They Feed

by Jason Parent

  “Charlie?” Tyler couldn’t believe who he was seeing. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”

  He paced the length of the cabin, running his fingers down his face, chewing his nails down to the pink. When he reached one end of the cabin, he paced back to the other end.

  “You know this guy?” Merwin asked.

  Tyler stopped pacing just long enough to nod and offer a meek, “He’s my parole officer,” before resuming his march.

  “Wait,” Abigail said. “Parole officer? You’re a convict?” When Tyler didn’t answer, she pushed him. “Do you have something to do with those things outside?”

  Merwin held her back. “You’re not thinking straight, Abigail. You know he couldn’t possibly.”

  Tyler might have defended himself against the accusation, but his mind was elsewhere. You should not have come here. Goddamn it, Charlie. Why couldn’t you just forget about me?

  He knew why Charlie had come to the park. What other reason could his parole officer have than to bring home his delinquent parolee? Why did he have to tell Charlie where he was going? Did he owe him that much?

  I do owe him that, and then some.

  Charlie had been his only friend since leaving Wichita State Penitentiary. Whatever happened to him that night would be forever on Tyler. He clenched his fists, his chewed, jagged nails digging into his palms. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

  “There’s no need for cussing.” Charlie’s left hand held his right arm tightly. Blood squeezed through his fingers. “I’ve been shot, and you don’t hear me using that language.”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “Who let in the fruitcake? And what’s up with his face?”

  “I’ll turn the other cheek to that. After the night I’ve been having…” Charlie wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and frowned then poked absentmindedly at raw wounds on his face. “Whew! There are some ungodly things in these woods. I was attacked by this nasty little critter—some sort of spongy worm. Then, I make my way here, and this guy takes a shot at me.” He threw out a finger toward Merwin.

  “Yeah, uh, sorry ’bout that.”

  “Well, lucky for me, you’re a lousy shot. Why were you shooting at me anyway?”

  “Tonight has been rough going for us, too.” Merwin reached toward Charlie, who slapped his hand away. “Let me have a look at that.”

  Charlie looked at Tyler, who offered him a nod to assure him Merwin was okay. Slowly, the parole officer removed his hand from his sleeve. A patch of blood had formed around a tear in the shirt.

  “Hey,” Charlie whined as Merwin unstuck the sleeve from the wound. The bullet had carved a shallow, dime-sized basin in Charlie’s triceps.

  “It looks worse than it is. You’ll live.” Merwin stroked his beard, not seeming to care that he was smearing Charlie’s blood into it. “Well, it won’t be the gunshot that will kill you tonight, anyway. What happened to your face?”

  Tyler hadn’t really looked at Charlie’s face since the man barreled into the cabin. Shame and guilt and the horror of knowing Charlie’s death could be his fault had kept him from meeting the eyes of his parole officer. He had seen enough to recognize the new arrival as Charlie and to know that he was wounded. Now he raised his head to take in the rest.

  What he saw was gruesome. Two strips of black circles ran down Charlie’s forehead and cheeks like an allergy test gone horribly wrong. At the midpoint of each circle, the skin was gone, a dark red bull’s-eye in its place. From there, hot-pink flesh blended into the peach of living epidermal tissue like the inside of a medium rare steak. Black lines, like veins of ore, extended through the pink muscle. At the edges of each wound, dead skin flaked off like ash.

  What have I done to you? Tyler gaped at his friend. He bit into his lower lip, fighting back tears.

  Charlie must have sensed the eyes upon him. “My face?” he asked as if he could somehow have forgotten that he had been savagely mutilated even as his fingers continued to massage around his injuries. He touched an open sore on his cheek and cringed.

  “Yes, I remember. It looks that bad, huh? One of those… those spawns of hell latched onto my face. There was this deer, and…” Charlie shook his head. Tyler couldn’t tell if he was trying to piece together the details or was merely having a difficult time sharing them.

  Tyler’s father’s voice intruded. He’ll go through a lot more pain before this night is over.

  “Anyway, that thing attacked me. I fought it off, but it must have released some kind of toxin into me. I blacked out. I can’t remember much of the last few hours. Bad dreams mostly. But when my mind cleared, I found myself stumbling toward this cabin, toward the light of your open door.”

  “That was fortunate,” Dakota said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Lucky?” Charlie made the sign of the cross. “The Big Man must have been looking after me in my hour of need.”

  “Humph,” Merwin uttered. “Well, one thing’s for damn sure: we’re going to need all the help we can get from the ‘Big Man’ to make it past those animals.”

  “What’s going on here?” Charlie’s voice had softened. Tyler could hear his fear. “What are those things?”

  “They’re not animals.”

  “What’s that, now?” Merwin stretched his neck to see over the crowd, searching for whomever had spoken those words. Tyler knew who said it. Only two females had the misfortune of being part of their company, and Tyler had yet to hear Dakota’s voice be anything but gruff and seething with spite.

  He looked for Abigail, and the crowd parted around her. She shrank beneath cold stares. Everyone was silent, waiting to hear what she had to say. She stood, hands folded, her chin buried into her chest, her shoulders bunching up near her ears.

  “It was Karl, but not Karl. It spoke to me, and not just out there.” Abigail pointed to her head. “In here.”

  “Great.” Mark sneered. “The dumb bitch is losing it again.”

  “Leave her alone, Mark,” Luc said, coming to Abigail’s rescue. Mark gaped at him, at a loss for words. Even Bo was speechless.

  Abigail raised her chin and glared at Mark. “Think what you want. You may not have heard all that I heard, but you heard it talk.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Mark said. “I wasn’t stupid enough to go near it.”

  “It did talk,” Dakota said.

  “I heard it, too,” Tyler added. “At least I think I did.”

  Yeah, you heard it talk, buddy, his father said.

  “Now, slow down, everyone.” Merwin raised his arms as if he were a mime trapped in an invisible box. “I heard it make sounds, sure. There’s no disputing that. And maybe they were words, but that don’t mean those things are intelligent life. Hell, I’ve got a pair of lovebirds that can recite the alphabet, and they crap in their food dish every single day.”

  Abigail’s face reddened. “You can’t be serious. It wasn’t just mimicking us like some damn parrot. It called to me, and it looked like…”

  Her words failed. Dakota rubbed soothing circles into her back.

  Merwin tugged on his beard. “I reckon I can’t rightly be certain of what I saw and heard. Noise, like words, coming from a dark mound shaped like a man.”

  “Not just any man,” Abigail cried. “You may not have known him long, but come on! And it spoke with his voice.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s assume you’re right. If those dirty devils are so smart, what’s keeping them from figuring out a way in here and having themselves a Thanksgiving feast?”

  “It’s the light,” Dakota said. “We know that already.”

  “So you’re telling me that those things can think like us, even impersonate us, yet the only reason we ain’t deader than roadkill is because of one stupid lantern light? I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe—”

  “Ugh!” Charlie crumpled over himself, his arms tucked in against his sides like a running back protecting the ball. He had a look on his face, as if he couldn’t decid
e if he wanted to vomit or shit his pants right then and there. His eyes bulged, and his face turned a deep purple as he strained to hold it in.

  He heaved and covered his mouth. Nothing came out.

  “You okay?” Merwin asked.

  When Charlie heaved again, that Oh shit, wide-eyed-but-empty stare blanketed his eyes. Again, he covered his mouth with the back of his hand. This time, when he coughed, he spattered his hand with blood.

  “Oh God! Oh God, no!”

  Tyler went to help his friend, but Merwin held him back. The rest of the crowd watched from beyond Charlie’s reach. One look at Charlie was all anyone needed to know he wasn’t right.

  His body jerked. Drool ran from his mouth as his stomach grumbled. Shaking fingers fumbled to undo his shirt’s top button. It came undone, exposing a white T-shirt beneath. He worked his way down the buttons in between spasms, muttering prayers, begging for God’s help. His eyes found Tyler. They pleaded for an end to what ailed him.

  God won’t help him now. Tyler’s father laughed inside his head. You did this to him, Tyler. You led him here.

  Charlie had all but the last button undone when his head jerked sideways. He arched backward at a severe angle only a contortionist could maneuver safely, a whimper passing his lips as his body snapped, crackled, and popped like Rice Krispies. His stomach protruded toward the ceiling. He rocked back onto his heels.

  Tyler broke the line and rushed to Charlie’s aid. He placed a hand on his parole officer’s back to prop him up. Something beneath Charlie’s skin moved. It felt like an organ had come loose and was rummaging around in Charlie’s body.

  Tyler let go of his friend and slowly backed away. I’m sorry, Charlie. His father’s voice inside him laughed on.

  Charlie shot upright. His face contorted in terror, and his tongue rolled back into his mouth. He gasped, “I can’t feel my legs!”

  Yet there he stood, there he walked, like some trapped puppet dangling from the fishhooks of an angry god. Everyone kept their distance, giving him freedom to roam.

  “Stop me!” Charlie yelled. “They’re controlling me. Oh God, oh God, oh God. The Devil is inside me!”

  By the time Tyler fully understood the meaning behind his friend’s words, it was too late. Charlie had already reached the lantern. As he raised it over his head, his open shirt revealed a pregnant stomach. His babies skittered beneath the skin.

  Charlie screamed. A dark black mass cut its way out of his stomach. Charlie smashed the lantern against the floor and stomped on it. The light went out.

  Chapter 18

  Running.

  Abigail wondered if there would ever be an end to it. Well, surely, if those things caught her…

  Better not to think of it. Better to just run.

  Bo had been the first out the door when the light went out. The creatures had been waiting. They’d swarmed him, covering his skin, like ants on a piece of candy that had fallen in the dirt. Any brains they might possess were trumped by insatiable hunger. They’d ripped through Bo like sharks through chum.

  His hollering for help, his anguished pleas for his brother, anyone, filled the night air with a soundtrack Abigail couldn’t block out. She didn’t help him. No one did, not even his twin brother.

  Instead, they ran. Bo had taken one for the team. His screams had accentuated Abigail’s shame.

  Better not to think of it. Better to just run.

  Her penlight was all the protection she had against an army of those mud-skipping motherfuckers. She saw them everywhere, even the places they weren’t, and heard them nipping at her heels. The flashlight’s beam half circled up in front of her then moved behind her with the sway of her arm. She tried to aim the beam erratically with each backswing to keep those leech bastards guessing. Because if even one got past that pathetic excuse for a light—

  Better not to think of it. Better to just run.

  Cool air rushed into her lungs. Hot air came out. Abigail wondered how long her legs would hold up after all they had been through, or her feet after all the punishment they’d endured. She had let the mud take her remaining sneaker as soon as she exited the shack, knowing she’d be faster barefoot. Her endurance surprised her, but she knew it couldn’t last.

  Maybe I don’t need to hold up the longest. Maybe I just can’t be the slowest.

  The thought of the others vying with her, and she with them, in a game of survival of the fittest made the horror worse. She wished Karl were still with her. No, she didn’t want Karl to have to suffer all over again. She didn’t wish her predicament on anyone else any more than she wished Karl’s and Bo’s and Frosh’s fate on herself.

  Better not to think of it. Better to just run.

  “The trail is this way!” Merwin shouted between gasps. He was up ahead, but Abigail was gaining on him. Another man was running to her right. She didn’t sneak a glance to see who it was for fear it might slow her down.

  Pain shot through Abigail’s soles with every footfall. Twigs and rocks and only God knew what else stabbed at her feet and shredded her socks. She took each stride, wondering what would trip her next or puncture her flesh. The pain spurred her forward, kept her alert and alive.

  Better not to think of it. Better to just run.

  She lengthened her stride.

  Abigail passed Merwin and kept on running. The ranger almost seemed happy for it. “Go!” he shouted. “Follow the trail, and never stop running. Never look back!”

  Abigail’s thoughts exactly. With every second, she increased the distance between herself and the ranger, but that wasn’t the distance that concerned her. She hurdled some roots and exploded out of the forest and into the moonlight. Finding the path was a small achievement, but Abigail clung to it. Small insects—gnats or fruit flies or something like them—clouded around her head and caught in her saliva as she sucked in air. Her body itched all over. She had probably fattened dozens of mosquitos, but being eaten by those blood-sucking pests was a far cry better than even one bite from—

  Better not to think of it. Better to just run.

  Frogs croaked to her right, telling her the lake was not far off. Abigail wasn’t heading that way. She turned left and pumped harder down the trail. The ground was uneven, filled with treacherous hills and hard-to-see valleys, but at least the surface was soft, the thick grass cushioning her feet.

  Grunting and heavy breathing followed behind her. Abigail didn’t know who made the sounds, but she knew they were human, and that alone was comforting. If people were behind her, she had succeeded in creating a buffer zone between her and that which hunted her.

  Unless those mud fucks knew a shortcut.

  Better not to think of it. Better to just run.

  Abigail passed a car parked in the middle of a trail. Its doors were open, and something dead lay in front of it. She didn’t even slow down to see if it was her ticket out of that awful place. Those monsters had destroyed Merwin’s Jeep. She wasn’t willing to risk precious time on the slim chance that the abandoned Chevy hadn’t been dealt a similar fate.

  On and on she ran. It wasn’t long before she reached the campgrounds. Summoning her breath, she screamed for help but continued running down the trail. The lots were too risky. They probably had just one way in and one way out with no guarantee of refuge.

  But campgrounds meant people, and people meant civilization—a place where no footlong, flesh-eating leeches latched themselves to a girl’s back or ate her husband. Abigail’s eyes began to tear up, but she blinked them dry. The thought that she might actually survive the night crossed her mind.

  Definitely better not to think of it, she cautioned herself as if thinking would jinx her luck. Better to just run.

  “Head to the camper,” a voice wheezed behind her. “We can hole up there.”

  Camper? It would have more light than this pathetic thing. She glanced at her flashlight and frowned. What she needed was a lightsaber, but Abigail held firmly to what light she had. She had no doubt that even
that three-inch, one-battery, plastic piece of shit had saved her life a few times as she ran.

  She slowed and chanced a peek over her shoulder. Two figures ran side by side behind her, one tall and burly, the other short and wiry.

  Mark and Luc. Of all people to have at her side when death was chasing her, why did it have to be those assholes?

  She cursed her endless stream of misfortune. Abigail knew she couldn’t trust them, especially not the small, shifty little bastard. Maybe she was better off keeping to her running. It had kept her alive so far.

  Then she found her silver lining. Though no one followed behind the two boys—and by that point, she had to assume the others were dead—she saw none of those slimy noodles, either.

  Better not to think of it. It was too late. The jinx was in. Here they come.

  On any other night, Abigail might have blamed the wind for the rustling in the brush, but not that night—a night with few breezes but many slimy noodles. Marc and Luc darted into one of the camping areas. Acting more on instinct than thought, Abigail followed them, hoping the college delinquents had some semblance of an idea, some half-cocked notion that just might keep her alive. Those mud fucks were close now. Her time to make her final stand would soon come.

  Chances for survival? None to none. Abigail laughed uneasily. Slim had gone by the wayside.

  “Shit! Somebody popped the tires!”

  Not somebody, Luc. Abigail huffed. Guess we’re not driving out of here. From the trail, she couldn’t make out the boys or their camper. A few more yards, and she’d be at the clearing. Behind her, from the direction of the shack, a tidal wave of leeches surged toward her, juggernauting its way through the trees.

  “Who cares right now?” Mark said. “Would you rather stay out here? Get inside, and turn on every fucking light.”

  Abigail ran into the lot just in time to see Mark closing the camper door. He paused, his eyes making contact with hers for only a moment, enough time for her to see the measure of a man—and recognize her late husband’s worth. Karl wouldn’t have closed the door until she was safely inside. Mark barely hesitated before slamming it shut.