Four (Their Dead Lives,1) (32 page)

Scot nodded. “Let’s get out of here, Homester.”
 

Alec peered up, squinting against the light. The cylinder lid covered half of the distant opening. “How far up do you think the top is?”
 

“Maybe fifteen or twenty feet?” Scot grabbed his leg as pain shot through his body. “Of course, I have terrible depth perception. Could be fifty feet for fuck I know.”
 

I have to get back to Nicole.
Alec rubbed his face, thinking. “What if we balance on top of each other; do you think we can reach it?”
 

“Might as well try.” Jeff’s voice drifted as he stared up.
 

“Homer, you be our anchor. I’ll get on you, then we lift Scot.” Alec climbed on Jeff’s shoulders, balanced himself by pressing two hands against the slimy brick wall.

“I don’t think I’m climbing anything with this leg,” said Scot, indicating the damage. “It hurts like the shit I took yesterday.”
 

Alec tuned out Scot’s gripes.
I’ll get all of us out of here.
He looked up at the distant sky, trying to figure out a way to raise Scot up without killing him. But any plan of his didn’t matter, because the cloaked figure of the Embracer shot over the well; a dark shadow looking down into the depths imprisoning Alec and his friends.
 

Alec’s heart jumped. “Guys—”

Scot hobbled on one leg. “What’s he doing?”
 

The silhouette stood frozen like the three friends, and a cold whisper slithered out the tiny tunnel Alec had crawled in earlier.
“Embrace me.”
 

Above them, the Embracer slid the lid back over the well, extinguishing all light.
 

Kale limped through the woods in the company of the two brothers.
 

“I thought you knew where they were,” Fred complained, twitching his trucker hat.

“It’s right up ahead, I’m sure,” Kale continued.
I have no idea. Please, be close. What have I done?
Alec, Jeff, and Scot had to be alive. They had to be.
 

The two brothers looked at each other.
 

“Let’s head back.” Fred stepped away from Kale, heading for the main road.
 

“A little longer, Freddie, Christ,” Paul snapped.

Fred threw his hands up. “Fine, whatever, let’s keep going.” He glanced at the pistol his brother held. “I’d like to see how bad you are with that thing,
Paulie
.”

“Stop,” said Paul, irritated.
 

“Aw, did I hurt your feelings, little brother?”

Paul looked at Kale. “Did you hear that?”

Despite his injured leg, Kale pushed forward faster, fighting throbbing pain.
I’m coming, guys. I won’t lose you.
 

Pained screams echoed in the distance.
 

The ground and walls wobbled and shook as if they were being tossed around in a giant bottle.
 

Jeff wished he was back home, wished for a peanut butter sandwich, wished he was watching
Trailer Park Boys.
 

“What’s going on?” Scot screamed, hysterical. He’d been thrown to the ground by the rumbles, and he splashed in the puddle, crying up for his friends. “My leg!”
 

Through the dark, Jeff reached for him. Alec huddled close. The three helpless friends waited as the well shook and trembled around them.
 

Peanut butter. Milk. Jelly. Chips.
 

Scot grabbed Jeff’s hand. Jeff grabbed Alec’s hand. “We leave as four,” one of them said.
 

The shaking continued.
 

Carrots and ranch. Flavored water. Oreos. Milk.
His attempt to calm himself was interrupted when a cold liquid dripped on his back. A shiver ran across his neck but he refused to turn. He didn’t want to see what was behind him.
 

Chocolate chip waffles. Bananas. Crackers and cheese.
 

The shaking continued.
 

Then the whispers came, invading his skull.
“It’s time.”
 

“Who said that?” Alec’s show of bravery had vanished. “Who the hell said that?” he shrieked.
 

No response from his friends.
 

Whispers were tangible in the darkness, surrounding the boys as they huddled on the ground.
 

Whispers, so many whispers.
 

“It’s the Others from
Lost
.” Scot couldn’t help himself.

The shaking continued.
 

“Who’s there?” Jeff found the courage to yell.
 

“Holy shit!” screamed Scot as his touch faded away. “Something is on me! Guys, help, something has me! Help! He—” He emitted one last squeal before he was silenced.
 

“Scot!” Alec yelled, blindly searching the darkness for his friend. “Scot!”
 

No response.
 

The shaking continued.
 

Macaroni and Cheese. Hot dogs. French fries.
 

Alec grabbed Jeff’s arm. “Homer, I—”
 

“Alec, we leave as—”
 

A strong pressure on his back forced Jeff down to his knees. He trembled, turning in the dark. The pressure increased. A grotesque smell struck his nose and the pressure slid around his belly.
A snake?
He grabbed it, his trembling hands touching a slimy stickiness. “Alec?” He was able to shove it off and he tried to step closer to Alec.
 

“Homer?” A massive black tentacle wrapped tightly around Alec, yanking him in the air. “Jeff!”
 

The shaking continued.
 

Jeff swung around without an aim, without a clue, lost and hopeless.
What do I do?
 

“Get it off! Get it—” an ear-snapping crunch shattered Alec’s bones.

A stronger whisper, amongst all the unintelligible others, sidled in Jeff’s ear. “
You are mine now.”

“Who are you?” Jeff cowered against a wall. Hot tears fell down his cheeks. He didn’t care. “Leave us alone!”
 

The shaking continued.
 

Something wet dripped on his shoulder, soaking through his shirt. He looked up to see the dark tentacle slithering down the brick walls toward him. “No!” It sprung around his face, wrapping, constricting. His muffled screams were only his to hear. He fought to break free but was quickly overpowered and sent crashing to the cold wet ground.
 

The grip tightened around his mouth, breaking his nose. Air vanished. He shut his eyes, no longer able to imagine his favorite foods as a comforting distraction. Falling to his knees, he scratched at the massive black tentacle, his nails ripping its skin. Its grip stiffened. He coughed and choked and his hands slid limply off the creature, dangling at his sides. His head was light. Numb.
 

A final whisper tickled his mind.
“Embrace me.”
 

The shaking stopped.
 

Their loud screams tore into Kale’s soul. Along with the two brothers, he hid behind a large tree as they surveyed the area. The mouth of the well stood tall in a small opening within the forest, surrounded by fallen branches and leaves.
 

“Looks clear,” Fred remarked, the pistol raised.
 

Paul said, “Give me my gun back.”
 

“Let’s go.” Kale limped for the brick opening. The screams continued to echo from inside the well.
I’m here!
 

The brothers yelled from behind Kale. “Kid, wait!”
 

The cloaked kidnapper leapt from behind the well, landing on top of its lid. He tilted his hooded head, eyes hidden from Kale’s view, yet he felt them staring right at him. The cloak fluttered in the air as the man landed right in front of Kale.
 

Eyes locked with the dark, heartless gaze hovering above him, Kale knew this man wanted his soul.
 

A gunshot from behind blasted leaves about the ground. Fred raised the small pistol, firing another shot at the cloaked man. “Stay there!”
 

Kale faced the kidnapper again.
Fucker!
He threw a punch for the hooded head. A black glove shot around his wrist.
No!
Another hand grabbed him and Kale was tossed, flailing through the air before landing on a pile of leaves. He rolled over to his back. The well was only a couple yards away, and he crawled for it.
I’m coming for you, guys.
He heard them screaming inside.
 

“Stay where you are!” Fred aimed the pistol at the kidnapper’s head. The cloaked man stepped forward, oblivious to the threat the gun posed.
Is it even a real threat?
 

Leaves spiraled gently from the trees around Fred as he fought to keep his aim strong and steady. He fired another warning shot right in front of the kidnapper’s feet. “I mean it!”
 

Slow and deliberate, the cloaked man took another step forward.
 

The next bullet ripped through the kidnapper’s upper-right shoulder. Black ooze spilled out of the wound.
 

What the—
 

Fred jerked back in shock. “What are you?”
 

The kidnapper, tilting his hooded head again, remained silent but he looked on the verge of laughter. He flashed to Fred like dark lightning, twisted the pistol around in Fred’s hand, and forced the muzzle hard against Fred’s chin. “Paul!” Fred cried for his brother. A bullet blasted Fred’s scalp open and he dropped.

No, no.
Kale kept crawling for the well. His friends still screamed inside, their voices filled with pain.
 

Paul rushed for the gun, but the kidnapper snagged his neck first, pushing him through the woods until the back of his head exploded against a tree. The kidnapper carelessly tossed his body aside, and one dead brother was left next to the other.
 

The kidnapper, his back at Kale, heaved up and down. Kale kept crawling, was about to touch the brick well when the black cloak flashed in front of him.
 

Police sirens in the distance.
 

Dark eyes simply stared at Kale, neither of them making a move.
 

“You hear them out there? Huh? You lose,” said Kale.
 

The kidnapper kept staring, as if memorizing Kale’s face, then flipped over the well and vanished into the woods.
 

“Hey!” Kale limped to his feet. “Yeah, run! I beat you, motherfucker!”
 

Screams still echoed from the well. Using both hands, Kale shoved against the cement lid with every ounce of strength he had left. A loud screeching assaulted his ears until the lid fell off the dungeon, crashing into dirt.
 

Screams finally stopped.

Wiping sweat covering his face, Kale had never been this exhausted in his life. Police officers yelled a good distance behind him. Dogs barked. The cavalry was almost here but he didn’t care. One of his hands wrapped around the brick top as he edged himself over the opening.
No, no.
His hand tightened as his heart dropped and legs gave out.
What have I done?
 

Light revealed three mangled bodies curled up next to each other, all of them drenched in blood.

eight years later

KALE

He thought about the camera flashes, the smiles, the pats on his back, the longing looks girls gave him. Reporters had called him a hero that day. They said he saved his friends, and possibly countless others. But the media frenzy lasted
maybe
a few days. Kale became a mere memory to the world. A memory soon forgotten.
 

In the yacht, he stared at his amputated limb. A white bandage was wrapped around his forearm. No bloodstains, no pain. He was still in a daze from the alcohol.
What did they do to me? Oh yeah, they took my hand.
His vision swayed as he stared at the cauterizing iron. Pieces of his flesh stuck to its metal.
 

After pulling his friends from the well, they’d been taken to Green Hills Medical. Kale assumed they were dead, but the medics found pulses. A miracle, he thought. He was also taken to the hospital and was surprised to learn he’d fractured an arm and a leg.
The costs of being a hero.
 

Lying on the bed in the yacht, he didn’t feel like a hero. The zombie apocalypse had arrived.
And what have I done?
 

Arrested for drunk driving? Yep.
 

Killed an innocent girl? Yep.
 

Lost a hand? Yep.
 

He slowly curled onto his stomach, resting his new stub on a pillow. The slight change in pressure caused such pain he wanted to vomit.
 

When Jeff, Alec, and Scot had regained consciousness in the hospital, they all told the same story: they stupidly tried to save the kidnapped kids, who were never found, and ended up getting themselves caught by the kidnapper. Tossed in the well, they were left for dead.
 

Kale had found their story suspicious and he knew details were missing. But his three friends stuck to their tale. The media frenzy soon died down. The world was more concerned with the Vaults and the impending apocalypse than with survivors of a serial kidnapper.
 

It almost seemed their lives would go back to normal. Then, one night, they had told Kale the real story and—
 

Miller entered the captain’s cabin. Kale weakly raised his head. “How are you doing?” the deputy asked.
Not Alec, not Howard, but fucking Jimmy Miller comes to check on me.
Miller pulled a stool next to the bed. “Kale?” he raised an orange eyebrow.

“How do I look, Jimmy?” He raised his stub.
 

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” said Miller.