The Horribles Page 8

  It seemed to work. The whir of tires on pavement grew loud and waned. Sheldon opened his eyes only after he couldn’t hear the car anymore.

  “Whew.” Sheldon leaned his head up against the grill and tried to catch his breath. It was still warm to the touch. The car engine clicked. He smelled gasoline and oil. As of late, two scents he wasn’t very fond of. He turned away in disgust. After this was all over, if he was still around, he’d be a permanent pedestrian.

  Kyra stood up and looked around to see if the coast was clear before walking toward the motorcycle. The roles seemed to be reversed. She was the strong and courageous one and Sheldon had a hard time not feeling weak and feeble. And for now, he seemed okay with the change of guard.

  It was hard not to watch her body in motion. Even though her top half was covered by the large T-shirt, he couldn’t help but lick his lips and swallow the lump down in his throat while her hips swayed gently back and forth. The darkness framed her body, making her smooth curves stand out against the night. She was confident, bold, and half naked. He could get used to seeing that. Maybe even fall in love with it.

  Now on the motorcycle, she turned and looked toward Sheldon, giving him a look of impatience as if to say “Well, what are you waiting for.”

  What are you waiting for, Mr. Delaney?

  He had never run so fast in his entire life and closed the gap between himself and Kyra in record time.

  She felt good behind him, like that was where she belonged. Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, cheek rubbing up against his back. He quickly stopped shivering. In fact, he was flooded with warmth from the inside out. He checked the mirrors, turned around, and tightened his daddy’s helmet on Kyra’s head before starting the motorcycle. It seemed to purr as he navigated the bike around the dirt road and headed back toward the highway.

  “On the road again,” he sang, whistling an appropriate tune. They continued on down the highway, picking up the pace. Kyra squeezed him harder, and Sheldon smiled. For the first time in years, it felt genuine.

  s i x t e e n

  Eventually, the tears dried up, the sobbing ceased, the terror waned. Evan watched the bustle of the parade as if he were a casual spectator, as if the warehouse and all its hellish occupants were on the other side of a looking glass and he was peering in.

  The warehouse was a stage. The riders and children were all playing a part. Evan was an actor, but at the same time, he was in the audience. He watched all the riders line up in front of the generator. They removed their helmets, the back of their heads thick with soft, feathery hair. Living electrical wires descended from the ceiling and snaked around the riders. Evan couldn’t see their faces. The crab-things scurried behind them and leapt onto their backs. Evan looked away, more out of reflex than anything else.

  There was a vibrating tension around the bottom of his legs. He looked down at his feet, which felt like they were on the other side of the looking glass, too. What he thought was rope turned out to be another extension of the generator. A bonemeal white cord with ropey blue veins running its length wrapped around both his ankles. It was knotted around all the children’s feet. Evan watched it constrict and relax, constrict and relax. Liquid flowed through the veins, up one side and down the other. He wanted to feel disgust, revulsion as the slimy cord slithered against his skin, but he was completely empty; emotionally drained.

  He looked back toward the generator. The crab-things scissored away at the leather. Clothing sloughed off and piled up on the cement floor. There was something resembling a human beneath. Pink skin stretched in patches over machine-polished steel. In between, purple muscle and white tendon clung to hydraulics and pistons. Evan could see through the ribcages, threaded with electrical wiring. An engine rumbled in the torso of each of them. They glowed red from within, and each engine was very much alive just like the generator. Just like everything inside the warehouse.

  Evan didn’t even look away as the crabs moved from leather to flesh and made ribbons of it.

  Spindly appendages burst from between the riders’ legs and balanced the engines while the crabs finished removing the flesh. One by one, the outer shells peeled away and fell to the floor.

  Evan got his first look at the faces of his kidnappers, what was normally hidden behind the helmets, or what was left of them, at least. And what stared back at him from the warehouse floor made the looking glass shatter.

  It was him behind the mirrored facemask, or a version of him. Children. A child’s face. Youthful innocence. It could’ve been any one of his classmates, neighbors, friends, staring back at him. And all at once the unbelievable made perfect sense. What had been shed on the cold cement floor of the warehouse was what was left of children from a town just like Poe’s Creek. This was a processing plant, and Evan, along with the rest of the children, were what was going to be processed.

  He dredged up one remaining scream from within. A loud and desperate scream echoing off the steel rafters above.

  s e v e n t e e n

  The tires and slick pavement sang a high pitched duet, accompanied by the screams of his father’s engine. Darkened farmland whizzed by on either side. The gap between yellow road lines merged. Sheldon sat behind the handlebars spellbound by speed and desire. The wind had grown teeth. As he buried the needle, it sank frosty fangs into his flesh. But he didn’t let up. He grimaced through it. Kyra squeezed tighter. He crouched down behind the windshield and wrenched down on the throttle.

  Careful. There were times when the tires skipped across the surface of the road. Sheldon felt like he was flying. The needle hovered at eighty-five, but he wanted more.

  Ninety. His eyes wept from the wind. Lips curled back in a permanent grin.

  Ninety-five. Fingers frozen to the throttle. The front end wobbled, hiccupped, and then smoothed out.

  One hundred. Everything around him roared. In the ditches, crickets sounded like a coach’s whistle at halftime. Air blasted past him with a jet engine rumble. He cauterized a hole in Mother Nature. Wind parted around the bike. The road opened up before them. Sheldon and Kyra stole through the night, leaving behind only a brief glimmer of taillight.

  Where was he headed? Did this road lead to the parade, to his ultimate demise, or was Sheldon going in the wrong direction altogether? He didn’t have the slightest clue, but it felt right. Deep down inside, he knew he was close. This was the right way. He was sure of it.

  But the infinite blackness of night gave no leads and told no secrets. The path the parade followed was washed away by rain and covered in darkness. There were no road signs or maps to where he was going. All Sheldon could do was follow the small bubble of amber bursting out from the headlight. One strip of road at a time. That was it.

  One strip of lonely road at a time.

  Kyra tugged on his shoulders and broke his trance. Sheldon looked to his side and saw her hand gesturing off to the left. There were lights in the distance. Windows. A large building in the middle of a field. He slowed down. He stopped at the entrance to a dirt road and exhaled.

  “This is it. I’m sure of it.” Sheldon turned to tell Kyra she didn’t have to come with him, that he would go alone, but the words never got out. Moist lips against his, hard pressed, stealing his breath. Kyra kissed Sheldon with fervor. Caught off guard, Sheldon just sat there and didn’t reciprocate the action. Then hormones and lust took over and he returned the favor. He tore the helmet from her head and let it drop. It hit the ground with a hollow thud. He ran his fingers through her silk hair, wrapped them around the back of her head, and kissed her as hard as he could.

  It was the greatest moment of his life. Her lips fit perfectly against his and he was concocting a plan to take her right there on the back of the bike. He was on fire. His skin burned like embers. He closed his eyes and blindly guided both hands all over her body. Beautiful. Smooth. Perfect. Then Kyra jerked away from him. It was too dark to make out her expression, but her outline heaved up and down. They were both out of breath. He mo
ved in to kiss her again, but she stopped him halfway.

  Kyra began to pant. She tore off the shirt and arched her back, driving her breasts up into the air. Sheldon grabbed for them, but never had a chance to touch her. A searing hot, jagged piece of steel burst from her abdomen and plunged into his side. The makeshift knife cut deep. Fat and blood sizzled on the hot metal. He could feel the pressure of his internal organs release and heard the air leak out. He also heard the engine turn over inside her and roar.

  She was one of them. How could he be so stupid? This was bad. He was so close to Evan, and now he’d die just outside.

  He cried in disbelief and shoved Kyra backwards. She tumbled off the back of the motorcycle, taking the knife along with her. The pain of the knife retracting almost sent him over the edge. His vision blurred and he was light-headed. The hole she’d left behind was serious. He put one hand over the gash and the other on the handlebars. He pedaled his feet on the ground and moved the idling bike forward.

  All too familiar noises came from where Kyra lay; the bone-crackling kind. Something was emerging from within her and Sheldon wasn’t going to stick around to find out what it was.

  This wasn’t the way things were supposed to end. He had convinced himself he would be the savior, and to not even get the chance to try infuriated him. He maneuvered the bike around half a circle and lined himself up with Kyra.

  The headlight revealed what had risen up from her spent carcass. He caught a glimpse of another monster from the parade. More black tentacles whipped through the air toward him. An engine burst out of flesh, balanced on steel legs, and began to lumber toward Sheldon.

  “Fuck all of this!” Sheldon hollered and hammered down on the throttle. The tires barked, spun against the loose dirt of the shoulder and then caught hold, almost throwing him completely off. He hit the engine dead-on. The tires spun on the slick gore and then jumped into the air. The jerk kicked his feet up and over the side of the bike. He held onto the handlebars while his legs dragged on the road below. The bike finally lost the battle with gravity and tumbled on top of him. More bruises, abrasions, and blood.

  He worked himself out from under the bike and fell to his knees. His body was riddled with scuffs and burns. Blood flowed unchecked from the stab wound. The jig was almost up. Sheldon was about to sign off. But when he saw what had happened to what used to be Kyra, it fueled him with just enough energy to stand up, and for the time being, carry on.

  A fuel line inside the creature had ignited. A blue flame sucked inwards and the engine exploded from within. The earth shook. A mushroom cloud of flames plumed upwards and then dissipated. What remained—skin, shards of bone and steel—rained back down to the ground.

  e i g h t e e n

  The cement floors of the warehouse vibrated. For just a brief moment Evan felt a rumble, and then it was gone. It reminded him of what the blast of a firework would feel like from a long distance away. He looked around to see if anyone—anything—had noticed it. No one—nothing—had. Of course they didn’t. Only he relied on so much more than just hearing something.

  What he had felt gave him a sliver of hope. Someone was coming.

  I can feel it.

  n i n e t e e n

  The motorcycle wouldn’t start. Either the spill had done too much damage or Sheldon didn’t have the energy to push down on the kickstart. He was forced to walk the bike down the dirt road. If it hadn’t been his father’s bike, he would’ve abandoned it. Each step was more painful and laborious than the last. Slumped over, one hand barely kept the bike upright, the other pressed against the wound. His nerves hollered in agony each time his foot hit the dirt. But that’s how he did it: one bloody step at a time.

  When he was close enough to the warehouse to make out a giant metal door, he set the bike down on its side. There was a screened in fluorescent bulb above the door providing enough light for Sheldon to see.

  He took the headset from around his neck and placed it over his ears. Safety first, boys and girls. He was inappropriately giddy, almost laughing before unleashing a series of blood-filled coughs.

  This is how people act right toward the end. The exact opposite you’d expect them to. They try to laugh it off, make fun. Stir things up a bit in an attempt to ward off Death for a while longer.

  He limped over to the door and felt around for a handle or a button. Nothing. It must open from within. He made his way over to a window to the right. As he walked, his hand slid along the length of the door. Below the window, he stumbled, panting, strings of saliva dangling from his dried, cracked lips.

  He muscled his way up to the sill and glanced into the warehouse.

  Just what he thought. A room full of bad, bad things. The nightmare kind. Living flesh fused with heavy machinery. But he didn’t have time to be afraid, because in that brief look inside, he had also seen Evan.

  Now, he just had to get the boy’s attention.

  t w e n t y

  Evan waited for something to happen. He didn’t care that the rope around his feet tightened, dragging children up onto a conveyor belt running behind him. He wasn’t concerned with any of the atrocities around him. All Evan cared about was finding the source of the boom. Soon, he’d be on the belt, and an engine would be placed inside of him. He’d become a permanent part of the parade. At least until his own parts wore out. But for now, Evan held on to the hope that it was Sheldon who’d caused the rumble and any minute he’d break down the doors and rescue them all.

  So when he saw Sheldon’s tired, grimacing face framed by the window, it took a moment to realize it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. It really was him and he was mouthing something to Evan. Something about a door.

  t w e n t y - o n e

  There wasn’t much time left, both on his end and Evan’s. The hole Kyra had opened up in him was bad; the lights out for good kinda bad. He felt a deep ache in his bowels. His own fluids were filling up the empty spaces inside. The pressure made it hard to breathe. All he could focus on was the pain.

  But there were still things to do.

  Shelve it, Sheldon. For the kids’ sake.

  “Just . . . a bit further, Momma. Then maybe we can do some catching up.” He had slid back down the aluminum siding of the warehouse. His hand was on the inside of his pajamas, cupped against the seeping blood. He grabbed the windowsill with his other hand and tried to stand up.

  He had to get Evan and the others out. Thinking became increasingly difficult. His body fought hard against anything but going limp right where he crouched. Then he heaved himself up with everything he had. His head lolled back and forth before clunking into the glass. He coughed. A speckle of blood splattered against the pane.

  Through a rose tint he could see Evan and the other children seated with their backs against a moving conveyor belt. Evan looked terrified and exhausted. His cheeks were covered with tear-smeared dirt, knees tucked into his chest. Some type of fleshy rope cinched around his and the other children’s ankles.

  It wouldn’t have helped the situation if Sheldon took his eyes off Evan and saw what else was in the warehouse.

  He would’ve probably given up right then if he had seen what had come out of all the riders. The things now jacked into the generator. All the engines vibrating, as if communicating, a surge of electricity running through each of them. Discarded exteriors of children piled up around the base of each engine.

  But he didn’t look around. He kept his eyes trained on Evan and his thoughts focused on how the hell he was going to get Evan to open the door.

  How am I going to get his attention without him hearing me scream his name?

  “Evan . . . the door . . . open the door. Evan . . . ” He exaggerated each word, opening his mouth wide and slowly closing it.

  “Evan . . . the door . . . open the door. Evan . . . ” Sheldon smacked a bloody palm against the window. Evan was looking all around for something. What? Maybe Sheldon. He could only pray. All the other children wore cherub smiles fixed on
their faces.

  The rope constricted and pulled taut. The first child was scooped into the air and placed on the conveyor belt. Spiders click-clicked toward the belt.

  “I NEED YOU TO OPEN THE DOOR!” Their eyes met. Evan blinked rapidly. He looked confused. Sheldon waved his hand and mouthed, “It’s me. It’s me.” The look of confusion dissipated and was replaced with what could only be hope. He nodded.

  Thank God for lip reading.

  “OOOHH-PENNN THE DOOR.” Sheldon pointed to his left toward the metal door. Evan nodded again. The boy’s eyes darted to the right and then back to Sheldon. This time it was Sheldon who was confused. Evan looked toward the right again, jabbing his chin in that direction. Sheldon smashed his cheek up against the window to get a good look.

  A generator. What used to be one, at least. Beneath all the membranous tissue and thick tendonous cords. He could see the olive drab paint job peeking out between the monstrous casing holding it. It was a big one, too. Big enough to power an entire parade.

  Evan wanted him to see the generator, because that’s what he needed to take out.

  They both nodded one last time, and then Sheldon stumbled back toward the motorcycle.

  God, let it start. Just this last time, let my Daddy’s ride turn over.

  t w e n t y - t w o

  Think fast. I gotta get this . . . tentacle off of me. Evan patted down his front pockets. He felt a familiar shape. Thank God it was still there. A boy should always have a knife. You never knew when you were going to need it. His heart fluttered and he smiled. Preoccupied, the bikers continued stripping the flesh from their metal interiors. Evan still removed the knife slowly, glancing around from left to right to make sure nothing saw him.