Pray for Darkness: Terror in the Green Inferno (22 page)

Forty-six

When the first of the inhumans reveals itself in full view, Ben’s first thought is:
This is not real. There’s no way in hell that thing can be real. There’s no way in hell any of this can be real.

Scampering toward them on all fours, the old man is still wearing the grease-splattered shorts and T-shirt in which he had died. With a deep fissure running down the length of his skull, his face has split apart like a broken helmet, the flesh hanging off in a ragged flap. He comes at them without hesitation, eyes bulging, mouth sagging open, revealing a nest of shattered teeth that click together in anticipation of the kill. With a shrill scream, the inhuman leaps ten feet in the air—sailing over Ben’s head, missing him by a few bare inches—and crashes down on Oscar in a fury of bloodlust.

Though impossibly strong, the creature is all but weightless. Raising his good arm above his head, the squat Peruvian somehow catches the old man by the shirt and flings him up and over his shoulder. With a shriek of rage, the old man careens headlong into a tree, and there is an audible snap as he slides to the ground in a heap, head twisted and broken at the neck.

Spreading his legs in a fighting stance, Oscar has barely recovered from the ambush when a second inhuman falls from the trees and attaches itself to his shoulders. This one is shriveled and black, little more than bare bones. In a desperate attempt to pry loose his attacker, Oscar slams himself against a tree, but the inhuman holds fast, digging in with teeth and claws. Stumbling forward, Oscar falls to one knee and is instantly up again, spinning in a mad circle as the claws dig deeper, ripping his flesh into bloody ribbons.

He is reaching over his shoulder to grab the leathery creature with his one good hand when his fingers slip into its open mouth. There is a terrible crunch as the creature bites down, and when Oscar pulls his hand free, he sees—with a sense of disbelief—that the index and middle fingers have been bitten off at the root. He is still staring in awe at the missing digits when those same teeth sink into the side of his neck. Then the inhuman pulls him backwards and drags him to the ground. Excited by the smell of blood, another inhuman joins the fray. Then another. They surge over him like shadows, biting and tearing at the vulnerable flesh.

Tossing aside his spear, Ernesto seems to skate across the ground as he sprints to Oscar’s aide. There is a flash of silver as Ernesto raises the machete and brings it down in a whistling arc, embedding the blade in the back of the nearest inhuman’s head. But the creature, still feeding, remains unfazed. Working the machete free, Ernesto grabs the voracious inhuman by the hair and jerks its head back as far as it will go. Pressing the blade against the exposed throat, he begins to cut. There is an ear-splitting shriek as the creature struggles to free itself, but Ernesto tightens his grip, sliding the razor-sharp edge back and forth, back and forth like a saw. Responding to its kindred’s cry, one of the two remaining inhumans lunges at him, but Ernesto kicks it square in the face and it rolls away, dazed. Seconds later, the shrieks become a gargle, and finally, silence, as the blade passes clear through to the other side. Ernesto drops the severed head with a look of disgust and raises the machete again, but it’s already too late. A small, emaciated inhuman has already found the young guide’s jugular, and Oscar is no longer screaming, no longer fighting. Bowing its head to the fountain of blood, the childlike inhuman drinks greedily, excited by its living warmth. Oscar’s incomplete hand fumbles weakly at the thing still attached to his throat, but the battle has already been lost. The three-fingered hand falls limply to the ground, his thick legs kicking out in dying spasms, and all at once he is still.

Ernesto is rushing forward to avenge his friend when the inhuman lifts its head from the torrent and hisses at him from behind a mat of filthy hair. She could not have been older than twelve, this little scarecrow with the tiny breasts—nor would she live to see one more day past that precious age. A black tongue slithers out of its mouth, moving in slow, sensuous circles as it laps the blood from its swollen lips. Ernesto tightens his grip on the machete and the blade sings as it slices the air, passing clean through the side of the inhuman child’s skull. The top of its head floats off into the darkness and the creature slumps forward at Ernesto’s feet, dead before it hits the ground.

Ernesto is turning to help the others when he is confronted by a hulking figure lumbering toward him from the brush. A network of cracks runs along the curve of its skull, sprouting tiny, hornlike stroma. Its misshapen head looks as though it has seen the wrong side of a hammer, or—it dawns on Ernesto with a mixture of sadness and repulsion—a heavy rock. In that terrible moment of recognition, Ernesto is actually
thankful
that Oscar is dead so that he will never have to see the monstrosity that his brother has become.

Teeth snapping at the empty air, Felipe advances toward him with a terrible grin.

***

Forcing his eyes open, Cooper sees the ruins of Janie’s face grinning down at him, and he understands that there will be no waking up from this nightmare. Rolling over onto his stomach, he tries to stand, manages two unsteady steps, but his legs, suddenly boneless, send him crashing to the ground. Clawing his way forward through the muck, his hand falls on something solid, and his heart lifts at the sight of his lost spear. Pulling it toward him, he sits up on his knees. Jabbing the butt of the spear into the ground, he uses it like a walking stick, leaning all his weight on it as he rises shakily to his feet. He has taken but a single step when he feels the putrid heat of Janie’s breath on the back of his neck, and that is all the motivation he needs to get moving.

Hobbling forward, his muscles come alive and he starts to run, his long hair flapping behind him in the breeze. Up ahead, his friends are shouting, and though he cannot make out what they are saying, the terror in their voices fills him with dread. Cooper is still thinking about this when a blur of motion snaps him to attention and he sees a shadow falling from the sky. By sheer instinct, he lifts his spear as the inhuman falls on top of him, impaling itself through the middle of its chest. Then Cooper is on his back, wrestling with his attacker. Black-skinned, with elongated earlobes and a bloated belly, the impaled tribesman is naked save for a simple string around his waist, and his exposed genitals are rife with sores and swarming with flies. Its rotten jaws stretch open, breathing the foulness of death upon his face.

“Cooper!”

Ben is charging forward with his weapon raised, only just dodging at the last possible moment another inhuman as it leaps directly into his path. Winding up, he strikes the creature a glancing blow against the side of its face, and his spear disintegrates into a cloud of splinters. The inhuman’s head snaps around, and its body drops to the soggy earth with a thud. Before the creature can regain its senses, Ben races forward to where Cooper is on his back, wrestling with the impaled tribesman.

The inhuman is forcing the point deeper into its chest as it struggles in the madness of bloodlust, trying to bring its jaws closer to Cooper’s throat. Ben can see the sharpened tip protruding from the center of its back, glistening with black gore. Struggling, Cooper turns his head, and the jagged teeth miss their mark, sinking deep into his shoulder, clamping down on flesh and bone.

Pulling Ernesto’s knife free of its sheath, Ben plunges it deep into the center of the tribesman’s back, leaning all his weight against it until the blade can go no further. But the ravenous creature continues its assault. Cooper is still howling in pain and fear as the splintered teeth rip his flesh. At last, Ben places the point against the back of the creature’s skull. He is readying himself for the final blow when some unseen force tackles him from the side, knocking the knife from his hand and sending him sprawling across the ground. He looks up in time to see the largest of the inhumans, the alpha, as it lunges for his throat. Tall and muscular, the alpha still wears the habiliments of its former life, the tattered remains of a navy blue construction worker’s uniform. Ben is strong, but the alpha overtakes him with ease. Long, broken teeth push in closer, and Ben’s arms tremble as the glistening jaws bear down on him.

Muscles twitching with his last ounce of strength, it occurs to him that this is it. It’s all over. This is for real. He’s going to die out here. They will all die out here, in some nondescript speck in the middle of this godforsaken jungle, somewhere indistinguishable on any map. Dead, dead, dead. Their parents, friends, and coworkers… none will ever know of the horrors they faced or the battle they fought here. In a terrible moment of clarity, Ben realizes it is likely he and the others will simply be reported as
lost
, and their remains will never be found. Then, slicing through the cloud of uncertainty, he hears the echoes of a bloodcurdling scream. Brooke’s cry pulls him back to reality, and the alpha’s jaws snap down on empty air as Ben squirms away from the creature’s grasp. Rolling across the ground, he springs to his feet and is up and running toward the sound of her voice.

Ahead, Ben immediately sees the reason behind Brooke’s terror.

Janie is shambling across the clearing, her mouth drooping open with a look of savage amusement. Dragging one leg behind her, she moves in a swirling cloud of flies. They hover about her bloated body, rooting in the sores on her chest and back, attracted by the sour odor of her rotting flesh.

Auggie and Brooke watch her, amazed. She is almost upon them when Auggie snaps back to reality and raises his spear with trembling hands. Janie bats the spear aside with a growl and Auggie quickly recovers it, jabbing it feebly, trying to keep her at a safe distance. At last Janie latches onto the spear, yanking it from Auggie’s hands. And now he can hear her teeth gnashing together as her jaws snap closer...

Snagging Auggie by the collar, Brooke yanks him away from the bloodthirsty jaws. As Auggie stumbles, arms wheeling to regain his balance, Janie jerks her head around and turns her insectile eyes on Brooke. Lips peeling back from her blackened gums, Janie growls from somewhere deep within her throat.

With a fierce battle cry, Brooke rushes forward with the spear, but Janie parries the blow with ease, wrapping her clawed hands around the small girl’s neck, pushing her back against the trunk of a nearby tree.

“Janie…” Brooke gasps. Her throat feels as though it has shrunk to the size of a pin. “Please…”

In a flurry of thoughts, she tries to convince herself that Janie is still inside there, fighting to break free of the invader.
She hasn’t fully turned,
Brooke tells herself.
She’s infected, but she hasn’t fully turned. Maybe there’s still a chance, some kind of cure… If only I could reach her—

“Janie, please,” Brooke whimpers softly in despair. “It’s me. Br—”

The Janie-thing squeezes tighter, choking the words from her throat. Brooke panics. Forgets about the jungle. Forgets about the inhumans. Forgets about her tortured limbs and starving stomach. She needs air, precious air. Lungs hitching, she thrashes and kicks, and still the cold fingers press deeper, until nothing, not even air, can get past the ever-tightening vise of Janie’s hand. The world begins to blur, and she looks at the shattered face for some sign of the friend she once knew.

But the engorged black eyes reveal nothing of Janie. Cold, indifferent, they are the eyes of a fish. Gone is any indication of the quick wit, the cool intelligence, the sassy attitude. Whatever it is that makes a person human—be it spirit, mind, or soul—that vital essence has long since fled.

Janie is gone, replaced by a brutish and insensate substitute, a marionette made of flesh and bone. These thoughts come to Brooke in a mad flurry, and the anger gives her strength. She begins to thrash about, her booted feet kicking wildly at the air. Raising her elbow, she wedges it under Janie’s chin, just in time to keep the snapping jaws at bay. The clawed hands squeeze and squeeze. Sparks fly in front of Brooke’s eyes—white sparks, yellow sparks, black sparks. Tiny fireworks that explode in front of her face. Briefly, she welcomes the possibility that she might actually faint before Janie can bite her face off.

Auggie has been watching this in horrified shock but now he abandons all thought and swings the butt of his spear at the side of Janie’s rotten skull. There is an audible click as Janie’s head snaps to the left, lolling at the end of her broken neck, and Auggie shouts in triumph. But the moment is short-lived. Barely registering the blow, there is a grotesque ratcheting sound as Janie straightens her head and returns her attention to Brooke, who is still dangling against the tree. Taking a few steps back, Auggie is working himself up for a second charge when two more inhumans appear to the side of him. As they close in on him, he jabs the spear in wild, swinging strokes, trying to keep them as far from him as possible. Heart racing, he already feels as though this battle has been going on for hours.

In truth, less than a minute has passed since the first inhuman revealed itself.

Thrashing, Brooke reaches out for something, anything, with which to fight. Rough against her fingertips, she feels the base of a small branch. Wrapping her fingers around the branch, she pulls herself up and back against the tree, loosening Janie’s grip around her throat. Now partially free, Brooke gasps as she sucks in the precious air. Then the branch breaks in her hand and she falls back into Janie’s grasp. Brooke can feel the claws digging in as Janie stretches her face toward her, her jaws seeming to distend, opening wider and wider. Brooke flails, unaware at first that she is still clutching the broken branch in her hand. Suddenly, a memory races through her mind: the fall into the swamp, the stick jutting out of Ben’s calf, the deep and penetrating hole. Squeezing the branch, she works her arm loose of Janie’s grip and plunges the stick deep into her left eye.

Janie shrieks as Brooke twists the shard in deeper, working it back and forth like an awl. Hands flailing at the stick, Janie suddenly releases her death grip, and Brooke falls to the ground, gasping. Janie manages to grab the shard, but her hands are too clumsy, and she only succeeds in breaking it in half. With the stub of the stick still poking out of the socket, Janie’s remaining eye seems to bulge with rage as she locates Brooke. Raising her clawed hands, she slowly descends upon the fallen girl.