Urban Gothic Page 25

  Javier dropped back and darted to the side, letting his opponent have the space he’d occupied a moment before. Adrenaline surged through Javier’s veins, boosting another wave of strength into him. The freak spun fast, roaring, and swung his arm in a wild arc. This time Javier did not dodge, but deflected the blow, slapping it aside and pushing the thing’s hand away from his body. Exposed and overbalanced, the creature stared down at his hand as if it had deliberately betrayed him. Javier grabbed his attacker’s wrist and pulled him further off balance. Then he drove his foot into the mutant’s chest as hard as he could. He felt the ribs break under the blow and grunted his satisfaction. The brute let out a yelp and stumbled. Javier twisted his hand until the bruiser had two choices, follow the direction Javier forced on him or risk a broken wrist. The thing yelped and moved the way Javier wanted. Javier turned him around.

  “Fuck you,” he spat. “Think you’re king of the fucking cave cannibals?”

  Javier drove his knee into the man’s kidney as soon as his back was exposed. The thing’s muscles were hard, and Javier felt the reverberation run through his heel. The fighter yelped and Javier struck again, taking no chances. This time, his opponent wailed and dropped to his knees. Using both his hands, Javier pulled the mutant’s arm high over his head and twisted.

  The brutal face went down, slamming into the rocks. Javier landed on his foe’s back, knees first, driving them as deep as he could. The creature howled and thrashed. Javier had to struggle to maintain his grip on the muscled arm. He twisted again, stopping only when he’d separated the killer’s shoulder from its socket—ending the fight. Moaning, the creature shuddered once and then lay still, unconscious.

  Javier seized the thing’s neck. The rest of the cannibals stepped back, hooting with cautious tones. While they watched, Javier twisted his enemy’s head, snapping his neck. Then he let the corpse fall and stood up slowly. The warped faces around him stared first at the dead man and then at Javier.

  “Who’s next?” Javier’s voice was a broken croak. “Who wants it?”

  He could tell that they were momentarily stunned—surprised by the unforeseen turn of events, the hunted becoming the hunter.

  “Come on,” he taunted. “Who wants a piece of this?”

  The pack shifted nervously. One of the creatures growled, low and menacing. Javier knew that their hesitation wouldn’t last much longer. He could sense them working themselves back up into a frenzy. The air felt charged. Electric. He had to take advantage of their confusion while he still could. The lantern light seemed to flare brighter.

  Javier backed away slowly. He’d gone four steps when one of the females dropped down and grabbed the corpse. Her thick fingernails hooked into his skin and ripped long, bloody lines across his abdomen. Another of the creatures knelt and did the same, rooting between his legs.

  Javier kept moving, understanding what was occurring. It wasn’t leadership or his display of strength that had saved him just now. It was simple economics. These things weren’t as smart or developed as Scug, Noigel, and some of the others he’d encountered. They were more savage. Bestial. They hunted because they were hungry, and if Javier wasn’t going to eat his kills, then they would.

  He turned around and limped away as fast as he could. He didn’t want to run. He was afraid that the sudden movement might attract their attention again, the way a running rabbit attracted a fox or a dog. He heard the sound of flesh tearing behind him, accompanied by eager grunts and smacking lips. Given the number of creatures and the ravenous way they attacked their meal, it probably wouldn’t take them too long to finish. He needed to be long gone before the hunt began again.

  Once he was safely out of range, Javier began to run again, retracing his steps and heading back toward the basement—intent on finding the girls and then following the river out of these catacombs once and for all. He was beginning to fear that if they didn’t leave the warrens soon, he’d become just like these creatures.

  Or possibly transform into something even worse.

  twenty-one

  “Give me that damned crowbar,” Perry told Leo. “We need to get this door back up before more of them come.”

  “You think there’s more of them in here?” Dookie asked, glancing around the foyer.

  “Probably. Hold that flashlight still.”

  “I can’t,” Dookie said. “My hands won’t stop shaking.”

  “We need to find the light switch,” Jamal said. “Turn them back on so we can see and shit.”

  “No,” Perry told him, taking the crowbar from Leo. “They turned the lights off for a reason. We flick them back on again, and they’ll know where we are. What we need to do is focus on getting this goddamned door open again.”

  He tried wedging the crowbar under the edge of the metal slab, but it wouldn’t fit.

  “Damn it. I wish Markus’s sledgehammer hadn’t been broken in that fight. Too bad none of us could lift the freak’s big-ass hammer, or we could just smash the door down with it. Leo, come over here and help me with this.”

  Perry heard snuffling behind him. He looked over his shoulder and noticed that Leo was staring at the floor. Tears ran down the teen’s cheeks.

  “Leo?”

  The young man glanced up at him and wiped his nose with his hand. “Sorry. What’s up?”

  Perry’s voice softened. “Give me hand. I’m going to push on the door. You see if you can wedge the crowbar underneath it.”

  Nodding, Leo took the crowbar back from him. Perry stood up, glanced down the hallways to make sure they were still alone, and then pushed on the door. His sweaty palms slid against the cool metal surface. Spreading his feet apart, Perry pushed again, trying to simultaneously shove the door backward and lift it, even just a crack. He grunted and strained, but it refused to budge. Frustrated, Perry balled his fists and punched the door with both hands. The noise rang out, vibrating through the foyer. Perry grimaced as pain shot through his hands.

  “Damn it!”

  “Did you break them?” Dookie asked.

  “No.” He turned to the teens. “Okay, we need to look around. Remember when we came in and it slid shut behind us? We all heard that sound, right? There has to be some kind of switch or mechanism around here that controls it. All we have to do is find that.”

  “Before they find us,” Jamal added.

  Perry nodded. “Right. We’re not gonna split up. That would be stupid. I don’t want any of you going off by yourselves. I’m guessing it’s nearby, either here in the foyer or the hallways. Dookie and Jamal, you guys search the foyer. Leo and I will search the hall. If you see or hear anything, call out. Got it?”

  They nodded. Perry and Leo stepped into the corridor, searching both sides from floor to ceiling, while Dookie and Jamal combed the foyer. Perry’s nose wrinkled as he inhaled dust. He eyed the dry, yellowed wallpaper curling back from the cracked plaster. Despite the persistent dampness in the air, this house was a firetrap waiting to happen.

  All it would take is one single match.

  Maybe that would be for the best, he thought. Rid the neighborhood of this thing once and for all. It’s like a scab that never heals. Just sits here at the end of the block, all ugly and infected.

  “You see anything?”

  “No,” Leo whispered, his tone maudlin. “Just spider webs, rat shit, and mold. It would help if I knew what we were looking for. Know what I’m saying?”

  “I don’t know what we’re looking for. A switch of some kind. Could be hidden, or it could be something simple. There has to be some kind of trigger mechanism to raise and lower the trapdoor. We’ll know it when we see it.”

  “Mr. Watkins?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Those white kids are probably dead, aren’t they?”

  Perry paused before answering. “I don’t know, Leo. It’s certainly not looking good for them, though.”

  “We’re gonna die in here, too, aren’t we? Just like Markus and Chris.”

  “
You just stop that kind of talk right now. I’m gonna get us out of here. Believe it.”

  “Yeah,” Leo replied.

  Perry heard the doubt and resignation in the teen’s voice, and it broke his heart. His thoughts turned to Lawanda and the kids they’d never had. And then a series of sharp, high-pitched screams echoed down the corridor.

  “Shit . . .”

  Leo turned ashen. “That’s Jamal and Dookie!”

  “Come on!”

  Perry charged down the hall, his footsteps thundering. Leo ran along behind him. They barged into the foyer, but it was empty. Leo began opening doors, frantically looking in the vacant rooms.

  “Dookie,” Perry hollered. “Jamal! Where are you?”

  More screams drifted down from upstairs.

  “Oh Jesus . . . what the hell are they doing up there?”

  He leaped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Leo ran along right behind him. The stairs creaked and cracked beneath their feet and the worm-eaten banister trembled at their passage, but neither Perry nor Leo slowed. As they reached the second floor, they heard Dookie shriek again. Jamal was strangely silent. Another long hallway stretched out before them. Both sides were lined with doors—some open and others closed. The floor was covered with a frayed, mildew-stained, burgundy carpet. Dookie’s flashlight beam winked at them from the end of the hall. They ran toward it and found him standing outside an open door. Dookie was pulling his own hair with one hand. His other hand waved the flashlight around in wide, excited arcs. His eyes bulged and his mouth was open in shock. He gasped for breath, preparing to scream again when Perry and Leo reached him. Perry grabbed his flailing arm and Dookie, shrieked, clubbing him repeatedly on the head and shoulders with the flashlight.

  “Ow! Stop it. Dookie, it’s us. It’s Mr. Watkins and Leo! What’s wrong? Where’s Jamal?”

  Dookie wrapped his arms around the older man and squeezed tight, burying his face in Perry’s chest. When he tried to speak, all that came out was a muffled sob. He shuddered against Perry.

  “Dookie,” Perry tried again, “where’s Jamal?”

  Still not looking up, Dookie pointed through the open door with the flashlight. Perry and Leo glanced at each other. Then Leo peeked through the open door. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He suddenly seemed frozen in place. Perry could tell by his stance that something was terribly wrong. Gently disentangling himself from Dookie, he crept up behind Leo and looked inside the room.

  At first, Perry didn’t understand what he was seeing. It came to him in bits and pieces. Jamal was levitating several feet off the floor with his back against the wall. There was a large sheet of plywood holding him in place. A length of thick rope had been attached to the plywood, suspending it from the ceiling. Perry followed the rope to the point where it disappeared into the darkness above. Then he glanced back down at Jamal. The teen hung there, pinned against the wall, silent and still. There was blood on the edges of the plywood. Blood on the wall behind Jamal. Blood pooling on the floor at his feet.

  “Oh,” Perry whispered. “Oh . . . Jesus.”

  He crept closer, and with slowly dawning horror, Perry realized what had happened. Someone had driven an assortment of kitchen knives, broken pipes, jagged shards of hard plastic, and rusty iron spikes into the plywood. Then they had winched it up in the ceiling. Somehow, Jamal had triggered the device when he entered the room. And, Perry assumed, since they’d heard both Jamal and Dookie screaming originally, the trap hadn’t killed Jamal immediately.

  “Those motherfuckers,” he muttered. “Those sick motherfuckers.”

  Not holding much hope, he stumbled over to Jamal, reached up, and checked the unmoving teen’s pulse. It was as still as the house.

  “Is he?” Leo asked.

  Perry nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  “I tried to stop him,” Dookie sobbed. “I told him to stay downstairs, but he figured there might be a light switch up here. Then he decided that maybe we could try one of the windows.”

  “They’re bricked up,” Perry choked. “Why would he—”

  “But they’re not, Mr. Watkins.” Dookie pointed with the flashlight. “Look.”

  Perry swiveled his head, following the beam of light across the room. There were two windows in the wall. Both were barricaded with thick sheets of moldering plywood, but unlike the downstairs windows, they hadn’t been bricked over. He glanced down at the floor. The half-rotten floorboards were covered with a thick layer of dust and dead insects. The only signs of disturbance were their own footprints and Jamal’s blood, spreading out in a pool. Obviously, the room hadn’t been entered in a long time. With the pervasive dampness in the air, it was possible that the plywood had weakened somewhat, and if so, whoever had boarded up the windows in the first place hadn’t checked them lately.

  Fingers crossed, Perry strode across the floor and tapped on the plywood sheet covering one window. It was solid. He checked the second window. The plywood covering this one was streaked with mildew and mold, and moist to the touch. Holding his breath, he shoved the sharp edge of the crowbar against it. The blade sank into the wood easily enough.

  Perry started to cry. He turned to Leo and Dookie, tears of relief streaming down his dirty cheeks.

  “It’s rotten. Not all the way, but enough that I think I can get it off.”

  They stared at him blankly, as if not understanding what he was saying.

  “We can get out,” Perry whispered. “Through the window. Come here, boys. Quickly now.”

  Dookie’s stunned expression crumbled, replaced by one of numb disbelief. Leo seemed unsure, as well. But they did as he asked and crossed toward him. They stood there, arms at their sides, looking at everything but Jamal.

  Perry jammed the crowbar between the barrier and the wall, and wiggled it back and forth. A small chunk of wood broke off, splintering. He let it fall to the floor and pried off a bigger piece about the size of his fist. Grinning, he attacked it with abandon, no longer caring if he made any sound. They’d be free in minutes.

  He’d cleared about half the plywood away, exposing a little less than half of the window before hitting solid wood. After that, his progress became harder. Because of how it had been constructed, Perry found it difficult to get any leverage. He began to grow winded.

  “Damn it.”

  “What’s wrong?” Leo asked. “Why’d you stop?”

  “The rest of it is solid,” Perry gasped. “I can’t get it loose.”

  He wiped sweat from his brow and studied them both for a moment. Then he turned around and tried unlocking the window hasp. It was rusted into place and wouldn’t move. Instead, Perry smashed the glass out of the portion of the window that they could see. Immediately, a cool breeze washed over them. To Perry, it was one of the most pleasurable sensations he’d ever experienced. He turned back around again. Leo and Dookie’s expressions were terrified.

  “Somebody’s gonna hear that glass breaking,” Leo scolded. “You’ll lead them right to us.”

  “I know,” Perry said. “That’s why we’ve got to do this quickly. Dookie, you’re the only skinny enough to fit through that window. Go for help.”

  “You’re fucking tripping, Mr. Watkins.”

  “Don’t you get smart with me, boy.”

  “Who you calling boy?”

  “We don’t have time to argue, Dookie. Get out that fucking window and go for help. The police must have arrived by now.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Leo said.

  Perry sighed, exasperated. “If they haven’t, then tell my wife what’s happened. Tell her to call 911 again and stay on the line with them until somebody comes. She’s got to make them send somebody. And then, while she’s doing that, you start banging on doors and waking people up.”

  “And tell them what?”

  “Tell them that we’re fucking trapped in here with a bunch of psychos. Tell them to get their torches and pitchforks, just like in those old monster movies, and bash that fucking door
in! Now get going, Dookie.”

  Still wide-eyed and stunned, the nervous teen peered out the window. Then, swallowing hard, he nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “You’re damn right you will,” Perry grumbled. “Just hurry. And be careful. You won’t do us much good if you break your neck on the way down.”

  “I’m on it, yo.” Confidence crept back into Dookie’s voice. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Perry and Leo hoisted him up and helped him through the hole. They watched his head disappear, then his shoulders and chest, and then the rest of him, until finally, Dookie was outside on the arched roof. He turned around, pressed one hand to the remaining glass, and then crawled away. They watched him leave until the darkness ultimately swallowed him.

  “Think he’ll make it?” Leo whispered.

  “He damn well better,” Perry muttered. “Now let’s get back downstairs and find someplace to hide, before any more of them show up.”

  They left the room and slowly made their way back down the hall to the top of the stairs, listening as they proceeded. There was no sign that Jamal’s death or Dookie’s escape had attracted any more attention. The house was utterly silent, as if holding its breath.

  As they started down the stairs, Perry wondered what would happen when it exhaled. What would come crawling out of the woodwork looking for them?

  twenty-two

  There was nowhere left for her to go.

  Kerri had searched, trying to find an exit from the endless, confusing network of tunnels, but with the darkness and the predators haunting her every step, finding one had been impossible. And so, in the long run, she chose to go for the only exit that she was sure existed. An unreasonable exit, but a way out all the same. She chose to return upstairs, to the house where everything had started, and hope that she could find a way past the barricaded entrance and the traps and the wooden walls that had appeared from nowhere. She had no idea what had happened to Heather and Javier, but she feared that they were dead. If they were alive, she reasoned, then she’d still hear them screaming.