Prey

by Stefan Petrucha

  Not that she had a plan of her own, other than the stupid whistle and run idea. She took a final step down, to the eighth stair and just waited. Koko wasn’t through the door yet. Maybe the police would get here before he broke through and Chelsea wouldn’t have to do anything. At least now she could clearly see when the time was right. That would be the smart thing to do. If Koko breached the door she could scream. She probably would scream and Koko would come after her.

  It was a decent plan, except for one small detail.

  Koko turned and saw her.

  They both froze, like ex-lovers embarrassed to run into each other at the same party. He focused on her face and they locked eyes.

  His tongue flicked out twice, three times. Did he know? Did his reptile brain realize it was her fault the house had gotten so cold?

  Leaning against the door like that, with his head at least five feet in the air, he looked almost human. But then his front legs slid off the door, one at a time, thudding on the hall’s flower-patterned linoleum floor. Down on all fours he looked anything but human. He didn’t look animal, either. He didn’t look like anything that had any right to be alive. He looked like a dinosaur, a dragon, a primal force of nature. Something you had to make a statue to, or else.

  His first steps toward her were slow, as if he were tired, or wounded, or freezing, or all of those. His head pivoted to remain fixed on her as he moved in inches. But then, without any pause, without any tensing of muscle, he darted across the floor toward the stairs with a sudden, startling burst of speed.

  I’ve got to run! I’ve got to run now! Chelsea thought as she stared at the ten-foot blur. Up the stairs! Into a room, any room!

  She would have made it too, had not the voice of the OCD rode the pulse of panic into her brain.

  Count the tiles in the ceiling!

  And, caught off guard, for a precious second, she obeyed.

  2, 4, 6, 8.

  She’d reached ten before she wrested control of her body back. By then Koko was at the base of the stairs and still moving fast. In seconds, he’d be upon her. She’d never make it up the stairs before he scrambled his 150 pounds on top of her 120, and brought her down. She’d be carrion.

  She put both hands on the banister and leaped over it. By the time Koko had reached the spot where she’d stood, she was landing with a crash on the hallway floor.

  Koko flung his body against the railing. It cracked and splintered. She looked up in time to see his snout and neck burst through as if the posts were toothpicks.

  Now she ran. She ran full tilt down the hallway, nearly slipping on Derek’s blood, into the kitchen where the air was thick with the heavy smell of gas. Not knowing where Koko was, not knowing how close he was behind her, she spun herself in the only direction available, toward the basement door. She threw it open. The moist, hot air from below slapped her in the face. She pulled her head back and then half fell, half ran down the stairs.

  She looked around. Screaming her frustration into the moist air, she turned the dials for the heat and the humidity down to zero. The misting machine coughed once before falling silent. As she heard Koko coming down the stairs, she grabbed the only weapon available, the mechanical claw, and ran for her last hiding place, Koko’s cage. Without really stopping to consider how Koko could have gotten out, she unbolted the door and dove in among the dirt and plants.

  As the lizard curved itself around the base of the stairs, Chelsea reached through the wire above the Plexiglas and slid the bolt back into place, locking herself inside.

  Koko ambled into the center of the ten-by-twelve area, taking up much of it. He raised his head and twisted it curiously, regarding her. It was almost as if he were admiring the irony: he outside in the human world, she stuck in there.

  “Get out! Go away!” she screamed at him from behind the protective wall. She shook the claw at him threateningly. “I’ll kill you!”

  He hissed at her. You and what army?

  He stepped forward, craning his neck into the glow from the three heat lamps. Great, now he’d be all warm and cozy.

  Not if Chelsea had anything to say about it. Swinging the metal claw like a club, she smashed the heat lamp closest to her. There was a flash as a shower of glass hit his water dish.

  Koko hissed.

  “Didn’t like that, eh? How about this then?”

  She swung at the second. “Screw you, Koko! You hear me? Screw you!”

  Koko hissed and reared at the second flash and breaking glass. When Chelsea smashed the third light, he slammed both front claws into the Plexiglas door. He stood there, propped up on his back legs, looking totally pissed in spite of his Kermit grin, as she destroyed the orange bulb.

  Now the only lights in the basement were the recessed fluorescents that covered the part of the room Koko was in. They made his gray skin look a little green. Chelsea was in semidarkness, panting, waiting, stretching her ears to see if there were sirens coming.

  Where were they?

  She stepped back and felt something hard under her foot. Looking down, she saw the frayed remains of the dog collar and remembered how Aristotle had snuck in. Maybe she could squeeze out? She looked up at the small window, at the piece of wood Derek had shoved there. The window she could manage, but what about the bars?

  No. It was hopeless. She just wasn’t as small as a little dog.

  Where was Koko, anyway? She’d taken her eyes off him while she was looking at the window, and now he was nowhere to be seen. Had he gone back upstairs? Was he sitting in some shadow?

  A quiet rustling made her turn to look behind her. The only thing there was the big nest made of sticks and straw and leaves that Koko traditionally sat on. She looked in horror as the whole nest shook.

  It was only then she realized, eyes widening, exactly how Koko had gotten out. The big lizard hadn’t been sitting on top of the habitat’s dirt all that time, he was covering a hole he’d dug. There, out of sight, at some point, he scratched at the Plexiglas until he was able to slip into the small space between the Plexiglas and the cinderblock, and now could come and go as he pleased.

  As the living hill rose, Chelsea scrambled across the dirt and twigs and headed for the locked door, each frantic move she made slowed by the moist earth and plants. Reaching her goal, she stood on tiptoes and jammed her arm through the wire, letting its sharp ends cut her skin as she reached for the bolt. She threw the door open with her weight and spilled out onto the floor.

  At her back, she saw Koko following. She kicked the door shut, stood and slammed the bolt into place just as he hit the thick Plexiglas with all 150 pounds. The wall shook and creaked. White dust fell from the recessed ceiling. Koko stared at her a second as she raced for the stairs. A few steps up, she saw his tail again vanish under his nest.

  As she reached the kitchen, she heard him on the steps. Now she knew just how sophisticated he was. An animal would back off, stay in the nest, but Koko, Koko was just pissed now and out for revenge. Worse, rejuvenated by what heat he’d enjoyed down there, he was moving faster. It was all she could do to barrel into the kitchen table, knocking it over and falling in the process.

  As his great form swept into the kitchen, she dove behind the table for cover. Koko slammed into it, pushing it and Chelsea up against the locked rear door of the house, slamming her head against the wood. He clawed, bit and pushed against the Formica table top, trying to gain purchase on its slick surface. All he really had to do was grab the side of the table and pull. How long would it take for him to figure that out?

  Sobbing, she surveyed the little triangle her world had become, how tiny it was, how limited, exactly as Dr. Gambinetti had warned if she kept listening to her OCD. It was just this little space now, shared with some of the junk on the table that had been spilled to the floor and been pushed here along with her. Some mail, paper clips, overturned salt and pepper shakers…

  …and matches.

  The air was cooler near the drafty door, the gas was not as thick
as it had been in the rest of the room, but she still smelled it. All of a sudden, Derek’s plan to blow his way out didn’t seem so stupid. Maybe because now it was the only idea.

  The table slammed her again as Koko pounded it. She scooped the matches up in her hand and tore one off.

  As she did, the OCD screamed at her.

  No, don’t! You’ll die! Count the scratches on the floor! Wash your hands until they’re raw! Count all the dust motes in the house, but don’t ever light that match! You’ll die! You’ll burn, and burning is the worst way, the worst way to go.

  But then Koko’s claws and Kermit head came over the top of the table and looked down at her in what she imagined was an expression of triumph. So she did it, she flicked the match in the book, saw the spark catch and burst into flame, saw the flame grow faster and hotter than she could have imagined.

  As the growing white flame hit the rest of the matches, she tossed the whole book up and over Koko’s head. He twisted his head up. For a moment she was afraid he was going to bite it and put it out, but he didn’t. He just watched.

  Maybe he was just a dumb, hungry lizard after all.

  As the kitchen erupted in a blinding ball of white light, she figured that if she died, at least it would be better than listening to that damn voice in her head every day, at the very least, dying in this white heat would be faster and more merciful than even the jaws of the lizard.

  At least Koko should be happy. It was warm again. Hot, really. Hot enough for a monster from hell.

  11

  Chelsea felt as if she were in the heart of a thunderstorm, not safe on the earth, but stuck between the two clouds that crashed into each other and crackled.

  As the world turned to light, the force of Koko’s powerful arms faded against the terrible wall of energy that swept toward them both. It slammed Koko and the table into her, lifted her and took them all into the door behind them. The metal table legs crumbled like wet spaghetti and the top kept coming, flattening her against the door, squeezing all the air out of her, but continuing to push.

  Her eyes were closed, but even the insides of her eyelids were filled with white light and heat. She swore her skull and rib cage were crushed as the door came free behind her. She had no idea what had happened to her arms and legs. She only knew she was flying, falling, and landing in a horrible darkness.

  And all that had taken less than a second.

  When the motion settled and her consciousness caught up with the flow of events, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought maybe she was on her back. She heard a rush and a crackling like fire, but her back and hands felt cold. In the blackness, she heard the OCD singing weakly in her head, sounding dazed itself:

  I told you so, I told you so, and now you’re dead. You’re dead forever.

  But she wasn’t, and just to prove it, she opened her eyes.

  At first everything was blurry. Far off, some reds and yellows swam together like fish floating in the air. The rest was grays and darkness, until a wave of heat hit her hard. It was a focused heat, and everything around it felt cold, as if little icy needles were jabbing at her skin. It reminded her of when she had had her ears pierced, only the feeling was slower and more insistent.

  The thick smell of smoke brought back more of her senses. She coughed from a mouthful of the stuff, and then started breathing through her nose. The pain shooting through her ribs jolted her brain, made her focus.

  The back of her head ached as she raised it. She could see now that the distant red and yellow were flames, licking like giant lizard’s tongues at a gaping wound in the back of the house. In addition to the red and yellow, blue and white flames shot out from pipes where the stove used to be. The explosion hadn’t just forced her and the table through the door, it had torn out half of the rear wall. And now the back of the house was burning.

  She noticed the white of the stove about ten feet to her left, lopsided on the ground where it had landed. She and it were far from the house, maybe fifty feet. It was still snowing, she could see the individual flakes gently landing on the shattered bits of tabletop that covered her chest.

  Finally, blissfully, she heard the sirens, not far off at all, getting louder.

  But help was not the only thing coming this way. Something big and black and thick as a fallen tree trunk moved near the wreckage of the house.

  Koko. Koko had survived the blast as well.

  He was dazed, but he saw her lying there helpless, and was coming for her, following the final command his brain had given when fully conscious. One foot after the other, he came, hips and shoulders waddling like a giant push toy, his huge tail dragging behind him, making a thick line on the ground in the soot and the snow.

  One step, two steps, three steps, more.

  Chelsea tried to move, but her legs were pinned under the combined weight of the pieces of the table and the door. On her back, unable even to flip over, she dug her hands into the wet ground and tried to pull herself out by her fingers, but could not. Whatever strength had carried her this far was gone.

  Five steps, six steps, seven and eight.

  Her hands were filled with wet mud and snow, but her body did not move. He was coming. He was still coming, until all she could see was his big head with its unhingeable jaw, that and the flames dancing around it like a living frame.

  He would always come for her. It didn’t matter that the sirens were deafening now, that she heard the cars screeching to a halt. It didn’t matter if the police came, or the army. Even if they took her a thousand miles away from here, this thing, this lizard would still be waiting.

  Forever.

  Inches away, Koko stood there, staring at her with his deathly ebon eyes. He flicked his tongue once, then stopped moving. It wasn’t until the snowflakes started to land right in those black, unblinking eyes, it wasn’t until they melted into little wet pools that ran down the sides of Koko’s face, down into the crack that formed his Muppet grin, that Chelsea realized the dragon wasn’t going to be moving anymore.

  Two police officers ran up, guns drawn, circling Koko and her, keeping their distance.

  “I think he’s dead,” she said hoarsely.

  One of them nodded at something she didn’t see, something that made them relax a bit. They both holstered their weapons and set to work pulling the boards off her. She was breathing again. It was hoarse and painful, her ribs ached, but she was breathing, and though the officers offered her their hands, she stood up pretty much by herself.

  They spoke to her in reassuring tones as they walked her in a wide circle around Koko. As she passed the lizard’s side, she noticed the huge gash in it, and the dark blood and entrails that oozed from it.

  Not the cold, then. Not just the cold anyway.

  The front of the house was a maze of flashing lights, the police, a fire truck, an ambulance.

  “How many in there?” a red-faced paramedic shouted at her.

  “Two,” she answered, but it was still hard to speak, her voice rough from screaming. “Derek’s in the hall closet, Dr. Gambinetti’s on the living-room floor.”

  It was only after the paramedic turned away and ran off that she realized she hadn’t mentioned Eve Mandisa.

  Oh well, they’d probably find her anyway. No rush.

  Out of nowhere she felt two arms grab and pull at her. It took her a few seconds to realize it was her mother, saying nothing, but hugging her so tightly her ribs hurt. Her father was there too, his arms wrapped around them both. In that big nest of family and winter coats, Chelsea let go and sobbed.

  They stood there like that until a paramedic pried them apart so he could have a look at Chelsea. He sat her in the back of an ambulance, checked her cuts, her blood pressure, her heart rate. As he worked on her, Chelsea watched them pull two gurneys through the front door.

  Strapped to the first was Derek, his head twisting left and right, his eyes moving wildly in his head. They steadied for a second as the gurney passed her, and Chelsea swore he grinne
d at her. If he could talk, he’d probably make some stupid joke.

  “She seems fine, just some scratches and bruises. We’ll need the ambulance for the other two, but you’ll want to take her to County General just to check her out,” the paramedic said to her family.

  Chelsea slid out of the ambulance to make room for the second gurney. Dr. Gambinetti was still—very still—but his head wasn’t covered with a sheet. Maybe he was alive too.

  Seeing her standing, her mother hugged her again. Chelsea tried to swallow, to clear her throat, but couldn’t. Gently, she pulled herself away from her mother’s embrace.

  “My throat’s so dry. I really need some water,” she said.

  Helen Kaüer looked around and spotted the convenience store on the corner. “I’ll get you some.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll go.”

  Her mother stared. “Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m not. He said I was fine.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Chelsea shook her head and pressed her palm against her mother’s cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

  There were tears in her mother’s eyes. “You’re not. You’re not fine. You’re going to the hospital.”

  “Okay. Whatever. Right after I get some water, okay?”

  Without waiting for a response, Chelsea pulled away and started walking. Helen Kaüer tried to follow, but her husband gently held her back. He spoke softly, but Chelsea heard him.

  “Let her go herself if she wants. We’ll watch her from here.”

  She didn’t need to hear the rest. The cacophony of fire hoses, shouts, and flames quieted a bit at her back as she made her way to the convenience store. Somewhere far off, she heard music and people laughing. Hobson Night was still in full swing. Most of the people in the town were enjoying themselves.

  Snow gathered in her hair. Everything ached, but it felt good to be moving after having been pinned under the wood, felt good to be outside after having been stuck in the house. When she pushed the door open and walked into the cleaner air of the store, she noticed for the first time how much she smelled of sweat and soot. What a fright she must be to look at.