Lot Lizards

by Ray Garton

  —Jon stumbled to his feet, screaming for his dad again, as screams of agony rose in the dark around him, female voices wailing as if their flesh were being burned off, and—

  —there were male voices, too, crying out in fear and pain, and—

  —women began to fall from the cabs of the trucks in the parking lot and run, screaming, through the snow all around him, running as if pursued by their worst nightmares, their arms outstretched, some of them naked or only half dressed, with garments hanging from their bodies as if they had suddenly gone mad in the act of undressing, and—

  —the blonde dove forward, clutching the cuffs of Jon's pants, nearly tripping him up before he could start running, and his cries for his dad collapsed into senseless screams of terror, when—

  —two arms wrapped around him suddenly from behind, pulled him away from the girl and threw him aside.

  Jon's screams became quiet sobs of relief when he saw that it was his dad. He kicked the girl in the face, surprising her enough to knock her backward with a shocked grunt. He grabbed Jon's elbow and began leading him toward the building as he said, "Are you all right?"

  Unable to form words yet, Jon simply nodded as he and his dad hurried into the truck stop. Dad looked back over his shoulder at the figures staggering and running and crawling in the night.

  The big black man Jon had seen with Dad earlier was hurrying out the door as they went in and Dad said to him, "Get that garlic around the windows. They're everywhere and they've gone crazy."

  Several men followed the black man out of the building, all of them shouting confused questions and barking curses as they ran toward the lot.

  Inside, Jon's mom rushed toward him, crying his name as she embraced him and held him tighter than he could remember ever being held.

  "Oh Jonny," she cried, "oh thank God, Jonny, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I yelled at you, thank God, are you all right, honey, are you hurt, did that thing hurt you?"

  Jon felt confused suddenly, as if he'd just awakened from a deep sleep, and stared silently for a moment at all the people standing around in the dark staring at him. They all looked so scared.

  "No," he muttered when Mom pulled back to look at him. "No, Mom, I'm not hurt. But there was... a little girl," he added, frowning, as...

  ...Kevin began to panic, swerving the pick-up over the icy road as Amy screamed endlessly, slamming herself around in the cab, pounding her fists on the door and window, digging her nails into the dashboard and seat, ripping out chunks of vinyl. Kevin shouted for her to stop or tell him what was wrong, or something, anything, but she seemed unaware of his presence. Finally, he tried to concentrate solely on regaining control of the careening pick-up, but—

  —it was too late, and the tires slid over ice at an angle across the road, dumping the Dodge into the ditch on the opposite side.

  "Amy!" Kevin shouted, killing the engine and pressing himself against the door to get as far from her as possible until she calmed down. "Amy, what the hell is wrong? Stop it!" But she ignored him, or didn't hear him, and continued thrashing around in the cab, slapping and scratching herself, clutching her hair and pulling her fists away with knotted strands sticking between her fingers, and her screams sometimes formed garbled words and, stiff with fear and confusion, Kevin listened carefully, trying to make them out:

  "—how—die—could sh—ow could—eee die—how cuh— could she—die—"

  How could she die?

  Kevin squinted, puzzled, as he reached for the door handle behind him, hoping to slip out and head back toward the truck stop on foot, because it was obvious to him now that he'd made a big mistake in taking off with this girl, because she was out of her fucking mind, she was loopier than a roller coaster, and his sweating fingers closed around the handle, pulled up on it and—

  —that was when silence fell in the cab for just a moment and that was when she turned to him and froze, just staring, her skin whiter than before, her eyes deeper, her hair splayed around her head in a swarm of Medusa-like snakes, and—

  —that was when she dove toward him, arms outstretched, and they both tumbled out the door and into the snow, where—

  —Kevin felt her teeth sink into his shoulder, then into his neck, and her nails scraped his face and she clutched his hair, pulling his head back hard until his throat was completely exposed and Amy lifted her head, opened her mouth wide, snarling deep in her throat, as—

  —he became oddly aware of the throbbing vein just beneath his jaw because that, he somehow knew, was what she was looking at as her face hovered above him for a long, slow moment, until—

  —she dove forward and her fangs pierced his flesh and her jaw clenched and—

  —Kevin's scream was drowned in his own blood.

  CHAPTER 17

  When Bill left Jon with A.J., he went back outside with the gut-level certainty that something was dreadfully wrong. Something had happened, things had changed and, although he wasn't sure why—although he knew he should be happy about the unexpected death of the creature that had taken Jon—he knew things were now worse. He walked along the windowed front of the building and rounded the corner to the back lot, and—

  —he froze. The darkness was alive with movement.

  Squinting against the stinging snowflakes that blew into his face, Bill saw figures zigzagging between the rows of trucks. Many of the figures were obviously men; Bill could tell from their size and the way they moved...and from their screams. They were screaming like terrified children. And behind them— all around them—were smaller figures: the girls. Some of them managed to make themselves invisible in the darkness to normal eyes—to the eyes of the living—but most seemed unconcerned with hiding; they were running maniacally through the night, flailing their arms and making guttural sounds as they attacked the men, knocking them to the ground and feeding on them voraciously...loudly...

  Bill held back for a moment watching them, afraid of them, not sure what to do. What had happened to make them so bold, so monstrous? Could it have been the death of their queen? And what had killed her?

  Trying to ignore his pressing questions, Bill ran unsteadily around the perimeter of the back lot toward the source of the sound. Suddenly overcome with weakness, he stumbled to a stop thinking, for a moment, that he was about to lose consciousness. Lifting a hand from his side, he saw that it was shaking violently. He fell backward and slammed against a lamppost, trying hard to stay on his feet as he groaned at the feeling of dizziness that struck him suddenly.

  Just fatigue, he thought, just strain, that's all. Too much has happened. But he couldn't keep from thinking of what that creature had told him... that he was already dying... dying, this time, for good.

  Moving slowly, Bill pushed away from the lamppost and continued walking around the lot. He spotted Byron with the group of men who had followed him out of the restaurant. The beams of their flashlights cut through the darkness like swords. Some of the men had climbed onto a flatbed trailer with wooden siding and were unfastening and pulling back the heavy tarp that covered the garlic while the others stood around the truck, taking garlic from a crate and scattering it over the ground around them to hold off the girls who were trying to close in. There were maybe half a dozen of them around the truck, but they were shrinking back, some of them gagging and falling to their knees at the smell. Bill spotted one of them hiding under the trailer; she reached out and clutched the ankles of one of the men and began pulling him under with her. The man panicked and began screaming as he fell to the ground and dropped his flashlight. Byron spun around, aimed the gun and fired twice into her face. Two small black holes opened up in her white skin and she shrieked, releasing the man's ankles and crawling back under the trailer. The man she'd pulled to the ground did not seem to notice she was gone, however, and crawled over the snowy pavement, still screaming as he rose to his feet and began to run toward the building. The others shouted for him to come back, but he had already gone beyond the protective barrier of scattered gar
lic and—

  —they were on him in an instant like a school of piranha, ripping his clothes away to get to his warm flesh and the blood that flowed beneath it.

  Bill hurried toward the truck, forgetting the danger that awaited him until he caught the smell, long before he was even close to the garlic strewn over the pavement. It crawled up his nostrils like flames, burned down his throat and into his lungs, made his stomach convulse and his skin crawl; his eyes watered and his tongue seemed to swell in his mouth. He dropped to his knees and retched, suddenly dizzy and close to losing consciousness.

  "Bill!" Byron called. "Get the hell away from here! Go back inside and keep everybody in there! We'll take care of this!"

  Bill lifted his head and looked toward the truck; the flashlight beams blurred through the stinging tears in his eyes.

  "Go on!" Byron shouted, waving his arms.

  Crawling away and finally managing to climb to his feet, Bill did as he was told...

  When he entered the truck stop, A.J. and Jon were standing at the front of the store; Doug was behind them in the darkness talking quietly with the girls, while others stood around, stiff and anxious, keeping their eyes on the windows and doors.

  "What's happening?" A.J. asked, rushing toward him. Before he could answer, she gasped quietly and said, "My God, Bill, you look horrible. Are you all right?"

  He leaned against a rack of candy and chewing gum and chuckled. "I don't think so."

  "What's happening outside, Dad?" Jon asked, stepping forward.

  "They're getting the guh-garlic from...from the truck. So they can spread it around. The building. At the doors and windows, and..." He felt dizzy again and paused, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands. When he lifted his head again, he realized that the other people around him were closing in, their expressions fearful, as if they were depending on him to tell them something they were waiting to hear. "Luh-look," he said quietly, "everything’ll be okay if we just stay inside. That’s all, just stay inside."

  "But what if they come in here?" barked a fat woman as she bounced a baby in her arms.

  Other voices spoke up, asking questions urgently, but they all melted into a buzz in Bill's ears. He lifted his hands trying to appear comforting. "It'll just be few more minutes before they have that garlic spread around the building. Then there's no way they can come in here."

  The voices quieted, making way for a scream coming from the restaurant.

  "Help! Please, somebody help! She's bleeeeding! She's bleeeeding!"

  Bill and A.J. exchanged a glance, then she turned to Doug and said, "I'm going to see if there's something I can do." Bill followed her into the restaurant, where the waitress was still huddling over her little girl. Bill put his arm around Jon as they neared the kneeling woman, who looked up at A.J., eyes desperate.

  "I'm a nurse," A.J. said.

  The woman swept a hand across her teary eyes and said, "She's been bitten. Bad. She's bleeding."

  A.J. knelt down beside her and the waitress, whose uniform was stained with blood, grasped her arm. Her face screwed up and tears fell more freely.

  "She has AIDS," she whispered.

  A.J. removed the woman's hand gently and turned the pale, frightened girl's head to one side so she could inspect the wound. "If s not too bad," she said. "We just need to stop the bleeding. Are there any rubber gloves around here?"

  The waitress thought a moment, then said, 'The dishwasher," and hurried away, returning a moment later with a pair of green latex dish washing gloves. As A.J. put them on, she said, "Get me a cloth, something clean to stop the flow, some hydrogen peroxide from the store, maybe, and some gauze if they have any."

  The little girl blinked as her mother rushed to get the peroxide and bandages; she looked at A.J., confused and frightened, and asked, "Is the monster gone?"

  With tears in her eyes, A.J. looked up at Bill, silently asking him for help. He hunkered down beside the girl and tried to sound reassuring as he said, "Yeah, honey. The monster's gone."

  The girl squinted at Bill for a moment, asked his name and, after he'd replied, she asked, "Are you sick, too?"

  Bill's lips pursed and he tried hard to swallow the viscous lump in his throat—

  —You're dying already—

  —as he nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "I'm sick, too." He stood and turned to the crowd in the restaurant. They were watching him quietly with expectant eyes. "Everything's going to be okay," Bill said, "as long as none of you leave the building for any reason whatsoever. Just...stay inside."

  The batteries powering the auxiliary lights finally died and the restaurant flickered into darkness. "Somebody get some of those hologen lanterns and bring them in here," Bill called weakly to no one in particular.

  "What's gonna happen, Dad?" Jon asked quietly.

  "We're going to stay here until sunrise, Jonny. It's just—" He glanced at his watch."—oh, an hour or so from now. Things are going to be fine."

  "No. I mean, what’s gonna happen to you?"

  Bill put his hand on Jon's shoulder and gave a closed-mouth smile. "Oh, don't worry about me. Tell you what. Go see how your sisters are doing, okay?" He patted the boy and gave him a gentle push. Once Jon had disappeared, tossing reluctant looks over his shoulder, Bill went to the coffee counter and fell heavily onto one of the stools, folding his arms on the counter and resting his head. "Good question," he mumbled quietly to himself. "What' s gonna happen to me..."

  Sunrise was only a short time away.

  And he knew that what the creature had told him was true: he was dying...

  CHAPTER 18

  Time crawled by as the snow continued to swirl outside. Bill stayed at the coffee counter with his head on his arms, his strength draining from him like blood from a wound. He lifted his head occasionally, partly to keep himself awake, but also to check on Adelle, who continued to comfort Jenny, the waitress, and watch over her daughter Shawna; when the girl slept, Adelle moved around the restaurant helping Dr. Phillip Kale—who was rather upset himself—to calm down those on the verge of panic and to tend to the cuts and scratches a few people had gotten from the broken glass. One woman, however, would not be calmed. Dina Bonnick paced around the restaurant, her face pale and drawn, eyes wide and darting, wringing her hands as she said over and over—sometimes in a quiet mumble, other times in an authoritative bark—"This is a mess...a mess...this place is a mess, where is the janitor, this has to be... well, somebody has to clean this up. I'm responsible. I-I-I'm in charge here and this place is a mess!"

  The doctor took her aside, holding her arm and patting her back, speaking to her in low, soothing tones.

  "But this could mean my job!" she hissed, jerking away. "It' s a mess, just a mess!" She began to tremble then, from head to foot, and Dr. Kale helped her into a chair where she mumbled incoherently to herself, rubbing her thighs jerkily and wringing her shaking hands.

  Everyone in the restaurant spoke in hushed voices. Someone had turned on a radio and conversation fell to a faint murmur whenever an announcer updated the situation on the freeway. A baby cried now and then; sometimes the crying did not come from a baby. The crying increased each time one of the figures rushed toward the broken front window snarling like a rabid animal, only to stop and scream or fall to the ground. A couple of times, one of the girls—No, no, Bill thought, one of those things—came dangerously close to diving into the restaurant and Bill was afraid panic would break out again, but each time, the creatures were overcome by the garlic that Byron and the other men had finally managed to scatter around the building. Occasionally, the wind would blow over the garlic and into the restaurant, making Bill's eyes burn and his skin feel as if it were shrinking dangerously all over his body.

  When he came back inside, Byron had been visibly shaken. He'd taken the seat beside Bill and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out hard as he kept his eyes on the window.

  "Gave these damned things up four years ago," he said, waving the cigarette, "and
climbed the walls for a month. But on my worst day, I never wanted a smoke as bad as I did just now. It's a fuckin' nightmare out there," he whispered. "Them things have gone crazy! They're like a pack of wild dogs or, or...hell, like a school of sharks in bloody water. And if they don't get that damned freeway open so we can get some help in here..." Another angry burst of smoke as he shook his head, still staring out at the night and vague figures that moved around in the darkness. "Fuckin' bullets don't do no good. Nothing stops 'em. 'Cept that garlic. God, I hope it keeps working."

  "Janitor!" Dina Bonnick called from across the restaurant, shooting out of her chair and stabbing a finger toward Byron. "Janitor! You, Byron!" Dr. Kale tried to quiet her, get her to sit down, but she just shook him off. "Where have you been? Clean up this mess right now!" She pointed at the scattered shards of glass and the now crusty puddle of black ooze on the floor. "That is your job, you know! You do want to keep your job, don't you?"

  Byron stared her down, cracking his knuckles as he smoked. Finally, he whispered, "Whatta you say I go over there and toss that dizzy bitch into the parking lot?"

  "Don't worry about it, Byron," Bill said. "Everybody's scared and upset."

  Byron stared at the woman for a few minutes, until the doctor calmed her down and got her back into her seat, then he put out his cigarette, lit another and gestured toward what remained of the winged creature on the floor. "The hell you s'pose happened to that thing?"

  It was becoming an effort to speak without slurring his words, but Bill said, "I'm not sure, but I think it had something to do with the little girl it was carrying. She has AIDS." He looked at Byron. "It drank some AIDS infected blood. Maybe that was it."

  Byron stared at the lumpy substance, frowning. He cracked his knuckles a few more times then, without saying another word, stood and went to the window where he stared out at the night.

  Bill groaned quietly and ran a hand through his hair. When he lowered it to the counter, he saw thick strands of hair clinging between his fingers. Turning his hand over, he saw that the skin around his fingernails was turning an odd bluish grey and beginning to crack and peel. Funny, he thought, they weren't that way a little while ago... were they?