All-Night Terror

by Adam Cesare

  She jiggled the doors, testing the hold. When they didn’t open, she tugged him away from the windows.

  “Where’s the fire alarm?”

  Chad pointed to the partition behind the counter. It split the front of the store into two halves: a smaller, confined register counter and a corridor that spilled into the back room.

  The alarm hung in the dead center of the wall, surrounded by plastic pamphlet holders for local points of interest. Touristy places like the Berkshires. One of the towns out there had suffered a terrible fire a few months back. It got so bad, half of it was lost before they could put it out.

  Chad hoped fire and rescue would have a better response time tonight.

  She yanked the alarm lever, showing no hesitation.

  As she lowered the handle, the power cut out. Complete darkness fell on them like a blanket of snow.

  That was, with the exception of the two dim headlights watching them from the edge of the parking lot.

  “It’s fine,” Chad said, feeling anything but fine. “We’ve got an emergency generator ready to kick in.”

  She shook her head, a gesture full of hopelessness. “He’s already knocked it out.”

  It was true. When the power had gone out in the past, the generator turnover was instantaneous.

  Chad lifted the cell phone to his ear and dialed 911. The reception was so skittish that the ring faded in and out like a damaged speaker. The phone dropped the call, reducing the battery life from 32 percent to 24 percent.

  “It’s useless out here, I tried to tell you.”

  The girl must’ve noticed the uncertainty in Chad’s face, because she slid an arm under his and yanked him away, hurling him against the nearby wall. They were nose-to-nose, and she smelled faintly of alcohol.

  She talked so softly that Chad could hear beads of spittle popping beneath her tongue. “He killed my friends. Ran us off the road and started hacking them before we even realized what was happening.”

  The door in the hall behind them started to rattle.

  “You’re alone here, right?” she asked, growing even more frantic.

  Chad went into the back corridor with a display of courage that surprised no one more than him. Perhaps it was because he held the ring of keys in the palm of his hand and knew no one could get in the service door without them.

  Then again, this guy had cut the power without them realizing he’d ever gotten out of his truck. Even now the pickup rumbled somewhere outside, at their backs.

  The service entrance was in the middle of the “Employees Only” corridor, opposite the restroom and manager’s office.

  They moved into the corridor as the jiggling doorknob became inanimate.

  Frightened eyes exchanged mutually unsure glances, and the silence was short-lived.

  He was knocking now.

  It was polite knock that somehow betrayed the otherwise insidious nature of the intruder. It was light, almost sterile. The way a mother knocked on your door to tell you supper was ready.

  Then the doorknob went back to wobbling, and the girl lugged Chad into the front aisle.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “His truck. It’s still running.”

  “And likely locked.”

  Chad understood her logic but failed to consider her pleas for reason. He couldn’t take his eyes off the two headlights. They weren’t more than sixty or seventy feet off.

  They could make a run for it while the killer—alleged killer—was trying to force his way in through the back.

  But the girl looked on in disgust, as if she were a mind reader. “Even if you get out there, he’s got a clear line of sight to his car from that side of the building. And he’ll hear you as soon as you start trying to smash your way in.”

  Behind them, the knob stopped jiggling, leaving only deafening silence.

  “Then we get to the roof.” He knew his voice wasn’t selling the idea. “At least maybe we get a signal up there.”

  Couldn’t get a signal most days, no matter where you were out here in east bumfuck, but what else was there?

  The girl went to the “Break This In Case Of Emergency” glass on the back wall, smashing it with the metal block and tugging the axe free. Her features darkened considerably in the gloom. She bounced the axe head up and down in the palm of her hand, as if chewing on his suggestion.

  “Where’s the roof access?” She cleared her throat, as if that might chase away the scares.

  “Through there.” He pointed toward the hall. “Manager’s office.”

  “Let’s go.”

  He found the correct key on the third try. Employees weren’t supposed to come back here. Ever. But they needed to have access to it in case there was ever an emergency.

  And this fits the fucking bill.

  He pushed on the door, and they stepped inside.

  Cold cement-lined walls wrapped around the office, which was furnished with an old lawn table. A PC and printer sat on top of it, reminding Chad of the one that used to be in Dad’s office back in the day.

  A few metal rungs were bolted to the wall in the back corner, leading up to a ceiling hatch.

  “You take this,” the girl said, and pushed the axe against his chest.

  When Chad took it in his arms, she started climbing.

  She pushed up on the hatch, but it wouldn’t budge. Not even a little.

  “Stuck,” she nearly cried.

  “Alright.” Chad lifted the axe up, hilt-first. “It’s probably just rusted. Give it a few good knocks.”

  She took it in her hands and flipped it around. She punched upward, but the sound of carbon steel smashing against immovable metal was defeating.

  She coughed, brushing at her face.

  “You alright?”

  Rust flakes fell into his eyes from above, and he coughed too.

  She slammed the axe against the hatch a few more times before climbing back down, frustrated. She thrust her head onto Chad’s shoulder, and he felt warm teardrops against his neck. Even her moist, sniffling head felt good against his chest.

  “It’s okay.” He wanted to put his arms around her, to instill her with a sense of confidence. But it felt inappropriate somehow. “We’re going to be fine, okay?”

  She rubbed one eye and laughed softly.

  “We just need to chisel the hatch open. Maybe pry it up or something. I think we’ve got a few screwdrivers stashed somewhere beneath the register.”

  They went to it, stopping in unison as they reached the storefront.

  This time it was Chad’s turn to gasp.

  A square drop-ceiling tile was on the floor in the middle of the front aisle.

  They stared up at the opening, and Chad wondered how he could’ve been so stupid.

  The man must’ve gotten on the roof from outside. And come in through the vents.

  From somewhere in the store came raspy breaths.

  The girl screamed, and the glinting blade cut the black. It was impossibly bright and could’ve been polished silver, slashing her neck with a cold, wet tear.

  Chad felt his cheek moisten with a splash of her blood, and a towering dark figure darted out from behind the register wall. He stabbed her once more, the blade sinking into her shoulder with an echoed slurp.

  She screamed again, slipping beneath Chad’s eye-line and dropping to the floor with a groan.

  The killer knelt, closing his hands around the protruding hilt and pushing down. Her attacker let out a noise, part rage, part ecstasy. Twisted the blade this way, then that.

  Her scream was impossibly loud now, and Chad couldn’t stand to hear it. He hoisted a heavy display jar of jerky from the counter and threw it on the killer’s shoulders with enough force to knock him over.

  The killer grunted and hit the tiles face-first.

  “Come on,” Chad said.

  But she wasn’t listening. Instead, she wriggled around on the floor, wrestling the knife out of her body.

  Chad jumped back as the k
iller shot up in the space between them, a ruffled overcoat spreading out as the man pulled something from inside.

  Chad dove for cover, realizing what it was.

  An earsplitting blast exploded, and the front doors burst into glass shards that rained all over his back.

  Chad winced as a discarded shell clacked across the tile.

  He pushed himself to his feet.

  Over his shoulder there was a quick shimmer, and the girl sunk the knife into the killer’s side. He howled and belted her across the eyes with the back of his hand. She fell, rolling onto her side with an exhausted moan, as the guy shuffled down the hall, pained grumbles filling the air around them.

  There was another shotgun blast and barrel pump, and Chad realized the killer was shooting his way out by blasting the hatch. Possibly retreating.

  Or, at the very least, regrouping.

  “Go,” the girl said, sliding against the wall beneath the pamphlets, gasping like an asthmatic. “Get his truck and bring it here.”

  Chad glanced at the headlights and realized it was now or never. He could close the gap and get there by the time the killer landed on the roof.

  What if she didn’t make it?

  He decided he was going to have to take that chance. Better that someone survive.

  At her next urging, more harried this time, he went. His shoes crunched glass shards, and the cool-evening sting smacked his face. He pushed hard across the tarmac.

  The headlights loomed closer.

  The black SUV was locked. He ran around trying each door, but the only thing left to do was smash it open.

  He jogged to the side of the road, looking for a rock big enough to break glass when a shot exploded off the pavement.

  Chad recoiled and ran for cover behind the SUV.

  The muzzle flash atop the roof signaled another thunderous shot, which this time rained pellets on the vehicle.

  Chad dropped to the ground and crawled beneath the car, inching toward the front. His head was turned to one side, and his downward cheek scraped asphalt while he wriggled up as far as he dared.

  A loud boom from somewhere ahead, followed by a softer, hollow plop.

  Feet hitting the pavement.

  Chad had to crane his neck to see the space in front of him, squinting into the night and hoping to see which of them the killer had chosen to pursue.

  Please be her, a selfish part of him prayed. He still didn’t know the whole story, and wondered if he’d been stupid to involve himself like this.

  But he never had a choice.

  Footsteps came nearer. He could just make out the shape of thick black boots halting in between the headlight cones.

  The killer must’ve been weighing his options. Pursue him—wherever he’d run off to—or go back into the store and finish what he started.

  Chad figured he would never be so lucky that the killer wouldn’t first check beneath the car. Hell, the guy must’ve seen him taking cover here from his vantage point above.

  The boots came closer still, edging into the path of a headlight. Chad saw cherry-red droplets of blood running across the rubber toes. Everything about these actions implied that this guy had done this sort of thing before. And often. This was more than a few rednecks dabbling in the meth trade.

  Much more.

  His heart hammered his sternum. Pins and needles in the tips of his fingers. The killer took calm steps around the vehicle’s perimeter, walking so close that Chad smelled boot polish.

  Any second he’s going to check under the car.

  Instead something crashed to the floor inside the busted storefront, and the killer did an about face on the balls of his heels. He strolled back toward the sign of life, and occasional drops of blood littered the ground, gleaming like diamonds when caught in the headlight luster.

  Chad didn’t know a single thing about the girl, not even her name. But he couldn’t leave her to die.

  Or could I?

  As a child, Chad chased a neighborhood cat from his yard one afternoon. It darted into the middle of the street and got smashed by two cars traveling in opposite directions. The image of it, four broken legs and an ungodly meow hanging in its distended mouth, haunted him to this day.

  The curious little thing hadn’t been hurting anyone, and he’d been chased for no reason—much like the two of them earlier—headlong into his demise.

  How could he have an innocent girl’s death on his conscience when he couldn’t forget about that cat?

  Slipping out from beneath the still-idling vehicle, Chad knew the headlights gave him a degree of anonymity. But it was short-lived as he crept along the far side of the parking lot, hoping the girl at least had the good sense to find a better hiding spot.

  The blown-out window front was at his left, and he felt safer as soon as he passed it, presumably slipping free of any vantage point the killer might’ve had.

  He trained his ears but heard only crickets chirping.

  The air was no less oppressive out here, though. It hung heavy, and Chad felt malevolence close by. He wondered if the killer harbored any of these feelings, or if this was all just part of the excitement for him.

  Why can’t you just pack up and leave? Aren’t we terrified enough for you yet?

  A shadow moved overhead, and Chad glanced up at the rooftop, looking at an outstretched hand.

  The girl’s long, blonde hair dangled down when she peered over, not quite long enough to Rapunzel his way up.

  She motioned to the dumpster.

  The same one the killer had hopped onto a few minutes earlier.

  He fanned his arms like a desperate umpire. If she tried to get down that way, the killer would follow the noise and be on them in a second. Chad hadn’t found anything to crack the SUV’s window yet, so they were going to have only a few seconds to try to get in there.

  It would require all of the lead time they could get.

  There has to be another way.

  The girl sidled along the rooftop’s edge until the dumpster was right beneath her.

  He mouthed “No” as audibly as he dared.

  She glanced over her shoulder, a long, hard look at her surroundings. When she was seemingly satisfied by the clear coast, she turned back and raised the axe and used it to point to him. Then to the SUV.

  He understood at once and climbed onto the dumpster, desperate to avoid adding any noise to this silent night.

  The axe dangled just out of reach; she gripped it by the head and lowered it as much as she could. If she were to drop it, things had the potential to go even more awry.

  Almost there.

  Chad’s fingers brushed against the bottom of the hilt, and he pushed his arm up just a bit further.

  His hand closed around the grip, but the weight of the axe brought the blade flying backward. He tried grabbing it but tumbled off the dumpster while doing so.

  He smashed into the ground with the back of his head, and the butt of the axe slammed against the side of his face.

  His vision was a burst of white heat, and the back of his head was sticky from impact. Lolling it from side to side brought huge waves of pain crashing down.

  The urgency was gone from him for a long second, replaced by the desire to sleep. But then he remembered the situation, widening his eyes in a desperate bid to chase away the blur.

  The girl faded back into view at last, a hazy, malformed cloud. She must’ve known enough not to speak, waving her arms in concentric circles as a way of pulling his vision back into focus.

  He lifted his head off the ground and winced from the pain.

  In time to see a large figure rise up behind her, towering like a giant.

  She only had time to scream for a split second, and then her cries were severed by a harsh gurgle.

  It was the sobering moment Chad needed. He picked himself—and the axe—up off the ground and dashed through the store. Over the glass shards, through the blood-coated front aisle and down the “Employees Only” corridor, straig
ht into the back office.

  The hatch was open, and cool summer air poured in, along with the throes of a life-or-death struggle.

  Chad climbed the ladder and hoisted himself onto the ceiling.

  They were at the edge of the roof where he left them; the girl was on her ass, and the killer was pulling her along by a garrote stretched across her neck.

  Chad sprinted forward, and the killer heard him coming, dropping one hand off the garrote and turning to greet him with the barrel of a shotgun.

  He winced, knowing at that second what a fool he’d been to come back. When it came right down to it, no one was worth the cost of his life.

  But the girl grabbed the gunman’s ankle and sunk her teeth into it—the only move she had left, and it wasn’t going to count for much if Chad couldn’t deliver.

  He resumed his death charge, running toward them.

  The killer turned once again, lifting the gun for a close-range killshot.

  Chad slashed the axe down into his neck, burying it so deep that his shoulder cracked like branches as it tore through flesh and bone.

  The killer grabbed at the hilt, but the damage had been dealt. Chad let go and stepped back with his arms raised high. The guy dropped to his knees, with sheets of blood spilling down across his chest.

  Their eyes locked, and Chad saw an expression that could only be described as dumbfounded.

  “I—let you go,” the killer rasped, and collapsed onto his back.

  Chad came forward, questioning whether or not he’d heard that right. People often said weird things in death, right? He was sure he had read that somewhere.

  “It was her,” he said, and then was gone, leaving only blank eyes staring up at the moon.

  Chad collapsed on his ass, breathing heavier than ever.

  The girl slunk up beside him, rubbing her neck. Even in this light, he saw the inch-wide slash that ran the length of it. Blood dribbled down like beads of sweat.

  “I’m Leah,” she said after an eternity of silence.

  He might’ve laughed, but his mind was too busy processing the events of the last twenty minutes. When his breathing was semi-normal, he pressed a few fingers to the back of his head, grimacing in pain. It was like touching a raw tooth nerve.

  “I suppose I should do the chivalrous thing and offer you a ride home now.”