The Summer I Died: A Thriller
Page 19
A couple of minutes after they went in, bitching about the ghastly smell in the living room, one of the officers came running out and threw up on the lawn. He started screaming, “Oh my God, oh my God.” Then the other cop, the one who’d shot me, came running out behind him with his shirt over his face and his eyes shut, and sprinted to the EMTs.
“Forget them, forget them,” he said, pointing at me and Officer Teddy. “We need you down there right now! She’s still alive. She’s still alive. Hurry!”
The EMTs grabbed their toolboxes full of needles and bandages and took off like they were on the front line. The puking cop walked over to me slowly, and with chunks of half digested food on his chin grabbed my chest and said, “Who is she?”
“Jamie.”
He squeezed my shirt in his fist so hard I could see his arm shaking from the strain. “Why?” he said, his face red from throwing up. He was crying, tears running down his cheeks, though it could have been from losing his breakfast and not the sight of the butchered girl in the basement. “Why?”
I didn’t know why. Because everyone has a purpose, right? Because we’re all part of God’s master plan, a master plan that lets evil men take away the lives of innocent people, that lets some of us live while our friends and loved ones die before our eyes. Or maybe because God’s just up there rolling some dice, using us as tokens in a universal board game. Or maybe it’s bad luck, or maybe it’s good luck, or maybe shit just happens and you deal with it. Or maybe the dice are loaded so your number never comes up, or maybe the game is fixed. Who knows?
Jamie was cut to pieces, chained up in a basement, and I had no answer.
The cop let go of me and walked back toward the house to do what he could. The chief came back and questioned Teddy for a few minutes. I heard them talking about gunshots and bullets and who did what. Teddy pointed to me a lot and pointed to Skinny Man and the dog corpse on the lawn. Then the chief came over to me.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Roger.”
“Roger what?”
“Roger Huntington.”
“You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?”
I told him as much as I could, as I much as I would allow myself to remember, which didn’t amount to a whole bunch. I was mostly non-responsive, my mind still wandering around the West Coast. Teddy finally asked the chief to call it quits and get me to the hospital. But first the EMTs came out with something on a stretcher, something that resembled a giant cooked marshmallow wearing a Jamie mask, all done up with oxygen tubes and IV drips. One of them was carrying a medical cooler, and out of the top of it flopped a hand with painted fingernails. They were moving that stretcher as fast as they could, lifted it up into the other ambulance and sped away with screeching tires.
The medical examiner came out with the other EMTs, the ones who’d been busy bandaging me up, with the kind of stares you see on men who’ve just walked away from a six-car pile up. He came over to the chief and said, “We’re going to need forensics down here, and tell them to bring some shovels.”
Jamie would die two days later in the hospital with my parents at her side, both of them weeping and cursing God. I stayed in the same hospital, but didn’t see them as much, or so I felt. Eventually the story came out about what really happened. Skinny Man’s backyard was dug up and nine bodies were uncovered, though it took several days to match some of the bones to the correct bodies. They found his wife and daughter among them, as well as Mystery Woman, two in hiking gear, some others. They found bones: adult bones, kid bones, lots of bones they couldn’t match up to any bodies. They also found Tooth.
They showed me photos of all the corpses and asked me to identify whoever I could, though aside from Mystery Woman the only one I said I knew was Tooth. I told them how Mystery Woman died and they confirmed the story with the M.E. Then they too left me alone. The only time I left the hospital was for Jamie’s and Tooth’s funerals, which were closed casket. Then I had to come back to the psych ward for more “counseling.”
My dreams were filled with the ghosts of the dead, and I had a lot of trouble sleeping without jumping every time I heard a nurse walk by jingling keys. Many nights I would just lay awake and try not to remember the carnage I had seen, try not to think about Tooth and Jamie. How far away my parents’ bed seemed, or any safe haven for that matter.
I guess to believe everybody has a purpose in life, you’ve got to believe that there’s even a cosmic plan to begin with. Which means you’ve got to believe in God, or some other higher power, something that is working toward an ultimate goal, or at least working toward the continuation of life. And if each person does have a purpose—like those people buried behind the house, like Skinny Man himself—to what end does it serve? I lived, unharmed save for a couple of bruises and some dog bites and cuts, though my mental state was the stuff of comic books. But if my whole purpose in life was to kill the man who murdered my sister and friend, what was left? Was the rest of my life meaningless? Or had I yet to fulfill my true reason for living? Of course, like I said, all this introspection only mattered if you believed in something higher.
This is what I thought about as I lay in that hospital bed, day after day after day. This is what I still think about, as I fight to stay awake most nights, as I try to avoid the nightmares of that summer, pinching myself to ward off sleep. My purpose. All of our purposes. The afterlife. God. Why I am still alive, and why the dice never rolled my number, and why I had even taken them to begin with. I think about superheroes and villains, about good and evil, about strong and weak, always wondering what it means for me. And I think about that other thing, which makes it all the more confusing and urgent. And yet, makes it all make sense, somehow.
When they dug up Tooth’s body, he was wearing his Red Sox cap.
About the Author
Ryan C. Thomas works as an editor in San Diego, California. You can usually find him in the bars on the weekends playing with his band, The Buzzbombs. When he is not writing or rocking out, he is at home with his cat, Elvis, watching really bad B-movies.
Visit him online at www.ryancthomas.com
Praise for The Summer I Died
“A tense, bloody ride!”
- Brian Keene
“A down and dirty drive-in splatfest, 70s style!”
- HorrorDrive-In.com
“This book is everything you wish Hostel was!”
- Horrorwatch.com
“Thomas may very well be the next big name in extreme horror.”
- Hellnotes
“This book hooked me in hard. I blazed through it, loving every minute of it.”
- Creature Corner.com
“The Summer I Died is one wicked trip through man-made hell and I was glad I hitched a ride.”
- Insidious Reflections
“This novel takes us deep into the bowels of hell where Thomas doesn’t hold any punches.”
- SciFiHorrorBooks.com
“Keeps you in suspense and keeps the pages flying.”
- Horror-Web.com
“Sharp and ingenious and a whole lot of fun. Ryan C. Thomas is not just a writer to watch, but one that has already hit a stride that most others at their own game should envy.”
- HorrorDrive-In.com
“I loved this book . . . it makes an Eli Roth film look like Sesame Street.”
- OzHorrorScope.com
“A hell of a promising beginning from a hell of a writer.”
- WretchedAndViolent.com
“My muscles were actually sore the day after I finished reading this book because I was so tensed up.”
- Multiverse Reviews
“The most brutal story I’ve experienced since Poppy Brite’s Exquisite Corpse. When you think the author can’t wring any more raw energy out of a situation, just turn the page and things spiral even deeper into anguished pain.”
- John Sunseri, editor/author
“I have never flinched so much while reading a book. An e
xcellent, nasty little book. I loved it!”
- Desmond Reddick, Dread-Media.com (podcast 72)
Also by Ryan C. Thomas
The Summer I Died
Ratings Game
Monstrous (editor)
Enemy Unseen
With A Face of Golden Pleasure
* * * *
The Coscom Entertainment Zombie, Monster, Mash Up and Superhero Books
Please go to www.coscomentertainment.com for a plot synopsis and more information on the books. All are available in eBook and paperback at your favorite online retailer. Thanks.
Zombie Books:
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Zombie Jim by Mark Twain and W. Bill Czolgosz
Alice in Zombieland by Lewis Carroll and Nickolas Cook
Axiom-man: The Dead Land by A.P. Fuchs
Bits of the Dead edited by Keith Gouveia and illustrated by Sean Simmans
Blood of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs
Dead Science edited by A.P. Fuchs
Don of the Dead by Nick Cato
Revolt of the Dead by Keith Gouveia
R.I.P. by Harrison Howe
Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers by Paul A. Freeman
The Lifeless by Lorne Dixon
The Undead World of Oz by L. Frank Baum and Ryan C. Thomas
The War of the Worlds Plus Blood, Guts and Zombies by H.G. Wells and Eric S. Brown
World War of the Dead by Eric S. Brown
Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes: Zany Zombie Poetry for the Undead Head edited by A.P. Fuchs
Zombie Fight Night: Battles of the Dead by A.P. Fuchs
Zombifrieze by W. Bill Czolgosz and Sean Simmans
Other Monster and Horror Books:
Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy by Keith Gouveia
Anna Karnivora: A Vampire Novel by W. Bill Czolgosz
Bigfoot War by Eric S. Brown
Dracula by Bram Stoker, Illustrated by Sean Simmans with an Introduction by Nancy Kilpatrick
Emma and the Werewolves by Jane Austen and Adam Rann
Hound: The Curse of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Lorne Dixon
Snarl by Lorne Dixon
The Summer I Died by Ryan C. Thomas
Superhero Books:
Axiom-man (The Axiom-man Saga, Book 1) by A.P. Fuchs
First Night Out (The Axiom-man Saga, Episode No. 0) by A.P. Fuchs
Doorway of Darkness (The Axiom-man Saga, Book 2) by A.P. Fuchs
The Dead Land (The Axiom-man Saga, Episode No. 1) by A.P. Fuchs
The Wraith by Frank Dirscherl
Valley of Evil (The Wraith Series, Book 2) by Frank Dirscherl
Cult of the Damned (The Wraith Series, Book 3) by Frank Dirscherl
Bookazines:
Dry Ice Dreams (Bumper Sticker Shine No. 1) by A.P. Fuchs
The Macro Mechanic’s Manifesto (Bumper Sticker Shine No. 2) by A.P. Fuchs