Screaming to Get Out & Other Wailings of the Damned

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “No, not a frog, something better!” Lance motioned toward the rock. “Look inside the hidey rock.”

  “Oooh, he’s coming out!” Tracy squealed in excitement.

  Something in the hidey rock moved. A flash of red. Segmented legs moved. Was it a spider? A tarantula of some kind?

  The claws were the first thing that emerged from the entrance of the hidey rock and the moment Rick saw them, he froze. It seemed that his heart was a solid lump in his chest. His breath was held, the room in suspended animation as the creature crawled out of the hidey rock, propelled by the eight segmented legs that scuttled like a crab...or a scorpion...

  “What the...” Rick breathed.

  “Is that cool, or what?” Lance exclaimed. His voice brimmed with pride. “I nabbed this little guy behind my place in Virginia, during the height of Hurricane Gary two years ago.”

  Rick’s heart raced in his chest as he watched the Clicker come out from beneath the hidey rock. Its segmented tail was the last to emerge; it curled over its back, the stinger poised and ready to strike. The Clicker itself was a small one, about the size of a human hand. It seemed to look at them with its stalked eyes and began to snap its claws together.

  Click-click! Click Click!

  “From what I’ve been able to read and study on these things, this one’s a baby,” Lance said. “It was crawling in my yard, heading toward my creek when I saw it, and I slammed a bucket over it to catch it, used a rake to swipe it in there. It was too small to climb out and I had an extra aquarium in the basement.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Rick asked. He looked at Lance, Tracy, and Don with wide-eyed disbelief. His panic was coming through loud and clear, screaming at him that he had to get the hell away from these people and he had to do it now!

  “It’s okay,” Tracy said. Rick wasn’t even aware of her light touch on his arm in an attempt to soothe his nerves. “Like Lance said, we’re experts. We’re careful, we know what we’re doing.”

  “You sure?” Rick countered.

  “Their venom is hemorrhagic, hemotoxic and neurotoxic,” Lance said. “I’ve run tests on it myself. It’s about one hundred times more potent than the sea snake’s. It doesn’t even start with shutting your system down; it immediately acts as a hemorrhagic and begins massive tissue destruction. From my observation, the victim dies of shock more than the effects of the neurotoxic or hemotoxic strains in its venom.”

  “What did you test it on?” Rick asked. His heart was still racing and the door seemed awfully far away from him.

  “Feeder rats mostly,” Lance said. “I’ve got to feed this guy something.”

  “Lance is extremely careful when it comes to handling it,” Don said.

  “Hell yeah,” Lance said. “I wear protective covering and a face mask. I pick it up with a snake hook to remove it from its aquarium when I clean it. When I feed it, I simply drop live prey inside the cage. No need to pre-kill its food.”

  Don was rummaging around in a briefcase for something and Tracy had taken a step back, her excited smile plastered back on. When Don found what he was looking for, he handed it to Lance, who nodded. He turned to Rick, his features happy-go-lucky and without a care in the world. “Anyway, I’d be extremely honored if you would sign the label I’ve pasted on the side of the aquarium.” He held out a black sharpie pen to Rick.

  “What?” Rick looked at Lance as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Would you sign the aquarium?” Lance held the pen to Rick and motioned to the large white label affixed to the upper right hand corner of the aquarium. “It would be fucking awesome if I had the signature of the guy who named these things to—”

  The creature snapped its claws together again, creating a mad cacophony. Click-Click! Click Click!

  And then the anger boiled out of Rick in a sudden flash of fury. He shoved Lance away from him. Lance stumbled back and hit the wall. The pen dropped to the floor. “Man, get the hell away from me!”

  Lance’s happy-go-lucky demeanor changed instantly. The smile turned to a scowl. “Hey fuck you, man! Who do you think you are?”

  And that’s when Rick punched him in the face.

  The blow sent Lance crashing back into the wall. Rick stepped toward him and grabbed Lance by the front of his shirt. He would have punched him again if Don hadn’t grabbed him and pulled him back. “Hey! Cut it out, man!”

  “Hey, get your hands off me!” Rick fought Don off. Behind them, Tracy yelled, her voice panicked. Lance staggered to his feet, his nose a bloody mess, his eyes narrowing pits of anger. Don hooked his right arm around Rick’s throat and Rick drove his elbow into Don’s stomach. Don groaned, releasing his hold and Rick let loose another volley of punches at Lance. The two grappled, swinging their fists. Lance’s blows failed to connect, but Rick managed a few well-placed blows to his opponent’s abdomen, his jaw, and his face again.

  Once again, Don tried to separate them but this time Tracy joined him. Don’s grip was more solid now, his anger clearly evident this time. “Get the fuck out of here!” He yelled. “Fucking nut bag motherfucker!”

  “I’ve called the police!” Tracy screamed at him. “And hotel security. They’re on their way now!”

  Rick shoved Don away from him and glared at Tracy. “Good! I’m glad you did. They’ll be really interested in that thing in the aquarium, don’t you think?”

  That seemed to get them. Tracy gasped, her gaze darting toward the Clicker in the aquarium. Don glanced at the aquarium, too. Lance was standing in the corner, holding his hands to his bloody face. Rick glared at the three of them and shook his head. “The three of you can go to hell as far as I’m concerned. I’m out of here.” Rick stepped toward the door.

  Don chased after him. “Get back here you asshole!”

  Rick ignored him. He opened the door and stepped into the hall. Don followed him, shouting curses. “Stop! You’re not going anywhere!”

  Rick turned around and punched Don in the face. Don staggered back and recovered quickly. He launched himself at Rick, who pushed him away. Rick hit Don again, his fist connecting with his shoulder. Don threw a few punches of his own, all of them falling short. Rick bobbed and weaved, blocking Don’s punches while trying to land another one. He didn’t even notice hotel security until a voice behind him said, “Hey you guys! Stop that!” A second later three well-built guys were pulling them apart. It took two of them to hold Rick back. Rick went willingly with them, shooting Don a venomous gaze. “Go ahead, take a look in Room 242,” he told the beefy security guy who had a grip on his upper arm.

  Lance stepped out of the room. He was still holding his bloody face. “I want that scumbag arrested!”

  By then the police had shown up and the metal bracelets wound up around Rick’s wrists. “Why are you arresting me?” Rick angrily shouted at the officer. “I’m the guest of honor at this convention! If you’re gonna arrest somebody, arrest them! They’ve got a Clicker in their room, they’ve got—”

  “Save it,” the arresting officer told him as Rick was escorted to the elevator. “You’re being arrested for aggravated assault. Now shut the hell up and let me do my job.”

  Rick didn’t shut up. He protested all the way down to the first floor. He loudly proclaimed to the World Horror Convention attendees who were assembled in the hotel lobby and the outlying bar what was going on. “Room 242!” He shouted. “Crazy bastards brought a baby Clicker with them! And I’m the one being arrested!”

  It wasn’t until he got to the Kansas City police station that he was able to make his phone call. On the drive over he learned from the arresting officer that Lance Burke, the man he’d beaten up, was the brother of one of the convention organizers. The convention itself was pressing criminal charges against him. “They say you went apeshit in his room,” the cop said from the front seat. “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I see news stories on you in Entertainment Tonight.”

  Rick said nothing. When he was escorted inside the po
lice station he asked to use the phone and he made his call.

  He supposed he was the only man in US history who’d ever phoned a sitting President of the United States from a police station.

  He was patched through to Livingston after a five-minute wait. Told Augustus what had happened. “When this is over, you need to take a vacation,” Livingston said calmly. “Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand.” Rick did need to get away from it all.

  “I’ll make arrangements to have you released,” Livingston said. “I’ll have a car pick you up to take you to the airport. When you get home, pack your bags. The driver will take you back to the airport and give you a plane ticket. Be on that plane.”

  “Where to?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just be on it.”

  “What about those three bozos?”

  “I’ll have them taken care of.”

  Livingston was true to his word.

  Rick was released from custody thirty minutes later. Two men in dark suits met him in the lobby. They introduced themselves as Onyx and Diamond. They drove him to the Kansas City airport; Rick wasn’t entirely surprised to see that they’d retrieved his belongings from the hotel. When he got to the airport, they escorted him inside. Diamond handed him a ticket to Fargo, North Dakota. “You’ll be met by our associates,” he said.

  Rick boarded the plane and flew to Fargo. When he disembarked, he was met by another team of government agents, a man named Amethyst and a woman named Ruby. They drove him to his home (which seemed emptier now that Janet had left him for good) where he quickly packed. Then he went outside with his suitcases and got into the Lincoln Continental that was waiting outside for him where he was driven back to the airport.

  Throughout the journey, his handlers never said a word about what happened. Rick dozed occasionally. He tried to see what was on the news as he was at the airports, but apparently the fracas at the hotel had not been newsworthy enough to be picked up. Or maybe Livingston and his people were simply too good at covering shit up.

  He was pleased to see that the plane ticket that was handed to him was a one-way trip to Las Vegas, Nevada. “What the hell am I going to do in Vegas?” Rick asked.

  “Have fun,” Ruby said. “Remember, what happens in Las Vegas, stays in Las Vegas.” She handed Rick a large manila envelope. “Have a safe trip, Mr. Sycheck.” She and her silent partner turned and walked away.

  Rick went through airport security and found his departing gate. He sat down to wait for his flight. As he waited, he opened he envelope. Inside was a smaller envelope stuffed with cash, mostly large denominations. There was also a VISA card with his name on it. Most of the manila envelope was taken up with this morning’s newspaper. Rick took it out, scanned the first page and saw a yellow post-it note affixed to it. Look at Page 23, it said.

  Casually, Rick flipped to page 23. What they wanted him to see was halfway down.

  Author Involved in minor skirmish

  Kansas City: Horror Author and one of the heroes of the Clickers invasion, Rick Sycheck, was involved in a minor scuffle with several fans at the World Horror Convention on Saturday.

  Mr. Sycheck was Guest of Honor at the convention, which was being held at the Kansas City Marriot in downtown. According to police, Mr. Sychek left the convention immediately after the scuffle. No arrests were reported.

  Rick read the article again. There was no mention of Lance, Tracy, or Don. No mention of the baby Clicker. Rick frowned.

  So what happened to it?

  Rick turned the possibilities over in his mind throughout the long flight to Las Vegas. He couldn’t sleep. He sipped bourbon as he slouched down in his first class seat, chasing the scenarios in his mind. As far as he knew, it wasn’t illegal for private citizens to keep Clickers; as of six months ago, they’d been exterminated. Lance Burke and his friends had probably been detained by the government. The baby Clicker might even be in some government lab by now. Surely they wouldn’t let Lance, Tracy, and Don go away scott free.

  When the plane touched down in Las Vegas, Rick disembarked with the rest of the passengers and was met by another pair of dark-suited government agents. They escorted him to baggage claim, waited while he collected his things, then drove him to one of the nicer hotels and casinos on the strip. Rick checked in and was happy to see that his room was a double suite.

  He almost didn’t notice the DVD sitting near the large flat screen television.

  There was a note affixed to the front of the plain wrapped DVD. Play me.

  With rising trepidation, Rick slipped the DVD into the player that was set near the flat screen TV. He turned the flatscreen on and settled back on the king-sized bed to watch.

  The screen grew fuzzy, then focused on a large room that was bare.

  The baby Clicker was busily picking scraps of what looked like raw congealed hamburger off the gravel floor in its claws and stuffing them into its beaked mouth. Its stinger arched over its back. The ground was stained with large spots, as if something had congealed and settled. Rick watched, curious, as the thing continued to feed. “Why the hell did you film this thing eating hamburger?” he asked aloud.

  The Clicker finished the last of its meal and paused. It began clicking its claws together again, waving them in the air as if it were demanding more. A voice spoke from off stage. “That’s the last of it.” Rick didn’t recognize the voice, but it was male, a deep, rich baritone. It spoke again, this time seemingly directed at Rick. “And that was the last of them. All has been taken care of. They won’t be missed.”

  Rick stared at the screen, mouth agape in shock.

  “And now we can eradicate the last Clicker on US soil. Thank you for serving your country, Mr. Sychek.” The barrel of an automatic weapon emerged in frame. It was pointed directly at the baby Clicker, who didn’t seem to notice.

  The gunshot blast was deafening.

  Rick started at the sound. The shot completely obliterated the baby Clicker, spraying water, gravel, concrete, and crustacean meat.

  Then the screen went blank.

  But audio remained. “Your work is done, Mr. Sycheck. Enjoy your vacation.”

  Rick sat on the bed, watching the blank screen for a moment. He couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. He restarted the video and watched it again.

  And again.

  Now he was certain.

  Lance, Tracy, and Don had been taken care of all right.

  And all evidence to their demise had been blown away by a single gunshot.

  Story Notes

  This story was written in late 2009 for the lettered edition of Clickers III: Dagon Rising by myself and Brian Keene. I think we were originally supposed to collaborate on a story related to the Clickers series for the lettered edition, but Brian was up to his neck in deadlines and couldn’t devote time to this, so I did it. This represents my first solo story ever in the Clickers universe.

  Clickers III takes place in a completely different setting than Clickers II, although it does contain some of the same characters. The main character from the first two books, Rick Sycheck, is conspicuously absent. It was suggested during editorial meetings after the first draft was turned in to the publisher that we bring Rick in to the book just to give it that verisimilitude between the other books, so we wrote him in the last chapter. That still didn’t explain what happened to Rick between the events of Clickers II and Clickers III. This story explains all that.

  There really is a subset of herpetoculture—people who collect and breed reptiles in private captivity—who breed and collect venomous reptiles (“hot herps”). Some of these people are pretty goddamn careless too. I remember one incident that made the news when I was living in California—a young woman was found dead in her home after she'd frantically dialed 911. All the furniture had been moved away from the wall. It turned out she’d been bitten by a boomslang (one of dozens of highly venomous snakes she’d kept). The snake had escaped from its enclosure. The reason the furniture was
pulled away from the walls was due to her efforts to find it. Well, she found it. And apparently the venom had worked so quickly she’d passed out while on the phone with 911. She didn’t even have the anti-venom for that particular species.

  Based on my experience and observations of herpetoculture, the antagonists in “Captivity” are pretty much as described. And I have every reason to believe if Clickers (the lobster/crab hybrid creatures in the books invented by myself and Mark Williams) were real, a subset of these people would want to keep one as a pet. And just like in real life the dumbasses wouldn’t have anti-venom for it either. However, if Clickers were real, I don’t think there’d be need for anti-venom anyway. Your flesh would melt off before it could be administered. Still, that wouldn’t stop some of these dopes.

  Witness

  AFTER TWO WEEKS of being on the road, Richard Fraser felt a sense of peace when he reached the Lancaster, Pennsylvania city limits.

  The minute he entered Amish country he felt calm. He had been to Lancaster County three times in the past. He’d spent more times in Lancaster than the other cities he’d briefly settled in. He didn't know what it was about the city that appealed to him. Perhaps it was the open country roads on the outskirts, the rich land dotted with farms. Or maybe it was the tiny communities outlying the main city, each its own little village where middle-class families lived in relative picket-fence splendor. Lancaster City itself was a town he had grown to love. It was steeped in history; many of the buildings and neighborhoods dated back to the eighteenth century. The city was large enough to support a thriving art community, theatre, a respected private college, and a bustling nightlife, yet it still retained a small town feel to it. Perhaps the number one reason for his feeling of peace whenever he spent time in Lancaster was one of a spiritual nature; when he was there he felt safe. He felt safe in mind, body, and spirit.