Matt Hults - Husk

“You’re nuts,” the boy replied.

“It’s for Mallory’s life,” Tim replied. “What’s wrong with you people? Don’t you understand—we leave, and that thing will kill her. You guys are her friends, you can’t abandon her.”

“He’s right,” Becky said. The fear in her face seemed to have dwindled. Disentangling herself from Lisa, she stooped and picked up the shovel. “I’m with Tim. We have to help Mallory. She’s the one still stuck with that monster, not us.”

Together, Tim and Becky began clearing the remaining soil from the killer’s coffin while Adam and Lisa fidgeted several paces away, not watching.

Paul knelt on the interior roof of the overturned Expedition, immobilizing Rebecca’s head with his hands while Melissa examined her injuries. Once the detective established she wasn’t in shock and it would be all right to move her, they eased her out of the seat.

“Got her shoulders?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, she’s going to be fine, just hold her steady.”

They freed her from the wreckage and gingerly laid her in the short grass bordering the roadside. Not far away, the driver of the runaway semi paced back and forth, crushing a baseball cap in his shifting hands.

“Ah, crap, you don’t know how sorry I am,” he stammered. “Shit. I mean, I don’t know what happened. I tried to stop, I did, but the damn steering went out and the brakes wouldn’t work. L-look, I’m fully insured.”

Frank came around the Ford’s front end and handed Paul a folded blanket to use as a pillow. “Here, a couple of good Samaritans pitched in some supplies.”

Paul accepted the blanket and positioned it under Rebecca’s head, smoothing several strands of glossy auburn hair from her forehead.

“How’s the patrolman?” Melissa asked Frank.

“Alive,” he replied. “Which is damn lucky, considering how mangled his cruiser is. The brunt of the damage hit on the passenger side, but the guy’s in rough shape. One of the motorists who stopped is a surgeon, so I left him in her care while I came to check on you.” He gestured to Rebecca. “Is she okay?”

Melissa nodded. “Her pupils are responsive and she’s come halfway around once already. She should wake up any second. She probably just fainted but I still want her checked out once the ambulance gets here.”

Glowing eyes of lightning burned overhead.

“What about our kids?” Paul asked, voicing the question he knew would have a heart-wrenching answer. “Whoever took them got away, didn’t he? How are we going to find them again?”

Melissa looked at him, then glanced at Frank.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Frank replied. “I’ve got a CB in my truck, and we radioed for police backup the second we left the barn. With this accident, there’ll be cops all over the area in a matter of minutes. We’ll find that Mercedes, Mr. Wiess.”

Paul liked the sound of the man’s reassurance, but he couldn’t help noticing Detective Humble’s dubious expression.

“There’s a first-aid kit in my Chevy,” Frank added. “If you want to come along while I get it, we can check the reports and see if the car’s been spotted.”

Melissa opened her mouth.

“Detective Humble will watch over your lady friend here. We’ll only be a second.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

The two of them left the roadside and hurried to the grassy channel that separated the opposing lanes of traffic. Frank’s Blazer sat near its center, the vehicle’s right rear tire all but lost within the demolished wheel well.

Frank opened the lift gate and pulled out a shotgun.

Paul froze. “What are you doing?”

“I know where your daughter’s being taken,” Frank said. “And if you want to see her again, we have to move fast.”

Paul looked to the gun, to Frank’s face, then back to the gun. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

Frank dragged a large duffle bag out of the cargo space and offered it to Paul. “I’ll explain on the way. Now take this and let’s get moving.”

Still stunned, Paul couldn’t answer. He accepted the bag and nearly dropped it to the ground before catching it with his other hand. Metallic items clinked inside. “What the hell do you have in here? It weighs a ton.”

Frank eyed him. “Consider it a modern-day exorcism kit.”

Paul gaped. “What does that have to do with—”

“I’m talking about your daughter’s life,” Frank cut in. “Now, are you with me?”

“All right,” Paul agreed. “But how will we catch up with them? Neither of us has a working vehicle.”

“Then, we’ll just have to borrow one,” Frank replied.

Leaving the Blazer, they jogged to the far side of the semi truck, where traffic had come to a standstill.

They approached the nearest automobile, a battered red station wagon with no muffler. “Police emergency,” Frank shouted “We need your car.”

Engrossed with eyeballing the smashed-up truck, the wagon’s single occupant didn’t respond to their presence until Frank jerked open his door and hauled the man out by one arm. The driver began to protest, but when he caught sight of Frank’s shotgun, he fell mute and fled.

Frank took over the driver’s seat.

Paul jumped in the passenger side, laying the bulky duffle across his thighs.

Frank gunned the engine and pulled off into the grass, rounding the semi. Past the big rig, the station wagon’s noisy motor must have alerted Detective Humble. She poked her head up over Paul’s Expedition just in time to watch them race past.

“Frank,” she hollered after them. “What the hell are you doing?”

With each shovelful of earth bringing them closer to the corpse, a stronger emanation of death arose from the dank ground. The odor wafted into Tim’s nostrils, forcing him to pause every few shovel loads to straighten up and draw a breath of fresh air. Even the stiff breeze did little to disperse the stench.

“I think I’m gonna barf,” Becky said between breaths.

“Yeah, me, too,” Tim agreed. “It can’t be much farther now. Just try to hang in there, okay?”

She formed a weak smile in return and hefted another load of dark soil out of the pit. They both dripped with sweat, marred from head to toe with gritty black filth. Every now and then loose dirt spilled back into the grave and clung to their dampened arms and faces, smearing across their skin whenever they moved to wipe it away.

The bugs presented another annoyance. They hung in the air like a cloud. Mosquitoes hunting in the tall weeds had descended upon them in undefeatable numbers, continuously assaulting them from every angle and raising itchy welts across their flesh. Tim tried not to think of how many had become stuck in the blood coating his calves.

Despite the foul stink and regardless of their aching muscles or the torrent of insects, the two kept going, digging deeper and deeper, determined to appease the creature in hopes of freeing Mallory.

“God, I’m scared,” Becky whispered under her breath.

“You’re doing better than the others,” Tim encouraged her. “I know this isn’t easy, but right now, we’re Mallory’s only hope.”

“You must really like her,” Becky replied between shovel loads. “I mean, to go through all this for someone you haven’t known for very long.”

Tim glanced up. Even under the extraordinary circumstances a blush warmed his cheeks.

“You say I’m the good friend,” Becky continued, “but you’re the one who reminded me what was at stake here. If not for you, I might have j-just run away. W-what kind of f-friend is that?”

He could see she teetered on the verge of tears. He stopped to correct her, to tell her that her fears and the urge to flee were all justifiable. But before he could start the girl made another jab at the ground with her shovel and its blade struck something hard that lay less than six inches beneath the dirt. The impact vibrated through his shoes.