halfway into the backseat of the Blazer.
Kelly didn’t see it.
Taylor did.
Then, Kelly looked at her crumpled husband and screamed bloody murder.
She grabbed at Brian, who grunted, yet otherwise remained silent. Kelly pulled her hands back and looked at them. They were covered in a crimson liquid. She looked at the seat where Brian lay and saw the pool of blood forming. Kelly began crying loudly as she stared in horror at the man she loved.
Brian began convulsing. His body shook, and white froth formed at his lips. Kelly screamed even more. “Oh my God! Oh, no. No no no no!”
Taylor sat dumbfounded, unable to help. Her eyes were wide as she stared at her brother-in-law.
Brian’s right arm had been ripped from his shoulder and the stump was leaking profusely, pouring all over his wife. Kelly, still grabbing hold of Brian, afraid to let go, kept screaming and screaming and screaming. The blood pumped from the pulpy stock where once Brian’s arm had been. Fibrous tissues and torn muscles hung from the gaping hole. Protruding outward were a few inches of jagged bone, slanted due to whatever pressure might have done such a thing.
“Oh my God,” screamed Kelly again. “No, Brian, no!”
Brian was losing consciousness. His eyes rolled back, and his face was as white as the snow outside. Blood dripped from the corner of his lip. He breathed heavily as Kelly held him. Brian reached his left hand to his other side, trying to grasp at his missing right arm. He kept looking down, not understanding the cold sensation he felt. It was like a pestering itch that he could not scratch. His head bobbed front to back like a newborn baby.
Brian began to cry.
Kelly was completely hysterical at this point, screaming so loudly that her voice penetrated the howling wind and seemed to ripple through the metal of the Blazer. Taylor could tell Brian was trying to whisper something, and she leaned over Kelly, listening. Brian kept reaching for his missing arm. Taylor grabbed his chin and faced him towards her. Kelly could only sit helplessly, still sobbing, holding her husband.
“Go,” he quietly told her.
“What about Mike? Brian, where’s Mike?” Taylor asked, trying to stay calm, but not succeeding. “Answer me! Where is your brother?”
“Just go!” he managed to say in a rough whisper. Finally, Brian’s head fell back and he passed out.
Taylor did not understand what was happening, but she did understand the severity of the situation. She needed to get Brian help. She tried not to think about her own husband as she jumped into the driver’s seat. Once again, she repeated, “Brian, where the hell is Mike?”
Brian awoke for a moment from his stupor and stared forward, looking past Taylor and into the night. His eyes were wide as he managed one last word, “GO!” Then, Brian lowered his head for the last time, his eyes closing.
Taylor had seen the fear in his eyes. She did not understand it, but this was not the time for her to question. She reached at the ignition and turned the key. “Please God, just let it start,” she whimpered softly. The engine clanked once, but to no avail. She cried. She panicked.
Again, she turned the key.
Nothing. And again. Nothing.
Kelly’s screams from the backseat drowned out the big engine’s attempts at life. “Baby. Oh no, baby! Where is your arm?” Kelly was completely hysterical as she violently shook Brian in a vain attempt to understand the madness. She could not fully realize that her husband was dead.
Taylor turned the key again and the Blazer sputtered twice, then caught. We have a chance. A little one, but we do have a chance.
Without thought, Taylor slammed it into low gear and mashed the accelerator for all that it was worth; the swollen tires spat ice and rock as the truck lurched forward. Taylor realized she could not see and fumbled with the windshield wipers as she pushed crazily forward. Behind her, Brian was still as his wife held him. Kelly was looking at him in her arms, absolute terror on her face. Where is your arm, baby? Where is your arm? Please don’t leave me!
The Blazer bolted down the mountain hill, gaining speed while it once again began to shudder and lurch. Taylor knew she did not have much time. She was lucky to even get the piece of junk started, but now it was only running on vapors. The Blazer grabbed up another short hill and as it reached the top, Taylor’s eyes widened as she saw them.
The Blazer’s engine coughed twice, then went silent.
Kelly violently vomited in the backseat.
Ahead of them was indeed a gas station, well-lit and open for business. The Blazer rolled towards it as Taylor sat transfixed in her seat, staring at them. The truck was rolling quickly and Taylor held the wheel, her knuckles white. She looked again at the gas station ahead of her. It was bright and three cars were at the pumps, four more in parking spaces. She felt a tingle of relief as she saw movement inside the building.
They were there, in the darkness, but Taylor felt they would make it to the gas station in time. They were in the distance, but the gas station was close. We’ll make it. Someone here can help. Her relief was short lived.
Terror hit Taylor. As they rolled into the parking lot, she realized things were not right. No, not right at all. Shattered glass littered the ground. The hood of one of the cars was mangled, windows shattered. The pumps, under the ominous flickering fluorescent lights, had been destroyed. Trashcans were turned over. She looked inside the store as she coasted the large truck to a halt. Slamming it in park, Taylor undid her seatbelt, but did not exit the vehicle. Inside the store, she saw more of them. If Taylor had been able to look back, in hindsight, she would have welcomed the shock. The shock protected her. Her mind was racing unevenly, dancing from one parallel universe of horror to another, yet the shock numbed it.
The boogeyman is real. Don’t believe me? Take a look outside . . . ha ha ho ho he he—take me to the funny farm—
As Taylor sat dumbfounded, it was Kelly who reacted. Still not aware that there was no help left for her husband, she understandably wanted to find aid. She rested Brian’s head back and climbed into the front seat, opened the passenger door and stepped from the truck.
Taylor reached for her. Her mouth was dry and the words were only in her head. No . . . don’t go . . . they are here! Her hand barely missed catching hold of Kelly’s sweater. Kelly, in her haste, left the door open as she sprinted towards the store. Taylor could only watch, unable to comprehend.
Kelly reached the door of the convenience store. The chingle changle of the bell rang as she rushed through the entrance. Immediately, she began shouting for help. “Somebody help! Call 911 . . . something . . . my husband needs help!” She was bawling hysterically. Kelly was in utter panic, completely without composure. She shouted and pleaded to the patrons for help.
It took a moment, but Kelly finally stopped yelling. She became silent.
Taylor watched from the Blazer, horrified, as the patrons inside stared back at her. She blasted the horn of the truck twice.
Kelly stood in the store, trembling as they looked upon her. Slowly, she stepped back. One step. Another.
Taylor twisted the key, attempting to start the Blazer again. How insane is this? Only twenty feet from a gas pump. Only twenty feet.
Kelly’s back bumped the front door of the service station. The bells jingled as the door opened. Instantly, they were upon her.
Taylor watched as they mutilated her sister-in-law’s body. They shred it to pieces. Then, they scrambled through the door, racing towards her. It took her a moment, but she realized the passenger door was still open. She reached for it.
One of them reached it first. It snarled and slashed at her. Screaming, Taylor opened the driver’s side door and leapt out, her feet hitting the cement hard. She sprinted.
Another scrambled inside the Blazer. They began devouring Brian’s dead body.
Taylor ran as fast as she could. She passed a stalled car; a half-eaten body slumped at the wheel. She then passed the pumps, jumped over a trashcan, and headed out of the parki
ng lot. Then, she saw Mike. Her beloved Mike. Her husband of four years. The love of her life, lying dead and mutilated next to the green dumpster.
She kept running. Taylor bounded across the slick street, running for her life. She ran toward the trees, toward the darkness.
Her feet shuffled and her heart pounded. Behind her, she heard them. Taylor gained some distance, but her breath was becoming short. She crashed into the tree line as the fierce howls bellowed from behind. The wind roared in her ears and the branches cut at her face.
Still, she ran.
Farther and farther into the woods she raced. She fell down, got back up and kept moving. On and on, Taylor made her way into the depths of the forest. Into the great Rocky Mountains. In the distance now, she could hear their chaos. She could hear their noises. Their grunts. Their howls.
Finally, Taylor stopped. She could not go on. She clung desperately to a nearby tree, holding herself up as she tried to catch her breath. The forest was dark around her. It was silent. She could no longer hear them.
My God. I made it. What do I do now?
Taylor panted. She wiped her sweaty brow.
I think . . . I think I lost them. What do I . . . what do I do?
Taylor began catching her breath.
What do I do—?
Then, a noise—a snarl.
Rotten and rancid—a smell.
Foul and wicked, THEY appeared from behind the shadows.
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