by Maxey, Phil
A queasy feeling started to grow in the bottom of his stomach.
The ripping, tearing, gnawing noise continued from beyond the wall, which was just fifteen feet away. Despite his body tensing up, he had to know what was behind the wall.
But he had seen how quick one of the monsters had moved. Would he have time to shoot it?
He had to know what was behind the wall.
He stepped over the threshold and into the cool air outside. His throat suddenly felt as dry as the ground beneath his feet.
He looked where he was about to walk, carefully avoiding any areas that might alert anything to his presence.
As he neared the wall, he wondered how much light there would be on the other side.
Should have brought a flashlight.
The smell was stronger now. Harder to pretend it was anything other than blood.
His emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Wanted him to turn and run back inside. Lock the door. Hide in the basement.
But then the thing would have won.
He stepped up to the wall. The monster was only a few yards away now. He could hear it working on its prey, taking what it needed.
A slim ledge ran along the inside of the wall. It wasn’t much, but it would be just enough for him to stand on.
He stepped up and looked into his neighbor’s garden. He thought there wouldn’t have been enough light, that the entire area would be too dark for him to see. A part of him wanted that. But he was wrong. In the dim light, one of Carl’s eyes, the one still attached to his neighbor’s face looked up at him, as if it wanted him to climb over. To join him in the feast.
The creature was also there. A dog-man like the one he had seen the day before, and as before it was too hungry to notice it was being watched.
Brad lifted the barrel of the gun slowly upwards, then brought it down, resting it on the top of the wall. The dark gray creature was only yards away. Impossible to miss, but Brad’s hands shook regardless.
What if I do miss? Can I make it back to the house?
Suddenly, he regretted not taking his father up on the offers to go to the gun range with him as a teenager. The only time he had ever regretted it.
He pointed the rifle at the creature.
Back or head? More chance of missing the head.
His eyes kept wanting to look at Carl, but he flat refused to do so. Instead, he squinted slightly and fired.
A screeching roar bellowed from the creature, which whipped around to face Brad. Its eyes were those of a wolf but were consumed by hatred.
It lunged forward. Brad gave up on trying to cock the rifle again and propelled himself back off the wall and onto the hard dirt ground. He landed heavier than planned but quickly regained his balance and staggered forward towards the safety of the door to the kitchen.
Behind him, he heard a thud, and a squeal, then scurrying. It was almost on him.
He fell into the kitchen, turning on the ground. A vision of fury was thundering towards him. Instinctively, he cocked the rifle and fired again, but it was too late and the thing with claws and teeth flew through the air. He tried to roll to the side but was instantly trapped as it landed on him.
He waited for the end.
He scrambled out from its immense weight, and kept on going, pushing himself up against the back wall of the dining area.
The wolf-man laid facedown, its clawed hand scratching at the tiles.
Brad quickly leaned forward, picking up the rifle, recocked it, and fired a shot, point-blank, into the thing's skull.
The wheezing stopped.
*****
Brad stood in Carl’s back garden. A black body bag laid on the ground next to pieces of fur and bone of his neighbor's dog.
“Reckon the dead dog must have attracted it here,” said Sheriff Douglass Moore.
Brad felt numb. He had been awake since the early hours, hoping the booze would clear the images from his mind. It did not.
“If the other owners had been like your friend here, he might still be alive.”
Brad looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“When we went back to the stadium with more men to take control of the dogs there, we found the animals gone. The owners had set them free.”
Brad looked shocked. Not just because of the owners' actions but because of what the implications were of what the sheriff had just said. He knew the animals were changing.
“You know then? That it was a dog… a changed dog that did this?”
Doug took off his hat, swept his hand through what was left of his hair, and put it back on. “Yup. Military told us a few days back. Before what the president said. We didn’t expect the owners to do that. So now we got around twenty-five dogs running around out there—”
“Each one could become something else.”
“Yup.”
Two medics picked up the body bag and carried it away.
Doug turned to face Brad. “I don’t know how you managed to take that thing down. Took half of my officers to kill the first one.”
“The first shot… I got lucky. How you going to find the other dogs?”
“We got some dog catchers out looking for them, but so far we’ve only discovered two. The thing you killed, would count as a third, I guess… you should try and get some rest, Brad.”
The sound of scuffling made them both turn around. A man was trying to get past the two officers that were posted at the gate at the side of the house.
“Mr. Crenshaw! Any comment for The Tribune?”
Doug nodded to the officers who then pushed the reporter back along the alleyway. He looked back to Brad. “I’m going to get back at it. Oh, I understand he had a wife, Janine?”
Brad nodded.
“We’ve been having trouble contacting her. You got any way to do that?”
Brad shook his head.
“Right then.” Doug walked a few steps away then stopped and looked back. “With all that’s going on, looks like maybe you weren’t as crazy as folks say.” He smiled, then turned and headed around the side of his neighbor's house.
Quiet returned to the garden.
Brad solemnly walked to the small shed that stood at the back of Carl’s lawn, retrieved the shovel that was inside, and set about reburying Baxter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Raj and Stokes, along with about thirty other scientists and twice that in reporters, stood in the grand hall of the Geneva conference center. On a small stage stood Professor Victor Felber, head of scientific affairs at the United Nations.
He placed a pair of glasses on his narrow face and cleared his throat.
“I am here to read out a short statement that has been agreed upon by the eighteen attending nations to this scientific conference.”
Many who were listening closely to what Mr. Felber was about to say, also had cell phones held aloft and pointed towards him.
“I… will not be answering any questions once I have finished my statement. So to begin. Many strange animals have been appearing across the globe. From the studies that have been done by various nations, there does not appear to be any pattern to where these creatures appear. Most of these creatures show extreme predatory behavior. Not just to humans but to any other creatures that they come across.”
“Are they aliens?” shouted someone from the audience.
Felber raised his hand. “I will address these points in this communiqué. Please be patient. Continuing. The first verified attack we have on record was in southern Spain, on February eleventh of this year. A small town was attacked by a form of creature that resembled a locust but was much larger and more deadly than the common kind. Since then, across the world, we have recorded approximately twelve thousand attacks of what we are now calling evolved life forms, or E.L.F.s for short…”
The background noise, especially amongst the reporters grew. “Evolved?” shouted more than one of them.
“They are not aliens. This we can categorically say. They are, in fa
ct, mutated versions of the animals that already exist on this planet. And computer simulations have shown that they are not mere mutations but are evolved versions of themselves. It is like evolution has sped up for these creatures. In most cases, it happens over a very short period, usually a matter of hours.”
The noise rose further into a fury of questions.
Felber raised his hands repeatedly. “Please… let me finish this statement.”
The crowd quietened somewhat.
“We are calling this process, the ‘Cascade’—”
“What is the cause?” shouted a reporter.
“We do not have a definite cause as of yet… but… we are pursuing multiple lines of enquiry, and the governments of the world have their brightest minds on the matter. Now to finish my statement… As of yet we have no way of determining which animals are prone to the Cascade, other than the simple life forms were affected first, so, for example, many insects, invertebrates have been affected, but which particular species are affected first and why we still do not know. So far we have seen some large mammals also affected.”
Multiple shouts threw the same question at the professor. A question regarding humanity.
“No, there are no indications that humans are affected by the Cascade. We, luckily, appear to be immune from the effect. Now, I have to say, because of the random nature of the situation, it is the United Nations advice, and many governments are already implementing this, that mass culls of particular animals will need to be taken, to—”
The room broke into an uproar.
As the professor tried to restore calm, Stokes pulled on Raj’s arm, and they pushed through the sweaty arms and bodies to get back out to the lobby, and then out of the building completely. Stokes lit a cigarette, which surprised Raj.
“I didn’t know you smoked?”
Stokes coughed, then took another puff. “I haven’t for eighteen years.”
“You think the other governments will take the advice?”
Stokes took a deep breath, then dropped the cigarette to the stone slabs and put it out with his shoe. He started walking in the direction of their hotel. “No. We have to tell the president we need to prepare.”
*****
Ben held his T-shirt up. Estella looked closely at the discoloration across his chest. She nodded and smiled.
“Getting better, still going to be a few more weeks before there’s no pain though I’m afraid.”
Ben frowned, then leaned his head to one side. A voice, far off, was just audible.
“You hear that?” he said.
Estella got up and walked to the bedroom window. She squinted to better make sense of the shapes that were moving in the distance. “There are some vehicles down—”
The bedroom door opened, with Grant in the doorway. “The military are coming up the hill. They’re bringing people out of their homes. Collect as much of your stuff in a few bags.” He noticed Ben looked scared and walked to him, placing his hands on his shoulders and kneeling. “We might have to move again, I need you to put your things in the holdall under the bed, can you do that?”
Ben nodded.
“What is happening?” said Estella.
“It’s probably an evacuation. We’re not far from the sea here.” Grant walked to one of the built-in cupboards and pulled out a large backpack.
Estella looked surprised. “You are already packed?”
“I never unpacked.” The barrel of the shotgun was sticking out of the dark green pack. He quickly grabbed one of his T-shirts that was on the floor, and tied it around the barrel, covering it up.
Galo appeared in the hall. “They are getting closer.”
Estella ran from the room, following Galo to their room. Ben threw his clothes and some comics into his pack.
A stern voice then became clear outside the apartment block. “This is the US Military. Please collect some belongings and leave your premises as quickly as possible. This is an evacuation. You are not permitted to take your vehicles. Please wait outside your property and you will be collected by a bus shortly.”
Angry and panicked voices came from within the apartment block. Grant looked through the blinds. The other residents were piling out into the street as soldiers ran the other way. “Are you ready?” he said to Ben.
“Yeah, I think so. Don’t we need to take food?”
“I’ve already got some packed in my pack, but we’ll grab some more from the kitchen.” He walked with Ben out into the hallway. He could hear Sofia and Galo arguing in their room. “Go into the kitchen and put as much food into your bag as you can. Not fresh stuff! And not all sugar!” Ben nodded and walked to the kitchen while Grant knocked on the other bedroom door. “How we doing in there?”
The door opened.
“Do we really have to go?” said Sofia.
Estella said something to her daughter in Spanish.
“Yes, it’s an evacuation. We have no choice in the matter. Grab your stuff,” said Grant.
The sounds of boots came from the hallway outside the apartment.
Sofia quickly pushed some clothes and other items into her pack while her parents did the same to their own bags.
A heavy knock came at the door.
“This is an evacuation. Please take some belongings and leave your premises.” Footsteps then faded slightly until another heavy knock nearby.
Grant moved to the kitchen. Ben was still piling things into his bag. “Okay, that’s—”
The air-raid siren, that filled the air some days before, started up again.
Grant zipped his son’s bag up, handing it to him. Then slung his own over his back. The others were already waiting.
Grant opened the front door to a wall of noise. Shouts, screams, frustration all mixed with the sounds of engines against the background of the wailing siren.
They all filed out, along the hallway and into the stairwell. Others were already there, mumbling amongst themselves as to why the sudden need to leave.
Grant made sure Ben was close to him as they exited at the bottom and made their way to the parking lot. The street was full of people. Hundreds of fearful faces. Young and old.
A mixture of different buses, some school, some city, sat waiting for their human cargo who were quickly taking their seats.
Helicopter gunships roared overhead, heading towards the coast.
A soldier ran out from the apartment block, then stopped. He pressed the side of his helmet into his ear. He nodded then whipped around to face the west.
Grant watched the soldier's expression change. He looked to the others behind him. “We gotta go!” He started to pull Ben to him and towards the white pickup, when screams filled the air, together with a brief thundering noise. A surge of bodies came their way, pushing them forward. Grant and Ben impacted the side of the pickup, while others ran past and over it.
As he pulled his keys from his pocket, he looked back then instantly ducked as a body sailed through the air, ricocheting off the side of the pickup, breaking the window, then fell to the ground. The air around Grant and Ben was now a sea of screams, but these were guttural as the sounds tried to escape through chests filled with blood.
As Grant tried to force the driver’s side door open, Ben watched, frozen, as the bodies fell. Dark things, which were mostly spindly legs, flailed and shifted too quick to be fully seen. The sidewalks became bathed in crimson puddles as razor-sharp appendages whirled from group to group, hunting down those that tried to run. Bullets flew through the air, mostly missing their targets, but hitting some of the innocent.
Grant pulled his son, who was lost in a trance, into the pickup and pushed him across the seats, then in one motion ignited the engine and slammed the vehicle into reverse. The pickup shuddered as people grabbed onto it. It roared backwards, crashing into the front of the bus that never had a chance to leave, and then as Grant was only half on the driver's seat, jolted forward, quickly picking up speed.
A squeal so piercing it hurt
the ears, accompanied a dark brown mass of spiderlike legs which skittered across the hood of the pickup and then was gone, lost in a haze of people.
Grant pulled himself fully onto the seat and pushed all the way down on the gas, not looking back.
As they got to the end of the street, he swerved to one side, narrowly avoiding a tank moving in the opposite direction. A deafening boom seared the air as the tank fired off a shell. Alongside it, soldiers ran.
The pickup increased in speed. Grant looked to his right, his eyes picking up spots of red on his son’s jacket. “Are you injured?” he shouted. Ben’s gaze was fixed on the windscreen. Grant threw a hand out trying to find any injuries. “Are you hurt?” he shouted again. Ben sheepishly looked back at him, tears in his eyes, then shook his head.
Cars spilled onto the three-lane road and moved past Grant’s vehicle. Everyone was heading east, away from the coast.
A thud came on the window behind his head. He looked back to blood-covered skin and white eyes. At first, he didn’t recognize Sofia. She was pointing to someone else in the pickup’s bed.
He pulled over to the side of the road and pushed the driver's door open. Other vehicles flew by.
Sofia was laying in the back of the bed near the cabin, to her side a soldier lay. It was the sergeant Grant had watched just a few moments before. His name badge read. “Sgt. D. Bass.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Brad stopped his pickup but left the engine running. He had spent the morning scouring the back streets of Roswell looking for the stray dogs. He had even left fresh meat in particular closed off locations and returned an hour later, but the meat was still there slowly spoiling in the heat. Strangely, there wasn’t a single fly on it.
With no sign of any four-legged creatures, he expanded his search in a greater circle until he ended up on one of the many country roads which surrounded the town.
He picked up the binoculars from the passenger's seat and scoured the almost flat, light beige landscape. There was nothing of note, apart from a single-story residence marooned in the center of the nearby field.