Melt

by Christopher Motz

  "Tried and almost succeeded until Pat found me in the tub. That's my stepfather. Pat Melnick. As soon as he married my mother, he wanted to have my name legally changed. I was ten. I told him to go fuck himself. I don't think we really bonded after that."

  "Why'd you try... that?" Brandon said.

  "Boredom? A cry for help? I don't even remember anymore. My mother was getting deeper and deeper into alcohol addiction, and she had been the only person who actually listened to me. Pat didn't give a shit. I wasn't his daughter. He ignored me most of the time, which honestly, was fine by me. I never understood what my Mom saw in him. He wasn't handsome, he didn't have money. I assumed he must have had a cock like a Clydesdale to get my Mom in the sack."

  Greg groaned and checked the speedometer before turning right onto Allen Street.

  "When my Mom wrecked her car on the way home from the bar, I thought in the back of my mind, it would be enough to wise her the hell up. Instead, she died before we got to the hospital. So that was that. I was thirteen, stuck with Pat, and tired of being forgotten. So, I did this." Eve held her hands up again, exposing the scars. "I didn't expect him to barge into the bathroom and find me."

  "Then he saved your life," Brandon said. "Why do you hate him so much?"

  She shrugged nonchalantly and continued. "He made me see a therapist for a while, which I absolutely detested. There was nothing wrong with me that I couldn't figure out for myself."

  "Are you sure about that?" Greg said.

  Eve rolled her eyes. "As sure as I needed to be. Soon after, I got my first period..."

  "Lord," Brandon groaned. "Do we need to know every detail?"

  "I'm only talking," she said. "Come on. We're on the road trying to outrun the apocalypse. Are you really going to let a little period blood get in the way?"

  "I'm just saying... there is such a thing as too much information."

  "Too much information isn't the problem. Having too little information is why we're here, running from something that existed right under our noses. Can I go on now?"

  "You're going to anyway," Brandon said.

  "Yep! So, I got my rag that summer..." She paused long enough to let Brandon grumble under his breath. "And all of a sudden, I enjoyed life again. I mean, not my period, that sucks, but seeing the look on Pat's face when I explained I needed pads the next time he went to the store. It was like someone shot him. I loved that stupid look on his face. It was worth the cramps."

  "I fucking hate this story," Greg interrupted. "Hate it."

  Brandon snorted behind his hand.

  "When I was sixteen," Eve continued, "he started drinking, too. Didn't learn a damn thing from my Mom's death, just followed her down the same road. Except when he got drunk, he got horny."

  "Okay, for fuck's sake," Greg shouted. "I should have left you in the fucking trunk." When he looked in the rearview mirror, he saw that Eve was crying. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry."

  "I'm not crying about you," Eve said. "Teenage boys are so self-centered. Me, me, me."

  Greg squinted ahead to figure out where they were, nodded, and turned left.

  "Go ahead," Brandon said, even though he really didn't want to hear what came next.

  "He never tried to fuck me, if that's what you're thinking," she said, "but I saw how he looked at me. Like if I would let him, he'd take me up on the offer. He offered me beer to loosen me up, told dirty jokes, all with one thing in mind. Sometimes, he'd walk past me and brush up against my chest. He was as subtle as AIDS. Nothing ever came out of it, but by the time I graduated high school, I was prepared to kill the son of a bitch if he ever laid a hand on me. I guess I'm off the hook. Aliens took care of it for me."

  The silence stretched on for minutes until Brandon spoke.

  "I didn't mean to be an ass," he said. "I'm not used to someone talking so... openly."

  "And I haven't told most of that to anyone before tonight," Eve said. "I hope I got it right. So, are we friends now?"

  "Do we have a choice?" Greg said.

  "I can't believe this is happening. It's so... cray cray," Eve said.

  "Okay, we might be friends," Greg said, "but if you ever say 'cray cray' again, I'm going to kill you. Seriously, I won't even warn you, I'll just kill you."

  Eve laughed. It was a pleasant sound. It made them laugh with her, and it felt so good to laugh they didn't want to stop. There was no way any of them could have seen their paths crossing like this, but Greg and Brandon were glad they did.

  Greg slowed to a near stop, rolled down the window, and looked out. "I have to stop for a minute. I'm not sure where the hell we are."

  He put the car in park before stepping out. He knew where they were supposed to be but he must have taken a wrong turn. He recognized the area, but must have gotten turned around. He'd lived in Ditchburn his entire life; there wasn't an inch of town he hadn't seen before, but in the pitch blackness, everything looked different.

  "Thorpe's Woods are literally a block away," Brandon said. "What's there to know?"

  "There's a road through them," Greg replied. "It's easily the quickest way out of here."

  "You're still planning on driving the entire way?"

  "Your leg looks like an overstuffed sausage skin. You're not going to get anywhere on that thing and you know it."

  "Do I have anything to say about this?" Eve said.

  "NO," they said in unison.

  Greg peered into the dark, waiting for his vision to focus enough to see the quickest way out. When he heard the loud crump, followed by the sound of breaking glass, he squeaked like a trapped mouse and covered his mouth with his hand.

  "What the hell was that?" Eve asked from inside the car. She started opening the door when Greg put his hand against it and pushed it closed.

  "Stay inside," he demanded.

  He heard a tree snap somewhere behind them and fall to the ground. The electric lines running overhead danced and twirled from the impact, but he couldn't see more than a hundred feet into the gloom. When he heard the wet, burping squelch, he knew they'd been followed. Even as careful as he had tried to be, it wasn't enough.

  He jumped back in the car and instinctively hit the button for the door locks. He saw it moving in his rearview mirror. The big one. The mother blob... whatever it was. It crept up the street behind them with the subtlety of a blind elephant, crushing cars and knocking over telephone poles. It wasn't as big as it had been before, but the top of its pulsating form was still even with the roofs of the surrounding houses. It slid to one side of the street and crushed porches like kindling... it was still searching for survivors.

  They heard the frenzied cries of people hiding in one of the darkened houses as the giant blob knocked the building off its foundation and scooped them out of the cellar like morsels at the bottom of a soup bowl. In seconds, the screams stopped and the giant continued toward them.

  "What are you waiting for?" Brandon shouted. "Go!"

  Eve plastered her face to the rear window, mouth agape, fingers plucking nervously at her shirt.

  Greg put the car in drive and jammed his foot on the accelerator as the tires squealed on the macadam.

  "My God, look at that thing," Eve cried.

  "Fuck looking," Brandon screamed. "Greg, get us out of here."

  The monster stopped as if contemplating what to do next before roaring like an angry lion. It crushed houses flat as it pursued, leaving a path of destruction like a tornado. Greg turned the corner and felt the car digging at the road, trying to find purchase. They jumped the curb and took out a row of mailboxes before regaining control.

  At the top of the street, they turned again, onto the road that bordered the edge of Thorpe's Woods. It was a straightaway, allowing Greg to gain some speed and put some distance between it and them. Finally, he knew exactly where they were, but he knew the road led to a dead end. They would have no choice but to leave the car behind and make the rest of the trip on foot.

  Eve had been mewling like a newborn kitte
n for two blocks, only stopping long enough to laugh uncontrollably.

  "Don't go crazy on me now," Greg warned. "As soon as we stop, be prepared to run."

  "How... do we run... from that?" Eve said.

  Brandon thought the same thing, especially with his ankle aching like a broken tooth, but he wasn't about to say anything. He knew that now, more than ever before, he'd have to rely on Greg.

  Brandon's eyes had been pinched shut for over a block, but when he opened them, it was too late to shout a warning.

  A line of people stood in the road from one side to the other, holding hands and watching the car approach without showing any emotion. Greg ran through them like he was knocking down pins at a bowling alley. They hit the front of the car like crash test dummies full of jelly, exploding and breaking apart, showering the car in thick gobs of alien flesh.

  Now, everyone was screaming.

  Greg lost control of the car, slid sideways, and left the road at fifty miles an hour. Rocks tore at the undercarriage, tree limbs scraped at the doors and roof, the grill came apart as easily as a cheap child's toy. Momentum carried them thirty yards up the hill until they hit the trunk of a thick pine tree.

  The airbags deployed.

  The sound of hissing steam followed Greg into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 11

  Greg was being shaken awake. The pain in his head was excruciating and his nose was full of blood. It took several seconds to remember where he was, but once he did, he moved like a man being chased by a hangman's posse. He flung the door open and fell out onto a soft layer of fragrant leaves. A jagged rock dug painfully into his ribs.

  "Is everyone okay?" he asked.

  "Get up!" Eve shouted. "They're coming."

  Greg looked behind him and saw the replicas stumbling through the brush. Some of them were little more than twisted torsos perched atop crooked legs. They weren't speaking their crude form of English; their faces were still in the process of reconstituting themselves after being destroyed by the impact. One slithered along the ground like a serpent, dragging itself forward by its only arm, coating itself in pine needles until it looked like the world's largest porcupine.

  Eve helped him to his feet. Brandon was in no shape to offer assistance. He hopped away from the wreck, uttering 'ow, ow, ow' with each successive movement. They were tired, they were hurt, they were scared, but the one thing they had on their side was the slowness the replicas had acquired once they took human form. Greg had seen the beginning of the outbreak; he knew how fast those blobs were, how viciously capable of climbing up your leg and melting your flesh they were. Without having gained complete control over their new form, they were slow and uncoordinated.

  It was the only chance they had of escaping.

  For the first time since the incident at the church, Brandon was in the lead, hobbling as quickly as possible through the tangled brush at the base of the mountain. Greg spat bloody mucus and touched his nose with his fingertips.

  "It's broken," he said. "I broke my damn nose."

  "You don't run with your nose, genius," Brandon yelled over his shoulder.

  "Are you okay?" Eve asked.

  "I'll be fine. Help Brandon."

  Without hesitation, she ran ahead and put Brandon's arm around her shoulders, taking some of the strain from his leg. Bright lights came on behind them and illuminated the forest; it took Greg a second to figure out what was going on. He stopped and turned and couldn't stop himself from laughing.

  Replicas packed the wrecked car like circus clowns. The engine turned over sluggishly but wouldn't start, not like it would have mattered. It was wrapped around the tree like taffy, and even if it had started, there wasn't a clear path forward. P-21's development hadn't yet given them the knowledge of their surroundings, physics, the impossibility of driving a sedan up a twenty-degree incline covered in rocks, mud, and wet leaves. They may be learning, but they were far from human.

  "You stupid bastards," Greg shouted, his voice sounded thick and muffled from his broken nose. "A billion miles from home and can't get the car started. How dumb do you feel now, huh?"

  "Are you done fucking with them yet?" Eve asked. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to get a head start before they figure it out."

  Two more replicas jammed themselves into the car and closed the doors behind them. They looked so ridiculous packed in like sardines that Greg couldn't get himself under control. The engine kept cranking over and over, the horn sounded, the windshield wipers came on and squeaked against dry glass. They figured out the lights, the blinkers, the power windows, but still couldn't understand the mechanics of making the car do something it wasn't capable of doing.

  The wet, dripping monster behind the wheel got out, circled the car, and kicked the tires before getting in and trying to start the car again. By this time, Greg could barely stand from laughing so hard. If this was playing out on a television screen, it would have been a ratings powerhouse. YouTube's servers would have crashed. When he heard Bob Saget narrating it in his head, like that old video show, he was afraid of passing out from lack of breath.

  "You stupid fucks!" Greg wailed. "Alien intelligence, my ass!"

  "Would you please leave them alone and move?" Brandon shouted. Greg didn't realize how far ahead they've gotten while he watched the routine play out like some old slapstick comedy. He flipped them off and roared with laughter as three of the replicas returned the gesture.

  "Better call a tow truck," he shouted as he began climbing up the hill.

  "Better call a tow truck," one of them repeated, as if it was the best possible suggestion their unformed brains could understand. Greg honked like a goose and fell on his chest as his feet slid in the wet leaves. If he ever stood in front of a news camera, as Brandon was so sure he would, this was the one moment he'd talk about first... the single craziest few minutes of that neverending night. He got himself under control, brushed off his clothes, and followed Brandon and Eve up the hill, grasping at trees to keep his balance.

  "Are you done?" Brandon asked, panting.

  He thought he was until he heard the horn sound again. This made him break out in fresh peels of laughter, but he was the only one. Eve looked over her shoulder irritated as she helped Brandon over a fallen tree.

  "How did you two survive so long?" she asked.

  "That's a story for another time," Greg said.

  "It's a rhetorical question, you fucking ape!" Greg wasn't sure he understood what she meant. "Would you get over here and help me with him before he falls and breaks his other leg?"

  Greg knew he'd pissed them off by his appreciation of the alien sideshow, but if he couldn't laugh, what was left? He remembered something his father had said years ago at the dinner table: Never trust someone who laughs too much... or too little. Greg finally understood what that meant.

  He quickly caught up to Brandon and Eve and helped support his friend between them. Soon after, they found one of the dirtbike trails cutting through the forest, allowing them to make better time and more easily navigate the steady incline. Paths like this crisscrossed most of the mountain, leading up to a barren, rocky plateau that overlooked Ditchburn. Greg and Brandon had spent many days and nights on a specific outcropping of stone that the locals referred to as The Overhang.

  Greg thought it was as good a place as any to rest before making the descent down the other side towards Parkland.

  "Stop at The Overhang," he said.

  "Stop?" Brandon said. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

  "Probably not, but at least we can see them coming from up there."

  "What does it matter?" Eve said. "You seem to enjoy their company."

  "Give me a break, will ya?" he said. "I didn't hear you complaining when I was saving your ass from the trunk of a car."

  "I'm starting to think maybe I was safer there."

  "You ungrateful..." Greg stopped himself and took a deep breath. He was wondering if safety was the only reason her stepfather had locked
her away. "Let's get to The Overhang. If you still feel like arguing, we can pick it up once we're safe."

  "Am I supposed to know where that is?" Eve asked.

  "You've never been to The Overhang?" Brandon asked. "What have you been doing all your life?"

  Eve closed her eyes and huffed. "Of course, I've been there. How am I supposed to find it in the dark?"

  "It's a big fucking rock," Greg shouted. "You'd have to try pretty hard to miss it."

  "Can you two hold off on your lover's quarrel until we get out of here?" Brandon asked.

  "Lover's quarrel," Greg said under his breath. "I'd rather date one of them."

  "You might get your wish if you keep running your mouth," Eve said.

  Are all the girls in this town crazy? No wonder I'm single, Greg thought.

  They climbed the rest of the way in silence. The walk to The Overhang took nearly an hour - three times longer than it would've taken on any other day. The trek through the forest on the other side would be a nightmare, but at least it was all downhill for another mile or so before flattening out and growing less dense on the way to Parkland.

  Greg checked his watch: 2:37 am.

  At this rate, it would be 7:00 before they reached the next town, and by then, who could say what would be left... or what might still be waiting?

  ***

  All Greg wanted to do was sleep, but he knew he couldn't count on Brandon or Eve to keep watch. Instead, they remained awake, talking very little as Greg wiped the bloody crust from his cuts. Brandon stretched out on the rock and gave his ankle a much-needed break while Eve rested her back against a tree stump and drew circles in the dirt with her finger.

  Ditchburn had gone quiet. Several times, there were short bursts of activity: gunfire, screams, the racing of a car engine. For forty-five minutes, there hadn't been a sound. The forest was a dead thing. Nothing scurried, nothing fluttered, nothing crept or crackled or chirped. The crickets had gone silent; the night birds had flown to safer skies. For all Greg knew, they were the last living things on Earth.

  He couldn't bring himself to think of P-21 as living. It may be trying to look and act like them, but everything that made humans human was missing. A clay pigeon was called a pigeon... but it wasn't a pigeon. They could have been robots and the outcome would still feel the same. Mindless, emotionless, empty.