Brian Keene - Urban Gothic

Heather’s breath caught in her throat as Javier punched the nearest attacker in the jaw. He shook his hand, wincing in pain, as the creature crumpled to the floor. Javier leaped over the writhing beast and yelled, urging the girls to follow him. He lashed at another creature with the belt, trying to clear a path, and then dashed into the darkness. Heather ran, desperate to keep up with him. Javier seemed to have snapped. That cool self-assuredness that he’d displayed so far was gone. His actions now were frantic. Manic. He shouted again, this time in Spanish.

He’s afraid, she thought. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to abandon us down here. He wouldn’t dare. He loves me. He wouldn’t leave me behind. He wouldn’t leave Kerri, either.

Heather bit her lip. Despite the immediate danger looming on all sides, she couldn’t help wondering whether Javier had feelings for Kerri. They’d spent time alone together in the aftermath of Tyler and Stephanie’s death, while Heather was hiding. And when they’d all found each other again, Kerri and Javier seemed closer somehow. Was it her imagination, or had something happened?

Javier shouted a third time, but Heather couldn’t understand what he said. She couldn’t even tell whether it was English or Spanish. She could barely hear him over the enraged and excited chatter of their foes. The bizarre howls had been replaced with guttural growls and grunts. Most surprisingly, a few of them spoke. The things they said were somehow more terrifying than their appearance. They promised the teens a multitude of mutilation and torture and deviancy once they’d caught them.

Heather had no intention of letting that happen. She ran, not glancing over her shoulder to see if Kerri and Brett were following. It sounded like there was a struggle taking place behind her. She heard Brett screaming. Then his cries turned to one long, extended wail that was suddenly cut short. Heather plunged ahead, narrowly avoiding the grasping hands of one of the freaks.

Long, ragged nails scratched at her skin, slicing into her shoulder. She shrugged them away and kept running.

“Get them,” one of the cellar’s inhabitants screeched.

“Don’t let them get away.”

“They’re fast,” another called. “My legs aren’t as long as theirs.”

“You won’t have any fucking legs if you let them get away, ’cause we’ll eat those instead.”

An impossibly obese hulk loomed over her, wheezing with exertion. Heather dodged it easily, but not before glimpsing two pale, ponderous breasts swaying amidst mounds of sweaty, jiggling flesh. It was female—and naked. The woman reached for her with cold, clammy hands. Her skin had the consistency of wax. Heather shuddered in revulsion.

“Javier? Where are you?”

In response, something tittered in the darkness.

“Here,” he called, his voice distant. “Heather?”

Another mutant lunged for her as she followed Javier’s voice, realizing too late that she was fleeing right into the midst of their attackers. Heather was out of range of the kitchen lights now, but the thing was close enough that she could make out some of its features, even in the darkness. It had a face and snout like a baboon, and its short, squat body was mostly hairless. Its eyes were definitely human, and they smoldered with rage. She darted to the left, out of reach of her pursuer, and then dodged to the right again. Her heart pounded in her chest. She breathed through her mouth to avoid the stench roiling off the creatures.

She thought she heard the belt crack up ahead, followed by a cry of pain. Heather ran in that direction, determined not to get separated from Javier. The ground was uneven and sloped downward. Even in the darkness, she could feel the descent increasing drastically. She winced as what felt like sharp, jagged stones poked her bare feet, but she shoved past the pain, not daring to slow down.

The sounds slowly dimmed, then ceased, but she kept running. She had no way of knowing whether she was still being chased. This part of the basement—if she was even still in the basement—was pitch-black, and she didn’t want to risk stopping to pull out her cell phone. She heard no footsteps behind her, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t still there, lurking, waiting to attack. Without stopping, Heather instinctively glanced over her shoulder, forgetting that she probably wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway. As she did, her foot came down in something wet, and she slipped, bouncing off a wall. Her hands shot out to break her fall, and sharp rocks sliced into her palms. Sitting up, Heather gasped, but managed not to scream.

She crouched there, cradling her hands in her lap. She could feel her blood trickling down her palms but couldn’t tell how bad the cuts were. She wondered if her feet were lacerated as well. They hurt, but she didn’t know whether that was from the earlier wounds or brand-new ones. She didn’t know how badly she was injured. She didn’t know where her boyfriend or her friends were. She didn’t know where her pursuers were. All Heather knew was that she was suddenly alone in the darkness.

“Javier?” she whispered, her voice quavering. “Kerri?”

There was no answer from either. Heather stood and listened, but the only sound she heard was her own harsh breathing. If Javier or Kerri were still nearby, then they were unwilling—or unable—to respond. She glanced around in the darkness, no longer sure of where she was or which direction she’d come from. She’d lost her bearings during her tumble. Far off in the distance, she spotted a tiny dot of illumination, and after a moment, she determined that it was the kitchen lights shining down into the basement. But it was so far away—as if the cellar were larger than the house above it. Maybe it was. Or maybe she’d run into a cave attached to the basement or something. She couldn’t tell. Her hands began to burn. Deciding to risk it, Heather fumbled for her cell phone, intent on at least examining her wounds. She patted her pockets, felt the reassuring bulge of the tiny cell phone, but then decided against using it, after all. What if one of the killers heard it or saw it? Darkness and silence were preferable to that.

“Kerri?”

Nothing.

Pouting, Heather tried to figure out what to do next. She couldn’t stay where she was, no matter how strong her urge was to curl up into a ball and just hide herself away. In the darkness, she had nothing but her hands and her sense of hearing to guide her. Both seemed useless right now. She couldn’t risk using the phone, so what did that leave her with? She patted the floor, wincing in pain as her cuts brushed against the rough surface. Eventually she located the wall and pressed herself against it. The cold, clammy surface felt good against her skin. She rested there, catching her breath and weighing her options again. Javier and Kerri had to be somewhere up ahead. They had to be, because the alternative was far too terrifying to consider. What if Javier had left her here? What if Kerri had wound up with Brett when whatever had happened to him back there in the darkness—something dreadful, by the sound of it—occurred?

What the hell would she do if everyone else was dead?

Somewhere off to her right, she heard a slight scuffling noise.

“Javier,” she tried again. “Is that you?”

This time she got a response.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty . . .”

The voice didn’t belong to Javier. Indeed, it barely sounded like it belonged to anything human. It was harsh and ragged, the words slurred, and there was an unmistakable hint of maniacal glee in the tones. Heather covered her mouth with her hands and tried not to make any noise. Despite her best efforts, a pitiful whine slipped past her lips and fingers.