Exodus (14 page)

XIV

Darkness swept over the town, the sky a blanket of ominous black clouds.  Wind whistled down the alleys, howling like the cries of a lone wolf.

Mikey collapsed against the side of a house and looked back.  No one was behind him, only shadows and the dark of night.  He tried to catch his breath using the wall to take the weight off of his injured leg.

His house was right around the corner, but he knew he needed to get to the Clark’s house.  With a deep breath, he pushed himself off of the wall and continued down the street.  With each step his thigh pulsed like a hot iron was being driven into it.  Mikey grimaced in pain, but didn’t slow down.

The streets were empty which was unusual for a Saturday night.  Even the porch lights had been turned off.  The overhead street lamps flickered and abruptly dimmed.  The wind picked up in gusts, bending the palm trees in half.

Mikey ducked down a narrow street and stopped behind a trash bin.  He leaned against it as a bolt of lightning flashed and thunder shook the air.  In the distance Mikey could see a blur of people, more like shadows that seemed to be coming towards him.  He scampered back to his feet and started running.  His leg burned, but he ran at full speed ignoring the pain.

Sweat poured down Mikey’s face, blood oozing from his leg.  Another crack of lightning lit up the night sky and pellets of rain started to fall.

Exhausted and wet, Mikey finally made it to the Clark’s house and doubled over onto the porch.  He crawled the last few feet and rang the buzzer.  A bewildered Mr. Clark opened the door followed by Mit and Steve.

“Mikey!  Boys help me get him inside.”

Mit quickly grabbed his arms and with Steve’s help dragged him to his feet.

“They’re coming!”  Mikey was barely able to whisper.

“What?  Don’t speak just rest.”  Mr. Clark patted him on the back.

Mikey slung himself free of Mit and Steve’s grip and managed to stand.  “They’re coming.  They’re coming now!”  He yelled.

Understanding dawned across Mr. Clarks face.  He knew sooner or later this would happen.

“Steve, get the bags, quickly.  Take them downstairs we’ll be down with Mikey shortly.  Mit, stay with me.”

Soaking wet, they clamored into the house and laid Mikey down on the carpet.  Steve ran off into the back as Mr. Clark pressed his hand against the whole in Mikey’s leg.

“Mit, grab me the medical pack in the kitchen and some towels.”

Mit stormed off in a panic.  Mr. Clark followed him with his eyes for a moment and then turned back to Mikey and surveyed his injuries.

His leg was still pumping blood onto the carpet and he winced with every breath he took.  Mr. Clark lifted his shirt to expose the discolored and bruised skin around his torso.

“What happened?”  Mr. Clark asked sympathetically.

“It was Anthony’s dad.  He’s…he can’t be human.  He said they were coming, coming for all of us.”  Mikey grimaced and then reached into his back pocket.  “I did get this though.”

Mikey pulled out a crinkled up piece of paper and handed it to Mr. Clark.  He unraveled it and grinned as he read the newspaper article.

“Carol Belanovak’s body recovered,” it read at the top.  He scanned the article intently and then focused in on the picture.  It was a news reporter standing at the site where they found the young girl’s remains.  In the background, barely visible was a white sign with red lettering that read “LSK.”  Beyond that was a small, white building next to a water tower with the town’s name written across it.  “Amstere, Wyoming.”

“You did good Mikey, you did good.”  Mr. Clark patted his arm.

Mit stumbled back to the living room and dropped a red bag and a pile of hand towels.  Mr. Clark stashed the newspaper into his pocket and immediately started working on Mikey.

He tore his jeans exposing the hole in his leg that was already showing signs of infection.

“I’m sorry Mikey, but this is going to hurt.”

Mikey gritted his teeth and shook his head.  Mr. Clark grabbed a clear bottle from the bag and tipped it over his leg.  Alcohol splashed over his wound as Mr. Clark dabbed at it with a cloth.  Next, he took a white bottle from the bag and squeezed a brownish liquid all over it.

“Everything’s ready to go Mr. Clark.”  Nickie’s voice echoed from the door near the stairs.

“Okay we are on the way down.”  Mr. Clark responded as he wrapped gauze tightly around Mikey’s leg.

Nickie turned to head back into the basement, but Mr. Clark stopped her.

“Nickie can you come here for a second.  Mit help him to his feet.”

Nickie looked puzzled, but headed into the living room.  As she approached, Mr. Clark reached into his pocket and pulled out the newspaper article.  He unrolled it and handed it to her.

“Do you recognize anything from that picture?  Look carefully.”

Nickie stared at the paper for a moment.  She scanned the article back and forth.  Biting her lip, she furrowed her brow in confusion and rubbed her chin.

“Well, that water tower, it’s down the street from my granddad’s ranch.  But…but there’s no LSK building there.”

“I wouldn’t suspect there would be anymore, at least not any signs admitting it.”  Mr. Clark smiled.  “But you do know this place, yes?”

Nickie nodded.

“And you could show us how to get there?”

“Of course we’ve gone every summer except the last few years.”

“I’m sure there’s at least one very good reason for that.  I was hoping they’d be so careless.  They went very far to try and cover up their mistakes, but not far enough.”

Mr. Clark’s face lit up like he’d just put the last piece together in a massive puzzle.  He looked towards Mikey and smiled.  He’d done more than he could ever imagine.  Mikey smiled back at Mr. Clark as he stood up leaning on Mit for support.

Suddenly, the door bell rung and everyone froze.  Mit slowly looked to Mr. Clark who had gone white as a ghost.  He looked back at Mit and then to Nickie.

“Get downstairs now!”  He urgently whispered.  “Nickie, guard that paper with your life and take this.”  He handed her the medical kit.

“Mr. Clark what about you?”  Mit looked back as he helped Mikey to the door.

“I’ll take care of this just stay quiet.”  Mr. Clark demanded, ushering them all to the small wooden door awkwardly set in the wallpaper.

Quickly, but silently, they tip toed down the stairs as Mr. Clark closed to door behind them.  The doorbell rang again, the low whining chime echoed through the house.  Mr. Clark swallowed and took a deep breath.

“I’m coming.”  He shouted with agitation.

As he approached the door he could see Mr. Dimair’s outline through the window.  He slowly opened the door and put on his best impression of a pleasant face.

“Mr. Dimair.  So good to see you, we really don’t do this quite often enough.”  Mr. Clark smiled.

“Fullerton, always the optimist aren’t you?  I highly doubt our encounters have been pleasant and I can assure you, that if you lie to me, this one will not be.”  Mr. Dimair sneered, tapping his shoe on the wooden deck.

Fullerton stared back at him, his stern face riddled with defiance.  He took a deep breath, puffing out his chest and standing to his full height.  Clearing his throat he opened the door a little wider.

“How can I help you today?”

“Yes, yes that is the matter, how can you help me.  To be honest I’d like to think you can.  It’d be a shame for you to go the way of your father.  His death wasn’t pretty, as I’m sure you know.  Accidental passing does have its draw backs.  I hear you kept a souvenir though.  I always think it best when families don’t lose their heads in a tragedy.”

Fullerton tried to hide his rage.  He gritted his teeth and forced a smile on his face.

“I will not pretend that I like you Marcus, but I will not suffer your insults either.”

“Well that is good, what fun would it be if you didn’t put up a fight.  I know you have that little prat in there.  Send him out and I’ll change my mind about your premature passing.”

Mr. Dimair edged forward, sticking his foot in between the door.  He grinned, exposing row upon row of needle like teeth.  Mr. Clark backed away in shock.  He reached into a small table tucked in the corner and pulled out a round glass bottle.  Using his thumb he uncorked it and threw it at the deck in front of him.

It hit the ground and shattered, the liquid turned to a red gas upon impact.  Mr. Dimair staggered backwards and threw his hand over his mouth.

“Zaspar!”  He shouted.

  Walking backwards, he stepped off the porch into the grass.  His face had exploded in boils, the skin falling off in chunks.

“So the old man knew more than we thought.”  Mr. Dimair choked.  “How long do you think this will last you fool?”

“Long enough!”  Mr. Clark spat as he slammed the door.

He whipped around and ran into the house calling for Mit and the others.  Steve darted up the stairs, almost taking the door off the hinges.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, but we haven’t much time.  Get the bag and the others and meet me in the kitchen.”

Mr. Cark turned and ran off into the dark.  He made his way to the only room on the first floor and grabbed a case from the closet.  When he returned to the kitchen everyone gathered around looking nervous.

Mr. Clark opened the case and took out a folded up piece of parchment.  He handed it to Mit with a worried look on his face.

“You guys need to get to the location marked on this map.  They’ll be after you. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.”

“I…I don’t understand Mr. Clark.”  Nickie was the first to speak.

“You have to come with us, we can just leave now.”  Mit pleaded.

“You don’t understand.  They are not going to let us leave.  Right now they are probably on the way here.  The only chance we have is if I hold them off as long as I can.”

Mit made to object again, but Mr. Clark held his hand up silencing him.

“Look this is not a debate.  Everything we need to find Anthony is in that bag.  Take Steve’s car and follow that map.  I’ll meet you there later.”

Mr. Clark was kind, but stern.  Without another word, he turned and headed out of the kitchen.  He pulled the drawer next to the front door open and dumped it onto the floor.  Bottles of the same red liquid he used before rolled out.

Suddenly there was a loud shriek and all the windows exploded.  Shards of glass flew like missiles, embedding themselves into the walls.  Mr. Clark dropped to the ground covering his ears.

The sound of steps pounding outside echoed across the wood.  Before Mr. Clark could move, the front door blew open and Mr. Dimair, followed by several other men piled onto the porch.  They were all dressed casually, but the sinister look in their eyes gave away their true intentions.

Scrambling, Mr. Clark swiped at a bottle and lugged it towards the door.  It hit the frame then fell to the ground and rolled, coming to a stop at Mr. Dimair’s feet.

“Fullerton!  I think I’ll take this as a souvenir, along with your head.”  Mr. Dimair heckled as he bent down and picked up the bottle.

Take this too!” Nickie yelled as she rounded the corner from the kitchen.  In her hand she held a bottle shimmering with red liquid.  She threw it as hard as she could and it hit the ground at Mr. Dimair’s feet.

It burst on impact, sending a red mist like spray all over his face before fuming and turning into a thick red gas.  Mr. Dimair scampered backwards as the other men dove to avoid the deathly fumes.  He moaned and covered his face.  Pools of skin dripped down his hands puddling onto the deck. 

“Run now!”  Mr. Clark screamed.

Nickie turned on her heels and dashed back towards the kitchen.  Steve snatched the bag from the floor and pushed everyone towards the back door.

“Let’s go!”  He yelped grabbing the door handle.

As he turned the knob, the door was suddenly blown off the hinges, sending him flying backwards into the wall.  Mit ducked the shards of broken wood that peppered the kitchen as Nickie and Mikey collapsed to the floor.

Steve groaned and grabbed his shoulder in pain.  He scanned the demolished kitchen in awe.  The door and the surrounding wall was now a gaping hole.  A long, winding crack ran the length floor and pieces of random appliances had been blown across the ground.

Smoke swirled into the air and as it slowly cleared an enormous silhouette stepped inside.  Mikey looked up from the ground, taking in the view of the giant like man lumbering in the demolished doorway.  A pair of beige, muddy boots that were twice the size of any he had seen before, connected to legs that resembled small tree trunks.  The man wore cargo pants and a skin tight t-shirt that was rolled up to his shoulders, exposing a pair of massive arms covered in a thick, black fur.  His black hair was matted to his head in clumps and he wore a dull expression that led Mikey to believe he was only capable of one thought at a time.