by Nick Younker
Harry also had his fill and as he was eating, his nails sliced through the flesh with considerable ease, cutting off portions that were easily digestible. When he finished, he slowly descended into depression, dismayed at how easily he had accomplished this task. How he had been able to do it with no remorse. He had eaten like it was just another meal, minus the forks and spoons. He did not need the silverware anymore because his new, natural state was primitive and horrifying.
Far be it for him to give it a name or a classification. If he was seeking the classic term, the classification derived from popular fiction on TV, film and comic books, then he could not quite put his finger on it.
He was not the Living Dead. He still had a heartbeat. He could still think. The same reasoning applied to a zombie, which he was able to rule out. But it was the ghoul that caught his attention. The classification seemed right in all aspects, but in most stories ghouls were not humans, but rather doomed creatures from hell, forced to walk the Earth. They feasted on the living and dead both. They were scavengers and most of those would apply to what he and his new comrades were doing right now. But still, ghouls operated with indifference, with no remorse or empathy for their victims. Harry and all his people in the Stow did this out of necessity, and they mourned their actions during the feast.
So he could not call himself or the others that, and he thanked whatever God he could that he was able to rule it out. Just the sound of that name was displeasing, and he did not want the classification. He also did not want the world to find out about them, but he knew that it was inevitable.
There was one name that stuck in his mind. One that was not clearly defined in any area of folklore, but rather loosely defined in many cultures. The name struck fear in the hearts of men, women and children alike, but has no basis in reality— until now, of course.
Creeper.
It fit the bill just about right, no matter how much he disliked the name. They were not quite zombies, not quite ghouls, but a loose variation of the living dead. Their bodies were decomposing, or experiencing the awful pain of the “slow burn” that forced them to eat or wither away in torturous misery.
We’re creepers. We’re tortured souls and some, likely most, of us will die at the hands of our own townsfolk. There will be no tolerance for what we must do to survive and we’ll be extinct before Tuesday.
There was a good chance he was right, but then again, Linton Derr could likely find a different solution to this. He and his family had always been known to show people a certain amount of tolerance.
***
2
About the same time Harry Keethers and his people were dragging dead bodies into the Stow, Lucy Doss was playing jump the hay bale again with Burnley behind the Co-op. This was also about the same time Sandra Stamps and Candy Odair were pulling their car into a parking garage next to a hotel, expecting to pull off a scam on a white-collar gambler.
Carolyn Weyerbacher-Derr watched Lucy and Burnley play while she leaned against her old Ford pickup truck. She couldn’t help but worry about Linton. She wanted to go up there and check on him, but that was Kelly’s job now. Carolyn knew Kelly would be Linton’s wife someday. She was sure if it. So she had to sit outside and wait. She could keep an eye on her little Lucy, but the torment of losing poor little Bobby Stamps caused her heart to miss a few beats. She wanted to cry right where she stood, but she did not want Lucy to see her cry. Although Lucy was going to find out sooner or later, Carolyn would rather wait to tell her when she herself was not so emotional. Really, it was her momma’s job to tell her, but Kelly might need some support. Anyway, there was nothing to gain by telling her then.
My God. Poor little Bobby.
Carolyn remembered when Linton and Bobby Stamps were young. They would invite him over to the reservation and those two boys would swim in the lake all day and chase turtles around. They would go out to the side of the highway and carry the turtles across to the edge of the river. She hated when they did that, but she loved the fact that they cared so much for living things.
They would run beside the river with their shirts off, playing pirates. Little Bobby made two eye patches for himself and Linton out of some old hemp string Carolyn had forgotten about in their barn. That made her chuckle.
And Bobby looked out for Linton just as much as Linton looked out for Bobby. When they were walking alongside the highway with sparklers one evening, a car had veered off the side of road. Carolyn had always told Linton to walk on the side of the road that had the traffic coming toward him. You always have to see what they are doing. But this time, they were walking alongside the highway and the traffic was coming from behind them. It was little Bobby who had turned around and had seen that car coming toward them off the side of the road, and it was he that grabbed Linton and leaped into the ditch. Bobby had saved her son’s life and they would forever be more than just friends. They were brothers.
This forced Carolyn to walk around the side of the building and break out in a frenzy of tears. She felt as though she had lost her own son. The young boy who had grown up to become a great man. Such a good heart that had been lost to this world.
She could do nothing right now with Linton, anyway. She felt too torn up about the situation, and he was no doubt even worse off than she was. Kelly was up there with him, and Burnley had an eye out for Lucy, so Carolyn just walked through the alley and in front of the Co-op.
That was when she saw it. The sight that would make her wonder what the world was coming to.
Flakes of ash were falling on the street like snow in winter. At first, Carolyn thought that someone had just started a fireplace and was burning off the old soot from the year before. Probably using a chimney cleaner to burn it all, maybe mixed in with some newspaper to get the fire going. But there was so much that it became apparent that it was not just a fireplace. There was a fire.
She could smell it. She stepped into the street and looked around, then spotted the glow in the distance. It was easy to see against the overcast sky.
It wasn’t in Fogstow, but rather up in the plateau. It was the Jeffries plateau, and there was no easy way to get there. They had formed their small community up there and never built an access road to it. County funds for the road were diverted because Ceril Jeffries had raised hell with the council several years before when they started planning it, and several people had their cars vandalized. No one could ever prove the Jeffries did it, and they were crazy enough to keep on doing it, so the council just dropped it.
There was a muddy path of water runoff ridges, but she didn’t think a fire engine would be able to make its way up it.
She had been up there when she was younger, and those people were some of the weirdest she had ever met. They didn’t seem to have any respect for human life. They lived like animals and ate anything they got their hands on, including roadkill and snakes. She had heard all the stories about them being cannibals, eating people who died in the National Forest. Of course, those were just stories, and there was never a shred of evidence to prove it, but she believed it. From what she had seen up there, it certainly seemed like something they would do.
Carolyn made her way back to the alley and climbed the stairwell. She hated to do it, considering what Linton had gone through that morning. The last thing he needed was to be fighting his way up Pine Hill just to put out a fire for a group of people that couldn’t care less about the town or for them being there to help them. But she had to.
As soon as she walked in the door, she saw that Linton was lying on his back and his head was in Kelly’s lap. She was rubbing his hair and he seemed to be okay for the moment.
“I’m so sorry to bother you with this, son, but we have a situation,” Carolyn said.
Linton bolted up and turned toward her.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Linton asked.
“There’s a fire. I could see it from the front of the Co-op, and it appears to be coming from Jeffries hill.”
“Oh, shit.”
Linton rose and buttoned up his shirt.
“Kelly, can you get on the horn with Barrelton? I need Kramer to send a couple of deputies out — and have them send their fire engines.”
“Of course,” Kelly said, and tried the radio in his office.
“Mom, can you keep an eye on Lucy for Kelly? I need her to run point from the office while I roll down to Gil’s and see who can lend us a hand with their four-wheel drives,” Linton said.
“I sure can,” Carolyn answered. She turned to Kelly. “Do you want me to keep her here in Fogstow, or do you want me to take her to the reservation?”
“Either way is fine. You can take her down to the ’Bend if you want or she can play with Burnley. Just let him know that I am in the office running the comms,” Kelly said.
Linton had already made his way out the door toward his Bronco. Lucy was coming along in the alley with Burnley.
“Hey Win-ton. You okay (yaokay),” Lucy said.
Linton turned toward her and the thought of losing people he loved overwhelmed him. He picked her up and looked her in the eyes before he gave her his best hug. She reciprocated and patted his back, although she hadn’t been told yet what was wrong. Lucy always knew when someone needed a hug. Especially her Momma. And now, especially her Linton.
“It’s okay (isokay). It’s okay,” Lucy said.
Linton gently pulled her back and gave her a proud smile before he let her down.
“I am now,” he said.
He looked at Burnley and pointed at the office door.
“Mom will be keeping an eye on Lucy today. Kelly has to run comms for me.”
Burnley did not want to ask in front of Lucy, but he wondered what was going on. Linton could tell he wanted to ask, and he pointed up the stairs again.
“They’ll fill you in.”
“Okay. You go take care of business,” Burnley said. He gave Linton a quick pat on the shoulder about the same time Stark came riding up on the three-wheeler.
“Did you see . . .” Stark said before Linton cut him off and nodded his head. Stark took one look at Lucy and realized. They both left for the Bronco.
* * *
Linton pulled up at Gil’s Taxidermy Shop and Filling Station only to be greeted by an empty parking lot. Gil Boyd had not even opened up shop that morning, despite the fact that he lived right behind the station, and it made Linton worry. Today was a big day for the town.
“What in the world is going on?” Linton said.
“Where the hell is everyone?” Stark asked.
“This place should be full of trucks and three-wheelers by now. Hell, even the soda fountain and the snipe hunt should be starting by this time.”
“You think Gil called it off?”
“No chance. He would have to be deathly sick to call this . . . oh, shit! I guess I better check on him.”
Linton knocked on his door several times.
“No luck?” Stark asked from across the lot.
Linton shook his head and banged on the door three more times. Nothing. Three more times and nothing again. What he couldn’t understand was why, if everyone had shown up there and found the same thing earlier that morning, they didn’t come and tell him. Why wouldn’t they have at least told someone? At the very least they could have told Dr. Strange.
Linton tried three more times before he opened the door and jimmied the lock open.
Gil lived in the back of his shop and Linton just needed to be sure he was okay.
Stark made his way over, looking around to make sure no one had seen Linton forcing his way into Gil’s, and then walked through the door behind him.
The smell almost knocked them down. It was the combination of the stench coming from the channel, which they had gotten so used to by now that they didn’t even notice most of the time, and something even worse.
Linton had a pretty good idea that they were about to find Gil sitting in his La-Z-Boy recliner, dead of a heart attack, or whatever else that gets you when you least expect it. Gil had been sitting there eating a pot pie and a bag of Grippos when it hit him. He’d grabbed his chest and the phone beside him on the portable tray, but by the time he got it to his ear, he was already gone.
(SORY)
But when he got into Gil’s living room, Linton didn’t find anyone. He picked up the phone on the tray and heard a dial tone, so it wasn’t recently off the hook.
He made his way toward the bathroom where he envisioned Gil on the toilet seat. It was no easy task for these overweight old-timers to do their business when the fried brainers made their way through the digestive system. Gil was probably trying to force the task (no constipation is gonna keep me down) when it was just a little too much strain. He was dead before he could stand up and get help.
Linton opened the bathroom door and found that the smell was not coming from in there. It was clean as a whistle, just like they trained him back before he went to Korea.
(I’m taking the kids to Patoka this weekend.)
Stark had already checked the rest of the tiny dwelling and had found no sign of Gil. They both made their way back out and Linton tried to undo his jimmy on the lock, which he was having no luck with.
“Are we in the frigging Twilight Zone? What the hell is going on?” Stark said.
Linton hopped into the Bronco and fired it up. On the backside of Gil’s, he could see Shane Duncan Siders walking through the parking lot, crossing the gas islands and making his way up Locust from the opposite end. He seemed to be minding his own business.
“Today is gonna be one for the history books. That’s about all I can . . .”
Linton was interrupted by Joe Terrance and Noah Buchanon spouting out frantic words in his ear through the side window of his Bronco. It gave Linton quite the shock, and for a moment, Stark rested his hand on his gun, but he quickly let go and pretended he hadn’t done it.
“Boss! Boss! Listen to me, there’s something I need to tell you,” Joe said as he approached.
“Jesus Joseph Harold Terrance! Don’t you know you can give someone a heart attack sneaking up like that?” Linton said.
Joe pulled back a little bit and the tension in his face seemed to break. He frowned and continued.
“Sorry about that, Boss.”
“And that’s another thing. Call me Chief or call me Linton. Don’t call me that anymore.”
Joe started to a look around nervously, and he had only partially heard what Linton had said.
“Yeah. Yeah, no problem. Listen, Boss, we did something that we shouldn’t have and I . . .”
“I don’t have time for your confessions right now, Joe. Either cut to the chase or I have to go. Now.”
“We went into the sinkhole.”
“The one out by the park?”
“Yeah, we went in there — and there was a cave, or more like a tunnel that was part of the coal mines because we saw all the coal tracks and stuff and . . .”
“Listen, Joe. You kids stay out of there and I will deal with you later,” Linton said and put the Bronco in reverse. “I have pressing matters to tend to right now.”
Joe grabbed the window as if that could make the Bronco stop. Linton let off the gas and put the truck in neutral.
“What’s gotten into you, Joe?” he asked.
“That’s just it. I don’t make it a habit to rat myself or my friends out. But we did see something down there and you really need to know about this.”
Linton put the Bronco back in park and turned the ignition off.
Noah was standing behind him and looking around while Joe talked. It only took another second before he saw what he was looking for. Shane Duncan Siders had walked around the corner and was approaching the Bronco.
Noah frantically tugged on Joe’s shirtsleeve, frightened out of his mind. The tall dark man approached with no emotion on his face. He took long, seamless strides, and to Noah, he looked a lot like the man that could kill you in a crowd of people and walk away like he was just p
assing through.
Joe had already turned to see Siders approaching and he became speechless, scared out of his wits.
“Come on, Joe! Let’s hear it,” Linton said impatiently.
Joe turned back to look at the Bronco and Linton could immediately see the fear in his eyes. It was the kind of fear that makes a young man wet himself in public. The kind of fear that makes a child freeze in front of a speeding train.
“Joe, it’s okay. You can tell me, son.”
Joe looked directly into Linton’s eyes and said the only thing he could.
“Don’t trust him. Don’t believe a word he says.” He took off running with Noah in tow.
The boys were out of the parking lot and across Squaw Creek. They ran more quickly than he had ever seen a kid run. Linton was about to put the Bronco in gear to go after them when he saw Siders approaching.
That was one encounter that Linton could do without. He had spoken with Siders on maybe a handful of occasions and each time had sent a chill straight to his bones.
“Chief,” Siders said as he approached.
Linton turned around and took another look for the boys, but they weren’t in sight. He knew they had to tell him something about Siders, but the man had just put an end to their confession by approaching.
“What can I do for you, Shane?”
Siders pointed at Pine Hill and the fire in the distance.
“I just thought you could use some help with that situation.”
Linton turned around and looked at the glow of the fire over the treetops and realized he had to get back to square one. He was also down several volunteers since no one was at Gil’s, and he did need help.
Linton found this disturbing, though, because he had gotten a sense of who Siders was several years ago when he was a deputy under Marvin Kramer.
It was in the summer of ’87, if memory served him correctly. A call had come through about a boy who’d gone missing on the east side of Barrelton, and Linton was the responding officer. He took the statement from the worried mother who looked like she was just about to break down. The boy hadn’t come home the night before and he had been out all day the previous day. It filled her with guilt, thinking that she hadn’t realized the boy had gone missing until that night. She had let him roam the streets and the area around the old stripper pits all day while she worked. He was fifteen years old and her husband and she both agreed he was old enough to mill around the area while they were busy making a living.