The Horribles Page 9

  The blade was small, like a toothpick compared to the thick rope around his legs.

  It’ll have to do. Evan raised the knife. Just when he was about to plunge it into the slick cord at his feet, the cord contracted again, lifting Evan into the air.

  He was headed toward the conveyor belt. Processing time. He screamed and drove the blade into flesh. Everything stopped. Evan quit advancing. The conveyor belt ceased. All the crab-things halted. The fleshy sack around the generator swelled up as if in agony. Evan didn’t wait to see what came next. He punched holes in the slimy flesh again and again. Tissue tore, black oil sputtered out and sprayed down onto the cement floor. Evan felt the rope slacken, his feet slipped out, and he crashed down onto the ground.

  The air whooshed out of his lungs on impact and he was left fighting for his next breath. He stood and ran toward the door without waiting for it to return.

  The pigs had come to life. Evan just snuck in between two of them before they stood up on their long, spindly legs, smoke pluming from their snouts.

  Evan ran faster than he ever had before. He slammed head first into the door with a loud bang. The impact rattled the teeth in his mouth. Everything was in pursuit now. He could feel it. Evan looked behind him at a panoramic view of terrible, terrible creatures. Mechanical pigs, crabs, living engines. Fangs and jagged steel scissored through the air. They were coming for him and there was nothing he could do.

  He reached above his head and pushed the red button next to the door. The drive kicked in and the door began to lift. He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

  t w e n t y - t h r e e

  “Please . . . please start for me, baby. Just one more time. Me and you . . . we need to take a little ride on the Midnight Highway,” Sheldon pleaded with the motorcycle, begged. He sat panting, slouched over and bleeding all over the gold-fleck paint job. “I only got one more try left in me. Let’s . . . get this show on the road.” He kicked down with everything he had. The motorcycle coughed and sounded a lot like Sheldon’s blood-soused hacking, wet and sickly, before roaring to life. He didn’t wait to see if it would die.

  I’m going to go as fast as I can toward the door. Either it’ll open, or I’ll hit it doing seventy miles per hour. If that happens, this little adventure is over.

  He punched it, gave it all he had and held on tight. It was about four hundred feet to the door, and halfway there Sheldon was relieved to see a growing light emerge from the bottom. Evan had done it. He didn’t know how, but the little sonofagun had done it. He zoomed through the opening with only about an inch to spare.

  He jerked the handlebars to the right. Tires screamed against the cement. Everywhere he looked his vision was filled with monstrosities, hitching and jerking their way toward him. He didn’t even flinch. Sheldon was headed toward the generator, the brains of the operation, and he’d ride up and over every last one of the motherfuckers to get there.

  Fifteen feet. This is for Mom and Dad. Ducking, barely missing tentacles snapping at his head.

  Ten feet. This is for Kyra and me and what might’ve been.

  Up and over a spider. The tires spun on all the slick gore, spraying a strip of blood and oil down his back.

  Five feet. This is for Evan. A thick pink arm of one of the pigs came at him, hit him on the stomach and jerked him off the bike. He skidded on the cement and then came to a stop.

  Too late. The bike hit its target dead-on and erupted in flames. The steel covering of the generator buckled in. The membrane around the generator popped and deflated, letting out a wet fart sound.

  An arc of electricity ran from the heaving machine into the ceiling, following the path of nerves running from its top, criss-crossing through the light fixtures, each one exploding into a fireball that rained down glass and sparks onto Sheldon’s limp body.

  The warehouse went dark and completely silent. All the abominations slumped over on themselves.

  t w e n t y - f o u r

  Evan opened his eyes when he felt the bike crash into the generator. He watched Sheldon tumble and skid to a stop; his limbs all tangled underneath. Everything driven by the generator stopped and fell over into piles. The lights exploded and he was plunged into absolute darkness.

  Auxiliary lighting kicked in. Maybe there was another generator. Evan wondered if it was a monster, too. The low, red glow of emergency lights gave him just enough visibility to make his way back toward the children. He needed to get them all out before this whole place went up in flames. Evan zig-zagged through all the still (dead?) monstrosities from the parade. With the low lighting, the creatures looked comical, almost like Jim Henson puppets. But he’d seen what was underneath these puppets, and it wasn’t anything you’d find even on the darkest corners of Sesame Street.

  When the generator was taken out by Sheldon, Evan assumed the children must’ve come out of their trance. They were all huddled together, sobbing softly, looks of complete bewilderment on their chubby faces. They’d worked themselves free of the rope. The ones that were up on the conveyor belt (so close!) had climbed down and joined their friends on the floor. Evan stood each one of them up slowly, but at the same time wanting to get them and himself out of the warehouse as quickly as possible. He made each one hold the hand of the kid in front of them. Then he took his place in the very front and faced the children.

  My eyes, he mouthed. Only look at my eyes. They fixed their attention on Evan and the entire lot slowly made their way outside. None of them even stole a glance toward the evil sprawled out on the warehouse floor.

  Evan walked them to where the dirt road met up with highway. He sat them all down on the shoulder—all of them still holding on to each other’s hands for dear life—and then approached one of the older kids. It was Sean Keating, of all people. Poetic justice, Sheldon would say. Sean was strong. He’d help with the other kids. But right now, Sean didn’t look anything but scared.

  Watch them. I need to go get Sheldon, he mouthed the words again and waved his hand toward the rest. At first, Sean shook his head no but, realizing he was the oldest and biggest, reluctantly said yes.

  Sheldon was unconscious. He was still breathing, but it was very shallow. His arm was bent the wrong way at the elbow. With the help of adrenaline and desperation, Evan was able to drag him to the entrance of the warehouse and out across the dirt driveway. The gravel couldn’t have felt good against Sheldon’s skin, but it was the only way he could move his friend.

  It was almost dawn. The sun was beginning its daily plight for dominance of the sky. There was a purple crescent framing the horizon. Beautiful. A brand new day. One where the parade no longer existed. Evan gently placed his friend in a patch of soft grass and was getting ready to head back out toward the road when something moved from inside the warehouse. One of the engines, closest to the door, heaved up and shook several times before crumpling to the ground.

  t w e n t y - f i v e

  This isn’t over yet. And it wouldn’t be. Not until there was nothing left of the parade. The generator, the bikes, the creatures, they all had to be destroyed.

  There was more movement from inside, and Evan could feel the vibration of engines turning over. What lights remained flickered from above. Then a deeper, more powerful rumble began.

  The generator (mother . . . master) was coming back to life. Evan ran, not away from the warehouse but toward it—into it. He knew what had to be done, and it was a very adult decision.

  Everything was alive again, but not completely. The pigs jerked and hitched as if stricken with convulsions. They tried to stand back up, but collapsed from the effort. Engines, the ones he’d watched emerge from inside those poor souls, were glowing red again and vibrating.

  Only a small flicker of flame remained beneath the wrecked motorcycle.

  This was a one shot deal. All or nothing. Without slowing, Evan reached down and scooped up the mutilated remains of the crab-thing Sheldon had driven over. Its fangs retracted once and then lay still. He dove at t
he thick, black hose running out from the generator and into the drums of fuel. Evan hacked away at the hose with his makeshift knife until it split entirely in two. Fuel sprayed from one severed end and began to pool at Evan’s feet.

  He breathed once, twice, dropped the crab-thing and then grabbed onto the hose. He lobbed it like a grenade toward the motorcycle, fuel drenching him from head to toe. Evan ran toward the door and the hose landed perfectly on top of the small flame. It ignited and the flames traced their way back toward the drums.

  When the warehouse exploded, Evan had made his way halfway down the road. The impact still lifted him off his feet. He came crashing down hard into the ditch, scratched and bruised, but alive.

  Even though he couldn’t hear, Evan swore he could feel the parade screaming in agony within the wild flames.

  t w e n t y - s i x

  When Sheldon opened his eyes, all the children were gathered around him. They were accompanied by his parents and Dr. Nemiah. His father looked so proud. His mother cried. Dr. Nemiah no longer looked at him like he was an unsolvable puzzle. She smiled. The children reached down and patted him, as if to say thank you. They looked terrible. Evan was covered in black from smoke and had a nasty gash on his forehead. The others were ghostly pale from the entire experience. But who was he to talk? He could only imagine what kind of shape he was in.

  A multitude of sirens wailed in the background. Finally, the cavalry decided to arrive.

  The sun had risen and peeked over the tree line above Sheldon. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Fat with vibrant colors and overwhelming. He could feel the warmth bathing his bruised and tattered skin. For a brief moment, the pain dissipated and all he felt was bliss. The intricacies of the outside world were so much more vivid when you were right in the middle of it. This wasn’t a spectator sport; you couldn’t experience it from inside your fortress. A person had to step through the threshold and fully embrace it.

  He closed his eyes and quickly drifted away. Inside his head, he watched a small boy get up from a kitchen floor, dust himself off, and walk out the door.

  His last thoughts were of tearing down walls and opening doors.

  Nathaniel Lambert is a research scientist banished to the lawless lands of North Dakota. He is the co-author of Sideshow PI: The Devil’s Garden, Sideshow PI: All Fall Down, and wrote the story for an UnChildren’s book titled It’s Okay to be a Zombie. He eats email for breakfast. Send him some kibble at: nathaniel@devilsfootlocker.com

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