by Ike Hamill
Mike let go of the pump handle and stepped to end of the truck. He looked off in the direction that had drawn Morris’s attention and then turned to the building to check on Melanie and her kids. They stood off to the side of the store, within a few feet of the register, and she held her cellphone to her ear. From her flailing hand, he guessed she was having a very interesting conversation with her mother-in-law.
Looking back to his right, Mike saw that Morris had moved even farther away. He now stood almost next to the pumps of the other island. Morris broke his gaze with the night and shrugged slightly as he headed back towards the truck.
“We’ll wait here until her ride comes,” said Morris. “Then let them know that we’ll follow for a few exits to make sure she’s okay.”
“That sounds like a good…” started Mike.
Morris cut him off with a deep, angry yell—“HEY!”
Mike ducked instinctively. He glanced at Morris and saw that he was reaching back beneath his light coat and under his arm as he lowered his body into a slight crouch. Mike turned to his right, trying to get himself on the other side of the truck as quickly as possible. He only made it a half-step.
Out of the darkness, a slicing noise whipped through the air. Mike only heard it for an instant.
When the sound cut through the air, Morris’s eyes were locked on a dark shape in the vacant lot, near a waist-high wire fence. He thought he was looking at a bush, but then yelled when the edges of the shape suddenly moved in a very non-bush way. The movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. He looked over just in time to see the top of Mike’s head disappear.
Morris took two giant strides back towards the truck and the downed man before he tucked into a tumbler’s roll to finish the distance to the pumps. He crouched low with his pistol drawn, pointed in the direction of the shadows. Morris tucked himself tighter behind the pumps before looking down to Mike. His first impression had been right—Mike’s head was sliced in half. Tracing the blood trail off to the left he discovered the resting place of the top half of Mike’s head. Just past that, a red and white diamond, about a twelve inches square, read “Flammable Liquid 3.”
Morris recognized the metal projectile—it had once marked the back of a tanker truck. Ducking even lower to see under the SUV, Morris caught a glimpse of the store windows. With his face pressed against the glass from the inside, Davey was tugging at his mom’s shirt with one hand while pointing with the other. Morris glanced up at the open driver’s door and wondered if Mike had pocketed the keys.
Squeezing between a metal column and the pump, Morris poked his head out enough to look towards the dark shape—it was gone. Instead, a rock flew at him, challenging his lightning-fast reflexes. He pulled his head back and avoided having his skull crushed, but caught a deep scrape from his temple around to the top of his ear. Blood welled up in the scrape instantly.
Keeping his body protected behind the pump, Morris snaked his hand across Mike’s body, checking pockets for keys. He didn’t find any, but couldn’t reach under the man to see if he had tucked them in a back pocket.
Another rock glanced off the metal pole at Morris’s back. Chips of stone exploded from the impact, peppering his exposed neck. He risked another quick peek around the left side of the pump and then leaned right, leading with his gun. When he spotted a dark shape over near the dumpster, he took quick aim and shot. The shape changed direction, fleeing farther into the dark. Morris was a good shot, and had a pretty good sense when he’d hit his target. This time he was almost certain.
Morris sprang back to the left and lunged for the open door of the truck. They keys were hanging from the ignition—pulled out just enough to silence the warning chime. He shoved them home and had the truck started and in reverse before the first rock hit the back window of the SUV. He kept the engine gunned as he reversed in the direction of the creature. The pump handle popped from the side of the vehicle and snapped back. When he had cleared the pumps, Morris dragged the gearshift down into drive, letting off the throttle just long enough for the transmission to engage, and then sent the truck lurching forward towards the low building.
He achieved just enough speed to lock the tires into a sideways skid, bringing the passenger door inline with the front door of the convenience store and resting the quarter panel of the SUV against one of the strong concrete-filled posts designed to protect the facade from runaway vehicles.
His side of the truck, the driver’s side, was at an oblique angle to his last-known position of the monster, but Morris still felt exposed as he watched Davey pushing his mother and sister towards the front door of the store.
A metallic thump from the side of the truck drew Morris’s attention back to his mirror. The door behind him had been pierced by another rectangle of metal. This projectile had begun the day as a license place.
The Hunter family piled in through the rear door of the truck, with Davey bringing up the rear. Another rock glanced off the truck, dinging the rear window. It was followed by a more direct hit to the driver’s window, which sent a spidering crack across it, next to Morris’s elbow. Morris used his mirror and saw the dark mass taking shape as it lunged towards the vehicle, coming in for the kill.
The rear door had just closed behind Davey when Morris threw his elbow at the window at his side.
“Go! Go!” ordered Melanie, but Morris bashed again. This time his arm blew out the window, sending glass down to the parking lot. The clerk from the convenience store had reached the front doors, phone in his hand at his side, when Morris fired his next shots. The clerk ducked back and away. He had called the police when the first shot rang out, but only found the sense to hide behind the counter with this latest volley.
After busting out his window, Morris spun and leaned out of his window. He brought his gun level with the approaching beast.
Morris got off six shots before the hulk crashed to its knees. Its enormous fingers gripped the rear bumper of the SUV. Morris finally obeyed Melanie’s order, pulling his body back inside the truck and accelerating away from the front of the store. The monster held on to the bumper for several seconds before the friction of the pavement quelled its deadly grip.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” demanded Melanie, raising her voice over the rushing wind coming through Morris’s broken window.
“Mom,” asked Davey, “what are you talking about? He just saved us.”
Under Morris’s control, the SUV jumped and danced around corners, leaving the convenience store far in the distance before too long. They headed south on the local road instead of the highway.
“Let us out!” Melanie yelled. She sounded much more in control this time, but still close to hysteria.
“The giant’s only injured,” Morris turned to make himself heard. “You’re still in danger.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Melanie said, sighing. “What next?”
“Mom, that thing killed Mike,” Davey explained, trying to make her understand the situation.
“How do we know he didn’t kill him,” she waved at Morris. “This whole thing is just insane.”
“You saw it,” said Davey. “Remember?”
“It’s no use,” said Susan, unexpectedly taking Davey’s side. “When she gets like this she can’t be reasoned with.”
“What are you talking about?” Melanie turned on her daughter. She looked between her daughter’s patience and her son’s imploring stare and flopped back against the seat. “Everyone’s gone crazy,” she said. “Might as well join the crowd.”
In the front seat, Morris executed a series of tight turns down close side-streets to get them back on track. He waited until he found a straight stretch of road to really pour on the speed and pull out his cell phone.
“Hey,” he said after holding the phone to his ear for a few seconds. “We’re coming in hot. Twenty-five minutes and he’ll be right on our tail.” Morris listened for a bit before hanging up. “They’re ready for us,” he announced to the back seat
. He wiped his own blood from the phone onto his shirt before putting it away. The car dinged and the check engine light came on.
“Great,” said Melanie. Her arms were crossed.
“Probably just because the gas cap,” said Morris. “Davey?” Morris addressed the boy.
“Yeah?” he asked, leaning forward so he could hear over the wind.
“How is he tracking you? Do you know?” Morris asked.
“It’s,” Davey looked up to his mother before answering, as if he was embarrassed, “my blood, I guess.”
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
Crooked Tree
WITH HIS HEAD SWIVELING from side to side, looking out each window, Morris tempered his speed down the dirt road. The ruts pulled at the wheel each time he veered off-course. Concentrating mostly on the woods, he missed the break in the center-hump where he should have turned into the driveway, and the SUV bounced and jerked as he made the turn.
Once on the driveway, the surface evened out and soon they pulled into the wide open yard which surrounded the homely trailer.
Morris’s cousins had parked several cars with the trunks together and headlights pointed out in a rough circle. Morris took the one spot left by pulling past and then backing in to the space. As he put the truck in park, Morris spun to address his passengers: “Get out, stay low, and make your way to the center of the circle.”
“Shouldn’t we go inside?” asked Melanie.
“Too hard to defend. Get going,” he said. “Stay low.”
Davey pushed open his door and dropped to the ground. Melanie and Susan followed and imitated his hunched shuffle. In the center of the circle, surrounded by the rear-ends of the vehicles, the family joined three of Morris’s cousins who rapidly prepared firearms. Overhead, a light canvas tent flapped in the light breeze.
Before getting out, Morris leaned over and pushed open the front passenger door. He left the vehicle with all four doors open—they interleaved with the door of the vehicle next to the SUV, forming a shield for the center of the circle. When he arrived at the center, Melanie was introducing herself to his three relatives—Roland, Merritt, and Chester.
“Thank you, Roland,” she said.
“How we looking?” Morris asked.
“You tell us,” said Merritt. “What are we looking at?”
“Big guy,” said Morris. “Maybe ten feet or more. Naked. Heals fast. Very determined.”
“And he’s after the boy?”
“Yeah.”
“Weapons?” asked Roland.
“Anything he can throw,” said Morris. “Got me here with a rock from twenty-five yards,” he pointed at his left temple where the blood had crusted over the furrow. “Strong, too. You don’t want to be close.”
“Anything you know stops it?” the fourth relative, Chester, joined the conversation.
“Bullets slow him down,” said Morris. “Too bad your old man’s not still around, he would know.”
Chester approached Melanie who had stood to the side of the conversation, hugging a child tight to each of her sides. “Ma’am, you’re going to want to come over here, behind my car,” he said, pointing.
Melanie shuffled her kids in the recommended direction.
“It’s my Deputy Sheriff’s car. It’s reinforced in several spots,” he explained.
“Well what good is that going to do,” she pointed to the tent overhead. “What is it? Fabric?”
“It’s not to stop anything except vision. It’s just so he can’t see us from above.”
“Oh,” Melanie said. She settled her children and herself down on the ground behind the unmarked vehicle. Morris’s cousins had backed the car right up to a propped-up snowplow to create even more of a barrier. The family pulled together tight in the concavity of the metal and watched the men prepare.
Low conversation passed between the cousins and then Chester came over to crouch in front of Davey. “Davey?” he asked.
Davey nodded.
“You’re connected to this thing, right?”
“That’s absurd,” said Melanie. “None of this is his fault.”
“I’m not blaming him,” Chester said. He turned back to the boy. “Morris says you’ve lost connection in the past few hours, is that right?” he asked slowly.
“Right.” Davey nodded rapidly at the big man kneeling at his feet.
“We need you to get that back,” said Chester. “We need you to focus very hard…”
Melanie cut him off—“Why do you think he has any ability to make a connection with that monster?”
“And we need you to keep quiet for a minute,” Chester said to Melanie. “You don’t have to understand it, but you do need to accept it.”
“We’re set, Chester, heading out,” Morris called from across the circle. Morris, Roland, and Merritt found their way out between the spokes of cars. Each held a shotgun and had several other guns and packs of ammunition strapped to their bodies.
Melanie’s eyes darted around. Her daughter, Susan, was pressed against her side. She had her arms pulled close and her hands bunched in her lap, rubbing her thumbs together.
“So you’re gonna work on it, right?” Chester asked Davey.
“I’ll try,” said Davey. He lowered his head and closed his eyes. Melanie glanced down at his concentration and was reminded of the long trip in Ken’s SUV. She felt her irritation fade, replaced by a sense of impotence.
Chester pushed up from his kneeling position and scanned slowly between the cars. He took a spot near the center of the circle, but closer to the side with Melanie and her kids, as he rotated to keep watch on all sides.
“So what are Morris and your cousins doing?” asked Melanie.
“They’re patrolling,” said Chester. “And Merritt is my brother. The other two are my cousins.”
Melanie nodded.
“I still think we should be running or calling the police,” she said.
“I am an officer, and trust me, this is one of the few situations I wouldn’t rely on them. We’d spend the next few hours just trying to convince anyone there was a threat.”
“But you believe it,” she said. “You seem like you believe it even more than I do, and I’ve seen it.”
“I’ve seen the evidence,” said Chester. “One of the cases was up where I work. A guy on the west side of Sebago. At first I thought it was just an organized crime thing, but then I started to see the irregularities.” As he talked, Chester kept his body moving. He dipped slightly to see through windows and checked behind himself as he slowly spun. “Plus, my dad warned us all a while ago.”
“Is that Morris’s uncle? The one who used to tell all the stories?” asked Melanie.
“No.” Chester paused his surveillance and smiled at Melanie. “No, the story-teller was my uncle, too. Dad didn’t have stories, just a lot of advice.”
Chester stood up straight and turned his head at the sound of a distant gunshot.
“Did they…” Melanie began, but Chester cut her off with a raised hand.
After a few moments, he explained—“A sighting maybe. Could also be they’re trying to flush him out. Hunting apex predators is tricky; we can only guess what’s going on out there. Like hearing one half of a conversation.”
“Mr. Morris,” said Davey. His eyes were still closed but he turned his head to face Chester before speaking again—“Mr. Morris fired because the monster was stalking Roland.” Davey opened his mouth again and then shut it without speaking further.
“Where are they, Davey?” asked Chester. He kept his eyes glued on where the headlights touched the edge of the forest.
“Near the house rock,” said Davey.
Chester nodded but took his eyes away from his scan for a second to assess the boy’s face. With her mouth pressed into a thin white line, Melanie’s brow betrayed her skepticism.
“He sees it again,” said Davey, just above a whisper.
Another shot rang out in the night.
“I don’t understand,�
�� said Melanie. “You couldn’t see this thing all the way down here, and now you can?”
“Mr. Morris has my blood,” Davey explained, not leaving his trance. “They all do.”
Chester nodded.
Davey’s eyes flew open and Melanie couldn’t help but pull away from the terror on her son’s face.
“He tricked them!” Davey yelled. He turned his body and tucked his head, wrapping his arm around his mother and sister. With a giant crash, the car on the other side of snow plow lurched backwards tearing through the circle at full speed. Chester leveled his shotgun. His first shot rang out just as the bumper hit his thighs. Flight was never an option for Chester, the rusty old Charger knocked him flat and dragged him for several feet before it rear-ended the vehicle on the other side of the circle. Melanie watched the murder through wide eyes.
For Davey the world had slowed down. As he spun he could see his own body, as if he hovered over it. The old car’s tires never spun. They were locked by the brakes. Instead, the car skidded just over the surface of the grass. It lifted enough to almost hover as it plowed through their brave protector. Davey turned away just as the car impacted Chester’s legs. He had no desire to witness that.
Davey pushed away from his mother. One of the doors of the Charger hit his side of the plow and the extra momentum helped Davey rise quickly to a crouch. He pulled free from his mom’s arm as he stepped past his sister towards the gap between the vehicles. His senses had been enhanced by the adrenaline and he knew that Morris, Roland, and Merritt were on their way, but the monster was much closer. He had to get away from his family and lead the creature back towards the men with guns.
“No, Davey!” Melanie reacted much quicker than he expected and almost managed to grab his hand as he pulled free.
Davey danced between the doors, still seeing the rest of the world in slow motion, and emerged into the headlights. Time slowed further, almost to a stop, when he spotted the creature with his own eyes for the first time. In his dreams its shape was always undefined, a hulk without detail. In person, just fifty feet away, he saw nothing but the details: its foul and filthy skin, clumps of long hair stringing down from a oily, over-sized skull, and bulging, swollen muscles.