Chester wondered what might hatch out of those tainted eggs.
Or if he'd still be here when the sun pissed its yellow light down on the world again.
Little Mack crawled deeper under the trailer, his face pressed in the dry dirt. He was scared.
He could hear voices, only they weren't making words. Just wet sounds. And he sort of recognized his mom's voice. He wondered if she was one of them now.
Because he'd seen them fall out of the trailer, slide out of the door while he'd still been hiding in the bushes, just as the sun went down and he'd first started really getting lonely.
Jimmy, the mean one he'd seen lying naked on top of his mom that time, had walked like a drunk man across the yard and went into the Wellborns' trailer, and Mack had heard screaming and yelling inside, then the Wellborns were walking like drunks, too, Sue and Grady and their little girl Anita, as they scattered and stumbled into the woods.
Anita had lifted her dress one time and showed him her panties when he'd given her a nickel, and she said for a dime that she'd take her panties off. But Little Mack never had a whole dime, that was a lot of money. Now he didn't think he wanted to see under her dress even for free. Because her skin was slimy looking and her eyes glowed like Jimmy's. And Jimmy was so slimy looking when he came out of the Wellborns' trailer that he looked like he was dripping.
Mack held his breath as a familiar pair of boots appeared on the trailer step. Mack knew those boots inside and out. They had thick brown heels and smelled like old baseball gloves, and Mack had once hidden yucky oatmeal in them. Those were Daddy's boots.
Daddy was home and would make everything all right, just like that stupid pig cop had promised, only the stupid pig had let Old One-Eye kiss him on the lips, so he must be what Junior called a “queer.”
Daddy would beat up that ugly Jimmy and then they would all be happy and maybe Mom would slice up some wieners to put in the macaroni and cheese the way she sometimes did on special occasions. And maybe even Junior would come home, but this was Friday night, and Junior never came home on Friday nights.
At least Daddy was here, and maybe he'd even killed something and would be in a good mood. Sometimes he'd tack an old squirrel skin or raccoon fur to a board and give it to Mack, and Mack would rub it and sniff it and dream about playing out in the woods. Except now the woods scared him because it was full of the slimy people.
He crawled on his hands and knees to the front of the trailer and was about to call out when he saw that Daddy was drunk, too, only Daddy didn't drink, even though Papaw Mull did and Junior did and Mom did and One-Eye did and Jimmy did and everybody. But not Daddy. So why couldn't Daddy walk straight?
Then Mack saw that Daddy's jeans were damp, as if he'd peed in his pants. Except the wetness was slimy, like motor oil or syrup. Which meant…
Which meant that Mack better not make a sound.
Which meant if he was going to cry, he'd better let the tears slide soft down into the dust. He couldn’t break into a bawling fit. Junior said Mack was just an old bawl-baby, anyway. And maybe he was, but he was scared, scared enough to wet his pants, and it was dark and Daddy was slimy.
His mom came out of the trailer.
She stood in the yard and tried to call. "Muh… aaaaaaaahck."
She was naked in the moonlight and covered with milky snot. He bit his tongue and didn’t answer.
The alien pulsed, its glutinous sap coursing through its root system. Its spores were still spreading, but with the lack of solar radiation, its cellular activity had slowed. It took advantage of the rest to analyze the other symbols it had collected.
May-zee. Mush. Muh-aaack. Kish.
Jeesh-ush. Ahhm-feeel.
Chesh-urrr.
And those it had gathered before: shu-shaaa, maz-zuh, nig-urrr, peg-heee, eyezzz, chreez.
And the one its heart-brain kept returning to, the one which glowed deep in the furnace of its metabolism: tah-mah-raaa.
The symbol must have meaning. The alien had dissected many different kinds of patterns in its trip across the cosmos. Solving this one was only a matter of time. And it had forever.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tamara followed Chester into what she thought must be his kitchen. She saw only the outlines of things, lesser shadows in the blackness. An old wood cook stove lurked heavily in the corner. The bones of broken furniture protruded from heaps on the floor. She smelled the damp soot of the chimney, the sweet odor of liquor and decaying fabric, and the thick whang of rancid bacon grease. The cool March air seemed cloying in here, pressing against her like a second skin.
"This way, darling," Chester said to her. She bumped into his back as he stopped suddenly.
I can see into the future, but I can't see in the dark.
The random syllables skittered across her mind, as elusive as wet rats: shu-shaaa, maz-zah, muh-aack. The green glow radiating from the ridge was the visual equivalent of those sick psychic signals she was receiving, its dim pulse growing stronger in the forest beyond the door. As they’d driven past her Toyota on the way to Chester’s farm, the signals had been more intense, direct, personal.
"There's a tone,” Chester said, and she felt his leathery hand and cold plastic pressing against her arm. She took the phone and squinted at the old-fashioned rotary dial. She counted the holes with her fingers and rang her home number.
Robert answered before the first ring had died away. "Tam?" he said, breathless.
"Yes, sweetheart. It's me."
He sighed in either relief or anger. "Where the hell-I mean, I'm sorry, I've been worried sick-where are you, honey? Are you okay?"
She nodded, fighting the tears and laughter that wanted to mix themselves together. "Yeah, I'm fine. God, I miss you."
"I miss you, too. What's going on?"
"It's a long story. You know the Gloomies?"
"Um-"
"They're here. It's here."
"What?"
"And it's bigger than I thought. Are the kids safe?”
“Sure. They’re sleeping. Now what the hell-”
“Keep them inside, no matter what. I've got to go, honey. I just wanted to let you know I was okay. I'll be home soon."
I hope. God, to be back in my warm bed right now, my flannel nightgown on and Robert snoring, with no Gloomies dancing and no visions painting themselves inside my head. No shu-shaaa and peg-heee and all this other random madness. Just plain old ordinary problems.
"Don't go," Robert said.
"I have to. Take care of the kids."
"Tam, Ginger has it, too," he burst out before she could hang up.
"What?"
"Seeing things. You know. She said something about the people with green eyes. Honey, does that have anything to do with your Gloomies?"
"Yes. Oh, God, Robert. Don't let anything happen to them.”
"Tell me where you are."
"No. It's better this way. I love you," she said, and this time she couldn’t stop the tears.
Chester took the phone from her. "Your wife's in good hands, mister. Don't you worry none.”
Then Tamara heard Chester draw a sharp breath. The phone dropped to the floor. Wet, oozing hands clutched her shoulders. The Earth Mouth must have overwhelmed her senses, because she hadn't registered the creature sloughing up behind her. Now, at the contact, her mind sparked and she was connected, for a fleeting moment, with the thing that had once been called Junior Mull.
His scrambled synapses shot her a broken jumble of symbols, fishfuck moonshine taxismoke shu-shaaa cheshur cheshur cheshur chesssh She twisted to escape, but he- it — was only pushing her aside, as if she were standing in the way of its dead heart's desire. Its green eyes were locked onto Chester, glowing like radioactive gemstones in the coal mine of the room.