The Phone Company

by David Jacob Knight

  “Sarah!” he screamed.

  He ran out of the bedroom, out the front door, pushing through the smiling people, who crowded around him, touching his face, grabbing him lewdly, the women grinding against him, men too, grunting as they thrust.

 

 

 

  He threatened them with the knife, but they didn’t care. He cared more than they did, afraid of hurting someone, knowing that anyone he cut would be someone he knew, someone he had probably known half his life.

  A knot of hands reached out. One of them held a smiley-face mask, while the others pulled the strap wide to fit around Steve’s head.

 

 

  Steve cut the string off the mask and burst forward through the mob, down off his front porch.

  Someone grabbed his ass, and he threw an elbow, smashing in a smiley-face mask and knocking it off. He saw too late that it was a woman, an old one. She fell to the ground, laughing, bleeding from her nose.

  “Mrs. Hayworth?” Steve said, stumbling away from all the happy yellow faces turning toward him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Oh, Stevie,” she said in her own voice, not through her Tether. “Oh my lord, I haven’t had this much fun in years!”

  The other people grabbed the old schoolteacher under each arm and helped her up, helped her slide the mask back into place, and Steve was running down the driveway, escaping them all, leaving them all behind.

  Out on the road, he could see Janice’s dress ahead of him. It was moving so much faster. Steve’s legs, which had started to ache from his hike up Rushmore, just couldn’t carry him fast enough, even with a new surge of adrenaline coursing through them.

  One of the roads took him through town, where more of the smiley face people ran amok in the streets with their Tethers. A car whipped past Steve with no one driving it. It crashed into another car, head-on.

  Near the shoe store, one smiley man was stun-gunning people with his Tether, cackling behind his mask. Steve hurried by, dodging between the other townspeople scurrying like rats through the streets.

  In the O’Donald’s parking lot, a group of men stood around two fighting Rottweilers. The men were making bets on the fight using their phones. The traffic light leading into the parking lot was on the fritz, and a huge pileup of cars, trucks, and vans clogged the intersection at crazy angles. A kid stood on the corner, laughing as he controlled the lights with his Tether.

  Steve had to climb into the planter along the sidewalk to get past the wrecks, and then he was following Sarah away from town, away from the lights.

  In the woods along the road, he glimpsed things, those smiley-face masks in the dark. Just spots of yellow here and there, leering at him, following him, watching him from the deeper wells of night.

  Thunder rumbled somewhere behind the hills, and the sky began to pour rain. Soon, Steve couldn’t even see Janice’s dress, except in distant glimpses, so faint he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a ghost.

  The rain beat at him, forcing him to blink as it blasted his face, but he pushed against it, thoroughly soaked now, his clothes heavy and tight against him. Every time he breathed, he drew in water and nearly choked.

  Worse, the rain wasn’t cold, but thick and warm. Salty. Fishy. Stinging the scrapes Sarah had left on his cheek, the bite she’d left on his arm. Not like water at all; more like some bodily fluid mixed with brine. Steve spit it out, nearly vomited.

  He came to an intersection and looked down each road, turning in circles. No dress.

  “Sarah!” he called. After the second try, he fell silent, hoping to hear her answer.

  a voice parroted from the woods.

  Steve jumped back, poking the knife toward the leering dab of yellow, the floating mask in the dark.

 

  He kept going, choosing to go straight. He could hear nothing but the rain hitting the pavement and rushing through the ditches. The fluid was so thick, it made a different sound than water. Like dollops of something smacking the ground. He couldn’t see anything, could barely even find the yellow lines.

  Sarah was gone.

  Wait, he thought. A pale shape ahead of him, standing in the road. He started toward it, blinking back the syrupy rain.

  Barksdale, sopping, looking much smaller, much skinnier, like a skeleton, stood waiting for Steve.

  “Where is she, boy? Where’s Sarah?”

  Barksdale barked and led Steve back to the intersection. The dog took a different road this time, and Steve followed.

  They went for what seemed like miles, and here and there trees and mailboxes and other landmarks swam up from the rainy abyss.

  Barksdale trotted up a hill, and Steve felt the lightning before he saw it, felt the air crackle around him and the hair electrify along his arms and down the nape of his neck.

  In the flash of light, Steve saw something that stole the ground right out from under him: a swelling ocean and an alien landscape unfolding, the trees not really trees at all, but diseased nerve endings, the road not a road but a sea mounting impossibly above him, a tsunami unfurling, not from the ground, but from the sky, as if gravity no longer held the brine down against the ridges and chasms and plates of the earth. In the waves, in the deeper dark of the sea, Steve thought he could see the vast shadow of tentacles rising.

  The light faded and Steve braced himself, ready for the wave to pulverize him, screaming when something struck him like a fat water balloon, except it wasn’t the wave.

  The thing flopped off his shoulder and plopped to the road at his feet, some kind of blob slipping away in a ditch that roared with runoff. A few more blobs smacked the ground around him, nearly bursting on impact.

  Barksdale brushed his leg, and Steve grabbed the dog’s collar, letting Barks guide him through the night, where the trees were trees again and nothing else.

  Finally, he could see Sarah ahead of him, just a phantom. She stepped under an awning of some kind, which sat off the road in someone’s driveway. A halogen lamp hung under the awning, casting a bright light into the static of the rain, and suddenly Steve knew where he was.

  Someone stood with Sarah under the awning, a man in a tuxedo and a smiley-face mask, except this mask was different from the others, decked out with a pair of cool glasses. Sarah kissed the guy’s neck and let him wrap an arm around her waist.

  “Hey!” Steve said. He stepped up to the driveway and realized, just from the guy’s build, it wasn’t Graham at all.

  “Hey, buddy,” Bill said, sliding off his mask.

  CHAPTER 44

  Nails from a pneumatic gun. That’s what the rain sounded like, hitting the awning, pouring off the sides in molten sheets. The rain had begun to wash away even the foundation beneath Steve’s feet, in clumps of gravel.

  Tiny rivers swept along sticks and floats of pine needles and other chunks of rock it had scrubbed clean from the earth. Steve had never seen it rain like this before in his life. Maybe on TV. Footage of a monsoon or hurricane.

  “Hey, buddy!” Bill shouted over the flood. “Wasn’t expecting you!” He rested his mask on top of his head, revealing the blinking eye of his earwig. “Where’s our little ring bearer?”

  “Huh?”

  “JJ!” Bill said. “Where is he? He was supposed to come get that ring off you! Didn’t you see him?”

  “Bill, what the hell’s going on?”

  “So you haven’t seen him? Oh well. I see you brought the ring! Guess you’ll have to do! Seriously, though, I’m honored!”

  Steve didn’t understand what that meant at first. He couldn’t comprehend what Bill was saying over the sound of his own pounding blood. He could barely feel anything at all, except how tightly he was gripping the knife.

  The knife.

  But then Bill’s eyes dropped to Steve’s wedding band, and Steve noticed
something. Bill and Sarah, the way they were standing, facing each other like bride and groom.

  Sarah held a bouquet of flowers. Snapdragons. Steve recognized the packaging. They were the same flowers Bill had left at Janice’s grave the day he’d come out of hiding.

  “Sarah!” Steve said, keeping his eyes on Bill. “You’re going home. Now!” He reached for her arm, but Bill planted a hand in Steve’s chest and pushed him back.

  “Not this time, buddy! You stole her before, but not again!”

  Steve smacked Bill’s hand away and fended him off with the knife. “How fucking dare you? On my couch? In my house! You let me sit on that couch right next to you while you lied to my face! You were supposed to be keeping her safe, not f—”

  “Look, you’ve always been jealous of us!” Bill said, with the rain shouting over him. “We’ve always had a deep connection, you always hated that! But death did you part, buddy! It breaks all covenants! In the eyes of The Provider, Janice and I are husb—”

  Steve punched him.

  A good, square jab to the nose.

  Bill stumbled back, laughing through the blood. Steve had hoped the pain would wake him, but it didn’t. Bill was still fast asleep. Only nightmares controlled him now.

  “Sarah,” Steve said, motioning for her to come.

  “Stay,” Bill said.

  He laid a hand on her like a leash.

  Sarah glanced between Bill and her father, confused.

  “She’s not a dog, for chrissakes!” Steve reached out for her arm again. “Honey, come with me! Let’s get out of this—”

  Sarah, as she was yanked back, screamed, and Bill came between her and her father like some kind of demonic pop-up book. “Nope! Not this time, buddy, not again! I’m the one who’s going to give her that ring!”

  Steve didn’t know what Bill was talking about, didn’t want to know. More than anyone else in this life, he had felt connected with Bill. Until now, as Bill was ripping his way out of Steve’s chest.

  “Dragnet showed me!” Bill said. “You could’ve gotten her better treatment! You couldn’t afford it, though, could you? You had to turn it down. You killed her, Steve!”

  “And you could’ve done so much better!” Steve said. He had been afraid to use the knife. Now all Steve wanted to do was use the knife. Not just to wake Bill up this time, but for the sake of inflicting the pain itself. Like hitting your friend back twice as hard, so he knew how it felt.

  “All right, buddy, give it up!”

  Bill reached out for Steve’s left hand.

  Steve sliced him.

  Got him across one knuckle, but not deep. Steve had probably felt it more than Bill.

  No, Steve thought, backing up but not lowering the knife. This isn’t Bill, this isn’t. . . . I can’t do this.

  Bill stared at his cut then shook it off. “All right, buddy, all right. If you want to play it that way.”

  Steve didn’t.

  “I don’t!”

  Bill tapped something on his Tether, and Barksdale, growling, dripping, all teeth and bone and sopping fur, started circling the awning. Circling Steve.

  “Gary Perv-o, remember him? He tried taking her from me too!” Bill said, grinning just like Sarah had grinned, a lot like Barksdale snarling now. “And you saw what happened to him, so—yeah!”

  Barksdale snarled and snapped at Steve’s ankle, then continued to circle in the rain.

  “Sarah,” Steve said, still hoping, still praying that the confusion he saw was her waking up. She looked around as if she didn’t know where she was or what was happening. She was shivering and clinging to Bill, she was so afraid.

  Maybe if Steve kept saying her name. If you wanted someone to wake up, you just kept saying their name.

  “Sarah, plea—”

  “Shut up! Why do you keep calling her that?” Bill swiped at his phone, and this time when Barksdale snapped at Steve’s pants, he nipped skin.

  Steve cried out.

  “Don’t!” Sarah said, pulling at Bill’s arm. “Don’t hurt him! Please!”

  “Let me take care of this!” Bill said. “I’m protecting you now! You’re mine to protect! That ring, it ain’t his to give! Not anymore!”

  Bill traced a straight line up the screen of his phone, making Barksdale stalk toward Steve. “You gonna give it to me, or what? Huh, buddy? What’s it going to be?”

  Steve was too busy backing away from Barksdale’s teeth.

  “Barksdale, sit!” he said, pointing the knife. “Bad dog! Bad!”

  Laughter threw Bill’s head back. “He’s always been my dog, Steve! Chain of command, old buddy, old—”

  Something hit the awning, loud as a car crash. Everyone jumped and looked up at the huge dent. They flinched back when a second object hit the roof, caving it in even more above Bill’s head.

  Things started to hit the gravel all around them, more of the clear things Steve had seen before. In the light, he could make out translucent tentacles trailing off each gelatinous mound. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing—until an octopus hit the ground. It burst, tentacles writhing, contracting, suctioning up bits of rock.

  More and more sea creatures hit the aluminum roof, the gravel. Steve could even hear them hitting the nearby house, thudding against its shingles, cracking plywood. Jellyfish, octopi, all manner of fish, even from the deep sea. Steve thought he saw a barreleye coming down with a waterfall, its green alien eyes glowing inside its glass head before shattering all over the road to get washed away.

  With a snarl, Barksdale leapt at Steve’s throat. Steve managed to block with his arm, but landed on his back in the gravel. Barksdale lit on his chest, all eighty pounds of him.

  Steve couldn’t breathe.

  The fall had blown the wind right out of him.

  Snarling, growling, dripping water into Steve’s eyes, Barksdale tore at his arm, shredding the jacket, ripping the skin. Steve couldn’t shake him off, couldn’t tell him to stop. All he could manage was a wheeze.

  He didn’t want to do it, hated to do it. He loved Barksdale to death, loved him almost as much as he loved his kids. But Steve had no choice.

  He jammed the knife into Barksdale’s side, feeling it scrape bone and lodge sideways between the dog’s ribs, feeling hot blood bubbling up out of the black patch of wet fur.

  Barksdale barley yipped, barely even let up on Steve’s forearm. But something changed in the shepherd’s eyes. The predacious glint had dulled, as if the pain had caused some deep part of him to register what he was doing, as if he knew this wasn’t quite right.

  “Stop!” Sarah screamed, striking Bill’s shoulder and the side of his face with the snapdragons. Purple blooms broke off the stems, their blue and yellow mouths agape in silent screams. Sarah was so much smaller than Bill, it was like a weed striking a boulder. “I’m not my mom, I’m not!”

  Barks let go of Steve’s arm, whimpering and perking his ears toward Sarah.

  “Sic him!” Bill said, tapping at his Tether. “Fetch his goddamn hand!”

  Barksdale looked down at Steve, somewhere between a growl and a whimper.

  He’s fighting it, Steve thought. Whatever Bill was doing, Barks was fighting it.

  Steve’s diaphragm released, and he drew in a sharp breath, only to release it in a hiss from all the pain.

  “Stop!” Sarah said. “You’re killing him! You’re—”

  Bill elbowed her aside, and Sarah fell with a cry. This time Barksdale yapped. He sounded just like Sarah. Hurt. Surprised. He stepped off Steve, shaking the water off, shaking off the confusion.

  “Sic him, you filthy mongrel! Kill—”

  Bill didn’t have time to guard his throat. Barksdale pounced. Muscles solid and rippling beneath his wet coat, the dog hit Bill’s chest, and Bill staggered back, trying to keep his footing.

  Barksdale dangled there, canines locked deep in Bill’s throat, his paws planted in Bill’s chest. There was a wet ripping sound, and Bill fell with a phlegmy, undignifi
ed squawk.

  Cradling his damaged arm, Steve climbed to his feet. He saw something glowing. Bill’s Tether, lying there in the gravel. Steve ran over, smashed his heel into the screen, then kicked the vile thing out into the rain.

  With a torn, gurgling roar, Bill reached up and grabbed the knife sticking out of Barksdale’s ribcage, driving it in farther, twisting it, grinding the blade against the bone before dragging it down and opening up Barksdale’s side.

  The shepherd let out a ragged yawp and fell to the ground. Bill tried to sit up, clutching his ruined throat, his face splashed with blood and his earwig still blinking.

  Twisting, biting at the hilt of the knife, Barksdale ran out into the rain as if trying to escape the thing buried deep in his lung. He slowed as he went, losing energy, losing blood. It flowed out in sheets as each new surge was immediately washed away, now equal parts rain.

  Bill made a sound, something between a cough and a curse. His throat looked like a sloppy joe.

  “Bill!” Steve said, rushing over, still cradling his arm. He struggled out of his jacket and pressed it against Bill’s wound, trying to stop the blood from pumping out. He raked away the earwig from Bill’s ear, and Bill struggled to speak, coughing up red and pink.

  “Don’t!” Steve said. “Just hang in there, buddy, I’ve got you!”

  “I’m sorry,” Bill managed. “It wasn’t, I couldn’t . . .”

  “I know,” Steve said. “I know, just . . .” His head whipped around. “Sarah?”

  Lying with her upper body in the rain, unconscious but face up (thank God), Sarah rested with her head in a channel carved by the flood. Janice’s dress lay matted but flowing around with the runoff.

  Barksdale dragged his own failing body over a pile of shattered crabs and through the guts of an exploded eel, collapsing finally at Sarah’s side, intent on protecting her, even to his dying breath. He licked her hand.

  The sudden streams and creeks started to push everything downhill. The gravel, the sea creatures. Sarah’s snapdragons. Increasingly bigger limbs and rocks.

  Things had started to dam up behind Barksdale, working to whisk him away too.