* * *
Ten hours left.
Litost stretches.
Torpedoes through the water.
Sends his tendrils out.
* * *
Viktor rubs his stomach. “Ye gods, I am stuffed.”
All heads around the table dip in agreement.
Jack and Catarina collect empty plates. They start doing dishes.
“Leave em,” Dierdra says. “I’ll get to that stuff later. Really.”
So the two teens grab fresh beers instead of cleaning.
Caleb says, “You wanna check out the basement?”
Viktor slaps the table. “Shit, why not.”
Everyone carries bags of supplies and heads down.
Jack and Catarina had cleaned and cleared the basement. Reorganized it so that it really does look like a fallout shelter. They even set up space for three cots and three sleeping bags.
“Not too shabby,” Viktor says.
Jack says, “Thanks. Parents get the cots, obviously.”
“The house’s foundation is solid, so I’m not worried about the concrete walls down here,” Caleb says. He turns to Elie. “I know you prefer topside, but if it gets too bad up there, just come running. If you need to.”
Catarina says, “Door here can be secured with metal bars, too. Just lay them in those hooked arm slots and you’re good. Bars are by the door.”
“We prepared by watching Night Of The Living Dead,” Jack says.
Viktor tosses the bags of supplies onto his workbench. “Well done, kids.”
“Agreed,” Elie says. “But I’ll tell you what. I could use another drink before the wonderful nap that happens before the end of the world.” He checks his watch. “Got nine hours left. Meaning we got another hour of relaxing before we hit the hay.”
“Well, I do like to be apocalyptically punctual.”
“Sure,” Dierdra says. “Another hour or so to cool our heels and enjoy ourselves. Five hours sleep. We’d still have an hour to get ready.”
Jack lifts his fingers. Plays dumb. “Two plus six plus one equals nine. Way to go.”
Dierdra laughs. “Shut up, Jack.”
“Good fun, I swear.”
The Tribe makes their way up the stairs into the kitchen.
Viktor hits the light switch. The basement is cast into darkness.
In the black behind them, the light above Viktor’s workbench begins to swing.
They hear it above their footfalls. A crumbling sound. A digging sound.
Viktor turns to face the noise.
Caleb stops on the stairs. Commands his father, “Keep moving.”
Jack joins his brother. “Everyone upstairs now.” He reaches for his Colt and comes up empty. It’s in his room.
Why didn’t we feel this coming? Why didn’t Three warn us? Jack thinks.
There’s the sharp crack of concrete tumbling. Bits of building material hitting the ground. And then, something slithers. Slides against the dry basement floor.
Jack barks, “Come on!”
Viktor faces his sons.
“Dad?”
The elder Svoboda hisses at his children.
Chapter 32: Hurting the Ones You Love
Jack sees a throbbing black feeder tendril at the base of Viktor’s neck. He doesn’t know if Three has turned against them or if this is something else. Some new monster asshole. He places himself between the threat and his brother.
His father is now an enemy.
Jack spreads his arms out to create a shield for Caleb. He takes a moment to glance up at Catarina. Get my gun.
She understands.
The Viktor-thing lunges for Jack.
Jack grabs onto its flailing arms. Struggles against them. Works to prevent any harm from coming to his younger brother a few steps above.
Caleb screams. “Who the hell are you?” He backs away, toward the kitchen. “What are you?” He grips the sides of his head in panic. “Let go of my dad. Let go!”
Jack and Viktor tumble into the shadows.
Caleb spills into the kitchen. “It’s got dad.”
Dierdra rushes him away from the stairs. “Jack will take care of it.” She brushes his hair with her hands. “Jack will take care of it,” she says again, more to soothe herself than anything.
Elie retrieves his shotgun from the living room.
Catarina runs upstairs to grab her machete and Jack’s Colt.
Caleb and Dierdra listen to the fight in the basement.
“It’s one of them,” Caleb says. Breathless. “One of the Corrupted.”
A black feeder tendril snakes its way up the kitchen sink drain.
Nobody hears it.
* * *
A small voice in the back of Jack’s mind weeps.
The part of him that has a father and a heart. The part of him already in mourning for what’s going to happen. But that emotional voice is not the voice fighting.
The Red is there. Running on all cylinders.
It takes over when Jack’s humanity gets in the way.
The Red feels no sadness. No emotion other than precise, useful anger.
The Viktor-thing hurls Jack against the basement wall. Vertebra in his back crackle. His head hits concrete. He sees sparks at the corners of his vision.
The dark shape of his father floats before him.
It snarls. Lunges again, hovering like the others who fall victim to a Hroza tendril.
Jack dodges the Viktor-thing’s attack. Slides on his knees toward the light switch at the base of the stairs. Jack flips it on.
Fluorescent bulbs buzz. Hum with electricity.
Jack senses an attack from behind. He jukes to the side. The Viktor-thing crashes down again. The monster misses him by a hair. Slams into the wall, snapping bones in Viktor’s shoulders and chest.
Jack backs up to the workbench. Puts some distance between himself and the creature that used to be his dad. That small voice in his mind cries out. Even the Red allows Jack to moan in sorrow at the sight.
Viktor Svoboda is an abomination. Not only in name or action, but also in visage.
The older man’s eyes are blank. Nothing but milky orbs in the sagging flesh of his face. Viktor’s head lolls around on a neck that flops like taffy. Where the father’s tongue should be droops the slimy black end of the tentacle in his neck. That horror blooms. Four triangular tips peel away to unveil a new mouth ringed with teeth.
It hisses.
Jack traces the length of the feeder tube. It leads to a drainage pipe in the basement floor. He curses himself for not sealing it.
This is all his fault.
The Viktor-thing swings its fist into the light switch. Shatters the plastic enclosure. Smashes the drywall around it. Sparks fly as the monster tears out wiring.
The fluorescent light in the basement flashes on and off.
Jack squints.
The creature comes at him in stuttered, stop-motion movements.
Jack ducks the tentacle mouth as it snaps forward. He dips to the side. Comes back up with a right hook that would have knocked any human opponent back.
But the monster growls and turns its head back to Jack and snaps again.
Jack looks in the fluorescent strobes for a weapon. He backs away. Ducks. Dodges. Punches. Backs away. A dance of death.
The Red catches a flash of metal in the corner: His father’s chainsaw. The big Husqvarna tree-killer. Shredder of flesh and worrier of parents.
A voice speaks in his head, Are you really going to cut up your old man with a chainsaw? Hahahaha. Are you really going to disgrace your loving father like that? He loves you, child. He loves you.
Jack spits. “You’re not my father. You took my father. You killed him. Made him into a monster.” He stands just within reach of the chainsaw.
The floating body of Viktor mocks him. I suppose I did. What are you going to do, Cowboy? I want to see if you can really hack away at this poor man. I want to see if you can really spill that much bloo
d. He is your kin, after all. Do you not you love him? I know he loves you. I can hear him bawling it.
“If you’d given him a choice, he would have killed himself before letting you near. But you cheap-shotted him. You fucked us.”
Hmm. Maybe. But I guess your little brother is not such a genius when it comes to foreseeing. I must confess, though. I am enjoying this. I am loving the terror on your face. The sadness in your heart. And your father’s. Should we have a good cry? That sorrow is just delicious. Mother’s milk. The back and forth in your brain as you try to figure out how to kill your own father with honor. Hahaha. Honor.
Your father is moaning.
He can see himself dying.
The snapping tongue goes after Jack again. He jerks his head back. “Dad, if you’re in there, please. Give me a sign. Blink. Show me your real eyes. Anything, Dad. Anything.”
That is not going to work, boy. But this is just too much fun. Should I tell you? Oh... Why not? Well, Viktor here does not want to die like this. It breaks his heart. He does not want to see you cry. Does not want to be an agent of your dismay.
Sad, right?
It must give you a big floppy softie.
“Dad, if there’s anything left, just give me a sign. If you can take control. Help me figure out what to do.”
Jack, this is disappointing. It is downright pathetic to hear you this way. All that big bad killer stuff before. Johnny One-Gun. Billy Badass.
You are just a pussy. Cannot even fight the body of your rotting dad. You know once we get into someone’s head there is no coming back. We eat into them. We kill anything that was human in the central-nervous meat.
You are a dumb, mean, angry maggot. Did you know that? Dumb. Mean. Angry. Maggot. And you do not even have that precious gun of yours to make daddy’s execution quick.
“Dad. Come on. If you’re there, Dad just—”
Stupid, anxious, little piece of shit. I know what your girl lets you do to her. I can smell it. Her juice on you and your juice in her. Did it feel nice? Probably not for her. Like having a squirming worm between her legs trying to find the hole. She will squeal and moan when we get inside her. She will feel it when we rip her apart.
Jack screams. Blood vessels burst in his throat. The sides of his heart threaten to split. The Red in his head blares. Whatever semblance of humanity remains is gone in a flash.
He grabs Husqvarna. Yanks the starter cord.
The chainsaw roars. “You hear this?” A murderous joy sings in Jack’s head. “You see this, motherfucker? These rotating metal teeth?”
The Viktor-thing backs away. Keeps its distance.
Jack hefts the chugging chainsaw. “My dad and I took down a hell of a tree with this when I was a kid. We took down a big bad bastard Spruce in the backyard. Cleared the way for a nice little hand-built clubhouse.” Tears roll down Jack’s cheeks.
The Viktor-thing floated. Unsure for a moment what it’s supposed to do with this unstable creature called Jack.
Jack says, “You’ve never messed with humans before, have you?” His lips curl into an evil smile. “You were off in space clinging to some dumb hope that you’d find God, or whatever. The strings. Never got to see what kind of things we’d turn into. You talk a good game. But you don’t have a clue who you’re messing with.” He cackles like a madman.
The monster lurches toward him. Lunges.
Jack snags the biting head of the tentacle tongue with his left hand. Tugs on it. Pulls it farther out. It strains in his grip. Tries to whip free. He brings the chainsaw up with his right hand. Turns his eyes away from the milky orbs that used to be his father’s. Lets the machine chew through the tentacle he holds in his grasp.
Warm liquid splashes on his face.
Jack kicks the creature in the chest. Sends his former father hurtling backward against the wall with a spine-shattering thud.
Jack sprints to where the Corrupted’s tendril sprouts up from the basement drain. He stomps a foot down on it. Keeps the writhing thing in place as it squirms against his boot heel.
He brings the chainsaw down. Watches with orgasmic glee as metal teeth gnaw away at the black tentacle. Smiles as chunks are torn away. Waves of white and red gore shoot up in thick wet ropes. It spatters his jeans and face and tool.
The sliced tendril flops down like a limp leaky dick.
Viktor’s crumpled body spasms in staccato flashes of light. Then lies still.
Jack heaves. Grips the chainsaw. Tries to stay on his feet.
The slimy string of the Corrupted retracts back down the drainage pipe.
Have fun with your dear, dead dad. Just wait until you see what I do to Mom.
Jack screams again. He rushes upstairs.
Too late.
* * *
Dierdra is still running her hands through Caleb’s hair when the boy feels her change. “It’s going to be okay. Jack will take care of it. It’s gonna be all right—” Then she gets rougher. Yanks on his hair.
Fear settles in Caleb’s chest.
The black coil of Litost’s tendril unfurls from Dierdra’s mouth.
She growls at him.
Caleb kicks out. Tries to escape. He whips around. Starts to crawl away.
There’s a sudden painful pull on the back of his head.
The Dierdra-thing holds a fistful of his hair and will not let him go.
I thought you should know, I just killed your dad. Annnnd I just doomed your mom. Annnnd now I am going to kill you before you cause more problems for us.
Caleb doesn’t have the luxury of the Red. He doesn’t have any mental shield to help him deal with what’s happening. Special or not, right here and right now, he’s a terrified twelve-year-old boy staring into the eyes of a horror in the shape of his mother.
Elie turns at Caleb’s yelp. He trains his shotgun on Dierdra. “Hurt the kid and I end you.”
Litost’s tendril quivers Dierdra’s mouth. You are no gunslinger, Jew. That scattergun will kill this young piece of shit. Hey, that would be great, actually. Take the shot. Go ahead.
Caleb winces. “Don’t shoot. Please. It’s still my mom. Don’t shoot.”
“No it ain’t,” Jack says. He stands at the top of the stairs. Covered in gore. The Husqvarna idles in his hands. “It’s not her anymore. Once that thing gets inside...” He grunts. “Just.” The Red allows him to sob once. “She’s gone.”
Catarina grimaces at Elie’s side. She holds her machete and Jack’s Colt. But she doesn’t act on her impulse to fight. She waits.
Caleb twists in the Dierdra-thing’s grip. Hair in his head rips.
He wants to lie down and die. He doesn’t care that something is coming to ruin the planet. Doesn’t care that millions will be slaughtered in the streets. None of that matters. He’s in shock. Only barely beginning to register the grim new facts in his life.
His father is dead.
His mother is a monster.
Nothing is going to undo that.
Caleb’s knees buckle. He ignores the immense pain along his skull.
The Dierdra-thing releases him. Laughs. Now that is what I wanted to see. One of you goddamn hairy apes crawling around on his hands and knees in torment. It just tickles me. It is beautiful and warm and I cannot wait to start infecting the stupid monkeys outside. This is just... I am so happy. You do not even know.
She is weeping, just like Viktor did.
Her puny little human brain is sad and sorry.
She never really believed all this was happening, by the way. Not in her motherly brain. But she does care for you. She has nothing but love for you two maggots.
I thought you might want to know that.
The Dierdra-thing jerks. Backs away from Caleb’s curled form.
You know what? I think this child is about as messed up as possible right now. I am pretty pleased with myself. Here is what I am going to do instead of killing him.
Ready?
Dierdra’s body shakes.
Caleb loo
ks up in frozen terror.
Whatever battle you think you are fighting, you will not win.
Dierdra’s body stops moving. Her head turns down. Blank eyes stare at Caleb. Blood pours from the corners.
The Litost’s tendril recedes from her mouth. Her throat.
Here are all the tears your mother is shedding, worms.
Blood falls in rivulets. It streaks Dierdra’s face.
It drenches Caleb.
Dierdra’s body drops.
Litost retreats down the drain. He chuckles.
Dierdra hits the floor next to Caleb. Just a sad, staring corpse that won’t stop crying blood.
* * *
They burn the bodies in a pit in Jack and Caleb’s small backyard.
Viktor and Dierdra. Wrapped in blankets. Charring. Turning to carbon.
It’s the only way to be sure some Hroza sonuvabitch doesn’t plug into them again.
The wooden fence keeps neighbors from seeing. They shovel dirt over the bodies once they’ve burned long enough to keep the smoke down.
No words are spoken. No more tears fall.
The rest of the Corrupted will be here in eight hours.
Jack gets on his knees. Grabs Caleb. “Remember the plan.”
Caleb sniffs. “I remember.”
Catarina says, “We’re going to kill them all.”
Chapter 33: A Plan Is Just a List of Things That Don’t Happen
Jack pours himself a few fingers of whiskey. “You need to wake Three up, and you need to wake him up now.” He gulps it down. Lights a cigarette. “Even though he’s screwing us over, we still need to use him against the Corrupted.”
Caleb says, “If I start talking to him, he’s gonna get into my head, and he’s gonna know that we’re onto his plan to use us as bait.”
“We’re already being turned into fuckin chum,” Catarina says. She demands a cigarette from Jack. He obliges her.
Elie sits at the table. His hands around the shotgun.
Jack works on downing another two fingers of whiskey between furious cigarette puffs. His eyes move to the solemn faces of the others. He puts the glass down. Realizes that twisting himself up like a jackass isn’t the way to win this fight.
He crosses his legs on the floor in front of Caleb. He speaks in a quiet, confident tone. “Caleb, I need you to crank that Engine over—” he taps the side of Caleb’s head “—I need you to start thinking. Real hard.”
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