None of the boys responded. Secretly, Leo harbored the same desires. He was positive that the rest of his friends did, as well. The farthest from home he’d ever been was six years ago, when he was ten. His mother had signed him and his brother up for a summer program, where inner-city kids went to live with a family out in the country for two weeks. Their adopted family, the Gracos, had been all right. Mr. Graco wrote comic books for a living, and his wife, Mara, was an insurance agent. They had two kids—Dane, who was Leo’s age, and Doug, who was about the age of Leo’s little brother. The Gracos lived in a big farm house with an even bigger yard, and lots of woods and fields around. It had scared Leo at first. He’d felt uncomfortable there, and although he had a good time that summer, he’d been grateful to return home. But sometimes, late at night, Leo would lie in bed and listen to the sounds of the city and think about that place so far out in the country and how quiet it had been. He wondered what it would be like to live there all the time, to not go through life scared, to not have to be constantly aware of his surroundings or worried about his loved ones. Of course, even people like the Graco family probably had things they were scared of. There were monsters everywhere. All you had to do was turn over their rocks, and you’d find them, hiding in the dark.
A few minutes later, Mr. Watkins emerged from his house. He had a plastic bag in one hand.
“Well?” Leo asked. “Did you call them again?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I called them alright.”
“What did they say?”
“They didn’t say anything. I couldn’t get through. All I got was a goddamned message telling me that all circuits were busy and I should try my call again later.”
“That’s fucked up,” Jamal said.
“Yes,” Mr. Watkins agreed, “it is.”
Leo turned away from them and faced the house at the end of the block. “Well, you all can do whatever you want. I’m going in.”
“We got to get some guns first,” Chris reminded him.
“Want to try Cheeto or Tawan? They can probably hook us up. Or maybe Terrell?”
“We’ll go see Terrell,” Leo said.
“You boys ain’t doing any such thing,” Mr. Watkins stepped down onto the sidewalk. The plastic bag rustled as he reached inside of it. Grinning, he pulled out his pistol. Then he handed the bag to Leo, who glanced inside and saw several flashlights.
“I’m going in there with you,” Mr. Watkins said, “and I’ll go first, because I’ve got the gun. The rest of you can carry the flashlights.”
“Well, shit,” Leo said, grinning, “why didn’t you say so?”
THIRTEEN
“Go,” Javier shouted. “Fucking run!”
Heather’s breath caught in her throat as Javier punched the nearest attacker in the jaw. He shook his hand, wincing in pain, as the creature crumpled to the floor. Javier leaped over the writhing beast and yelled, urging the girls to follow him. He lashed at another creature with the belt, trying to clear a path, and then dashed into the darkness. Heather ran, desperate to keep up with him. Javier seemed to have snapped. That cool self-assuredness that he’d displayed so far was gone. His actions now were frantic. Manic. He shouted again, this time in Spanish.
He’s afraid, she thought. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to abandon us down here. He wouldn’t dare. He loves me. He wouldn’t leave me behind. He wouldn’t leave Kerri, either.
Heather bit her lip. Despite the immediate danger looming on all sides, she couldn’t help wondering whether Javier had feelings for Kerri. They’d spent time alone together in the aftermath of Tyler and Stephanie’s death, while Heather was hiding. And when they’d all found each other again, Kerri and Javier seemed closer somehow. Was it her imagination, or had something happened?
Javier shouted a third time, but Heather couldn’t understand what he said. She couldn’t even tell whether it was English or Spanish. She could barely hear him over the enraged and excited chatter of their foes. The bizarre howls had been replaced with guttural growls and grunts. Most surprisingly, a few of them spoke. The things they said were somehow more terrifying than their appearance. They promised the teens a multitude of mutilation and torture and deviancy once they’d caught them.
Heather had no intention of letting that happen. She ran, not glancing over her shoulder to see if Kerri and Brett were following. It sounded like there was a struggle taking place behind her. She heard Brett screaming. Then his cries turned to one long, extended wail that was suddenly cut short. Heather plunged ahead, narrowly avoiding the grasping hands of one of the freaks.
Long, ragged nails scratched at her skin, slicing into her shoulder. She shrugged them away and kept running.
“Get them,” one of the cellar’s inhabitants screeched.
“Don’t let them get away.”
“They’re fast,” another called. “My legs aren’t as long as theirs.”
“You won’t have any fucking legs if you let them get away, ’cause we’ll eat those instead.”
An impossibly obese hulk loomed over her, wheezing with exertion. Heather dodged it easily, but not before glimpsing two pale, ponderous breasts swaying amidst mounds of sweaty, jiggling flesh. It was female—and naked. The woman reached for her with cold, clammy hands. Her skin had the consistency of wax. Heather shuddered in revulsion.
“Javier? Where are you?”
In response, something tittered in the darkness.
“Here,” he called, his voice distant. “Heather?”
Another mutant lunged for her as she followed Javier’s voice, realizing too late that she was fleeing right into the midst of their attackers. Heather was out of range of the kitchen lights now, but the thing was close enough that she could make out some of its features, even in the darkness. It had a face and snout like a baboon, and its short, squat body was mostly hairless. Its eyes were definitely human, and they smoldered with rage. She darted to the left, out of reach of her pursuer, and then dodged to the right again. Her heart pounded in her chest. She breathed through her mouth to avoid the stench roiling off the creatures.
She thought she heard the belt crack up ahead, followed by a cry of pain. Heather ran in that direction, determined not to get separated from Javier. The ground was uneven and sloped downward. Even in the darkness, she could feel the descent increasing drastically. She winced as what felt like sharp, jagged stones poked her bare feet, but she shoved past the pain, not daring to slow down.
The sounds slowly dimmed, then ceased, but she kept running. She had no way of knowing whether she was still being chased. This part of the basement—if she was even still in the basement—was pitch-black, and she didn’t want to risk stopping to pull out her cell phone. She heard no footsteps behind her, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t still there, lurking, waiting to attack. Without stopping, Heather instinctively glanced over her shoulder, forgetting that she probably wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway. As she did, her foot came down in something wet, and she slipped, bouncing off a wall. Her hands shot out to break her fall, and sharp rocks sliced into her palms. Sitting up, Heather gasped, but managed not to scream.
She crouched there, cradling her hands in her lap. She could feel her blood trickling down her palms but couldn’t tell how bad the cuts were. She wondered if her feet were lacerated as well. They hurt, but she didn’t know whether that was from the earlier wounds or brand-new ones. She didn’t know how badly she was injured. She didn’t know where her boyfriend or her friends were. She didn’t know where her pursuers were. All Heather knew was that she was suddenly alone in the darkness.