Lot Lizards Page 14

  Wings. Ridged bat-like wings.

  The creature embraced the girl, lifted her to her breasts and leaned forward, opening her fanged mouth wide, her eyes never leaving Jon's...

  ...while Bill spoke to the crowd in the restaurant.

  "Our problem now," he said, having spoken for a few minutes already to a roomful of silent, staring faces, "is to keep them out of here. Now, I think I know how we can do that. They can't—" He stopped, almost said "we can't", but decided against it; he hadn't told them about himself and didn't think it would be a good idea. "—they can't tolerate garlic. We've gotten a lot of garlic from the basement, but we've used some of it already and we don't know if there will be enough left to do what we need to do."

  "A-and...what’s that?" a woman asked timidly.

  "We need to surround this place with it, especially all the doors and windows. To keep them out."

  A bellowing laugh rang out and Bill turned toward the trucker's coffee counter to see a hefty man with a bushy brown beard, head back, laughing toward the ceiling. "Vampires!" he shouted jovially. "We got vampires, huh? Well, you're in luck. I gotta truckload a garlic out in the lot. Maybe there's somebody here's gotta truckload a crosses, too!" he continued laughing.

  A scrawny fellow a few seats down spoke up: "No, no, don't laugh. It sounds right to me. I've been hearing stories."

  "What stories?" the bearded man barked.

  "From friends. Other truckers. About lot lizards who... bit 'em. Just like this guy says. And they stole shit from the truck. I always figured there was something weird about it, but..."

  "Ha." The bearded man shook his head. "It's a fuckin' fairy tale's, what it is. Those girls just bit 'em because they was enjoyin' gettin' their brains fucked out, is what that was. And you can't tell me—" The trucker stopped mid-sentence when Byron rushed him, grabbed his head and pulled his head back, touching the barrel of the gun to his throat.

  "You shittin' us about hauling garlic?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "You gotta load of garlic outside?"

  The man nodded as much as he could.

  Byron turned to Bill and said, 'This is our man..."

  ...as Jon's eyes began to tear up. He whispered, "Please don't hurt her. She's just a little girl. Please—"

  "She's exactly what I want," the creature said, her mouth inches from the girl's throat. "And this is exactly what your father will have to do to keep from dying. Because he's one of us." Her head shot forward and her fangs punched into the pale little girl's flesh.

  Jon swallowed several times to keep from throwing up and closed his eyes, but he had to watch; he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

  Blood oozed from under the creature's mouth and dribbled over the girl's neck; the girl didn't move, just stared blankly upward, mouth open, chest hitching. The creature's entire body moved fluidly as her mouth sucked. Her hands wriggled over the girl's body, stroking her face and hair and arms and—

  —the creature froze. Stiffened. She lifted her head slowly, mouth open and dripping the girl's blood. Her eyes rolled lazily and her hands closed into fists as she sat up suddenly, holding the girl tightly in her arms. Her eyes were wide, mouth gaping, and then—

  —she screamed. Her wings lifted and spread with a great rush of wind. Her scream cut through the air like a dull razor, growing louder and louder as she rose jerkily, her body writhing, and she turned, arms rising above her head as her scream became even louder and more piercing and—

  —the little girl began to scream, too, her voice mixing with the awful squall as the creature turned and—

  —dove toward the back of the trailer, scream rising, and slammed through the closed doors, wings spreading even further once she was outside and airborne. Her scream faded into the night as her wings carried her away with great leathery flapping sounds.

  The two young women in the trailer pressed their backs to the wall, one standing straight, the other hunkered in a squat. They stared at the open doors with fearful eyes, trembling, the blond wringing her hands as she stood, the girl in the ski cap not moving at all. They seemed not to notice Jon at all.

  Jon stood slowly, staring at the two women one more time. They were still staring at the open doors. He turned and headed quickly out of the trailer, running into the darkness.

  An instant later, the two girls exchanged a confused glance, the blonde hissed, "Shit!" and they both jumped out of the trailer after the boy...

  CHAPTER 16

  At the very moment Jon dashed from the open trailer, Kevin's battered white Dodge pick-up was creeping farther and farther away from the truck stop, its headlights only barely cutting through the heavy snowfall; the chains on the pick-up's tires rattled and crunched over the deep snow on the road that had not yet been reached by the overworked plows.

  Amy was pressed against him, one hand stroking his thigh—up and down, up and down, her fingers moving closer to the bulge in his crotch each time—and the other toying with his earlobe as she whispered promises to him, telling him of the things they could do together, the places they could go and all the things he could have now that she was with him.

  Kevin had panicked when they were caught fooling around in the basement. He was sure he'd lose his job and probably have a hard time finding another one; Yreka was a small town and word traveled fast. But Amy had calmed his fears quickly.

  "You don't need a job anymore," she'd said. "You have me. We're gonna take care of each other."

  Although he had no reason to, somehow Kevin believed her. Her voice comforted him and he found himself wanting to stare into her eyes; her very presence made him feel better.

  They were going back to his house so he could pick up some things to take with him. Then, as soon as the freeways cleared up, they were going...wherever. As he enjoyed the touch of her hands, he thought of all the places they might go, the things they might do, when—

  —Amy stiffened beside him, her fingers dug into his thigh and she made a strangled sound in her throat.

  "Whatsamatter?" Kevin asked.

  She closed her eyes and clutched her head between her hands, hissing.

  "Amy? What's wrong?" He pulled the pick-up over to the side of the road, slowing to a stop.

  "Nuh-no," she barked. "Kuh-keep going!"

  "But what's—"

  "Just keep guh-going! Some-something wrong...with her...something huh-happening..."

  "Something's wrong with who?"

  Amy slammed her head against the dashboard and screamed, "Just get me away from her noowww!" as...

  ...Bill said to the patrons in the restaurant, "Okay, nobody has to panic, because we're ahead of these things! We've got the upper hand!" But they were starting to panic. Truckers at the coffee counter were starting to talk loudly, exchanging stories they'd heard from other truckers from around the country who'd had strange experiences with the lot lizards; families and couples were starting to rise from their tables to leave, moving quickly. "No, no!" Bill shouted. "You can't leave! We can't go outside!" Bill turned to Byron for help, but he was at the counter talking quietly with the trucker who had the load of garlic.

  Byron turned to Bill suddenly and said, "Okay, c'mon, we gotta go out and get that stuff."

  Bill held up a hand and started to speak again, hoping to impress upon the crowd that it was important not to leave the building, to stay inside, but he heard something. Everyone else heard it, too, and became silent, listening.

  It was a scream. A horrible, piercing scream that was growing closer and closer, until—

  —the silence was broken when an enormously obese woman stood at her table, knocking her chair over, and pointed at the window, screaming. Every head turned toward the window and more screams rose from the crowd.

  At first, Bill thought it was a large bird, but that thought was so silly he nearly laughed out loud, realizing he should know better, and he dropped to his knees screaming, "Everybody get down!"

  There was a clatter of plates and chairs as the crow
d sought cover and the scream became louder and louder until an explosion of glass made it unbearable. With his arms over his head, Bill looked up.

  The creature's mouth was yawning open, its eyes were bulging and it held a bundle in her arms. The bundle was screaming, too. It was a child...a little girl.

  Screams rang out from the crowd and glass continued to shatter as the creature slammed into the lights hanging from the ceiling; shards of broken bulbs fell like rain.

  And the creature continued to scream, flying in circles, broad wings creating a wind that smelled of rotting meat as the little girl in its arms cried like an infant.

  "My baby!" a voice rang out.

  Bill looked in the direction of the cry and saw the waitress who had stopped him and Byron on their way to the basement, her arms outstretched toward the creature, eyes wide with panic.

  "My babyyy! Dear God, that's my little giirrll!" Ignoring the danger, the waitress dashed forward as the creature's wings faltered and it dipped toward the floor, still screeching hideously. "Shaww-na! Shaww-na!" she cried hoarsely.

  Byron dove from his hunched position on the floor and wrapped his arms around the waitress's legs, knocking her down and holding her, covering her with his body as she fought to get up again. "Shawna! My baby! Please don't hurt my baby!" the waitress cried, as...

  … Jon ran through the snowy night, the running footsteps behind him gaining rapidly. He tried to run faster, but the experience in the trailer had drained him, exhausted him, and he'd already pushed himself too far. His lungs were burning and his abdomen ached with the biting stitches of overexertion. He'd already started stumbling when he was tackled from behind; the second he hit the icy pavement with two arms wrapped around his knees, two more slammed against his back and held him down. He was gasping for air, but the two girls didn't take a single breath.

  "Okay," one of them said, "whatta we do with him?"

  "Don't know. Just...just, um...oh, shit, I'm not feelin'—"

  "Yeah, me neither. What's...what the hell's happening?"

  "I don't...know. She's...there must be...something wrong with...her."

  The two girls began to groan and hiss. The hands lifted from Jon's back and his legs were freed. So exhausted that he couldn't continue running, he looked over his shoulder at them.

  They were both on their knees holding their heads between their hands, their lips curled back to reveal their fangs. Their bodies convulsed as they pulled at their hair. The ski cap fell from one girl's head while the blonde clawed her own face with her nails, as...

  ...the creature swooped suddenly and clumsily, oblivious to the pleas of the child's mother. It slammed into a table that had been vacated only seconds before, knocking the table over and scattering its plates and glasses and utensils over the floor. The massive leathery wings lost their rhythm and, although the creature made a desperate attempt to stay in the air, it dropped the child to the floor and collapsed on the truckers' coffee counter, sliding a few feet, knocking aside napkin dispensers and coffee mugs and containers of sugar and cream. The wings continued to make feeble attempts at flight as the creature lay on its stomach kicking its legs and flailing its arms. It craned its head back, opened its muzzle-like mouth, exposing its glistening fangs and black, quivering tongue, and its eyes bulged as it released a long gurgling scream.

  Byron was on his knees in an instant, holding his .38 between both hands as he shouted to be heard above the screams of the panicking crowd, "Everybody down, dammit!" Then he emptied the gun into the creature as it writhed on the counter.

  When the gunshots stopped, the crowd became still and every eye watched the motionless creature. Slowly, it turned its trembling head to Byron, bared its fangs and made a painful snarling sound, merely angered by the bullets.

  Several women screamed, including Jenny Lake who scurried over the floor toward her daughter, sobbing as she huddled protectively over the still little girl.

  Byron got to his feet and staggered backward as he fumbled with the box of bullets in his jacket pocket, gawking in horror at the creature as it struggled off the counter, fell over the stools to the floor and began to crawl toward him.

  The screaming grew louder; grown men cried out like little boys and children huddled under tables, their feet crunching over broken glass on the floor.

  "Son of a bitch!" Byron shouted, spilling bullets from the small box. "Oohh momma sonofabitch!"

  Bill stood as Byron neared him and watched the thing on the floor. Something was happening. In the harsh glow of the auxiliary lights, the creature was changing.

  Byron dropped the box of bullets and it split open, sending its contents rolling over the carpet. "Shit, oh shit!" he shouted, backing into Bill, who clutched his arm and hissed, "Look!"

  The creature's entire body was quivering like gelatin as it pulled itself over the floor, gagging and spitting as it dragged its wilted wings behind it. Its claws tore into the carpet and its fangs clacked together as it snapped at Byron. Beneath a sheen of fine greyish hair, the creature's pale skin was darkening and shriveling like the skin of a raisin; it seemed to thicken as it curled and wrinkled into a callous-like coating over the boney body and the creature's face became skull-like, resembling the head of a long-dead dog, its bulging eyes sinking rapidly into deepening sockets, its cheeks becoming caverns that flanked a thinning muzzle of fangs that yellowed and began to fall out, first one at a time, then several at a time, until the thin, black lips were pulling back over pathetic, shriveled gums. Sores blossomed like flowers over the creature's body and dribbled viscous fluids to the floor. The sounds it made became thinner and scratchier as it reached a trembling stick-like arm toward Byron, who took a few more steps backward and then—

  —the creature's tortured eyes moved from Byron to Bill. It froze for a moment, its arm outstretched, fingers splayed; then it closed a fist, moving its arm slowly and pointing a long, knife-like index finger at Bill. It remained that way for a long moment as its body continued to decay, its wings curling into long strips of burnt paper, the hair falling away to form a grey pool around its body; the creature's lips moved around its smile as if it were about to speak, then, weakening, it settled for a simple quiet laugh as its eyes melted from their sockets and dribbled down the creature's cheeks like milky tears and its smile disappeared as its jaw dropped to the floor, leaving behind half a face. In spite of the crowd's loud panic, Bill heard the soft, wet crunch of the creature's neck severing as its head dropped away from its shoulders, hit the floor and rolled for a few inches, stopping near Bill's feet, its empty sockets staring blindly at him. Its arms snapped at the joints and the shriveling, glistening body began to collapse like a deflating balloon, releasing vile odors that made a few people retch. Its blackened skin became flakes that left behind bones which quickly crumbled like chalk into countless small dry pieces which crumbled further until nothing was left but dust in a puddle of bodily fluids surrounded by grey hairs that blew in the icy wind that came in through the broken window.

  The room fell silent except for a few sobs and the sounds of sickness. Then the crowd began to talk among themselves, their voices rising slowly, the panic of a few moments before replaced now with confusion and fear.

  "What the hell happened?" Bill whispered.

  "I don't give a damn," Byron gasped, trying to catch his breath. "I'm just glad it did, is all."

  "Oh God, somebody help my baby!" Jenny Lake cried, kneeling beside her daughter. "She's bleeding! She's been hurt! Oh God, I think she's been—"

  Jenny was interrupted mid-sentence by a sound from outside. It began faintly, then grew louder as it became more identifiable: a high-pitched shriek. All eyes turned from the heap of moist, blackened ashes to the broken window through which gusts of snow still blew. The shriek was joined by another, and another, until the night was singing with a chorus of bone-chilling, not-quite-human screams. And among them, so faint that it was almost buried, was a voice that made Bill's heart skip a beat; it was crying, "Da
aaad! Daaaad!"

  A.J. hurried into the restaurant, her voice weak as she stammered, "Bill? Was thuh-that him? Wuh-was that our Juh-Jonny?"

  Bill turned to Byron and snapped, "Bring some garlic," as he headed past A.J. and out of the restaurant.

  Byron vaulted over the coffee counter to one of the remaining crates of garlic, put down his gun for a moment and began stuffing fistfuls of it into his pockets. He stuffed his gun under his belt, picked up the crate and said to the trucker who'd said he was hauling garlic, "Grab one of these and follow me." Then, to the crowd: "We're gonna need all the help we can get! Anybody interested in all of us staying alive, come out and give a hand." Then he followed Bill at a jog, as...

  .. Jon crawled frantically over the snow, trying to get away from the two girls who were now wailing like a couple of tortured animals, dragging their nails over their own skin and opening bloodless cuts in their faces. One of them, the blonde, looked at Jon with eyes stretched open so wide he was surprised her eyeballs didn't pop from their sockets and, like a stalking cat about to pounce, she crawled over the snow toward him, her mouth gaping, fangs glistening with saliva as she hissed and snarled, spittle dribbling from her lips, while the girl behind her clawed at her own eyes until her fingers were wet with viscous fluids and her sockets were gushing holes, and—