Scraps & Chum (17 page)

“
Gonna kill you when I find you,
George,
”
Ted
said, shoving aside a low limb.

The thick undergrowth of the woods was worse to get through than the damn obstacle course he
’
d been forced to run back at the academy some ten lifetimes ago. Jump this boulder, duck this branch, kick through these brambles. Jeez, he was already exhausted.

Shuffling noises nearby spoke of animals racing to get away from him as he moved. Every fifty feet, he remembered. Good thing he hadn
’
t asked what the diseases did to a person, curable or not. He shuddered at the thought he might even step on one of the damn things. Seeing all those rats in one pit
was creepy enough. To imagine
there were any around him now just plain gave him the heebeie jeebies.

His flashlight
’
s battery was dying, the beam a yellow coffee ring on the trees. Great, like I
’
ll be able to see any rats now if it dies, he thought.

The pit had to be getting closer, he hoped, maybe another hundred yards. Nothing looked familiar in the darkness of the woods. Just a lot of frigging branches. The cops should have cleared a goddamn path. This was just about futile at this time of night. This was—

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the groaning.

“
Hello?
”

The groaning grew louder. Someone in pain. Ted undid the snap on his shoulder holster, took his gun out. Cautiously, he followed the groaning, which drew him in the direction of the pit.

“
Oooooh.
”

“
George? That you?
”
It sure as hell sounded like George. But there was a new sound now, a hitch-pitched squealing. Like a car with bad brakes. It was getting
louder,
closer.

Adrenaline coursed through Ted
’
s veins as
he raced through the woods, ignoring the limbs whipping him in the face. The pit swam into view, moonlight rippling down through the tree canopy into the clearing, illuminating the police tape.

“
Ooo…
”

“
George!
”
Ted ripped the tape with his hand, stepped past it and looked in
to
the pit.

George was lying at the bottom, his legs and arms bent at 90-degree angles, but not the way God intended them to.
“
Jesus Christ, George. What happened?
”

George was wide-eyed; his face was a mass of contusions.

Now the high-
pitched squeal stopped. Something rushed through the woods behind Ted, swishing the leaves, drumming the ground, then was gone.

Ted spun around, his flashlight bouncing faint shadows over the surrounding trees. Everything was so damn dark. Where the hell was the guy? He
’
d shoot him on sight.

He spoke over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the woods.
“
George, just hang on, there
’
s a car on its way. Give it a minute.
Is this our guy?
Do you know which way he went?
”

A grunt. Sounded like
I don
’
t know.

Got to be here somewhere, Ted thought. Just heard him a second ago. He
’
s not as stealthy as he thinks.

The running footsteps came out of nowhere to his right. He turned to shoot. Something slammed into him. A trench coat. A rat mask. White erupted under his eyes. The floor of the pit came up and rammed into his body.

His back shrieked in pain and he went stiff, barely able to move, the wind knocked out of him. 

Get up get up get up, he told himself. His gun, torn from his grip when he
’
d landed, was a dark spot on the dirt. The flashlight was nowhere in sight, probably still up above the pit. Reaching out, he snatched up the gun. He rolled over, ignored the pain that flared up his spine, and aimed up.

Nothing. Just treetops and the silver dollar moon beyond.

On the ground to his right, George was grunting hysterically. He seemed…genuinely scared.

Where was the guy? Ted swung the gun all around the edge of the pit, waiting for a shadow to appear. There was no getting up, he knew that, his back was sprained or broken or something. The guy had hit him with such force it nearly knocked his brains lose.

Then there was sound. Something moving around up at the edge of the pit, something dragging its feet through the dirt.

Show yourself, thought Ted, gun aimed.

As if in response, something long and gray flipped over the edge, wound itself around the nearest ladder and yanked it out in the blink of an eye. More shuffling, and the gray hose-like thing found the other ladder and yanked it out as well. Then, whatever the hose-like thing was appeared over the edge once more, just dangling, yet moving ever so slightly on its own. What the hell is that, thought Ted? A snake? Now it swished back and forth, twitching, the movement unmistakable. Both he and George stared at it disbelieving.

A tail. One hell of a large fucking tail. Boy, this guy went all out on the costume.

“
Come on, you shithead,
”
Ted yelled.
“
Stick your head over the edge. I just want to see your stupid mask.
”
He held the gun out, still aiming, just looking for one good opportunity to fire.

The tail disappeared.

Silence.

Then, more shuffling.

Next to him, George became frantic. Grunting, almost screaming.

Ted looked at him, barely visible in the moonlight, followed his friend
’
s gaze up toward the edge of the pit on the north side. Something black was sliding out over the edge. Oblong, moving cautiously, titling downward.

Slowly, a rat
’
s head swam into view, looking down on them. A giant rat
’
s head. Bigger than a human head. More like the size of a horse
’
s head. Damn, that looks real, Ted thought.

He fired, but the shot went wide and missed. The recoil screamed through his back and he damn near fainted from the pain.

The rat
’
s head opened its mouth. Wide. Wider. Its incisors like yellow swords.

Ted was confused. How the hell did the guy get the mouth to open like that? How
’
d he get the tongue and teeth to move? How—

EEEEEEEEEEE!

The rat head shrieked, the nose twitching rapidly, the whiskers dancing, the eyes blinking.

George was crying.

And Ted
’
s mind went a bit numb, because he was putting it all together now.

Not fake, he realized. Real. Oh God. Real. Dear God. How?

The drag marks and claw prints, the squealing noises: a giant rat with giant rat feet, dragging its tail behind. The pieces fell in place. But why the trench coat?

He heard his nephew
’
s bratty voice: Because, stupid, when you
’
re a giant rat in suburbia, survival is all about camouflage. How do you think it
’
s lasted this long? Duh!

The treetops turned blue and red. The rat head looked up, hissed at the lights.

The police cruiser must be here, thought Ted. Oh Christ, hurry.

The giant rat looked back down at them,
opened its mouth wide. Wider. As w
ide as it could go. And from its mouth, like projectile vomit, spilled forth a rush of brown rats, tumbling over one another as they fell. They poured into the pit and rose like water. Their sharp little nails zoomed over the two detectives lying prone on the ground. Ted Screamed. George screamed. The rats kept coming. One big family spawned from something unexplainable and evil.

Ted
’
s scream became a shriek of sheer terror. The bites came quick. Too quick, according to what Julia Green had said. Uncharacteristically fast. His body lost control and flailed uselessly as it tried to deal with the pain. Where were the damn Cruiser Jockeys?  Couldn
’
t they hear the screams? Didn
’
t they see his car? Or had
they park
ed
somewhere else?

Crunching sounds shot up from George
’
s body. He cried incoherently, something that sounded like
Mandy.
Then his grunting and moaning stopped and only the crunching noises came.

The rats kept biting Ted. Tiny piercing stabs, shredding his flesh. Quick. But not quick
ly
enough. How he envied George
’
s silence.

Through the blood-thirsty frenzy of putrid pelts on his face, he saw the giant rat above tear off into the woods…right before a pair of one inch yellow incisors sank into his eyeballs.

He felt hot fluid run down his cheek as his vision darkened. He was mad at how wrong they
’
d been this time. He had so many questions. But the pain was everything now.

It took a long time to die.

THE RUNNER AND THE BEAST

Paul couldn
’
t eat; he was too nervous. The potatoes and chicken on his plate were growing colder by the minute, and even though his stomach rumbled, he could not bring himself to touch the food. Instead, he looked out the window to the street, saw two men passing by in a horse-drawn cab. They held hands over their mouths, whispering cautiously, little clouds of warm breath pluming in the cold air.

Rising from the table, he moved to the fir
eplace and stoked the small flames
. Night was falling and the temperature would only continue to drop. When would the land warm up, he wondered. It was almost spring and yet the maple trees and juniper bushes were still brown and bare. He could not remember a winter so grim. His neighbor had died from pneumonia just la
s
t week, a sweet old woman who
’
d called him Sir; she
’
d shivered like a flag whipping in a tempest breeze as he sat by her bed
and prayed for her soul
’
s well
being. The image burned in his mind as he rubbed his hands in front of the flames.

Tensions
were
high tonight. While out walking earlier he had seen people bolting their doors. Through their windows, they could be seen armed with stolen rifles and muskets. Their whispers were uniform: the British boats had left the docks, the roadblocks w
ere increasing
, the troops were amassing. England was unhappy with the colonies.