Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

The closest to where the intruders were trying to enter.

Manny’s heartbeat roared in his ears, urging him to save them. All of them. Yet, his feet remained rooted on the worn carpet. Tears swam in his eyes. He blinked them away.

He wouldn’t let his family down.

Not again.

Warmth gushed through him, breaking the paralysis. Pivoting about, he lurched toward the living room and tripped over the cinder blocks he called feet. His shoulder slammed against the drywall. The board crunched under his weight and flakes of white plaster speckled the green carpet. Pushing away, he staggered into the bathroom. The bubbled linoleum cracked underfoot.

“Manny?” Lucia’s whisper stirred the foam swelling over the edge of the tub.

As white as the suds around her, a wide-eyed Mary sunk deep into the bubbles. Her hand covered her mouth and her fingers dug into her cheeks.

Grunting, he shook the feeling back in his fingers. Funny how it didn’t hurt. “Hide. In the attic. Just like we practiced, Luce.”

Lurching from the room, he staggered forward without waiting to see if she obeyed. She would. They all would.

They had to.

Manny careened into the living room and stopped. Swaying on his feet, he listened. Only the plip-plop of the simmering beans and the whirl of the microwave came from the kitchen. Had they stopped trying to get inside?

“Is it the soldiers?” Standing near the open coat closet, Jose held Mikey’s hand. Both had a flashlight and a backpack. A rope ladder hung from the open attic access inside the tiny space.

“No, Little Man. It’s not the soldiers.” They would not be that lucky. Whatever lurked in the darkness was worse. Far worse.

The Aspero.

And all the long, sharp knives were in the kitchen.

He should have hidden them around the house, should have planned better. “Get up the ladder.”

Jose’s cinnamon-colored chin thrust forward.

Manny’s stomach clenched. Not now. He couldn’t handle an argument right now. “Just like we practiced.”

Mikey jerked his hand free and reached for the rope. “Please Jose. I’m scared.”

Jose’s lower lip trembled. Sighing, he reached through the coats hanging in the closet and pulled out a bat. “Here.”

Manny’s heart ticked like the clock of a bomb as he lifted the scarred bat. It sounded hollow as he thumped it against his palm, but felt real. Solid. Popi had said it was maple. Maybe he’d get to split someone’s head open before they shot him.

The rattling came again. Louder as whoever was on the outside pulled on the chain with more determination.

Lucia and Mary’s bare feet slapped the tiles as they ran into the living room. Bubbles clung to their hair and the damp towels they had wrapped around their thin bodies. Holding the terrycloth in one hand, they lugged backpacks in their other. The pink bags thumped against their legs with each step. Lucia slowed to let Mary move in front of her then they were scrambling up the ladder.

Twisting the bat in his hand, Manny waited. He had to make sure they were safe. They were his responsibility. And he had time. They hadn’t gotten through the chain.

Yet.

Wood bumped rhythmically against the rafters as his brother pulled up the ladder. There was a moment of silence then a scrape and whoosh as the cover was slid into place. Manny peered into the closet. No seam of the opening was visible. Please let it be enough to keep them safe.

“Don’t come out until they’ve gone. No matter what you hear. Understand?”

One rap on the ceiling was his answer.

The Aspero made no distinction between children and adults. And age wouldn’t protect the girls from the worst of the lot. In fact, it might encourage the pedophiles and sadists.

Hefting the bat to his shoulder, Manny pushed the closet door half-closed. Avoiding the pile of toys, he leaned against the wall before peering around the doorway into the kitchen.

The plywood remained firmly shut, and the chain snaked across the floor. Steam wafted from the pot of beans and added the aroma of food.

Had they given up? Or were they going to try a new door or window? He twisted the bat in his sweaty palms. He’d have to check.

Leaving the kitchen, he glanced right then left. The bedrooms or the carport. The carport was the only door no longer boarded up. They’d probably try it first so more of them could rush in, overwhelm him, and torment him before the beat down. His hand shook as he reached across the chipped linoleum for the knife. He brushed the brown handle and the blade spun.

Swearing, he leaned farther inside the kitchen and caught it mid-spin. He lifted the knife and scooted his fingers down to the handle. Warm blood trickled down his palm. He sucked on the cut before sticking the knife blade down in his tube sock.

Keeping the light on, Manny fingered the metal flap of the pocket door shut before grasping the cold handle. The painted wood rolled silently closed. He listened to his raspy breathing for a moment, then two. The VCR timer pulsed blue light around the room.

Enough. He had to know where they were and how many had come. Turning away from the living room, he headed for the curtains hanging from the door jamb of the laundry room.

A thump rumbled through the rafters.

Manny held his breath and looked up at the ceiling. Was it the kids or… them? His chest burned, and then his pulse drummed against his temple.

No screams.

No cries for help.

No more noise.

Slowly, Manny exhaled. With the bat still resting on his shoulder, he ran his cut hand down the silky fabric. The faint scent of lavender stirred in the air and an image of his mother flashed inside his head, so real he could have swore she stood in front of him.

He shook the thought from his head. His mom was dead. It was up to him to keep the niños safe. The chintz curtains rustled as he slipped between them. Light trimmed the door and stabbed the darkness. The peephole was a pale eye in the wood plank.

Heart jack-hammering, Manny waded into the mounds of dirty clothes. Closer. Closer. He gripped the bat with both hand, moved his hands up to compensate for the narrow space.

The doorknob jingled.

Would the lock hold? Manny’s knee buckled. Pitching to the side, he felt the stinky fabric give under his leg. He released the bat in time to slam his palm against the washer.

The impact was a drum in the silence.

“Fuck!” In one motion, Manny swung the bat up, catching it with his free hand, and held it up like a shield in front of his chest. He stared unblinking at the closed door. His body vibrated. He panted for air, until his face tingled.

Still no one ripped the door off the hinges or shot out the lock.

What the hell?

Eying the door, he rose to his feet.

A soft scratch and then…

“Manny?”

He blinked. He knew that voice. She’d followed him and his best friend everywhere. The bat thudded to the clothes at his feet. “Irina?”

“Please let us in.” Her voice broke on a sob. “The Aspero are coming.”

He stepped forward and touched the knob. The cold metal injected a dose of self-preservation and he jerked to a stop.

Irina could be bait.

“Hurry.”

Stumbling forward, he flattened himself against the door and raised his eye to the peephole. Leaves swirled across the empty carport. Should he let her in, take the chance that she was alone? And what of his family?

“Please, God!” Irina cried.

He’d taken in Mary and Mikey, neighbors who had gone to his church. How could he do any less for his best friend’s sister? Manny’s fingers slipped on the lock, before he turned it and opened the door.

Mavis eyed the eagle pinned to the colonel’s lapel. Could he be right? Could the Rattling Death be back? She sucked on her bottom lip. It wasn’t unusual for flu season to pick up in the spring. Still… She replayed the officer’s message inside her head, tripping over his last words.