B-Movie Reels (34 page)

Ned leaned against the bed frame when it threatened to be shoved away from the door. It did little good when the door knob came undone from the other side and clanked to the floor. The ends of axes and blades slashed through the door, six or seven in unison, and together they wrenched their edges only to drive them through again, sending out slivers and pieces into the room. Eyes glared through holes, reaping the fruits of their labors.

“There isn’t much time, Andy! We have to get downstairs.”

Andy fired again at the ceiling, trying to think. His shot connected into the round face of the man from the woods with the collection of severed heads around his wait. His head evaporated and the rest of him tumbled through the hole and landed smack into the floor next to Sheriff O’Malley’s corpse.
 

The landing broke a floorboard in two.
 

Thinking fast, Andy expelled two more rounds into the floorboards as a crowd shoved and battled through each other to reach them. “I’ll cover you. Shoot the floor, Ned! It’s our only chance.”

Vibration shook the walls, earthquake powerful, and the house was jolted again and again. Andy believed the structure would topple, but it held strong. The wall suddenly blasted sawdust at them in blinding sheets. Thin circles of light were flickering bright as new holes bored through from the other side.
 

“They’re eating through the panels!”

Andy shook his head, rubbing the dust from his eyes, completely covered in the mess. “What the hell is eating through the wall?”

Ned knew the source and shouted it like a war cry, “TERMITES!”

Plaster and wood fragments exploded, as if it were power sanders and jack hammers destroying the walls instead of insect mouths. Andy fumbled to defend himself, aiming the shotgun at the floor and issuing round after round until the wood burst through a big enough access to escape. Ned dove in first, acting quickly. The bed frame was thrown from the wall, the blockade folding. Andy gained the courage to jump through the hole when the remains of the walls were axed down and dozens of the straight jacketed and elderly figures barreled in after them.

The termites swirled and spun into the room:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

Andy landed near the first-floor staircase, hitting the floor awkwardly but not breaking any bones. Many of the intruders clogged the stairs, corralling after him. The man closest to him had an axe lodged in his abdomen, but advancing quickly, he ripped it free, and in that moment blood dripped from every orifice of his body. With a sound like a tearing sack, he clawed and wrenched the muscle and skin from his bones in strands, and then the skeleton lunged through the mess and attacked Andy, the skeletal hands grasping at air to get a hold of him.
 

Andy was thrown into the far wall, the skeleton strangling him while banging his head with its boney fist. Andy tasted blood in his throat and was blinded by the skeleton’s attack. Helpless, his escape already turning into a meaningless charade, Ned jumped behind the figure and slammed his rifle against the attacker’s skull. The head snapped from the body with three blows, and then the rest unraveled.
 

There was no time to enjoy the victory, as the green glow of locusts spread into the living room. They surrounded Ned instantly. The neon grew more intense as Ned’s screams escalated. Blood sprayed and bits of his flesh smacked the walls in a cycle of wet debris. Andy could do nothing to save him.

Ned’s screams filled the house, though he managed to shout, “DESTROY THE PROJECTOR, ANDY!”

The command sent him charging into the living room, determined to heed his uncle’s wish. He drove his fist into an elderly man who sported a knife in one hand. The punch broke every tooth in his mouth and removed the jaw from his face. The man shuddered to the ground and stayed down.
 

The living room staircase rumbled with sprays of wood dust flying into the air and coming back down to create a thick haze. Neon green locusts flew toward him in frenzy. Straight-jacketed maniacs lunged from the failing staircase after him, tripping over each other in their haste. More attackers leapt out of their skin and skeletons skirted and lunged toward him with the click of bare bones against floorboards. The termites joined the smog of attacking insects, their rumble increasing with each piece of wood they devoured.
 

Andy pushed through to the living room, where he saw the film screen. On it was a room of demons in a castle. Each hideous figure was six-armed, blue-skinned and massive in size. They were giants with deer horns and long scraggly black hair over their heads and down their backs. Their elongated faces were those of werewolves. The eight demons surrounded a pit of dismembered bodies, speaking in grunts and pounding their fists against the ground like apes. Soon, the creatures lunged into the pit and feasted on the corpses, the sounds of their feasting driving Andy to keep fighting.
 

But then he was surrounded by everything in the room, the locusts tearing into his neck and back with dozens of punctures. Termites worked at his legs, tearing pin-prick sized wounds. He fought against the assault to reach the projector. He would not give up. Then an axe was driven into his shoulder from behind, blinding him with white-hot pain.
 

Andy dropped to the ground, helpless.
 

Every creature in the house was upon him.
 

Chapter Eighteen

1

Ned swatted at the locusts that latched onto him, retreating to the kitchen as he screeched in agony. He stared at the flesh along his arms. The skin was shredded and slick with blood. It was too late to save his life; he’d be dead in moments. Then several hands latched onto his head through a kitchen window and yanked him forward. Ned bit into the hands until they released their clutches. Clumps of his hair were wrenched from the scalp in the process.
 

The flashes of green in the room were a strobe light, stealing his attention. The clash of voices and the swarming of insects were disorienting.
 

You have to destroy the house.
 

There’s not a chance you’ll make it to the living room.
 

Let the projector burn!

He gasped as many of the straight-jacketed and armed elderly approached him. He acted on an impulse, dropping his rifle and dragging the oven from it slot against the wall. He then picked up the rifle and aimed at the gas line. The blade of a chainsaw came into his line of vision and missed his throat by a fraction of an inch. Then an old man in a robe emptied a 9mm into his chest.

Falling back off his feet from the shot, Ned squeezed the rifle’s trigger on his way down, dead.

2

A great ball of fire erupted from the kitchen. It kicked up dozens of bodies that were engulfed in blue flames, literally thrown up in the air, and when landing, were left smoldering piles. The termites and locusts bumbled into each other confused by the sudden flames, cut down mid-flight.
 

Andy fought to get closer to the projector and caught sight of the dead corpse standing guard. It turned to Andy when the projection screen caught fire. The dead man’s hands were already choking him, it moved so fast. Its teeth clamped down on the wound where the axe had been driven, reaping strings of pink flesh into its rotten black teeth. He smelled of soil and the fetid scent of decaying flesh.
 

Andy head-butted the zombie and sent it reeling to the ground, not knowing what else to do. He collected enough momentum to take four steps. He gripped the film projector, yanked the plug from the wall, and flung it onto the ground, smashing, stamping, and pounding it into many pieces.
 

He gasped when every figure in the room vanished.
 

Then the roaring fire replaced his concerns.
 

He collapsed, too weak to escape. The blood loss and physical exertion caught up with him. Heat and smoke billowed and blinded every exit. Rafters from upstairs collapsed, the house on the verge of becoming a deathtrap. He couldn’t breathe, choked by the smoke.
 

Helpless, he closed his eyes.
 

3

Something picked him up, carrying him up over the flames. “Hold on, Andy. I’ll save you.”

Soot blinded his eyes. He thought it was Ned, but by the way he’d been attacked, there was no way the man could still be alive. Perhaps help had finally arrived, albeit too late, he thought with a twinge of bitterness.

The whir of a fire truck’s siren blared from a mile away. He still wondered who was carrying him from the house. “Who…who are you?”

The figure didn’t reply.

Outside, the air struck him with relief. It was cold and clean. The person carrying him placed him in the grass carefully. Andy was able to open his eyes and could finally see. He reeled at Ned’s face, although it was blackened and ravaged by fire, his skin puckering and melting.

“Andy,” Ned began, “you can’t tell anyone about what happened tonight. The truth, I mean. No one will believe you. You’ve destroyed the spirits’ access into this world. The authorities are coming, but you must explain that you know nothing about how these people died. There’s nothing you can do for anybody. What’s been done has been done.”

“How did you save me? You’re falling apart!”

“I’m not Ned,” he said, the burned face smiling. “It’s Uncle James. I’ve crossed over to save you. I wish you well, Andy. I’m very sorry for everything that’s happened because of me. Regardless of everything that’s occurred, this must remain our secret. I hope you understand.”

After hearing those words, Andy passed out from exhaustion.
 

Chapter Nineteen

1

Redding and Garrison watched side-by-side as the firefighters worked to put out the fire. Crews ducked into the danger zone in full gear, scavenging for any inhabitants inside. The fire truck was parked at the edge of the yard, the sirens flashing blue and red. A local hydrant was stationed near a power line down the dirt road, and the crews doused the house. Flames billowed from every window and door. The roof suddenly caved in with a dull crash. Black smoke plumed in a massive cloud and choked the air. The crew scrambled to prevent trees from catching fire. After forty-five minutes of frantic work, the blaze tapered.
 

The ambulance carted off the dead body of Ned Ryerson and the only survivor in the entire town of Anderson Mills, Andy Ryerson. Police milled about the scene posting crime tape and combing for evidence. More were on patrol cleaning up the residential area closer to town. Hundreds of bodies had been discovered, many more had yet to be located, and Redding watched in astonishment and shock as the night’s bizarre patrol was coming to an end.
 

Many disturbing things had happened tonight. First, the victims in Walter Smalls’ mechanic shop. Deputy Stafford’s body was scattered in hundreds of melting pieces on the floor. The dock at Silver Lake was stacked with nineteen bodies with ravaged necks and drained of blood. The worst of it was the residential area. The houses were broken into, every window smashed, the doors riddled with holes, and many victims torn to pieces—if not eviscerated and disemboweled as well. Redding combed the houses for fingerprints, shoe tracks, gunpowder resin, or hairs, and he came up with nothing.
 

“If it weren’t for every bridge and road access into Anderson Mills being frozen over,” Garrison lamented, “we’d know what caused this shit. And the fog, it was so thick we couldn’t land choppers or ground troops. The phone lines were down too. This was a planned attack. Terrorists, you think?”

“No terrorist could do this,” Redding scoffed. “Those bodies were torn into pieces, and there’s no sign of weapons of mass destruction being used. That’s what confuses me so much. Many of them were ravaged, simply mutilated. Terrorists would’ve blown up an important building and left a message, but this is a Podunk town that nobody gives a shit about. No terrorist would waste their time here. All it would do is slow people down from fishing for a few days.”

“Then it has to be something else,” Garrison argued. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“And neither do the roads being frozen over in the summer or there being a fog so thick you can’t see anything at all.” Redding rubbed his eyes, exhausted. “That butcher’s body was the key. It didn’t have the proper organs or functions of a living man. And remember what happened at the cemetery? The caretaker was found eviscerated and partially eaten and bodies were missing from their caskets. I can’t believe this shit. It doesn’t add up. So far, we have no explanation as to why this really happened. There’s no trace of the attackers…just the victims. Maybe a cult thing, who knows? And the bridge suddenly melting, I’m still shivering from being wet.”

“The air’s back to normal, though. I’m damp, but I’m not freezing my nuts off. I guess the only witness will have to catalog the night’s events for us.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk to Andy when he finally wakes up.”

“He was messed up pretty good. Let’s pray he survives.”

2

Andy reached for the pitcher of water on the cart next to the hospital bed and poured himself another glass. He placed the cup to his chapped lips and relished the feel of ice on his tongue. He’d been cooped up in the ICU for five days—most of which he was unconscious or blinking in and out of wakefulness—and then yesterday, Dr. Higgins gave the approval for him to be bumped up to the recovery unit on the fifth floor to a room by himself. The television played a morning show,
Mike and Maddy’s Morning Brew.
He ignored it. He barely kept his eyes open thanks to the morphine drip. The corner air-conditioner droned and spat cool air. The drugs and the mechanical whir were an invitation to fall asleep again, but a visitor convinced him otherwise. Hank Ryerson, his father, was half-asleep in the chair next to his bed.