by Eli Constant
When the girls were asleep and peaceful, Kara in her crib and Megan in her own bed, I closed their curtains and kissed each lightly on the forehead. I tried to get Doobie- our basset hound- to come downstairs with me, but he was too content curled up on the girls’ pastel area rug.
I closed their room door. I didn’t have the house alarm system set. David was due back in about an hour and it had slipped my mind. He kept reminding me to set the alarm anytime he wasn’t home. I knew there were dangers out there; I’d seen the beastie footage on the news, but somehow I never expected the terror to touch my little world.
Walking downstairs, I heard a door whine open. David always forgot to oil the hinges and it was an older house so everything creaked and squeaked.
I thought at first it was my husband opening the front door. It was strange though, because David normally came through the garage after parking his squad car. I finished descending the stairs with a smile on my face, prepared to give him a proper ‘welcome home’ hug.
“Hey, hon…”
The words caught in my throat when I saw that thing standing in my doorway. The porch light was on, outlining the creature in an unholy halo of bright light.
Back then, my reaction time wasn’t so good.
I froze on the stairs. My only thought: keep the monster away from my babies. As quietly as I could, I walked backwards up the stairs, never taking my eyes off the threat.
The undergrounder must have been brand new to the above world because the artificial lights in my house were really disorienting it. When I stumbled backwards and fell smack on my ass, the beastie sure as hell heard me though.
The undergrounders were used to relying on senses other than sight, so tracking me by scent and sound posed very little obstacle. Once it closed its eyes against the distracting light, I was fair and easy game.
Two of its four legs rose into the air and slammed forward, challenging me to battle.
The hyper-intelligent undergrounders hadn’t learned yet that you don’t challenge a mama bear in its own den when the cubs are yards away sleeping.
I got off my ass, spun and sprinted up the stairs. I didn’t head to the girls’ room though. I needed it so focused on me that it wouldn’t smell their hair- scented with watermelon spray conditioner- or sniff the lavender lotion I rubbed their feet with every night to make them sleepy or whiff Doobie’s quintessential dog smell- all wet carpet and sweat socks.
David took me to the gun range a couple of times a month. I wasn’t great, but I’d been getting a little better each practice session.
I had to get to the sidearm hidden in the cupboard in the master bathroom. I paused at the top of the stairs. The undergrounder was coming up slowly on all fours. It was faster and stronger. It didn’t need to hurry.
I walked backwards towards my room. It kept following me.
Even when Doobie began to sniff and bark behind the girls’ closed door, it kept following me. My first thought was the thing must be borderline retarded, but then I realized the girls were easy prey. It wanted to take out the biggest threat first. Smart little monster.
“Come on you pale, subhuman bottom feeder.” I muttered. “This way. Here beastie, beastie.”
I was in the bathroom now. I climbed up on the toilet and pulled down the gun and ammo clip. I fumbled to enter the lock combination and load the gun. It was easy to remember the combo on the trigger lock.
1-8-7. Murder-death-kill. Thank goodness for cryogenically frozen, homicidal maniacs and my favorite action hero, Stallone.
It felt like an eternity, but the sidearm was finally locked, loaded and the safety was off. My fingers rubbed the manufacturer’s emblem, like the gun was a genie’s lamp and I could wish away the nightmare.
The undergrounder had picked up the pace.
Before I could climb off the toilet and mentally prepare myself for a kill shot, I was thrown off the porcelain throne and unceremoniously tossed into the garden tub.
When I fell, the gun careened out of my hand and landed under the pedestal sink. I was a bit stunned, but managed to push my body up and I averted the full frontal attack by a mere hair. The beastie was in the tub, and I was pushed against the cool tile.
This tub’s not big enough for the both of us, partner. I remembered thinking those words, as ridiculous as they were. The humor of them had done nothing to quell the body-controlling adrenaline and fear racing through the very marrow of my bones.
The undergrounder was flailing in the small space and I struggled out. The feel of its pale, rubbery flesh against my naked arms was… unsettling.
In seconds, I was kneeling by the sink and reaching.
That gun was a dark instrument in my hand. I lifted the barrel, ready to point and shoot.
It wasn’t in the tub anymore.
I whirled on my knees and used the door frame to pull myself to my feet. The beastie was so close; I smelled earth and dirt, felt the warm heat of a hungry body at my back.
My heart was thunder, beating violently within me. I hadn't just been scared, spooked, afraid. I had been petrified, horrified, out of my mind with fear and wearing wet panties of terror.
I raced out of my bedroom. I was almost to the stairs. I turned my head. The undergrounder was falling. No… not falling… tackling- lunging for me. I was at the top of the stairs now. Lean, gnarly fingers wrapped around my calves. I careened forward. In a tangled mass, we tumbled down the stairs.
This time, I did not let the fall dislodge the gun from my hand; my grip was stiff, determined. When we landed, I was underneath the pale body with my stomach to the floor. I wiggled my right arm under my body, jammed my hand into my left armpit, and angled the gun upwards.
I unloaded bullet after bullet into the beastie’s putrid and sickly flesh. It had no right invading my little piece of earth.
I felt wetness soak my clothes. Blood- as red as my own with the same sweet, metallic smell to it. Unlike human blood though, this blood also had a distinctive earthy undertone.
My logical mind knew that the humanoid wasn’t moving, but I fired again for good measure. The sidearm clicked empty. My hand cramped painfully, my arm pinned awkwardly beneath me.
When David walked into the house, he stood in shock, digesting the bloody entryway scene. I’d managed to roll the beastie body off of me. The gun was on the floor, empty. I sat cross-legged on the small, navy blue area rug. I felt limp and used-up. My mind was as frozen as my body.
“Baby… baby, look at me.” I couldn’t focus. He snapped his fingers in front of my face, but Elise had officially checked out for the moment. “It’s okay baby. It’s dead.” My head turned slowly. I could feel my neck moving and my eyes finally found his eyes; eyes that were a beautiful color, so like my daughters.
“Megan… Kara?” Were my girls okay? Had I protected them? I looked at the unmoving monster. Was this the only one or had more followed? My mind flashed to an image of my girls… dead… covered with blood… dead.
Then the flood gates opened. It felt like my head was covered with a plastic shopping bag. I was suffocating. Arms went around me.
“Elise, the girls are fine. You did wonderfully, baby. You protected them.”
I clutched at David’s collared shirt, buried my head in his chest; his shirt smelled of his normal cologne.
I couldn’t stop crying. I never cried. And then he was kissing me. The world stopped when he kissed me. The caress of his lips against mine calmed my hysteria. After a brief time, I pulled away from him.
“I need to see them. I need to hold them.” He helped me stand up. He had to support most of my weight. The adrenaline had worn off and I was weak, emotionally and physically. Back to mild-mannered scientist-turned-mommy. The feel of David’s arms holding my shoulders helped keep the pieces of me together.
When we opened their door, the girls were curled up in bed.
How they slept through the gunfire, Doobie’s barking, and my manic crying, I’ll never know. Doobie leapt towards us
. We reassured him with a head pat and told him to go to bed. He was a stubborn dog and ran out of the room towards the smell of death.
That same night, Doobie went outside through the dog door and never came back.
We knew that the undergrounders existed, but none had been sighted in our area. We hadn’t taken the reports seriously.
Reality hit us with uncanny force.
I fled Georgia with my babies several days later… without David.
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Shaking my head, I made myself stop strolling down memory lane. I didn't need a happy place. I didn't need to remember. I needed to do, here and the present, I needed to do what I had to do. Whatever I had to do. To save Megan.
I came up on Jason’s right. I couldn’t risk hitting Megan or Jason with a rogue bullet so I pulled my blade from its calf sheath. I came up behind the first undergrounder. A quick jump put me straddling its back. The beastie reared like a belligerent quarter horse, trying to throw me off, but I held on. Its angular shoulder blade ridges made perfect hand holds. It could buck all it wanted, but I wasn’t falling off. Call me rodeo rider.
My mind couldn’t pay attention to Jason and Megan while I jerked against the monster's soft, yet muscled skin. I could only hope that our new companion was fighting and not failing.
Pulling myself up towards the humanoid’s head, I latched my arms around its neck. The beastie was lunging and screeching, moving us ever farther from Jason and Megan. The strong nails on its elongated hand fought to reach back and get purchase in my flesh.
One claw caught me in the face, but not before I dragged my blade across its throat. The wet, warm liquid splattering my hand was satisfyingly delicious. Maybe I wasn’t very human anymore. Wetness trickled down my injured cheek. I didn't care.
I rode the body to the ground as it collapsed and squatted against the corpse for several seconds, catching my breath. Puddles of dark red stained the ground, the scent like fresh-turned earth moved by a metal shovel. I was happy for the blood. Usually I worried the smell would attract more undergrounders, but this time, I wanted the attraction. I needed the distraction.
As I’d hoped, once the smell of beastie blood wafted into the night air, the six beasties surrounding Jason and Megan redirected their attentions. Half of the hunting party broke off and headed in my direction.
I rolled off the lifeless creature's body and paused to assess the best course of action. When the approaching humanoids were about five yards away, I low crawled towards Jason.
He was fighting like hell, but I could tell both his resistance and strength were waning.
Jason saw me approaching, my body still against the ground as I tried to remain unseen by the monsters. He nodded towards the smallest undergrounder. It was the furthest from me, but something about this particular fighter caught my eye.
Instead of fighting from a quadruped position, it was standing on its hindquarters and fighting predominantly with its front legs. This was unusual; I’d seen beasties rear up in attack, but they’d never stayed bipedal long. It was almost like this one had a run in with a grizzly and styled its fighting stance bear-fashion. I think back, remembering if any of the broadcasts had mentioned others becoming bipedal. I was too flustered though, too caught in the noise of war, to recall.
I sheathed my knife and picked up a large tree branch. I was up to bat. Literally.
Standing quickly, I rushed at the monster and hit it hard in the middle back. It might be acting two-legged, but its coordination lacked experience. I figured a good blow would challenge its stability and send it straight back to begging at my feet.
The beastie began to fall, but my hit didn’t keep it confused for long. It began to recover before its front legs met the ground. It gained its bipedal footing again, rocking on the balls of its rear feet, moving in and out of striking range. I back peddled as it pushed forward; I was inches from Jason, Megan and the rock wall.
The menacing, bent form suddenly came at me with breakneck speed. I tried to raise the stick in time, but my back was slammed into rock and my head bounced against unforgiving stone. My vision blurred. I felt my body slide down, crumpling to the ground.
I could hear Megan’s frantic cry of ‘mom.’
The sound seemed so faint.
In my haze, I thought about Kara. David and I always thought of her as our miracle baby. We were lucky to conceive Megan--I'd already been in my thirties. To conceive Kara at 41 was pure divine intervention. My girls were blessings. I had to protect them; I had to save them. I had to wake the hell up.
My eyelids fluttered, fighting to rise. I was woozy, nauseous, likely concussed.
What was I doing? What's going on? I tried to reorient myself. Precious seconds had passed and I was lying useless and vulnerable. Jason seemed trustworthy, but I wasn’t dying now and leaving my girls in his strange care.
My mind screamed at me. Get the hell up!
My eyes fully opened.
My vision cleared.
Everything came into focus, clear black and white with splashes of crimson.
My hands were empty now. I had no idea where my makeshift fighting staff was, but my sidearm was still in its holster.
Body aching, I reached for my left side and pulled out the gun.
The undergrounder stood over me, a long trail of spittle hanging from its angry mouth. Why didn’t it attack me while I was weak, defenseless? Stupid little monster. I pointed the gun at its face. I could see the recognition in its eyes, it understood its mistake. It knew it was going to die. I began to fire… one shot, two shot, three shot… more.
After several moments the beastie didn’t have a face.
Maybe I had a future in cosmetic surgery. This humanoid definitely looked different now and it was definitely an improvement. I grimaced. Sick humor was the only real humor.
I watched as the two beasties attacking Jason and Megan, their focus broken, turned away from the fight. Their noses flared, sniffing the air. It wasn’t long before their greedy mouths found the faceless body I’d left in my angry wake--joining their brethren, who were still devouring the other corpse I'd created, on the all-you-can-eat buffet line. Gross.
I don’t care how effective flesh memory might be… no freaking way I’d eat another human being to be smarter.
I turned my body towards Jason and Megan. He stood panting, Megan plastered to his side in fear.
“Jason. They won’t be distracted forever.”
“Where’s Kara?” His voice was strained.
I surveyed the forest between me and my baby girl.
The path to Kara was blocked by the feasting undergrounders, but surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to sneak past them. They were so deeply occupied, their malformed faces buried nose-deep in carcass.
I tried to ignore the details as I sneaked past, but I could hear squelching, chewing noises and I found my eyes moving, pulled by a magnetic curiosity. I looked just long enough to see one of them pull back from the dead body, teeth clenched around a juicy, stringy bit of ligament. If I’d had any food in my stomach, it would have been projectile vomited.
We made short order of grabbing Kara and racing towards the van. I didn't even have time to thank god that Kara had remained in her hiding spot. It was too risky to make a go for the food. I hated that, with a passion, but there was no choice.
We just needed to get the hell out of dodge.
“I don’t want to stop.” I mentally dared Jason to challenge me.
“Sleep in shifts?” His voice sounded like it was aching, along with his body.
“I’ll drive first.” I wanted to sleep so badly and my head hurt, pounding like a miniature man was hammering pictures onto the inside cavity of my brain. But Jason was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He’d let me nap most of the way to the Natural Bridge. I’d only driven the last leg. Time to return the favor.
We were on the main road now, headlights looking like an angel's halo on the pavement. I glanced at Jason for a momen
t; his eyes were closed; his chest was still rising and falling jerkily from the exertions of the fight. I couldn’t think of him as a stranger now; I couldn’t debate ditching him at the next stop. He’d protected Megan. Guess I’d have to stop avoiding getting to know him on a personal level. Damn it all.
I waited until Jason was deeply asleep before rolling up my shirt. Dark bruises were forming, but the pain was waning. The injuries must be less severe than I’d originally thought. My head still felt like hell, but even that was lessening. I downed two aspirins and drank deeply; the water sloshed in my stomach. My fingers gently played with the gash on my face. It had stopped bleeding.
The girls were still wide awake, holding hands in the back. I wanted to say something to them, give them comfort, but I feared no right words existed to swipe away the terror of the evening.
One handed, I tilted the water bottle and wet the hem of my dirty tee and lifted it to wipe away the drying blood. The van swayed gently from side to side as I focused on more than one task. The cut wasn’t too bad. A little antibacterial crème, a little bandage, and I’d be good as gold.
I repaired myself as well as I could while driving and then I ignored everything except the wheels against the road, rolling forward. The darkness surrounded us as we continued moving. I stared out into it, wondering what tomorrow would bring; the headlights continued to lead the way, guardians against shadows.
Today was a good day, because we'd survived. I even found myself enjoying the fact that I'd killed two more of them. I found that I was still discovering the new person deep inside me--the one who welcomed the adrenaline rush and thrilled to a challenge; the woman who could be covered in blood and only be concerned with the ruin of a shirt. I never wanted my babies in danger, but I was glad to know that if they were, I could do something about it. Maybe not always though and that fact haunted me.
I remembered hating the killing at first. I was not violent by nature. But that feeling was just a distant memory that sometimes crept into the present. My new life forced me to become my unnatural, yet somehow realer self.