Night Terrors: Savage Species, Book 1 (2 page)

Anguish so huge it obliterated thought squeezed him with a bone-splintering fist and hurled him face first onto the coarse stone. He vomited long and hard on the cave floor and found himself writhing in his own regurgitated lunch. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing but the pain. Shane abandoned himself to it. He squealed and flopped on the ground in a paroxysm of anguish. It was bright enough to see now, he realized, and unthinkingly he caught a fleeting glimpse of his lower left leg. With a deathly chill he lifted the leg again to confirm what he’d seen.

His left foot was gone. Reefed with flaps of bloody skin, only a pale, ragged stub of shinbone remained.

Unable to breathe, Shane peered down at his other foot.

It was gone too.

He threw up again, but this time there was nothing in his stomach to eject. Beneath the noise of his own retching and sobbing, Shane heard the approach of whatever horrid vermin had done this to him.

It’s not fair!
he thought. If only they’d given him a chance. If only his dad hadn’t run out, if only his mom wasn’t such a soul-crushing sow, if only his foreman didn’t treat him like the rest of the illiterates on the crew. None of them appreciated Shane, which was why he’d ended up in this fucking cave. He was going to die here, he realized. He was dying already—he had to be. He’d lost so much blood it was a wonder he could still draw breath.

The footsteps sounded just behind him.

Whimpering, he pushed up on an elbow and craned his head around, expecting to see a glittering pair of black eyes staring back at him.

But the eyes weren’t small. They were the size of baseballs.

And they weren’t black, either.

As Shane watched in atavistic dread, the glowing green eyes loomed nearer, nearer, until the pale figure crouched over him. Though the creature was bent-backed and moving on all fours, Shane could see it was far taller than any person could be. But this wasn’t a person. This was…this was…

Shane gasped as the creature scooped him into its long, emaciated arms. And though he desperately wanted to, Shane could not look away from its luminous green eyes. Cradling him like an infant, the creature lowered its long, pale face. The twin odors of feces and animal sweat closed over Shane like a shroud. And before he could utter a plea for mercy, the creature’s sharp, powerful jaws crunched through his face.

Chapter One

Eighteen hours before Jesse Hargrove witnessed the brutal slaughter of more than two hundred people, he was riding shotgun in Emma Cayce’s beat-up white 1975 Buick Electra.

“Pretty out here,” Jesse said.

“Could be worse,” Emma allowed.

“What?” Colleen asked from the backseat. “Being in the forest doesn’t give you the urge to sing John Denver songs?”

Emma glanced ruefully in the overhead mirror. “I’m finding it tough to concentrate on the scenery given the reception we’re bound to get.”

Colleen shrugged her blocky shoulders. “Isn’t my fault the park director’s a bitch.”

Emma gave her friend another sharp glance in the mirror. Not for the first time, Jesse doubted the wisdom of calling the passenger’s seat back at the newspaper. He’d thought sitting next to Emma would force her to notice him, that riding in back would’ve kept him off her radar like always. Yet now he wanted nothing more than to fade into invisibility. Situated as he was, he felt like a neutral country about to be obliterated by warring superpowers.

“Never met someone so stubborn,” Emma muttered.

“You’re taking the bitch’s side?” Colleen asked.

Oh hell
, he thought and hunkered closer to the door.

“I’ve never even spoken to the woman,” Emma said.

“You don’t trust my judgment?”

“You’re not exactly charitable with people.”

Jesse stiffened as they approached a sharp bend. Emma’s eyes were fixed on Colleen’s, and the Buick was barreling toward the woods ahead. The tree trunks looked as wide as the car.

He ventured to brush his fingers along Emma’s bare arm, and even under these circumstances, the touch of her skin sent a wave of lightheadedness through him.

“What?” Emma snapped, and started to look at him when Colleen shouted “
Turn!
” from the backseat. Emma spotted the curve, her pretty green eyes doubling in size. Then she yanked the wheel left, the unwieldy old car groaning in protest. Their back wheels sprayed gravel while their front tires scrabbled for purchase on the loose macadam. Jesse tried not to shit himself, but it was going to be a near thing. Despite the seatbelt he was jerked sideways, the side of his face mashing against the window. He eyed the trees rocketing at him with dim terror.
I’m going to die
, he thought,
and
I’ve never even kissed Emma
.

One moment Jesse was certain the swirly brown tree trunk would end his life; the next they were lurching forward, the Buick overcorrecting and yawing toward the other side of the lane. If another car appeared, they were toast.

“Cut the wheel, stupid!” Colleen was shouting. “Turn into the skid!”

“
Shut up!
” Emma shouted back, though she was doing exactly as Colleen said.

The back end continued sluing like a drunken pendulum. Jesse tasted hot bile in the pit of his throat. He didn’t think he was going to void his bowels, but if the car didn’t stop fishtailing soon he just might puke.

Emma uttered a growl and wrenched the wheel again. This time, the Buick’s tires got a better grip on the lane. Just when he was sure they were safe, Emma stomped on the brakes. The seatbelt tore into his chest, the top of his curly hair actually brushing the windshield.

They skidded to a stop, the Buick sideways in the lane.

“Apologize,” she said.

“What?” Colleen asked.

“Apologize for calling me stupid.”

“I’m not apol—”

“
Now!
” Emma screamed.

Colleen’s eyebrows lifted. “You almost killed us.”

Emma tore off her seatbelt, faced Colleen on her knees, poked her index finger over the seatback. “It’s your fault we’re out here. I said we needed to be nice to Shannon, didn’t I?”

“Shannon’s a dunce.”

“Who happens to be chief editor,” Emma said. “I told you to be civil to her-“

“Kiss her ass, you mean.”

“—but you had to shoot your mouth off like always.”

“She deserved it.”

“So now every time a good story comes up we get stuck doing fluff pieces.”

Jesse said, “It
is
going to be one of the largest state parks in the Midwest.”

Emma glared at him. Jesse shrank against the door.

“He’s right,” Colleen said. “A new state park is a big deal. I’d rather spend the weekend out here than listen to people barking at each other in Tibetan.”

“Mongolian,” Emma corrected. “And it happens to be the best story of the year.”

“Do you even know why they’re protesting?”

“The inhumane treatment of mine workers.”

“I’m bored already.”

“Of course you’re bored,” Emma said. “If it isn’t about some asinine reality show, you’re not interested.”

“I get attached to the characters.”

“Dumb people doing dumb things.”

Colleen crossed her arms. “We going to sit here in the middle of the road, or are we gonna check in?”

“Check in,” Emma muttered, resettling in her seat. “Not only are we stuck covering chipmunks and squirrels, we’ve gotta waste an entire weekend in a tent.”

“Didn’t your family ever go camping?”

Emma jerked the Buick into gear. Jesse breathed a sigh of relief as they rolled back into their own lane. Not that there were marked lanes out here. If not for the occasional hand-painted wooden sign, there’d be no indication they were in a state park at all. Over thirty square miles of forest and marshes, the Peaceful Valley Nature Preserve was proving as unspoiled as advertised. Now, if Emma would stop driving like she had a death wish, they might live to enjoy it.

“We never camped,” Emma said. “Mom was usually working or out with some guy.”

Jesse opened his mouth to ask Emma about her dad, but the sour expression on her face convinced him otherwise.

“We camped all the time,” Colleen said. “A few times we brought the pop-up, but most of the time we used tents.” She turned to Jesse. “That reminds me, where are you spending the night?”

Hopefully, Emma’s sleeping bag
.

“I’ll rent something, I guess. I was thinking about going without a tent, actually.”

Colleen cocked an eyebrow. “You bring bug spray?”

“Uh-uh.”

“I’d recommend a tent.”

They neared a brown shack with a large window comprising most of its front. Slowing, Emma rolled down her window and reached into her purse. Jesse lowered his window, too, and though the air outside was wet with humidity, its warmth felt good on his face.

A tall man with a thick, black mustache appeared in the window and watched them stolidly. Though it was already late in the day and the western sun was falling, the man wore Ray-Bans that only revealed a vague hint of his eyes. He reminded Jesse of a surly traffic cop.

Emma flashed her credentials. “We’re with the
Shadeland Truth
,” she said. “Linda Farmer should be expecting us.”

“Speed limit’s fifteen,” the man said, leaning out the window on his forearms. Up close he appeared to be in his early fifties. His brown shirt said DNR, which stood for Department of Natural Resources. Jesse remembered one of those guys coming to his science class in junior high. The DNR officer was supposed to give them a lesson on boating safety, but instead spent most of the hour telling them horror stories about the corpses he’d fished out of the lake and the wide-reaching powers of his position. The DNR, that long-ago officer had claimed, could take away your car and your house if you went fishing without a license. They could also retrieve your body if you were decapitated by an outboard motor.

“I didn’t see the speed posted,” Emma explained.

“Going too fast to read the signs, I expect.”

Jesse braced himself for another argument, but Colleen leaned forward and intervened. “How long have you worked for the department?”

The man lowered his shades enough to reveal the smallish eyes beneath. His eyebrows were almost as bushy as his mustache. “Nineteen years this August. What’s your name, miss?”

“Colleen Matthews,” she said, sticking her hand through Emma’s window.

The man shook it. “Glad you came. Staying all weekend?”

“We’re doing a story about the opening,” Emma said. “Colleen spoke with Linda earlier.”

“Oh,” the man said, chuckling. “You’re the ones she was talking about.”

Emma shot Colleen a look.

The man nodded toward the rear of the shack. “Linda’s busy at the moment, but she’ll be out any time. You guys want a map?”

Emma said sure, and the officer handed her a glossy pamphlet. She tossed it on Jesse’s lap without looking at it. He pocketed it, figuring it might come in handy for erection coverage later.

The man gestured toward the register. “I don’t have the first clue how to use this thing, so you’ll have to wait until Linda gets done.”

“I got the impression our stay was paid for,” Emma said.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” the man said and withdrew into the shack.

Emma regarded Colleen in the mirror. “Well?”

Colleen shrugged. “We didn’t talk price.”

Emma turned all the way around, the blue fabric of her sleeveless shirt drawing taut over her breasts. Jesse felt his mouth go dry.

“What
did
you talk about?”

“Whether or not a state park should’ve been built here.”

Emma surveyed the woods. “Doesn’t look to me like they built anything.”

Colleen counted on her fingers. “Sand volleyball courts, playgrounds, dump stations…”

“What’s a dump station?” Jesse asked.

“Where RVs empty their shit.”

“Ah.”

“I merely asked if we had to stay on one of the marked sites, and Miss Park Nazi flew off the handle. Said if we made a fire outside a designated area, we’d be fined and kicked out of the park. I said, ‘What, you’re worried about wildfires?’ She said she wanted to maintain the integrity of the land. I said the Indians didn’t play volleyball. It went downhill from there.”

Jesse grinned, but extinguished it when he noticed Emma’s scowl. “You don’t have to pick fights with everybody,” she said.

“I only fight with people who take themselves too seriously.”

A figure emerged from the back door of the shack. She was short and skinny, all angles and bones. Her short, blond hair had so much hairspray on it, it resembled a helmet. And despite the official-looking, white, button-down shirt and navy blue shorts, something about her reminded him of the groupies he saw in those glam rock videos from the eighties. The woman stopped and beckoned them forward.

“Oh boy,” Colleen said. “Wants to show us who’s in charge.”