Monstrous

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Inside the garage was an abundance of spiders. She could see them skittering across the ceiling, dropping down on their fine strands of webbing. She gave them a good spray of the poison as well, as she climbed into the Ford as quickly as she could, slamming the door closed.

  Some bugs had made it inside. Quickly she closed all the vents, remembering her experience in the parking lot of the animal hospital, then held her breath and sprayed. She watched as the insects choked and died on the poison, falling to the seat and floor, before she put the key in the ignition and turned it. As Clara promised, the car turned right over, and she revved the engine just to make sure she wasn’t going to stall out, before putting the car in drive and leaving the garage.

  Doc Martin drove the car down the short driveway, giving the house a quick look before reaching the street. Clara was at the front door giving her a thumbs-up as she passed. At the end of the driveway she looked to the left and then to the right, trying to figure out the best way to get to the back roads behind Clara’s house.

  On the right she could see their van, still smoldering a little from the explosion that had consumed it. She didn’t want to look but saw what little remained of Velazquez upon the sidewalk. Doc Martin glanced away quickly, sure the image would be branded into her brain for years to come.

  She put her blinker on to go left and immediately laughed at the irony—as if there were any other cars on the road.

  She was headed into a little-developed area of Benediction where the houses were spaced farther and farther apart. They were all quiet, dark, and her laughter died as she imagined what might have gone on inside them—what might still be going on.

  Just beyond the last house on the street, Doc Martin caught sight of a dirt road through a break in the trees and slammed on her brakes to give it a better look.

  It was deeply rutted and overgrown with weeds, but she figured it would bring her closer to Isaac. Cautiously she turned onto the road—path, really—and slowly drove forward, the Ford creaking and rocking back and forth as a growing swarm of insect life formed a living cloud around it.

  She put her wipers on, crushing the flying vermin and smearing the windshield, temporarily blinding her. She gave it a few squirts of wiper fluid to clear it, just as a large animal appeared out of nowhere, slamming its bulk against her door, causing the side window to spiderweb and her to cry out in absolute terror. The car slid to one side as she stomped on the gas, trying to get the vehicle as far away from her attacker as possible. Gripping the steering wheel for dear life as the car bounced and banged against the uneven ground, she looked into the rearview mirror to see what had attacked her.

  A horse was galloping in pursuit.

  Who the hell has a horse on Benediction?

  It was close—close enough that she could see its silver-coated right eye—and she knew that the animal would stop at nothing to get to her.

  Doc Martin sped up, watching through the rearview as the alien-controlled horse did the same. When she had enough speed built up, she did what would have been unthinkable for her a mere thirty-six hours earlier.

  She hit the brakes.

  It was like she was hit from behind by a Mack truck. She pitched forward with the impact, her chest slamming into the steering wheel, causing the horn to beep. The horse’s torso exploded through the glass of the rear window.

  Peeling herself off the steering wheel, feeling as though her chest had collapsed, she watched in horror as the steed continued to flail, stuck half in and half out of the car. Its body was a twisted, bloody wreck, the metal and glass of the car having lacerated its taut flesh in hundreds of places.

  Even after everything she’d been through, there was still a part of her that couldn’t stand the sight of the animal’s suffering. Making sure she was properly protected, she forced open the passenger door and climbed out of the Ford. Taking the gun from her pocket, she walked around to the back of the car.

  The animal lay atop the crumpled back end, and as she approached, it lifted its head, craning the silver eye toward her.

  Doc Martin felt an incredible anger then, something bubbling up inside her that she was unable to contain. She hated whatever the thing was that had invaded her island, tainting everything with its presence.

  The horse had been beautiful until . . .

  And so had the island of Benediction, but now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

  She raised the gun so that whatever was looking out through the horse’s eye could see.

  “This is for everything you’ve poisoned,” she said, putting a single shot through the silver orb and into the horse’s altered brain.

  The animal went still, its head dropping limply to the roof of the car with a thud.

  There was a noise behind her, and she saw that the alien force was not about to give up—forest rodents slowly emerged from hiding.

  Keeping an eye on the encroaching wildlife, she stuck the gun back in her pocket and grabbed hold of the horse’s back legs. It was heavy, but she managed to pull it just enough to allow the weight of the dead animal to help her slide the corpse to the ground.

  She turned just as the first of the vermin sprang. She ripped it from the front of her heavy jacket and threw it to the ground as she raced for the driver’s seat of the car. She jumped in and slammed the car into drive almost before the door was shut. The animals were after her in full force now, throwing themselves against the moving vehicle. Silently Doc Martin hoped—prayed—that nobody in the area had bought an elephant.

  As she feared it would, the road was getting worse, and she had to slow the car even more. The ground was muddy from the previous night’s storm, and she could feel the car’s tires sinking into the muck and mire as the wheels spun for purchase.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered under her breath, hoping that she wouldn’t get stuck.

  So much for hope.

  The car came to a lurching stop, the front wheels spinning crazily in a patch of mud far deeper than she would have thought possible.

  Panic started to set in, but she knew those kinds of emotions were useless and forced herself to try freeing the car. She tried every trick that she had learned from driving in New England winters, but the mud was proving to be more difficult than snow, and she found herself digging deeper and deeper as the Ford’s tires spun.

  Insects formed a swarming cloud above the car, while the terrestrial life formed a living carpet around the vehicle, growing thicker with every passing second she remained stationary.

  Doc Martin’s mind raced. Staying inside the vehicle wasn’t an option; the vicious life would be inside the car in a matter of seconds with that shattered rear window.

  She felt the gun in her pocket and imagined placing it under her chin like she’d seen people do in the movies. But did she really have the courage to pull the trigger?

  Courage.

  No, it wasn’t that at all, she thought. It was the easy way out.

  Instead, she pulled the heavy hood up tight over her head, grabbed the can of bug spray from the seat beside her, and stepped out of the car—onto a carpet made up of every insect and vermin she could think of, just waiting for her to emerge.

  She stomped her booted feet into the center of the squirming mass and laid down a cloud of poison from the can of bug spray both above and below her.

  She had no idea where she was going, or what she would find beyond where she was, but it beat the alternative: to die, eaten alive by the animals that she’d loved and had dedicated her life to.

  It was unbearably hot in her many layers, and she found herself sweating profusely as she chugged along the muddy path. Insects swarmed around her head, and she could hear the sounds of movement behind her but refused to turn around. If they were going to get her, she didn’t want to see it coming.

  Maybe I’ll have a heart attack just as it’s about to happen, she thought as her heart pounded inside her sweating chest. That wouldn’t be so bad.

  The sounds behind her were
growing louder, more frantic, and she imagined a wave of vicious life building in size, flowing across the dirt and rocks, picking up speed until . . .

  At the top of the inclining road, Isaac appeared.

  “Isaac!” she found herself screaming, suddenly more concerned about the young man’s safety than her own. “You gotta run,” she cried breathlessly, finally turning around to gauge just how much time the young man might have and what she could do to buy him more.

  The animal life was surging toward them with blinding speed.

  “Dear God,” she managed to get out, closing her eyes as she prepared for the inevitable.

  An inevitable that did not come.

  Doc Martin opened her eyes, gasping at the sight before her. The wave of life had stopped, hanging in the air mere feet from where she stood, swaying like some gigantic venomous snake preparing to strike. Cautiously she turned to see that Isaac was just standing there, perfectly still, staring straight ahead at the terrifying sight, and she was about to scream at him to get the hell out of there, but then she noticed something that chilled her more than the sight of the single organism.

  “Oh, Isaac,” she found herself saying aloud, his gaze zeroing in on her. “What . . . what’s happened to you?”

  She noticed his eyes, not just the right one, but both.

  Both of them covered with a glistening silver sheen.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The storm wanted to destroy them, the wind and waves trying to flip their craft and give them to the churning sea as a sacrifice.

  Cody struggled to pilot the yacht, knowing how desperate the storm was to see them fail.

  But he wasn’t about to give it that satisfaction. He’d been sailing for most of his life and knew full well that the sea could be fickle, calm and gentle one moment, but able to turn in a heartbeat to prove how wild she truly was.

  Visibility was poor, and all he could see before him were the surging waves and roiling clouds.

  But then the view began to change. Through the storm, he saw it, like black fingers rising up from the churning ocean.

  The city.

  Boston.

  He felt a flush of excitement as he held tightly to the wheel, trying to keep the boat on course. But as they grew closer, he saw how dark the city was, no lights in the buildings, no headlights on the roads, no flashing beacons from the airport across the harbor.

  And the smoke. At first he thought it was part of the storm, darker clouds moving across the sky, but then he realized otherwise—some of the buildings were burning.

  He and the others had survived the island and made it through the storm to the city.

  But are we too late?

  * * *

  Langridge checked the number of bullets she had remaining in her gun and the extra clips in her pocket.

  “Not really all that much, is it?” Dr. Sayid commented over the howling of the storm.

  “Enough if used sparingly,” she said, slipping the gun back into its holster.

  Sayid shielded his eyes against the driving rain as he gazed out over the side of the yacht. “It shouldn’t be long now. What then?”

  “We see what’s happening and figure out how to contact the Emergency Management Agency, just as we’ve planned,” she said firmly.

  “And when has anything in the last thirty-six hours gone according to plan?”

  “That’s why you learn to roll with it, or—”

  “Get crushed beneath it,” he said with a nod. “I know. If Sidney could give us more pertinent information about the alien organisms,” he began, then stopped when he caught the look on Langridge’s face. “What is it?” he asked, reading the seriousness in her gaze.

  She didn’t answer, instead checking her weapon again.

  “It’s Sidney, isn’t it?” he urged.

  “I’m not sure how we should be handling her,” she admitted.

  “I’m sure she could be beneficial to us if . . .”

  “And she could also be a danger,” Langridge cautioned. “A threat.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sayid asked.

  “You know exactly what I’m saying,” she responded. She didn’t care for it either, but it was something that had to be discussed.

  “We don’t have any understanding of her condition,” Langridge continued. “For all we know . . .”

  “Do you seriously believe that Sidney could mean us harm?”

  “No, I don’t believe Sidney could,” she said, stressing the girl’s name. “But there are other forces at play here.”

  “We don’t fully understand what’s happened with her,” he attempted to explain.

  “Exactly,” she interrupted. “That’s all I’m saying . . . we don’t fully understand.”

  Sayid went quiet, looking out over the seething waters.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Absolutely nothing more than keeping an eye on things,” she said. “Being observant.”

  “And if you see something that you don’t agree with?” he asked.

  “We’ll deal with it if it happens,” she said coldly, letting her hand drop down to the holster, where her gun rested, waiting.

  Ready if needed.

  * * *

  Sidney came up on deck, her eyes immediately finding Sayid and Langridge sitting side by side. Likely discussing Mission: Impossible stuff, she thought as Rich and Snowy came up beside her.

  She had sensed that they were close to Boston. There was an uncomfortable buzzing in her brain threatening to drive her just a bit more crazy.

  Cody glanced over his shoulder at them, and she could see how tired he looked, the stress of sailing them through the storm obvious.

  Rich approached their friend, placing a hand upon his back.

  “Dude, let me take this for a bit,” he said.

  Cody looked as though he’d been slapped. “No,” he said flatly with an abrupt shake of his head. “I’m fine. I got this.”

  “You’re exhausted, Code,” Rich persisted. “I can take us from here.”

  “Back off, Rich,” Cody said angrily.

  Sidney glanced from the swirling clouds over the city, like something out of a bad science fiction movie, to catch sight of Cody pushing Rich away from the wheel.

  “Dude!” Rich exclaimed.

  “Seriously, guys?” Sidney said, moving to stand between them. “I thought we were way past this.”

  Cody looked as though he might want to argue, and she was ready.

  “You can barely keep your eyes open,” she said. “Why can’t you let Rich handle this for a little while?”

  “It’s going to be a bitch docking, and . . .”

  “And when it comes time for that you can do it,” she said. “Go below deck, have some coffee, close your eyes,” she told him. “Rest up for what’s to come.”

  They were both looking at her now.

  “And what is to come?” Cody asked. “What if we get there and it’s just too much for us to handle?”

  She felt a wave of exhaustion start to creep over her as that weird static buzz continued to intensify inside her skull.

  “We do what we can . . . whatever can do the most good.”

  The buzz was growing, and she wanted to grab each side of her skull to keep it from vibrating.

  “Talk about me?” Cody said. “You look like you’re going to drop.”

  “You try looking good with an alien in your brain,” she said, and tried to laugh, but just a moan came out.

  “Sid.” Cody stepped closer and took her arm to keep her steady as Rich reached for the wheel. “You don’t look so good—even worse than before.”

  Sidney looked at him. “Why did I ever break up with you?” she asked, feeling her legs turn to rubber. “You’re such a sweet-talker.”

  She knew that the last words were slurred, and she was going to repeat them when she felt the warm, tickling sensation beneath her nose and knew it was bleeding again.

  “Crap,” s
he managed to say as her legs gave out, and her gaze fell upon the Boston skyline through the storm.

  And then she heard it as clear as day, as if somebody was standing very close to her, whispering in her ear.

  Come.

  * * *

  Sidney was getting pretty tired of the visions, or whatever the hell they were. They made her head ache awfully, and there didn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason connected to what she was seeing, but she guessed that this was likely totally wrong. She could sense that they didn’t want her to see these things, and she hadn’t quite yet figured out their meaning.

  But she was determined that she would.

  Random images again—day-in-a-life kind of stuff. Moms pushing carriages while they happily chatted on their phones; kids watching cartoons, playing video games, wrestling with their siblings.

  Towers.

  The towers again. What was it about these things? She wanted desperately to know. There was something terrifying about them . . . the way they reached up into the sky, thick, fleshy veins of blood red wrapped around the metal skeleton like vines in a garden gone wild.

  And then the voice was there again.

  Come.

  It wasn’t a voice that she recognized, and it filled her with a sense of dread unlike anything she’d experienced before.

  Whatever it was attempting to speak to her, she could sense that it was close.

  And getting closer.

  * * *

  She was awake again, looking up into the face of her white shepherd.

  “Hey, Snowy girl,” she said, and the dog bent forward to lick her cheek and the skin beneath her nose.

  She reached up, quickly scratching Snowy behind the ear as she sat up. She was lying on one of the benches on deck and saw that all the others had gathered around Cody who was back behind the wheel.

  Staring silently, intensely ahead.

  “Sorry about that, guys,” she said, rising to join them.

  They didn’t even turn around, transfixed by what was before them.

  And then she too stared.

  Boston.