Savage Species

by Jonathan Janz

  “He brought it to Cubs games,” she went on. “The first time I was on TV, I was eight years old at Wrigley Field. The cameras got me singing ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’, only you couldn’t see anything but my mouth.”

  Sam grinned. “Shame.”

  Charly shrugged, nodded toward the woods. “We still going in there?”

  “Down the tree line a ways,” Sam said.

  Charly glanced back at the house, her face clouding.

  Sam said, “You don’t have to come with me.”

  She shook her head. “Sheriff Robertson’s in there with Eric and one of his assistants. They’re trying to figure out if there’s anybody Eric might have pissed off enough to…to do this.”

  “Seems like a stretch.”

  “I feel bad for Larry. He can’t believe my story, but he doesn’t want to admit I’m crazy to my face.” She started to tear up, then drew in trembling breath and put on a strained smile. “So I left the house to give him a chance to interview Eric alone.” Her smile grew more natural. “At least it gave me an excuse to come out here, right?”

  Sam nodded. Her cheeks were rounder at the tops than he’d thought. She was painfully cute. He wanted to kiss one of those cheeks, right up under her eye. Taste the skin there and let his lips linger.

  “We’d better get going,” she said.

  They’d taken a few steps when he stopped and asked her, “Robertson need to talk to you too?”

  “Not likely. It’s easier on both of us if I’m out of the house.”

  Sam couldn’t imagine Charly’s presence being hard on anyone, but he nodded and commenced walking.

  They halted at the sound of car doors shutting. They turned and watched the red sports car reverse its way out of the drive. Two figures were inside. The assistant coach and Eric Florence.

  Charly said in a voice that held no inflection at all, “Were you ever married, Sam?”

  Watching the red car, he said, “We better get going.”

  “Think Larry’s going to figure out where we went?” she asked.

  “I expect he will.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  Sam thought about it. “Depends on what we find.”

  They continued along the tree line.

  “Wait,” Eric said as they pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” Mel asked.

  “Stop the car,” he demanded and was annoyed when she took too long to bring the little sports car to a halt. How long it did take to depress a brake pedal anyway? Jesus, he hated riding with women drivers.

  “Flo, you’re worrying—”

  “Just a second,” he spat. Mel had a lot on the ball, but in many of ways she was just like Charly. Always needing a dissertation from him to explain his feelings. Forever begging him to expand on his thoughts. Couldn’t they just sit sometimes?

  “Back up,” he told her.

  She watched him a moment—Jesus!—before slipping the car into gear and promptly backing into the vacant lot.

  “Not that way,” he said. “Straight back the lane, so I can see better.”

  “How come?”

  “Oh for chrissake.” He climbed out of the car and jogged back down the lane a ways to see if what he’d glimpsed earlier was real. The rain dampened his hair immediately. Eric was about to write what he’d seen off to imagination when he caught sight of Charly, wearing her father’s slicker—he hated that thing; it still smelled like the dead man’s cologne, and if that wasn’t twisted, he didn’t know what was—drifting along the wood’s edge like she was in some kind of trance.

  Then he noticed the man strolling beside her. Eric’s mouth formed a venomous smile.

  Sam Bledsoe.

  The wife-stealing son of a bitch.

  “Aren’t we leaving?” Mel asked.

  “Looks like plans have changed.”

  “Flo?” she said, her tone fretful. “What’s wrong?”

  He grinned at her savagely. “Not a goddamned thing. Drive me back to the house, Mel. We’re going for a hike.”

  Chapter Six

  They didn’t see any more creatures on the road to Red Elk’s, but Jesse had already been ambushed by them too many times to relax. They could be anywhere. In the woods, lurking in the shadows. Their lithe bodies were perfectly suited for concealment.

  Unless they’re three stories tall.

  Jesse thought of the god-like creature striding through the rain and brushed away the image.

  Greeley sat forward, the man’s voice cutting through the white noise of the rain. “What’s so special about this Red Elk again?”

  Clevenger said, “He’s lived here his entire life. If anyone would know of an escape route, he would.”

  “The man’s a drunk,” Greeley said. “Emma said he had pornography right out in the open.”

  “I don’t care about his personal habits. We need a way out.”

  “Let’s head for the bluffs then,” Greeley said, his voice plaintive. This close to the man, Jesse was overwhelmed by the aroma of fear-sweat, a combination of fried food and cat urine.

  Clevenger glanced at Greeley in the overhead mirror, which was somehow intact despite the roof being ripped off. “You’re talking about trying to cross a flooded river.”

  “Why not?”

  “How will we get them across?” Clevenger didn’t identify Linda Farmer and Ruth Cavanaugh by name, but he didn’t need to.

  “They can take care of themselves.”

  Colleen looked at Greeley coldly.

  “What?” he asked. “We’re supposed to tote them around until those things catch us? You have any idea how much time that’ll add?”

  “Those things are everywhere,” Emma said. “Crossing the river won’t accomplish anything.”

  “I don’t feel good,” Ruth Cavanaugh said.

  They all turned to look at her. Even though Jesse had placed her right next to him in the backseat, he’d forgotten she was there. Her frizzy black hair, matted down by the rain, formed a kind of helmet around her face. That was a blessing, Jesse thought, because it partially obscured his view of the slash mark, the one that split her face in a clotted, red diagonal. Against his will he recalled how her eye had looked, the scooped-out top and the puffy bottom half that reminded him of curdled milk.

  Emma peered at her over the seat. “We’re almost to the house, Ruth.”

  Ruth went on as though Emma hadn’t spoken. “My knees feel like they’re splitting apart. My head hurts too. I think I need to lie down.”

  “There it is,” Colleen said, pointing.

  “Help me watch for them,” Clevenger said.

  The Buick slowed. Jesse noted with misgiving the rattle of the engine, the way the whole car seemed to vibrate. It was a marvel they’d made it all the way here, but he doubted the Buick would go much farther.

  They curved around the derelict house. Red Elk’s truck was there along with another vehicle, an old teal Jeep. Clevenger drove right up into the front yard and halted beside the porch. From within came the throb of bass from Red Elk’s stereo. They got out, leaving Linda and Ruth in the car. Climbing the porch, Jesse identified the song: Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls”.

  Greeley jogged past them and hammered on the screen door.

  The music continued to blare.

  Jesse glanced around him, probed the rain-swept forest for leering white faces.

  So far, nothing.

  Emma was gripping her arms, bobbing on her heels. The skin of her throat was stamped with goose bumps, her white shirt clinging to her torso. Her breasts had contracted to tight mounds. Her nipples jutted within her bra.

  “Come on, come on,” Greeley muttered. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the screen door. Jerking away, he said, “Jesus.”

  Jesse took an involuntary step backward, sure Red Elk had been murdered.

  Then Colleen shouldered past Greeley, rolled her eyes, and said, “Oh, for God’s sakes.” She tried the knob and found it
open. She went in, and Jesse followed. Motley Crue assaulted them, the bass deep and growling. Jesse froze when he saw the naked pair on the couch. A black-haired woman was bent over, her rear end upthrust and tremoring each time Frank Red Elk slammed into her. Red Elk’s paunch jiggled, his hairless buttocks flexing. The woman was older but nicely built, and she was the one who looked up first.

  “Frank,” she said.

  Red Elk continued thrusting, his face pinched in concentration.

  “Frank,” she said, louder this time.

  Red Elk uttered a prolonged groan, his muscles clenching and his head thrown back.

  Jesse glanced back at Emma, who had her head down and was massaging her forehead in disgust. Greeley’s mouth hung open. Clevenger had turned to watch out the front door for the creatures.

  “Frank!” the woman he was having sex with shouted. She was scowling, apparently not because she was the star of an impromptu public sex show, but because she couldn’t make herself heard over the music.

  Red Elk slumped, patted the woman on the side of the rump, and stumbled back, a contented smile on his face. “Man, Debbie, I love it when you drop by.”

  The woman, Debbie evidently, strode toward them without a hint of self-consciousness and stopped at the stereo. The music cut off.

  “Aw, come on, Debbie,” Red Elk said, looking hurt. “The best part’s when Vince Neil and Tommy Lee talk at the end.” He turned, noticing the five new people standing in his living room.

  His face expressionless, Red Elk said, “Bet you didn’t think I was circumcised.”

  Colleen said, “Put that thing away, Frank. We’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”

  Red Elk blinked at them a moment. Then, gazing from face to face, a bleak comprehension seemed to dawn. “They came for you?”

  “Scores of them,” Clevenger said. “They attacked us on the playground.”

  Red Elk’s face tightened but he nodded as if he weren’t terribly surprised by this. “How many killed?”

  Debbie passed Red Elk on the way to the bedroom. Her rear end wasn’t small, but it was firm. Jesse put her at a well preserved fifty.

  “Hundreds,” Greeley said, his voice high with tension. “We need to go before they find us here.”

  Red Elk smiled a little. “Where you gonna go?”

  “Anywhere. The park is vast, there must be some way—”

  “Uh-uh,” Red Elk said. “The only road’s the one you came in on.”

  “Then give me your phone,” Greeley said and began casting about, knocking things off shelves and tipping a half-empty beer can with an errant elbow. “That is, if you can afford one in this hellhole.”

  “This hellhole,” Red Elk said, “happens to be mine. And I don’t have a landline.”

  “Big surprise,” Greeley said. He kicked an empty pizza box in disgust.

  “Touch another one of my things and I’ll rip your arms off.”

  Greeley wheeled on Red Elk. While Greeley was built well, Frank Red Elk was thicker, a good deal of the weight hard muscle. Last night Jesse had been intimidated by Greeley’s combination of good looks and erudition, but now the man seemed to shrink in Red Elk’s presence.

  The two stared at each other a long moment. In the kitchen the bug light crackled, the walls in there strobing as some large insect fried to death.

  Red Elk had still made no move to cover himself. His softening member shone dully in the semi-dark living room. There was something oddly natural about the way Red Elk looked, despite the ratty furnishings and grungy lighting. This silent, burly specimen was what Jesse had been expecting earlier. His hairless chest seemed a mile wide, the nipples there tiny and hard, as though the confrontation with Greeley was as stimulating as the sex with Debbie had been.

  Greeley looked away. He licked his lips, scowled. “For God’s sakes, put some clothes on.”

  Debbie reentered wearing a white wife-beater tank top and the shortest denim shorts Jesse had ever seen.

  Red Elk asked, “How’d you escape the Children?”

  Greeley licked his lips again, a bemused grin flickering on his wet mouth. “What are you…what do you mean, Children?”

  “Your tall friends.”

  Children of what? Jesse wondered.

  Emma stepped closer. “What do you know about them?”

  “I know we don’t have much time,” Red Elk said.

  “Isn’t there a trail or something?” Greeley asked. “Some old route no one knows about?”

  Red Elk retrieved a balled-up pair of jeans from behind the recliner and began wiggling them on. “Sure, there’re other ways out, when we’re not in the middle of the worst monsoon season in recorded history. A normal year, it’d be a hassle getting out, but you could do it as long as you didn’t mind wading through a couple miles of marshes and a few pockets of quicksand. Try it now, you better have on scuba gear.”

  Greeley moved toward the door. “I say we take our chances.”

  “You’ll be dead before you get to your car.”

  Greeley’s chin trembled. “You don’t know that.”

  “They’re here already,” Red Elk said and slipped on a black T-shirt. It said HORROR DRIVE-IN. Beneath that, a blood-spattered pair of 3-D glasses.

  “They couldn’t have gotten here this quickly,” Greeley said.

  “Listen,” Red Elk whispered.

  They did.

  Jesse shot a look at Emma, who was leaned forward, her whole self intent on hearing what Red Elk had alerted them to—the creatures in the forest.

  The Children.

  Emma’s breath caught, and her eyes widened. She stared at Jesse in fright, and then he heard it too, the huffing of hundreds of voracious creatures, the squelching of their tensile feet on the sodden forest floor. Jesse felt an ominous heat in his bowels. Greeley backed away from the door, moving like a man wired to explode should anyone make a sudden movement. Colleen, who’d behaved so fearlessly, now seemed on the verge of tears. Clevenger’s mettle also appeared to be flagging. Red Elk’s dark face was merely expectant. For his part, Jesse only longed for a good hiding place. And a toilet.

  The silence drew out. Jesse bit his bottom lip. The cacophony of the storm, the orgy of blood and terror at the playground, even the grueling death ride to Red Elk’s…all of it, as awful as it had been, was preferable to this preternatural silence.

  They all jumped as something crashed against the front door.

  Greeley jumped back, and Emma uttered a shrill yelp. Jesse squirted urine into his boxer briefs.

  Red Elk swallowed, seemed to hesitate a moment. Then, exchanging a glance with Jesse, he shambled over to the door. Jesse felt whatever gossamer hopes he had snap like over-tightened guitar strings. If Red Elk had a gun, he certainly would have grabbed it before confronting whatever lay outside the door, wouldn’t he?

  Red Elk seemed to bounce on his heels a moment, his fingers twitching at his sides. Then he reached forward and twisted opened the knob.

  The door swung open.

  Ruth Cavanaugh peered up at them from the gloom.

  Red Elk only stared at her, his expression bewildered. Then Clevenger shouldered past him. “My God, Ruthie, get in here.” The balding man clutched her hands and drew her inside. Ruth moved with him, but she showed no particular desire to be out of the rain or away from the creatures.

  Emma rushed over and put an arm around the drenched, pitiful-looking woman. “Did you see them?” Emma asked. “Did they come for you?”

  Ruth’s expression remained hollow, her pasty complexion and mutilated eye making her look more than ever like she’d risen from the dead.

  Colleen squared up to Ruth Cavanaugh, seized her by the shoulders. “Are those monsters outside or not?”

  Ruth gestured behind her. “Car…”

  “It’s totaled,” Colleen said impatiently. “Forget the car.”

  Ruth frowned, shook her head. “The car…”

  Emma said, “What—”

  Bu
t an earsplitting wail cut her off.

  They all moved to the front windows.

  From the direction of the Buick, the scream persisted, devolved into choked sobs. A small white object fluttered within the wrecked carcass of the car. Then a pair of terrified eyes peered over the rim of the passenger’s side door.

  Linda Farmer had awakened.

  “We’ve got to get her,” Emma said.

  Greeley laughed. “Apparently you haven’t seen how those things operate.”

  “Which is why we’ve got to help her,” Emma said, spitting her words into Greeley’s mordant face. “Have you forgotten the RV? How Jesse and Colleen saved us from those monsters? What if they’d let us die?”

  Her desperate gaze flitted from person to person and eventually landed on Jesse. She entreated him with her big brown eyes, and for one terrible moment he was sure she’d come out and ask him to volunteer for the rescue mission.

  From behind them came a weary sigh. “I suppose I better go.”

  They turned and looked at Clevenger, who was already moving forward.

  But Red Elk said, “You’re not going anywhere.” The larger man barred Clevenger’s progress.

  Clevenger’s eyes were flinty. “You’re just going to let her die?”

  “She’s dead already.”

  “How do you—” Clevenger started to say, but movement from the forest choked off his words. From where they stood, they could see at least fifteen or twenty feet of the woods surrounding the Buick.

  The trees seemed alive.

  The creatures’ pale, wiry limbs resembled shifting, denuded boughs. Their bony torsos seemed to squirm forward, irresistibly attracted to the car. Within the Buick, Linda’s whole face was now visible behind the beaded glass, her gaze darting about her, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

  “Ron?” she called. “Is that you?”

  I hate to tell you this, a voice in Jessie’s head spoke up, but what’s left of old Ron is digesting inside one of those creatures’ bellies.

  The shapes swarmed through the twisted old elms, their sinews pulsing with each step.

  “Ron?” she said, all her smugness and authority gone.