Part 5 (1/2)
The rider dismounted and walked over to the beast, using a knife to cut thick leather st.i.tching running the length of its swollen abdomen. A green gas spilled out and dissipated, revealing a metal crate filled with more sleeping children stuffed inside like sardines. One by one, they were removed and placed in line like the others.
Evan looked to either side at the other children. They weren't having the same experience as him. No panic. No expression. No tears. Only a look of utter bliss, Christmas morning with a decorated tree and countless presents. The children were happy, all of them, except for Evan.
He started to cry then, tears rus.h.i.+ng down his dirtied face. His whole body shook. And no one was concerned with his misery. All of Poe's Creek's children continued to stare at a sea of blissful nothing. The riders busied themselves emptying the cargo. He could have screamed at the top of his lungs and no one, nothing, would've even acknowledged his rage.
He cried alone. His fear was something he would have to overcome by himself. If only Sheldon were here. His friend knew what it was like to be afraid of everything around him. They could be terrified together.
Where's Sheldon?
f o u r t e e n First, Sheldon had to get the girl some clothes, and then figure out a way to get those cuffs off.
The back seat of the cruiser was empty and he wasn't about to search around in the front.
”Maybe we can find you something in the trunk. A jacket, at least.” She was tethered to him, wouldn't let go of his s.h.i.+rt.
”What's your name?” Sheldon said.
”Kah . . . Kyra.”
”That's a beautiful name. Uh, mine's Sheldon.” I'm no good at this. Just don't look at her chest. Not now.
”Sheldon . . . ”
”Yep. I'm, uh, from Poe's Creek. How 'bout you?” So awkward. They had walked to the rear of the car, her shuffling behind him, following so closely her toes rubbed up against the back of his feet.
A very long pause, and then ”Pah . . . Parkston,”
”Parkston? Whoa, you're a long way from home.” Sheldon walked a few steps toward the trunk of the car and stopped. It would be locked. He needed keys. The cop had to have them. He turned toward Kyra and gently touched her arm. ”Did the parade come through your town, too?”
She nodded her head slowly.
”Any chance the police are following you?” Kyra looked toward the slumped over ma.s.s of the dead trooper next to the cruiser, and then back toward Sheldon.
”No.”
”Of course not. The parade made sure of that, didn't they? Look, I'm going to go search for the keys, and I want you to stay right here.” She threw herself at Sheldon, almost knocking the wind out of him. He was sore all over and her desperate clinch only added to the pain, but he didn't push her away.
”It's okay. It's okay. I'm not going to leave you. I just don't want you to have to see him . . . it.” Sheldon slowly untangled his s.h.i.+rt from her grip. ”Just wait right here. I have to try to find the keys to the trunk and to the cuffs. Can you do that for me?”
A pause. Infinite silence. Even nature seemed to have taken a break, leaving them in a sensory vacuum. As if she suddenly remembered to breathe, Kyra finally took in a lungful of air and reluctantly nodded her head. Her eyes volleyed from Sheldon to the body and back.
Nature seemed to relax and exhale, also. A gentle breeze rode atop the harvest-ready stalks of corn and broke like a wave against Sheldon, Kyra, and the car.
Kyra tucked her shackled fists under her chin and turned her back to the breeze. She kept her face toward Sheldon. He s.h.i.+vered and wished he'd thrown more clothes on before venturing out this morning, as if he'd had a choice or the time to make a wardrobe change before being forced out the door.
He shuffled around Kyra, never turning his back on her, maintaining eye contact the entire time, as he made his way back toward the trooper, only turning away from her when his heels b.u.mped up against something hard and wet. His toes made a squelching sound in his sneakers.
Who was he kidding? Didn't want her to see anything. He was a regular Galahad. A knight in s.h.i.+ning paisley. He was in no hurry. Sheldon knelt beside the trooper's corpse . . . at least what was left of it.
The engine was lodged in what used to be the pelvic area of the cop. Shards of splintered bone and tangled ribbons of organs spilled out along the metal edges. Everything was sticky with oil and coagulated blood. The rubber hosing that had almost squeezed the life out of him spread along the ground in all directions. Legs jutted out from one side and a ruined torso-minus a head-occupied the other end.
Sheldon needed to make quick work of finding the keys before he started to heave on the entire mess.
Key chain. Blood. Key chain. Intestines. Key chain . . . He was going to be sick.
Blindly feeling along a thigh to the waist, eyes half shut, Sheldon worked along the belt.
Key chain. Rotting meat.
His fingertips grazed a ma.s.s of what could only be keys, but with the engine pressing down, he would never be able to work them free. He needed more leverage.
Great. He would have to touch that thing. He glanced over his shoulder back toward Kyra. She turned her back to him and stared into the cornfield, lost in its whispering secrets.
The engine was an unearthly balance of mechanical engineering and freakshow. Dendrites of flesh wrapped and twisted around metal. Deep within, Sheldon thought he could make out a ma.s.s of soggy grey. That must be the brain.
For a flitting moment, when he first palmed the engine, he felt something. Right there in the forefront of his thoughts, and then quickly gone. It was similar to the buzz that had come through the bedroom window as the parade pa.s.sed his home; the sickly and fevered vibrations that had given him a crippling migraine.
No headache this time, though. Instead, vivid images. Carnage. A hundred small towns-a thousand-just like Poe's Creek. Streets littered with corpses of politicians, teachers, mothers and fathers. Broken bodies shoved into storefront windows. Mannequins mixed in with corpses. Scenes of unabated rage as grown men and women tear through each other's flesh with bare hands. Teeth and fingernails, the sound of smacking, chewing, growls and gurgles. Amalgamates of human tissue and steel skittering through the blood-soused streets, piercing fleeing souls with fangs and metal teeth. Spiders. Pig beasts rearing up out of the trailers. No. Nothing like this should exist. It wasn't possible. Their exteriors stolen carca.s.ses from a slaughterhouse. Empty cavities crammed full of hydraulics, pistons, fuel lines, and a revving engine. Eyes glowing with the electric charge of spark plugs.
The engines are alive. Don't you get it? We're the host and they are parasites. Oh, G.o.d, help us all.
The pigs waddle over to the curb and tear at their stomachs. It opens a cavity large enough for someone to crawl inside. And all the children willingly do this. A rider comes along and st.i.tches up the holes. The parade drives away, leaving behind an empty and dead ghost town. Taillights disappear over the horizon.
Inside a large warehouse. The children are loaded onto some type of conveyor belt. They're shuttled down the line. Everything is alive. Everything is a part of the parade. The riders peel off all the leather. They've taken their helmets off, too.
Sheldon sees their faces and screams.
f i f t e e n This time it was Kyra who comforted Sheldon, hurrying over when he screamed. He was on his back, trembling. In one hand, stretched toward the star-filled sky, was the keychain. His other hand was clutched in a fist and held tightly to his chest. Kyra knelt down beside him and patted his shoulder.
”I know what this is all about . . . We have to hurry before it's too late. I saw what was behind the masks and I understand. I get it. The parade is alive and this is all about survival. We have to go and save the children. Me and you, Kyra. I need your help. Will you help me?” He was crying again, but not from his own fear. He cried because deep down he already felt there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable. ”Will you help me?”
”Yes.”
”Then let's get the h.e.l.l on the road.” Sheldon held out his hand. Kyra took it in both of hers and helped him to his feet. Already, he was starting to become comfortable with her naked flesh. He barely paid it any mind. But, G.o.dd.a.m.n, she was beautiful.
They walked back to the trunk. Sheldon tried all the keys in the cuffs until they clicked open. Kyra worked her hands free, the cuffs falling to the ground, and she threw her arms around him.
Her body next to his felt good, real good.
He bent over to the keyhole on the trunk, went through the same finding-the-right-key game until the trunk clicked open. He grabbed a gym bag and started fis.h.i.+ng through its contents.
”Here's a T-s.h.i.+rt. It'll be too big, but better than nothing.” Sheldon handed the s.h.i.+rt to Kyra. She slipped it on quickly, while he searched for a weapon or anything useful. Nothing. He was about to close the trunk when something in the back corner caught his eye. He grabbed a shooting range headset and slammed the trunk shut.
COVER YOUR EARS SHELDON IT'S THE ENGINES THEY'LL MAKE YOU DO . . .
Those were the words scribbled in Evan's notebook-”cover your ears”-and Sheldon had felt what the parade could do to someone from a distance. What would it be like if he was right next to it? Would he try to do himself or Kyra in? He gripped the headset in his hand, tossed it in the air a few times and then hung it around his neck.
He looked up when a door closed. The cherries went dark. The dome light went out and the only illumination was from the night sky. Kyra was no longer by his side. She'd walked back to the front of the car, killed the cherries, and shut the door. He watched her tip-toe over to the body, grab it by the feet, and start to drag the ma.s.s over toward the shoulder of the road. Her pale legs seemed to glow in the dark like a grave robbing ghoul.
He was about to ask her what she was doing, to yell at her to not touch the engine, when headlights appeared far off to the right. He froze. She continued to drag the body around to the front of the car.