Mail Order Massacres. Hunter Shea
we know what those things are.”
“What’d you say?” Patrick asked. They were poised by the front door, peeking out of the bottom portion of the screen. So far, the street was clear.
“Nothing. Just thinking out loud. Now, the good news is, those things are probably all that way,” David said, pointing to their left. “And we’re going that way.” He pointed to their right. “Totally in the opposite direction.”
“There’s one word that scares me.”
“What’s that?”
“Probably. It’s been over three hours since we saw them outside the Kendall. They could be everywhere by now.”
David chewed on a thumbnail, or what was left of it. His old habit had come roaring back, and already most of his nails were down to the quick. “I don’t think they’re going anywhere for a while yet. There were a lot of people down there. You saw what that thing did to Jimmy and his dad. It didn’t even look up until it had eaten every last scrap. There’s too much to eat down there. At least for a while.”
He tried not to linger on the image of the monster tearing into his friend. Jimmy may have been a know-it-all smartass, but they’d hung around with each other since they were three. He was really going to miss his sarcasm.
David smiled, trying to bolster Patrick’s spirits. “Besides, we have these.” He hefted one of the weaponized baseball bats.
“I’ll do it, but only because I’m faster than you.”
David was about to ask what that could possibly mean when it dawned on him.
“Thanks for planning on leaving me to those things, bozak.”
“Don’t make me have to.” Now it was Patrick’s turn to smile, pained as it was.
They made sure the door didn’t make a sound when they left. Each one watched the other’s back as they hopped over the fence onto the sidewalk. David spotted Alan watching them from his living room window. He waved to him with the bat. Alan gave him a thumbs-up. He hoped Alan would decide to come with them, but he had Chris to keep an eye on and Chris couldn’t even watch The Twilight Zone without having nightmares. There was no way he was leaving the house.
He figured it would take them ten minutes to get to the little strip mall over on Tuckerville Road. That’s if they jogged most of the way. Running would be even better, but they had to be careful.
They agreed to stay close to one another, only speaking in whispers.
“Who knows, maybe we’ll run right into the police or army,” Patrick said.
“You still holding on to the whole army-to-the-rescue thing, aren’t you?”
“Isn’t that what they do? Save people from danger?”
David wasn’t sure where the nearest army base was, but he bet it wasn’t anywhere near Tuckerville, which was just outside of Manhattan. Not too much call for military installations in the suburbs.
They kept pace with one another, turning left at the end of Churchill and following Garvin Street for several long blocks. It was beyond weird, not seeing cars on the road or people out and about. They did see plenty of people looking out from their windows, but no one made a move to ask them what they were doing or offer any help.
“This town is full of chickenshits,” David said, huffing.
“Maybe someone came by and told them to lock their doors and stay inside.”
“Whatever.”
David did his best to burn the image of each person and house in his memory. If they survived this, he was going to make sure he never let them live their cowardice down.
They were just about to make the left onto Webley Street when a German shepherd came bounding out of a driveway. It was covered in black slime, with patches of fur missing, bloody flesh exposed. The boys stopped dead in their tracks.
“He looks pissed,” Patrick said out of the side of his mouth.
“And hurt. I don’t wanna have to kill a dog.”
“I don’t think he’s going to give us a choice.”
David choked up on the bat, one of the knives pressing into the meat of his hand.
The dog was barking so loud, so fiercely, foam and spittle flew everywhere. David was sure the whole world could hear.
“Keep it down, boy,” he ordered. The dog kept right on growling and barking.
In an instant, its wounded legs sprung. Its mouth was wide open, hungry to tear a chunk of flesh from them. David and Patrick raised their bats but couldn’t swing in time.
The German shepherd bowled into them like a missile, the flames of death burning in its cold, black eyes.
Chapter Twelve
Patrick landed hard on his back. The bat clattered into the gutter. His breath whooshed hot and hurriedly from his lungs.
Straining his head back, he watched upside down as the bloody German shepherd latched onto one of the creatures. It was loping hungrily toward them, downwind, so they hadn’t been able to smell it coming, much less hear it.
The oversized sea serpent thrashed and wailed, its cries sounding like a cross between a yowling cat and a trilling blue jay, completely at odds with its massive and deadly appearance. David was already on his feet and trying to lift Patrick up.
“Let’s go!” he barked.
Patrick found his bat and ran, glancing over his shoulder at the same moment the sea serpent tore the dog in half.
“Oh crap,” he huffed. “It’s still coming!”
The sea serpent dragged the halves of the dog, munching on the tail end as it ran. Now, this close, Patrick knew for sure that the things grew as they ate. The creature easily wolfed down the dog the way he’d cram a Pop-Tart into his mouth on mornings when he was late for school. When the thing was done eating, Patrick swore its head was bigger, the legs more muscular, propelling it even faster.
He looked at their bats, realizing with sinking dread that they may as well have been carrying wands for all the good they would do.
They were coming up to the turn onto Tuckerville Road. This was a main thoroughfare for the town. He couldn’t remember ever not seeing the streets chock-full of cars, even late at night.
Today’s traffic report called for empty streets with a commute that could be as quick as you could gun the engine of your car.
Patrick and David ran side by side, but they were slowing down. The day was taking its toll on them, and their legs felt heavy, their ribs aching from taking what seemed like endless streams of deep, worried breaths.
The sea serpent was only ten feet behind them. Patrick could hear and even feel its heavy footfalls through the soles of his sneakers. The wind shifted and the full vileness of its stench hammered them like a billy club.
“Get down, boys!”
The booming voice startled them.
An older man stood on his lawn holding a very imposing rifle. He fired once, the shot buzzing just over their heads. The boys dove to the ground, skinning their knees on the pebbled sidewalk.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Every shot was a direct hit in the sea serpent’s head. The assault stopped it in its tracks. It leaned on its thick tail, arms dangling at its sides, unable to fall completely on its back.
Grayish ichor leaked from the four wounds.
“Great shooting,” David said to the man.
He looked at them with wide, glassy eyes, his white hair puffed out like cotton balls on the sides of his head. “I…I did