Terror Town (22 page)

17

Nicolas spun around, screaming, “LAY DOWN!”

William, still all fours and in no position to argue, did what he was told. He cursed himself for being too slow, knowing he should have jumped up quicker. He was bigger than the trigger-happy psycho, probably faster too. So why did he wait? Why did he hesitate? Was he that much of a chicken-shit? Is that what it boiled down to… was he was afraid of this asshole?

The asshole has a shotgun,
he reminded himself.
And the asshole likes to use it.

Nicolas spun his gun towards Beth.

Beth was standing still, a zombie. The smooth-talking lady that rolled her words like butter across toast had packed her bags and gone the way of the dinosaur. Like the family in the car, the social worker was gone-baby-gone. All that was left was a frightened girl in a woman’s body.

Nicolas said, “MOVE.”

Beth walked towards Nicolas’ car with tears in her eyes. She looked inside the trunk and felt sick. Pauline’s corpse might have been dead but the things living in it, on it, and around it, were not. They were very much alive.

Nicolas looked at Pauline’s corpse.

And pressed his teeth together. Hard.

He remembered standing at Pauline’s cage, standing––
with a bottle of formula in one hand and a bag of chocolate-chip cookies, of all things, in the other. The cookies were for her, a gift. Each of his babies were getting an entire bag of cookies––not the cheap kind, the expensive kind, with chocolaty chunks––so they’d know how much he cared for them, how much he loved them, how much he needed them. And Pauline, that ungrateful bitch, that selfish cunt, that evil
witch
––she looked up from her cage, crying like a child. She said, “This is hell. I’m living in hell and you’re the reason. I hate you.”

Ten minutes later she was dead.

“Pauline deserved it,” Nicolas whispered. “She deserved what she got.”

Beth didn’t hear his words. She said, “I can’t get in there,” speaking honestly, looking in the trunk. She wasn’t being difficult, only truthful. “I can’t lie next to that
thing
.”

“You can and you will.” Nicolas stepped away from Beth and pointed the gun at William’s neck. “And that’s not a thing. It’s Pauline Stupid-head. Now listen up a minute, ‘cause I’m going make things very easy for you. Are you listening? You still with me? Yes? Good. Now pay attention, Big Beth. This is important. If you don’t crawl into that fucking trunk I’m going to blow Dead Man’s head clean off his body. I’m not going to shoot him
in
the head. Oh no. Do you see where I’m pointing the barrels? Do you? Look at me, you fat fucking swine. LOOK! Can you guess where the shells are going to end up? Can you? Just in case your sense of projection is a bit rough around the edges, let me enlighten you. The shells are going to come out of the gun barrel at a speed of about eight hundred feet per second; expanding as they move, getting wider than the barrels they travel through. Did you know that they do that? They do. And they’re going to enter the back of his neck, see? And let me tell you… they’re going to make GREAT BIG HOLES on the way in. They’re going to make
really
big fucking holes. And then they’re going to come out on the other side of his neck, see? They’re going to come out even bigger. That’s where his throat is, by the way… lest you didn’t know. Follow me? They’re going to go in BIG and come out BIGGER! His throat, keep in mind, is really important. Without a throat breathing gets tougher than shit.”

“Okay,” Beth said.

“Oh no, it’s not okay. You just listen to me, Big Beth, because it’s
not
okay. Don’t say things are okay if you don’t really believe it. And you don’t, I can tell. But listen a minute: his head is going to pop off his body, see? It’s going to pop off and roll across the street. It’ll be like when you get together with your friends on New Years Eve, you know? Somebody has a problem and somebody doesn’t. Somebody kisses somebody and somebody cries. Somebody lost twenty pounds and looks great, while somebody else gained twenty and looks like a sack of donkey shit. Somebody sneaks into a bathroom room and gets a hand-job from a drunken slut that’s high on coke and wearing too much make-up, and somebody pulls out the champagne, sticks his thumbs beneath the cork, and pops it off. And the cork is a little too small for the bottle. Did you ever notice that? Huh? Did you? It’s kind of like gunpowder being a little too explosive for the shells, and the shells being too volatile for the shotgun. Right? Am I right? Of
course
I’m right. It’s the same thing, Beth. That’s what I’m trying to say, you fucking cow. It’s the same fucking thing. This asshole’s head is going to pop off of his body and it’s going to roll across the road like a cork from a bottle on New Years Eve. You see that van there, the one with the lights on and the carcasses inside it? That’s where the head is going. It’ll probably get stuck beneath the door or something.”

“There is no
William
here, Big Beth. Just
Dead Man
… Dead Man Walking. So get in the fucking trunk and get comfortable and have a nice time and I won’t make Dead Man’s head pop off his body and roll across the road like a champagne cork. Deal?”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever you want.”

“Well… get in then. Go on. Pauline is waiting. I haven’t got all day. What do I look like, an idiot? Get in the fucking trunk.”

Beth crawled into the trunk and forced herself into a laying position, facing away from Pauline’s black and green withered skin. She was about to say something about there not being enough room for two bodies when Nicolas slammed the trunk down, smashing it off her head and shoulder.

She was right. There wasn’t enough room and the lock didn’t catch. So Nicolas slammed the trunk twice more before he put all his weight into it. Finally the latch clicked and the trunk locked.

Beth was squished. She couldn’t move much of anything, just her hands and feet, and those appendages weren’t moving far. Worse than that, the smell was enough to make her stomach churn.

Suddenly Nicolas shouted: “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU! HERE I GO! ONE, TWO, THREE!” He pumped the chamber, fired into the trees and pumped the chamber again. He had a grin from ear to ear.

William flinched at the sound.

From inside the trunk, Beth screamed, “NOOOOOO!”

“That’s so funny,” Nicolas said, smiling comically. “Honestly. She probably thinks I shot you. Damn. She is going to be
so
surprised. But she’ll be surprised in a good way, don’t you think? In a good way.”

William couldn’t believe his ears. This guy was Loony-toons.

After shaking his head in disbelief, he swallowed back his anger and tried to make the most of the moment incorporating Beth’s strategy. He didn’t like being called ‘Dead Man Walking,’ and was hoping to change that.

“Well that’s great. Just great. Maybe you and I can be drinking buddies, is that it? Maybe we can go to picnics and barbeques and strip joints together. Eat some burgers and lick some pussy; sound good? Let me think about it, because I’ve got to be honest with you. We’ve had a rough beginning. I think people call that
getting off on the wrong foot
. Oh wait, that’s what you said, of course. But you know, here’s something… maybe you can gnaw on this one while I mind-hump your intelligence. I don’t
like
getting off on the wrong foot. I enjoy getting off on the
right
foot, you hear me? Are you feeling me brother? Are you? The
right
foot. You see––I’d like you to do me a favor. Can ya do that, you fucking asshole? Can you do me a solid, brother?”

If William didn’t know better he’d think an alien laid eggs in Nicolas’ brain. He considered saying something but didn’t want to chance it; the guy was crazy.

Finally Nicolas dropped the smile and raised the tone of his voice up a notch. “Can you drive me home? It would mean a lot to me. I live right around the corner and I don’t feel like driving. Do you ever get like that? I do. There’s a road called Stone Crescent. It’s nice. Its got lots of trees and a couple of cabins and there’s this one little spot where somebody puts firewood next to a sign that says FREE FIREWOOD and I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to drive me home.”

“Yes. Of course I do. That’s the place the driver sits. You’re the driver. Get in. Sit down. Put your feet up. Make yourself comfortable.”

William got in, sat down and… there was a squirrel torso on the dash.

Seeing it made Will’s stomach turn and his body break out in a new layer of sweat. Instinctively he turned away from the animal. Now he was looking at the minivan. The engine was still running. The headlights were lighting up the gravel. He could see the mess inside the vehicle a little, but thankfully, the interior lights weren’t on so he couldn’t see the explicit details.

From inside the trunk, Beth released a long scream.

This was bad, very, very bad. William needed to do something, but what?

Nicolas opened the passenger door and sat down. He had the loaded shotgun pointed at William’s head. He lowered it to body level, and said, “Lift your arms.”

William lifted both elbows, grabbing the steering wheel as he did so.

Nicolas pushed the double barrel against his ribcage.

“You might think you’re fast,” Nicolas said. “But you’re not
that
fast. I’m pulling the trigger right now, you know. It’s about eighty percent pulled. If you do anything at all the other twenty percent will pull itself. And I’m not sure if you noticed this but the barrels are actually behind you some. You won’t be able to push the gun forward is what I’m trying to say. Only push it back, towards the seat. In which case the double barrel will bounce off the fabric and I’ll pull the trigger and most of your spine will blast right out that fucking door. You might want to think about that. I know I would.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Don’t try any funny stuff. The keys are hanging from the ignition. This car’s an automatic so driving ought to be nice and easy for you. Start the car and turn this puppy around.”

William did what he was told: he got the car moving and within three minutes they were pulling off Stone Path Road and onto Stone Crescent. One minute later they were pulling up a long narrow driveway that weaved its way to a cabin. The cabin wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t Castle Frankenstein either. It was just a cabin, nothing special about it. A white van sat deep in the driveway; it looked about fifteen years old. There were a few tires leaning against the house, rusted cans stacked in a pile and a wooden shed with a lock on the door.

“Home sweet home,” Nicolas said, easing the shotgun from William’s ribcage the slightest amount.

William tried to smile but found he couldn’t do it. He was worried about Cameron, Beth, and himself. He wondered if he’d ever see his brother again, or home again.

The answer, unfortunately, was no.

His brother was dead. Soon he’d be dead too.

18

After Pat flicked the light switch on he put an arm over his eyes to keep the light from blinding him. The blinding sensation passed quickly, and when he moved his arm he instinctively looked towards the hole he had crawled through.

I need to block the hole. Is that my blood? Of course it’s my blood. Who else would be bleeding? Am I alone? Is the creature going to break through the hole? How messed-up are my hands? They hurt so much. My shoulder hurts too. Maybe the creature is bleeding; it got shot, didn’t it? How long will this light stay on? Why is there power down here? What the hell is that thing, a giant spider? If I find a sharp stick, maybe I can stab it. But what’ll happen if I do that? Will it try to get in here? I guess it doesn’t matter. It already wants in here. I can’t believe I dug my way through the wall! I can’t believe I tore my fingernail off. Is it going to grow back? Are my hands gross looking?

Pat looked at his hands.

Yes. Beneath the plaster and dirt his hands were gross looking. There were no broken bones, thank God, but his hands had never looked so bad. In several places his muscles were bunched up like discarded towels in a locker room, the area around his knuckles had bulged into oddly shaped knots, and the skin around his fingertips had become mangled to a point of vulgarity. There were also dozens of deep pricks that were swollen and bleeding non-stop. Only one finger was missing a nail, but with every finger covered in blood and coated with plaster it didn’t look different then the others.