Exodus (17 page)

Emily accelerated slowly until the Dodge was parallel with the base of the embankment and began slowly following the base around as it curved to match the road above. About two hundred yards farther on, she saw the dusty-gray reflection of the gravel road as it dipped down and leveled out.

Turning hard right, she directed the SUV up onto the road. She heard the ping of gravel bouncing off the frame of the SUV as the front tires scrambled for grip. Then, with a final stab of the accelerator, she felt the rear tires dig deep into the soft earth and push her up and back onto the road.

Stealing herself against the coming confrontation, Emily carefully accelerated the SUV and headed back along the road toward the Jeffersons’ house.

“Rhi-annnnn-on!”

Her brother’s frightened voice drifted through the trees like a ghost toward her and Thor. The dog’s ears pricked up at the boy’s voice; then he dropped his nose to the ground again and bounded forward between two sprawling sycamore trees.

“I’m coming, Ben,” Rhiannon yelled back. She tumbled after Thor. The laces of her left sneaker had come undone and would occasionally catch under her opposite foot, almost tripping her. She knew she should stop and tie them again, but her brother’s voice had grown more scared sounding with each passing minute. So, she chose to keep on instead, unwilling to stop until she was with her little pain of a brother again.

Not long after she had scrambled up over the edge of the culvert, Thor had suddenly cut diagonally into the forest, leaving the safety of the road for a more direct route to Ben. That might be great for a dog with his superior sense of smell, but for Rhiannon, it was a painful and frustrating diversion. She bumped into trees,
almost lost an eye to a low-hanging branch, and tripped over roots seemingly with almost every other step she took. She could feel rivulets of blood trickling down her arm, and her cheek stung from a collision with a branch.

The black shadow of the Jeffersons’ house suddenly loomed large in front of her. She had emerged from the woods on the west side of the house, adjacent to the garage they had escaped from earlier.

Thor suddenly stopped, growling menacingly. The dog backed up until he was parallel with Rhiannon, his eyes fixed squarely on two shapes that slowly resolved from the shadow of the house.

Ben was at his dad’s side, one of Simon’s hands resting heavily across his back, cupping the little boy’s left shoulder. Behind them, that same indistinct shadow she had seen earlier loomed, blocking out the shape of the house and moving with the boy and the man.

“Hello, sweetie,” said her father. Rhiannon felt a shudder of fear run down her spine at the sound of Simon’s voice. Thor gave another growl and backed up even farther until Rhiannon was between him and Simon.

She could see Ben’s face, pale against the black night, splotches of dirt on his cheeks bisected by the tracks of tears that still ran from her brother’s rheumy eyes.

“Rhia,” he sniveled, and he flinched as Simon’s grip tightened against his shoulder.

“Come here, Rhiannon. There’s a good girl.” The voice sounded like her father’s, but it wasn’t. There was none of the warmth usually present when he spoke to her. And no way would he ever have let Ben cry like that. Besides, the only time Dad ever called her by her full name was when he was pissed at her. And if he was angry, then why was there a permanent smile fixed to his face?
No, whoever this was that had her little brother, it was no longer her dad.

Her father was gone. The pain of the realization was like a dagger thrust into her heart, and she felt her own tears begin to soak her cheeks again.

“Rhiannon,” Simon called again, this time a little sharper, utterly oblivious to her pain. “I said…come…here.” As he spoke, Rhiannon could see her father’s hand slip from Ben’s shoulder and move around the back of the boy’s neck. “I won’t ask again.” The threat to her brother was obvious.

Simon’s head suddenly dipped sideways until his ear was almost touching his right shoulder. It was as if he expected this position to give him some new perspective on this strange little creature before him. The smile grew wider, and Rhiannon saw his hand tighten around Ben’s neck. His fingers enclosed her little brother’s throat completely as simultaneously he lifted the boy up until his feet were just inches off the ground.

“Noooo!” Rhia pleaded as her brother began to choke. His feet jittered and kicked, and his eyes, still fixed on hers, bulged as his mouth opened and closed like a fish stranded on the bank of a river. Though she wanted to move, she was glued to the spot by fear. Her feet might just as well have been roots for all the good they did her. She wanted to run, to head back into the darkness of the woods and never look back. “Let…Let Ben go,” was all the resistance she could muster.

“Come here, Rhiannon,” repeated Simon, still holding the boy. Rhiannon could see Ben’s face slowly turning redder and redder as his convulsive kicking began to grow slower and slower.

“Not fair,” whimpered Rhiannon as she took another reticent step toward her father and brother. “Please,” she sniffled, “let him go.”

Her father’s head moved from horizontal back to its normal, upright position. As his head moved, he lowered the little boy back to the ground until the kid could at least rest the tips of his toes on the grass. It was low enough that the pressure was removed from Ben’s throat, but easy enough for her dad to quickly lift him off the ground again if he wanted to.

Her brother let out a gasp as he sucked in air, and Rhiannon felt a surge of relief as she saw his eyes, which had been tightly shut, flicker open and meet her own gaze. She had no doubt that if he wanted to, he could easily tear her brother in half. The only reason it needed Ben was that whatever was concealed in the shadows was just too slow to catch her. It had to lure her to it. It wanted them both.

This close to what had once been her father, she could make out webs of fine black veins that spread out maplike across his face and his arms. In fact, every exposed piece of skin seemed to have those lines just below the surface. And, although shrouded in shadow, she could see his eyes were no longer the comforting pale blue she remembered; now they swirled with shades of darkness that foretold violence as surely as a thunderstorm promised lightning.

She was almost within arm’s reach when she froze and stared past both her father and brother into the deeper darkness that lay just behind them. A smell, powerful enough to make her want to throw up, permeated the air and wafted to her on the cool evening breeze. Transfixed, Rhia saw the shadow shift, saw the three thick tubes running from her father back up into the darkness pulse and flex in synchronicity. Instantly, the arm holding Ben relaxed, dropping her brother the final inch or so to the ground and sending the boy coughing and spluttering to his knees. The other hand shot out toward her, grasping her upper arm in an iron grip that
was far stronger than her father would ever have contemplated using.

Rhiannon stared helplessly as Simon’s face drew closer to her own; then he sniffed her. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, his head moving first to the left of her and then to the right, like a wolf scenting its supper.

Simon’s lips, laced with the same threading of black veins, drew back in a wide smile as he pulled Rhiannon and her brother to him. He wrapped one malformed arm around her waist and the other around Ben’s, scooping them both off the ground as he turned and carried them into the darkness.

As Emily rounded the final bend, the high beams of the SUV pushed back the darkness and revealed the house they had fled from directly ahead. The garage door was still up, but there was no sign of the children inside. She guided the SUV around in a slow turn, sweeping the area in front of the garage with the headlights, her eyes searching for any clue to where the children might have gone.

A flurry of motion off to her right caught her attention. A shadow was running across the open space toward her from the darkness of the woods: Thor!

He bounded across the yard in a few powerful lunges and was at the passenger door before she had managed to bring the SUV to a full stop. Emily fumbled for the door switch, found it, and heard the thump of the locks releasing. Unfastening her seat belt—no way was she ever driving without it, after tonight—she leaned as far across the passenger seat as she could and pulled on the door release handle. The door popped open, and she pushed
it with the flat of her hand until it was open enough for the malamute to clamber, rather ungracefully, she noted, up into the passenger seat. She had to fight her way past his furry body and the excited licks and slurps of his tongue to pull the door shut again before slamming a clenched fist down on the Lock button.

No sooner had she clipped her safety belt back on and she was off again, slowly maneuvering the SUV around the perimeter of the house, trying to saturate every inch of the night-blanketed property with the high-intensity headlights.

Thor seemed unusually quiet. As soon as the SUV had begun moving, he had stepped off the seat and curled up in the leg space under the passenger side of the console in the equivalent of a doggy fetal position, his eyes never straying from her face. She didn’t think he was hurt; he just seemed…afraid.

She passed the open garage and swung the vehicle around the farthest corner of the house. Slowing to a crawl, she carefully navigated the SUV around the blind corner, almost dislodging a drainpipe with her mirror.

Beyond the corner of the house was a clear stretch of field several acres deep and at least as wide that spread out toward a copse of trees on the farthest border. Just outside the umbra of the headlights’ reach, Emily caught a brief flash of movement. It was too quick for her to be certain she had actually seen what she thought she had seen. She began to accelerate gently in the direction she thought she had seen the movement, then braked hard as the lights revealed Simon, moving away from her, a limp bundle tucked under each arm as he scuttled across the open field toward the trees.

Emily accelerated a little more until her lights fully illuminated Simon and his load. She was right; he had the children.

But there was something else with him, too. Something massive that seemed to shrink from the touch of the SUV’s light.
Emily had a sense of thin pale limbs that disappeared into the nearest shadows when her headlights played over them.

Simon halted midstride as the light engulfed and surrounded him. As Emily pulled closer, she could see the three black tentacles she had noticed earlier. Now that she could see them more clearly in the headlights, she thought they reminded her more of umbilical cords; rotting, serrated umbilical cords from some monstrous birth. They flexed and arced as the thing they were attached to maneuvered deeper into the shadows.

Simon turned and faced her, his eyes boring through the darkness to her.

Both children hung limply from the arms that cradled them. Emily had no idea whether they were alive or dead. Their arms and legs draped limply toward the ground like they had been caught trying to touch their toes. Then both kids’ heads lifted—first Rhiannon, then her brother’s—and Emily could see their faces grimace as they looked directly into the light.

Alive! They were both alive.

In that split second of recognition, Emily saw a smile spread across Simon’s face. It was like he was tempting her, taunting her to try, just try to get the kids. Come and get them, that smile said. Try to take what’s mine. Come and see what they see.

Emily knew the sane thing to do would be to turn the vehicle around and head back to the other house, pack the supplies waiting there, and leave. But she could not leave these kids to a fate decided by the hands of a father controlled by an alien mind.

“Fuck that,” she spat and floored the accelerator.

She felt the power of the V-8 engine surge up through the steering column, along her arms, and set her head ringing. She welcomed the pain this time; she embraced it and allowed it to fuel her anger as nearly a ton and a half of made-in-Detroit
gas-guzzling metal and leather leaped forward like a bull with a matador fixed firmly in its sights.