Hitchers

by Douglas, P. A.

  “I don’t know. Just never been in a store with this much variety before.”

  “Welcome to small town America. Now go get dressed and meet me around the back of the store. I’m gonna find us a buggy.”

  Greg nodded watching Teddy disappear down one of the aisles, taking each step slowly and with caution, he was unfamiliar with the store’s layout. Although it seemed simple enough, he was on high alert. At this point, anything could happen. His steps slapped loudly, his bare feet echoing in the darkness against the cold tile floor. The clothing section was exactly where Teddy said he would find it. He sighed, skimming through the selections for something in his size. It was a choice between camouflage pants and those weird plastic shoes called Crocks, or denim overalls and work boots.

  Overalls it is . . .

  Climbing into the overalls one foot at a time, Greg buttoned the straps over his shoulders, adjusting them to the size he needed. The outfit was a bit baggy, but it was better than the jeans. The only way he would ever be caught dead in any camo was if he were in a Trucker-Metal band, and he hated those with a passion. He couldn’t stand all that sissy radio rock crap, like Metallica and Creed. Bunch a sissy crap. Punk, folk, and hardcore was where it was at.

  He sat down at a bench next to the aisle of jeans and hunting shirts, a box of work boots in his size between his feet on the floor. He slipped them on and laced up each shoe. He started to wonder if they really were going to be able to save Peggy Ann, but before he could finish, he thought he heard something. It sounded faint. It came from the front of the store. He froze, quietly listening in the stillness.

  Ping. Ping.

  There it was again. Only this time, Greg knew exactly what it was. The bell on the front door. Someone had closed and opened the front door of the store. Panicked, Greg looked around hoping to find Teddy in his sights. He was nowhere to be seen.

  “Teddy,” Greg whispered. He finished lacing the boot and then stood up. “Teddy, did you hear that? Teddy?”

  He quietly started to make his way toward the back of the store, where Teddy said he was headed. Then the thought occurred to him. It was possible that Teddy was the one that triggered the bell at the front door. He was just taking some items out to the car.

  “Teddy!” A strange, aggravated voice yelled out. “We know you’re in here! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

  The voice rang out across the store, instantly crushing Greg’s assumptions into the dirt. He reached the back of the store and found Teddy standing near a small aisle of cooking supplies. The grocery cart next to him was half full of nothing but packs of iodized salt. The worried look in his face sent chills up Greg’s body. This wasn’t good.

  “Somebody’s in the store, dude. What the hell do we do?”

  “It’s Phil and the boys.” Teddy’s eyes went wide.

  “Please tell me we have something other than salt to defend ourselves with,” Greg pleaded, eyeing Teddy’s empty holster.

  Teddy’s silence said everything.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, man.” Greg sighed.

  “What do we do?” Teddy whispered.

  “I don’t…”

  “Teddy! Don’t try and play dumb,” the voice called out again, echoing across the store and cutting Greg off. “No point in hiding! I know you’re in here. The patrol car’s sittin’ out front. I saw you busted out my window, too! If you think you ain’t gonna have to pay for that just because your daddy is the Sheriff, think again. Now, come out, come out!”

  The look on Teddy’s face worsened.

  “Shhh,” Greg said, suggestively.

  He turned, taking a few paces away from Teddy and the cart full of salt, leaning low behind a large riding lawnmower on display near the end of the aisle. He snuck a quick glance and turned to Teddy, pointing at his own eyes with two fingers, then motioned that he could see two people walking down the aisle toward them. They were still closer to the front of the store, so Greg and Teddy had a few seconds to come up with something quick. The men were both wielding firearms and looked tough as hell. Two mean son’s-a-bitches. One man had a handgun, the other, some type of rifle. The two slimy covered creatures on their backs were also busy scanning the area, and the men seemingly oblivious to their presence. Silly at it seemed, at this point, Greg was less concerned about the Hitchers riding them and more worried about the fact that the men were armed. He had a way to deal with the creatures. He looked back, the cart of salt was proof of that. It was just that his last run-in with an armed man was a lucky one. Unlike that Brian guy, who had clearly been inebriated, these two men were anything but intoxicated, which meant that their shots would count. If Greg were a cat with nine lives, he could only assume he was already down to just one or two lives. If he were really going to make it to the church to save Peggy Ann, then he needed to make them count.

  Staying low, Greg inched back over to Teddy and the grocery cart. “They’ve got guns,” he whispered. “The Hitchers we can take care of,” he said, taking a box of salt from the cart. He looked down at the Morton salt logo and remembered it from childhood. The girl in the yellow rain coat with the umbrella was trailing salt in her path in the rain. The logo didn’t make sense. It never had. “It’s the guns I’m worried about. We need weapons to defend ourselves.”

  “I see ’im,” One of the men shouted out. “He’s got that punk with ’im, too!”

  “Shoot to kill!” Another voice called out.

  Three shots fired rapidly. As Greg and Teddy ducked, the contents of the shelf behind them exploded as the bullets narrowly missed them. Two more shots were fired and Greg found himself keeping low and skittering away. He rounded the aisle and kept on going. With the small unlit meat department to his right and a shelf of chips and snacks to his left, Greg could hear the men’s faint voices. Struggling to see in the dark, he stumbled into a display of grilling condiments. The items shook on the small rack. Startled, Greg wrapped his arms around the entire thing in one big bear hug. Sweat ran down his brow, the items coming to rest on the display rack, silent. He sat there a moment hugging the display to ensure that nothing would fall and give away his location when he let go.

  “What the hell you doing? Shoot to kill means kill the guy in the damn overalls, not Teddy! If his old man found out we knocked him off, there’d be hell to pay. Idiot! What you waitn’ for? Go find ’im before he gets away!”

  Greg took a deep breath and kept on moving. In the dark silence, he suddenly wished he were still barefoot. His steps seemed to be much louder wearing the boots he had just put on. Reaching the end of the aisle of chips and junk food, he took a left, leaving the meat section behind. Keeping low, he passed two aisles before coming to a stop. He ducked with his back against a large stack of bagged deer corn. Keeping his breathing shallow and steady, he listened to the looming silence.

  After a few moments, he heard footsteps growing closer. Slow and steady, the steps drew near. The pounding stomps matched that of his beating heart. Panic had set in. He wanted to chance a glance, but was too afraid. He didn’t want to give away his location. No one in their right mind would bring salt to a gunfight. The only chance Greg would have against the approaching predator would be the element of surprise.

  The footsteps grew closer now, only a few feet away. It sounded like they were coming up the aisle to his right. His heart beat so hard, it felt like it was ready to tear through his chest at any moment.

  Greg leaped out with the salt in hand. As he readied to throw it, his heart sank. The aisle was empty.

  “Lookin’ for me?” The scraggly voice chuckled from behind.

  Greg spun around, terrified. The man had been coming up the aisle to his left, not his right. His element of surprise was lost. The man laughed, pistol in hand, pointed right at Greg’s face. As sad at it seemed, having a gun pointed directly at him like that, no matter how many times in one night, was still horrifying. Greg felt his stomach lurch.

  “I found the son-of-a-bitch hidden with
the deer feed,” the man announced, looking down the aisle, with pistol trained on Greg. The creature on his shoulders glared down at Greg with excitement. Its teeth clicked vigorously as it hissed. Like an absent void of pain, Greg almost got lost in the thing’s never-ending blacker than black eyes. “I’m a bringing ’im out yonder so we can all have a shot at…”

  Greg lunged forward, the 1-pound box of salt exploding in the man’s face. As if punching the man as hard as he could, he crashed forward with salt in hand, the thick cardboard tube erupted sending salt into the air and into the gunman’s eyes. The creature on his shoulders groaned in protest as Greg’s weight sent all three of them to the cold tile floor. The gun went off, both men settling to the floor. Greg felt a sharp and sudden pain in his side, knocking the wind from his lunges. When they fell, Greg had landed right onto the man’s knee. The impact was sharp. Greg cringed, feeling his muscles tighten. Forcing himself beyond the pain, he punched the man a second and third time. What salt remained in the ruptured tube slid out getting into the man’s eyes and lacerations even more.

  The man’s grunts reverberated out across the store as Greg hit him several more times.

  “What the hell’s goin’ on down there?” A more dominant voice called out. “Go see what the hell’s goin’ on. No buts about it. Just go!”

  Greg jumped to his feet and kicked the gun from the man’s hand. Still trying to catch his breath, he took a few steps back, clutching his already cracked ribs. His chest throbbed to an almost unbearably excruciating pain. What he wouldn’t give for one of those pills right now. When the pain couldn’t have gotten any worse, his breath came back, making his lungs expand. He felt his ribs crack more as he inhaled. The pain was so great that he started to feel lightheaded. He leaned against the end cap of deer feed, hoping like hell the pain would pass. There was no way he’d be able to defend himself in this condition.

  The hissing and chattering of teeth drew Greg away from his pain. What little bit of salt that had splashed the Hitcher must have made the creature very upset. With the man still lying on the floor, dumbfounded and dazed, the monster was no longer on his shoulders. It lumbered over him while snarling toward Greg. Standing there, glaring back, it wasn’t nearly as tall with its stubby little legs. Its long slender arms dragged across the tile like slithering snakes. They slapped against the linoleum like fish out of water. The black goo that seeped from their maggoty tips landed across the dazed man still lying on the floor.

  The salt. It must have forced the hitcher off of his shoulders. But how it is the thing didn’t disappear?

  Still back peddling slowly, Greg watched as the slime did its magic. The man’s shirt started to smoke. The man had been knocked unconscious, but he was awake now. He screamed out in pain, jumping to a sitting position. Patting at his shirt frantically, he looked up at Greg, his shirt still smoking. The fact that Greg was looking past him and taking steady steps away must have been all the man needed, because he turned and took a look.

  Greg would have been lying had he said he wasn’t surprised that the man could suddenly see the creature, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that this man’s eyes were now truly open. The man spun around screaming like a baby needing desperately to be held by his mother. The creature hissed, diverting its focus from Greg to the man. Still on his ass, the man frantically started to shimmy away from the creature. The thing raised its long tentacle-like arm grabbing hold of the man by the leg. They were suddenly locked in a tug-of-war.

  Greg didn’t know what to do. A part of him wanted to run. The other part wanted to help this poor man. Just when Greg had made up his mind and was about to take off running, another gunman appeared from around the corner on the other side of the creature. With the Hitcher between him and his fallen comrade, he aimed his rifle in disbelief.

  “What the fuck is that?” He shouted.

  Greg was stunned. This other guy could suddenly see the hideous thing too. All he could think was that it had to do with the fact that the Hitcher was no longer riding someone.

  “Shoot this mother-oohly SHIT!” The man in a struggle of tug-of-war cried out, having seen the creature riding on his rifleman’s shoulders. The man with the rifle had one on him, too.

  Before the man on the floor could warn his friend of the creature on his shoulders, the man fired his rifle. The shot rang out, the loud report rumbling across the store. Like Greg expected, the bullet went through the ghoul untouched. What he didn’t expect was for it to hit the man on the floor. The rifleman stood, stunned in panic as he watched the shot go through the creature and puncture his friend in the chest. The man’s flannel shirt blew open in a hard splash of bloody red fabric. He fell to the floor convulsing. The creature that had once been playing tug-of-war no longer had something working against it. It lashed out, finding the bullet’s point of entry. With its maggoty tips it dug into the bloody hole. Still not dead, the man cried out in agony as the creature pumped his insides with black sludge. The goo filled him so fast that it rushed from his nose, mouth, and eyes like a leaky water hose. Greg half expected the rifleman on the other side to drop his gun and run, but like him, the man wielding the rifle was paralyzed in absolute terror.

  The creature just kept pumping his bullet wound with the black pus. He lay on his back convulsing. Then, his arms and legs started to swell. His head and chest too. Like dough when it rises in the oven, every part of the man was expanding. The balloon-like sound of skin stretching reached Greg’s ears. Both of the Hitchers started to hiss and clank their teeth together with uncontrollable excitement. The flannel shirt started to conform to the expanding flesh. The man started to swell so much that his jeans tore apart and the buttons on his shirt started to pop off, flying across the aisle.

  Just as he saw it happening, Greg dove away from the situation.

  The man exploded.

  Meat, blood, bone and shreds of clothing rained down on the store. The wet splashing of visceral muck as it landed everywhere echoed in Greg’s mind, a sight he wished to have never seen. When he opened his eyes to look at the damage, not only was there blood and chunks of meat all over everything, the rifleman was no longer holding the rifle. Instead, the creature on his shoulders had taken control, forcing the redneck forward to join in the feast. As he shambled forward, Greg spotted the pistol. It was only feet away from the Hitcher now enjoying the spoils. Not wanting to chance it, Greg climbed to his feet and started his way down the aisle toward the front of the store. With the sound of guttural slushing and meaty chomping fading in the distance, his mind flashed back to Teddy’s empty holster. Even if they got out of the store alive, they needed more than just salt if they were going to the church.

  Fighting the urge to run out of the store and take off on foot toward Monroe, he willed himself to turn around and go back for the gun. When he got to the end of the aisle, he didn’t like what he saw. The two creatures were devouring the loose bits of flesh that were slung all over the place. Using their long arms, they forced the bloody substance into their teeth filled gullets. For some reason, Greg thought of the Hungry, Hungry Hippo game. One creature sat there on its limp little legs enjoying itself, while the other still remained rested on the rifleman’s shoulders. With his eyes rolled back in his head, he just lay there on his knees motionless like a zombie. As the thing on his shoulders feasted, blood and bits of his former friend splashed across his shirt.

  Greg gagged as he watched.

  Not able to stand it anymore, he eyed the pistol in question. There were probably only about fifteen feet between him and the weapon. Grabbing it would bring him uncomfortably close to the Hitchers and their dinner. Knowing he needed it, he darted out and grabbed the gun. Both creatures stopped what they were doing and hissed. The one still riding the man forced him to his feet. Before Greg even realized he had done it, the gun kicked in his hand. The shot hit the rifleman in the shoulder. He fired again hitting him in the face. His right eye exploded from the socket as the bullet exited the b
ack of the skull, sending fragments of bone and pink chunks flying out the back.

  As the man fell dead to the ground, Greg gasped. When he had shot Brian, the thing on his shoulders had somehow disappeared. Although that was what he had hoped would happen, it didn’t. The creature climbed off the unmoving corpse and hissed at Greg.

  Not wanting to stick around, Greg darted down the aisle. Expecting them to pursue, this time he was happy to hear that awful sound. The raucous slurps and feasting returned, fading behind him as he left the carnage behind. As he ran, he couldn’t get over the fact that neither of those creatures disappeared like before. He rounded the aisle darting down another one. On the wall to his right a large clock read it was just after midnight. The ritual had already started. The book did say that Obos and his legion would gain more power once he entered the fleshly realm. Maybe these things are gaining more power now. We need to get over to that church right…

  “Stop right there!”

  Darting out from the end of the aisle, Greg froze. A large man with rough facial hair and bungled up teeth stood before him.

  “Teddy, you all right?”

  Teddy nodded.

  The big man had Teddy in a headlock, a shotgun pointed at his head. The creature on this man’s shoulders swayed each time he shifted his weight. From what he could tell, Teddy could see the creature. Each time the thing’s long tentacle-things got near him, he wiggled from side to side to keep from getting touched. The man holding the shotgun was clueless of it.

  “Quit squirmin’!” The man shouted, jabbing Teddy with the barrel of the shotgun. “Names Phil and I own this little shop. You sure did make a bit of a racket back there. Must a done a number on my men. I gotta say that I didn’t expect much of a fight outta just one fella. Especially one as sissy lookin’ as you.”

  “Look mister, I…”