“Sam…”
But he was already too close, pulling her in with those terrible lies, a beast spinning half-truths, luring children into a dark wood. And Nancy went because she simply couldn’t help herself and she was tired of fighting and she just wanted to sleep now.
Sam had her hands in his own, his fingers like icicles.
The rolling pin clattered uselessly to the floor.
Before she could do so much as protest, he yanked her left arm up and sank his teeth into her wrist. And he lied, for it hurt. It hurt bad. His teeth were sharp, his tongue so cold, the foaming slime from his mouth thick and burning. She felt it snake its way into her bloodstream, a malignancy taking her cell by cell.
Then the world exploded and exploded.
Sam jerked and jerked, stumbled away from her. He let out a high, piercing scream of utter rage and utter suffering and then his face blew apart. He pitched over, striking the floor face first, his bullet-ridden body twitching.
“Nancy?” she heard a voice say. “Nancy?”
Then blackness, sweet and welcoming as the confines of the womb.
16
Lou Frawley drove mindlessly through the streets of the dead city.
He had half a tank of gas, deciding morosely that he would continue driving until he either passed-out or the needle hit empty. Regardless, he was surely not going to stop.
They would not have him.
In the thirty-odd minutes he’d been driving, he’d come to the same realization that Ben and Nancy Eklind and company had come to: there was no way out. He’d run into the same barricades they had, seen the same horrors, knew that Cut River was a cage, a maze, and that the psychos out there were just waiting for him to fuck up so they could have him.
So he drove and thought about the life he’d once had and wished to God Steve had survived so he could at least have some human company. Because being alone was the very worst thing. Nothing in creation compared to the phobia of solitude.
Though Lou had never been a religious man—he thought most churches were the theological version of pawnshops—he sincerely believed now that men and women had souls. After seeing the things that had once been the people of Cut River he was convinced of this.
Because they had no souls.
They were animals, monsters, walking deadwood, but not human beings.
Not like him.
And he realized after seeing the lack of souls in Cut River how precious a commodity the soul was. And his was decaying. From terror. From solitude.
As he drove, he saw the good citizens of the town going about their wicked business. He saw white faces leering from behind parked cars, trees, and shrubs. Saw them lurking in shadowy doorways and cul-de-sacs. Saw them peering from darkened windows and storefronts. They watched him pass, but did not attack. Not yet.
He saw an old lady wearing nothing but a scarf and a blanket standing guard at a stop sign with a double-edged axe.
He saw a throng of vile children dragging the butchered body of an obese woman into a side yard.
He saw a young yuppie couple standing on the curb, hand in hand, their naked bodies painted up with what almost looked to be runic symbols.
He saw a naked teenage girl digging a hole in a lawn and pushing a body down into it, burying it for later… and then urinating on the spot as if marking it with her scent.
And he saw others crawling over sloping roofs like cats, leering down from the high branches of trees. Many of them were doing this, as if seeking some high perch like human raptors.
Yeah, the town was gone.
There was no point in fighting.
The battle—if there had been one at all, which Lou doubted—was waged and lost. The enemy had won. They seemed to be somewhat intelligent, many of them. At least, he thought, intelligent enough to erect barricades of automobiles at all the roads leading out. And if they were smart enough to remember how to drive, to position those cars and trucks, then they were smart enough to use advanced weapons and technologies. It stood to reason. Sure, maybe they’d just pushed the cars in place, but that meant they knew enough to manipulate the keys and put transmissions in neutral so the vehicles could be moved.
But for some reason, he thought they’d probably driven them in place.
And that was a scary thought. But if that was true, then why weren’t they hunting him down in cars and trucks?
Why weren’t they using guns?
There were plenty of guns in this part of the state. Prime hunting country, guns were everywhere. But these people didn’t use them. They carried knives and clubs and hatchets and cleavers and had even fashioned spears (he had seen this). Maybe they didn’t use these objects because at some base level they shunned civilization. Maybe this is why they ripped phones from walls, shattered TVs and computers, crushed cell phones underfoot. And as far as guns went, they were too impersonal; you couldn’t feel your victims writhing flesh, their warm blood, taste their fear. Guns were for civilized peoples; barbarians preferred something more personal.
But was he giving them too much credit?
He didn’t think so.
Because, if you studied them (and God knew he had had plenty of opportunity for that) you saw that they were organized. Loosely, perhaps, tribal units maybe, hunting clans and no more. Not yet. But they didn’t wage war on one another, they seemed to coexist peacefully, cooperatively. Only the normal ones were their prey.
Yes, right now they were formed into small bands perhaps, but what if this raged on unchecked for months or years? Would they group together under a central leader?
Lou had his doubts because such a thing smacked of culture, of enlightenment, and these creatures had degenerated to a primitive, feral level and seemed to like it there just fine.
He was wondering why they only watched him and didn’t attack.
He was thinking this very thing when two of them ran out into the street ahead, madly waving their arms. He slowed down to draw them in. Maybe he couldn’t kill them all, but he could tag a few. It was better than nothing.
He slowed to a crawl.
C’mon, you crazy bastards, come to daddy.
They jogged up closer and as they got within range of the headlights he saw that one of them carried a shotgun. His worst fear realized, he was about to jam down the accelerator when he noticed that their eyes did not shine. Everywhere he went in Cut River, the headlights picked out their eyes shining in the dark.
These two did not have eyes like that.
And the way they moved… Jesus Christ in Heaven, they were human!
Lou threw open his door as they came up closer. A woman and a man. The woman was small, thin, dressed in a rain poncho and carried a guitar case of all things. The guy was outfitted like the cover of Soldier of Fortune.
“You’re human,” was all Lou could say.
“Yes, yes,” the woman said, sounding close to tears.
The man pushed her towards the rear door of the cruiser. “We better get the fuck out of here,” he said. “The natives are getting restless.”
Lou looked and saw them slinking in the shadows like cats ready to pounce.
He got behind the wheel, thinking it was funny how your priorities changed. A week ago, nothing less than winning the lotto would have satisfied him… now he was simply happy that he wouldn’t have to die alone.
Life… and death… were funny.
17
Schoolcraft County Sheriff’s Department—Transcription
September 26—11:20-11:59 P.M.