That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction

by A. M. Lalonde

  He wore filthy clothes and a scent of death so thick it could have been draped around him like a cloak. And his free hand held a rifle aimed at Becca’s heart.

  His teeth were visible when he grinned. “Sorry, girl,” he said. “I’m the only worthwhile thing in here. Till you arrived.”

  Mia moved to run, but the stranger shifted and his weapon now pointed at the girl’s head. “Don’t try it. Door’s locked again.” He eyed Becca. “Nice piece of lock-picking there. Took you long enough.”

  Becca ignored the compliment and hushed Mia. She blocked her siblings from the gun and tried to assess the threat. It took only seconds for her terror to choke her with the realization. The wild hair and moldy, stained clothes. And above all, those eyes: red-rimmed, greedy and inhuman.

  Except he was human. He was most frightening predator of all. A feral.

  But it makes no sense! Becca’s mind protested. A boarded-up, locked house, from which he never went out to capture his prey? This wasn’t normal feral behavior—if one could use the word ‘normal’ when talking about opportunistic cannibals.

  Creating order from this chaotic life was a fool’s game. Becca stalled. “We just want food, that’s all, mister.”

  “Call me Vic.” The man’s smile grew even more threatening. “And I’ll call you Becca.”

  Her mouth fell agape, but she quickly clamped it shut… too late to avoid his husky laughter. “Yeah, I got a security cam out there. Saw you kids rummaging around every night for over a week.”

  “A camera?” Jake scoffed. “Running on what? You don’t even have lights.”

  “Ever hear of a generator? Been off the grid since even before all hell broke loose. I been prepping for two decades now. ‘Course, power’s only for important stuff. Fridge. Heat. Radio. And my camera. I keep track of everything. You really thought you’d steal from me?”

  Becca kept silent, but wanted to ask if he was such a fantastic prepper, why leave a hole in his security perimeter? A single lock, even a Baldwin, was vulnerable.

  Then it dawned on her that this might have been on purpose. A trap. Something to lure people in. Specific people.

  She’d heard that ferals had some demented belief that eating human flesh would imbue them with the traits of their victims. For some, this meant going after the brightest, the most skilled. Becca wanted to scream. Years learning how to break in to just about any lock, and all it did was make her an ideal victim for a psycho cannibal.

  Vic’s gaze traveled down Becca’s body before he lifted the flame closer to her face. “You, girl. Take the hat off.”

  Uneasy, she complied. When her hair fell down to her shoulders, he seemed to reassess her. “You looked blonder on camera. Nice to see you up close, though. Bony but pretty. And older,” he added in a satisfied murmur. “You’re what… fifteen? Sixteen?”

  Becca’s stomach churned. She sensed where his deranged mind had headed. Hidden by the long, bulky sweatshirt sleeve, her right hand slid cautiously toward the knife in her belt. Nearby she heard Jake’s tense fidgeting. Her brother also knew what this man was after.

  When she didn’t answer, Vic went on. “The kids are puny but they’re healthy enough for a couple days’ meals. And you may be scrawny but should last for the rest of the week, maybe more if I spread it out. Actually, between the three of you, I could make some good trades with the Bond Street gang, or just keep you all for myself. My freezer’s getting low.”

  His emotionless calculations made her ill. To regain control, she blurted: “Why aren’t you in a gang? Your kind travels in groups.”

  “My kind? Awfully judgey there, girl. You’re no different.” He ignored her spluttered protest. “You don’t have a gang either, except these two. They’re dragging you down, and that’s my point. Packs turn against each other quick enough once food gets scarce. I hunt and trap alone. But I do miss some things about other humans. Been an awfully long time since I saw anyone like you.”

  He inhaled deeply and gave that smile again, as slimy as the melting grease of his candle. Becca felt underdressed even in her shapeless clothes.

  When he moved toward her, she whisked out her blade, fast enough to slash at the hand holding the rifle and then aim for his chest. Simultaneously, Jake rushed at the stranger. Her brother was almost comically small compared to Vic, but Jake’s preternatural speed was coupled with a rapid, strategic mind. He could do some damage.

  …Except Vic was just as fast. Swearing when the knife sliced at him, he managed to jerk backwards to avoid its second thrust, then slammed the rifle against Becca’s wrist. She cried out as the knife clattered to the floor. The pain of what was surely a break or fracture brought her to her knees, cradling her right hand against her chest. Meanwhile, as Jake rushed to attack, Vic aimed his heavy boot right at the boy’s stomach. Jake retched and crumpled only a few feet from Becca.

  Having defended against two of them, Vic obviously expected Mia to be next, and swung the gun around to her before the girl could take a step. Becca, eyes tearing, shouted “No! Please!”

  “You little bastards are past ‘please’ right now. Damn it, look what you did!” Vic dropped the tin candle-holder down on a nearby table and, after moving the gun underneath his armpit, rubbed his sleeve against his slashed hand. His weapon was still leveled at Mia’s terror-stricken face.

  Becca saw the growing dark stain on Vic’s sleeve and darted a look at Jake, afraid that the sight of blood would unnerve him. Mia was as vulnerable, maybe more, but despite her temper, she could control herself better than their brother.

  Vic cursed furiously as he tore material from his ragged shirt and wrapped it around the wound. “Gimme one good reason I shouldn’t put a bullet in these little meatbags’ heads.”

  The tiny flame illuminated his face irregularly. To Becca, he seemed all angles and shadows: a skull with madness in its eyes.

  “Let them go,” she said in a monotone. “I’ll stay with you.”

  “Oh, you’ll stay whether I kill the brats or not.”

  “I mean I won’t… fight.”

  “Becca, stop,” Jake moaned, still doubled-over and hugging his stomach in obvious agony. Even in pain, he looked straight at Vic, his rifle, and the wounded hand.

  Becca watched Vic’s measuring stare shift from one sibling to the other. She knew they’d have no chance if he chose to feast on all of them, given his strength. He’d obviously been eating well.

  How? How is he bringing victims in here without us seeing him? It was simply impossible. Becca had been lurking around this property night after night for ten days, and never saw anyone budge from it. And during the daytime, bringing victims here would’ve been reckless. Anyone could have noticed. Even Lucas said he was watching during the day, and he would’ve seen…

  Lucas.

  Becca felt her stomach turn to heavy, cold lead. He had watched them. Not for himself, not for old-time’s sake. But for this. He was this feral’s scout. He’d made a half-hearted effort to pretend he wanted her to leave, but he’d changed his mind and fled pretty damn quick. All an act.

  There’s no one left. After ten years, Becca finally, truly comprehended this grim fact. There was no one she could trust.

  As Vic commanded Jake and Mia to tell him their ages and weights, like a customer in a butcher’s shop, Becca swept her left hand around the floor in desperate search for the knife. If only she’d seen where it fell….wait, was that it—?

  “All right. You and me are gonna talk,” Vic said, breaking Becca’s concentration. He grabbed Becca’s sweatshirt, jerking her up toward him. “Down the hall, into the kitchen. And don’t you brats get any ideas,” he added, swinging the rifle from Mia to Jake. “Like I said, that door’s locked good. Won’t get out that way.”

  Becca was half-pulled, half-dragged until she was in front of Vic, who then shoved her into the void of the corridor. Her wrist throbbed with every heartbeat but the pain took a backseat to her desperate search for a plan.

 
Vic muttered almost conversationally, “Hell if I know how you got past that lock in the first place. Crazy but smart. You’ll be a prize for sure. Might not trade you, at least not permanent. Could lend you out…”

  Becca forced herself not to listen.

  While he reached past her with a key to unlock another door, Becca suddenly wondered why he needed so many locks inside his own home. Then the sickening answer came to her: He must keep his prey alive…trapped… as long as possible.

  “Go,” he commanded, opening the door.

  Inside, the first thing she saw was another, stronger candle on an old Formica table. The small, dancing light revealed a medium-sized kitchen.

  A kitchen with cabinets absolutely packed with supplies.

  Becca gaped at the cans lining every shelf. The mere sight of so much soup, tuna fish, fruit cocktail and more actually made her mouth water. She’d never seen so many canned goods, not since Before, when there were supermarkets. And his refrigerator hummed—a sound she hadn’t heard in half a decade.

  Look at all this! No wonder he’s so huge. We could eat for weeks, maybe longer.

  Then the truth slapped her in the face. Someone this skilled at hoarding and foraging… he hadn’t been forced to turn feral. He chose this life.

  Proof was visible everywhere, once her attention shifted from the food. The counters revealed tools, an ancient radio, and knives encrusted with blood. The floor was dark with ominous stains, too; even the brass ring pull for what must be an old root cellar was caked in dried blood.

  Becca’s insides shriveled as hunger turned to nausea again. This is what happens when you give in, she thought. When she averted her gaze, ill, she pictured Jake and Mia and nearly wept. But she’d stopped crying long ago. Control. Control was everything. These gruesome sights were the revolting consequence of lost control.

  Vic pushed her against the round kitchen table, and her uninjured left hand clutched the back of a rickety chair for support. The door swung closed behind them. It didn’t slam as loudly as the front door. It might not be self-locking, she thought with some flicker of hope. Still, Becca knew she was trapped.

  “Okay,” he said from behind her. “Turn around and face me, girl. Show me you’re worth keeping alive for at least a little while.”

  Becca stared numbly ahead at the sole boarded-up window. A miniscule crack let in a sliver of what was now bright, pale moonlight. The groaning sounds in the distance were more insistent as newer predators joined the hunt.

  “Vic,” she said, hating the idea of pleading to this man. She would beg for her siblings, not herself. “Don’t do this. I could be useful to you.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. That’s what I wanna find out.”

  “No, I mean… You know I’m good at picking locks. And maybe you don’t want to team up, but I’m sure there are lots of places you couldn’t get in because they’re locked. I could help. I would help. But only if you let the kids go.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Those two insincere words were all Becca needed to confirm her worst fear. He wouldn’t really consider any bargain. He was a lying monster, someone who’d chosen this abomination of a life out of weakness—or maybe just sadism that probably started long ago, long Before.

  “Face me,” he ordered again, and grabbed her elbow to turn her around.

  This is it. Now.

  Adding the momentum of Vic’s strength to her own spin, Becca swung the chair she’d gripped so firmly into him, nearly breaking both the chair and Vic’s arm. The rifle clattered to the floor. Vic cried out, twisting against the counter.

  Again she smashed the chair at him and triumphantly watched his knees buckle further. She scrambled to find the rifle before he could take hold of it again. Unsuccessful, she pulled out her knife, the precious knife she’d found just before Vic had dragged her into the corridor, and slashed out at his stubble-covered face.

  Another stream of cursing erupted from the bleeding man. Before she could strike again, he captured her injured wrist and brutally squeezed it—Becca nearly blacked out from the pain—while attempting to pry the knife from her left hand. She held on as tightly as she could, but Vic made things harder by releasing her wrist only to grab onto her throat. The already paltry light in the room grew dim as she flailed at him with the knife, dizzy from lack of air.

  “Jake!” she blurted out, hoping the kitchen door hadn’t locked. Her heart pounded in her ears so loudly she couldn’t hear herself. Maybe she wasn’t making a sound, maybe this was a nightmare.

  Almost unconscious, Becca saw bursts of light before her eyes, heard noises that seemed miles away. A long yell, a howl of rage—was that Vic? Then she knew she was hallucinating: the floor itself rose up and disgorged a hellish beast. She was dying and this was her punishment, some new monster in addition to the one killing her.

  Then, from somewhere, she heard her name.

  Jake. It’s Jake.

  Her brother’s voice gave her energy. Gritting her teeth, she rammed her knee into Vic’s groin with every remaining ounce of strength. Now there was another loud roar of pain and he released her throat, which sent her collapsing to the floor. But oh God, she could breathe, suck in oxygen and live, at least for a few more minutes. She gasped a few times, recovering her senses enough to search for her knife—all the while knowing Vic, having fallen to the floor as well, was hunting for his rifle.

  No. Not again. She stumbled to her feet and jabbed her boot-clad foot onto his neck, then yanked him up by his hair to slip her blade against his throat. “Stop moving, you son of a bitch,” she hissed. “It’s over!”

  But Vic kept growling and snarling… it was inhuman. Literally. Had the lack of oxygen damaged her brain? She swung around to look for Jake, whose voice she knew she’d heard earlier. She spotted him with Mia in the doorway, staring frozenly ahead.

  Confused, but maintaining her hold on Vic, she followed the direction of their gazes. And… What was she seeing?

  The earlier hallucination—the massive beast from the floor—was real. In the darkness she could only identify black fur and the glint of teeth, not a shape at all. And it was roaring, its slavering mouth open and hungry, rushing right for her. She released Vic’s hair and leapt backward, arms outstretched to block her brother and sister. And so the first living thing encountered by this unspeakably huge… dog? Wolf? Bear?... was Vic.

  Even his massive frame couldn’t defend him from the creature’s relentless onslaught. Claws slashed, fangs gnawed, and no human, not even a feral, could withstand such unearthly power.

  Blood was everywhere. Jake had a firm hand on Mia’s shoulder, which was probably the only thing that prevented the girl from running.

  “Don’t let the werewolf eat him,” Mia whispered, clutching Becca’s arm with tight little fingers, strong despite her size. “Please!”

  Werewolf? Becca took another cleansing breath and swept a hand over her bleary eyes to see more clearly. Was Mia right? She’d heard of their existence, yet another mutation created by the perfect storm of calamities ten years ago. They were rare, unlike shifters who could change shape at any time. But neither shifters nor regular dogs or wolves were this large, this vicious.

  As to Mia’s insistent plea, Becca shook her head. The signs of Vic’s doom were splashed in grisly red viscera, and Becca could do nothing about it. Remorseless, she didn’t want to. Except that she could hear Jake’s groan, and Mia’s words whispered over and over that were too quick and hushed to discern. Short of forcing them bodily away, she didn’t know how she could keep them from this horror.

  The object still clutched in her hand caught her attention. Her knife. Of course. Such beings were why her parents had given her this silver weapon in the first place.

  She’d never expected to spill so much blood as she had tonight.

  Most of all, she’d done her damnedest to prevent Jake and Mia from seeing something like this. They would lose control. It was inevitable.

  “Out,” she said
with a force that surprised her, necessary to be heard above the din. “Hurry!”

  Her siblings seemed glued to the floor. “Go!” She shoved Mia, then Jake, out of the kitchen back into the blackness of the hallway. “Now stay here, no matter what! If anything happens, pull the boards off the windows and leave that way.”

  Mia’s wide eyes accused her. “But we saw! We saw all that food! You’re not gonna keep it from us, are you?”

  Becca ignored her single-minded sister and backed away, far more careful than Vic had been to slam the door shut behind her. Knife clenched in white-knuckled fingers, she advanced on the two deadly beings locked in battle. Interfering would be utter madness. But Becca knew she was mad. How could she have remained sane? How else could one live as she had been, keeping her family fed despite all odds, all the temptations to make things easy on herself?

  She moved still closer. The wolf-like creature had leapt atop of Vic’s fallen body, the man still trying to protect his throat from being torn apart. Vic’s arms and legs were already clawed raw and bleeding. Becca almost admired him for continuing to fight.

  But he couldn’t win, and she knew the werewolf had to die. The supplies in this kitchen… she desperately needed the food, and fast, which meant staying in the kitchen. And if she allowed the animal to kill Vic—regardless of her siblings’ wishes—once it finished him off, it would hunt for new flesh: hers.

  Besides, it was well known that werewolves must die. Rumors said they were unpredictable even in human form, and just as dangerous as the creatures they were forced to change into each night at moonrise. Unlike shifters, werewolves did not retain their human minds. They could not control the time and place of their turning. They did the night’s bidding.

  Control, she thought shakily. Again and again. The most powerful thing in life.