A Hacked-Up Holiday Massacre: Halloween Is Going to Be Jealous (12 page)

“Matt, what happened to you?” She hurried toward him, bending his head back so she could check his nose.

“I tripped. I’m fine.” The blood had congealed into a thick crust over his upper lip, cracking with each word.

Jenn shook her head, like she couldn’t believe her son could be so clumsy. She gripped his elbow, leading him to the picnic, letting out a loud sigh as she helped him sit on the ground.

“Your ankle looks pretty bad. You sure you’re okay?” Tucker asked. He was sitting on a low rock beside Brooklyn, half a peanut butter sandwich gripped in one hand.

“Yeah. It’s just twisted, not broken. I tripped over a stupid root.”

“You’re lucky. What would we have done if you’d broken it?” Jenn wiped her hands on her pants before sitting back down.

“I guess we would have had to call for help. I don’t know, Mom. I didn’t fall on purpose.” He grabbed a bag of chips and a juice pouch out of his mom’s bag, putting his head down to end the conversation. Why did she sound so irritated?
If one of the girls had fallen she’d be all over them, kissing them to make the booboo go away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw Tucker shake his head, then turn towards Brooklyn.

“So, Brookie, why are we out here today?”

“’Cause it’s Earth Day.” She grinned, knowing she’d answered her dad’s question correctly.

“Yes, but what are we doing?”

“Planting our tree, so it can be with its family.” Brooklyn stretched her foot forward, pointing to the sapling with her toe. It toppled over, half of the rich soil falling out of the pot as it rolled down the gentle slope away from her. Tucker reached out his hand and steadied the tree, but didn’t sit it upright. He watched his daughter as she jumped up from her spot beside him and plunged her hand into the backpack filled with goodies. When she sat back down, she had an oatmeal cookie in her hand.

“Right, we’re planting our tree, but why?”

Brooklyn slowly unwrapped her cookie, letting the clear plastic fall to the ground as she took a huge bite. Around a mouthful of cookie and cream filling, she answered: “’Cause it’s Earth Day.”

Leaning his head forward, Matt couldn’t help but think again how stupid this was. If Brooklyn didn’t understand what they were doing, then no way Dallas would. What was the point?

“Look! A bunny!”

Matt looked up to see Brooklyn walking towards a brown rabbit sitting on its back legs in the weeds at the edge of the path. It looked just like the rabbit he’d seen in the parking lot and was just as observant. Both of its ears were pointed forward, honing in on everything the family did. It sat very still, only its little bunny nose twitching.

“Here, bunny. Want a bite of my cookie?” Leaning forward, she bent down, holding out a small piece. The rabbit twitched…and then jumped on her.

Tucker shot up as Brooklyn screamed. The rabbit bit deep into her arm, and she waved it back and forth in the air, trying desperately to shake the beast off. Blood ran down her skin and coated the bunny, clumping its soft fur into a black mass. Tucker started towards her but stopped when he saw more rabbits in the shadows of the foliage. The muscles in his face twitched, pulling his lips away from his teeth.

“Tucker! Help her!” Jenn stood, Dallas pressed against her chest. Tears streamed down both their faces, and Dallas kept screaming, “Brookie, Brookie,” over and over again.

Seeing Tucker wasn’t moving, Matt forced himself to stand. Something popped in his ankle with the sudden movement, and he threw up what little he’d eaten. The acidic smell of juice and chips ran down his face and covered his shirt and hands.

“Get out of the way.” He shoved passed Tucker, reaching out for the rabbit latched onto his sister’s arm. He grabbed her shoulder, trying to turn her toward him so he could get to the animal, but she was so hysterical she must have not realized it was him, screaming even louder and trying to get away. He tightened his grip, yelling her name. Her hair stuck to her face, snot and tears glistening against her pale skin.

Matt grabbed the rabbit, the soft fur at its neck sliding between his fingers, leaving tuffs sticking in the vomit splatter. The rabbit screamed as he wrenched it off Brooklyn. Blood coated its fur, its teeth chomping to grab ahold of her again. He flung it away, the motion like a flag signaling the other rabbits hiding in the undergrowth along the path. They launched themselves at Brooklyn. She’d lain down, cradling her bleeding arm, wailing in pain. The rabbits covered her like a blanket before Matt could reach for her. Her screeches filled the forest.

“Brooklyn!” Matt tried to pull the rabbits away, but they bucked their back legs, scratching long fissures into his forearms. Their teeth locked on her flesh, ripping away chunks of skin and muscle before going back for more. He couldn’t get to his sister.

Desperate, he looked for Tucker and his mom. Anyone to help. Jenn stood frozen. Her eyes were wide, her arms locked as tightly on Dallas as the rabbits were on Brooklyn. She shook her head, denying what she saw, a high-pitched keening whistling between loose lips. Tucker backed down the path. His face was white, his nostrils flaring as he snorted air, and he looked close to hyperventilating. His chin jutted forward, pulling the muscles in his neck tight, making them stand out. Scarlet lips flapped, no sound coming out as he tried to remember how to talk.

“It can’t be. This can’t be.” He stuttered and stumbled over his words and over the path. “Brooklyn. JENN!” Tucker turned to run; a black shadow dashed toward him from the woods.

Matt jerked his head back towards his mom, barely registering that Brooklyn was quiet, only a lulling slurp coming from the furry mass covering her body. Unable to comprehend what he saw, paralysis overcame him.

The tree behind his mom was moving. Not blowing in the wind, but moving. A limb bent downward striking her across the head. Matt watched in horror as she stumbled and Dallas tumbled from her arms, bouncing off a rock and rolling across the dirt path. A loud snap punctuated her screams as her left arm broke.

The forest became a blur of movement. The tree struck Jenn a second time, knocking her off her feet, blood pouring from her scalp. Then it struck again and again, not giving her time to cry out.

It was Tucker who screamed in pain, and when Matt looked, he saw a large buck pinning his stepdad to a tree. Tucker beat at the animal, causing more injury to himself than he inflicted. Red oozed from his arms where again and again he tried to push the deer away, slicing his flesh on its large rack. Finally, the deer backed up. Tucker fell to the ground, moaning and curling in anguish. The buck attacked again, this time with his hooves.

Matt’s chest felt tight and his arms and legs tingled. His ankle was forgotten. Nothing made sense and he didn’t know what to do. Everyone he loved, everyone in his entire family, was hurt or dying.

Finally, Dallas’s cries cracked through his shock. Matt’s eyes truly opened and all he saw was red. Blood covered the earth and pounded in his ears as he raced forward to scoop up his baby sister. She lay on the ground, one arm bent awkwardly behind her, rolling back and forth, screaming.

Ants covered her feet and legs like stockings. Matt remembered the searing pain he’d felt when the ant had bitten him earlier, and his stomach rolled with the thought of feeling the hundreds covering Dallas. Fighting back the urge to be sick, he snatched her off the ground, flinching when she bellowed louder than before. A quarter-sized hole had been under her body, ants exploding from the earth in droves. He stumbled away, trying to escape the clicking mandibles. Dallas’s arm flopped uselessly, Jell-o in a plastic bag. He beat at her legs, trying to wipe away the clinging insects and ignoring the familiar burn as their mouths bit deep into his skin. As they fell away, he saw her feet had been flayed, leaving raw meat exposed. Matt couldn’t contain the nausea anymore. He heaved. Bile, hot and scalding, burned his throat and mouth.

Dallas’s screams beat against Matt’s ears, but the forest grew quiet. Standing on shaking legs, he looked around at what was left of his family. Tucker had been smashed to a liquefied pulp covering the pathway like a puddle. His mom was a bundle of bruises. Every one of her limbs lay snapped in the wrong direction, sometimes two. Her face was slack, a large hole in her head. A gray substance leaked into her hair, clumping it together. Matt couldn’t bring himself to think of it as her brain; it was just gray. Turning back to look in the direction they’d been heading, he saw the rabbits were gone. So was most of Brooklyn. What lay on the ground wasn’t his sister, but scraps from a ravaged meal.

Matt couldn’t get any air as the images pressed down on him. Spots danced before his eyes. He was going to pass out, and it would be a relief. He had to get away, anyway he could, even if it was through unconsciousness.

No. He couldn’t let that happen. There was nothing he could do for Brooklyn, his mom or Tucker, but Dallas was still alive. He had to get her help. Matt stumbled up the path, his gut clenching every time he jostled Dallas and she whimpered.

“It’s okay, baby. Bubby will get you out. I’ll get you out.” Hot tears poured down his face. Everything had gone so wrong, so quickly.

Matt heard the branch before he felt it. A sharp whistling, then his arms went numb. Dallas fell, and as he watched her, tumbling in slow-motion, he looked down and saw the branch protruding from his chest. A red stain blossomed outward, soaking his shirt and dripping down his stomach in hot rivers. With a groan, his body slid forward, falling toward the ground. He tried to roll away from Dallas, but found he couldn’t move, could only watch as he crushed her already tortured legs. She shrieked.

Matt could feel himself growing weaker. The branch had punched a geyser through him, letting his life pour onto the ground. Dallas struggled to sit herself up, pulling at her legs, trying to get them out from under him. Finally, slippery with blood, she managed to break free. She crawled forward till she reached Matt’s head. His eyes kept sliding closed.

“Bubby. Bubby, get up. I go you.” She patted his face. He jerked his eyes open and wanted to cry. Dallas was sitting right there. He needed to get her out of the forest, but he couldn’t. There was no way. The only thing he could do was watch over her until death took him. Watch over her and watch out for the tree still moving behind her. It picked up the sapling Brooklyn had dropped, and then gouged a small hole in the earth a little ways from its trunk, placing the sapling in it and gently pushing the soil around the smaller tree. Seemingly satisfied, it was finally still, the only sound Dallas’s pleading and the only movement her frantic patting on his cheek.

“Pease, Bubby. Pease. I go you.”

TACO MEAT

by John McNee

W
hen the explosives in Pedro Piss-Pants’s colon went off, they blew nearly his entire left ass cheek some 137 yards southwest, to land on the corrugated iron awning of Za’s Tattoo Parlor. It was found and eaten by a stray cat later that same evening and is the only notable piece of Pedro to remain officially unaccounted for.

When Pedro spattered himself across the back lot of the TP Auto Company, showering the rusted scrap metal wig-wam in a toxic rain of blood and effluent, his antagonists did the predictable thing. They ran. Eyes streaming, ears ringing, and mouths screaming (though of course they couldn’t hear themselves) they ran, away from each other, away from the scene of the crime and, they might hope, to safety.

Blake Rawlinson, 14, ran West, to nearby Elmer View and the warmth and comforts of the Rawlinson family trailer.

His younger brother, 12-year-old Kuger, might have been expected to follow, but he didn’t. He ran East, to the dry riverbed, in hopes of finding a ditch to crawl into.

Gary ran furthest of all, clean across town in fact, to Victoria Square, on the South Side, where the newly strung fairy lights had just been lit. The Mariachi band was already in full swing and his cousin, Officer Dabney Tibbs, was busy persuading Hector Nunez to slide him an apple empanada on the house. Perk of the gig, after all.

Dabney’s partner, Tony Hierra, was, as ever, the one who asked all the pertinent questions. “What you mean he exploded?”

“What do you think I mean?” Gary sobbed, snot dripping from his nose. “He blew up, okay? He exploded!”

“Hold up,” Dabney said. “Who’s Pedro Piss-Pants?”

“I heard of this kid,” Tony answered, grimly. “Homeless, messed up in the head, lives out by the freeway. Easy pickings. That it, Gary? That what you and your messed-up little buddies were doing? Nothin’ on TV, so you thought you’d go pick on the local retard wet-back?”

“Why they call him Piss-Pants?” Dabney asked.

“’Cause he’s always pissing his pants,” Gary said.

“Damn it,” Tony said. “What did you do to him?”

Gary squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “We tied him to the fence and then…we stuck a bunch of fireworks up his ass.”

“Jesus,” Dabney said.

“Momma’s sick little puppies,” Tony said. “He dead?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Gary cried. “He fuckin’ exploded! Everything but his arms and his head blew up into a billion pieces! Looked like…like taco meat.”

“Jesus,” Dabney repeated.

“It was just a joke, okay?” Gary said. “It was meant to be funny! It was just a fuckin’ joke!”

DABNEY DIDN’T IMMEDIATELY UNDERSTAND what the play was. Even when he and Tony had left Gary behind with a warning “not to go far” and taken the patrol car up to 14
^th
Avenue with the lights off and not a word to anyone who might want to know, even then he didn’t quite get it. But when, as they pulled into the TP Auto forecourt, he turned to Tony and said, “You want I should call this in?” Tony was quick to set him straight.

“Hell you mean call it in?” he barked. “We’re not calling anything in. You nuts? We’re handling this shit. Understand?”

“Clean it up? Aw, no, Tony. Man, I don’t…I don’t know about that…”

“No? Then what? You tell me. Tell me! Never mind making it through the cluster-fuck and managing, somehow, to keep your job. Never mind that. Suppose you do. You really want to stick around for the shit-storm when you’re the cop who was on watch the night a retarded little Mexican got ass-raped with M-80s and blown to hell by a bunch of white kids? One of whom—need I remind you—is your little cousin? Huh? On Cinco defuckin’ Mayo? Huh? You think about that. Even if you’re still alive at the end of it your life won’t be worth living!”