Clickers

by J. F. Gonzalez

  She leaned forward and planted a kiss on Rick’s cheek. Rick smiled and kissed her back. He ruffled Bobby’s hair. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Be careful,” Janice said.

  Rick exited the station.

  * * *

  The first car Rick saw was a battered Plymouth parked in front of the post office next door. He went around to the driver’s side and stopped. The door was ripped off its hinges and lay hanging by a strip of metal on the street. The front seat was empty, but the seat was slick with blood. Whoever the Dark Ones had dragged out of this vehicle, it would be safe to assume they were dead now.

  “Next one,” Rick said. He moved up the street to the next vehicle, which was empty and seemingly intact. Rick hoisted his rifle up and was about to ram the butt through the window when a low moan rose from the deserted street.

  He looked back down the street toward the beach. That moan sent a shiver of fear through Rick’s spine. His first thought was that it was a Dark One lumbering down the street toward him. But there wasn’t anything coming down the street at all. Just a bunch of bodies lying helter skelter all over the road.

  The moan rose again. Distinctly human.

  All the color ran out of Rick’s face. “Oh, Jesus!” The tone of that voice sounded familiar.

  He walked down the street toward the sound of the moan, which was rising more reverently now. The sound of the moan carried him over to the mangled figure lying on top of a bank of newspaper vending machines, the same man that Janice was convinced was Sheriff Conklin, the same body where she’d retrieved the keys from.

  Rick stopped in front of the mangled remains of Sheriff Roy Conklin. The lawman’s eyes were open, his bloodied face staring upwards, mouth open. His eyes were blinking, and Rick realized the lawman was still alive before Conklin let out another bloodcurdling moan.

  God, how could he still be alive? Rick thought. He looked at the battered lawman’s body. His chest had been ripped open; he thought he could see a portion of his bloody ribcage. His clothes were shredded. There was a gaping wound in his right leg that looked like a huge chunk of flesh had been taken from it. His face was shredded. Sheriff Conklin was horribly mangled, but he still lived. He must have been passed out when Janice retrieved the jail keys from his body; in her fright she probably paid no attention whether he was alive or dead.

  Roy’s eyes crawled over Rick, their light gray showing slight fear, but now they held the realization of what had really happened to him. He looked like he’d been through hell and back. The Sheriff’s mouth moved. Rick leaned forward to catch what the lawman might say. Another low moan escaped his lips. He was trying to say something, but it was hard to make out. “Cccccc…”

  Rick leaned forward. “Take it easy, guy.”

  Roy clung stubbornly to that “Cccc” sound. He lengthened the vowel so that it became a drawn out “aaaaa”, then added a “eeerrrr”. Rick picked up on it immediately.

  “Car?” Rick asked. “Where?”

  “Blue,” Roy spit this word out almost effortlessly. He pronounced it “blphew”, but Rick guessed the significance to color almost as immediately as he had deciphered the lawman’s first word. Rick stood over Sheriff Conklin, encouraging him.

  “A blue car.”

  Roy slowly nodded. Sweat rose on his face in rivulets. “Kkkk…eeeee…sssss…in…in…”

  “The keys are still in the ignition?”

  Conklin closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

  That was all Rick needed to know. He took a hesitant step back then stopped. Sheriff Conklin had opened his eyes again and was looking at Rick. His breath was coming in harsh and fast. Rick could see the rise and fall of his ruined chest. His face was simultaneously riddled with fear, and expectant of what was coming to him; to Rick he seemed like a man coming to hard grips with the approaching reality of his own death. Rick couldn’t just leave him like this, much as he didn’t like the man. Sheriff Conklin himself seemed to have metamorphosed from a man with such personal demons that he’d been the most disliked man in town, to a man who had come to grips with the sins of his life and his existence as a human being. It radiated from his blood streaked face, which was wide-eyed, almost apologetic. Now was a bad time to be making amends to yourself and your maker for your faults, but—

  Roy Conklin’s breathing became more labored, his mouth gasping as he struggled for breath. Rick moved forward, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder. Roy grasped Rick’s hand and squeezed it as his breathing grew more labored, painful sounding, then slowing… slowing…slowing. The rise and fall of his chest slowed with it, and Roy’s eyes moved from Rick to stare at the ceiling of the awning above him. His breathing grew fainter, fainter…fainter…

  Then stopped.

  Rick stood over the sheriff’s body for perhaps two full minutes, waiting for a reprieve, another go-round as the lawman began another round in the fight for life. But there was no movement. Sheriff Conklin was dead.

  Rick pried Conklin’s fingers from his wrist and placed the hand back at his side. The limb fell over the side of the vending machine, then hung there, limp. Sheriff Conklin’s mouth was still open as if straining for that last gasp of breath, his eyes still open and gazing at the ceiling. Staring at nothing.

  Rick turned away from the sheriff and began looking for a blue car. As he searched, he felt a small burst of pride at his reaction to Sheriff Conklin’s death; he thought he would have turned away from the man who had caused him so much trouble upon arriving in town. But he was better than Sheriff Conklin—he’d offered some measure of sympathy for the man as he lay there dying. He felt better as a human being, and he hoped Roy Conklin had felt some measure of peace before he passed on.

  Rick traveled fifty yards down Main Street, heading toward the beach when he saw it. A little blue Datsun, late eighties model. He ran toward it, being careful to jump over the bodies sprawled in the street. He got to the car and flung the door open. It was empty—and the keys were dangling in the ignition.

  “Hot dog!” Rick exclaimed. He climbed in, slammed the door, keyed the ignition. The engine cranked to life and Rick felt a huge weight drop off his shoulders as he put the car in gear and made a U-turn, headed back toward the sheriff station. He tried slaloming around the bodies in the street, but that wasn’t always possible; a few times he ended up having to drive over them. Rick’s stomach turned queasily in his abdomen as he felt the cars’ tires thump over the bodies, imagining their slickness becoming further mangled by the tread and weight of the car. After the third one he didn’t think he could continue for this long without being sick, and then he was at the station.

  He pulled up to it, driver’s side against the curb. He could see Janice and Bobby hovering behind the plate glass window, watching him as he made his way down the street. When he pulled up to the curb the door opened, and Janice ushered Bobby out. Rick reached over and opened the passenger side door for her. She herded Bobby in the back seat and closed the door. Rick stepped out and together they transferred the weapons they had gathered into the car, then slid inside, slamming the doors behind them. “Drive,” she said.

  Rick drove. They pulled away from the curb and Janice cradled Bobby to her bosom, shielding the boy’s face from the carnage outside. Rick could tell that the boy wasn’t sleepy anymore, that more than anything he would want to lift his head from his mother’s protective shield and look outside, but he wouldn’t. Janice had probably told him not to look as she herded him outside and into the car. He surely was making no attempt to do so now. Smart kid.

  “Where to?” Rick asked. They had just reached the intersection of Main Street and Elm. The carnage here appeared to have thinned out, but bodies still dotted the streets and sidewalks.

  “Let’s try the town center and the mall,” Janice said.

  “Okay.” Rick drove, heading toward the center of town, leaving Main Street behind them. Leaving the beach and the Phillipsport pier behind them.

  Where a dozen dark shapes
emerged from the ocean and began making their way up the beach, heading inland.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They didn’t see a single living soul on their drive through town.

  Driving down the empty streets reminded Rick of an old ghost town; streets were vacant, cars parked haphazardly. Bodies lined the streets, although not in the numbers they had toward the pier. Rick surmised that the Dark Ones’ emergence caught a lot of people by surprise, especially since most of the town’s population was near the pier and the beach fighting off the Clickers. Farther into town, the carnage didn’t appear nearly as bad as it did along the beach front and the first five blocks into town. There, it looked like a war zone. Here, it just looked deserted.

  They drove past city hall, Carl’s Grocery Store (which was the oldest grocery store in town, having first been established in 1843), Cliff’s Books, Mabel’s Antiques—all deserted. Janice was silent, looking out the window as they drove by. Rick kept his eyes on the road, watching for any sign of life, human and unhuman.

  “Let’s try the shopping center,” Janice said. “If we don’t find anybody there, we’ll hit the interstate.”

  “Okay.” Rick turned down Elm, cruising slowly. He paused to look at Doc Jorgensen’s as they approached it. For a moment Rick was tempted to stop and try to see if Glen was home. But that wouldn’t do—suppose you do and a Dark One is lying in wait and it comes rushing out, and suppose there are others lying in wait, just waiting for the chance for you to leave the car so they can get you and Janice and Bobby—

  He shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind. He drove past Glen’s house, turning left on the next street, heading toward the shopping center.

  They were silent as they headed down the road. Rick saw the shopping center in the distance, the parking lot dotted with cars, an occasional body here and there. The sky was dark, but not as dark as it had been when the storm broke. It still looked like they were in for another bout of rain.

  They pulled into the almost-empty parking lot, cruising past the storefronts; the Piggly Wiggly, Shelby’s Drugstore, Blockbuster Video. Rick was looking into the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of life, thinking maybe people may have run into stores for refuge.

  Janice gripped his arm and pointed out the windshield. “There’s somebody here!”

  Rick whirled around, bringing the car to a stop. A man was running toward them, waving his arms. He looked familiar from a distance. Rick accelerated and cruised, bringing the car to a stop as they drew closer together. The man ran up to them and now Rick recognized him as Glen Jorgensen.

  Glen ran up to the window and Rick rolled it down. “Thank God, you’re alive,” Glen said.

  Rick threw the car into park and let it idle. “What’s up?”

  Glen motioned toward the supermarket that he had been standing in front of when they first glimpsed him. “A bunch of us have been holed up in the freezer of the supermarket. It’s a long story. We haven’t heard anything for the last several hours, so I decided to take a look and see what was going on. I had just stepped outside when I saw you.”

  “Who’s in there?” Janice asked. She still held Bobby on her lap. Bobby was no longer hiding his face. He was looking around the parking lot in rapt awe, as if trying to deal with all that had happened the only way an eightyear-old could.

  “Lee Shelby, Melissa Peterson, my nurse Barbara, Fred Logan down at Huskies Sawmill, a few others.” Glen leaned against the car, looking in through the window at them.

  “Everybody okay?” Rick asked.

  Glen nodded. “No major wounds.” He looked in at Bobby. “How you doing, Bobby? How’s that hand feel?”

  “Fine.” Bobby suddenly cradled the splintered hand to his chest, as if suddenly remembering it had been injured.

  “Why don’t you come back with me to the store,” Glen suggested.

  “Hop in.” Rick opened the driver’s side door and reached for the lever to move the seat up to allow the physician entrance. Glen scooted inside and Rick shut the door. He drove them all back to the Lucky’s Supermarket and pulled the car up against the large front windows near the double doors. He killed the engine, then got out. The others followed, Janice setting Bobby down on the ground. Rick moved around the hood of the car, Glen in tow, when he caught a glimpse of movement at the end of the road that led to the town center. Something green. Moving.

  The others didn’t see it. Glen was pushing open the doors, and Janice was retrieving her rifle and jacket with its pockets of ammunition when Rick suddenly tapped her on the shoulder. “Let’s get going quick,” he said softly. She looked up at the sound of his voice, noticed his gaze extended toward the highway and followed it. Her eyes grew wide when she saw what he was looking at.

  The Dark Ones. Heading inland. Toward the shopping center.

  Glen had the doors open. Janice grabbed her weapons and Rick herded Janice and Bobby through the doors, then motioned for Glen to go on through. Glen read the urgency in his eyes and slipped through. Rick grabbed the rocket launcher and the ammunition, patted his jacket to make sure he had the other weapons, then went in after them. Once inside the two men slid the doors shut. Rick grabbed Glen’s arm and motioned outside. “Looks like we’ll be having company.”

  Glen looked outside and his face grew pale. He turned and motioned down the dry foods aisle. “Freezer is directly in the back, past the seafood department.” He herded them down the aisle and around the seafood department and reached the freezer. It was tucked behind the seafood department at the end of a short hallway near the employee breakroom and lockers. A pair of double doors opposite the freezer led presumably to the warehouse. The freezer door was a large fortress of steel. Glen rapped on the freezer door three times—one short rap, two long ones. A moment later there was a shuffling from behind the door, the sound of something being slid back, and then the door was opening. A burly man with curly blonde hair and a scraggly beard stood behind the door, his blue eyes reflecting relief when he saw Glen with Rick, Janice and Bobby. “Thank God, you’re back.” They darted inside the freezer and the man shut the door behind them. He slid a long metal rod through the handle of the door, wedging it against the doorway jamb. A makeshift lock from the inside.

  Rick stood inside the freezer and rubbed his arms. It was still cold inside despite the lack of electricity for the last twenty-four hours. The freezer was large and filled with rows of hanging slabs of beef flanks, shoulders, legs. The meat was red and moist, still fresh. If they had to stay in here for another two days though, the cold would be gone and the meat would begin to spoil. Rick looked at the group of people huddled against the far wall and noted with relief that they all appeared to be fine. Melissa Peterson recognized him and got up from the circle of people and approached them. She was wearing faded jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt. Rick smiled and Melissa smiled back, embracing him. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said.

  “I’m glad you’re all right, too,” Rick said. Melissa looked up at him, her smile warm, and a little laugh escaped her lips. She caught Janice’s eye and her smile grew wider.

  “Janice!” she exclaimed. Janice’s features broke into a smile and she met Melissa halfway. They embraced as if they were sisters who hadn’t seen each other in years. Rick grinned. He looked over at the other people huddled against the wall. He recognized Lee Shelby, owner of Shelby’s drug store, who had been so nice to him when he first came into town, which all seemed like ten thousand years ago. Glen’s nurse Barbara Schob had joined them and was conferring with the physician. Rick traded a weary smile with her; her gray hair was in disarray and there were dark circles under her eyes, but otherwise she seemed fine. She was dressed like the others in the room: blue jeans, a heavy long-sleeved shirt and boots.

  Lee walked up to him, extending his hand. Rick shook it, gripping the man’s hand tight. “Good to see you again, Rick,” Lee said. “Although I surely do wish the circumstances were more pleasant.”

  Rick lau
ghed. “I agree.”

  Introductions were made. The blond, bearded man was Fred Logan. The others who had now joined them were Annette Berger, a middle-aged matronly looking woman, and a husband-wife team Charley and Anne Dennings. Lee found some extra empty crates, which everybody had been sitting on, and some heavy wool blankets they had been using to keep warm. Melissa and Janice were setting them up, chatting with the others, while Rick drew Fred and Lee aside. “There’s more of them coming,” he said. He quickly recapped their arrival at the supermarket and told of his seeing several of the Dark Ones making their way down the highway toward the shopping center. “Did any of them break in here last night?”

  Lee shook his head. Like the others, his features bore the battle-wounds of fatigue in the lines and creases on his face. “I don’t think they knew we were in here. I was manning the store yesterday with Missy when all hell broke loose. Charley and Anne were at the counter, and Barbara was having a prescription filled when Fred burst in and relayed the news about the crab things.”

  “The Clickers,” Rick said, nodding.

  “The what?” Fred asked.

  “Clickers,” Rick explained. “It’s what I call them on account of the sound their claws make when they click them together. They surely aren’t regular crabs.”

  “Right,” Lee said. “Anyway…” He turned to Fred. “Why don’t you tell him.”

  Fred’s blue eyes still reflected the fear of what he saw. “I had been over at John’s junkyard looking for a fuel pump for my Chevy when all the commotion started on the beach about those crabs…Clickers, or whatever the hell they are. I ran down and helped Bill Hawkins and Sheriff Conklin fight some of ’em off, then I saw these…things,” He held his arms out wide, as if describing their size. “They were huge, green slimy things. Walked like a man. Looked like something out of that movie Creature from the Black Lagoon. Anyway, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I was a bit farther up the shore than Roy was, closer to Main Street when I saw them coming from the south near Ralph’s sport shop. Anyway, I yelled for Roy, but he didn’t hear me. Then they were coming up the beach and one of them attacked Bob Price, the minister at the First Presbyterian Church. It just grabbed him and…” Fred’s voice cracked. “…it…bit his head clean off. It just leaned forward, opened its mouth and chomped on him, like a kid eating a popsicle.” Fred looked at them, his features grave. “I broke into a run and just kept on running, screaming about them monsters coming out of the ocean, trying to warn people, but…they wouldn’t listen. I just kept running till I got here.” He sighed, his face blank. Lost. “I’d be dead now along with the others if I hadn’t took off.” He looked at Rick. “They’re all dead, aren’t they?”