Emerging (Subdue Book 2)

by Thomas S. Flowers

  Jake rested a finger on the trigger. Johnathan was screaming again, reaching for him. Sacrifice…? Jake thought. He closed his eyes, and in that thin microsecond of hesitation, the total amount of time it takes for a thought to travel through the body, another voice came into his head, the one from his dream, the voice of the wooden Christ whispering, Mercy over sacrifice.

  Jake opened his eyes. “Mercy over sacrifice,” he whispered, feeling his strength, his resolve returning like a hot flood.

  “What was that, son?” asked Mayor Low, still grinning with his foul yellow teeth.

  “Mercy over sacrifice!” Jake shouted and then aimed the revolver at the jolly politician. Maggie, Father Becket, and Sheriff Connor screamed, but their voices no longer sounded human, it was the same clicking, chirping alien voice in the glowing swarm around them. They screeched, angrily and vile. He pulled the trigger. The bullet sailed through the air in a deafening thunder that echoed throughout the cave. Mayor Low’s head flung back from the impact. The wound erupted in a mist of green puss. The others beside him chirped louder, stepping back, as if readying to lash out. Mayor Low crumbled to the ground, dead.

  Jake aimed at the sheriff when Johnathan screamed in his ear, hollering, “Bobby?” Jake looked and to his disbelief, the crumpled body of Bobby Weeks was convulsing, moaning, growling. Bones cracked like used up logs in a fire. Jake uttered a loathsome cry. Bobby groaned, sounding thick and feral. Jake pushed himself farther back towards Johnathan like a crab escaping the tide. The revolver still in his hand, it darted between the Sheriff, Maggie and Father Becket, and Bobby, who lay twisting, transfiguring into something otherworldly, his body and hair thickening, his legs kicking out grotesquely.

  “Bobby…?” Jake screamed in a hush hoarse whisper of disbelief.

  Bobby was on his feet, crouched and hunched monstrously forward with his back to them. His flesh darkened with fur, kneading, and underneath, bones cracked into place. He howled, feral, wild, and wolf-like, sounding as if he were in terrible pain. His fingers and hands extended as if some horrific giant was putting on his skin as a glove. And then it was over, he remained crouching, panting, sniffing the air with his elongated canine snout.

  “Bobby?” Johnathan called this time. “Are you—?”

  The creature turned and glared at them with its yellow devil eyes. Whatever had been Bobby Weeks was no longer there, all but for the torn and tattered remains of his grey sweatpants. It stood erect on both legs. Looking down at the lonely shackle, the werewolf-like thing snapped it easily with one tug. Maggie, Father Becket, and Sheriff Connor screeched frustratingly. The creature turned on them.

  Father Becket stepped forward to meet the beast, hissing, and stretching his skin. Jake and Johnathan watched in horror as the old priest shed like some moth birthing from its cocoon. The priestly flesh plopped to the stone ground in a heap of steam and green goo. Before them stood something else entirely—an uncanny insectoid with menacing protruding mandibles and bulbous red compound eyes. Its antennae twitched in the humid air. The padre’s thorax rattled angrily, as one might imagine a rattlesnake warning an intruder. His black, furry arthropoid legs readied defensively.

  Bobby, the creature, snarled and lunged forward in a blur of dark fur and teeth. He collided with the priest, both tumbling backwards, grappling. The wolf howled, the insect hissed as they slashed and tore at each other’s flesh. Bobby, or what had become of him, cut a deathly gash across the priest’s abdomen, spilling dank green gore on the stone floor. The cicada-like thing clicked and chirped in painful remorse. As the priest fell backwards, the wolf pounded on the cretin, gorging, ripping the insect’s head from its body. A geyser of green carnage gushed upward raining down in globs. The Father’s hollow looking protracted dark legs twitched as if unsure if it was dead, and then crumpled, spasming onto the floor.

  Jake and Johnathan sat bewitched by the macabre brawl. Blinking wildly they watched as Maggie and Sheriff Connor closed the gap between themselves and Bobby, disrobing their own skin in the process. Underneath they found the same arthropic cicada-like thing emerging, clicking and chirping with their mandibles in baleful intent. Jake could hear Johnathan weeping beside him. He looked and watched in numbed horror as his friend reached out for the discarded flesh of their once childhood friend, Maggie Smith.

  “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, Ricky. I failed you. I failed you,” Johnathan wept.

  Bobby howled and fixed his yellow devil eyes on what was once the sheriff, if it ever had been. The bipedal wolf closed in, leaping into the air, and coming down on the red bulbous eyed insectoid, thrashing at the cretin with his elongated claws. Green murk burst from its wounds. The monstrous cicada screeched and clicked, lashing out with its mandibles, cutting Bobby’s forearm. The wolf howled, clutching at his own wound. The insectoid chirped gleefully and went in for another strike. Bobby recovered and took hold of the sheriff’s mandibles. The sheriff clicked nervously. The wolf wrenched the mandibles downward, plucking them from the insect’s head. The Sheriff stumbled backwards, thrashing, screaming in its horrendous clicking chirping way. The wolf pounced again, hacking away, bit by bit, the outer epidermis of the Thing, tossing glops of green discharge onto the stony dirt.

  The Thing that had worn Maggie gawked, blinking its swollen red compound eyes, and then retreated farther into the cave. Bobby howled and pursued. The yellow sand-like bioluminescence dissipated, leaving the cave in a faint alien glimmer. Strange noises echoed from somewhere in the distance. Jake held his breath, listening to the nightmare.

  “We gotta get out of here,” Johnathan was saying, but for the life of him Jake could not comprehend. Maggie is gone. Father Becket was a…the Sheriff too. Jesus, what is this…? Whose will is this? Yours? Why? Why? Why, Lord? Why? He watched the dark places he could not see, half expecting Renfield to come fluttering out, ready for a meal.

  “Jake?” Johnathan cried, but his voice was masked by a sudden terrifying screech, the deathly scream of something that did not sound feral or human. Moments later, in the faint yellow glow, a hairy wolf-like creature took form, walking, striding lazily toward them, its fur matted in green gore.

  Jake blinked, unaware that Johnathan was pulling on his shoulder. Did Bobby just smile at me?

  CHAPTER 32

  ESCAPE

  Johnathan

  Johnathan watched through bitter scorched tears at the fate of what had become of his friend, of Ricky’s wife. The moment the Thing molted, shedding its human skin, he knew in painful obviousness that Maggie had perished some time ago. Ricky had been right all along, he thought miserably. Given the brutality of the events, Johnathan very much would have welcomed the revolver. Let it end, fuck it, but then the images of Karen and Tabitha shot like painful thunderbolts behind his eyes. He couldn’t leave them, not like this. His urge to live came upon him, desperately so, if not for himself, then for them, for his wife and his daughter. It would be unfair, he knew, to choose suicide, no matter how appealing the end may seem. He had to fight. He had to survive.

  Johnathan pulled on the chains. Looking, examining the iron clad shackle. We need to get out of here. Jake’s lost it, he’s not even listening to me. He held the chain, gazing dumbly at his leg, his face twisting in a most hideously ironic way. It finally dawned on him that Maggie, or the Thing wearing Maggie, had shackled his leg, his prosthetic leg. I’ll be damned.

  The wounded veteran laughed. A hearty laughter that rolled through him in a tide of nervous giggles, as if he was back in grade school and someone had leaned over and whispered some crude joke about the teacher in his ear. He undid his jeans, caring nothing for modesty. Sliding them down past his ankles, he unfastened his poly-leg. The humid air felt cool against his stump. Now free, he crawled toward Jake who sat watching the dark like some child considering a partially opened closet. He reached Jake and was shaking him hard when the yellow eyed devil came walking back toward them, its fur matted in green globs of gore. His heart ached because despite the monster
before him he knew it was still Bobby, somewhere within the wolf was his tubby childhood friend. He entertained calling out and pleading with the beast, but knew it would be for naught. Whatever this was, it was no longer Bobby Weeks, at least, not at the moment.

  What lurked before him, in its sad tattered grey sweatpants was something very much like from one of Ricky’s beloved horror movies, movies he’d forced them to watch, over and over, sleepover after sleepover. An American Werewolf in London, Johnathan thought, almost grinning at the madness of it all as this one particular movie clung to the roof of his mouth.

  “Jake, we’ve got to go!” Johnathan screamed again in his friend’s ear.

  Nothing.

  Jake sat staring at Bobby as if he were lobotomized, drooling in a surgical stupid kind of way, similar to the way Jack Nicholson looked in that one film with Nurse Ratchet and that giant Indian Chief Bromden who smothered him with a pillow.

  Bobby crept forward, his yellow devil eyes burning with joy.

  “Jake!”

  Still nothing.

  The wolf closed in, howling with some kind of maddening glee. Johnathan spotted the Bull Dog revolver still clutched in Jake’s limp hand. He reached and snatched it. Cocking the hammer, he aimed the revolver at his friend, the wolf.

  “Bobby, if you can hear me, back the fuck off, man, I’m serious. I’ll shoot, I swear to God I’ll shoot.” His heart pounded behind his ears.

  The wolf paid no mind, seemingly laughing in its own feral way, grinning at him with green stained fangs. It hunched, readied.

  “Bobby…don’t!”

  The wolf lunged, leaping into the air, its arms spread out as if to hug him with all its might, to crush him with its weight, to kill him, viciously. Johnathan aimed and fired. The boom of the revolver was deafening in the stalagmite covered cave. The beast yelped and fell past them on the stone floor. Johnathan cocked the hammer and aimed again. The wolf, moaning painfully, turned and glared furiously at him. Sizing Johnathan up, weighing the risk, no doubt. Finally, Bobby gave a miserable howl and then scampered off, yelping as it trotted toward some unknown destination.

  I love you, Bobby.

  As the gun fired, the thunderous boom seemed to have dislodged Jake. He turned and gapped at Johnathan, blinking dumbly, looking unsure of where he was. Slowly, the events of the evening played across the former minister’s face like a crude painting. He looked at Maggie’s skin still smoldering on the floor and then at the revolver in Johnathan’s hand, biting his lip, eyes looking like wet crystal.

  “How did you get loose?” he asked.

  Johnathan smiled weakly and then gestured to his gnarled stump. “They shackled my prosthetic leg, can you believe it? How did she not know?”

  Jake laughed dryly, tired, like someone who hadn’t slept in days. He looked back at the discarded flesh of his friend. “I don’t think it was her, Johnathan. I think it was…” He couldn’t finish. He sobbed.

  “I know,” said Johnathan.

  The cave erupted. The clicking chirping chorus had returned. The ugly yellow glow burned brighter than it had before, casting them in a strange burning bioluminescence. The walls shook violently. Both protected their ears against the torrent of screeches of those thousands of horrible tiny thoraxes, pinching mandibles, seeking, no doubt, retribution for their loss.

  “We need to go!” Johnathan shouted over the deluge.

  Jake lifted his chain, still shackled to the ground.

  Realization dawned painfully across Johnathan’s face. He watched the yellow swarm approaching, eyes wide and trembling.

  “Just go,” Jake said.

  “Not without you.”

  “Johnathan?”

  “No.”

  “There’s no other option. Go!”

  “No!”

  “Please.”

  “I’m not losing you. Not you. No one else.”

  “Jesus, Johnathan.”

  “Just…shut up. Think.”

  They sat and watched together as the yellow hissing clicking things approached, swarming towards them in a sea of sharp mandibles. Biting. Slithering. Hungry. Angry. Their song vibrated along the walls, echoing throughout the cave. Everything shook. Dust showered down from above. The stone floor cracked below them as if God Himself had uttered a Word.

  “We’re going to be buried alive,” Johnathan shouted over the chaos.

  Chucks of rock fell from above. They shielded themselves with their arms. Johnathan peered upward at the falling debris. His eyes widened. “Look out!” he shouted, pushing Jake away from him.

  Jake rolled over. At that moment, a stalactite cracked and then dropped, impacting the ground between them.

  Johnathan couldn’t see a thing. Before the dust could settle, he sat up, coughing, protecting himself from smaller falling bits of rock. He looked at where Jake had been and found only the fractured remains of the stalactite.

  “Jake? You okay?” called Johnathan.

  Nothing.

  “Jake?”

  Silence.

  “Come on, man. Please…please don’t do this to me? Not you…please,” Johnathan pleaded.

  Coughing.

  “Jake?”

  The former minister appeared in the settling dust, smiling, holding up a broken chunk of iron chain.

  “You asshole!” shouted Johnathan, exhausted but merry.

  Jake stood and helped Johnathan to his feet. Johnathan braced himself with an arm across Jake’s shoulder. Slowly, they began to trot away from the screeching, hissing, clicking things that were swarming closer and closer, descending on them. Johnathan gritted his teeth against the pain in his residual limb, but did not slow his pace. He limped, ignoring as much of it as he could, clutching onto his friend. A staircase appeared from the dark. They made their way toward it, the cicada-like things nipping, biting at them as they ascended the stone steps.

  Johnathan peered behind and found a sea of red, angry, swollen eyes chasing after them, clicking and clicking and clicking. Suddenly he tasted fresh air. White light filled his vision. They were standing in some kind of cellar. Is this Maggie’s place? Have we been here all along?

  “There,” Jake shouted, gesturing toward a wooden staircase that led above. They limped toward, taking the steps as fast as they could. The wood moaned under their combined weight. The clicking things snapped behind them, shaking the walls of the cellar, birthing from the pit they had just abandoned in a blob of black ink. The friends reached the top and found themselves standing in Maggie’s kitchen. They blinked and then ran. The swarm was right behind them, coming out of the vents and chewing out from the wallpaper, the cicadas filling every inch of space; red eyes glaring, searching.

  “We have to keep going,” shouted Johnathan. Jake apparently needed no prodding. He was already leading the way, with Johnathan hugged against him, running now toward the living room. The room looked like a crypt. Nothing of the warmth it had before—the fireplace dead and barren, booze and food gone, furniture rotten and decayed. They paid little mind. The large red door was before them. They lunged through. Outside the world flooded their senses. The cold March air whipped at them. They hit the steps and lost their balance, falling forward into the mud. The rain storm had ended. Above, the moon was prodigiously white. The swarm erupted through the door in an explosion of wood and thousands upon thousands of tiny black bodies, fluttering angrily into the air, searching with red bulbous eyes, swallowing the moon and night sky. Clicking. Clicking. Clicking together in loathsome unison.

  Jake jumped to his feet. Snatching Johnathan up, they dashed toward the borrowed church Volvo. Johnathan leapt into the passenger seat as Jake fell behind the wheel. By some miracle, he still had the keys. Firing up the engine, he yanked the gear shifter in reverse. The Volvo whined and skirted back out the drive, spitting up mud and earth. He jerked the gear into drive and pealed out down Route 77. He drove, faster and faster, peering nervously at the rearview mirror. The swarm followed, devouring the reflection.r />
  “Faster. Must go faster,” Johnathan screamed.

  Jake kicked the accelerator. The Volvo skidded and then righted back on the road.

  But the swarm would not abate.

  Johnathan held his breath, as did Jake, both bracing for the inevitable.

  The clicking wild buzzing things impacted the Volvo. Jake struggled to keep the junker on the road. The clicking wailed in frantic bursts. Rattling, rattling, rattling.

  “It’s got us,” cringed Jake.

  “Yeah.” Johnathan watched as the black horde consumed the car, enveloping the windows, clicking, clicking, clicking.

  “Johnathan…”

  “I know.”

  Jake reached out and took Johnathan’s hand.

  “I’m…”

  “Me too.”

  Squeezing each other’s hand, they held their breath.

  Closing their eyes they felt the world spin and the fluttering wings of thousands upon thousands of gnashing, red-eyed things.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE BALLAD OF OAK LEE

  Bobby

  The next morning, as the bright orange sun burned away the early fog, despite every urge to just keep going, to travel south, hitch a ride (as if anyone would pick him up), Bobby returned to the house on Oak Lee Road, to Maggie’s house. He needed to see the place; he needed to know everyone was all right. He had flashes of the night before, of things…impossible.