Terror Town (43 page)

Nicolas was right; she was finished.

And in the end, she didn’t feel a thing.

9

6:02 am. Nicolas made his way back home. Twice the crab things attacked him and twice he smashed them with his mallet.

He unlocked his shed.

The shack’s interior looked just like he knew it would: filled with homemade explosives. Technically the explosives were considered dynamite, although they didn’t look like the dynamite you might see on television. The dynamite still contained diatomaceous earth and sawdust soaked in nitroglycerin, and each piece had a blasting cap attached to a wire. But the dynamite was wrapped in a shoebox-sized square box, rather than a tube shaped cylinder. He liked them better that way.

Nicolas pulled his van beside the shed and loaded the boxes into it. Once the van was full, Nicolas was behind the wheel. He drove past Olive’s corpse and made for town. He dropped off his first box of explosives in the place he abducted Beth and William.

The bodies impaled upon the sticks were surprising, and he wondered if he had done it himself and forgotten about it. It was possible. Sometimes he forgot things, and last night was a big night for him. He killed people, and was still killing people. But still, impaling people on sticks seemed like the type of thing he would have remembered.

Nicolas shrugged.

He supposed that it didn’t matter one way or another. He was going to burn the town to the ground and nothing was going to stop him.

6:26 am. He noticed Leanne Wakefield, impaled in front of her home. And she wasn’t the only one. There were seventeen other men, women and children impaled in their yards, and Nicolas knew he wasn’t responsible; he didn’t have the time.

7:29 am. He placed explosives at St. Peter’s Catholic church.

7:36 am. He entered the residential area, and began hiding explosives every few houses. The streets were empty, save the fact there were more bodies impaled in the yards. The neighborhood looked like it had gone through a war. Windows were smashed and doors were kicked in. Some of the impaled were still alive. One man begged to be saved. A woman asked him to end her suffering. He saw a pregnant woman impaled with a child that couldn’t have been older than two. He saw a man impaled with his dog.

Nicolas smiled. He was living in one fucked up little town.

7:54 am. Nicolas entered the downtown core. Everything was quiet. Windows were smashed and blood was on the street. Several bodies and been tossed together in a pile. None of the stores were open and no cars were on the road, aside from one that had crashed into a telephone pole.

He placed packages at The Big Four O, the 7-11, Spooky’s Antique Palace, Miller’s Gas Station, Cloven Rock Secondary and the Post Office.

8:14 am. Nicolas entered the waterfront area. The carnage was everywhere, including the Police Station. He went there first, happy to see an officer impaled with an iron rod and left to die on the floor.

After he placed packages around the fallen officer, he visited the Yacht Club, the Waterfront Café, Tabby’s Goodies, Starbucks and McDonald’s.

8:29 am. Nicolas headed for home. He needed more explosives.

9:17 am. Once again, the van was filled with boxes. He sat behind the wheel and drove into town, wondering what the hell was going on.

∞∞Θ∞∞

∞Θ∞

~~~~ CHAPTER EIGHT: THE FOURTH BULLET

1

Daniel woke, still wearing yesterday’s clothing. He rubbed his fingers through his hair not knowing where he was. He didn’t recall the things that had happened. Not yet. Then, as the room came into focus, it came back to him. One by one, the memory of yesterday’s events began creating an image––a bad one.

He was inside Patrick’s cottage.

He remembered climbing the ladder. He remembered the giant room beneath his home. And Roger. Oh God, that thing ate Roger.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. His arms were sore. His neck was sore and bleeding. His legs were aching and he hadn’t even tried to stand yet. Standing was going to hurt. He knew it just by thinking about it. By the time he was up and walking about he figured his entire body would be writhing in agony. He renovated, climbed up and down the ladder more times than he could remember, battled monsters––it was no dream. Yesterday was a full day and his muscles were completely unprepared.

He thought about checking in on Patrick but he didn’t want to. Not yet. Not until he was awake. Patrick was doing all right, he told himself––but somehow he didn’t really believe it. Patrick needed a doctor, maybe more.

And maybe, just maybe… he was dead.

There was a part of him––the nicest part, most likely––that wanted to check in on Patrick as soon as he was able. He couldn’t though. He was getting a bad feeling about Patrick. He remembered Cameron (
I had a dream about Cameron, didn’t I? Yes, I’m sure I did…
) and the way she turned violent. What if Patrick turned violent? What then? Did he have the energy to fight? No, he most certainly did not have that type of energy. Not yet. Not now.

Daniel relieved himself in the bathroom. He washed his hands and face in the bathroom sink before stumbling into the kitchen. He looked in the cupboards and in the fridge for something worth eating, or drinking. He drank a glass of water, brewed a pot of coffee, and sat down, trying hard to keep his mind from reeling. Once the coffee was ready he poured himself a cup. Then he poured a second cup and made his way into Patrick’s room with a drink in each hand.

The door was half-open, just the way he left it. So far, so good.

He entered the room, wondering if he should have a weapon. But why was he thinking that? There was no reason to think he was in danger, was there?

Sure there is,
his mind suggested.
Remember Cameron? Remember what she did?

As he stepped inside the room he looked at Patrick and his hands began to shake. Coffee spilled over both cup rims. He clomped the cups onto the dresser and stared at his friend with a hand over his mouth and his eyes wide open.

2

Daniel approached Patrick slowly, eyeing him like he came from another planet. A moment passed. He turned away. Mind racing. Spotting his coffee, he lifted it from the dresser and quickly left the room. He marched down the hall, into the living room, and sat on the couch. A splash of coffee spilled onto the floor as he sat down. He didn’t notice. He wanted to phone someone but he didn’t have a phone. He wanted to talk things over but there was nobody to talk with. Patrick Love was inside a cocoon. And what, exactly, was he supposed to do about that?

He drank from the cup.

His eyes were playing tricks on him. That had to be the answer, right? Because it wasn’t Patrick inside the cocoon, it was one of those crab-things.

Yeah. Sure. That sounds good. It’s one those crab-things.

No.

It
wasn’t
one of those crab-things. It was Patrick. He could see Pat’s young and handsome face through the silk, turning dark, turning black. So where did that leave him? Should he pull Patrick out of the cocoon, or leave him inside it?

Would Pat die inside the cocoon?

Would he die if he were yanked from the webbing?

Daniel didn’t have the answers for such questions. He wasn’t a doctor. He wasn’t a scientist. He was a moneyman: insurance, mortgages, real estate––that was his game. Friends living inside a cocoon? Not his field.

He drank another sip, and another. After he finished his coffee he looked in on Patrick one more time.

Nothing had changed.

He needed to do something, anything––but what? He didn’t have a car. So where did that leave him? Walking. Was that really the answer? Was it time to lace up his shoes and make his way into town? It seemed like there was nothing else he could do, so yeah, walking into town. That was the answer.

Right?

Maybe.

God
, he thought.
What a mess.

A sound was heard; Daniel snapped his head towards the window.

A crab-critter was walking across the glass. He could see little hooks, needles and suction circles on the bottom of the creature’s feet. Its stalks were long and thin. Its mouths were opening and closing quickly, like they were hungry. The thing looked like an oversized inkblot on pelican legs. And seeing it forced Dan to re-evaluate his thinking.

Was stepping outside really the game plan?

His mind returned to Patrick inside the cocoon.

Sadly, he decided, it was. And on the heels of that thought he stood up, looked at the thing that was clinging to the window and decided to find a weapon. Locating a gun in Patrick’s cottage would be impossible. Patrick’s father was an anti-gun man; he believed all firearms should be outlawed.

So where did that leave Dan?

Ironically, the first weapon he thought about was the same one that Nicolas used to smash Olive’s face: a sledgehammer. Of course, there wouldn’t be anything like that inside the building––perhaps in the shed or under the deck, but not inside. And he didn’t want to go outside to look, not while he was unarmed, so what now?

Daniel entered the kitchen. He didn’t see anything worth grabbing. He opened a closet and discovered coats and jackets, sweaters and shoes. There was a broom, however, but the handle was very thin and brittle looking. There was also a small toolbox that he didn’t bother opening. He didn’t believe a hammer, a tape measure, or a screwdriver was going to cut it.

He returned to living room, looked at the fireplace, and found his answer attached to the wall beside it. The answer came in the form of a heavy, black iron poker. It had a nice handle on one end and a sharp hook on the other.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

After checking on Patrick one last time he made his way outside. The sun was shining; the air was almost still. He glanced at the raft floating in the lake and the small waves that crashed against it.

A crab-creature ran across the yard, heading straight for him. Another leapt off the roof and landed at his feet.

Without much thought, he kicked the closest critter, spun around and stabbed the other one with the poker. The poker pierced the creature easily, but creature was still alive. He stepped on it and moved away from the house, nervous that another attack might come from above.

He walked away from Patrick’s place cautiously, heading for his summer home.

William’s 1979 firebird was sitting in the driveway. His cottage windows were smashed and his side door was wide open. He spotted three more crab-critters, but none were attacking.

How many of the creatures are running free?
he thought.
And what harm have they caused? Have people been hurt? Have authorities been notified?

His mind shifted gears. Now he was thinking about Cameron, William and Beth:
they must be at the hospital
.

Another crab-thing moved towards him and he stomped it, creating a ball of mush beneath his shoe. Then he walked away from his house and headed down the driveway.

His eyes were stinging; the sun seemed very bright.

3

After hiding in the woods for hours, Beth returned to the road and approached Olive with a hand at her mouth and tears rolling down her face.

That son of a bitch
, she thought.
That fucking prick.

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

The word ‘tragedy’ didn’t even begin to describe the naked girl’s remains. She looked worse than anything Beth had ever seen or imagined. Olive had been abused for years, then pulverized. Her head looked like a smashed coconut covered in human gore.

And––

Lying beside the broken corpse was a Colt Python 357 magnum. It must have fallen from Nicolas’ pocket.

Beth lifted the weapon, checked to see if it was loaded, and smiled. Given the chance she would shoot the man, of this she had no doubt. He deserved death. If anyone in the entire world deserved death, it was Nicolas. And although she never thought she would kill a man, not in this lifetime, for him she’d make an exception. She wasn’t sure if she believed in God or not, but if there was a God, he would understand. He would forgive.

After wiping away her tears, she continued on.

A few crab-things scurried along the edge of the road, less than twenty feet away from her, but none of them attacked. But she kept an eye on them, and she kept the gun ready.

A few minutes later she was nearing Daniel’s place. When she arrived she was surprised to find Daniel on the driveway, walking towards her. His eyes were busy checking nearby trees. He looked nervous and upset.

Beth’s strong features became laced in heartbreak. Her eyes, which looked swollen and tired, glistened with tears. Her bottom lip quivered momentarily, and with a deep breath she put a hand to her mouth.