Brian Keene - Urban Gothic

Good, she thought , let them eat each other instead of me.

She watched them feast and retched a few more times. Then, satisfied that she’d live for at least the time being, Heather turned to search for a way out.

She collided with Scug, who was standing silently behind her.

“Bitch,” he spat, slapping her face with the back of his hand. “I should have known I’d find you down here with all the other trash.”

Heather didn’t utter a sound as she swung the flashlight around and smashed him in the side of the head. Grunting, Scug stumbled backward, swaying on his feet.

“No more, you fucker,” she said, her voice low and predatory. “No more of this shit. It’s my turn now. My turn!”

She struck him again, rocking his head back even harder. The air rushed from his lungs. Scug swayed more. For a second, she thought he might fall, but he maintained his balance. Heather darted in for a third blow, but Scug straightened up, rubbed the side of his head and stared at her, grinning. She faltered, halting in midswing.

“You think so?” he asked.

Heather felt her anger waver. Doubt crept back in. Her fear bloomed anew.

Scug’s smile grew larger. “Do you really think so?”

“I m-mean it,” she stammered. “Stay the fuck away from me, you sick freak.”

“Come on, girlie. Give it your best shot.”

Screaming, Heather charged. Rather than dodging or trying to block her attack, Scug met it head-on, stepping toward her. He caught her swing with one hand. His other arm grabbed her left breast and squeezed. Heather’s enraged cry turned into a shriek of pain. Still twisting her breast, Scug wrenched her arm downward and twisted it at the same time. The flashlight slipped from Heather’s grip and clattered onto the floor. The lens shattered, and the flashlight rolled away, plunging into the water.

Scug hissed. His foul breath was hot and humid on her face. His fingernails dug into her wrist and through her shirt into the meat of her breast as he squeezed harder, forcing her down to her knees until she was eye-level with the horrid penis sticking out of the leathery vagina he wore at his waist.

“You’re not good enough for a new suit of clothes,” he spat. “You’re no good for anything. You’re just another piece of garbage, washed down to us from above. You’re trash.”

“Please,” Heather pleaded. “Please please please please . . .”

Scug laughed, his face hidden in shadow. “You gonna beg now? You gonna offer to suck my dick or something if I promise not to kill you?”

Heather choked out a sob, unable to respond. Scug’s penis twitched, coming to life.

“Is that what you’re gonna do? You gonna beg for it?”

Behind her, Heather heard a great commotion in the water—splashing and a chorus of tiny, hungry voices. Her thoughts turned to Javier and the rest of her friends. She wondered where they were now, and if any of them were still alive.

“Well, guess what?” Scug let go of her breast and grabbed a fistful of her hair. He jerked it hard, and Heather screamed again. “I wouldn’t let you put your mouth on me. What do you think of that? You’re not good enough for it. Not good enough to eat. Not good enough to wear. Like I said, you’re just another piece of garbage from up above. And down here, we throw our garbage away.”

“No . . .”

“Yes. I bet your boyfriend tastes better, anyway. He’s a fighter. I’ll eat his heart first and gain his strength.”

Laughing, he dragged her by her hair to the edge of the pit. Heather twisted and fought and clawed, but Scug refused to let go of her hair or her arm. Her feet kicked the ground, but to no avail. Scug grunted with effort and Heather felt herself falling. One moment, there was hard stone underneath her. The next, she splashed into the noxious pool again. She had the presence of mind to gasp a lungful of air before she sank beneath the surface, but that was all.

No, she thought. I’m not dying this way. Not after all I’ve been through. Fuck that. No way.

The waters fairly teemed with activity. Heather felt them churning all around her as she kicked for the surface again. Her foot struck something hard that rolled and twisted under her heel. For a moment, she thought it might be her flashlight, but then she realized that it was too large for that.

Flashlights didn’t have tails.

The tail was thick and long, and reminded her of a tentacle. It whipped up fast and slapped into her thigh with enough force to break her femur. The pain was worse than anything she had ever experienced in her life. Meat and bone were sheared away. The appendage tore through her arteries and nerves.

Heather sank fast and hard. She stared upward, hoping to see light, but all she saw was blackness. The shadows beneath the surface were too dense for her to be able to make out her attacker. All she could see clearly was a small shape with a large tail, rocketing toward her. More of the mutant babies swam behind it, all closing in on her position.

She instinctively threw up a hand to block the attack, and the tail sliced through her arm, severing it halfway between her elbow and wrist. Heather stared at the stump. Blood flowed slowly from the wound, clouding the water like ink. The tail came down again and shattered her sternum, chopping into her chest. One of her breasts floated, attached only by strands of gristle and flesh. Then it was torn free of her body by dozens of eager little hands.

Not going to die like this. I refuse, goddamn it! This isn’t how I’m supposed to die. It’s not fair. I’ve got stuff to do. This just doesn’t make sense . . .

She looked to the surface again, hoping to see the light one last time, hoping to see Javier coming to save her. Hoping to see her parents. Her siblings. Her friends. God.

Instead she saw the tail lashing toward her face.

Then the darkness enveloped her, and Heather saw no more.

twenty

Javier closed his eyes. Not because he wanted to, but because the adrenaline surge that had fueled him ever since his escape from his captors had now left him, leaving him weak and shaking. Blood loss, shock, and fatigue had all finally caught up with him. He knew that if he was going to find the others and make it out of here alive, then he needed to rest, if only for a moment. His stomach growled. He was hungry. It seemed absurd after everything that had happened, but it was true.

A soft breeze blew across his face, coming from somewhere to his left. It reminded him for a moment of how he’d felt as a child when his mother’s breath whispered over his skin as she sang him lullabies. He realized now just how precious those memories were, those odd little sensory recollections that made up the sum of his existence. They were what it meant to be alive. If he died tonight, those memories would cease to exist. Javier had no intention of allowing that to happen. He stayed where he was, crouched against a large boulder, not wanting to continue on just yet, not wanting to forget his mother because as long as he remembered her, he couldn’t die.

He opened his eyes as another breeze dried the sweat on his forehead and cheeks. It had a different scent—not the stench of the mutants or the reek of sewage. This was something else. Something he couldn’t identify. It was not unpleasant. He thought of some of his other favorite smells—gasoline and Heather’s perfume and the potpourri his mother had all around the house and the charbroiled aroma that always seemed to drift out of Burger King restaurants. His stomach growled again. God, he was hungry.

So were his opponents. He needed to get moving again.

He wondered how they had managed to live for so long down here. What else did they eat? Rats? Bugs? Did they hold captives in pens like livestock? Or worse, force their prisoners to breed and then eat the offspring like some perverted form of lamb chops? Human veal? How did the creatures subsist? They couldn’t have survived just on people who blundered into the trap above. Not everyone was foolish enough to run into a condemned house and offer up his friends as a fucking buffet.