by Hunter Shea
The man glared at them with narrowed eyes, his lips drawn tight. “I’m not asking you, boy. I’m telling you. It’s for your own good.”
“No, really, we can take it from here,” David replied, sounding very nervous.
Patrick was transfixed by something else.
He watched the bullet holes start to close up, the puckered flesh flattening out, stopping the rush of vital fluids from pouring forth. The sea serpent’s chest heaved once . . . twice.
“Uh, David.”
“Now get inside before I get angry.”
Patrick’s stomach dropped when he saw the rifle pointed at him. The old man looked mad enough to spit nails.
David whispered out the side of his mouth, “We can’t go in there. That’s the pervert everyone talks about. They say he went to jail for messing with a ten-year-old boy.”
Patrick looked past the man at the worn colonial house behind him, suddenly realizing it was the place parents warned them never to go near. Patrick’s father made him promise he would always cross the street when he came near it and never, ever engage the man who lived there.
The hammer clicked back on the rifle.
“I’ll give you boys to the count of two.”
Patrick jumped when the revived sea serpent used its tail to launch itself at the aging pederast, sailing the fifteen feet between them with savage ease. It soared onto him from above like a bird swooping down for a fat worm. It opened its mouth wide, swallowing the man from the head all the way to the middle of his chest.
The rifle went off. David spun on his heels, crying out.
The sea serpent gnawed on the man as if he were a hunk of rawhide.
“Are you hit?” Patrick asked, wondering what the hell he would do if David was shot and couldn’t keep going.
David had a hand over his upper arm. A small trickle of blood snaked down to his elbow. He pulled his hand away. There was a bloody furrow in his flesh.
“I think it just grazed me, but it burns like hell.”
“Can you run?”
“Of course I can. He shot my arm, not my legs.”
“Well then, hurry up, before he finishes eating the kid toucher.”
The old man was much more substantial than the dog. The sea serpents couldn’t seem to break away from a meal once they started. Hopefully that would give the boys enough time to get well away from this one.
Patrick and David dashed onto Tuckerville Road. The shops were empty, the entire street closed up, probably for the first time ever.
“We’re screwed,” David said.
They kept running, wanting to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the masticating sea serpent.
Then Patrick saw something in the distance, right where the funeral home would be.
“Maybe not yet,” he said, using the little stores of energy he had left to pick up the pace.
Chapter Thirteen
The police had the entire southern end of Tuckerville Avenue cordoned off. David and Patrick ran toward the flashing lights and sawhorses. Along with the cops were dozens of regular people who looked to have been out enjoying their day before hell spilled all over Tuckerville. The small crowd breathlessly watched their approach.
There didn’t look to be anyone in an army uniform. David wasn’t surprised, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
He dared to take a quick peek behind them and saw there were no ravenous sea serpents.
A pair of cops pulled a sawhorse aside, letting them through.
“You boys okay?” one of them asked. He had a thick brown mustache with bits of crumbs in it.
Now that they could really stop and catch their breath, both boys bent over at the waist, hands on their knees, struggling to regulate their breathing.
David felt a strong hand on his shoulder. “Just take a moment, son.”
He heard a woman say, “I can only imagine what they went through.”
Patrick started dry heaving, a long line of spittle hanging from his lower lip.
“One . . . of them . . . was chasing . . . us,” David said between ragged breaths. “But I think . . . we lost . . . it.”
“Where did you last see it?” the mustached cop asked.
David pointed. “About four blocks.”
The cop spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Just got confirmation that they’re spreading out. Send the wagon here with everything you’ve got.”
“You all right, Pat?” David asked.
His friend wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. “I’ll never complain about gym class again. I’d rather have Mrs. Kazeroski screaming at me to do four laps than run like that.”
The cop asked them, “Was it just one creature, or were there more?”
“Just one,” Patrick answered.
The cop looked to his partner, concern etched on his face, mustache twitching. “Well, there goes the theory that they hunt in packs. I supposed that would have made things too easy.”
“Bullets can’t kill them,” Patrick said.
Now a ring of cops surrounded them. “Come again?”
“I watched it. The one that was chasing us got shot four times in the head. The bullets stopped it for a while, but then the wounds healed up in like a minute and it ate the man who shot it.”
A heavyset cop with beads of sweat running down his flabby cheeks huffed. “I’m sure that’s what you think you saw.”
David looked at him as if he were three sandwiches short of a full picnic basket. “Oh, so all the other stuff that’s happened today makes total sense?”
A couple of the cops snorted with controlled laughter. The fat cop peeled away from the circle, muttering under his breath.
The mustache cop said, “Tell me exactly what you saw.”
After they were done, they were told to walk to the diner behind the cordon so someone could get them to a safer place. In fact, the police announced that everyone had to clear the hell out, pronto.
In the bit of chaos that ensued, Patrick and David slipped away from the crowd hustling to the idling police vans.
David said, “Man, I hope he’s still there.”
Patrick dipped between the chrome fenders of two parked cars, angling after David. “I still don’t know where we’re going.”
“To the hibachi place.”
“You almost got us killed so we could get teriyaki steak?” He looked like he was about to punch David square in the mouth.
“No, you bozak.” He pulled the instructions from his back pocket. “We’re going to find Carl. I bet he can read this.”
Carl was their favorite hibachi chef. In fact, whenever their families went to the restaurant, they requested Carl, opting to wait if they had to. Carl was not only a true hibachi showman; he was also extremely funny, never forgetting a face or a name. He greeted them like they were family returning from a long trip.
And he was the only Asian person they knew in Tuckerville.
“They’re coming!”
David and Patrick froze. A trio of sea serpents, now a staggering ten feet tall, had burst out of a manhole right next to the police barricade. The lead sea serpent reduced a sawhorse to splinters with a swipe of its hand, tearing the face off the cop with the mustache.
Everyone started shooting. The noise was deafening.
Bodies flipped into the air. Men and women screamed.
And the blood!
In seconds, it was everywhere. In the air, spilling onto the ground, staining the faces of those trying to kill the creatures as well as those desperately seeking safety.
One of the sea serpents took on so much lead, David was sure it would be ripped into pieces. The shotgun shells and bullets merely slowed it down, but not enough to stop if from tearing into people as if they were paper dolls.
These monsters were so big, they seemed unstoppable.
“We gotta go,” David said, staring at the melee. “Before they see us.”
Patrick didn’t need to be told twic
e. They ran behind the diner, sticking to the back lots as they made their way to the hibachi restaurant.
The shriek of the sea serpents and death cries of their victims followed their every step.
Chapter Fourteen
The smell of rotting fish signaled their arrival.
Out back with all the dumpsters, it was hard to tell where they were. The hibachi restaurant sold this raw fish nastiness called sushi. The sun blazing down on the dark blue dumpsters made it easy for a blind person to find it.
They scooted to the front just to make sure.
Patrick looked like was going to start bawling.
“It’s closed.”
“I figured it would be. We have to go upstairs.”
The restaurant occupied the bottom floor of a two-story building. David had heard his father say that some of the workers lived in the apartments on the second floor. He hoped his father was as right about that as he was about not wasting money on phony crap in comic book ads.
They started to climb an exterior flight of stairs, the two boys too worn out to go any faster than a brisk walk. The white paint was flaking off the risers and banister like psoriasis scabs. Paint chips flecked the palms of their hands.
Since there was no doorbell, the boys pounded on the door. They heard people talking in Japanese, but no one was answering.
“We’re not monsters,” Patrick said.
The door suddenly swung open. One of the busboys stood in the doorway, looking like he was going to crap himself blue.
“Is Carl here?” David said.
“Yes,” the busboy replied with a heavy accent. “I’ll get him.”
He shut the door on them, even going so far as to lock it. David and Patrick stood on the small platform, breathing through their mouths to avoid the dumpster smell . . . or could it be the sea serpents getting closer? If those things spotted them up here, they were dead meat.
No one was shouting anymore. All was silent, which meant those sea serpents were feeding.
They heard the door unlock and Carl was there, clearly annoyed. “I’m sorry he was too ignorant to let you in. Please, come inside.”
The apartment was spotless. Several men they recognized from the restaurant got up from the living room couch and filed down a long hallway.
“Privacy,” Carl explained. He poured them each a glass of water from the tap. David and Patrick greedily sucked the water down, not realizing until this moment how parched they’d been.
“You boys should not be outside,” Carl said. “The police have ordered everyone to stay in their homes. Do your parents know where you are?”
David thought about his parents, wondered where they could be, hoped they were safe. Patrick’s shoulders sagged.
“Carl, do you know why the police have everyone on lockdown?” David asked.
Carl shook his head. “It must be very serious.”
“You have no idea how serious.”
“Still, David, where are your parents? I hope you did not sneak out of your house because you were curious. That kind of curiosity can get you killed.”
“Like the cat,” Patrick said, his voice far off.
“There are these huge, black monsters running around eating everything in sight,” David said. “They’ve come up from the sewer. We saw them slaughter a bunch of people on Virginia Avenue, and now they’re headed this way.”
Carl studied both of them, looking for a trace of a lie.
“Didn’t you hear all the people screaming, and the gunshots?”
“Yes. We all thought it was some kind of attack. Maybe a robbery gone bad.”
David handed over the Amazing Sea Serpents instruction page. “Do you have any paper and a pencil?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Patrick is a great artist. He can draw what’s out there.”
Carl went to the kitchen and got a pencil from a drawer, along with a brown paper bag. He gave them to Patrick.
Patrick didn’t just love to read comics; he was also an expert at drawing all of the superheroes. His life goal was to draw for Marvel Comics one day. David didn’t doubt he’d do just that. His Thing looked better than the way the professional artists drew him in The Fantastic Four. His detail work was amazing, and he worked fast.
While Patrick drew the sea serpents, David explained.
“You see, we ordered these Amazing Sea Serpents from a comic book. They were supposed to be these little fish things, I guess, but they turned out to be just blobs. The kit came with this.”
Carl started reading the paper, his brows knit close together.
“When nothing grew like it should have, we kind of dumped them in the sewer.”
Carl’s hand flew to his mouth, his lips moving but no sound coming out.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“I told you. We ordered it from a comic book.”
“This did not come from a comic book.”
“Well, it came from wherever they make these things, but we ordered it from a comic book.”
Carl paced the room, reading the paper again.
“Here,” Patrick said, holding out the paper bag.
He’d rendered a perfect likeness of the sea serpents, right down to their oversized mouths and claw-tipped fingers. Carl took one look and thumped his back against the wall. He slowly slid down until he was sitting, staring at the sea serpent instructions and Patrick’s drawing.
“This is an abomination,” he said, more to himself than the boys.
“It’s worse than that,” David said.
“You do not understand. What you hatched were Hakuri, the Demon Lizards of Hatsukaichi. These are not children’s pets. They are devourers of worlds.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Demon lizards?” Patrick said. “I thought they were supposed to be fish or something.”
“These are not the things from your little comic books!” Carl yelled. The boys flinched. They’d never seen Carl without a smile, much less flipped out and screaming.
He rubbed his eyes and exhaled. “I am so sorry. I should not have shouted at you. The instructions call them Amazing Hakuri, not sea serpents. When I saw your drawing, it frightened me.”
“It’s okay,” David said. “We’ve had worse happen to us today. So, you really know what these things are?”
Carl got back on his feet. “I know in the sense that I am aware of a terrible legend handed down where I grew up. I am sure you have both heard of Hiroshima.”
David and Patrick nodded.
“Were you there when the atom bomb fell?” Patrick asked.
The faint flicker of a smile played on Carl’s lips. “No, Patrick, I was not born yet. Hiroshima is very close to Hatsukaichi. It is said that the Hakuri were first spawned in Hatsukaichi in the fifteenth century. One day, after a terrible storm, there followed an earthquake. The ground split in two. Many strange things rose up from the great fissure. The Hakuri eggs scattered into the air, spawning in pools and lakes. They quickly grew into killing and eating machines. They descended on the countryside like locusts, consuming everything in their path. Thanks to some very wise men, they were stopped. But they have returned once every century since, always in a different prefecture. It appears someone has taken it upon themselves to make sure their return did not happen in my home country; someone without a conscience, as evil as the Hakuri. In Japan, it is important to stop them before they grow to an unmanageable size. Tell me, how big are the ones you saw?”
“The tallest had to be ten feet. They’re probably even bigger now that they’ve been eating all those cops,” Patrick said.
Carl paled.
“That is not good.”
David seized on the one ray of hope. “You said that in Japan, you know how to stop them.”
“Yes, but only when they are much smaller. They have one weakness, but they may have gotten too strong for it to work.”
“Kryptonite can stop Superman,” Patrick said. “If he can be beaten by a tin
y rock, there’s gotta be something that can stop these Hakuri.”
Someone outside screamed. They ran to the front of the apartment. The other men—chefs, waiters, busboys,—crowded around the windows.
One of the sea serpents—the Hakuri—was across the street. It had a woman in a bear hug, her head in its mouth. It was so big, it could reduce the building to rubble if it decided to charge it like a bull with its massive head lowered.
A man from the apartment came out and shot the Hakuri with a handgun. The Hakuri whipped its tail, sending the man flying through a plate-glass window. It did this without pausing its flailing repast.
All of the men turned to look at Carl and the boys. Their mouths quivered in fear.
“Weapons will not be enough,” Carl said. “There is only one thing that may work. And luckily, we have much of it. We just need to go downstairs to get it.”
The men began shouting in Japanese. Carl tried to restore order, but David didn’t have to know the language to understand that they were freaking out.
Carl snapped at them and they quieted.
“I will go to the restaurant. I have the key to the back door. You boys remain here where it is safe.”
“Nowhere’s safe,” Patrick said.
“Then safer,” Carl said.
David trailed after him. “What kind of weapon can a hibachi restaurant have? Is it the raw fish?”
Carl slipped on a pair of running shoes.
“No. It is wasabi. It is like acid to the Hakuri. Now, stay put!”
He stepped out onto the landing, locking the door behind him.
David and Patrick looked to one another and said simultaneously, “Wasabi?”
* * *
The moment he stepped out the door, Carl felt as vulnerable as a newly hatched chick. His high vantage point gave him a good view of the back end of the strip of stores, restaurants and the First Federal Bank.
All was clear.
But that could change in the blink of an eye.
He wasted no time, clambering down the steps as quickly and quietly as he could, the rotted wood cracking loud as fireworks, or at least that’s how it seemed to him.
The key slipped easily into the lock. He entered the kitchen, locking the door behind him. The basement door was to his right.