Tandem of Terror (22 page)

Mat's stomach turned and his head began to
spin like it had when he was at the funeral home, when he first saw
that thing. The sweat dampened his sweatshirt now as if he were
stricken with fever. The panic began to fill him again, his legs
shaking. He searched about the room, trying to think of something
he could use to protect his family. Gerald popped into his head.
Leaving the kitchen, he headed for the stairs again.

"
Honey, is everything ok?
Sharon asked from the family room. "Won't you come and watch some
TV with us?"

"
Not right now, Um...there's
something I need to take care of."

"
Okay then, be a doll and
check on Dad while you're up there?"

"
Sure," he answered, but had
no real intention of doing it.

Instead he flew into his room with a fluster,
his heart in his throat, his blood boiling. Snatching up the phone
he dialed rapidly. "Goddammit, pick up. What was that?" he thought
he heard their sorrowful howls coming from outside. Had his family
heard them too?

"
Hello..." the gruff voice
of Gerald came through the phone.

"
They're here," Mat
squealed. "In my back yard. All three of them. What the fuck do I
do?"

"
Jesus Christ, lock all the
doors and windows."

"
Get over here quick, you
can get the three of them right now." The desperation filtered
through Mat's voice, the phone trembled in his hands.

"
For God sake's Mat, get
something sharp and get ready to help us take the
heads."

"
I can't I just can't My
family---"

"
You won't have a family
left if you don't get some balls," Gerald quipped as the line went
all static then dead...

"
Gerald! Gerald!" Mat stood
there, the phone cradled in his hands, the feeling of being watched
shimmering over his body. His head began to spin again.

Sharon's father rocked in his chair
rhythmically in front of the bedroom window, tapping his cane on
the floor. Spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth and drooled
onto his pajamas.

"
They're out there," he
mumbled over and over. "They're right out there."

He glared out into the darkness of his
window, the vaporous mist congregating outside the window,
caressing the edges of it. The rocking chairs pace increased, the
cane tapped harder and the old man's hands shook violently.

Out of the mist a face emerged, hovering
outside the window, pressing against the glass. Its ebony eyes
gazed at Sharon's father, its mouth opened, pale skin stretching,
sores seeping as a mournful sigh emitted from it.

"
They're right here!" he
screamed while clutching his chest, the pain wracking his body,
pounding in his chest as if it was about to explode. The blanket
that warmed his lap sailed off him like a phantom, the rocking
chair toppled and the sickly old man tumbled to the
floor.

"
Dad!" Sharon called, rising
from her chair, the screaming followed by thuds that rang in her
ears.

"
Dad!" she swiftly made her
way up the steps, the fear swelling in her. She could not propel
herself down the hall fast enough, and as she reached his room, she
found the door opened and Mat already inside.

"
I'm sorry," Mat said as his
hands felt the man's cold flesh, his fingers gently checking for a
pulse. "We're too late. He's gone honey."

"
No! No! No!" she screeched,
throwing herself to the floor and her father's side. "Dad, no, dad
please...not now." Tears already soaked her cheeks. "We've got to
call an ambulance. It might not be too late."

No, we can't," Mat said watching the stunned
expression wash over his wife's face. We've got to do something
first."

She watched him rush out of the room,
disbelief coming over her as she took her father's hand into her
own.

Mat stormed past his son and daughter, who
held each other at the bottom of the stairs. They had never heard
their parents in such a frenzy and it frightened them.

In his basement office, Mat searched about
the cabinets and lockers he stored there and found the long needle
and thread he needed. Taking a deep breath he headed back for the
bedroom. He stopped momentarily by the kitchen windows and peaked
through the shades.

Two of the things drew up the cement patio as
the third seemed to descend from somewhere above, approaching the
window Mat stared out of. He choked back a gasp and shut the shade.
He made sure the kitchen door was locked before running up the
stairs.

"
We've got to sew the mouth
up," he said, diving down by the body and unraveling his
thread.

"
What the hell are you
doing," Sharon screeched, her grief spilling into rage. "You're not
touching him. We need to call for help."

"
It's too late for that. You
don't understand. We need to sew the mouth up!"

"
You son of a bitch, you
stay away from him. You never gave a damn about him!" she grabbed
the needle and thread from his hands and ran into the hall. Mat
followed after her, catching her at the top of the
stairs.

In the bedroom the inevitable commenced.
Through a chink in the windowsill the non-corporeal mist slithered
into the room and found the vacant body.

"
Let go of me, bastard!"
Sharon struggled with Mat until the wailing moan caused them to
freeze.

"
My God, we're too late,"
Mat murmured.

It floated out of the bedroom and hovered in
the hall. It glared at them with deep sunk eyes. Its head was bald,
its skin sheer yet still garbed in the old man's pajamas.

"
Daddy..." Sharon whimpered
like a child, the revulsion and dread filling her as she watched
the thing that was once her father begin towards her, its gaunt
arms outstretched.

"
C'mon," Mat called. "We've
got to get the hell out of here." He grabbed hold of her, dragging
her down the stairs. The screams of their children rang out, just
as they rushed into the living room. "Kids!" Mat cried. "Where are
you? Come to us, now."

"
At the door!" they cried.
"Monsters at the door!"

Mat and Sharon rushed into the kitchen, the
kids huddled under the table crying. One of the creatures floated
in front of the door, scratching at the glass, then hitting it out
of rage, the wood beginning to weaken and buckle.

"
Collin, Carrie!" Sharon
called, putting out her arms until the kids ran into them. "What
are they?" she asked, her face red and soaked, her body trembling.
"What in the hell is happening?"

The ghastly howl came from the living room,
slowly the dead father glided through the living room, reaching the
doorway of the kitchen.

There seemed to be no escape, they could not
leave the house and the father closed in on them...frantically Mat
searched for a solution, he glared at his cowering family, and
suddenly his head cleared. Springing into action, Mat yanked the
kitchen drawers out of the counters until he found the largest
butcher knife he could.

The corpse floated into the kitchen; the
children's hysterical wails deafening now. Mat leapt into the air,
throwing his entire body onto the thing.

The two crashed to the floor, the creature
slashed with treacherous nails but Mat fought brave and true,
forcing the thing down on the floor and pressing the blade to its
throat.

With all of his might he pushed, and the head
popped off like a cork, rolling across the floor, the yellow fluid
seeping out. Mat watched as the mist rose out of the hole in the
neck and dissipated

The kitchen door flew off its hinges and
thudded to the floor, screams echoed, moaning howls called and Mat
turned to see them--

It was then that the headlights blared into
the yard, bathing the things in bright white. Gerald, the townsmen
at his side, charged the things with sharpened axes and scythes,
overwhelming them and claiming their heads.

Mat crawled over to his family, their tears
matched only by his own as the four embraced, in the middle of the
floor. Gerald stepped into the house, holding a yellow slopped axe
in his hand. "You all ok in here?"

"
Yes," Mat managed to
answer. "I think so."

The rest of his family said nothing.

Like the bodies that the mist required, Mat's
house stood vacant, the morning rain soaking the
for sale
sign in the front yard.

On another side of town, another home went on
with its business as usual. "There Mister Chambers," Gerald said as
he cut the thread with his scissors. "Nice and tight. All set for a
proper burial." He admired his own handy work, examining the sewed
mouth of the recently deceased Nathan Chambers.

Shuffling away from the table, he reached
into a cabinet low to the floor. "Gotta put that goddamn ad back in
the paper today." Searching about he at last pulled the bottle of
whiskey into the open. "There you are, I've been looking for you
all morning."

Planting himself into a chair, he opened the
bottle. "I'm getting too old for this shit." He took a hefty gulp
and closed his eyes. Swallowing, he gently lowered the bottle. His
eyes did not reopen. The bottle slipped from his hand and his
heart...stopped.

In the Murk the mist radiated and stirred, a
stream shot away from the rest and vanished over the horizon.

The
Wranglers

Eric S. Brown

The apocalypse came long ago. The Earth has
new masters now, retracing the steps of the past in their climb to
civilization. Unfortunately for them, even the dead can die...

Red watched the man racing across the field
moving as fast as his legs would carry him. The man's breath came
in ragged, exhausted gasps. If he reached the trees, he might be
able to lose the three wranglers on horseback who were chasing
after him. Red knew that was what the man was thinking. He gave a
signal to Hole who spurred on his horse in a burst of speed
blocking the man's path to the trees.

Face was the closest of the three wranglers
to their prey. Red hoped he wouldn't try something stupid. Face
charged at the man, swinging a lasso, single-handedly above his
head even as Red tried to wave him off. Face threw the rope but the
man managed to duck at just the right moment and Face overshot.

"
No!" Red shouted at Face.
"He's too wild to take that way!"

Face tried to back off in a hurry. Cut off
from the trees, the man whirled on Face in a rage. Red watched as
the man yelled and sprang at Face. Red saw that Hole was racing to
bring his horse back around and get between the man and Face. Red
sat perfectly still on his horse. He had gotten out his rifle and
was taking careful aim at the man. He pulled the trigger and a dart
struck the man's neck from the side. The man reeled and collapsed,
unmoving only a few feet from where Face sat on his horse still too
in shock from the attack to move.

The trio of wranglers converged on the man's
fallen form. The dart had done its work. The man was completely
knocked out. Hole got down and began the process of hog tying the
man, taking special care to make sure the ropes were tight enough
around his head to hold his jaws closed.

Face turned to Red in his saddle. "That was a
little too close for comfort boss. I thought he had me for
sure."

"
You're dead anyway Face.
Your sloppiness in the pen last week saw to that. All we just did
was buy you a little more time at best." Red looked up at the
setting sun sinking beneath the mountains. "Let's just get him in
the pen with the others before it gets dark." Face nodded and moved
to help Hole load the man onto a horse as they all headed back to
the ranch.

Red sat by the campfire puffing on a
cigarette. It was a hollow habit since the nicotine had no effect
on him. He didn't normally bother with trying to breathe except in
these moments when the old addiction tore at his mind enough to
make him want the feel of something warm in his lungs. He watched
Hole and Face approaching on their way back from locking down the
cattle for the night and remembered different, better times. When
he'd gotten into the cattle business, he'd had dozens of "hands" to
help him breed and transport the beasts to the markets.

Now it was just the three of them. The irony
was that the cattle sold for twenty times the price per head today
compared to what it had back then. Yet even with the offer of
higher pay, no one wanted to work "The Industry" anymore. It seemed
like everyone wanted a cushy office job or to be part of the newly
formed government. No one wanted to get their hands dirty with
making sure that people had food to eat. It just wasn't glamorous,
Red supposed. He had to admit though that working with the cattle
was dangerous work but he loved it all the same and didn't
understand why didn't.

Hole and Face joined him at the fire. He
could see from the flickering light that Face's companions were
working overtime this evening. The maggots in Face's flesh
practically swam over the man's nose and lips. There was no doubt
that face had the sickness.

Most called it "The Rot". One of the cattle
had bitten Face a week back and he'd never been the same since.
Whatever he'd caught from it seemed to be speeding up, not slowing
down. Red was no doctor but understood enough about "the rot" to
know that Face's natural state was disrupted and he was reverting
to the corpse he had been before being reanimated. Some folk
figured it was an enzyme in live humans' spit that did it, others
believed it was a virus only the living carried but either way it
meant a slow painful death if you were bitten.