Part 6 (1/2)

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 unleas.h.i.+ng 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 b.u.t.ton. 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 s.p.a.ces 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 gla.s.s. 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 h.e.l.l 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 G.o.d 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.

G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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.

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 b.u.t.ton 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 sonof.a.gun 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 motherf.u.c.kers to get there.