Bryan Smith - The Killing Kind

Emily’s wail of agony scorched Chuck’s ear drums and he looked away.

Looked right at Zoe.

Who was free. And unwatched and unguarded. She had a chance. A very, very slim one, but she had to take it. He whispered her name and she looked at him. He nodded at the open balcony door. “Go.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She got up and started running and was all the way to the door before the one called Rob shouted a warning. “She’s getting away!”

Julie whirled around and saw her disappear through the door.

Missy screamed at her. “Get that bitch!”

Julie took off after Zoe, disappearing through the door seconds later.

Chuck heard footsteps pounding down the balcony staircase and prayed his girl could outrun the other one. But the other one had a gun. Zoe was pretty athletic, but she was wounded. And she couldn’t outrun bullets.

Missy stabbed Emily again and let go of her to join the chase. She vanished through the balcony door as Emily moaned and crawled back into the living room, dripping a trail of blood across the hardwood floor. She came to within a few feet of Chuck and raised a shaking hand toward him. The underside of the hand was visible, and his stomach twisted at the sight of the ruined, blistered flesh. The reaction was purely physical reflex. He felt no real sympathy for her.

“Please…help…me…”

“No.”

He balled his right hand into a fist and punched her dead center in the face. He heard a very satisfying crack of bone as she pitched onto her side. She moaned softly and didn’t move. Chuck started working at the layers of tape binding his legs to the chair. His heart was pounding. Maybe they all still had a chance after all. If Zoe could outrun the girls long enough, he could get loose and get to a phone, get the cops out here.

Footsteps, someone in motion.

Rob.

He went into the kitchen and started opening drawers. Chuck heard a clatter of silverware and his struggles with the tape became more frantic. He cursed. If only he could make his hands stop shaking. The fuckers had used so much tape. It was taking forever.

Rob came back into the living room.

He had a big carving knife in his right hand, the kind you’d use to slice up a Thanksgiving turkey. He waved it at Chuck. “Stop.”

Chuck kept unwrapping the tape. He didn’t have a choice. Maybe he could talk some sense into the guy before the girls came back. If he was ever going to exploit this dude’s obvious conflicted feelings, now was the time. “I can’t. I’m not gonna sit here and do nothing. Stab me if you want. I don’t give a shit.” Chuck continued unwinding the tape from his right leg. It was coming off faster and faster now. “You should help me. I’ll tell the cops. And I’ll tell them you didn’t do any of the really bad shit. Maybe they’ll go easy on you.”

“It’s too late for that.”

Chuck screamed as the knife slashed across his face.

He didn’t feel what the girls felt when he did it. He watched the blood pump from the guy’s wound and felt no surge of adrenaline. He felt revulsion and a renewed sense of self-loathing. This wasn’t for kicks. It never could be for him. He was just doing what needed to be done.

The girl with the burned face screamed at him, “You son of a bitch! Why are you doing this?”

Rob told the truth. “I don’t know. Not really.”

She called him a son of a bitch one more time and went back to sobbing.

A distant but sharp sound snapped Rob’s gaze toward the balcony door. The sound came again and this time he recognized it for what it was-gunshots. Julie was out there blazing away on the beach. The beach was probably pretty empty this time of night, but someone from one of the neighboring beach houses might hear the shots and call the cops. Or maybe not, this late at night. Rob put the odds at maybe fifty-fifty. Strangely, his anxiety level stayed about the same.

“ZOE!”

Rob flinched.

The one he’d cut-Chuck-was also staring at the open balcony door. The guy was beyond agitated. Rob couldn’t blame him. That was his girl dodging lead out there. He was a well-built guy. A workout addict. Every muscle in his body was bulging. It looked like a nest of snakes was trying to pop out of his skin. Blood poured down his face from the gash in his cheek, spilling past his lips and down his chin. He let loose a cry of rage at the sound of another distant pop. Then he kicked his right leg free of the remaining layer of tape, got his foot planted solidly on the floor, and drove himself headlong at Rob.

Rob shrieked and tried to backpedal, but the guy’s rage-driven momentum made it impossible to get out of the way in time. The top of his head slammed into his gut, blasting the air from his lungs. They both hit the floor hard, Rob falling flat on his back and his attacker landing awkwardly with the chair still attached to his left leg. The rest of them were screaming and cheering Chuck on, urging him to kill the son of a bitch. It was a surreal moment for Rob. How had he arrived at this point in his existence? He knew how, of course, had been there for the whole ride, but it still didn’t seem possible. He’d always thought of himself as basically a nice guy, yet now he’d become something others wanted to see dead.

It was fucked-up. Seriously.

Chuck had rolled onto his back and was working to remove the last of the tape from his left leg. Rob realized he’d somehow held onto the carving knife after taking the hit from the human missile.

And he realized something else.

He’d never stand a chance in a fair fight against this guy.

He sat up and jabbed the knife at Chuck.

Zoe fled down the beach in the dark, her long and toned runner’s legs allowing her to put some distance between her and her pursuers. She was somewhat hampered by the sliced-up soles of her feet or it would have been no contest at all. She would simply have run until they could run no more. And then kept on running, until she was far, far away from that house and the horrors inside. But the places where the glass had chewed up her feet were sizzling slashes of white agony. Tears streamed down her face as she focused all her will on the task of keeping her legs pumping in spite of the pain. And it seemed to be working. She glanced over her shoulder and saw them falling farther back, becoming pale, dreamlike figures sliding through the gloom. She began to hope again. She was going to make it. She wouldn’t die. Not tonight. A fierce, exultant joy rippled through her, overriding the pain, and she glanced backward again. She heard a pop and glimpsed a small spark in the darkness.

A gun!

They’re shooting at me!

The knowledge triggered a rush of primal terror. She imagined a piece of flying lead penetrating her body at unbelievable velocity. They weren’t likely to hit a moving target in the dark, especially from this distance, but they might get off a lucky shot.

But it wasn’t a bullet that brought her down.

She hit the sand castle and let out a gasp as she went sprawling in the sand.

Get up! Get up! Get up!

Zoe obeyed the voice in her head. The fall had amped up the pain in her feet, but she ignored it and clawed her way to her feet again. The pale figures behind her had drawn a little closer, gotten a bit more distinct. She saw another spark in the darkness and got moving again. This time her right foot landed square on the metal arm of a folded-up beach chair. She screamed as the pain staggered her and made her fall again.

Get up! Get up! Get up!

She tried, but she just couldn’t. She made it to her knees, but her right foot throbbed mercilessly, as if someone had poured battery acid inside the gashes. The pain was too much. She could go no farther.

And then they were on her.