Ante Mortem (22 page)

The truck seemed a long way away, like in those dreams, when someone runs from the terrible monster, but they get nowhere as the beast closes the space between them.

And then, suddenly, he was at the door and fumbling for his keys, desperately trying to get inside, to safety. His cell phone tumbled from his pocket and shattered on the road.

One of the creatures bit into his ankle.

Travis screamed as the tiny teeth burrowed into his flesh, tearing it, coming together, and then yanking back, ripping a chunk of sock and meat from just above his ankle bone. He kicked the creature, knocking it squealing to its back, and stuck his keys into the lock.

The other creature leapt, landing on his right thigh, arching its spine, throwing its head back and baring its teeth. It was about to bite him when Travis swung, back-handing the creature like he would a tennis ball, knocking it off before it could sink its teeth. He turned the keys in the lock, threw the door open, tossed himself inside, and slammed the door behind him.

He sat there, panting and sweating, blood pouring from his ankle and pooling onto the floor. All around, outside the truck, Travis could hear them circling, clawing at the metal, shrieking and hissing, looking for a way in.

He laughed to himself. He wasn’t sure what they were, but he’d beaten them here, and he was going to get away. They’d gotten a piece of him, but they wouldn’t get any more. When he got a good distance away, he’d call animal control and report the incident, and then he’d go to an emergency room. The words “rabid squirrels” went through his head and he thought maybe he’d go to the hospital first, instead.

The front of the truck rocked as first one, then two, then three of the creatures leapt onto the hood. They stalked to the windshield, hissing and spitting; one squatted and pissed.

“
Screw you!” Travis screamed.

One of the three flung itself forward and slammed into the glass, snapping its neck. Travis laughed and then a second one did the same thing, hitting the same bloodied spot. He stopped laughing when the third broke open its head ramming into the same spot, because when it did, the windshield cracked just a tiny bit.

Four more launched themselves up on the hood and stalked around, staring at their dead brethren and then at Travis, their eyes big and unblinking, full of hatred.

One after another, they charged the windshield, killing themselves as the crack grew wider and longer. They worked together, like a pack, of one mind and purpose. They would do whatever it took, however many had to be sacrificed, to get what they wanted.

And what they wanted was Travis.

He sat up, more terrified than ever, as he heard creatures climbing up the sides of the truck, their nails digging in and scraping the metal. He put the keys into the ignition and cranked the engine.

It didn’t start.

Cursing, he turned the key again. The engine roared but didn’t catch.

“
Goddamnit!” Travis shrieked and pounded his fists on the steering wheel. He was trapped in there, miles from any help, and he was going to get torn to bits by these things. All because he threw one rock—one stupid, stupid rock.

He turned the key again and this time, the engine caught, turned over and ran. Travis screamed his triumph and put the gas pedal to the floor. The truck lurched forward and he felt a sick satisfaction as he heard at least three of the creature’s crunch under his tires. The ones on the hood screeched and slid, their claws scratching for purchase. Instead, they slipped, skimmed over the hood and fell off.

Travis looked in his rearview and watched as the survivors, at least half a dozen of the creatures, ran after the truck, trying to keep up. By the time he reached the bend in the road a half a mile away, they had given up and disappeared.

He sighed and relaxed, feeling the breeze from the rear window gently kiss the back of his neck. His ankle throbbed and every muscle in his legs ached, but he’d made it, he was alive, and they hadn’t gotten him.

That wind feels good
, he thought, as it cooled the back of his head.

The wind from the open window.

The.
Open.
Window.

A creature reared up in the back seat, standing on two legs, hissing at him, baring its fangs. Hot, rancid breath came from its mouth, filling the truck with its stench.

He’d left the rear windows cracked open when he left on his hike because it had been warm out. In the mad scramble and panic of being stalked, he’d forgotten all about it.

Travis slammed on his brakes and the creature flew forward, smashing into the back of the seat, bounced off and hit the floor. He hoped beyond hope that it had broken its neck like the others had, against the windshield. Then it hissed again.

His ankle burned. He was alone in his truck with one of those things and he had to do something to kill it. His eyes roved frantically over the front seat, looking for any kind of weapon, but just like in the woods, he was out of luck.

The creature clawed up the back of the seat and hissed right next to Travis’s ear. He screamed as the creature flung itself around, and tried to get to his face.

He fell against the steering wheel as he tried to protect his face from the claws and teeth that were snapping and clacking less than an inch away.

He’d gotten lucky, catching the creature as it hurled itself, but it was close—too close—and its claws were ripping his hands and its teeth were biting, tearing out chunks of flesh around his knuckles.

Travis screamed and squeezed its body, digging in with his own fingers. Travis lifted it, twisted his body, and bashed the creature against his dashboard. He raised it again, and slammed it against the steering wheel, cracking its spine. The creature screeched, spasmed and died. He threw the body to the floorboards on the passenger side.

Dripping with both his blood and that of the creature, he panted as he looked at its corpse. At least now he’d have some proof.

Travis put the car back into gear and drove on. His ankle and hands hurt where he’d been bitten, and he needed immediate help. It started to rain, and he turned on the wipers, the pulsing pain in his ankle and the throbbing in his hands matching their rhythm. At one point, he feared he’d faint so he rolled down the window and stuck his head out for some fresh air. For a second, he feared that more of the creatures had hung on somehow and were waiting to pounce, but nothing happened.

His eyes began to fog over and he felt sick to his stomach. His head grew heavy and lolled on his neck a couple of times as he almost passed out. He rolled down all his windows as the agony of his wounds grew hotter and more painful.

Travis looked down at his hands, seeing they were swollen so bad that he wondered how he was even using them. They were huge, fire ant red and the way his ankle felt, he figured it must look the same.

He grew more and more delirious. He wondered if those creatures had some kind of poison in their bite and he reckoned that they must have, for his body to be reacting like it did.

It took Travis, feverish and confused as he was, more than half an hour to drive to the city, less than twelve miles from where he’d stopped. His truck crawled along as he fought to stay conscious and on the road. Dozens of cars passed him, blaring their horns and cursing him; he didn’t care.
I have to keep going, get to the hospital, get some help.

On the outskirts of town, at the beginning of the suburbs that ringed the city, he passed out, steering his truck into a row of cars parked along the side of the road. He didn’t remember sitting up and stumbling from his truck, he just knew that all of the sudden, he was outside and laying on the cold hard ground. It had stopped raining and the day had warmed slightly.

A hundred yards away, Travis heard a sound, like the chattering of squirrels. Travis looked up and saw that he was in the yard of a Day Care Center, and that twenty or so little kids were out in the playground, laughing and swinging and carrying on. None of them noticed him. Travis smiled. He liked kids.

He needed help. He would crawl to the Day Care and get one of the attendants to call an ambulance.

Travis couldn’t feel his legs or his arms anymore. They were numb and swollen and he looked at his hands and couldn’t believe that they used to be hands because now they were useless stumps of red fat. He rolled over and looked down at his bitten ankle. It was nearly the size of a basketball and as he stared at it, the flesh pulsed like a heart was beating underneath it.

Travis laughed, knowing he was going to die. He was out of his mind, giggling hysterically.

He heard a wet rip and looked down at his ankle. The swollen flesh had burst open and gobs of pus and green mucus was pouring from the wound. There was something else in there, too, something small and black moving in the gunk gushing from his leg.

Travis screamed when he realized what it was, what
they
were, and what the bites had really done to him. He screamed again when his hands burst open and a dozen of those creatures poured out of the slime and spilled onto the ground.

The bites of the creatures hadn’t poisoned him, they’d
impregnated
him.

Travis watched as the dozen creatures from his ankle squirmed and grew and hissed and joined their brothers, born from his hands. They looked at Travis, those little eyes big and staring and full of malice, and Travis knew what remained of him was their lunch.

The kids in the playground squealed as they played their games and the eyes of the creatures moved from Travis to the kids, a hundred yards away, riveting in with hunger and lust.

Travis screamed one last time as the creatures scrambled across the field towards the Day Care, ready to kill, eat, and impregnate. He coughed blood pouring from his mouth, and then Travis screamed no more.

* * * *

A Little Help in the Kitchen

Jeff Parish

Charlie dug through the closet by the front door yet again. None of his previous—and very thorough—searches had borne any fruit, but tonight was bowling night and he knew this was where he’d put his ball after last week’s match.
Might have to use one of the lane’s balls tonight.
He shuddered at the thought.

“
Vera!” he shouted. Charlie scratched his head, careful not to disturb the few tendrils of gray hair he’d coaxed across his bald scalp. He could hear pots and pans rattling in the kitchen, but she didn’t answer. “Hey, Vera!”

Still no answer, although a sudden clatter said the clumsy cow had dropped something.
As much as I’ve spent on her stuff in the kitchen, you’d think she’d take better care of it.
He scowled and slapped his round gut in agitation.
“VERA!”

She finally appeared around the corner, wiping greasy hands on the apron cinched tight around her waist. A few strands of black hair had escaped her bun and patches of flour dotted her forehead and nose.

“
What?” his wife said with an exasperated sigh. Dark circles discolored the skin under her eyes; she hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before.
Serves her right. She should have gotten started sooner.

“
Don’t take that tone with me, woman.” He hitched his pants up. “Where’s my bowling ball?”

“
Did you look in the closet?”