Tim Curran - The Devil Next Door

Macy opened her mouth and said something perfectly unintelligible, but Louis understood. He understood just fine. Something in her, something good and necessary and human, had been laid bare and she was bleeding inside from a dozen cutting wounds. He took her by the hand and led her from that terrible place, the raw hot smell of death just nauseating.

It was just getting worse. Hour by hour.

And in his mind, he could not stop hearing Earl Gould’s voice: All of them out there…animals, they are regressing to animals, throwing off the yoke of intelligence and civilization, returning to the jungle and survival of the fittest…

God.

That explained the savage regression of human beings here and around the world…but what of these dogs? Dogs could be very savage, of course, their instinctive behavior was only kept at bay through breeding and discipline imposed by their owners…but what about these dogs? From what he was seeing, they had regressed, too, becoming less like domesticated dogs and more like wolves, savage blood-hungry wolves.

Did they have the gene, too? The dogs? Or was it not quite that simple? The regression of humans was more than just psychological, he was thinking. Maybe they didn’t sprout fangs or become hairy proto-humans like in the old movies, but the activation of that gene…well, it had to trigger biochemical changes in the human animal. And if the chemistry was different, more basic and animalistic, then obviously bodily secretions would be altered, too. Perhaps it was some chemical signature the dogs smelled, some odor that caused an aggressive response in them.

Louis supposed he’d never really know.

Outside, they stepped over bodies and dogs and that was when Louis went down on one knee and threw up. Oh, it had been coming for some time and when it arrived, it hit him hard like a good kick to the belly. Cold sweat popped out on his forehead and the world spun on its axis and down he went, his knee hitting the concrete hard and his hands slapping hard enough to make them sting. What was in his stomach came out in a warm, almost satisfying, gush as if he were voiding toxins or bad meat out of his system. He had no idea what he’d last eaten, but there it was, splashing onto the sidewalk.

Finally, the gagging stopped and blood finally made it back up into his head. “Macy,” he said. “Macy…”

She stood there, unmoved by what he had just done and what she was seeing all around her. Her eyes were wide and teary. They blinked. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed. Her hands were knotted into fists at her side. Her mouth hung open. But other than that, she was just gone. She’d seen too much, absorbed too much, and something in her had simply said, screw this, and shut down.

Louis reached out and grasped her left ankle. “Macy? Honey, are you all right?”

But she did not answer.

She was in shock or something, he figured.

He pulled himself up and put his hands on her shoulders. “Macy?” he said in a very soothing voice. “Listen to me now. I know this is bad, but you can’t let it get to you. You have to fight against it.”

But she was done fighting.

Louis took her hand in his own and it was chilly, moist and limp. She walked with him for maybe ten feet, then she moaned and folded right up. She fell against him and he caught her, which was a good thing because she might have split her head open on the sidewalk otherwise. She fell into him, loose and flaccid and he immediately gathered her up in his arms. She was a small girl, but he was amazed at how terribly light she was. He got her over to the grass, away from the splayed death all around them and gently set her down. She was breathing and her pulse was strong. Just shock. Just nerves. Just your average fainting spell and who more deserved one?

“It’s gonna be okay,” he told her. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

Although he did not like the idea of being out in the open and defenseless on Main Street, he knew there were things that had to be done. Things maybe he should have done hours before.

He pulled out his cellphone and dialed 911.

It rang and rang…but there was no answer.

No answer.

That meant emergency services were down and why the hell wouldn’t they be? He scooped Macy up and carried her over to the Dodge, wondering how it all looked from above. The bodies and the dogs and some crazy guy carrying a teenage girl in his arms. Jesus, like something off a paperback book cover or a movie poster. All that was lacking was some burning buildings behind him and some rolling plumes of smoke, maybe a couple smashed cars.

Leaning Macy against him, he opened the Dodge, then slid her into the seat. Her face was covered in a dew of sweat. Her eyelids flickered a few times, but she did not wake. He secured her with the seatbelt and shut the door…

The shadows were long.

It was almost time.

The Huntress was still waiting in the second hand store which was now growing wonderfully dark as the sun fell behind the trees leaving a smear of blood on the horizon. True nightfall would be in fifteen minutes.

The clan was growing impatient.

She made a grunting sound and they quieted.

Out in the street, the girl was in the car. The man was standing beside it, looking confused, looking troubled. The Huntress could smell his indecision, his weakness, blowing through the screen of the window. He was ripe for the taking. If they rushed out now, he might fight, but it would be half-hearted, without conviction.

She waited, sniffing the air.

She smelled green, growing things, the musky urine scent of the pack. She was catching a curious after odor of the girl in the car, too. The scent of her body wash, her sweat, the perfumed stink of her hair, and the ripeness between her legs that made the Huntress feel hungry.

The males of the clan smelled it, too.

Being who and what they were, they only wanted to follow it to its source. To take the offering of the girl, to break her and fill her with their seed. But the Huntress would not allow it and they knew so. They only wanted to run wild and free; she was teaching them discipline.

As the night air began to push steadily in, pure and sweet with night-blossoms, the Huntress felt her nipples harden. There was electricity in her blood, an expectant rhythm to her heart.

She watched the man.

In a few moments now…

Okay, Hero, what now? Louis asked himself. What you gonna do now? You gonna hang around this fucking graveyard in vain hope that the cavalry will ride in or are you gonna make like a sheep and get the flock out of here?

Standing there by the car, he was uncertain. Inside, a voice was telling him to run, to get out of town already, but it was not that simple and he knew it. Where were they? Where was everyone? Were they all dead? He could almost believe it, standing there on that deserted street, the shadows growing long, night coming, filling itself with a darkness that would soon fall over the town like a shroud. He could imagine them all, in their houses and garages and cars, just everywhere, all dead from something that was as inexplicable as the regression itself.

He looked around, seeing the bodies and the devastated police station. The buildings and storefronts of Main were just empty and dead like the entire population had been evacuated and somebody forgot to tell him about it. Everything was still, motionless and eerie. Like ground zero at an A-bomb test or a city in one of those post-apocalyptic movies.

Louis stood there, feeling the town around him, and was certain it was not empty. He could almost feel others out there as he had before. Hiding behind those storefronts, maybe waiting for dark like a bunch of ghouls. The idea of that made his flesh crawl.