"I love you," she said, leaning her head against his. "Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me and my stubbornness."
"Maybe its because of your stubbornness. Maybe I like a woman who don't take no shit from nobody, not even this Rasalom guy and his bugs."
Sylvia jerked her head up, fluttered her eyelids, and put on her Southern Belle voice.
"Whah, Doctah Bulmuh! Ah don't believe Ah've evah heard you speak that way! Especially in front of a layday!"
"I only speak that way when I'm under a lady."
They kissed—simultaneously, spontaneously. Whether it was body language or the kind of telepathy that develops between soulmates, Alan didn't know. And didn't care. All he knew at that instant was that it was time for a kiss. And Sylvia knew it too. So they kissed. Simple.
"When was the last time we made love?" he heard her say as he nuzzled her neck and inhaled the scent of her.
"Too long."
They hadn't had a chance to sleep together let alone make love since last week when the attacks had begun.
"Another good reason to move in with Glaeken," she said. "An excellent reason."
They sat there for a while, Sylvia cradled on his lap, and held each other, listening to the bugs gnaw at the edges of the brass etagere. Alan realized again how much he loved this woman, how attuned he was to her, like no other person he had ever known. The thought of her coming to harm was unbearable. Tomorrow they'd move to Glaeken's and she'd be safe, as safe as anyone could be in this madness.
But first he had to see them through the night.
The Movie Channeclass="underline"
Joe Bob Briggs' Drive-in Movie—A Special All-Day Edition.
Flesh Feast (1970) Cine World Corp.
Twilight People (1972) New Worlds
Beyond Evil (1980) IFI- Scope HI
The Night God Screamed ((1973) Cinemation
From Hell It Came (1957) Allied Artists
The Unearthly (1957) Republic
Night Of The Dark Full Moon (1972) Cannon
Bug (1977) Paramount
Creatures of Evil (1970) Hemisphere
The Unknown Terror (1957) Twentieth Century Fox
The Day The World Ended (1956) AIP
Scream And Scream Again (1970) Amicus/AIP
It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963) United Artists
The scrape of metal on metal.
It snapped Alan to full alert. Without hesitating he wheeled out of the game room and rolled toward the foyer. That was where it had come from. It sounded as if the etagere had moved. Alan didn't see how that was possible, but he had his toothed billy out and ready in his lap, just in case.
As he turned into the living room he heard the buzz of wings.
They're in!
His heart pumped dread but he kept on rolling. Maybe there were only a few. Maybe—
Something flashed toward him. He snapped his head back and it blew by his cheek, jaws grinding furiously.
Chew wasp.
Alan's heart was pumping furiously now. He fumbled in his lap for the billy. By the time the bug had banked around for a return run, he had it ready. Visibility wasn't great in the candlelight so he didn't swing at it. He simply held the billy between his face and the bug and braced himself.
The chew wasp ran into the club mouth first. It glanced off to the right and shredded its wing on the club's teeth in passing. Alan left it flopping around on the rug and wheeled into the foyer. It wasn't going anywhere with one wing and he could administer the coup de grace later. Right now Alan wanted to kick that etagere back into place before any more of its friends got in.
He smelled them first—that rotten carrion odor. And as he rounded the corner from the living room into the foyer he saw two spearheads and another chew wasp wriggle free from behind the etagere and take flight. Either they didn't see him or they ignored him as they winged up the open curved stairway toward the darkness of the second floor.
Looking for Jeffy.
At top speed he rolled his chair over to the etagere. Not only had it been pushed away from the door, it had been moved with enough force to bend the nails onto their backs and now rested atop them.
Alan shook his head grimly. "How in the world…?"
Time enough later to ponder how the little monsters had done this. Right now he had to plug the hole.
With a quick glance over his shoulder at the stairs, Alan slid off the wheelchair to his knees as he had before and threw his weight against the etagere. A squeaky scrape echoed through the foyer as it slid back over the nails and settled again on the floor, flush against the door. Alan turned and leaned his back against it.
Okay. No more could get in, at least for the moment. Now he had to find a way to secure it here until morning. He glanced at his watch. 6:22. Morning was almost three hours away. Well, he could sit here all night, just like this; that would do it. Three hours on this marble floor wasn't forever; it would only seem that way. The problem with staying here was that he was a sitting duck for the bugs that had already got in. He knew there were at least three. There could be more.
He hefted the billy. At least he didn't have to concern himself with hunting them down. Sooner or later—most likely sooner—they'd come hunting him. He'd have to be—
The etagere bucked against his back.
Startled, Alan half turned and leaned hard against it with his shoulder. The piece slid back into place.
What the hell was that?
Uneasiness prickled Alan's scalp. That was no chew wasp pushing through its hole. There'd been power behind that thrust. Something big was out there. Bigger than—
Alan suddenly remembered the dents in the storm shutter out front, and that long depression in the yard. He had a feeling whatever had been responsible for them was back.
Christ!
He didn't know what it was using to push the etagere but Alan had been able to push it back, so maybe things weren't so bad as they seemed.
And then the etagere moved again, a good foot this time, sliding Alan along with it. He pushed back, his feet scraping along the marble floor, searching for purchase and finding little. And even if they had, he doubted he'd be able to do much.
If only I had two good legs! he thought, his heart pumping wildly as he brought all his upper body strength to bear on the etagere. I could beat this thing!
But what was this thing? How was it pushing the etagere?
As if in answer to his question, a smooth black tentacle, glistening in the candlelight, slid up from the other side and unerringly darted toward his face. Alan ducked and swung at it with his club.
And missed. The tentacle had dodged the blow, almost as if it could see. It came for him again immediately and wrapped around his wrist. Its touch was cold and damp, but not slippery; Alan yanked back in revulsion but couldn't pull free. His skin was stuck, as if the tentacle was coated with glue. It began drawing him toward the door.
Thoroughly frightened now, Alan quickly switched the club to his other hand and began pounding on the tentacle. The embedded teeth opened gashes that grew deeper and leaked foul-smelling black liquid with every blow. The traction eased, the grip loosened, and Alan was free again.
But only for a heartbeat. Another tentacle snaked in beside the damaged one and reached for him. Alan fell back, reached into his wheelchair pouch, and fumbled around until he found the ax. It wasn't a big ax—a hatchet, really, with a short handle and a wedged head, no more than three inches along the cutting edge. But it was sharp. Alan got a good grip and swung it at the new tentacle. The blade sank deep, severing it clean through about a foot behind the tip. The proximal end whipped back immediately, spraying the foyer with its ebony equivalent of blood, while the free tip wriggled about.