final stages of their plan, the thought of shoveling frozen earth left him aching in the worst places. Heck, he ached at the thought of standing upright, yet here he was, on his feet and ready to move. Wouldn’t have it any other way.
With the Subaru loaded up, he whistled everyone over. Out of all the Traders, only Ashlee, Berke, Narducci, and Father McKagan approached at full strength. Most lay dead or dying inside Candace’s house, but three people toughed out the loss of their parts and joined the group. Elaine Richards, a waitress from the Downhill Diner, had lost her inner ears; her boss Paul Ellsworth and dentist Mike Mustaine had lost their shoulders and elbows, respectively. The two men wouldn’t be able to help shovel, but at least they could wear lanterns on their belts and play lookout.
“From here on,” Karl said, meeting everyone’s eyes, “we stick close to one another. Nobody runs off. Remember, we outnumber Mick and Candace.” He didn’t include Trent. He wanted to believe Trent was on their side. “Keep your heads on straight and look out for the person next to you.”
Ashlee clapped her hands. “Damn right. Now let’s move.”
Karl led the three-car motorcade into the banquet hall lot. It felt like a funeral procession, everyone following in a straight line without any traffic to interfere. He parked and eyed the steep, snow-packed hill rising into the woods. His cut-up knee still bugged him, and he wished someone would build him an escalator.
He got out and massaged the knee. He lifted his pant leg and checked the towel knotted over it. Wincing, he tightened the knot. When he looked up, Berke was staring at him funny.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Hurt myself in an accident.”
Berke pointed to his leg. “Mick kept grabbing that same knee back at the house.”
Ashlee came over clutching a shovel. “What’s your point?”
“It was so weird,” Berke said, fidgeting in place. “Mick was talking to us, then he grabbed his knee in that exact spot. Like he was in pain. But when he lifted his pant leg, everything looked fine. Right, Gina?”
“It was odd, yes.” Narducci gave a noncommittal smile. “But what’re you getting at?”
“Maybe it’s connected to Snare.” Berke twiddled with her hoodie strings. “Think about it. Mick really isn’t Mick anymore, is he? Not if he has Snare’s brain.”
“Mick said he could read Snare’s thoughts,” Narducci said. “He didn’t claim to actually be Snare.”
“But what if Snare’s in total control of Mick?” Berke said, furrowing her brow. “In that case Snare would claim to be him.”
Father McKagan grunted. “Sounds like a demon’s trickery to me.”
Berke nodded. “Yep, exactly. And I bet Trent knew—that’s why he warned me. Remember when he disappeared to talk with Mick and Candace before everybody drank? I bet Trent knew the truth about that water—or at least knew that Snare was controlling Mick’s every move.”
Karl glanced at the others, trying to gauge whether they bought the idea of Snare operating Mick like a piece of machinery. He himself had to admit it made some sense, considering how a man’s brain controlled his body. And though he was no doctor, he knew the brain was what registered knee pain.
“You might be right,” he said, rubbing his mustache. “But the knee thing could be a coincidence. He could’ve hurt his knee somehow, like I hurt mine.”
“Hang on,” Ashlee said, her eyes cloudy and distant. “Earlier, right after I traded my ribs, I slapped them to test them out. Mick was there, and he reacted like he’d been hit in the same spot. It was weird.”
Berke jumped. “That’s what I’m saying! Your dad traded his knees. Then he hurts one and Mick clutches his own knee. There’s a connection—I bet Snare’s
brain can feel pain in her other parts.”
The group went quiet.
“Maybe you’re onto something,” Karl said. He shuddered when he realized the next logical step. If their bodies held Snare’s weak points, then they had a way to fight back. Though not the most desirable way. “If Mick comes after us, we can hurt our traded parts to stop him.”
“Great,” Narducci muttered. “Always wanted to be a walking voodoo doll.”
“I don’t want to hurt myself,” Berke said, shuddering.
“It’s only a last resort,” Karl said.
“I have a better idea,” Ashlee said, making a fist with her left hand. “If we run into Mick, let’s put a bullet in his brain. In Snare’s brain.”
74
Fog engulfed the woods, floating and twisting like dry ice before a concert. It crept over Ash’s face, inside her nostrils, and through her jeans. It tickled along her skin, burrowing into her pores until she wanted to escape her own terrified flesh. But with haze hanging in every direction, she had nowhere to run.
None of them did.
The group’s collective fear squeezed them into a nervous cluster of bumping elbows and shaky footwork. Shovels clinked, jackets rustled. Lantern light stretched outward, then darkened. The random movements and noises put everyone on edge. Before long they flinched at the slightest noise, whether it was hissing rodents, crunching twigs, or their own footsteps.
After topping the second hill, a nervous confidence overtook the group. They upped their pace, building momentum. But when snow dumped down from overhanging branches, somebody jumped and sent everyone else into hysterics. Some dove for the ground. Others scrambled behind the nearest tree trunk. They knew it was only snow, but it could’ve been a massive linebacker or his trigger-happy mother.
When they were certain they were safe, they banded together again, bumping and stumbling and panicking until the trail ended at a familiar thicket wall.
“We’re here.” Ash set down the folding table and readied her pistol. Dad grabbed his, and everyone else clutched shovels or lanterns. “Let’s do this. If you see Mick or Candace, punish them. Once we clear the area, we’ll come back for the table and our other gear.”
Ash stuck her gun forward. They entered the thicket.
Branches scratched her face and snagged her dreads. She didn’t remember these pines being so dense. Her thigh pushed against a sturdy branch and snapped it. The sound stirred her fear. She hesitated. Something poked her from behind—a shovel—and she rushed ahead, heart bouncing within her new ribcage.
Finally she broke into the clearing. Even with the others close behind, she felt alone. Exposed. She swung her gun in a wide arc, waiting for a reason to squeeze the trigger.
None came.
There was nobody there. As lanterns illuminated the clearing, she realized the place was empty. She didn’t like how calm things were. The creek seemed awfully subdued, considering that Snare had just killed countless people. As Ash pocketed her gun, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d swallowed a nasty cocktail of false relief and dread.
The others stepped timidly into the clearing.
“Jaaake! Trennnt!” Dad bellowed, waving a flashlight. “Yell out if you can hear me!”
Ash shined her light over the creek. The surface shimmered. She saw her reflection. It looked tense and scared.
“Everybody, close your eyes,” she said. Moments later Ash saw the lie. The shade of herself. “Let’s talk.”
No mist rose to her mouth.
“I know you’re listening. I want Jake. Trent, too. And everyone you killed at sunset.”
No answer.
“Not gonna talk? Big mistake.” She turned to the others. “Let’s build that dam.”
75
Shovels hit snow. It scooped easily, but the dirt beneath was a different story. Breaking up the cold, hard earth required many strikes from their spades. Even after they broke through, the soil didn’t cooperate. They had to scoop small chunks instead of large mounds. Ash, who started the job believing nothing could stop her, soon found herself kneeling to catch her breath. Her arms and back muscles throbbed, and even though she’d barely begun, it felt like she’d done a week’s work of digging.
They started the spillway fifteen feet out from the creek, where the terrain dipped enough to send water downhill. According to Dad, that would drain pressure from the creek and allow them to slide the table securely into place.
If they made it that far.
As badly as she wanted this done, her body argued otherwise. By the time they were halfway finished, Ash was exhausted, her mouth dry, her muscles overstrung. She wasn’t used to this kind of labor. Normally her physical duties didn’t extended beyond lifting guitar amps.
Next to her, Dad and Father McKagan started wiping their brows between scoops. Narducci and Elaine stopped altogether. Only Berke kept a steady pace, flinging cold dirt without pause.
The fog thickened.
Ash cracked her knuckles and resumed digging. She gritted her teeth and thought about Jake. Though she’d barely known him two days, she admired the kid. He reminded her of herself—big goals, parental frustrations, and a never-say-die attitude. A kid like that was worth shoveling for.
Sadly, her newfound fire didn’t spread to the others. Their movements became more mechanical, their breaths heavier. Even Berke started to pant.
Ash heaved a shovelful. “Berke.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you here?”
“Um, isn’t it obvious?”
“Say it. Remind us why you’re digging.”
“Because…Snare killed everybody and almost killed me.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “I want to bring everybody back. My parents… I don’t want to believe they’re dead. If we kill Snare, maybe everything’ll go back to normal. I hope.”
“Don’t hope,” Ash said. “Make it happen.”
“Right.” Berke jammed her spade down. “I will.”
“Dad, what about you?” Ash asked.
He wiped his brow. “Gotta get my son and grandson back. Same with the whole town. I was supposed to protect everyone.”
“Then act like it.” Ash threw another scoop behind her. “The rest of you, why are you here?”
They voiced their reasons. One by one, they yelled out, rallying each other. Shovels struck dirt and dirt disappeared.
“You catch all that, Snare?” Ash asked, tossing another shovelful. “Everything you stole from us, we’re taking back.”
Reinvigorated, they carved out a passable spillway. The trench now reached from the creek’s edge to the downward slope. The only thing remaining was the dirt bank separating the creek from the trench. Once they broke through it, water would fork in two directions.
“Dad, is the spillway deep enough?”
“Let’s pretend it is,” Father McKagan said, rubbing his shoulder.
“It’ll work,” Dad said. “Once we insert the table, it’ll redirect the flow.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s bust that dirt bank. Who wants to do the honors?”
Before anyone could answer, a scream burst from deep within the woods.
A cry for help.
A kid’s cry for help.
They dropped their shovels and ran.
76
Ash chased the screams.
Pushing through the thicket, she lifted a forearm to shield her eyes from the pine needles. Branches hooked her dreads, yanking them like a bad hairbrush. Her neck bent sideways before she charged in the opposite direction, snapping wood and sending snow spilling down her collar.
Someone slammed into her from behind. She stumbled in the snow. Above her a voice apologized. Berke. The younger girl was helping Ash to her feet when fresh screams pierced the air.
These screams weren’t Jake’s. They came from behind. Must be another Trader. Ash couldn’t help but picture the guy with missing shoulders stuck in the thicket, one of his limp arms caught on a branch while Mick
charged after him.
There was one way to save the guy. Ash grabbed her knife.
“What’re you doing?” Berke said.
“Testing our voodoo doll theory.”
Again the man screamed.
Ash couldn’t believe she was about to drive a blade through her palm. Trembling, she lifted the knife. Touched the tip to her flesh. Then hesitated. Even if this act of self-mutilation harmed Mick, it would leave her bleeding in agony. That won’t boost my chances of finding Jake. At this point she still needed her hand—not to play guitar, but to grip her gun and navigate these woods.
The next scream abruptly cut short.
Feeling guilty, Ash pocketed her knife, telling herself she did what was necessary. Her conscience wasn’t convinced.
Now Jake’s unmistakable shriek pierced the air to her left. Alarmed, amped by adrenaline, Ash spun in that direction and whacked her knee against a rigid lower branch. Helplessly, she dropped into the snow, Berke tumbling over her. Behind them, another scream ripped through the thicket, a woman’s scream.
Again Ash considered stabbing her hand.
Again she hesitated.
Again the scream fell silent.
Jake’s cries persisted.
Keep moving, she told herself. She struggled to her feet and charged ahead, shoving branches away till she reached open air. At some point she’d lost Berke. Now Ash stood alone in unfamiliar territory, shining her phone light across the scattered pines. Through the fog, she spotted someone running from right to left.
Someone with shaggy hair.
Trent.
The sight of him running without a cane baffled her. What bothered her even more was how he appeared right after people started getting attacked.
She hurried after him, reaching into her pocket for her pistol. She didn’t draw it, but rather brushed its rubber grip for reassurance.
Bad Parts Page 26