by Maxey, Phil
Something crashed into the far side of the school bus, shattering more glass and rocking the vehicle on its wheels.
Brad found that he had instinctively hunched with his hand raised to his face. He thought the man had fired at him, but his senses were telling him that was wrong.
Screams were now coming from the bus.
He stood upright just in time to see the man fire off a blast from the shotgun, towards the screams. Brad started into a run, or as much as his late early 50s, rounded physique could manage. He figured, if the crazy was concentrating on the kids, he might be able to get to him before realizing he was about to be tackled.
He only made it ten feet before the man saw him and reacted in a way which slowed Brad’s progress. The man was waving him away while pointing to the bus.
Something’s not right.
Then he heard it. Almost lost amongst the children’s sobbing was a low rumbling noise. It was coming from the other side of the bus, the side he was now beginning to see.
A single leg, complete with stained-red, khaki fabric covering it first came into view. It sat in a pool of blood. Then came the rest of the bus driver, although the thing eating him hadn’t left much.
Brad couldn’t make sense of what he was looking at. He had seen thousands of photos over the years of strange events and creatures, most created by art students with too much time on their hands, he had even seen some almost convincing videos of the same, but fifty feet away from him was something that couldn’t be. It looked like a werewolf.
Its fur, a dark blue-gray, flittered in the wind, as it gnawed on the arm of the unfortunate man.
“Go!” half shouted, half whispered the man with the shotgun.
Brad, as if in a daze, looked at the man. His shirt was shredded in a number of places, and blood dripped from his side.
“This is on me. Boulder was a good dog, that thing! Is not him. I just need to get closer—”
Brad felt as if he had been dropped into a Saturday night B-movie. He half expected someone to shout ‘Cut!’ and leap from the shadows.
The man replaced the spent shell and walked forward towards the hungry thing.
The sight of children huddled together in the central aisle of the bus jolted Brad back to reality. He walked forward slowly, moving to his left to be out of sight of the dog-man and, as he neared the bus, walking parallel with the man, indicated to someone inside to open the door.
Brad looked across to the man as he raised the gun. Then a blur flew across his view, and the man was gone.
“Open the door!” Brad shouted to the teacher inside.
The door sprung open and Brad ran up the steps and jumped in the driver's seat, ignoring the small pieces of glass chunks on the seat. He leaned forward expecting there to be a set of keys in the ignition, but there weren’t any.
“The bus driver has them…” came a scratchy voice from behind.
Brad looked back at the blonde-haired woman, crouched, and with her arms over the children near to her.
Brad looked up. The bipedal wolf creature was about thirty feet away on the sidewalk. Its back was turned to him, blocking a sight Brad did not want to have to remember. The man’s body lay in the clutches of the creature.
A siren started up in the distance.
The creature turned and looked at the bus.
Brad looked down, out of the left side window. The metal bunch of keys glinted in the morning sun, still being held by the drivers severed hand. He looked back at the creature, its head was facing down again, enjoying its new victim.
Brad swallowed, then leaped from the seat, ran around the front of the bus, and grabbed the keys from the hand, all the while he refused to look at the fur-covered monster. He had seen it cover a few lengths of the bus in a split second, if it came at him there was nothing he could do about it, so he concentrated on getting the keys and getting back inside.
He fell back into the seat. The teacher slid the lever and the door closed. On hearing her sharp intake of breath he wanted to look out of the jagged hole where the windshield used to be, but instead, he turned the key and pulled the stick down into reverse.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
As the bus surged backwards police cars roared past him, skidding to a halt at the junction.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mason looked across a sea of vehicles on the freeway. Amongst the idling engines was the occasional angry outburst followed by a car horn.
The day was proving to be warmer than the one before, and most vehicles had arms hanging out of them. Mason and Hoang were no different, with their rolled-up-sleeved arms hanging out of their respective windows.
“Come on…” said Mason to the myriad of cars and trucks around him.
A few vehicles drove on the other lanes in the opposite direction. Their quest to escape failing.
“The military is not going to let any of these idiots out of the city, they must know that,” said Hoang.
“People are scared, the last place they want to be is stuck in a city of almost four million people.”
“You think she will still be there when we get to the ranch?”
“Probably not, but it’s our best chance of finding her.”
Their red sedan slid forward a few more yards and came to a halt. In the distance to the east were hills and a ridge, almost lost in a haze.
“What if she’s with the ex-detective and his son?”
“We’ll deal with that when it comes to it.”
A light breeze started to pick up, but it wasn’t doing anything to quell the emotions of the hundreds of frustrated people around them.
Hoang wanted to press the man to his left more. Scold him for telling all their ‘secrets’ to an outsider, but he knew this wasn’t the place or time for such words.
A man with dreadlocks got out of his car in the lane to their left, and stood next to it, trying to see to the end of the lane he was in. Somebody threw expletives towards him, telling him to get back in his car.
Hoang looked at the grassy bank to his right. It was covered in small round trees which he presumed were of the fruit variety. The ground was covered in orange-colored domes, about ten inches in length and half that across. As the car moved forward a few more yards he wondered what the fruit could be. As he was running through the various options, one of the shapes moved forward over the deep green grass and down the bank.
He waited for a blast of wind to explain what he just saw but it never came. Then another of the shapes moved forward, and another. He sat agog, trying to understand how the fruit was being propelled closer to the freeway. He noticed people in the car ahead of theirs were pointing towards the bank.
“Umm… there’s something strange happening over here.”
Mason sighed and slowly turned to the passenger's side. “What?”
“The fruit… it’s… moving…”
Mason lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and leaned towards his right.
One of the peculiar orange things then scurried across the remaining grass and onto the emergency lane. It sat for a moment on the concrete then, in an instant, spiderlike legs sprung out of its side, and antennae from its front. The yelp from the family in their cream-colored vehicle was clearly audible, but quickly became laughter when the crab-like thing started to skitter left and right, while still staying orientated towards them.
Mason looked to the bank. More of the things were moving onto the freeway.
One of the children had slid the rear passenger's window down and, apparently with their parent's consent, was leaning out and offering the crab-insect a candy bar.
Mason shook his head. “What are those fools doing?” He waved his hand for the kid to stay inside.
The emergency lane was now awash with orange spots, stretching a hundred yards north and south.
As the creature wasn’t moving any closer, the kid opened the rear door.
“No, stay away from it kid…” Mason slammed on the horn, making the occupants
ahead of him jump, as well as the creature, which scurried backwards a few feet. The rear door of their vehicle slammed closed.
The traffic started to move forward. As Mason’s sedan passed the small creatures, he kept hitting the horn. In waves, they leaped back into the long grass.
*****
The sound of barking dogs mingled with angry shouts. Brad was surrounded by dog cages, many of Roswell’s police force and even more angry pet owners. The smell of dog feces and anxiety filled the air.
He had only made it a few hundred yards in the bus when the police stopped him, and the kids and teacher were quickly taken away to safety. He sat in the well-worn bus seat for a while trying to absorb what had happened. In the distance, multiple shots from semiautomatic rifles finally put down the large wolf creature which walked like a human. He needed some explanation as to how two people were dead, by something that shouldn’t exist. After a few brief conversations with the officers around him, he discovered that the man he had seen with the shotgun had been part of the canine festival, so the outdoor stadium, where it was being held, seemed a good place to start. That was an hour ago.
“We have to put them down, Ted,” said the officer with the gray hair and badges on his dark shirt.
The man he was talking to, stood securely in front of a dog cage. Inside a border collie jumped up yapping. “Over my dead body. Nobody’s touching my dog.”
The sheriff sighed. “Ted. I know this must be incredibly hard for you, but I’ve been told that these dogs need to be—”
“Are you insane, Doug! You think that thing that killed those people was a dog? It walked on two feet like a man! Hell, maybe it was just a man in a monster suit or something! Out of his head on drugs!”
“It wasn’t a man,” said Brad, leaning up against an empty cage.
Ted squinted. “And who are you?”
“This would be Brad Crenshaw, he runs an internet radio show,” said the sheriff.
“Oh great, so one of Roswell’s local crazies. Well, I’m telling you, my dog is fine. He’s no threat to anyone or thing.”
Most of the other owners standing around echoed the sentiment. Brad turned, not wanting the attention and pushed through the crowd to the hallway which led to the outside and fresher air.
As he walked towards the door, he felt a presence close behind. Turning, a man anxiously stood near one of the exits in the corridor, waving him towards himself.
Brad walked to him. “Can I help you?”
“You that UFO guy?” said the bespectacled man with a blue jacket. His dark hair lay flat to his forehead.
“I talk about UFOs on my radio show if that’s what you mean.”
The guy looked back to the arguments that were still continuing in the main hall, then nodded towards the door behind him which he opened, and beckoned Brad inside of.
Brad looked both ways along the hallway, then slowly followed the man, who closed the door.
They were both inside another large, high-ceilinged room. This one smelt just as bad as the area with the dogs, although the stench was of a different variety, being something which stung your nose. The room was similarly full of cages, but these were empty of live animals.
“This way,” said the man walking past them, some of which were stacked as high as him.
“What’s this all about?” said Brad, trying to keep up.
“I’ll show you.”
After walking across most of the room, they arrived at the back area, which was full of shadows. The row of slit-like windows high up the wall provided scant light, and Brad pulled his house keys from his pocket and switched on the small flashlight which hung from them.
The man stood near the wreckage. Pieces of plastic and thin metal bars lay in a stack on some wooden boards. Yellow police tape was stuck on the ground in front of the heap, saying ‘Evidence - DO NOT TOUCH.’
“We found that, this morning.”
A noise came from the hallway from where they came. The man’s head flicked back to the door.
Brad knelt close to what was left of the dog cage. One of the pieces of metal had a written badge attached to it.
“Cooper - 78.”
“That’s the dog's name, and its number in the show,” said the man. “There was more, but the military took it.”
Brad looked up, keeping his lights beam low. “Took what?”
“There was like this material, it looked organic. Like some kind of cocoon or something. Never seen anything like it in eleven years of doing this show.”
In the distance, beyond the walls, the dogs howled and barked.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A white pickup, with ‘Reyes Fruit and Veg!’ emblazoned across the side, slid along an empty highway.
“Are we sure it’s a good idea to be on the highway?” said Sofia in the rear seats of the cabin.
“This gets us to San Diego quicker,” said Grant, driving.
Galo, in the passenger's seat, looked over his left shoulder to his daughter and the three others crammed in alongside her. “It will be fine. Just be calm.” He looked back to Grant. “It was good of Fidel to give us this truck.”
“Trust me, he got a good deal.”
“But who’s going to believe we are all here to deliver the stuff in the back?” said Sofia.
Galo looked back again, this time his eyes were enough to quieten Sofia. She sighed and looked out the side window.
“You doing alright, buddy?” said Grant, looking in the rear mirror to his son, half perched on Estella’s lap. Grant was doing his best to avoid the potholes. That was another reason he wanted to take the highway.
“I’m okay,” said Ben in a flat tone.
Grant couldn’t tell if his son’s response was because of the pain medication he was on, or the fact that monsters were real. Probably both.
They approached, and passed, a large, yellow truck with a boxlike back. The rear doors were open and boxes containing cans of drink laid spread out behind it. Some of the cans were crumpled and ripped open, causing the contents to stain the concrete red. At least that’s what those inside the white pickup hoped was the cause of the crimson marks on the ground.
“How long until we get to San Diego?” said Estella.
“Shouldn’t be more than about forty minutes, but it depends on what roadblocks there are,” said Grant.
Galo looked out at the blue sky and hills, dotted with homes. A single plume of smoke stained the sky from one of the hillside structures. “I’ve traveled this road a hundred times, feels strange to see it this empty.”
As they progressed along the largely straight road, multistory hotels and inns passed by on their left.
“I can smell the ocean,” said Sofia excitedly.
Most inside the white truck looked to their right.
“Yeah, I can see it through those trees, do you see?” said Estella.
Luciana sighed and tried again to get her head comfortable against the headrest.
The further they drove the more of the deep blue water they could glimpse until they had an unfettered view of the expanse of waves.
Galo frowned at the stumps and leafless branches they were passing.
“What?” said Grant to him.
“Looks like someone has taken a chainsaw to these trees and bushes.”
Twigs and splintered branches lay scattered across the highway, making Grant slow and drive around.
“Did the monsters eat the trees?” said Ben, his concern obvious.
Galo looked back at him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Grant kept his apprehension to himself and kept his eyes on the four-lane road.
Soon they were close enough to the ocean that there were only yellow sand beaches to their left.
Grant slowed to a stop.
Everyone inside could see why.
The beach was now extended across the highway in the form of a continuous strip of sand. Opposite to their left, it looked as if the ground up the bank had been cleared b
y a mechanical digger. Then there was the gap where a wall used to be.
“Now what?” said Estella.
“It’s ok, it’s just a bit of sand, we’ll drive through it.”
Grant pushed down on the gas and they slowly moved forward.
He looked back to Ben. “Going to get a bit bumpy, son.”
Ben nodded.
The pickup bumped up and down, but Grant kept the speed low and they were soon back on concrete and heading south.
It wasn’t long before they approached a bridge that crossed an estuary. They could see for miles along the coast and the swampy grassland that continued to the sea. As they crossed the bridge, Ben scrunched his face up, then leaned closer to the window.
“Monsters!” he shouted, making everyone jump.
Grant increased his speed despite the distance of at least a few miles to the things that were slivering out of the turquoise water. Some were already on the bank, seemingly warming themselves from the sun above.
Galo shook his head. “What are they?”
“Are they walrus?” said Estella.
“I ain’t never seen a silver one,” said Luciana.
“They look like eels but with legs,” said Galo. “Salamanders, maybe…”
“Big salamanders, to see them all the way from here,” said Sofia.
Grant concentrated on the road. He had no interest what lay out there unless it was going to get in their way. His fear of monsters was beginning to be replaced with anger.
“We’re coming up to Oceanview and Carlsbad. We should get some supplies.”
A digital traffic display flickered intermittently on the side of the road warning visitors to stay away from the beach, and huge hotel complexes fought for space amongst parking lots and palm trees.
Grant slowed and turned off, parking in front of a row of stores.
A convenience store sat between “Corine’s Tackle” and “Beach best Athlete.” Out front was a blue sedan and a black pickup.
Grant sat with the engine idling. They all looked at the stores.
“They even open?” said Luciana.
Grant steered the pickup into a space and turned the engine off. “Only one way to find out.” He looked at the others. “Any of you need the restroom, this is the time to use it. There should be one in that diner on the corner. Be back here in fifteen minutes.”