Terror Town (11 page)

Something, the dog knew, was wrong.

17

Legs were everywhere, long and heavy, muscular and strong. They were covered in a thick brown fur, similar to that of a scavenging hyena. Limbs––eleven feet long, twelve feet long, sometimes
thirteen
feet long––were equipped with three, often four sets of fat, elbow-like joints. Below the ankle joint––if that’s what it was––the limbs were endowed with a sharp, curved point. It was a stinger, shaped like a sickle. But not all limbs were created this way; some were different, ending with a hard, black claw, like those on a lobster or crab.

The body of the creature was fat and round. Its skin was dark leather, swimming in bugs, bubbles, and patches of thin hair. But these things didn’t characterize the body. To be accurate, the body lons husk was crowded with two basic elements: eyes and mouths. Yes, the back end of the creature had a large anus cavity, a
single
anus cavity, shaped like a volcano. But the rest of the body was nourished in eyes and mouths. The eyes were black and swollen, the size of a man’s fist. They had no lids, lashes or brows. They were globular, shiny––terrifyingly empty. The mouths were nearly the size of a medicine ball, loaded with teeth. Some were eyeteeth, fangs, daggers; most were crushers, molars, used for cutting food and grinding. Many were squared like a brick. Some looked like small anvils; some were rounded, broken and cracked. In a few places, there were no teeth at all. Just holes. And from behind these daggers and anvils, these bricks and holes, the creature screamed its kettle sounds.

SQUUUUUUEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEE
.

Not because he couldn’t hear what was happening, but because everything happened at once: Patrick Love spoke, Daniel McGee ran, Cameron English turned away, and the monster shrieked, pouncing like a wolf-spider, knifing Roger McMaster while he gasped. It used three stingers concomitantly, stabbing ribs and lungs and breaking Roger’s back before he had a chance to move. Then Pat was knocked over and a clawed foot landed on him, holding him against the ground.

Roger screamed a breathless scream, which the others felt more than heard. Blood filled his lungs. His body twitched violently, the creature’s eyes crawled on him like venomous snakes and for a brief and horrific moment the monster’s enormous teeth held their position in front of his face. It was the calm before the storm; the calm before the teeth came snapping together, chomping Roger’s face in half.

Begging, Roger said, “Please.”

That was all.

The teeth slammed into his skull. Blood and brains splashed in several directions. Body convulsing, Roger’s arms slapped against fur. A piece of bone fell, banging off a trembling shoulder. Legs quivered like they were being electrocuted as the creature pulled its husk in a new position. It bit down a second time, using a new set of jaws, a fresh set, an empty set. Now Roger’s head was gone. In its place was a fountain of blood, a jet stream of blood, a tornado of blood that didn’t want to end. The man’s neck was a nozzle spraying freely. Arms and legs turned limp.

The creature bit down again, devouring Roger’s neck and the top part of his chest. A crescent appeared in the area between the shoulders, which was hemispherical now, shaped like a half moon, a grotesque smile, the reaper’s sickle. Shoulders slumped low and lifeless on each side of the wound, deflating above the remains of a t-shirt, which slid into dripping red piles around the dead man’s waist.

The creature changed position, pulling its body through the doorway.

Legs shifted and lifted. Roger was stabbed again. A fourth mouth tore a shoulder apart and a bright wash of blood poured from the wound. An arm fell to the floor. The monster repositioned its meal and tore a generous opening into Roger’s ribcage. Intestines dropped in a coiled heap. The next bite took the other shoulder––the
left
shoulder. This time, the arm went with it. The bite after that created a cavity in Roger’s abdominal area. The cavity made a horrific opening that ended near his pelvic bone. Entrails hung like noodles. Seven mouths were feeding; five waited in line. The eighth bite was a large one, taking ribs, spine, bowels and pelvis. Two legs remained. One landed beside Pat, splashing in the fresh red pond. Two mouths consumed the limb, dividing their food above the knee. Roger’s final leg was snatched up with mouths devouring their food in near-equal portions. The beast shuffled its legs again. And all that remained of Roger was a rope of intestine, an arm, and a few hard to define pieces, sitting together in a puddle of gore.

18

Daniel ran, shouting, “Run! Get out of here!”

Cameron’s shoulders shot upward as she spun herself around. Her eyes clamped onto the great creature and her mind seemed to lock up, frozen between thoughts. Inspirations vanished; questions became lost. She didn’t run. Just watched. Mouth open, eyes wide, she watched the beast stab its limbs into Roger’s body. She watched him convulse as the beast devoured his head.

Daniel ran past.

He stopped, turned around. He could see Cameron’s feet glued to the ground and Roger’s limbs dancing madly, doing the funky chicken.

“Run!” he said again; then he went back. Not that he wanted to go back; he didn’t. He wanted to run fast and keep on running until everything seemed like some terribly impossible dream. But sometimes people don’t do what they
want
to do. Sometimes they do what they
have
to do. And Daniel McGee had to go back.

He grabbed Cameron by the arm and pulled. Cameron tripped and fell. She landed on her elbows hard enough to break them. Pain shocked her senses. Dirt puffed into the air. Her flashlight rolled across the ground, circling a half loop before it stopped rolling. She let out a squeal and glanced at the monster again. It looked like a fourteen-foot wide bowling ball with legs and teeth.

Daniel stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the beast and its prey. He looked half mad with fear, half mad with frustration. “CAMERON! GET UP NOW! LET’S GO!”

Daniel looked over his shoulder, away from Cameron. What he saw made him feel lightheaded. The creature––the thing, whatever it was––was eating Roger. Eating him quickly, without pause, without hindrance. One big bite at a time, Roger was disappearing. Being swallowed. Being chewed.

Like a fat kid on a cookie
, he thought oddly.

Cameron twisted her body to the left, stealing another glimpse.

Both of them saw the same thing now: the creature was consuming Roger’s chest. Blood poured on the floor, onto Patrick. Quite simply, buckets of blood were falling. Neither could believe their eyes. There was more blood rushing out of him than either thought possible. And while Daniel figured the beast would come charging at them within seconds, Cameron was sure the creature’s eyes were not focused on Roger, but on her.

They were running now, running towards the exit. Daniel was the fast one. Maybe under different circumstances Cameron would be faster. But here, now, it was Daniel. His legs moved quick and efficiently, with strong easy strides, like he was born to run, born to escape impossible situations.

Cameron’s feet slapped against the ground awkwardly, her head was too low, her arms were swinging wildly and her balance was off. She was ready to fall to her knees, twist an ankle, crash.

For Cam’s benefit, Daniel slowed his pace. It was against his better judgment but he didn’t want her to fall a second time. If she did it would be the end of the road for the both of them. Or maybe just her, depending on how he played it.

“Hurry,” he whispered urgently, with his heart trapped in his stomach. “Come on!”

Cameron pulled her hand free from Daniel’s grasp and stopped running. “Wait,” she said. “Oh God wait a minute, please!”

Before Daniel had a chance to protest she put both of her hands on her knees, opened her throat, and her mouth, and vomited. Legs wobbled and hands quivered. Some of the discharge splashed onto her shoes and pants. Some of it made its way into her hair.

Daniel watched the sickness happen. It wasn’t pretty, but it was better then the other event, which he looked at next:

The creature was eating Roger’s remains, which wasn’t much: two legs, a groin and part of a ribcage. It wasn’t an act of violence; Roger was a meal. Whether that was better or worse, Daniel did not know.

Watching Cameron be sick was less disturbing.

And what about Patrick?
He wondered.
Am I just going to leave him here? Is that the plan?

The first beads of sweat appeared on Daniel’s temple and a wave of helplessness engulfed him. This was bad, so very, very, bad. Pat was about to be eaten alive. He was about to die.

Daniel shook his head, snapping the daze.

He had to be optimistic, not pessimistic. That was the key to everything. Optimism. Confidence. Intelligence. There was still a hope if he demanded it, which is what he would have to do. Demand it.

All is not lost. I can escape this. I can survive.

Yes, but what about Patrick? And what about Cam? Will they survive? Or is it time to look out for number one?

He grabbed Cameron by the hair and pulled her towards the ladder. He wasn’t nice about it. His fingers closed into a fist and he pulled her as hard as he could manage. In a different situation he would have earned a punch in the mouth and a trip to court.

“COME ON!” he screamed. And it
was
a scream. He sounded like a siren, or like a scream queen in a movie. He had never sounded like
that
before. “GODDAMN IT! WE’VE GOT TO MOVE OR WE’RE GOING TO DIE!”

He pulled her again.

Now Cameron screamed.

She screamed in pain, but getting her hair pulled was the least of her worries. This pain was nothing compared to what was coming. She needed to get her ass in gear. Daniel knew it and she knew it too. She stumbled another foot or two, falling to one knee while she slapped his hand away. She felt her stomach churn; it continued working against her. She was going to be sick again.

Daniel looked at the monster, then Pat, and then he stepped away.

Enough
, he thought. Something inside him changed.

“I have to go, Cameron,” he said panting, with a voice that seemed distant. “I’m sorry.” His bottom lip trembled. A drop of sweat rolled along his cheekbone. He wasn’t screaming. Not now. That time had passed; his voice was practically a whisper.

He was leaving her.

She was going to die.

Daniel didn’t want Cameron or Pat to be ripped into pieces by that thing––whatever it was––but it was going to happen. He didn’t have time for this, for her, for them. Cameron was going to get them both killed if he let things continue this way; he understood that now.

There was no saving this girl.

This stranger
, he reminded himself.
I can’t get myself killed over somebody I met an hour ago. It’s not fair to me, or my wife.

Maybe Cameron didn’t want to be saved. It was a possibility. Or maybe she did. Live another day; die another day. It didn’t matter now. She was going to give up the ghost right here in the basement––or cellar, or bomb shelter, if that’s what it was. He couldn’t change her fate. He couldn’t change anything.

Daniel turned away from Cameron.

“Wait,” she begged. She picked herself up and stumbled towards him, coughing and spitting. She reached out with unsteady fingers.

“We’ve got to go Cameron,” he said. And with that, he made for the ladder. And somewhere behind him, the creature shifted its weight and shuffled its legs.

And Patrick screamed.

19

William and Beth entered the basement just as Daniel began to climb. They didn’t hear the screams. They didn’t hear anything.

But Hellboy did.

Hellboy heard everything, sensed everything. He didn’t want to leave the main floor of the house and wander down those thirteen steps. He didn’t like the smell that was coming from the basement. Smelled like blood, some type of predator, possibly a wolf. The scent made him nervous, made him scared, made him growl.

Beneath his breath, Hellboy released a pair of protest barks. He snapped his teeth. Not once, but twice. Then he paced back and forth at the top of the staircase. Eventually, he made his way down a few stairs, followed by a few more. He sniffed the railing and lowered his tail, holding it tight against his legs.