Nick Cutter - The Troop

“I’ll k-kill you,” he said between volleys of laughter. There was no real menace in his voice. He could have been stating a matter of his daily agenda. “Kill you both…”

A flash pot of rage exploded in Max’s chest. Blood was running from the stab wound to soak the hem of his underwear.

“You’ll kill us, huh? Is that what you’ll do, you crazy fuck?” He stepped toward Shelley. “What if I kill you first, huh, Shel? What if I kill you ?”

Shelley cocked his head at Max. A predatory gesture—was he baiting Max? Shelley sucked back snot and hocked up phlegm. He opened his mouth and showed them the oyster of thick mucus on his tongue.

Max saw things wriggling in it.

Shelley’s mouth curved into a smile as he diddled the oyster around on his tongue.

“You’re sick, Shelley,” Newton said. Max figured he wasn’t just talking about the worms, either. “We found these mushrooms. You could take them. They might flush them out.”

Shelley’s head swung side to side like a pendulum—then he spat. Max dodged; the spit sailed past his leg. It hit the dirt and picked up dust. It’s squirming, Jesus his spit is squirming . Max’s first urge was to stamp on it like he would a revolting bug, but he resisted the impulse.

They backed away as Shelley struggled to stand. Max was sure he’d just keep hocking until he hit the mark—that, or bite them or even lick them. He’d infect them for the pure sport of it.

Max’s heels hit the edge of the campfire. The rocks forming the ring weren’t all that big. Some of them were fist-size, some smaller. He picked one up, testing its weight. It felt good in his hand. It felt mean .

Shelley was coming. Max pegged the rock. The muscles flexed over his rib cage and caused the cut on his belly to tear even wider. The stone whanged off Shelley’s knee. Max thought he saw something crumple and sag under his pants and wondered if he’d shattered Shelley’s kneecap—and in that moment he was so hopeful that he had.

Shelley squawked and fell, clutching at his leg. Max picked up another rock.

“The next one you’ll catch with your face, Shel,” he said. His voice was coolly businesslike, but his bloody hands were trembling.

Shelley hissed at them—actually hissed , like a vampire who’d had a cross jammed in his face. He scrambled away, retreating up the dirt path behind the cabin.

Max pursued, following Shelley until the path tracked into the pines. He paused—could Shel be waiting in ambush? Turning reluctantly, he doubled back to Newton.

“Where is he?”

“In the woods,” Max said. “He was limping bad. I might have broken something.” He considered this possibility, his lips forming a hard, thin line. “Good. I hope so.”

“What if he comes back?”

“I don’t know, Newt. I just don’t know.”

They turned their attention to Ephraim. The wind had blown the sleeping bag back over his body, which was a small mercy.

Max said: “We got to bury him, Newt.”

“Yes,” Newton said. “We ought to do that. It’s the only way he’ll get to Heaven.”

IT WASdark by the time they put Ephraim in the ground.

But first Newton bandaged Max’s wound. The edges of the cut were clotted with dirt—Newton debrided them as best he could with salt water fetched up from the beach and dressed it with bandages from the medical kit. Blood seeped through the gauze almost as soon as he applied it. It would have to do. The medical kit was almost empty.

They buried Ephraim in the ground south of the campfire. It was softer, almost sandy. They used a collapsible shovel Newton had bought at the Army Surplus. When its handle snapped off, they used their hands.

When the grave was finished, they dragged Ephraim to it. The sleeping bag’s neoprene shell slid over the ground with effortless ease. At first, they were terrified the hole wouldn’t be deep enough and that they’d have to dig deeper while Ephraim’s body sat right next to them.

It was deep enough. They scooped dirt over and patted it down to discourage animals from digging the body up. Newton recited a short prayer that his mother often said. He didn’t know that it really applied, but it was the only one he knew by heart.

Afterward their eyes were hot and dry. Max wanted to cry if only to release the tension in his chest. But his body wouldn’t release the tears because his mind wouldn’t allow it. It seemed inconceivable that Eef could be in a hole in the ground. Just last week Max had raced him across the monkey bars at recess. Eef won. Afterward they’d sat in the shade by the baseball diamond and ate their lunches. Eef’s mom had packed some crackers for him; they’d stuffed their mouths with the dry squares and seen who could recite the alphabet fastest. They were spitting out shards of cracker and laughing like mad. Eef had won that game, too. Eef won just about everything where Kent wasn’t involved.

Max and Ephraim would never hike to the bluffs behind his house, staring up at the stars as the shearwaters called from the cliffs; they’d never talk about girls and candy and their dreams and who’d win in a fight, Batman or James Bond. They’d made a pact to be friends forever, but forever could be so, so brief.

Max curled into a wretched ball beside the grave. Eef was dead. Everyone was dead or missing or insane. The cabin was in splinters and things were falling apart.

Which seemed so unfair .

Where were the adults? Max couldn’t believe someone hadn’t come for them yet. His parents were always nagging him to be on time, to be responsible and to think of others. Well then, what the fuck ? His folks were full of shit. Or else they’d be here. And Kent’s parents—including his hot-shit policeman dad—and Newt’s and Eef’s, too. Didn’t they give a shit about them? Maybe they were all complicit in it. A plot. They’d all bought into it. Get them out to the island and cut off their escape route. Let nature take its course.

No. That was idiot talk. Their parents would never do that. The fact that they weren’t here actually spoke to how dire the situation must be. Because this wasn’t nature , was it?

This was something else.

Those things. The way they spread infection—the way they spread .

Newton got a fire going. The warmth helped the anger and confusion melt out of Max’s brain; they were replaced by exhaustion. He felt as if he were wearing one of those heavy lead coats the dental hygienist draped over his shoulders before taking X-rays.

He lay beside the fire. Almost instantly, he was fast asleep.

EAT EAT EAT EAT…

Shelley rose in the dead of night to hunt.

He’d found a cool, dark place to hide. He’d limped into the woods, clutching at his hurt knee. He eventually came upon a cavern burrowed into the island’s bedrock. It was deep and narrow and it held the tang of salt. Perhaps it was fed by an aquifer that led out to sea.

He lay in the sheltering dark, listening to the water trickle on the rock. This place suited him. It would be a wonderful place to give birth.

The boys . Max and Newton. Skinny and fat. Jack Sprat and his wife. They thought he was sick. They couldn’t be more wrong.

He wasn’t sick. He was simply changing into something entirely new.