“Huh uh,” Jack and Andrew said disappointedly.
“Just when the police and army truck came,” Andrew frowned. “All the good stuff was already over by then.”
“It was crazy,” Patrick shook his head. “I’ll tell you about it when we get to my house. We’re wasting valuable video game time,” he led the boys to the back door where he stopped short.
“Go!” Andrew pushed him in the back.
“Wait,” Patrick explained. “Dad said we should always check before we go outside…make sure there aren’t any biters outside waiting for us.”
“We’re fine,” Andrew argued with typical teenage indifference to matters of safety and security. “Just go,” he pushed Patrick out the back door, Jack following close behind his brother. He was so close in fact that the self-closing back door swung shut against him, slowing its progress just enough to keep the lock from latching.
Chapter 15
Cheryl – or the human shell that housed what Cheryl had once been – crouched shivering behind several shrubs in the corner of the Franko’s backyard. She watched as the entrance to the large box opened and three creatures emerged all at once. There was one big creature followed by two smaller ones. Three was too many for her to try to attack in an effort to feed. If she was still with her group, they could have gotten all three. And the two smaller ones looked extremely enticing. Even from a distance, Cheryl could see that their fleshy faces were rosy red, the meat extremely tender looking.
She watched hungrily as they disappeared around the side of the house. She waited a few more moments, making sure that they weren’t going to return. Then she crept from her hiding spot and slinked slowly across the yard toward where she’d seen the three creatures exit the large box.
At the back door, she paused, listening. Hearing nothing, she reached out tentatively with a hand, touching the door as though it might be a stovetop left on.
She pushed softly, then harder. The door slowly creaked open and almost before she realized what was happening, she was inside. The door closed behind her with a clicking sound.
Cheryl found herself instantly terrified, realizing that she might not be able to get out the same way she got in. But this fear was quickly overwhelmed by the significant change in temperature. It was warm, so warm. And there was something else enticing her to ignore the danger that her instincts told her might be present. It was a scent that hung heavy in the air – the scent of food.
She moved forward into the house, looking around her in wonder. It was so bright compared to outside. Stationary balls of light hung above her. These sources of illumination had been one of the things that had attracted her to this particular box. Many similar boxes around this one had been dark. Light meant warmth, and in many cases, food. But it could also mean danger.
She stared around her at all the curiosities that filled the box. There were big things, little things, shiny things, dull things, colorful things, bland things, smooth things…
Cheryl paused in her inspection. She had heard a noise that almost sounded like one of the creatures she liked to hunt. She hunched down, ready to attack, and then waited, listening. The noises continued from somewhere ahead of her. Now it sounded like there were several creatures.
Cheryl continued forward, scanning the space around her for signs of movement. She saw none, but she continued to hear the noises.
She moved into a room with two large, long, rectangular objects that looked very soft. She thought they might make for a nice place to rest later. In front of these objects, she saw what was making the sounds she’d been hearing. It was indeed the creatures that she hunted for food. Cheryl backed away from them at first, frightened that they might attack her. But then her heart leapt. The creatures were smaller than most she’d hunted. Better yet, they were already contained in a small box, and they seemed to take no notice of her approach.
This would be easy. While the small creatures would only serve as a snack, Cheryl would gladly have them.
Cheryl crouched several feet from the box, stretched her neck back and forth several times, and ensured her mouth was wide open. Her razor-sharp front teeth were prepared to clamp down on the juicy, tender flesh of the creatures she stalked.
With her preparations complete, she picked what looked to be the easiest prey in the box. It was a dark, frail looking thing. It had large glass coverings over its eyes, and it made noises that several days ago Cheryl would have comprehended as a nasal-toned, “Did I do that?”
Cheryl lunged at the small creature in the box, ready to sink her teeth into the flesh from which she never tore her eyes. The creature seemed oblivious to her approach. But just as she was ready to clamp down and tear into the creature’s tiny neck, Cheryl struck something hard, an invisible barrier that blocked her from reaching her prey.
She fell backwards onto the floor, stunned, her face stinging from the impact, one of her teeth broken. She scrambled back and away from the creatures and their box that seemed somehow to have protected them.
The box with creatures inside wobbled where it sat before toppling forward, crashing to the floor. The sounds from within stopped.
A moment later, Cheryl, shivering and terrified, heard noises somewhere above her. She recognized the sounds. It was another of the creatures, and it was calling out loudly. Again, Cheryl didn’t understand what the creature was saying, but she knew the sound was a potential food source. Maybe the creature was injured or incapacitated in some way, making for easier prey than those in the box. Cheryl crept slowly toward the sound.
* * *
Christine had just turned off the shower when she heard the crash downstairs.
“Doggone kids,” she muttered to herself, pulling back the shower curtain and grabbing a towel to dry herself. “What have they broken now?”
She stepped from the tub, still drying her hair. “Jack? Andrew?” she called, staring through the steam at the closed bathroom door.
“Humph,” she frowned, using her towel to bind her hair atop her head. She grabbed another towel from the rack and cinched it securely around her bust.
She opened the bathroom door.
“Jack?” she called again. “Andrew? What happened?”
There was no response, although Christine thought she might have detected a soft shuffling sound downstairs. She knew how boys operated. She figured that her two little hoodlums were making their way stealthily back out of the house. They’d probably forgotten something – a game, or a controller, or batteries, or some other video game accessory. They’d come back to collect it, and in their rush to return to the Trove house, they’d broken something. Now they were making their getaway before Mom could detain them longer with some sort of punishment.
She stepped out into the hallway. There, she walked barefoot over to the stairway landing and looked down. She saw no one, heard nothing.
“Brrr…” she shivered in her damp towels and hurried back to the warm bathroom. She pushed the door closed but not completely shut behind her.
The boys had obviously already made their retreat back to the Trove house. She’d find out what they’d broken later, once she was dry, dressed, and warm.
She unwrapped the towel from around her head and shook out her hair. Then she hung the towel back on the rack and grabbed her hairdryer, flipping it on to finish the job.
The drone of the hairdryer made it impossible for her to hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside. Nor was she aware of the creaking of floorboards approaching the bathroom door. Christine also remained oblivious to the bathroom door slowly opening beside her.
She turned her head to one side, away from the door, allowing her locks to fall down straight so that she could brush them out while the dryer blasted them with hot air. She saw the gleaming white tiles of the tub and shower. She saw the black and white shower curtain pushed back in folds toward one side of the wall. She saw shampoo, conditioner, and body wash bottles set along one indented shelf section of the tub.
Christine gasped and spun around, slipping and falling backwards and away from the woman. She landed hard against the side of the tub, clutching her still-running hairdryer in one hand, her hairbrush held in the other.
The woman with the teeth lunged for Christine. Her mouth was wide open and ready to sink her fangs deep into Christine’s clean, soft, white flesh, the sight of which fueled a frenzied fire of ravenous hunger inside her.
Christine pushed herself up against the tub’s side, her feet sliding on the frictionless tiled floor. The towel she had wrapped around her unfurled, leaving her further exposed. She drew her legs up as close as she could to her chest to keep them away from the onrushing woman. Pushing away the pain of where her back had struck the tub’s hard edge, she did the only thing she could think of to defend herself; she threw her hard-handled hairbrush at the woman, hitting her square in the face.
The blow caused the woman temporarily to pause in her advance, recoiling from the impact. But it wasn’t enough to stop the attack. She shook off the blow and came at Christine again.
This time, Christine used the only weapon she had left, her hairdryer. She aimed the hairdryer, gun-like at the Carchar carrier – the first such being Christine had ever seen up close and personal – and hit the “high heat” button.
A wave of super-heated air hit Cheryl directly in the face. The blast struck a chord somewhere deep inside her. Images of her staring at herself in a mirror, holding a similar device to the one she now faced, flashed to mind. But the mental images were just that, images. They meant nothing to her. She couldn’t place where they had come from. All she knew right now was hunger. And there was a ready-made meal sitting on the floor in front of her, supple flesh exposed for the taking.
Cheryl knocked the hot device away with an arm and moved forward again, bending down toward her prey, eager and drooling for her first bite.
Christine kicked the lurching set of gnashing teeth away with a well-placed foot to the Carchar carrier’s chest. The force of the kick pushed the carrier back several feet, and as she worked to regain her balance, she slipped on the slick tile floor and fell flat on her back. In the process, the carrier whacked her head hard on the tile and simultaneously knocked the bathroom door shut with an errant arm.
Christine, now devoid of towel and completely naked, jumped up from the floor. She vaulted the Carchar carrier, still struggling to regain its wits, landing successfully, albeit with a slight skid, on the other side of where Cheryl lay. But her point of impact left her between a rock and a hard place – or in this instance, between a closed bathroom door and a Carchar carrier. The good thing about where Christine had landed; however, was that she now stood on Cheryl’s long, untrimmed locks. In essence, this left Christine pinning Cheryl’s head to the floor with a foot. However, Christine’s position also left her unable to open the bathroom door for fear of releasing the now pinned Carchar carrier.
Christine was unsure of what to do. She looked around her frantically for a weapon but saw nothing within reach. She thought of the gun, still downstairs sitting atop the refrigerator. She wished she had it now, but wishing wasn’t going to do her any good. She had to figure this out fast and without benefit of any standard weapon.
The woman on whose hair she now stood was flailing, scratching at Christine’s bare leg with jagged fingernails in an attempt to free herself. But Christine’s adrenaline was pumping, and she didn’t even feel the scratching. All she could think about was keeping this wild woman pinned in place while at the same time escaping the bathroom.
Then that she saw the towel she’d used to dry her hair hung on the nearby wall rack. It was the only thing within arm’s reach. She grabbed it and yanked it off the rack. Then she took it, bent, and wrapped it around the Carchar carrier’s face, careful not to get nicked or bitten by those still-gnashing teeth.
It wasn’t a long-term fix by any means, but Christine didn’t care. She was just looking to get the hell out of the bathroom without being bitten.
With its face and eyes covered, the Carchar carrier seemed confused, and its actions slowed. Christine used the opportunity to reach over and get a hand on the bathroom doorknob in preparation to leave. She did a rapid mental countdown and then jumped to one side, away from the Carchar carrier, the towel still wrapped around its face. Christine flung the door open, ran downstairs, and shot out the backdoor. She had a fleeting thought of retrieving the gun on top of the refrigerator, but she quickly reasoned that by the time she got the trigger guard off, got the gun loaded, and was ready to fire, she’d be half eaten by the rabid Carchar carrier upstairs.
Speaking of whom, Cheryl didn’t stay down for long once Christine got off her hair. As soon as Christine had fled, Cheryl clambered to her feet, ripping the wet towel from her face. But it was too late. The warm, fleshy creature she had so longed to sink her teeth into had already escaped.
Cheryl navigated her way carefully down the stairs after her prey, but there was no sign of it anywhere. She paused at the base of the stairs, listening, but she heard nothing. She remained standing, unsure of what to do next. Then panic swept over her. What if the creature came back with other creatures, creatures that could harm her? She needed to escape this place.
Cheryl hurried to the spot where she had entered the box, but the entry way was now closed, and Cheryl had no idea of how to re-open it. She pushed hard on the entrance, but it didn’t budge. She looked around her frantically, searching for any other way out. She ran from space to space throughout the big box, scrambling, slamming into things and knocking them over, slipping, sliding, falling and getting back up. She scrabbled at the front entry with her fingernails like a panicked dog trying to get outside, but it didn’t do any good. Nothing worked. There seemed to be no way out.
It wasn’t until Cheryl noticed the large gap in one wall of the Franko dining room that she sensed she was close to freedom. She ran toward the gap in the wall and jumped, ready to sail through and land on the frozen ground below. But that wasn’t what happened. Like a bird in flight, Cheryl struck the thick glass of the picture window violently and bounced off. She fell back onto the dining room floor, landing hard on her butt. She saw stars. Her nose stung. Her forehead throbbed. Her eyes watered. She was confused. How had she been stopped? There was nothing between her and the outdoors, and yet some invisible force had blocked her escape.
She scrambled to her feet, walked up to the opening, and reached a hand out tentatively. It came to rest against something clear, yet solid and cold. She hit the barrier with her palm, and the invisible force thudded and vibrated under the blow. Cheryl reached back and struck it harder with her fist and the entire invisible space seemed to shake. Then she stepped back, turned her body, and thrust her shoulder hard in against the transparency. It reverberated, and a slight crack in the clearness developed. Cheryl moved back are far as she could, got a running start, and flung herself, shoulder first, hard against the transparent space. There was a crash, and suddenly she was falling out into space.
She landed on the ground amidst a pile of shattered glass. The impact temporarily knocked the wind out of her. But she gathered herself as quickly as she could. Looking around her with frightened eyes, she knew that danger could lurk anywhere and everywhere.
The hunger in her belly was almost overwhelming. Only the fear she felt at once again being outside and exposed quelled her urge to feed.
And with that, Cheryl abandoned her search for shelter and food, and took flight. About half an hour later, scared and exhausted, she finally found refuge in a large culvert near the train tracks. There, she nestled down under some cardboard boxes and other debris to spend a cold, sleepless night, alone, afraid, and terribly hungry.
Chapter 16
Christine blasted out through the backdoor, never once looking behind her. In her mind’s eye, she saw that raving lunatic who’d attacked her in the bathroom just inches behind her, teeth out, ready to bite. She prayed as she ran that her boys were already safe and secure at the Troves’ house.
And when she reached the Troves’ side door, she never bothered to knock. Ripping the screen door open, she pushed her way inside the kitchen, and slammed and locked the door behind her. Once inside, she turned around, leaning against the door, tears in her eyes as she gasped for breath.
It was then, and only then, as she looked over at a wide-eyed Patrick Trove, a goofy, half-amazed grin on his face, partially poured glass of milk in one hand, gallon jug in the other, that she remembered she was completely naked.
But Christine didn’t care. “Are Jack and Andrew here?” she asked the stunned Patrick.
He just kept staring like a pre-teen seeing his first nudie magazine.
“Are Jack and Andrew here?!” she emphasized, using one arm to cover her bare breasts and a hand to cover her crotch.
“Um, yeah…they’re upstairs,” Patrick finally recovered. He quickly set his milk down and threw Christine a hand towel from the counter to cover up with.
She caught it, only to reveal herself again in the process. She looked at the doily doubtfully, then eyed Patrick with a gaze of contempt. “Gee…thanks. Got anything less revealing?” she shot him a sarcastic grimace. “Hot pad, maybe?”
“Oh, yeah, hold on. Let me get one of Mom’s robes,” he finally tore his eyes from Christine and hurried out of the kitchen.
* * *
The Blender meeting in the Trove basement began promptly at seven and with a now fully clothed – albeit in some of Caroline Trove’s attire – Christine Franko.
The Last Bastion (Book 1): The Last Bastion Page 18