Before James could laugh at the absurdity of the situation, the thing roared. His head snapped toward the sound. The monstrosity was almost to the parking lot, murder in its remaining eyes. James looked from it to the cultists’ car. The bastards should have their keys. They could get in and drive away.
“Dad, Amber!” He pointed to the car.
Dad had barely gotten off him when police sirens filled the air. What were the cops doing here? Did the cultists call before they came to investigate? Were the police coming to take revenge on those who dared defy their god and kill their kin?
Well, to hell with that. If James, Dad, and Amber were going to die like the Union cavalry and God knew how many others, he’d damn sure drag the thing in the woods into hell with him. He threw the near-useless shotgun aside, picked up the Claymore, and headed for the trees. Every instinct told him to run. He shook his head. He showed that thing his back, he’d get a claw through it just like Bill, and now Sam, had. And if Dad and Amber hadn’t gotten the car started, they were dead too.
The thing drew closer, its remaining eyes bright in the shadow of the trees. It’d soon have a clear shot, all those tentacles and teeth.
James knelt mere yards from where gravel merged with pine straw and hoped he wasn’t close enough for a longer tentacle to take his head off. He jammed the mine’s limbs between the rocks, plugged in the detonation cord, and scrambled back, unspooling the cable.
If the thing knew what the Claymore was, it betrayed no sign. It kept coming, limbs dragging its bulk along or tearing away limbs and whole trees in its way.
James’ back slammed into the warm white metal of a car. He couldn’t keep backing away anymore. He was well behind the mine now.
The monster forced its way through the last remaining trees. Sunlight dappled its flesh as crawled onto the gravel. A dozen remaining tentacles rose around it like a swarm of angry cobras. It was all but on top of the Claymore.
James smiled grimly. “Eat this.”
He began pumping the trigger.
The creature reared over the insolent one who’d escaped it days before. Not only had it the gall to avoid becoming food, but then it had come into its lair with the traitor and killed the helpful ones, the ones who gave it living meat. Somehow the boy had even hurt it, tearing away limbs and bursting eyes. The Americans in blue, the “12th Missouri” had hurt it long ago, but only enough to allow a handful to escape. A few hours gorging on the unlucky ones made it as good as new. Whatever the boy had done, it had inflicted far more damage than dozens of men and horses had. The boy had hurt it far more than it had ever been hurt in the long years since it had passed through the cracks in the walls into this world.
This couldn’t be permitted. It would eat the boy, eat the girl, and eat the older man with them. Eat them and slink back into the dark waters and heal. It still had eyes and limbs and most of its teeth. Even if the ones who brought it food were dead, it could still hunt. There were deer and the men who pursued them. Those would make fine food. And perhaps even the town the “Americans” had built beyond the borders of its wooded domain. That would be a worthy challenge and a rich source of prey.
But first the boy. It drew back its remaining limbs. Claws flexed. Clawless limbs curled into cudgels. It would punish the insolent worm for daring to hurt it.
But the boy had hurt it somehow when it had charged him. No, it would let the boy think it was charging him head-on. Then it would devour him, as it had devoured those “Federals” long ago.
But the boy wasn’t afraid. It didn’t cry or scream or curse any men or even the creature itself. No, its last words were a cry of defiance.
“Eat this.”
The creature threw itself forward and sideways. Whatever the boy had used against it wouldn’t hit it in the face, not again…
Before it could turn and hit the boy from the side, thunder cracked. The shockwave struck where its long head merged with its thick torso. With the shockwave came pain. Its skin burned from behind its head down its vast length. Worms of sharp pain burrowed deep into its body. Agony dug through it like a multitude of questing tentacles all burning with the fire of ancient stars.
It reared back away from the blast, bulk rising off the ground. It grabbed for the limbs of the towering pine tree, only for its tendrils to tear away when its great bulk descended. Pain, more pain.
And the agony reached a crescendo when it slammed into the ground.
The explosion rang in James’ ears for a long time, all but drowning the police sirens. Though the backblast had washed over him like before, there was no hot metal in it. He drew a breath, nostrils quivering at the smell of smoke, and then opened his eyes.
The sulfurous cloud hung heavily around the mangled bulk of the monster. It lay on its side where the parking lot met the pine straw carpet beneath the trees. A halo of glowing turquoise blood surrounded it, working between the tiny stones. Severed black tentacles writhed in the trees, falling from the upper branches to hang limply off the lower ones or crash to the ground. Wounds holed its side and what would have been its chest looked like a huge piece of Swiss cheese. Glowing azure blood poured out from around pulsing organs. Organs whose pulsing was obviously slowing.
James stood there staring at the monstrosity. A moment passed. Then he laughed. The thing was dead. The thing the rednecks had worshiped out in the woods for God knew how long, the thing that had killed Bill and Sam, the thing whose cultists tried to kill Maad, Dad, Amber, and him, it was dead. He laughed again.
“You didn’t count on land mines, did you?” he taunted the dead monster. “You could take bullets just fine, thought that made you so tough. Well, people’ve got a lot more than bullets now!”
He laughed again.
Its whole body was awash in red-hot pain. It was worse around its side, but the blast hadn’t spared the rest of it. The world was dark now, submerged in a blackness deeper than its own skin. It hurt so badly it could barely hear the human boy laughing at it.
Laughing. Not screaming in fear and pain or shouting in defiance, but laughing. A wave of anger rippled through its huge body. It could feel its lifeblood draining out of ten thousand wounds onto the rough ground below. Centuries spent feasting on the creatures of this world were coming to an end.
But it wouldn’t leave this world alone…
The great bulk shifted. James’ jaw dropped. The thing had eaten two Claymore blasts and who knew how many gunshots. How it could possibly still be alive?
Maybe human weapons couldn’t kill it. Maybe they could hurt it, but no matter how much pain they inflicted, it’d just get up again. It’d keep going and going like some fucking Energizer Squid.
The huge head swung at him, a living cudgel of black flesh slick with blue-green blood. No more evil azure eyes glowed, but it wouldn’t need those to swallow him alive. Its huge mouth hinged open, most of its teeth gone but enough left to shred his flesh.
James scrambled back over the hood of the car he’d backed into. The monster tried to roar, but what resulted was more like the world’s deepest wheeze. Hot wetness slammed into him, burning again in the wound on his cheek and in several wounds he didn’t know he had. He fell onto the other side of the car, desperate to put as much space between himself and the monster as possible.
He needn’t have bothered. The enormous head settled onto the ground. It slumped down onto the gravel and lay still. The only movement was from the blood pouring from its array of wounds.
An engine roared behind him. “James!” Dad shouted. “James, we’ve got the car going! Get in!”
James ignored his father. The thing lay there, turquoise blood spreading through the gravel around it. Could it be dead? It had enough strength for one last attack even after two Claymores.
He stepped around the car toward the monster. His feet carried him around the creature’s head toward where its neck would’ve been. He inhaled. This was insane. He should listen to Dad. He should get the hell out of there.
&nb
sp; But he had to be certain. He rushed forward and kicked the shiny black flesh as hard as he could. Though he nearly shouted with pain, nothing happened. He kicked it again with the other foot, not as hard this time. The thing in the woods lay there unresponsive. Unmoving. A corpse.
Then he laughed again. “It’s dead!” he shouted. “Dad, Amber it’s dead!” He turned toward the cultists’ car. They should come out here. They should come see what he’d done!
James soon learned why they stayed put.
Cars topped by spinning blue lights and bearing the dark blue and white of the Edington Police Department spilled into the parking lot, their brakes squealing as they came to a stop. The noise of the sirens reached an ear-splitting crescendo. Policemen spilled out, handguns drawn and pointed straight at James. Some carried even heavier weapons, assault rifles or what looked like a rocket launcher. As they poured toward him, James caught a glimpse of a man in a dark suit and sunglasses.
It could be worse. They could be from the Sheriff’s Office.
Slowly, James raised his hands.
Chapter Sixteen
“Someone to see you now,” the large black nurse said. She stepped out of the room. After a second, an Edington cop came in. He looked vaguely familiar, with cropped blond hair and bright green eyes. Maybe he was the one who’d cuffed him to the fucking hospital bed.
And the man didn’t come in alone. Behind him in the doorway was a man in a black suit with a simple golden tie, the one James had gotten a glimpse of when the Edington cops invaded the place of sacrifice. He watched James from behind black sunglasses. James and his hospital bed reflected in the dark lenses; there was no hint of color or feeling behind them. The sight uncomfortably reminded James of the way the thing had looked at him. The man bore no obvious weapon, but James immediately knew he was more dangerous than the policeman.
The cop sat down in the comfortable chair beside James’ bed. He handed James a clipboard with a few sheets of paper. “Read them and sign.”
James read through the papers, his incredulity growing with each page. Dad kidnapped by deranged meth addicts who’d broken into the house? He and Sam chasing them on their own? A meth lab guarded by a pet Kodiak bear? What the hell? He set the clipboard down on the sheets in front of him.
“That was not a bear.”
The officer sighed. He leaned forward into James’ personal space. James tensed.
“Son,” he began. “I’ll be straight with you. That wasn’t a bear. Nobody around knows just what that thing was.” James doubted that, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. “Thing is, it’s dead now. No need to talk about it anymore.”
James sat straight up in the bed. His handcuffs clattered on the railing and bit into his wrist. “No need to talk about it? People died! Lots of people!”
The officer scowled. “I flew to New York City to help dig folk out of the rubble. That was lots of people. Couldn’t have been more than eighteen this afternoon.”
Just eighteen? There seemed to be so many. “Deputies from the Sheriff’s Office were the first on-scene and ran into Claymores stolen from the National Guard armory. Several, along with some innocent bystanders, were killed in the blast. The EPD provided backup and killed the meth dealers and their trained bear. A nice, neat story. All we need is for you to sign off on it.”
It was a nice, neat cover story. All that was necessary was he lie. Lie about the thing that had killed Sam, killed Bill. Lie about the people who’d tried to kill him and Dad.
Dad. Where was Dad? And where was Amber?
The officer anticipated the question. “Your father’s here. The doctors cleared him to leave once we get this sorted out. Same with Amber.” The officer leaned forward. “Given her family’s history, Amber’s been quite cooperative. She’s already signed off on the cover story. And your Pa’s got some good news for you. He’s going to be the new county attorney, pending the next commission meeting, of course. His predecessor was in the wrong place at the wrong time this afternoon. The city and county aren’t the same, obviously, but we do talk.”
Despite the circumstances, James drew in a breath. Dad had been unemployed for months. The county attorney? That meant they weren’t moving back to Buckhead anytime soon. But that also meant his Best Buy paychecks were his again. And maybe he could go to UNC Chapel Hill after all.
On the other hand, that also gave his father a very strong incentive to support the cover story.
“Now, as far as you’re concerned, both the mayor and the county chairman believe in a thing called a carrot and another thing called a stick. The carrot is that if you sign this affidavit and repeat that it was a bear when anybody asks, you get your pick of any car the city and county have confiscated from drug dealers. With the meth trade being what it is around here, we’ve got quite a lot to choose from, and with this new federal anti-drug grant we’re getting”—he tilted his head toward the man in the doorway—“we can afford to be generous.”
James nearly grinned despite himself. He’d wanted to get rid of the crappy Saab since he first had to drive it and now the officer offered him a new car?
If he were willing to lie, of course. That didn’t sit right with him. Not at all. Sam hadn’t been killed in some half-assed attack on a bunch of drug dealers. No. Sam had been killed by a goddamn monster.
“What’s the stick?”
“Well,” the officer began. “What exactly were you doing out in the woods?” The officer leaned forward into James’ face. “Those that died were killed by Claymore mines Sam Dixon stole from the National Guard Armory. Maybe you’d been watching a little too much Breaking Bad and decided to corner the local meth market. Sam wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, so it wouldn’t be that hard to get him on board. It’s not like he can defend you, or himself, at the moment.” He leaned back. “I doubt you’d find the county jail to your liking, or the state death row if we can make all those murder charges stick.”
James swallowed. It wouldn’t be that hard for him to end up dead in the Edington jail. A (relatively) rich white kid put in the general population? They’d all want a piece of him, especially if the police dropped some hints. And even if they didn’t have him killed, he’d bet a lot of the men there hadn’t touched a woman in a long time. He squeezed his buttocks together instinctively, but that wouldn’t protect him if some big dude decided he looked pretty.
“And there’s your little girlfriend too. Maybe she was involved somehow. That paper she signed can always disappear. And what’s his name—Jeff Reed—had to be taken off life support. Left alone too long with a whole mess of brain damage. We could look into that.” He shook his head. “Poor Brenda Dixon. Failure to render aid is a pretty hefty charge too, even if it wasn’t her who brained Mr. Reed with a brass lamp.”
Shit. Not only were they threatening him with jailhouse murder now or execution later and probably ass-rape in between, but they had the same fate in store for Amber and Sam’s wife. The way they’d ruthlessly swept the deaths of their brothers in law enforcement under the rug meant they’d do what was needed to silence any uncooperative witnesses.
And there was the man in the doorway. The officer could threaten him with all the torments redneck cops could inflict, but the man in black could be much worse. The man could put him in Guantanamo in a gimp mask.
And there was the car besides. A new car, not that piece of crap Saab…
“And don’t think you can get out of this by telling the truth at your trial,” the officer continued. “Who’d believe you? Sheriff’s deputies offering human sacrifices? A giant man-eating squid?” He shook his head. “The nuthouse down in Milledgeville isn’t much better than jail, and that’s assuming they decide you’re really nuts and not just making it up. Sign the papers.”
James swallowed. They had him there. “All right.” He paused. “I’ll take it.” He inhaled, trying to salvage as much pride as possible. “When can I come pick out the car?”
The officer smiled and pu
lled a business card out of his uniform pocket. “Call me when you’re all rested up. We’ll pick out a time to tour the lots then.”
James took the card and set it on the polished nightstand beside the hospital bed. The officer handed him a clipboard with a pen attached by a string of metal beads and the affidavit attached. James took the pen and set the point to the line where his name went.
He paused. Did he want to lie? Only God knew how many innocent men and women had been offered up to that thing. Most of the cultists were dead, but surely some were still alive. They needed to do hard time for what they’d done, if not get the needle.
“Second thoughts?” the officer asked. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Damn it. He quickly signed his name and shoved the clipboard and pen back at the officer.
“Fine. You win.” The words were poison in his mouth. He’d just defeated a murderous cult and the centuries-old monster it worshiped to save Dad, only to end up at the mercy of some hick cop and an MIB.
The officer smiled. “Thank you kindly. Don’t lose that card.” He freed James’ left hand from the cuffs. The man in black stepped aside to let him pass. He nodded to James before vanishing himself.
Once a decent interval had passed, the nurse returned.
“You look tired. Want me to turn the light out?”
Though they’d doused him with painkillers, he could still feel the countless small wounds the day had left. Maybe a good nap would take the edge off. “Sure.”
The nurse clicked off the light, burying the room in shadow and darkness.
They’d let him, Dad, and Amber out of the hospital the morning after he’d sold his soul for a new car and not getting ass-raped. Amber’s family had picked her up. When he and Dad got back, James found an e-mail from the Edington Police Department with a list of the newer confiscated cars waiting for him in his Gmail.
The Thing in the Woods Page 17