Wormwood Dawn (Episode II) (7 page)

“Hi,” the man said.

Dan swallowed. “Are you alright?”

The man turned his eyes to the floor, grinning crookedly. “No,” he said loudly, but not yelling. “But I wasn’t… wasn’t really… alright before.” He looked back up. “What are you… doing… in my house?”

“We’re just out looking for supplies,” Dan said. He could hear Drew coming down the hallway.

“I don’t have nothing,” the man said, turning back to the window. “I… never… had nothing.”

Dan thought of the possible cocoon in the attic. “Do you live here by yourself?” he asked.

The man shook his head, still staring out the window. “Wife, too,” he mumbled. “She’s in the attic.”

“You know she’s infected, right?” Dan said.

The man nodded. “She’s my wife,” he said. “I… still love… her… or it.”

Dan swallowed. “When she comes down, she’s going to kill you.”

The man puked on the floor in front of the window. The smell of whiskey and bile filled the room. “She loves… me,” he said. “I’m waiting for her. We’ll go to Valhalla together.”

Valhalla?

“She’s my little shield maiden,” the man said.

Dan wasn’t sure what he meant, but didn’t care. He heard Drew sidle in behind him.

“If you want to stay here, I won’t stop you, but I can’t walk away and let that creature live.”

The man suddenly stood up, stumbling against the wall as he struggled to keep his balance. Drew cocked his shotgun. Dan did the same.

“Chill out, man,” Dan said. “It’s not her anymore.”

The man turned, stumbling toward them with crazy eyes. “
You can’t hurt her!”
he shouted. “
I love her!”

He charged forward screaming, his face twisted in rage. Dan shoved the shotgun parallel to his chest, blocking the man’s advance. They struggled, both of them twisting and shoving the shotgun in an effort to push the other back. Drew stepped to the side, leveling his shotgun at the man’s head.

“Back off, fucker!” he shouted. “Back off or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off!”

The man loosened his grip, jumping onto the bed and scrambling over the blankets to attack Drew. Dan bashed the man in the head with the butt of his shotgun, and stepped back in surprise as the man shrugged off the impact.

But Drew fired.

Blood and brains splattered back, coating the bed sheets and part of the wall. The man’s headless body slumped over the edge of the mattress, slowly sliding to the floor as the two men backed away.

“Fuck, man,” Dan said. “Crazy fucker.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Drew said, pulling Dan with him as he charged out of the room.

Then, a hissing jingle came from the attic above. They stopped at the end of the hallway, listening in terror as the sound echoed from above. Drew ran over to the edge of the puddle, aiming the shotgun upward. Dan joined him, judging the right angle to hit whatever was above.

“On three,” Drew said. “One… two…
three!”

They fired in unison. The ceiling exploded in a cloud of plaster, wood, and slime. The howl of agony that came through the opening chilled their spines, and they stood frozen as two slimy white tentacles snaked down through the hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Drew said. “I think we just pissed it off.”

“Fuck this,” Dan said, stepping forward and blasting the writhing appendages. They dropped to the floor, squirming and flailing. Dan pointed his shotgun upward into the hole, firing and pumping until his shotgun was empty. Drew stomped the tentacles to oblivion, splattering slime everywhere. He moved up to empty the rest of his shells into the opening, and the creature’s hissing became more frantic and agitated.

“Come on, man,” Dan said. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll meet it outside.”

They rushed out the door, fumbling in their pockets for shells to reload. They stopped in the center of the yard, waiting for whatever would come through the open door. From inside, a splattering thump shook the house, and growls and moans echoed out. The sounds were horrifying, sending Dan’s nerves into an uproar. Whatever the creature was, it was attempting to call to its husband.

“Lennn…. Lennnnnnghfgg!”

“What the fuck?” Drew said. “Lenny? Leonard?”

“Who gives a shit?” Dan said. “Kill the bitch.”

The door jamb exploded outward, revealing the creature’s wretched form. It was mostly white, hunched over and crippled, with glossy skin, black eyes, and a wide, gaping mouth that snapped shut like a steel trap. Its limbs were twisted and nearly useless, and it dragged itself forward on spindly, skeletal arms. Whatever it was becoming, it wasn’t quite finished.

They aimed and blasted it repeatedly. The slugs exploded into its hard skin, slinging black and green fluid around and pissing the thing off with every hit. It roared, its transparent fangs dripping with slime as it charged.

Drew dropped his empty shotgun, pulling out his Glock. He fired several rounds at the creature as it neared. Dan aimed, waiting for the perfect opening to blast the creature’s head. It turned to him, screaming and jingling as its snakelike tongue shot out. Dan dodged, rolling behind it and blasting it in the back of the head.

Drew fired several more shots, putting holes in the creature’s back. Finally, with one last shell to go, Dan stomped it to the ground, putting the barrel of his SPAS-12 against the creature’s skull, and fired.

Green slime and chunks of white bone and flesh splattered, and the thing collapsed. As the two men stepped away, the body convulsed and quivered. Dan ran to the truck, starting it up and pulling back.

“Where the fu—“ Drew cursed.

Dan punched it, bouncing over the rough ground toward the creature’s body. Drew jumped out of the way as Dan rolled over the body, slammed on the brakes, backed over it, and ran over it again.

“
Die, motherfucker!”
Dan shouted, his heart pumping with excitement.

Drew could only laugh as he watched. “Okay, man!” he said, holding up his hands. “I think it’s dead.”

Dan slammed on the brakes again, backing over the pulverized body one last time and stopping near the driveway. He laughed out loud, banging his fists on the steering wheel. Drew hopped in, his face beaming.

“I’m fuckin’ pumped, dude!” he said. “Let’s go kill some more shit.”

Dan put the truck back into drive and ran over the creature again, skidding into a turn back onto the street. He floored it, squealing the tires, and yipping like a hillbilly as they shot down the road.

With one last gas tank to fill, they pulled into the driveway of another decrepit house that was settled far back into the tree line. It was in slightly better condition than Lenny/Leonard’s house, and looked like it might have actually been nice at one time.

It was a stone cottage-type; with cracked sandstone wainscoting and mossy, dry-rotted panels layered on the top half. The roof was made of green shingles, and a single, sandstone chimney poked up on one side of the peak. Two of the front windows were shattered, and the paving stone walkway was slightly crumbled.

The driveway was rough; mostly cracked concrete with areas of crumbled slab and gravel where tall grass poked through. A single car, a Chevy Lumina, was parked near the house; black, and in much better condition than the house itself.

“Looks like a cop car,” Drew remarked. “Unmarked.”

Dan looked at the license plate. It was a standard civilian alphanumeric license. “Could be,” he said. “But he probably got it at an auction.”

“Do you know who lives here?” Drew asked, preparing the pump as he got out.

“Nope. I don’t know anybody on this end. I’m surprised I even know the people I do.”

Drew opened the gas cap on the Lumina, shoving the hose into it. “Mostly full, looks like,” he said.

“I’ll wait this time,” Dan said. “No more surprise fat psychos for me.”

They stood waiting as the pump did its thing. Dan looked around while Drew bobbed his head to imaginary music, staring at the house with a tight-lipped, humorless smile.

“A Band of Orcs,” Drew said.

“What?”

“There’s a band called A Band of Orcs.”

Dan nodded, smiling. “Yeah, they’re fuckin’ great,” he said. “What about them?”

“Nothing. Just making conversation.”

Dan shook his head, turning back to the house. After a few minutes, the pump began gurgling, telling them the gas tank was empty. Drew pulled out the hose, throwing the pump in the bed and screwing the cap back on their tank.

“Still about a third of a tank left to fill,” he said.

“Alright, let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

They approached the house with their shotguns poised. Drew had brought an incendiary grenade this time; procured from the Humvee. The smell of shit and garbage assaulted them suddenly, slamming into them like an invisible force field of decay. Drew made a gagging noise.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Doesn’t anyone clean up after themselves?”

“This is the country version of the ghetto,” Dan said. “It’s what I like to call
cousin territory.”

Drew laughed. “Cousin territory,” he repeated, grinning. “That’s stellar. Yee-fuckin-haw, y’all.”

Dan pumped his shotgun, stepping onto the porch to open the rickety screen door. Drew stood back, covering the entrance as Dan pulled it open. It creaked the first few inches, then fell off its hinges, smashing into the concrete just as Drew stepped aside.

“Yikes,” Drew said. “I hope the inside is a little better.” Dan shot him a skeptical look.

The heavy wooden door creaked, too, but opened inward without falling off. A wave of stench blew out, causing both of them to back away.

“Oh my fuckin’ god,” Dan said. “It’s like a septic tank in here.”

Waiting a few seconds for the stench to clear, they went inside. The house was an open concept, with the kitchen and living room together in one large area with doors off to the left leading to what they guessed were the bedrooms and bathroom. The entire house was in shambles; garbage, pieces of drywall, and patches of ugly, green carpet lay scattered about. The couch was torn and missing some stuffing, the TV was smashed and useless, and the bookshelves were knocked over; their contents stacked nearby, as if rarely ever put back.

On the coffee table sat a thick notebook that was open to a strangely-scribed page of possible diary entries. The handwriting was odd and purposeful; like a demented Nazi’s suicide note. Dan bent down to look closer. There were weird sketches depicting mechanical contraptions that looked like torture devices, and indecipherable text that was written randomly around them. The only decipherable word was
Excellent!
It was written next to something that looked like a weight bench with a blade instead of a barbell. Other notebooks were around it, presumably filled with the same shit.

“Okay,” Dan said. “This guy was a little fucked up.”

“Hey,” Drew called from one of the doors. “Look at this shit.”

Dan joined him by the door, looking inside the room. Like the living room, the bedroom was a mess. But the most hideous detail was the body that lay on the bed. It was sprawled out in a death pose; fat, bloated, and naked. The guy was filthy, pale, and covered in dried blood and puke. In one hand he held a large kitchen knife that he had apparently used to cut his own throat. The gaping wound just under his chin has been clean cut, with smooth edges. Roaches crawled in and out of it, scurrying happily around in their flesh buffet.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Dan said. “Couldn’t handle the Apocalypse, I guess.”

Drew turned away. “I’m not going in there.”

Dan pulled the door closed. “Me neither.”

He hit the bathroom. It was also filthy. The toilet was empty, and its bowl was crusted with rust and filth. The sink was filled with broken glass from the shattered medicine cabinet, and the tub was filled with dirty, cloudy water that smelled like decay.

Dan opened the broken medicine cabinet door. The tiny shelves were literally filled with old pill bottles; some useful, some not. There were pain killers, various ADHD medications, and some anti-depressants.

“Wow,” Dan whispered. “Fucked up, indeed.”

He scooped the pill bottles into his backpack, closing the door for some reason.

Drew was in the kitchen, looking through the cabinets. There were random items, mostly generic chili, canned vegetables, and boxes of rice. One cabinet, however, was completely filled with cans of pinto beans; perfectly lined up and organized.

“This guy liked beans,” Drew said. “Stellar. No wonder is smells like ass in here.”

As Dan opened the fridge—which was empty—he noticed another door beside it. It was a heavy wooden door with cracked and chipped green paint. There were three deadbolts on it, and a chain anchored across it with a padlock.

“What the fuck?” Dan said.

Drew came over to look. “Chamber of horrors, maybe?” he suggested.

Dan tugged on the lock. It was securely anchored. The clamps holding the chain in place were rusty, he noticed, and the wood around the frame looked old and splintered. Maybe he could shoot one of the clamps off.

It was worth a try.

He stepped back, pointing the shotgun at the weakest one. He and Drew both turned their heads, and Dan pulled the trigger. The chain fell from its left clamp, scraping against the door as it swung loose. Dan then turned all three deadbolts.

“Ready?” he asked. Drew stepped back, holding up his shotgun, and nodded.

Dan turned the handle, slowly pushing the door open. A rotting smell immediately wafted up from the dark, splintered stairway. But, to their relief, there was no boogeyman. Though the stairwell was dark and musty, they proceeded down, wary of the cracked and damp stone to their right. The left side of the staircase was open, with a few broken slats remaining from a once not-so-fabulous railing.

There was no light on in the cellar, but Dan could see a string hanging at the bottom of the stairs. He reached up to pull it as they landed on the last step and a dim bulb flicked on above. It was filthy, and gave off very little light through the layer of grime that coated it. All that was visible was a small, cruddy room of hastily stacked blocks. There were two doors; one, a homemade flapper-style slab of vertical slats painted gray, the other, a heavy steel door held shut with a large lever-style lock.

There was a double switch mounted on the blocks next to the steel door, its conduit running up to the ceiling and over to the breaker box. A rickety bookcase was next to it, empty but covered in filth and crusty rags.

The smell was unbelievable.

“Okay,” Dan said. “Door number one, or door number two?”

Drew walked over to the swinging door, pushing it open and peering into the darkness inside. “Nothing there, I don’t think,” he said. “There’s a little light from the dirty window. Looks like chemicals on the shelf; fertilizer, lime, paint thinner.”

Dan put his hand on the steel door. It was cold, as was expected, and was fairly secure. The lever wasn’t locked, and Dan grabbed it to swing it open. It resisted a little, but with a little more effort, it came loose and squeaked to the upright position.

“I don’t know if I want to go in there,” Drew said. “Not with those sketches upstairs.”

Dan shrugged. “C’mon, man,” he said, grinning. “Who does that? Really.”

As he pushed the door open, Drew said, “Probably this guy.”

A breeze came from the room, bringing with it the smell of decay, piss, and shit. Dan reached over to the switches, flicking them both up in the
on
position. Two fluorescent fixtures came to life, illuminating a macabre scene that froze them both in their tracks.

“Definitely this guy,” Dan said.

The room was littered with bodies in various states of decay. Some were strapped to tables; others were chained to the ceiling beams, hanging there from their wrists. They were mostly women, naked and battered, some with stab wounds and large lacerations across their abdomens. The men were castrated, most them also inflicted with stabs and cuts. Dried blood was everywhere, and there were pools of it in the lower spots on the concrete floor.

This guy was a fucking serial killer.

Dan turned around as a lump rose in his throat. Drew was standing with his hand clapped over his mouth and his eyes wide behind his thick glasses.

“Fuck,” Dan whispered, swallowing hard to chase away the vomit.

A low, gurgling moan came from the rear of the room. Dan raised his shotgun, stepping forward to seek out its source. Drew followed close, poking the barrel of his own shotgun ahead of Dan.

“One of them is still alive,” Dan said.

“Or mutated or something.”

“Hello,” Dan called out. “Are you okay?”

They heard the moaning again. It was coming from behind a canvas tarp that was stretched across an alcove. Dried rivers of blood came from underneath, running into a nearby drain in the floor.

“This must be where he killed his victims,” Dan said. “Hello?”

Dan reached out to pull back the makeshift curtain. Inside the alcove, a woman hung from her wrists, slumping down with her head lowered. She was pale and coated with filth, and her hair was matted and tangled. She trembled, presumably from the chill.

“Are you alright, lady?” Dan asked again.

He felt Drew’s hand on his shoulder, and stepped aside so Drew could look.

“I don’t think she’s okay,” Drew whispered.

The woman gurgled again, this time raising her head.

Her eyes were red and hollow.

“
Jesus!”
Dan shouted, backing away.

The woman lurched forward, growling and thrashing, pulling on the chains that bound her. Blood and vomit ran from her mouth, spilling down her naked body, and her rotting breath spewed out in a sickening cloud. Her tits flapped from side to side as she struggled to get free, smacking like wet pancakes against her cold flesh.

“Oh, she’s hot,” Drew said, raising his shotgun.

Dan stopped him with a hand to the shotgun’s barrel. “Wait,” he said. “Let’s just watch her for a minute. Maybe fuck with her.”

“Duuuude,” Drew said. “That’s fuckin’ sick. Let’s just put her out of her misery. We don’t have time for this shit.”

Dan turned. “You got a fucking date or something? I wanna see how these things work.”

Drew shook his head, backing away and wandering around the room. Dan turned back to the woman, staring into her strange eyes. They were smooth and featureless, like red rubber balls; just as Jake had described them in his post. There were no pupils, no irises, no sclera; nothing. Dan was repulsed and fascinated at the same time.

“Hey there, little lady,” Dan said.

The woman continued thrashing, pulling against her chains hard enough to rip the skin of her wrists.

“Calm down. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

“Dude,” Drew said from behind him. “Look at the wall behind her.”

There were photos taped to all three walls. They were photos of various young men and women around the area, caught on camera by an unseen photographer.

“Probably his victims,” Dan said, backing away and looking at Drew. For some reason, Drew was more shocked than he should be.

“What?” Dan said. “What’s your problem?”

“Halfway down,” Drew replied. “Right side.”

Dan looked. His heart skipped a beat when he saw what Drew was staring at.

There were photos of both of them. The sick fuck had been watching them.