Brian Keene - Urban Gothic

Kerri reached down, grabbed a fistful of the dwarf’s greasy hair, and jerked its head up. Then she wrenched the club free. The pulped eyeball came with it, dangling on the edge of the nail like a squashed, oversized grape. A strand of tissue stretched like taffy from the empty eye socket. Kerri twisted the weapon in her hands and the ropy gristle snapped. Cringing, Kerri shook the club until the eyeball fell off. It landed in a puddle of feces and blood.

Kerri watched, forgetting about Javier or Heather or even Brett. She stood there trembling, absolutely transfixed as the dwarf’s motions slowed. Amazingly, it was still alive, despite the massive amount of damage it had endured. The thing rolled over and tried to crawl, failing miserably in all efforts to rise even to its knees. Kerri stared, horrified. It looked toward her, one eye rolling wildly while dark fluid gushed from the red, raw, empty socket. Then it breathed out one long, shuddering sigh and lay still. A strange expression of calm seemed to come over its misshapen face.

Despite everything the freak had done, Kerri felt a sickened sense of pity for it.

She moved past the corpse and crouched next to Brett. Without a word, she pulled at his belt until it came loose from his jeans and slipped it over his wrist. Two hard yanks and the leather strap was tight, pinching the flesh until the skin beneath was bone white. Brett let out a yelp but didn’t struggle.

“Lie still,” Kerri soothed. “I’ve got to stop the bleeding. And then I’ve got to help Javier and Heather.”

“W-wh-where . . .”

“Don’t talk. Just lie still.”

Kerri retrieved Brett’s cell phone and eyeglasses. She glanced around for his makeshift glass knife, but it had shattered at some point during the struggle. All that was left were tiny slivers. She put the glasses on his face. The frames had been bent during the attack, and they hung crooked—one side higher than the other. Using the sharp, white light from the phone, she examined Brett’s injuries. The three center fingers of his right hand were gone. Raw meat and jagged bone showed clearly past the remaining shreds of flesh. The remaining digits were already bruised and swollen. His nose had stopped bleeding and didn’t appear broken. Kerri doubted that would comfort him, though.

Brett coughed and then moaned. Frothy spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. He tried to speak again, but she put a finger to his lips. Then she handed him his cell phone, hoping that the light might give him some comfort.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back. You need to stay awake, okay? Can you do that? You need to holler if you hear any more of them coming.”

Brett whimpered, but nodded in understanding. He clutched the open cell phone to his chest with his good hand. Kerri felt like crying as she left him lying there.

She made her way to the end of the hall and peered into the darkened room. Heather was kneeling on the floor, sobbing. Dark streaks of mascara ran down her cheeks. Kerri moved up beside her, and Heather jerked in surprise.

“It’s okay,” Kerri said. “It’s just me.”

They were at the edge of a deep pit. From somewhere far below, they heard Javier groan. He sounded weak and afraid.

Kerri leaned forward and examined the floorboards. They’d been sawed off about five feet into the room. The trap ran the entire length, from wall to wall. Heather held her cell phone over the pit, and Kerri peered down into the hole, but all she could see was more darkness.

“Is he alright?” Kerri asked. “Has he said anything?”

Heather shook her head. “Not yet. I think he might have passed out or something. All he does is groan.”

Kerri leaned farther over the pit and called out for Javier. She kept her voice low—if there were any more creatures in here with them, she didn’t want to give their location away. When Javier didn’t answer, she glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if it concealed a trapdoor as well, like the one in the hallway. If so, she didn’t see it. The plaster was water stained and cracked, but there were no seams indicating a hidden door or compartment.

“Javier,” she tried again, “are you okay?”

He groaned louder, and then coughed. He stirred in the darkness, and once again, Kerri heard the distinct sound of clinking glass.

“If you can’t talk, just cough again. Okay? Let us know you can hear us, at least. Can you do that?”

“I can hear you.” His voice was stronger now, but tinged with pain. “Shit . . .”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yeah.” He paused. More glass tinkled. “But I’ll live. I think. Nothing’s broken, at least.”

“How far down are you?”

“I don’t know. It all happened so fast. Fuck me running. I can just barely see you guys. I dropped your lighter and my cell phone. Lost my knife, too. They’re down here somewhere, but I can’t find them.”

“Can’t you feel around?” Heather asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There’s broken glass all over the floor. I’m sitting in it right now. The less I move around, the better.”

“Jesus . . .” Heather gasped.

Kerri frowned, trying to figure out how to free him.

“Everyone else okay?” Javier asked.

“Brett’s hurt really bad,” Kerri said.

“What happened?” Heather glanced over her shoulder and out into the hallway.

“Another of those dwarf things popped out of the ceiling and attacked him. He’s been bit. He lost three fingers.”

“Oh shit!”

“Yeah. I stopped the bleeding, temporarily at least, but it doesn’t look good.”

Javier let out a choked, muffled yell.

“Babe?” Heather leaned out over the edge of the hole.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think a fucking rat just crawled over my leg. Get me the hell out of here, okay?”

“Okay,” Kerri promised. “Just hang on.”

“We don’t have any rope,” Heather said. “What are we going to do?”

Kerri stood up. “Take your clothes off.”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me. Take your clothes off. You said it yourself, Heather. We don’t have any rope. We need to get him out of there before more of these . . . whatever they are, come for us. And Brett needs a hospital.”

Without another word, Kerri began peeling off her dirty, sweaty, blood-soaked clothes. They were stiff and sticky, and in a way, it felt good to be free of them. Heather watched her for a moment, and then emptied her pockets and did the same. They piled their keys and other belongings on the floor. Both girls shivered, and goose pimples prickled across their flesh. Despite the stifling lack of airflow in the barricaded house, it was chilly. When they were down to their bras and underwear, Kerri gathered the discarded clothes and began tying them together.

“You guys still there?” Javier sounded worried.

“Yeah,” Heather told him. “We’re here. Kerri’s making a rope. We’ll have you out of there soon. Just hang on.”

Kerri tugged on the makeshift rope. Satisfied that the knots were tight, she lay down on the filthy floor and inched herself out over the pit. Then she lowered the rope into the hole.

“Grab my legs,” she told Heather. “Don’t let me fall, okay?”

“I won’t. Just hurry.”

Out in the hallway, Brett moaned.

“Javier,” Kerri called. “I’m sending a rope down. Can you see it?”

“No . . . wait! Yeah, I see it. Just barely.”

“Can you reach it?”

“Hang on.” He grunted. Then there was the sound of glass crunching again. Javier cursed loudly. “I can’t do it. Too much glass on the floor. I can’t see shit.”

Kerri glanced back over her shoulder. “Heather, give me your cell phone.”

Heather fished it out of the pile of belongings on the floor and handed it to Kerri. She flipped it open and held the open display screen out over the pit. Her other hand gripped the rope. At first, she couldn’t see anything. She lowered the phone farther, and waited for her eyes to adjust. Kerri gasped. The cell phone’s light glittered off the bottom of the hole. The pit was covered with broken glass—bottles, lightbulbs, windowpanes—sharp, glittering shards at least a foot deep. The glass around Javier was bloody. She saw cuts shining on his forearms and face.