by Sam Sisavath
“It’s…truth…” he croaked out.
The taut flesh over its improbably smooth domed head seemed to wrinkle in response. “No, you can’t, can you?”
Did it just sound…disappointed?
Tough nuts, pal.
“But he’s left his imprint on you,” the creature said. “He’ll be able to find you…eventually. And when he does, we’ll be there waiting. You’ll still prove useful after all, meat.”
Hey, use away, as long as you keep me alive, Keo thought, but could only get out, “Ack.”
“What was that?” it said, lips forming something that could almost be mistaken for a smile if viewed at just the right angles. “I can’t hear you. Speak louder.”
“Ack,” Keo said again.
“What was that?” It leaned forward, then turned its head, presenting a useless stump that used to be an ear to him. “Louder, meat. Convince me I should let you keep all your limbs. After all, I don’t need all of you, do I?”
Closer.
Its eyes bored into him like twin moons. “Did you say something?”
I said closer…
“I can’t hear you,” it hissed. “Speak up.”
There. That’s close enough.
He tightened his grip around the metal handle of the spork, the same one that Marcy had given back to him to eat the tuna with. The thing that was technically a scork, but he hated that name. He had palmed the utensil as the creature entered the cage, wasting a precious second when it couldn’t see where his hands were, hidden under the jacket covering Jordan’s body. He hadn’t used it yet because it was too far, and because it would have taken him at least a second to swing his arm up, then left toward his target: the creature’s head.
“They’re smarter than the rest,” Danny had said. “If you see them, run the other way, Obi-Wan Keobi. Or shoot them in the head. That seems to work pretty well.”
Shoot them in the head. Right. If only I had a gun, and it was standing perfectly still.
But at least I have a scork. Ugh, I hate that word.
He almost laughed, because it was that absurd. He was going to die trying to stab this blue-eyed freak in the head with an eating utensil. The combination fork/spoon/can opener was titanium and strong as hell, so at least there was that. All he’d have to do was punch hard enough to break skin and get it through the bone. Of course, before he could do that, he had to make sure it didn’t see him striking.
Yeah, no sweat—
“Oh, shit,” a breathless voice said, before he could finish his thought.
The creature, just as surprised by the voice as Keo, twisted its head to find Jordan scrambling up from the dirty barn floor, the coats falling off her. She stumbled backward until she bumped against the bars on the other side of the cage. She had gone the wrong direction, Keo saw; if she had gone right instead of back, she could have easily escaped through the open door.
If she was still groggy from sleep, she was wide awake now, and her eyes snapped from the ghoul to him, where they remained.
“Go!” he croaked. “The door!”
Her eyes flashed from him to the creature, then to the open door. There was nothing to stand in her way. It couldn’t grab her and keep its hold on him at the same time. The question was: Which one of them did it want to keep inside the cage more? Of course, he already knew the answer to that one.
“But he’s left his imprint on you,” it had said. “He’ll be able to find you…eventually. And when he does, we’ll be there waiting.”
It didn’t need her, except as leverage against him. And right now—
“Go, goddammit!” he managed to get out. It wasn’t nearly as forceful as he had intended, but it was all he could muster with the creature’s fingers still wrapped around his throat like a metal glove.
But for whatever reason, Jordan didn’t move toward the door. She had seen it, and she was smart enough to know there was no way the creature could stop her. So why hadn’t she moved, for God’s sake?
“Jordan!” he said again, the effort of shouting (or trying to) making every inch of him tremble with pain. “Get out of here!”
Instead of running for the door, Jordan stood where she was, as if her feet were planted to the concrete floor. Then she did something he hadn’t expected—or wanted, for that matter. She ran right at them.
No, not at them, but at the creature.
Oh hell, Jordan, he thought as the ghoul’s ghost-thin lips slithered into a mock smile. It held him steady against the bars with one hand and began lifting the other one—
Keo pulled out his right hand, the one with the spork, out from behind his back.
Go for the head! Go for the head!
But even as he told himself what he had to do, his mind judged the speed and distance and what it would take—a wide, exaggerated arc from bottom to top, right to left, because there wasn’t any other way to get it from behind his back and to the creature’s temple where it had to go, because anywhere else was pointless.
Not enough time. Not nearly enough time.
What was the lesson he’d been taught in school? Oh, right. The fastest path to a target was a straight line. Like a bullet. Or, in this case, a goddamn spork.
So Keo jerked the titanium utensil upward and toward the ghoul’s exposed chin instead.
He felt a flush of triumph at the sight of the spork’s teeth breaking flesh, could feel the resistance from its jawbone on the other end, but he kept pushing and pushing, putting everything he had into it, until finally (Eureka!) the tines broke through bone.
It let him go then, and even as it did so, Keo pulled the spork back out, the slurp as thick black blood splashed on the ground, leaving a trail as the creature stumbled backward. Keo couldn’t tell if he had hurt it or if it was just shocked. Either way, he was free and he could breathe again, and Keo took the next few seconds to gasp for breath like a drowning man.
“Oh, Jesus!” Jordan shouted. She had frozen halfway to them.
The blue-eyed ghoul was touching its chin, thin trickles of blood oozing through its fingers. Keo couldn’t figure out if that flicker of something on its face was hurt or anger (or curiosity?), and he didn’t waste another breath thinking about it.
Air filled his lungs, and he felt renewed strength as he launched himself forward and smashed into the creature, catching it full in the chest. It was like hitting a sack of flour, and Keo couldn’t reconcile its unnatural strength with how weak its body was pushing back against him. He drove it back, back, until there was a satisfying clang! as the monster’s rail-thin form collided with the metal bars.
Keo pulled back slightly and shoved his forearm against its throat. Its neck was slick because it was covered in its own blood, but he ignored the nausea-inducing sensation and pressed harder. He pinned it to the cage with his left hand while cocking back his right, tightening his grip on the handle of the spork, just before sending it flying forward for the killing blow—
No!, his mind screamed as the creature snatched his right hand by the forearm and grabbed him by the shirt collar with its other hand and, as if it were dealing with a petulant child, threw him back. He crashed into the metal bars, felt rather than heard the entire cage rattling on impact, just like what every bone in his body was doing.
He stumbled forward, but his legs were wobbly and he couldn’t focus. He did managed to see the floor rushing toward him just in time to somehow stick his hands out before he hit the hard pavement, saving his face from a painful collision.
Get up! The voice inside his head screamed. Get up, get up, get up.
He pushed himself up from the floor, every inch of his body screaming with pain, begging him for rest. His arms had doubled in weight for some reason. Keo managed to turn his head, looking up as the creature hovered over him.
“Human,” it hissed, the act of talking (hissing), of moving its jaw up and down, sending black blood dripping to the floor a few feet from Keo’s head. “You’re only human.”
So c
lose. So goddamn close.
It ran its ice-cold fingers through his hair, got a firm grip, then dragged him up. Keo let out an excruciating howl as his scalp burned and threatened to tear from his head, and it was all he could do to scramble to get his feet under him and stand up so he wouldn’t be completely at the creature’s mercy.
“I’ve decided,” the creature hissed, “that you don’t need your arms.”
It pushed him back into the bars, and Keo only managed to get out a grunt even as the ghoul let go of his hair and grabbed both of his arms and grinned at him.
God, that grin. For as long as he lived—however short—he would never forget—
The spork.
Shit, he’d lost the spork. It wasn’t in his hand anymore, and Keo didn’t remember when he had dropped it. Probably somewhere between being thrown around the cage like a monkey and having his hair yanked like he was someone’s bitch. Not that it would have mattered anyway, because the ghoul was tightening its fingers around both his forearms, and there was no way in hell it was going to let go this time.
It leaned forward until it was so close it could have stuck out its tongue and slipped it into his mouth. Keo almost retched at the imagery.
“This is going to hurt,” it hissed. “But don’t worry. You won’t die. We have ways to stave off death. You’ll thank me.”
It cocked its head, and again, that goddamn grin. He hated the fuck out of that goddamn grin.
“Or not,” it hissed.
Then the blue-eyed ghoul did an odd thing. It was pulling back—to get into a better position to render his arms from their sockets, he assumed—when its eyes suddenly abandoned Keo’s face and snapped left—
And Keo thought, Wait, where’s Jordan?
There was a dull thunk! from somewhere in the cage, and the ghoul released both his arms. The sudden absence of its impossibly strong grip was so swift that Keo was sinking to the floor (Again? Jesus, I can’t stay off this floor.) before he could wrap his mind around what had happened, what was happening, and why both his arms were flopping uselessly to his sides instead of lying on the cage floor in a pool of blood.
Fortunately, he was staring forward the entire time, even as he was dropping to his knees. Keo saw the ghoul let out something that sounded almost like a guttural squeal before it vanished out of his peripheral vision. There was another loud clanging! as something bounced against the cage bars yet again. Except this time, thankfully, it wasn’t him.
Keo found the strength to turn his head until it settled on the ghoul, which was sitting on the floor with its back against the rods. Its eyes were wide open and staring forward, as if it was still trying to focus on something and having a difficult time. But of course it wasn’t, because there was a metal object sticking out of the center of its forehead between its eyes.
So that’s where the spork went.
The shiny metal had gone in deep, its handle buried halfway in the creature’s skull after having penetrated not just bone, but whatever was still back there. Small rivulets of blood poked through the point of impact and dripped along the titanium eating utensil.
A figure was crouching on the other side of him—Jordan, her face flushed with worry, brown eyes focused entirely on him. “Keo…”
“Shit, Jordan,” he said. Or croaked. Or coughed the words. One of those.
“You dropped the spork,” she said, barely managing a smile, even though he could see her lips quivering and her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she stroked his cheeks.
He smiled back at her before he saw it. The cage door. It was wide open, and the padlock was lost somewhere in the darkness of the barn.
Darkness. The barn. Night.
“Jordan,” he said.
“Shhh,” she said, peering at him. “I can’t even tell what color your neck is at the moment. Did it—”
He shook his head. “Outside. The barn. Night. Remember?”
It took a second—just a second—before she understood. Her eyes flew open, and she glanced back at the open cage door. “Oh, God. What do we do?”
“Danny told me a story,” he said, looking at the dead ghoul. “It’s about a farmhouse in Louisiana…”
*
THEY DIDN’T HAVE ropes or duct tape to tie the creature up, but its bony arms and legs were pliable enough for them to shove the limbs through the bars and pull and prod them into position, at least enough to keep it in place. For something that had been unfathomably strong, its body was light enough that Jordan did most of the carrying, while he helped out the best he could with arms that had all the strength of spaghetti strings.
If it were only his arms or aching body, he would have been happy. His throat throbbed too, the windpipe bruised, and God knew what other damage he had suffered. He took some comfort in the fact he could still breathe, so at least he wasn’t wheezing anymore.
“You think they’re out there?” Jordan asked.
She sat next to him at the back of the cage, both of them wearing their jackets. She had helped him put his on, Keo flinching with pain the entire time. The spot gave them a perfect view of the dead (again?) blue-eyed ghoul’s malformed ass and back. Its head was tilted to one side, the way it had done more than once during its interrogation of him. It almost looked as if it were embracing the cage, arms and legs wrapped around the bars, refusing to let go.
“Willie boy cut off their heads and stuck them on pikes,” Danny had told him. “I don’t know why, but they responded to it. The black eyes. They stayed away from the farmhouse all night.”
Gaby had confirmed Danny’s story. Not that Keo ever doubted it, though he had to admit that sometimes the ex-Ranger had a tendency to exaggerate. He hadn’t, that time.
“This is crazy,” Jordan said. “Why would they stay away just because we killed him? It. Whatever.”
He glanced down at his watch. 10:11 P.M. It wasn’t even midnight yet. There were still nine hours before sunrise.
Goddamn Texas winters.
Jordan moved closer so they could share their body heat. “It wanted him, didn’t it? Frank.”
He nodded.
“Does that mean he’s still alive?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said softly.
“Hopefully?”
“Maybe that, too.”
You out there, Frank? You still alive, buddy?
Can you hear me now?
He smiled.
“What?” Jordan said. When he gave her a questioning look: “You had a stupid grin on your face.”
He shook his head. “Just thinking of a joke—”
Tap-tap-tap.
He stopped in mid-sentence.
The sounds had come from above them. From the roof.
They both looked up in time to see a pair of figures flitting across the cracks, temporarily blocking the streams of moonlight. Next to him, Jordan’s body went rigid before she reached down and picked up the spork from the floor. Blood, like mud, caked the stumpy tines.
Tap-tap-tap.
That came from outside the barn.
Tap-tap-tap.
From all around them.
Tap-tap-tap…
He and Jordan sat in silence and waited. He could hear her accelerated heartbeat, the sound of her fingers tightening around the spork’s handle.
Saved by a spork, he thought. Never in a million years did he ever think he’d have to rely on an eating utensil to survive the end of the world.
They waited and waited, but the creatures never made any attempts to enter the barn, though he could hear them easily enough through the rotting barn walls. They sounded agitated and restless, and yet they never tried to come inside. Maybe they could see through the cracks and saw the dead blue-eyed ghoul hanging off the cage door. Or maybe they just, somehow, knew.
After a while, he noticed the ones on the roof above them had simply…left.
“This is freaky,” Jordan whispered.
Better than dead.
“I don’t think they’re c
oming in,” she added, just a trace of barely restrained hope in her voice. “God, I can’t believe we’re going to survive this. Jesus, Keo, Jesus…”
He looked over and was surprised to see her crying silently next to him. He reached over and brushed the wet drops off her cheeks, even though doing so made his entire arm feel like it was going to fall off at the socket.
She gave him a pursed smile and shook her head. “I’m ten years old again,” she said, alternating between choking back tears and laughing.
He smiled and put his arm around her, grimacing with pain, and pulled her to him. She came willingly, leaning her head against his shoulder. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but he didn’t let her know that.
In the semidarkness, with little to do and even less to hear, he found himself thinking about the last few weeks. It was funny how things had worked out. He had come to Texas to find Gillian, but had found Jordan instead.
He had to admit, it wasn’t an entirely bad trade. Not bad at all.
CHAPTER 26
GABY
SHE LANDED ON the tiled floor with a loud thump! and, in a crouch, immediately sprang up. The suffocating blackness was the first thing she noticed, followed by the two figures lying on the floor in front of her, their outlines visible in what little moonlight had managed to punch through the front windows of the hardware store. Her forefinger tightened against the trigger and she almost pulled it but stopped herself just in time because neither body was moving.
She hadn’t stood up for more than a second before there was another thump! behind her. Nate, falling through the attic door after her. He was so close as he landed that he probably had to do some fancy maneuvering at the last second to avoid crashing into her. It was her fault; she had forgotten to move out of his way.
She did that now, taking a step forward, the rifle in front of her. She swung it left, then right, scanning the darkness.
Christ, it was dark.
“Danny!” she hissed.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” a voice said, just before a lone shadow appeared from around one of the many shelves that separated the back of the store from the front. If she hadn’t heard his voice first, Gaby might have fired because she could only see a dark specter blanketed in shadows, moving toward her.