I screamed for her to stop.
She didn’t.
She got to the main scrum of girls, and she grabbed the back of a girl’s jersey, as if she planned to throw her aside to get to Cece. But as special as Nif was, she, like everyone else, wasn’t immune to whatever this was.
She froze, hands fixed to the back of the girl.
I continued to scream, only it changed from Stop! to No!
What could I do? That feeling of helpless horror, hardly ten feet in front of me, was unlike anything I had ever felt. I wanted to run up and help her. I almost did, too. I took a few steps forward. Someone grabbed my shoulders, and if he hadn’t, I would’ve charged right down there. But as much as it pained me to stop, I controlled myself after that first second. I couldn’t help her if I was trapped, too.
I didn’t run. I couldn’t leave her. I fell to my knees on the metal bleachers, crying out in frustration, almost falling forward. Nif stood there, paralyzed. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could see the eyes of some of the others, and they held nothing. They remained frozen, like mannequins.
More people stood around me, equally horrified. I recognized some of them as friends and boyfriends of the roller derby girls. One man cried out and rushed down the last of the bleachers, and he grabbed at the group just as someone else tried to pull him back. Both of them became stuck, covering up Nif so I couldn’t see anything but her cherry-red Doc Martins.
The group of afflicted came too close, and if it grew any more, I’d be trapped. Crying and yelling, I ran across and down the stands so I’d have an exit at my back.
The group of paralyzed people continued to grow, but more slowly now that the arena had cleared. As I watched, helpless, a cop ran in, a big, barrel-chested guy with a mustache. I’d seen him before. While the folks in the local roller derby scene were a friendly bunch, fights did break out from time to time that required a police presence. I didn’t know his real name, but once the announcer had called him “Officer Beefycakes” over the PA as he entered the arena, and the name stuck. Whenever he came around now, the crowd would chant, “Beefycakes! Beefycakes!” and he’d wave. He stopped at the sight of the group, looking around in surprise.
“What…?”
“Don’t touch them,” I said, frantic. “If you touch one, you’ll get stuck, too. You have to do something. My wife is in there.”
He talked into the radio on his shoulder. He backed up, taking me with him. “How…how long?”
“It just started a minute ago. It happened so fast.” I told him what I saw, with the pink thing on Cece’s face, but I said it so quickly, I’m not sure he understood. I’m not sure he believed me.
“Everybody outside,” he called. He tried to pull me with him, but I shouldered away, numb with fear. For her. For myself. But I wasn’t going to leave her. Several of us remained in the arena, surrounding the group, just out of reach, all of us calling out names.
It happened so fast.
At one moment, the cluster was just that. A cluster of people.
It all changed in an instant. The long, tail-end line of people started to move. At first, it was a twitch, like a single snake or tentacle, attached to the large, unmoving mass where Nif was.
Then the line of people, fifteen deep, rose impossibly into the air. It swung up into the stands, slamming through the onlookers. A guy got smacked in the face with the body of the guitar still clutched in the hands of the trapped musician. He flew across the room, crashing against the far wall. He crumpled to the ground, unmoving as blood gushed out of his head.
“Fuck,” the officer said, pulling his gun. He aimed, but he didn’t have anything to shoot. The tentacle swung angrily in the air, back and forth, looking for targets. It picked up six or seven more people, all at crazy angles who swung loosely except at the point of contact, as if a thick wire snaked through, holding them in place like Christmas lights. Outside, more sirens blared.
The tentacle whipped toward the cop and me. I ducked as it whooshed over my head. The officer wasn’t as quick, and his face smashed against the legs of a captured body. He lifted off the ground.
I scrambled, crab-walking backward toward the exit, not looking away. The long tentacle lifted over the main mass and broke apart. People rained down on top of the group, reattaching at the top, turning the mass into a quivering ball of humanity. People rearranged themselves, moving in a strange, staccato manner, crawling sideways like flies on a wall.
I watched in horror as the ball became tighter, a giant sphere several people thick. I cried out Nif’s name. I couldn’t see her, but she was in there somewhere, crushed against the others. People in the ball had obvious injuries, but their faces betrayed no pain. I wondered if they were dead, or kept alive by whatever force that was doing this.
Suddenly, six shoots made of people sprouted from the thing.
No, not shoots. Legs.
The legs lifted the mass of sixty or seventy off the ground, like a giant bug. The heads and necks of the captured at the top of the legs worked as pivots, audibly cracking as they fell into place. The weight of the creature—and I was finally seeing it as a single, horrifying entity—pushed down on those being used as feet, and their legs buckled. More people crawled down the legs to add support on each side, shoring up where bones had broken. I watched as one zombiefied person gingerly removed the roller skates from a girl being used as a foot. The skates clattered to the floor.
The whole creature lumbered forward, stepping across the arena track and toward the exit. I huddled in front of the monster like a rabbit, frozen, not believing what I was seeing.
I almost puked right there. More officers rushed in, knocking me down. Like Officer Beefycakes, they stopped and gasped at the creature.
That’s when I ran. I stood, and I ran. Even as I fled from the building and out into the rainy night, I felt empty and guilty for abandoning her. My overwhelming astonishment at the—whatever the hell that thing was—was overthrown by the crushing, debilitating shock at losing Nif so suddenly. Was she in pain? Was she dead?
I wondered what happened to the police officers. I didn’t hear gunfire, which I was glad for. More officers pulled up, and the night filled with sirens and the wails of those who’d lost friends, including me, punctuated by the clatter of the rain against the corrugated awning at the entrance to the arena. I only ran a few feet out past the barrier, when I was blocked by a line of parked police cruisers.
I barely had time to turn around, look at the arena, and think, What the hell am I going to…
CRASH! The large, double-door entrance to the arena exploded in a blast of wood, metal, glass, and stucco, showering out into the parking lot. Bits of glass and metal ripped through the air. I covered my eyes and stumbled onto the hood of a police cruiser.
The creature barreled out of the hole in the arena door, moving like a cockroach. Screams of despair turned to fear as the thing passed near me and into the small crowd, snagging people and police officers before they even knew what was happening. Its six legs bogged down in clumps of frozen bodies. The front legs collapsed, and the thing fell forward, balling up like a 25-foot hedgehog, rolling right over cars and out into Grant Road. A small truck screeched as it careened into the thing, but the monster kept moving, showering the street with severed limbs and bloody clothes and tattered roller skates.
The ball hovered in the middle of the dark street for a few moments, tightened, and spewed dark blood from its top like a whale. The blood misted in the streetlights. The creature rolled west down Grant Road, picking up speed, leaving a crushed truck in its wake. The top was ripped off, the driver gone. A trail of body parts and gore smeared the street in its wake.
To my left, a lone police officer popped off his gun, to no effect. I ran toward the road, passed through the cactus hedge, and stopped at the curb. I stepped on something in the dark, and I fell, catching myself on a bus stop pole. I looked down, and saw a human hand, red and twisted like a dead spider, smashed into the curb.
The monster was a couple hundred yards away, careening toward the intersection. It blasted through, rolling over more vehicles.
The top of the beast hit a low-lying traffic light, and body parts sprayed into the night. Two of the ejected chunks looked like full people. They flew and landed hard in the middle of the road.
Before I even knew what I was doing, I ran toward them.
As I ran, the monster continued to roll down the road, going faster than I was. It swerved toward a Sonoran hotdog truck, packed with the Saturday night crowd. People screamed and scattered as it approached, but it caught at least another dozen victims before it veered back onto the road and rolled west.
I cried as I raced toward the intersection. With all the blood, all the body parts on the road, how could anything be alive?
The first person I came upon was a girl, and she was dead. She lay face down in the road, her head bent at an obscene angle. Her left leg was missing, and her arms bent backwards and up. But just past her was a kid I recognized, though I didn’t know his name. He was alive. He was a Mexican kid, maybe seventeen or eighteen, wearing nothing but jeans soaked black with blood. He’d been sitting near us in the stands, cheering for a girl on the Bruisers. The kid sat up in the middle of the road. His right hand was a bloody stump, and the only finger that remained was his thumb. He gazed west toward where the monster had gone.
I wanted him to be okay. I needed him to be okay. If he could become a part of that thing, be ripped off, and then be normal again afterwards, I would know Nif still had a chance.
“Hey,” I said, running up. The rain was pouring hard now, slapping into the street, causing the blood to run and pool toward the side of the road. Sirens blared from every direction, and to the west, a loud crash filled the night. More people came running from across the street, survivors of the attack on the hotdog truck.
They surrounded the guy in the middle of the road.
“Hey,” I said again, not wanting to touch him. “Are you okay?” Blood seeped from his hand. He didn’t acknowledge me, and my heart sank.
A Mexican woman stepped forward and wrapped his hand in a cloth. She talked softly to him in Spanish. More people stepped forward to help, or talk about what they’d just seen. Others wailed.
I stood, numb, watching the boy as he gazed unwavering toward where the beast had gone. A man gave the boy his coat.
The boy tried to stand, but people kept him down.
“I have to get back,” he said, his voice a whisper. He had a thick Spanish accent, and I wasn’t sure I heard him right. Around me, the crowd grew quiet. The night air filled with his ragged breathing, sirens, and the light clapping of the rain.
I pushed forward, my heart racing. He’s okay.
“What? What did you say?” I asked.
“I saw them,” he said, still looking west. Muddy tears or rain ran down his face. He tapped his chest with his bloodied hand. “Papa. They wanted me to stay.”
“Don’t worry, man, okay? We’ll get you some help.”
He turned toward me, moving in slow motion. The entire side of his face was cut up, like it had been dragged along the asphalt. His left eyelid hung on by a small patch of skin and sat glued to the side of his head by the blood.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re Adam.”
“Yes,” I said, stepping even closer. He emanated a strange, oil-like smell. “We see each other at bouts all the time.”
He stared at me, then said something that made my spine chill.
“Nif is searching for you.”
I froze. “What? What…”
“She’s calling to you. Right now. They’re calling you. I hear them here.” He patted his chest again. He looked west again. “But it’s going away.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I became aware of how cold it was, but hope filled me. Nif was alive! Alive!
“Maybe you shouldn’t talk, dude,” another guy said to the boy. “We’ll get you an ambulance.”
A large crowd had grown around us, and a lady wearing scrubs underneath her jacket tried to push me aside to get to him, but I wouldn’t let her.
“How do you hear her? Where is she?” I asked, though I knew very well where she was.
“The Grinder. She’s in the Grinder.”
The boy cried out in pain, arching his back. He stood, despite everyone trying to hold him down, and he took off down the street, headed west, and calling out in Spanish. A few people gave chase but gave up after he passed the curb.
I didn’t know what to do. Above, a police helicopter roared by, following the path of destruction. I looked around, realizing we were in the middle of the intersection, and a traffic jam had formed around us. A couple people honked, probably those who didn’t yet know what had happened.
I have to get to my car.
Around me, the crowd burst into conversation. As I ran back toward the skate arena parking lot, I heard that word repeated several times.
The Grinder.
CHAPTER 3
“Fuck!”
I didn’t have my keys or phone. They were in Nif’s backpack, and that was still attached to Nif. I didn’t feel better, so I said it again. Then again. I pounded the roof of my El Camino.
People milled around the lot, huddled together and crying. Several more police cars had arrived, blocking off the exits. A few cops stood in the destroyed entrance to the skate arena, but as I watched, they received a call and rushed to their cars, rolling off. Five cop cars remained, all with pulsing lights, but no cops were left.
She’s calling to you right now.
“Hey man. Where’s Nif?” said a familiar voice.
I looked up and glared. Scooter. One of Nif’s old friends from when she worked at the record store. He saw my eyes and took a step back.
“Oh man,” he said. “I didn’t know.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “That blows, man. Wow.”
I didn’t like Scooter. I didn’t like any of Nif’s old co-workers from the record store. I don’t know what Scooter’s real name was, nor did I care. He was a short dude, maybe 5’5, and he had a pair of fuzzy dice tattooed on the side of his shaved head, which I thought was one of the stupidest fucking tattoos I’d ever seen. He was a talker, too. A guy who never shut up. He seemed to be everywhere we were. Concerts. Roller derby. Once we even saw him at the zoo with his parents. He drove a big-ass Suburban with a skull and crossbones decal on the back. I looked around, but I didn’t see it in the parking lot.
“You got your truck here?”
“Yeah.” He dropped his cigarette and pulled out his keys, which were attached to a thick chain on his pants. He nodded across the street to the Eegee’s parking lot. Sure enough, his old truck sat there, double-parked. “You need a ride, man?”
“Yeah,” I said. I took off across the street toward his truck, and he followed.
He didn’t stop talking.
“Man, this is some of the most fucked-up shit I’ve ever seen. When that fat Peaches chick had that thing on her face… Oh, sorry,” he said, remembering that Cece was Nif’s cousin. “Anyway, I thought it was like a joke. I mean, didn’t you? Remember last week when they set that dude’s ass on fire? That was a joke. He wasn’t even hurt or nothing. Anyway, I saw the thing before it happened, you know. I was on the floor waiting for the band to play, and I saw this slug thing…”
I was barely listening, but I paid more attention at that.
“…and she walked past me and started poking at this slug thing. It had come up from a hole in the floor. I thought someone had spilled a milkshake, so I didn’t pay too much attention at first. Then she ran past me, waving her arms like a chicken, and it was on her face, and I fucking laughed, man. I thought it was a joke. Then all that shit started… Man, it’s a fucking monster, isn’t it? Like that Cloverfield thing, only it’s made out of goddamned roller derby girls.”
In the distance, an explosion echoed, but I couldn’t see where it came from.
We ran
to his truck, and he fumbled with his keys. He had to stand on the wheel to get the door open. But he got it open and climbed in. He looked down at me from the driver’s seat. “So, where we going?”
“We’re following that thing.”
His goofy, this-shit-is-fun smile faded. “Are you crazy? Why?”
“Why the hell do you think? It has my wife.”
Scooter shook his head. “I’m sorry, man, but I’m not going anywhere near that thing. If it doesn’t kill us, then the fucking Air Force will when they start dropping bombs.”
I pulled him out of the truck with my left hand and smashed him in the nose with my right fist. It was the first time in my life I had ever punched a person, and I’m pretty sure I did it wrong because my hand exploded in pain.
He dropped to the ground, his head banging into the open threshold of his truck. I put my foot on his chest, grabbed his key chain, and pulled until the belt loop on his Dickies snapped.
“Sorry, Scooter,” I said as I climbed into the truck and slammed the door.
Scooter stood, holding his face as blood poured. Behind him, workers from the Eegee’s stood wide-eyed. I felt bad, but then I remembered why I disliked Scooter in the first place, and my guilt eased. He screamed and pounded on the window as I threw the truck into reverse. He pulled out his cell phone, I presumed to call 911, but instead, he threw it at the windshield. And missed.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I said as I tossed the truck into drive and drove away.
I had to get to the monster. The Grinder, the kid had called it. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I reached it, but I had to find Nif. If she was still alive, stuck somewhere in the middle of that thing, I had to find a way to help her.
She’s calling to you right now.
THEY’RE calling to you.
We’d been together for about a year and a half when she dropped a nuclear bomb in my lap.
“Adam,” she said one night, out of nowhere. “I had an abortion.”
We were downtown, eating at The Nomery, a favorite haunt of ours because it was good, cheap, and open 24 hours. We’d become regulars, meeting up with our friends, sometimes at 3 in the morning. Tonight, we were the only customers in the entire place, but she said it right as the waiter poured more coffee into her cup. The poor guy looked at me, eyes wide, and fled.
The Grinding Page 2