K Stewart - A Shot in the Dark

Focus, Jesse. One thing at a time. First, Zane had to get to a hospital.

Marty didn’t exactly squall tires getting out of the parking lot, but only because I’m not sure the Suburban was capable of such a feat. Next to me, Oscar was turned around in his seat, keeping an eye on Cameron and Zane, stuffed into the back with Duke. The big mutt had curled up next to the injured boy, as if his mere massive presence could make things all right.

Turned around as I was, also checking on the invalids, the first sign I had that something was wrong was the enormous “THUMP” and Marty spewing out more curse words than I even knew. The vehicle swerved hard, throwing me against the door, and something heavy dented in the roof, almost smacking Oscar in the back of the head.

“It’s on the roof!” Well, no shit, Will. Before any of us could do anything, the window next to Cole shattered inward, and a skeletal arm reached in, snagging his shirt with filthy, grasping fingers.

A grotesque head hung upside down in the window, and through the shouting and the broken glass and the careening truck, I recognized it as Handless. I couldn’t even imagine how she was hanging on with her stub of an arm, grappling my brother with the only hand she still possessed.

Cole had the heel of one palm jammed against her chin, trying to keep her snapping, snarling mouth away from his face, while the other pried at her fingers, her rotten skin coming away under his nails. “Somebody get this bitch off of me!”

I snatched Oscar by the belt and pitched him over the back of the seat, not caring if he landed on Cameron. There wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver in the cramped backseat, but I managed to swing my legs around and aimed a few vicious kicks at Handless. Bone crunched under the first, and the second caused her to lose her grip. The filthy thing didn’t fall, though, using her hold on Cole to flip right side up, her clawed feet scratching loudly down the door as she looked for purchase.

Cole couldn’t get to his gun, and my sword was useless. But the truck was still moving, and I braced myself against my own door. “Cole! Door! Marty, tree!”

The Suburban swerved, and tree branches whipped through the broken window, spattering us with shredded leaves. Cole let go of Handless long enough to grab the door handle, and I kicked outward with all my might. The door went flying open, taking Handless with it, then slammed back shut with a crunch as it impacted the next tree we passed. Black goo splattered over Cole, and Handless’s now severed arm (the one with the hand) flopped into his lap, twitching feebly for a moment. And Handless was gone.

With a disgusted exclamation, Cole flung the arm out of the window, trying to scrub his hands off on his gore-splattered jeans.

“Did it kill her?” I crawled across Cole despite his protests, sticking my head as far out the window as I dared. I couldn’t find her.

“Sweet cartwheeling Jesus,” Cameron breathed, and I was inclined to agree with him despite the blasphemy. Only he wasn’t worried about Handless and her missing appendages. “Look.” He yanked on my shirt until I turned to look out the front window.

The road, about a hundred yards in front of the truck, was full of Yeti. Okay, there was just one Yeti, but damn he was huge. And very obviously pissed off.

“Jess, what do I do?” Marty asked, the truck slowing as he took his foot off the gas.

I leaned over the front seat to get a good look, locking eyes with the white-furred demon. “Punch it.”

“You mean it?”

“Hit him.”

Without hesitation, Marty put his foot in it, and the Suburban lurched forward, diesel engine roaring as we barreled toward the massive creature. The Yeti bellowed back, standing his ground as we came on, and I started to wonder if maybe I’d made a huge mistake.

Just as I tensed for impact, and Will braced his arms against the dash, muttering, “Oh shit,” the demon vanished, and we passed harmlessly through a cloud of quickly dispersing blight. When I turned to look out our back window, the road was empty.

I think every person in that truck deflated, letting out the breaths we’d collectively been holding. I clapped Marty on the shoulder, noting that only now was he flexing his white-knuckled hands on his steering wheel. “To Fort Collins, Jeeves. And don’t spare the horses.”

I collapsed into my seat, feeling broken glass grind against my legs, and I just couldn’t bring myself to care.

T he nearest hospital was in Fort Collins, more than an hour away, but through some miracle we made it there in record time and unmolested.

There was no way the ER staff was ready for us. We came in like a herd of drunk buffalo, so many of us covered in blood and unidentifiable goo that they finally just herded us all into the back to let the actual docs sort us out. Even Duke managed to slip by, and he made camp next to Zane’s bed, doing a pretty damn good disappearing act for something the size of a small horse.

I tried to disappear. My injuries were superficial at worst, and after spending so much time in them, hospitals in general give me the heebie-jeebies. I found an out-of-the-way corner and pretended that I was invisible, lost in the scent of bleach and the monotonous beep of a dozen different monitors. Maybe if I held really still, no one would notice me.

I know you’re not supposed to use phones in hospitals, but I was desperate to get word to Mira, Ivan, anybody. I filched Cole’s phone while he was having some glass shards removed from his neck, and kept trying to get my wife on the phone. Nothing. Nada. Bubkes.

A passing nurse paused briefly, thinking to chastise me over the phone I’m sure, but she took one look at my face and thought better of it. Instead, she grabbed some antiseptic swabs and started working at the cuts and scrapes, holding my chin in an iron grip no matter how I tried to pull away. We took turns glaring at each other as I dialed and redialed the phone, but by the end, I think we’d found some kind of happy truce. Neither of us liked the other, and we were okay with that.

Cameron, despite the fact that he looked like the walking dead himself, was trying to explain Zane’s condition to the doctors. “I’m telling you, he was attacked by an animal, and the wound went all nasty like this in just a day. We got him here as fast as we could.” They obviously didn’t believe him, which was logical since he was lying out his ass. I wondered if he’d have to mention that in confession later. “No, we don’t know what kind of animal.”

The bite on Zane’s hand was fairly obscured by his demon mark and the insidious infection. The others, however, over his arms and shoulders… well, those couldn’t be anything but human. Even I could see that, and I wasn’t a medical professional. Cameron was going to have to work on his song and dance skills if he wanted to explain that away.

Will could have backed him up, but my buddy hung back, his normally chattering self uncharacteristically quiet. He didn’t like lying about medical stuff. It went against his own personal code of helping people. But when you can’t exactly run around telling people that a zombie bit your friend, you either lie, or you shut the hell up. He was doing the only thing he could, and still live with himself.

Oscar could have backed Cam up too, or at least nodded along or something, but I think he’d finally spent the last of the energy that had sustained him throughout his introduction to this terrifying new world. He took up a chair next to Zane’s bed, holding his son’s good hand while the staff rushed to get IVs and other medical paraphernalia in place. Already, I could see the powerful painkillers taking effect, and the tension in the teenager’s face easing. The best they could do for him was let him sleep through this. Their medicine wasn’t going to do a damn thing beyond that.