Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“Well that stuff kills it,” she informed Ken. “At least they can be dispatched fairly easily.”

“So what do you think? Send it off to the CDC?” asked Ken.

“Yeah, I guess. You’re the people doctor. What’s the protocol?”

“It’s not like this kind of thing happens everyday,” he said. “I’ll get everything cleaned up here. I’ll hose the place down the blue stuff just to be sure.”

“You can just pitch the glass. That stuff is cheap. Wrap everything in one of these bags and put it in that container. That stuff gets incinerated.” Sharon pointed to a smaller bin.

“Thank you, darling.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. He started to gather up everything he had brought while his girlfriend washed her hands thoroughly in the sink, taking belated caution around the dangerous samples.

“Okay,” she said, drying her hands on a paper towel, “you’ve got five minutes before this place will be swarmed.”

“Thanks again,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, facing her boyfriend and rising up to her toes to kiss his lips. “I’ll get my payment later.” She smiled.

“Is that a promise?”

“You’re too cute,” she said. Sharon reached up and pinched Ken’s cheek. Some of Sharon’s re-purposed skin cells transferred to Ken’s face and began their attack on the new host.

By the time Ken left Sharon’s veterinary clinic with a sealed plastic bag, Davey’s cells had reached Sharon’s bloodstream and had nearly found the capillaries in Ken’s cheek.

“HEY,” A VOICE CALLED from over Davey’s shoulder.

He glanced back towards the fence and saw a girl clutching the high chain-link, calling to him. His left hand came up automatically and caught the unseen ball rifled towards his face. Davey and Shane had been practicing jumping up from a squat and throwing to second base. The combination of movements made accuracy and speed difficult, but Davey was a natural and Shane was learning quickly. Davey flipped the ball to his right hand and stepped closer to the beckoning girl.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“That’s my brother.” She nodded at Shane, who had already started jogging towards Davey and the girl.

“Oh,” said Davey.

“What’s up?” Shane asked his sister.

“We’ve got to go. Mom’s coming.”

“How come?”

“One of the girls on our team got attacked or something last night?” she said.

“Seriously?” asked Shane. He was a full year older than Davey, and the two didn’t consider each other friends, but Shane was the closest acquaintance Davey had in the camp. He joined Shane and his sister at the fence.

The three stood close, separated by the tall fence.

“Yeah,” said Shane’s sister. “She got murdered in her house. They didn’t tell us that, but Brittney heard it because her dad is a cop. I didn’t know her, but we’re not supposed to practice. They said we can either go talk about how we feel or our parents can come pick us up. I called Mom so she’d come get me, but now she wants both of us to go. Lots of the girls are really upset.” She scuffed a ragged groove in the grass with her foot as she talked.

Davey saw through her bluster and phrased his question delicately—“What was her name?”

“Charlotte,” said the girl. “Anyways,” she continued to her brother, “Mom’s coming in ten minutes to pick us both up.”

“Okay,” said Shane. “I’ll go tell Coach Peterson.” He took off his cap and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm before jogging off to find the coach.

Davey was left at the fence with Shane’s sister, who still clung to the fence and squinted after her brother.

“So you didn’t know her?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said.

“I did,” said Davey. “I mean I met her once. She helped me a couple days ago when I cut my shin.” He pointed down to the scab.

“She was nice that way,” said Shane’s sister.

“I’m sorry she got murdered,” Davey offered.

“Yeah, whatever,” she said. She pushed away from the fence and started off towards the parking lot. “See you later,” she said to Davey.

“Bye,” he replied.

Davey sat down in the grass and pulled the sweaty mitt from his left hand. He placed it in his lap. He thought about his dreams from the previous night; about how frightened Charlotte had looked as the monster slowly turned the handle to her bedroom door. She hadn’t been surprised. Davey would have known that even if he hadn’t seen her eyes. She had known exactly what stood on the other side of her door as she sat up in bed.

Why didn’t she run? Davey wondered as he spun the scuffed baseball in his hand. He pictured the scene, trying to make Charlotte move to the window or run to the closet—anything to get away from the approaching giant. His eyes welled with tears as his imagination failed him. She refused to move even in his rewritten fantasy. Charlotte had known the fate that approached because she had seen it too. She had seen her future as the beast silently killed her parents, stopping in their room first before mounting the narrow stairs. They had been surprised. Davey knew that too.

Her father had awoken first. He began with curiosity, wondering why their daughter was opening the door to their bedroom, and then jumped to relief that the unexpected visit wasn’t taking place during the matrimonial bliss earlier that night. It never occurred to Charlotte’s father that the thing pushing open his bedroom door wasn’t his lovely daughter. His high-priced security system made intruders the furthest thing from his mind.

Charlotte’s mom woke next, just as the door swung open to reveal the giant monster on the other side. She gasped as her eyes picked the shape out of the gloomy doorway, and she clutched her blankets tight to her neck, as if the quilt could ward off the attack.

Both of Charlotte’s parents brimmed with infection from Davey’s cells, passed through his blood to their daughter, and from her innocent lips to theirs. The infection drew the monster, and neither parent had time to scream before their killer crossed the room and silenced their voices forever.

Locked in this trance, picturing the untimely death of her entire small family, Charlotte sat in her own bed as the creature trapped her in her second-floor room.

“Davey?” The coach crouched in front of the boy. He snapped back from the scene of Charlotte’s death; a remembered dream, forgotten until the news had reached him through Shane’s sister. When he looked up at the coach, several tears escaped from his eyes and made tracks through the dust on his face.

“What’s wrong?” asked Coach Peterson.

“Nothing,” Davey wiped his tears with the tail of his shirt.

As he started to stand, his coach reached out and grasped his wrist. Davey pulled his arm away quickly from the man’s gentle grip.

“Whoa,” said the coach, “what’s wrong? And don’t tell me ‘nothing’.”

“One of the girls.” Davey waved with the mitt he held in his left hand. “One of the girls got killed or something. I met her one time.”

“Oh,” said the coach. “I’m so sorry about that.” He reached out to put his arm around Davey’s hunched shoulders, but pulled back when he remembered how Davey had reacted to being touched. “Do you want to come talk about it? Or should I call your mom to pick you up?”

“No,” said Davey. “I’ll be okay. I just want to go get a drink first.”

“That’s fine,” said Coach Peterson.

“And Shane’s going home, so I need a new partner for drills,” said Davey.

“That’s fine,” the coach said to Davey’s back as he trotted off towards the water fountain.