Spit and Die

by Jon Athan

  Nina cried, “No!”

  Christopher wrapped his arm around her waist and said, “Come on, we have to get the hell out of here. This way! Hurry!”

  The pair hobbled towards the left side of the house. From his first escape, Christopher knew the other side of the house would lead them to dried fields and vacant houses. They had to move towards the town. It was their only chance for survival.

  They limped through the tall grass, holding each other in order to avoid placing more weight on their damaged legs. Although their lovers remained in the house, savagely slaughtered, they refused to look back.

  Esther chased after them, chainsaw overhead. She jogged past the parked vehicles and followed their trail.

  Less than a hundred meters away from the house, Nina stumbled and fell down to her knees. She cried and mumbled incoherently. Christopher hopped forward on one foot, keeping his weight off of his shot leg. He stopped and glanced back at Nina. For a moment, just a second, he thought about leaving her behind. He couldn't do it, though. Since he couldn't save Kiara, he was determined to save Nina.

  He crouched down beside her and said, “We have to go.”

  “He's dead,” Nina said as she stared at the muddy ground. “Lucas is dead. I–I should be dead, too.”

  “No. Don't say that. Come on, we have to leave.”

  “I can't keep going.”

  “You have to. Lucas wouldn't want this. Please, Nina, she's coming!”

  Nina glanced over her shoulder. She frowned and sobbed upon spotting their pursuer. Esther swung the chainsaw at the overgrown grass and shrubs. Due to her busted eye and the darkness, she couldn't see the escapees. The advantage sparked a sense of hope within Nina.

  Christopher grabbed her arm and whispered, “Let's go.”

  Nina glanced up at her savior, then she nodded in agreement. She grimaced in pain as she staggered to her feet. Arm-in-arm, the couple shambled through the tall grass and moved away from the house. Nina closed her eyes and allowed Christopher to lead the way. After the hectic day, filled with death and deception, she couldn't trust anyone else.

  They jogged at an angle, heading north-west to the main road. Pain surged through their bodies due to their damaged legs. Nina's broken leg wobbled with each step while blood oozed from the gunshot wound on Christopher's knee. Sweat, from the pain and the exercise, drenched their battered bodies.

  Behind them, the sound of the chainsaw grew louder, then it dwindled, then it grew louder again. They didn't glance back at her, but, judging from the inconsistent volume of the chainsaw, they knew Esther was running around in circles. She couldn't find them in the pasture.

  “Look,” Christopher said as he shook Nina's shoulder. “There's a trailer!”

  Nina opened her eyes and gasped. A small mobile home—12-by-60-feet—sat in an empty space in front of them. The lights were off in the trailer, but they knew it wasn't abandoned. The grass was still tall and overgrown, but the area was clean and organized. The trailer appeared habitable, too. Someone has to be there, she thought, they can help us, they can save us.

  She pulled away from Christopher and lurched towards the trailer. She ran up the trailer steps and banged on the screen door.

  Nina shouted, “Help! Help us! We're being chased!” The faint sound of the chainsaw grew louder. Terrified, Nina hit the door and yelled, “Please, let us in! I'm begging you! Oh, God, they're going to kill us! Let us in!”

  Christopher reached the bottom of the steps. He hit the wall beside the door with the bottom of his fist. Nina pulled on the screen door's handle, but to no avail. The door was locked. The pair hopelessly screamed for help. As they shouted, a wave of light poured through the windows beside the door. The survivors stared at each other, awed.

  The door finally swung open. Through the screen door, they could see the trailer's owner—Benjamin Boyd. The brown-haired man, who had a matching mustache on his lip, tied a bathrobe over his flannel pajamas. He squinted as he peered through the screen door, visibly baffled and annoyed.

  He asked, “Son of a gun, do you know what time it is? Come back in the morning. We'll sell you some fireworks then.”

  Inside of the trailer, Emma Boyd, his blonde-haired wife, yelled, “Who's at the door, hun?!”

  “It's just some stupid kids. I'll get rid of 'em. Give me a–”

  “No!” Nina screamed as she banged on the door. She said, “We need help. Look at us, sir. We're hurt. Someone is trying to kill us.”

  Benjamin tilted his head as he examined the survivors. It was dark, but he could see the blood on their clothing. His first thought: a pair of out-of-towners who just killed someone or something just arrived at my door, Christ Almighty. He noticed their wounds, though. Some of the blood belonged to Lucas, the rest belonged to them.

  He sighed, then he opened the screen door. He said, “Get in here. I'll call the sheriff. He lives nearby, so he'll be here in a jiffy. Come on.”

  As she limped into the trailer, Nina said, “Don't call the sheriff. He's the one doing this to us.” She shambled past Benjamin, then she fell onto a sofa next to the door. She said, “He killed our friends. He... He killed my boyfriend.”

  “What? Are you kidding me right now?”

  Across from the sofa, Christopher leaned on the dining booth's table and shouted, “A psycho with a chainsaw just chased us from the sheriff's house! She's a monster, man! He's a fucking monster, too. We... We need a weapon. Do you have a gun or something?”

  Benjamin placed his palm on his brow and shook his head, stupefied. He was dumbfounded by the wild story. He glanced over at his wife, who stood in the bedroom doorway. She tied a robe over her nightgown as she watched her husband and their guests. The woman was visibly upset. The look on her face read: why did you let these people into our home?

  Benjamin nervously smiled and said, “Listen, I know we're in Texas, but that doesn't mean there's a chainsaw massacre every day. If you're on something, you should let me know so I don't call the sheriff. I don't want any problems with those damn traffickers.”

  Christopher grimaced and shouted, “Enough with the chainsaw massacres! We get it!”

  Nina said, “We don't have time for this. Do you have a gun or not?”

  Benjamin responded, “No, I don't have a gun. I'm–”

  Benjamin stopped upon hearing the buzzing chainsaw. He approached the window and separated the blinds to peek outside. Emma rushed to her husband's side. Like a nosy neighbor watching a domestic dispute, she also peeked out the window.

  Eyes wide with fear, Emma whispered, “What is that thing?”

  Esther ran through the overgrown grass. She swung the chainsaw at the prickly shrubs, she peeked behind the thick trees. She desperately searched for the escapees. Her anguished cries joined the buzzing from the chainsaw. She didn't say a word, though—she never said a word.

  Nina said, “Turn off the lights.”

  As Emma continued peeking out the window, Benjamin ran to the lamp on the end table beside the sofa. With the turn of a knob, the light vanished and darkness filled the home.

  Christopher said, “If she finds us, we're dead. I need a weapon.”

  Benjamin stuttered, “We–We have, um... We have knives in the kitchen. Big knives.”

  “A knife against a chainsaw? No, I need something with range, man.”

  He glanced around the trailer, searching for a weapon. The books on the shelves could be used as projectiles, but they couldn't stop Esther. The tube television in the living room could cause some damage, but he wouldn't be able to throw it with his injured knee. A knife seemed like his best option—but it was dangerously foolish. His eyes widened as an idea dawned onto him.

  He said, “Wait a second. You said you sold fireworks, right?” Benjamin nodded. Christopher said, “Get me your biggest firework. One that shoots out.”

  “You mean like a–a mortar?”

  “Exactly. Get me a lighter, too.”

  Benjamin ran to a closet next to the
bedroom door. He shuffled through boxes of fireworks, searching for the most explosive projectile. He unwrapped a mortar tube and grabbed a ball shell. He weaved and bobbed his head as he searched for a lighter in the closet.

  As she peeked out the window, Emma cried, “Oh, God! Benny, I think she's coming this way!”

  “Hurry!” Nina shouted as she cowered on the sofa.

  “I'm coming, I'm coming!” Benjamin shouted.

  He felt his heart pounding in his chest as the sound of the chainsaw grew louder. He even felt his thumping heart in his ears. Adrenaline, fear—it was all the same to him. He stumbled away from the closet, then he looked around the trailer. His eyes stopped on a stainless steel lighter on the kitchen counter. He grabbed the lighter, then he ran back to the door.

  As he handed the supplies to Christopher, he said, “Be careful, kid. It might blow your fingers off.”

  Christopher staggered down the trailer steps. He stopped near the bottom of the short stairs. He froze with fear and time slowed to a crawl as soon as he spotted Esther. The woman with the mutilated face held the chainsaw overhead as she jogged towards the trailer. Her movements were slow but menacing. She couldn't have been more than forty meters away from him.

  In the blink of an eye, time returned to its normal pace.

  Christopher lit the ball shell with the lighter, then he dropped the firework into the mortar tube. He held the plug at the bottom of the tube and aimed at Esther. One shot, he thought, if this doesn't work, we're all dead. Time moved at a snail's pace again, each second felt like a minute. Twenty-five meters away, twenty meters away—the chainsaw-wielding maniac rapidly approached.

  After six seconds, a dull thudding sound emerged and the firework launched from the mortar tube. The purple firecracker spun towards Esther, leaving a trail of sparks behind. As soon as it collided with her chest, the firework exploded into a rainbow of colors.

  Watching from the window, Nina clapped and shouted, “Yes!”

  The sheer impact of the small detonation caused Esther to fall back to the ground. The firework also set the sleeve of her dress aflame. As she convulsed on the floor, patting the flames on her dress and trembling uncontrollably, the chainsaw spun around on the ground. The chainsaw cut through half of her left foot, then it stopped buzzing. Once again, it was jammed with blood, flesh, and bones.

  Esther stared down at her foot, awed. Her severed forefoot lay on the ground between her ankle and the chainsaw. Blood gushed from her mutilated foot. She howled in pain, but she still didn't say a word. She held her foot with one hand as she patted her burning dress with the other. As soon as she extinguished the fire, she crawled away from the chainsaw and headed back to the house.

  Christopher limped forward, ready to give chase.

  From the trailer, Nina shouted, “Chris, no!”

  Christopher glared at Esther from afar, eyes burning with rage. He watched as she crawled into the overgrown pasture. Thoughts of vengeance and murder dominated his mind. He wanted to kill her. He glanced back at the trailer.

  Nina leaned on the doorway and said, “It's over, Chris. We have to get the hell out of here before the sheriff finds us. You know you can't fight him off. Please, don't do anything stupid. I... I just want to go home.”

  Benjamin beckoned to Christopher and said, “Come on. Get in here before that thing comes back.”

  Christopher sighed as he stared down at his feet. He felt the urge to avenge his slain friends, but he knew Nina was right. He was weak—bruised, bloodied, and exhausted. He clenched his jaw and nodded in agreement. The man swallowed his pride and returned to the trailer, ready to end the nightmare.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Sheriff

  Christopher sat at the booth, a mug of piping-hot coffee on the table in front of him. Nina sat on the sofa, a tea cup and saucer in her trembling hands. They were traumatized by the violent events at the Wakefield house. Their friends and lovers were slaughtered by a small-town sheriff and his compliant wives. It was difficult to believe that it happened to them.

  Emma stood in the kitchen, shuddering as she sipped her tea. She was disgusted by Nina's wounds—her mangled leg, her fingernail-less fingers. The horrified expression on her face read: is this really happening?

  Benjamin paced back-and-forth in the bedroom. He spoke to a doctor at the local hospital, hoping to get help for his injured guests. A pinch of frustration could be heard in his voice, but they couldn't hear all of his words.

  Benjamin sternly said, “Fine. Just get here as soon as possible.”

  He disconnected from the call and muttered to himself for a moment, clearly frustrated. He rubbed the nape of his neck as he walked back to the kitchen. Judging from his reluctance, Christopher and Nina knew he didn't have good news for them.

  Benjamin said, “You probably know this already, but this is a small town—a very small town. We have a hospital, but it's not a big one. So, there aren't a lot of doctors around. The ones who are around... Well, they can't just leave the hospital unattended. So, we have to wait until they send a paramedic in an ambulance.”

  Nina asked, “Why can't you take us?”

  “Our truck's been at Dylan's shop all week, ma'am. I could call him and see if he can give you a ride in his tow truck, but he might be passed out already.”

  Dylan—Christopher and Nina glanced over at each other upon hearing the name. The tow driver died at the Wakefield house, so he couldn't save them.

  Benjamin continued, “During times like these, when the truck was out of service or whatnot, we'd usually ask the sheriff for a ride. But, since he's apparently a killer, we can't do that. So, we don't have a lot of options here.”

  Christopher asked, “How long until the ambulance gets here?”

  Benjamin shrugged and responded, “It depends. They have to find an available paramedic, the town is a few miles out... It could be forty-five minutes. It could be an hour.”

  “Shit. That's a long time. I think... I think we'll be fine as long as we stick together, though. Yeah, we probably scared them off with the fireworks. That woman won't come back, not after all of that. Yeah, we–we'll be okay.”

  The group became silent. Benjamin and Emma were worried, but they didn't realize the severity of the situation. Christopher and Nina witnessed hell on earth at the sheriff's house.

  As she stared down at her tea, Nina said, “The sheriff, Micah Wakefield... He said he was the only sheriff in town. Is that true?”

  “Yep,” Benjamin responded.

  “How are you going to stop him?”

  “Well, ma'am, we have laws around here. There's a hierarchy, you know? Since the sheriff has been accused of a crime, I believe his dispatcher becomes the temporary sheriff. He'll deputize a few more people, they'll find Wakefield, then they'll haul him off to jail. Everything else... Well, we'll deal with it when it happens. Anyway, I tried calling the station just now, but no one answered. The kid must have been on the shitter. I'll call him again in a few.”

  Nina took a sip of her tea. The news encouraged her. She wanted vengeance, but she could settle for justice. She thought about Lucas' violent death. If he lived longer, he would have been locking up the bad guys, she thought, that devil sheriff took that away from him. The thoughts of her boyfriend led her to think about the Stone siblings—James and Andrea. She would have to tell their parents the truth.

  A sheriff killed your children because he wanted our saliva so he could become superhuman. The explanation sounded absurd. She glanced up at the ceiling, trying to stop herself from crying.

  Breaking the silence, Benjamin smiled and said, “That was a, um... a nice shot out there, son. I'm not sure if I should be congratulating you for shooting at that woman, I don't know the full story after all, but you left me impressed. You're lucky that thing didn't blow up in your hands, too. Every summer, there's at least one kid who loses three, maybe four fingers with these mortars.”

  As he stared at his black coffee, Christopher re
sponded, “You don't need to know the full story. She was chasing us with a chainsaw for crying out loud.”

  “Oh, I understand that. It's just–”

  “I would do anything to survive, just like they did everything to try to kill us. That's just the way it is.”

  Benjamin nodded and said, “Okay, alright. I wasn't trying to insinuate anything or nothing like that. I apologize.” He glanced over at his wife and asked, “You think you can cook something up for them. They must be starving after such a–”

  He stopped as the screen door rattled. Someone knocked on the door—three quick taps. The occupants stared at the door, horrified.

  Christopher said, “Don't answer that.”

  “What?” Benjamin asked with a furrowed brow.

  Nina sternly said, “Don't answer that damn door.”

  The visitor knocked again.

  Benjamin asked, “Well, what do you want me to do?”

  Christopher responded, “Call the station and get that dispatcher down here—and make sure he has a gun.”

  “Listen, I understand that you're frightened, but I can't ignore 'em. If I did that before, you wouldn't be here right now. I mean, Christ, what if it's other people like you?”

  Christopher never explored the entire house, so he thought it was possible. He couldn't risk his safety, though.

  Emma walked out the small kitchen space and said, “Look, we'll just peek out the window and see who it is. If it's the sheriff, we'll give him the finger. It's as simple as that.”

  Christopher said, “Don't do that. Please, stay away from the door.”

  Emma leaned over the sofa. She cracked the blinds open and peeked outside. Her eyes and her mouth widened. Before she could say a word, a gunshot echoed through the area and a bullet burst through the window. The bullet penetrated her forehead and became lodged in her brain. She fell back and hit the floor, stiff like a falling tree.