“Die,” Caleb shouts. His Einstein mustache crooks to one side. His powdery grey hair sticks to his forehead. “You can’t hurt my brother.” He stabs at the monster again and again and again. “You’re not allowed to hurt my brother.” He drives the spike into the thing’s head until he’s mushing paste.
Zarifa tugs at Caleb’s shoulders. She makes him stop. He sobs. Holds her arms and cries into her chest. She smoothes his wet, sweaty hair. Hushes him.
Behind them, Jack groans.
Caleb bounces up. “Jack!” He starts to go. Stops. Plants a quick kiss on Zarifa’s cheek. He bolts from the belly of the arachnid and falls onto his brother like an excited puppy.
Jack holds him.
Caleb goes to pull on the piece of spider arm sticking out of Jack.
Jack puts up a hand. “No, no, don’t touch that. You don’t know what it’s attached to.” He smirks. “Just help me up.”
Caleb does.
Both brothers look to Catarina.
She’s still on top of Patrick. Still pumping breath into his lungs. Still trying to revive him.
Zarifa and Akil hold silent vigil next to her. The two put their hands together. They pray for Patrick’s recovery. They betray no pride. They only want, as hard as they can, for the Irish boy named Patrick—who had moved so fast to protect them—to come back again.
No god answers.
Akil wonders in muted cries where his mother is. He wonders why she’s not beside him. Zarifa remains stoic. For her little brother’s sake, if nothing else.
Jack stands. Shaky. He tries to figure out how much time has passed. A minute? Five? Time modifies itself when chaos is in charge.
Catarina’s face is a mask of terror.
Patrick isn’t coming back.
Jack hobbles forward. Tears stream down Catarina’s cheeks. He bows beside her. Winces at the pain and damage he’s taken. He takes her hands. Stills them.
Then he weeps with her.
Catarina leans off to the side. Falls. Her fists clasped against her eyes.
Caleb, Zarifa and Akil hold each other’s hands. They step toward the heroes they just saved. The heroes who are breaking down.
Caleb puts a hand on his older brother. “Jack. We need to go.”
Jack coughs and spits. He slides his good arm around Catarina and helps her stand. He puts his hat on his head. Yanks the brim low. He wrinkles his nose.
Both Svobodas feel something. A voice.
The tickle at the back of their brains moves forward. Crawls. Takes shape. Injects itself. Pain blossoms in both boys’ skulls.
It burns. Demands attention.
Shapes form out of the mist. Become words. English words.
This is necessary.
Chapter 11: Something Wicked This Way Comes
Screams and monsters and darkness surround the remaining Tribe. They try their phones. No calls get out. No texts. Nothing. No crying to Mom. No crying to Dad. No rescue.
They notice that time is speeding. At least it feels that way. They can’t remember when they left the Svoboda house. Eight o’clock seems about right. But after a couple hours trick-or-treating… Then house nineteen... Then the wretched spider thing...
Their phones tell them it’s close to midnight. That seems impossible. But there are the numbers, glowing up at them.
Four hours. Have they really been out here for four hours?
Helicopters thunder overhead. They don’t help anyone. They survey the carnage. They flash their giant spotlights on nightmares and fleeing survivors.
One chopper retreats with a winged beast nipping at its blades.
Jack thinks, At least this will get some news coverage.
He hears Patrick’s voice, Anything can be covered up, ignored, or spun.
They make their way. Stick to the edges of shadows. Always mindful of what might lie in those shadows. They duck behind hedges and trees. Stay under cover. Watch as the madness continues.
Their goal is the Svoboda house.
Jack won’t let them stop.
His shoulder trickles blood without end. The foot-long spider leg impaled in his flesh stings and throbs. It rubs against his bones. He winces with every motion.
There’s something else, too. Something he doesn’t feel safe telling anyone.
Some kind of poison is leaking into his system. A toxin from the spider wound. It makes him weak and weird. It fills his head with awful thoughts, Kill all of them.
He fights to ignore the voice, but it’s getting stronger.
They break from cover in a leap-frog format.
Jack runs forward. Signals the children when the coast is clear. Catarina scurries right behind the whole group, brings up the rear, pauses, then takes her turn as point man. She checks the coast before signaling the children again. They’ve made half the distance home this way. Without incident.
But it’s a slow way to go.
Every time Jack and Caleb lock eyes, both to ask the same question of the other, Did you hear it? What is necessary?
Then in Jack’s head, Kill them. Take her. You’ve always wanted to.
Jack sees a house at Eighty-fourth and Ridge Boulevard. A gorgeous Tudor. White and brown wood beams crisscross its front entrance. The windows seem melted into place. Their edges curl around the frames they’re set in.
Looks ripe for looting.
Actually, the house itself Jack doesn’t give a shit about. His eye is on the unattached garage that sits near the street. It’s lit and open. They can shack up there. He wants to remove the damned spider leg from his shoulder. Maybe find a weapon.
Catarina agrees—with some trepidation.
Take her.
The street seems clear. If there’s a time for respite, it’s now.
Jack blows out a plume of cigarette smoke. “My shoulder ain’t getting better. We gotta yank this thing out. And we need some way to fight these goddamn things.” He tries to look reassuring. Like he isn’t thinking about the spider juice working its way through him. Like he isn’t thinking about the goo that makes him want to kill all these people and suck on their bones.
Zarifa gawks at the giant Greek Orthodox Church up the street. The lights—bright spotters—are on. They beam upward, but the scene feels off. Wrong.
Caleb waves Zarifa into their temporary refuge.
The garage has apparently been organized by someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Jack thanks the unseen owner for taking such remarkable care. More for being stupid enough to leave the place open, but still.
You’re all gonna end up like Patrick.
Along the walls wait every tool imaginable. Each in its proper place. Each shiny, rust-free. Even the floor is spotless.
Catarina ushers the children in. She reaches up and pulls down the heavy door. “You kids just sit. If I tell you to look away, you do it, okay?”
Caleb, Zarifa and Akil nod. Jack flips open cabinets and toolboxes with reckless abandon. If this place’s owner has to come back and readjust a few things, it’s all for the greater good. He figures the bastard is rich enough not to care too much about a few misplaced items.
Kill them. Take her. You’ve always wanted to do it. Do it or I’ll make sure you end up looking like Patrick and useless to a woman.
He palms a heavy pair of rubber-handled Channellock pliers. A wide roll of Scotch duct tape. A Turboslide utility knife. A Workforce rubber mallet. In an almost closet-sized cabinet he finds a white Hanes undershirt. He starts tearing it into strips. Stops when the pain in his shoulder flares.
Catarina takes the shirt from him and finishes the job.
Jack wants to kiss her but doesn’t.
Jack wants to slit her throat and rape the wound but doesn’t.
Catarina says, “Jack, don’t you—”
“Shut up. Work.” He turns away. Unsure of who’s talking. Him or the poison.
Catarina recoils.
Jack goes after the final items on his mental list. He flings open the hanging
doors on a set of beautiful mahogany cabinets. Inside sit several bottles of unopened whiskey. Clontarf. Tyrconnell. Michael Collins. Glenfiddich. And, wonder of wonders, Jack’s favorite: Jameson. He grabs it. To the right of the alcohol waits varying kinds of painkillers. He snatches an open bottle of Advil.
He rolls an expensive-looking desk chair away from the wall. He plops down on it backward. Places his chest against the backrest. He opens the bottle of Jameson and takes a deep pull. He twists the top of the Advil bottle open and downs two tablets. Follows it up with another gulp of whiskey.
Catarina eyeballs him. “Drinking isn’t going to help Ja—”
“I think I asked you to shut up.” Jack sets his hat off to the side.
The children’s jaws drop. Caleb makes a face of absolute horror.
This isn’t Jack they’re talking to.
There you go. And remember, if you hit her, she was asking for it.
The booze centers Jack. At least, he pretends it does. The burning. The bitterness. But the venom inside messes with him. He blinks. Three voices fill his skull.
The first, his own, The booze might work against the poison in some weird way. Who knows? It’s a disinfectant. You’ve seen a million badasses pour it over their wounds. It just...it seems to get rid of bad crap. Maybe there’s something to that? Or maybe it’s psychosomatic. You need that leg out of you. Do it now before you lose control. Before you lose your nerve. You can feel it taking over. You can feel it. Less than five until you go apeshit. I’ll count for you.
The second, the poison, The children are worthless and stupid and weak. Even your brother. Just a little boy. Kill them. Give your buddy Patrick some company. Be done with it. Oh, but not the bitch. Keep Catarina. Don’t kill her yet. Spread her open first. She might scream, sure. Oh, but those tits, bouncing around on her chest as she struggles and you pin her down. The warmth of her hot gore. Your body betrays you. I can feel your dick filling with blood. I can feel that gift of unthinking Red flowing in you...
The third, the “necessary” voice, The other ones. They’re coming back...
Catarina brings the pliers, rubber mallet, duct tape, strips of shirt, and utility knife over. She eyeballs Jack again. Doesn’t trust him at all right now.
“Has to be done,” Jack says. He swivels in the chair. Faces the children. Three pairs of scared eyes greet him. He waves them over. “This is necessary.”
Where’d that come from?
Four minutes or so, dude. Less. Spent too much time listening. Too much time listening to the voices.
Caleb, Zarifa and Akil stand before him like small soldiers.
Kill them. Rape her.
Jack smiles. “I’m sorry for being loud before. You’re the bravest little kids ever. But I need more from you.” He pauses. “Zarifa.” He glances at her. “Honey, I need you to go there—” he points to one of the open steel cabinets “—and pick up an orange thing with ‘Paslode’ on the side. It’s a nail gun, and it’s heavy, but I know you can do it. I need you to watch the door. Watch for anything. Pull the trigger and put a big hunk of metal in anything that gets near if it so much as farts. Okay?”
Zarifa salutes him and heads off. Thin blue tail of her Jasmine costume bouncing.
You can take her, too. Crack her open like a dinner at Red Lobster. Oh, Red, yes, Red, yes, yes. Been thinking about that. You aren’t using the Red to its fullest. Once that gift is mine, I’ll make use of it.
Jack’s mouth fills with puke at the thought. He chokes. Swallows the bile back down. “Akil.” Jack keeps contact with the boy’s bright eyes. “I need you to do two things for me. Are you ready, soldier?”
Akil nods.
Jack points to a different steel cabinet. “Okay, first thing. In there you’re gonna find something that looks like a gun holster. You know what that is?”
Akil rolls his eyes—duh.
Jack nods. “It’s for power drills. I need that. To bite on.”
Caleb and Catarina tense.
Three minutes, maybe. It’s getting worse. Better. Goddamnit. Hehe. Who’s talking now?
Akil jaunts off. Rummages for a few seconds. Returns.
Jack takes the holster. Balances it on his knee. “Well done, soldier. Now what you’re gonna do is help your sister, but from the other side of the door. All right?” Zarifa’s on the left hand side of the closed garage door. Jack points to the right. “Now how strong are you?”
Akil rolls his eyes again. “I help my mom with the groceries all the time. I’m plenty strong.” Akil flexes his arms. His blue-smeared face strains.
“I bet you are, bud.” He pats the boy’s head. Pulls his hand back when he thinks it’s going for the boy’s throat. “Now there’s a thing over there. It looks like a little axe. It’s called a hatchet. I want you to take it and stand opposite your sister.”
I’m going to make sure all your friends die purple like Patrick.
Akil leaves.
Jack says, “Soldier?”
Akil stops. Looks confused. A second later, he understands. He salutes Jack.
Jack salutes back and watches the boy head off to grab his weapon.
Catarina says, “This is necessary?”
Jack says, “Is it psychologically necessary? Yes. They know they gotta fight. And I know they’re kids. But don’t underestimate them. Respect them. Make sure they know they’re part of a team. Make sure they know they have a job. A duty.” Jack tilts his head toward Caleb. “The worst is for you.”
Two minutes. It wants your Red. Wants your...ability to shut everything out and act without emotion. Less than two minutes now. Talk to the boy.
Jack says, “The worst only because I know you can handle it. I trust you. More than anybody else.” He doesn’t look to Catarina. Jack leans over and pulls the mallet up. Hands it to Caleb. “There was a gun safe in the back. The code was on a piece of paper next to it. Not well-hidden. Guess the guy doesn’t have kids.”
He pulls a large revolver from the back of his jeans. It’s old, but like everything else here, cared for. A cowboy weapon. A machine that deals death. Its blue-steel barrel is sleek and long and engraved with twisting strings. Its chambers are enormous.
“I know this kinda machine like I know the Charger,” Jack says. Without offering an explanation as to how. “Colt single action Army. Two-fifty grain, .45-caliber. Seven and a half inch barrel. Big cartridge. The Peacemaker. It’ll do entertaining amounts of damage.”
Caleb shakes his head. Frowns. “Why are you giving this to me?”
You might have a bit over a minute now before it gets the Red. Then hoo-boy.
Jack looks up at Catarina. “Duct tape my hands together. Feet, too. Make it so I can’t move. Then use the utility knife to cut the jacket and shirt away from the wound.”
Catarina inhales. Exhales. She binds him. Then slashes and peels away the layers of clothing.
Jack searches for the words to offer his little brother. “Because there’s something in me now. Something from the spider. A poison. A parasite. I don’t know. I’m fighting it as hard as I can.” Jack lifts the bottle of Jameson with his taped hands. Gulps from it the way a hamster does. “It’s telling me to do things to you. All of you.” He looks to Catarina.
Catarina gauges him. Her grip on the pliers tightens. Her head swivels to check where other weapons might be.
Jack says, “If this doesn’t work—”
It won’t. You’re going to kill your brother and lay him on the ground. You’re going to kill your weak little brother. And then you’re going to kill those two brown idiots. And then you’re going to push your hard meat inside that worthless Jew slut while you slit her throat.
Jack takes another long gulp from the bottle. “You’re gonna have to put me down.”
Tears well in Caleb’s eyes. He’s confused. Scared. And twelve for fuck’s sake.
“Can’t do that,” Jack says. The Red takes over. “You can’t do that. No boo-hoos. No baby bullshit. There’s no crying
in baseball. Not right now.” He pauses. Tries to show the child some affection. “Listen, bud, don’t think about it. Okay? Not yet. Once the leg’s out of me, I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
Hahahahaha. You’ll be goddamn dandy!
“I’ll be fine,” Jack says. He drinks. “When Catarina starts to pull, you hit the other end with that mallet. The spider leg is serrated. It’s gotta be knocked out. You got me, Caleb? No matter how I scream. No matter what I say. You gotta make sure you pop it when she pulls.”
Caleb stares at the mallet in one hand and the gun in the other.
Seconds. You literally have seconds until the poison parasite gets the Red and kills everyone here.
Jack snaps. “Caleb, I am going to kill you otherwise. Do you understand me? Quit being a pussy.”
Caleb hops backward.
You’ve scared your own stupid brother. See how useless he is? Kill him and be done with it. Sack of shit.
You are out of time.
“Do it Caleb! Do it now!”
Jack’s gone. Evaporated from himself. He has one goal: Get free and kill these cocksuckers.
Caleb tightens his lips. He hefts the mallet. Nods to Catarina. She flexes the pliers. Shoves the leather holster into Jack’s mouth. And he does bite down, but only because he’s trying to get his incisors into the flesh of her fingers.
Catarina plants a foot against Jack’s thigh. She clasps the pliers closed on the jutting edge of the chitinous spider leg. Pulls.
Jack howls against the leather in his mouth. He jerks in the chair. Almost hard enough to topple it.
Caleb hits him in the back of the head with the mallet. Catarina socks him across the jaw with a solid right hook to keep him in place.
Jack screams in frustration and screams in want.
Caleb swings the mallet. Hits the sharp leg dead on. It jumps forward through Jack’s shoulder.
Jack tries to stand. He struggles against the duct tape.
Catarina kicks him down. She grunts and yanks harder.
Blood splashes onto the floor.
Jack throws his head back and cries. He spits the leather holster out.
Centimeter by centimeter, Catarina and Caleb fight against the leg.
Emergence Page 8