Clickers

by J. F. Gonzalez

  It began to eat Bobby alive while the boy’s lifeblood splattered to the ground at the Dark One’s feet.

  Rick was so shocked at the sight that he stood rooted to the spot. All he could do was watch in horror as the Dark One devoured Bobby in greedy chomps and gulps. The boy’s screams abruptly died off.

  He didn’t even realize he was screaming until he felt rough hands turn him toward the road and begin pulling him toward it. Only then was he aware that it was

  Melissa, who’d stumbled back to grab him and push him back on the flight to escape. Only then did he realize that he’d been standing in one spot, screaming his head off, and that the Dark One that was devouring Bobby would soon be lunging at him.

  Still screaming, he ran after Melissa as the wind blew the storm clouds across the sky.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rick was convinced they would be dead meat as they ran pell-mell through the woods. He could hear the crashing in the woods behind him as the Dark Ones gave chase. He didn’t know if it was the same creature that had killed Bobby, or if there were others, but it felt like more than one. It sounded like more than one and—

  Slowly but surely, the pursuit behind them was slowing down. It hit him when they reached a crest in the woods that led to the main highway that had been blocked off. Rick stopped abruptly, not hearing anything behind him now and Melissa stopped and turned, looking confused. And then it hit him.

  The storm was over.

  The clouds were breaking.

  Sunlight was shining through the dissolving clouds.

  He could see it on the small crest they had stopped on, and he tilted his head up and grinned. The rain had stopped, and while it was still cold, the slivers of sunlight that stabbed through the dark clouds brought a sense of joy to Rick’s face. Over the ocean, the storm clouds dissipated, revealing blue sky. The wind was pushing the clouds inland in a slow, steady pace. A few more minutes and they’d be bathed in sunlight.

  Melissa was laughing, clapping her hands together and looking up at the sky in victory. She looked like she had just won a million dollars. Rick turned back where they’d come from, catching a fleeting glimpse of huge, dark shapes scurrying to the ocean as if trying to escape a deadly plague. Rick watched as the beasts ran to the beach and dived into the ocean, back down to their watery darkness. He wanted to be happy, but he was still in a state of shock over just losing Janice and Bobby.

  Watching the creatures slip into the ocean, it was hard to believe that any of this was still happening, that he’d gone through all this only to remain virtually unscathed.

  “Yes!” Melissa yelled. She laughed, and to Rick it sounded as if she was teetering on the brink of madness herself. “Go back to the hell you came from, motherfuckers!” She was laughing hysterically, tears streaming down her face.

  The sound of her laughter brought their triumph back to reality. They were momentarily safe for now, but the creatures could still come back. They had to get the hell out of here and go to where there were other people.

  Rick pulled at Melissa’s arm. She turned to him, her grin wide, and for just an instant Rick wondered how Melissa was doing mentally. “We’ve got to go, Melissa.”

  Melissa nodded, her grin fading. “Where should we go?”

  “Follow the road I guess. Somebody should come along eventually.”

  “Okay.” They walked up the incline that led to the road and stopped, looking down its twisting, winding expanse. It would lead south to another secondary road that would go in a northwestern direction, which would eventually lead to the Interstate. Rick was positive that help would be on this road somewhere. He looked at Melissa and for a brief instant he saw Janice’s face superimposed over Melissa’s—

  (if it comes down between him and me, take care of him!)

  —for just a brief instant, and then it was gone.

  Guess I screwed up on that one, babe. God, I am so sorry.

  “You okay, Rick?”

  Rick blinked and then it was just Melissa looking at him with concern. A sudden sense of sadness and loss swelled in Rick and for a moment he thought he was going to cry. But he drew a deep breath and reeled it in. There would be a time for mourning later, when they were out of the cold and wet and away from the threat of danger. For now he had to concentrate on getting them off this road and into the hands of rescue workers.

  Melissa’s eyes still held a sense of fear. He reached out for her, hugging her briefly. “I’m fine. I’m just so glad we’re alive.”

  “So am I, “ Melissa said.

  Rick broke the embrace and looked down at her. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They turned and began heading south down Route 1.

  * * *

  Two hours later they were picked up by the National Guard and taken to a rescue shelter.

  * * *

  The National Guard’s rescue mission sweep hit Phillipsport, Maine at nine thirty a.m. eastern standard time on October 24.

  Ten trucks pulled into the town center from the main highway. The high beams of the vehicles picked out the carnage that had occurred. The first truck skirted the carnage easily and pulled over, where the driver promptly threw up. Those following drove farther into the city, fanning out over the town at strategic points. Radio frequencies had become easier to pick up in this part of the state, and within minutes the first message had been relayed by radio of the severity of the situation in Phillipsport. “Center Control, this is unit one thousand, Center Control this is unit one thousand, do you copy? Over.”

  “Unit one thousand, this is Center Control and we copy. Over.”

  “Center Control we have a grave situation here. We’re in Phillipsport, Maine which is approximately one hundred and fifty miles from Portland in the northeastern corner of the state along Route 1. It looks like everybody here is dead, sir. Over.”

  “Unit one thousand, did I copy that right? Did you say everybody’s dead? Over.”

  “That’s affirmative Center Control. We’re rolling through town and I see nothing but dead bodies lining the streets. Over.”

  “Unit one thousand, assess the situation then report back at ten hundred hours. Over.”

  “Center Control, that’s a ten-four. Over.”

  “Over and out.”

  By eleven o’clock, the US Army had set up a command station at the town center at what had once been Phillipsport’s Sheriff’s station. As rescue teams scurried about town, two Army Commanders and a Corporal occupied the fort at the sheriff’s station after trying to locate the local law enforcement. A representative from the Maine State Highway Patrol was flown in and reported back the damage at the station and the town to his superiors in Portland. And for the next three hours the reports came trickling in.

  Five hundred people dead by the count of the rescuers.

  There didn’t seem to be any hope for survivors. During their rescue mission, which went on the rest of the day and through the night, they encountered no living human being.

  In addition to the dead, there were what had to be thousands of what could only be described as giant crabs littering the streets. Most of them were crushed, crumpled and appeared partially devoured. Some, however, were whole and quite intact. One rescue worker picked one up by its legs; the creature, in its death spasm, reached a blood red claw out and snapped the man’s finger off.

  In addition to the dead crab-things and people, it appeared that the citizens of Phillipsport had been involved in a war. Most of the dead were either clutching firearms, or weapons were recovered not far from their bodies. There were shotguns, pistols, hunting rifles and every conceivable form of firearm strewn all over the town. They were found everywhere, from empty living rooms to the stone-dead hands of the people that died brandishing them. One old man was found clutching an antique 1894 Winchester rifle—the old man looked like he’d gone through a paper shredder; the rifle hadn’t lost any of its monetary value. Cars were demolished, most parked haphazardly; stores were destroyed,
their windows bashed in, their interiors demolished. At the Sheriff’s station, which was the only seemingly intact place in town, several rifles and pistols were missing from the cache along with several hundred rounds of ammunition. Farther down Main Street, along the pier, the beach was littered with the broken shells of the giant crab-things, along with more human bodies. The rescue workers that were the first on the scene were numbed by the massive carnage.

  By midnight, the entire town had been canvassed, including the shopping center, city hall, the outlying suburbs and the few farms that dotted the surrounding countryside. In every instance, rescue workers encountered the same sight; not a living soul, but plenty of destruction of human life and property damage.

  A few hours later a truckload of National Guardsmen pulled up to the GE power plant. Two men waited in the truck while four of them ventured inside the building. A few minutes later, they reported their find via walkie-talkie.

  As the night slowly gave way to dawn, one of the things that puzzled rescuers the most was the occasional mass of what appeared to be a frothy liquid substance amid tattered shreds that could only have been clothing. A United States Marine voiced the opinion that it looked like flesh that had been dissolved in acid. Why else would the remnants of blue jeans be intertwined in the puddle of goo?

  And so the search continued.

  * * *

  Rick’s and Melissa’s first stop was the Red Cross emergency station that had been set up in Cherryfield. They were transported there by chopper after the National Guard picked them up and took them to the substation erected about twenty miles south, and thirty minutes later were being treated for their wounds.

  The attending physician on duty that treated Melissa and Rick gave them a preliminary examination that resulted in pronouncing them fine, but exhausted. He examined Rick’s leg, which had begun bleeding several hours before in their mad flight from the Dark Ones. He patched it up and gave him some painkillers, then directed them to a gym that had been converted to a makeshift recovery area/homeless shelter. Beds lined the floor of the gym, four wide, fifteen deep. Most of them were full, but they found a vacant pair toward the rear of the room that were side by side. The doctor escorted them to the beds, gave them each a tranquilizer and told them to get some rest. They laid down on the cots surrounded by survivors of the wrath of the hurricane.

  A lump rose in Rick’s throat as he thought of Janice. In his mind, he would see her die every time he thought of her. He heard Bobby scream as he was picked up by the Dark One and Janice’s voice floated in his mind again as if to mock him: Promise me you’ll take care of Bobby if anything happens to me.

  Rick laid down on the bed, drew his knees up to his chest and cried. He didn’t care that there were other survivors of the storm seeking temporary shelter. He didn’t care about anybody else’s loss. All he felt was his own. He didn’t even notice that Melissa get off her cot and sit at his side to comfort him as he cried himself to sleep.

  * * *

  Rick was slowly coming to consciousness when he felt somebody lightly tapping his shoulder. He was dreaming they were in back of the pickup truck Jack was piloting and the Dark Ones were after them again. Janice was in the truck with Bobby, and this time as the Dark One leaned over and reached out a large taloned claw it wasn’t Janice it picked up, it was Rick. He felt its grip around his body as claws sunk into his chest and picked him up. He felt himself being lifted up toward that opening maw lined with sharp teeth—

  He came to with a gasp and, for a moment, the figure leaning over him was the Dark One, bending over him to bite his head off. Rick scurried backward, the figure solidifying before him. Then his vision cleared, and he was looking at a uniformed officer, an Army Colonel from the looks of him. Rick’s heart fluttered from a heavy beat to a whisper. He took a deep breath. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me.”

  The Colonel offered no apology. “Are you Richard Timothy Sychek?”

  Rick’s curiosity was aroused. “Yeah?”

  “My name is Colonel Richrath, US Army. Could you come with me, please?” The Colonel stood in front of the cot, waiting for Rick to get up. Behind him, a pair of Army men stood in Army greens awaiting to escort him to wherever it was they wanted him.

  Rick glanced over at the cot Melissa had slept in and saw it was empty. The Colonel anticipated it. “Your companion, Melissa Ann Peterson, has already been escorted by another private to our temporary headquarters. If you’ll come with me you can see her.”

  Rick got up, memories of last night rushing through his sleep encrusted mind. There was a sharp pang in his stomach and he realized he was hungry. When was the last time he’d eaten anything? At least twenty-four hours. He looked around at the shelter which was still filled with people, some sitting on their cots in little groups, others huddled in various corners. Red Cross personnel droned along making sure everything was running smoothly. Rick noticed from the windows set along the walls of the building that it was light and the sun was shining. When they had come in it had been daylight, but cloudy. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “You and Ms. Peterson fell asleep at around two p.m. on October 24. It is now ten a.m. October 25.” Colonel Richrath’s voice was official sounding, brisk, and impersonal. He sounded like a robot. Rick didn’t like it one bit.

  “I’ve been asleep almost twenty-four hours?” Rick was alarmed.

  For the first time what could have passed as emotion flickered across Colonel Richrath’s face in a brief smile, and then was replaced by that flat, detached gaze. “You were obviously both very exhausted. We thought it best that you get your sleep.”

  Rick’s stomach rumbled again. “I’m hungry. Is there a place where we can stop and get something to eat?”

  “Lunch is being provided,” Colonel Richrath said. “If you’ll just come with us.”

  “Mind if I go to the restroom to brush my teeth and take a pee?”

  “By all means,” the Colonel said. “Private Donaldson has some toiletries for you to use. Get cleaned up and be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  Private Donaldson stepped up and handed Rick a small canvas bag. Rick mustered a smile. “Be ready in a second.” He headed toward the bathroom.

  When he emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later they were waiting for him. Rick stepped out feeling a little refreshed, but more nervous than he’d felt since the arrival of the Clickers three nights before. What the hell did the military want to question him for? With these thoughts in mind, he followed Colonel Richrath and two privates to a waiting car. Private Donaldson held the rear door open for him as he climbed in.

  They didn’t have to travel for very long. The driver, another private with a somber face, piloted the car down Route 193, then turned down Route 9. They continued on that road for thirty minutes, passing silos, barns, and open, rolling country. They reached the outskirts of a small town—which one, Rick wasn’t sure, because he wasn’t paying attention to the road signs—and pulled into the driveway of a white building. They drove around to the rear.

  The lot was filled with military vehicles; jeeps, trucks designed to carry bunkers of soldiers with machine guns in war, trucks designed to carry missiles. They were at an armory. The private pulled the vehicle into a parking slot and killed the engine. The rear door opened and the private next to him exited the vehicle.

  Rick followed him out and they were met by two more privates and another official-looking man in military uniform. This man was middle-aged, distinguished, dark hair graying at the temples. He stood tall and straight. He nodded briskly at Rick and held out his hand. “Richard Sychek, I presume?”

  “That’s me,” Rick said. He shook the man’s hand.

  “I’m Colonel Livingston, US Army. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind. It won’t take much of your time.”

  “Sure. Did you bring Melissa here, too?”

  They were walking toward the building now. “Melissa Peterson? Yes, she was brought here shortly
before you. After we question you, we’ll take you out to breakfast and you can both go.”

  “Fine with me,” Rick said. But inside he didn’t feel that way. Instead, he felt a sickening sense of dread well over him as they entered the building.

  * * *

  The questioning was in reality more like the third degree.

  They seated Rick in a small room that had no windows. The room was right out of a police-procedural suspense film; low lighting, a lone scarred table and a couple of chairs. Rick sat on one side while Colonel Livingston sat on the other flanked by two privates. The questioning started innocently enough; what was he doing in town? Could he clue them in on some background information on why he came to Phillipsport? Rick was wary about giving them such personal information and gave them a simplified version. He filled them in on the basics and then the real questions began. What did he see? What happened? Rick started slowly, beginning with his arrival in Phillipsport and running over the Clicker in the road. He followed that up with meeting Janice Harreleson on the pier the following day, rescuing Bobby from the attacking Clickers, whisking the boy off to Glen Jorgensen’s office with Jack Ripley. He related his run-in with Sheriff Conklin, his short stint in the Phillipsport jail. He then went on to explain the arrival of the Dark Ones, and at this the Colonel’s features became grave. He remained silent as Rick related how he and Janice watched the creatures maul and destroy the entire town. Then he explained how Janice got him out of the jail cell, how they gathered up whatever weapons they could the following day and ventured out when it appeared the coast was clear. How they made it to the shopping center. How they came upon the others trapped inside the freezer of the supermarket and their attempts at freedom, their various battles with the Dark Ones up until the moment National Guardsmen picked him and Melissa up along Route 1.