B-Movie Reels (23 page)

Dr. Coleman sighed. “I guess our work starts here in room 105. That’s Joey Spinelli. He served many tours in World War II and lost half his left leg and right arm from infected bullet wounds.”

“Whatever,” Dr. Hanson scoffed. “This guy’s been on Morphine for two months straight. Dr. Graham set it up so he could press a button and inject it into himself. He just sits in that wheelchair and reads back issues of
Time
and
Mad
magazine and watches the evening news with glazed eyes. One of the orderlies even found Hershey bars stockpiled under his bed and baggies of marijuana.”

“We’ve got to put a stop to it,” Dr. Coleman agreed, marking her chart. “We’ll run blood work nightly, the nightshift nurses will check his room, and we’ll get him clean again.”

The two entered the room; the clock read 8:30 p.m. The television hanging from the wall played
Hogan’s Heroes.
 

“Mr. Spinelli,” Dr. Hanson began. Joey looked away from the television, though he seemed hesitant to hear what the doctor had to say. “Hello, Mr. Spinelli, can you hear me?”

“Where’s Dr. Graham?” he demanded sternly. “Nobody’s come with my evening meds. Where the hell is Nurse McTevish with my evening meds?”

“There will be no more of that,” Dr. Hanson advised. “The problem is, Dr. Graham wrote all your prescriptions, yet on your records, there is no evidence that you should’ve been allowed these drugs. I’m sorry, but you can’t have anymore. There’s no real medically sound reason you require them.”

Mr. Spinelli sneered hard, released an audible breath, and rolled and popped his neck. “Where’s Dr. Graham?”

“He was fired. But it’s okay now, we’re going to solve your drug dependency. You’ll get the expert care you deserve.”

“Fired, huh?”

A long moment passed between them in silence.
 

The two doctors didn’t see the 9 millimeter pistol tucked under his blanket or the six faces of patients staring into the room from the hallway.
 

2

Sheriff O’Malley limped into Black Hill Woods, bombarded by threats in the sky. He had to turn back the way he’d come whenever the winged creatures threatened to swoop down at him. He’d counted four of them so far, but there could be more, he thought.

He ducked underneath an oak tree and caught his breath. He clutched the 12 gauge, wheezing, trying to compose himself. The air was colder, the leaves and bark on the trees frost-covered. He shivered, his breath visible.
 

“This town is going to shit,” he whispered, looking around but only catching new strings of fog uncurling from the sky. Visibility was limited to a few yards. He tried to walkie the station, and again, nobody answered. Dread crawled up his stomach and tensed his guts.
 

The two men at Walter Smalls’ garage raised serious questions. One was decades behind the times with bellbottoms and muttonchops fit for a porn star. The other had white hair, but he was a mutant in the skin and eyes: blue-black corpse skin, arms glittering with frost, and eyes that were a baby blue like robins’ eggs. And going by the way the young man swung his hammer and broke his deputy in half, they were both equally a threat. Mix in the flying red-eyed demons, and Anderson Mills was in extreme danger.
 

What if no one else knows about these people?
 

How many are going to die?
 

How many have already died?

“
Shraaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhh!
”

He jerked his head upward to catch the black-scaled creature careen from the sky toward him. Its wings were outspread, cartilage and bones and veins jutting out from the leathery material. He fired his gun twice without aiming.

He ducked and rolled into a lilac bush, and when he worked to his knees with the shotgun ready to blast again, two pieces of the creature thudded against the ground. The torso had been blown from the legs. On the ground, the legs remained limp, but the top-half refused to die. The woman’s demon eyes appeared to melt, a phosphorous burning of a road flare. A devilish grin spread across her blood-slathered lips. It crawled toward him, propelled by its arms as it closed in.
 

The sheriff pulled the trigger and watched the demon’s head evaporate into a mist heavy with skull bits. “Bitch,” he gasped, out-of-breath and covered in cold sweat. “Stay dead.”

Red eyes flashed in the darkened sky again, and it was his cue to race further into the woods. He dared to cross the icy fog blind to what lurked in there, hidden. The sheriff’s goal was to locate shelter and a phone, or any means of communication. That possibility dimmed when he saw the electrical pole spitting out sparks onto the road. If the town didn’t have power, he was seriously out of luck. His cell phone was in his vehicle, but it had blown up.

I can’t catch a break.
 

His confidence had doubled after he killed another one of the flying creatures, and he clung onto that bold feeling. Plated breasts were a strange sight, and the straw-like patch of pubic hair made his feel ill; it was the farthest thing from erotic. The whores on the outskirts of Green County were beauty queens compared to the winged creatures.
 

The sheriff chugged full-force down hill and prayed he didn’t slip or turn his ankle along the rugged terrain. He continued to brave the fog until it was slippery underfoot, and before he could slow down, he spilled onto his back with a grunt and curse. After recovering from the fall, he realized this was Silver Lake, and it was frozen over.
 

“How in blue fuck is it possible? It’s summer!”
 

Their cries rang out like those of pterodactyls. “
Shraaaaaaaaggggghhhh!
”

“Shit!” He struggled to his feet and trudged slowly across the iced-over surface. He looked up and caught three shadows circling the lake. He raised the 12 gauge and emptied another round into the sky. “Stay the hell away from me!”

A whoosh of air inches from the back of his head sent him reeling forward. He crashed against the ice again, looked up and howled in shock as the head of a mallet was raised and about to come down onto his head.
 

He’d lost his shotgun.
 

“Put the weapon down,” he threatened without a way to enforce it. “You’re under arrest. Put your hands behind your back right now.”

The statements were ridiculous, his voice cracking from the strain and dried out from the wintry air. The attacker loomed in the dark, his face contorted into a maniac’s. The sky was swallowed up by billowing fog, thick as soot from a leveled building. Red streams of light streaked in the sky in tandem; the flying demons would soon swoop down and attack.
 

He rolled to the side, and the mallet struck the ice, just missing him. Shards were kicked up and struck his face, sharp and so cold.
 

WHUP-WHAM!
 

The mallet’s force came again, fast, this time connecting with his shoulder. Bitter-sharp agony coursed down his collarbone and arm. The sheriff shouted, “You’re going to play like that, huh?
You piece of shit!
”

He unhooked the Maglite strapped to his holster and hurled it at the young man’s face. A sharp crack, and his nose oozed blood. It wasn’t just his nose, his mouth spilt open and one of his eyes had popped; it was as if the man’s face wasn’t complete, the structure weak.
 

Just like Jorg’s body.

He searched the ice for his 12 gauge, and after miraculously recovering it, he opened fire in a staccato burst of shots.
Ba-Boom! Ba-Boom! Ba-Boom
! The man flew backward from the ice, his feet leaving the ground. The figure slammed into the ice, his chest and face rendered into pink pulp.
 

A razor-sharp shard of ice the size of a cigarette jutted from the sheriff’s foot; it couldn’t break through the steel toe. Another set of shards went
thack
,
thack
,
thack
against the lake’s surface, all of them meant for him.
 

He whipped around on the defense, aiming the gun at the shape six yards out, but the weapon clicked empty. He moved to reload it, fumbling with quaking hands, and reaching into his front pocket for the shells. Then he remembered they’d spilled out along the ice after the last fall. He back-pedaled and his heel bumped into the handle of the mallet. The wood was cold, the mallet at least thirty pounds, but he cradled the weapon anyway, his only option.
 

The figure across from him was from Walter’s shop, the man with blue skin and eyes. He didn’t bother to read the man his Miranda rights when another series of ice shards were hurled at him with bullet speed. Two of them missed, whizzing past him, but the other two tore into his right bicep and forearm. The sight of his own blood trickling between his fingers enraged him.
 

Growling a primordial war cry, the sheriff raced across the ice and swung the mallet, connecting with the man’s head. The blue man buckled onto his knees in an awkward pile of limbs. The man’s head was dented inward at the top. Blood mushroomed out of his ears, nose, and mouth.
 

The sheriff was about to swing again when something from above him stole the mallet and carried it into the air. The winged creature cawed in delight.
 

“Son of a bitch!”

He stepped on two shells. He picked them up and raced back the way he’d come. The fog billowed over the ice and obscured the surface, making everything invisible. He plunged his hands blindly to scavenge for the much-needed shotgun but came up empty.

Red eyes glowed yards out from him, and one of the creatures touched down. Now it wasn’t a creature, but instead a beautiful woman. The wings disappeared, sucked back into her shoulder blades, and the blackened scales were replaced by milky-white skin. Bare breasts were pert and large, the abdomen washboard tight, hips voluptuously curved, and the pubic hair shaved in a perfect v-shape to disguise the prize between her legs. The woman extended her arms out to him, speaking softly. “Hold me close…
please
.”

He was drawn to her pink lipstick and magenta hair. He wanted to touch her everywhere—even kiss those full lips—but the ache in his smashed collarbone and the ice shards that were still lodged in his arm reminded him what he was up against.
 

The back of his boot struck the shotgun’s barrel.
 

“Kiss me now.” The woman’s voice was smooth, a rose petal falling onto a pillow. Both her arms were outstretched, and she wrapped herself around him. “Hold me tight…
hold me now
. It’s so cold, but I’ll make you warm.” Purring into his ear, she whispered, “Will you make me warm?”

Her flesh was burning hot, and he was relieved to be against her. Her breasts were mashed into his chest, but she backed up a bit, urging him to cup them. She kissed him along his neck, soft pecks that breathed more warmth into his body. The sheriff didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The woman placed his hand between her legs for him, and he combed the bush of her hair with his fingers, searching. She was open and wet, ready for him.
 

“Stick your fingers inside.” The woman stuck her tongue in his ear and whispered, “
I give
you permission
.”

His fingers were swallowed up with no effort. He simply touched her labia and they entered with a wet smack.
 

“Ah, that’s nice,” she moaned in ecstasy. She ran her tongue up and down his neck and behind his ear, the saliva trails hot as steam. It stung his skin, but he couldn’t resist what occurred naturally. Blood rushed to his cock and he was hard. “That’s a good boy.”

The front of his police trousers was unzipped, and she cradled him. “How do you like your foreplay, huh cop? I know you don’t like to get straight to it. A bit of cross-examining, maybe? You’re an old dog, but you’re never tired of young tricks.”

She spat on his dick and stroked him. “You shot at me a moment ago and look at you now. You’re submissive. You’re all mine, aren’t you?”

He couldn’t deny the pleasure she was giving him. He was already close to shooting all over her despite everything, the awkward location on the frozen lake, the wounds in his body, and the people that had been murdered in town in just over twenty-four hours. The depth of the fog stole the present reality. Nothing existed outside of her and her sexual touch. She licked along his neck, the same circle over and over so many times he memorized the texture of her tongue. He fingered her harder, each thrust making her wetter.
 

“I’m almost there,” she shuddered, verging on climax. “Are you almost there too?”

“Y-yeah.” A quiver ran up his spine “Keep going.”

Without warning, she squeezed his cock so hard he thought she’d broken it.
 

“
Ahhhhhhh
!”

Her mouth snaked down upon his cheek, and she chewed a mouthful of flesh off, snagging it when she reared back her head. Electric pain flooded up and down his face, and in that instant, he wasn’t sure whether it was an unconscious instinct to fight back or the malicious ache in his crotch that was a heartbeat from an orgasm, that urged him to retaliate. He head-butted her, the woman buckling to the side with a feminine gasp, but she immediately rose back up with eyes raging and burning.