The Hand That Feeds: A Horror Novel (21 page)

John was stuck. There was a good chance he would get his head blown off if he tried to reach the top stair and he figured
he’d get much of the same if he tried to return to his wife empty handed. In the end, he settled on a bluff. He readied his hand to catch the lone unused round as he made a loud and distinct pump of the shotgun. He caught the round midair and quickly reloaded. A few seconds later, his plan showed promise when a door closed somewhere on the upstairs hallway.

He took a hesitant step up and crouched as low as could manage. His eyes adjusted slightly to the darkness
, revealing two doors on either side of the upstairs hall. He made sure each of the doors was shut before stepping up the rest of the way. The moment his feet hit the top stair, he pressed his back against the wall and tried to eye both directions at once. Sweat built on his forehead as he waited for one of the doors to open. John realized he’d have to risk too much moving down the hall without knowing which room the Davis’ were in, so he settled for a chance of courtesy.

“Come on
, Mr. Davis, we can work this out.”

22

John wiped the sweat from his face and tried to see further down the hall. He knew that Mr. Davis had a gun. He adjusted his grip on the shotgun and cursed at himself. The lone remaining round wouldn’t help him if it turned to a gunfight. He’d tried a few times to get Mr. Davis to talk with no success.

“What about it?
We can wait this out all night.”

John
was bluffing and from the looks of Alex, the boy needed to be fed and soon. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to him since he was already dead, but he guessed he’d lose him for good. John felt a mixture of emotions about losing his son for a second time. He knew Angela couldn’t mentally handle it, which left him with few choices.

He took another look at the doors along the hall, leaning his head out as far as he could
go. The bullet hole in the wall told him that Mr. Davis was to his right. He guessed there was little chance of getting down the hall in that direction. He was trying to come up with something when Angela called out in a less than encouraging way.

“What the hell are you doing up there?”

John couldn’t see her, but he could make out an outline of her shadow at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t answer in the hope that she’d go away.

“Don’t just sit there
,” she said.

He
tried to shout and whisper at the same time. “Give me a second. I’m trying not to get shot here.”

“
But…”

John didn’t let her finish,
he’d heard enough. He ran to his left and tried the first door he came to. The knob turned and he leapt inside, slamming it closed behind him. A shot went off in the hall as he hit the floor. He scanned the small room and found himself alone. Angela was still yelling up after him, but the door kept most of the words muffled.

He came
to his feet and found a small bed in the center of the room and a dresser pushed against the wall closest to the door. There was little else of use, but he set his sights on the window. He crossed the room and raised the windowpane, looking down over the front yard. Angela’s voice was clearer with the window open. She was arguing with him, but he couldn’t figure out what she was particularly mad at. He focused on the edge of the roof outside and ignored his wife as best he could.

He looked back at the door and quickly considered his options.
He couldn’t get down the hall in one piece, which left him to risk his chances outside. He held onto the shotgun with one hand, stuck a leg out the window and tried his footing. Once outside, he surveyed the rest of the roof and spotted two additional windows on the front side of the house. His estimation told him both windows were beyond the staircase, but he wasn’t sure where Mr. Davis was hiding. He took careful steps and eyed the front yard two stories down as he sidestepped along the roof. He neared the first window and the sounds of muted conversation became clearer.

“You think you got him?”
Mrs. Davis asked.

“How should I know,”
Mr. Davis said.

John stopped where he was and tried to keep himself balanced. The shingles on the roof were in poor shape and his boots slid. He placed the
butt of his shotgun on the roof in front of him for stability.

“
You going to go out there?” Mrs. Davis asked.

“Why don’t you go out there and have a look around,”
Mr. Davis said.

“I’m pretty sure that was John
Mason from down the road,” Mrs. Davis said. “I can hear his wife still going on downstairs.”

John had blocked the sound of Angela’s voice out of his head.

“So you want me to thank them for the fruit cake last Christmas?” Mr. Davis asked.

“I just mean-
”

“Enough,”
Mr. Davis said. “You saw that damn thing they pulled out of the back of the truck. I don’t care who they are. If they brought one of those things in here, then they aren’t friends of mine.”

John
had little chance of getting in the room without taking a round in the chest. He was at a terrible disadvantage with only one shell left. He decided to focus on the farthest window, hoping he could work his way back down the hall. If he was quiet enough, he might be able to sneak up on the Davis’.

He steadied himself
and took his weight off the shotgun. He moved up around the second window with slow, purposeful steps. The old roof was better off than he thought, and he managed to get around the window with little trouble. John knew the Davis’ had children and part of him hoped they would not be hiding out in the room he was going to climb into. He wanted to feed his son and at this point, could convince himself to do just about anything to make that happen, however, sacrificing another child was currently beyond his capability. He doubted Angela would say the same.

Another few long strides brought him to the third window
, and to his surprise, it was wide open. He steadied himself and in two quick moves, he slipped into the bedroom with his shotgun at the ready. He was happy to find the space empty. John headed for the door, but was brought to a stop by the low chatter of conversation. He stood in the center of the room listening as the voices rose slightly, and then faded to nothing. He was sure it was not the voices he’d heard before, in fact, he was sure the voices were somewhere inside the room he was standing.

He
gazed at the bed then got down on a knee and looked underneath. The bed was clear and he thought for a moment that he was still hearing Angela yelling outside. He refocused on the door, but was drawn back as the whispering returned. He cocked his head to the side and followed the sound to the closet door in the corner of the room. A long step pulled him within an arm’s reach and the voices cleared.

“You check.”

“No, you check.”

John knew what he’d found even before he
saw them. The Davis boys had hidden themselves away in the closet. John felt his stomach turn as he considered his options. Alex wouldn’t know the difference in whichever victim was thrown to him. John readjusted his grip on his shotgun and reached for the closet door. The doorknob turned with ease, but he had to pull hard to get it to open. Moonlight flooded in through the lone window in the room revealing the closet’s interior. John hesitantly poked at a pile of laundry on the floor with the barrel of his gun and a single jab brought a response.

“Don’t hurt us.”

John peered at the clothes and found two sets of eyes looking back at him from underneath. He brought the shotgun up to his face and aimed. The eyes gaped back at him, never moving although the clothes shook. John thought of his son and the unstoppable need he had to eat. He would need the kids alive.

“You’re going to keep you
r mouths shut,” he said, “and do exactly as I say.”

The clothes slipped to the side as one of the boys pushed his head out from underneath. In the dim
light, John saw the youngest of the Davis family. He guessed the boy to be about eight, but he couldn’t remember either boy’s name. The boy’s pale face was washed in fear as he pulled at his brother to get up. The two boys got to their feet inside the closet, huddling close to one another. The older of the two was a skinny thing and his knees knocked together as he tried to keep from trembling. They looked at John as if he was the devil, and for a brief moment, he remembered Alex as he had been. John remembered the curious and playful boy he’d loved since the moment he first laid eyes on him.

“What do you want?” The younger of the two asked.

John started to speak, but found the words stuck in his throat. He motioned toward the window with his gun, but couldn’t give the orders. He tried to focus the barrel back on the boys, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Finally, he aimed the barrel at the room’s door and shut the closet.

“Stay down,”
he said. “Don’t come out until someone comes and gets you.”

He reached the
room’s door a moment later and quietly turned the knob. He slid his head along the doorframe, positioned a single eye in the small open space, and looked out at the hall. He discovered two doors, one he knew to be Mr. Davis’s hiding spot, the other he guessed to be a hall closet. John edged out into the hall slowly, risking one last glance at the closet door. He guessed the boys were terrified enough to hold still for quite some time. He took slow steps with his back against the wall, focused on Mr. Davis’ door, and kept his gun at the ready.

Sweat rolled
off his forehead and on down the lines in his face. Every noise echoed throughout the hall and John swore Mr. Davis was going to pop out at any moment. A few steps brought the first door within reach, but he still wasn’t sure what it was he was going to do. He would have to make a decision and make it soon.

His
heart weighed on him. He could scoop up one or both of the boys and head back out on to the roof. Even now as he readjusted his grip on the shotgun, he couldn’t imagine going through with it. The Davis boys and his memory of his own son were however, the end of his confliction. Either Mr. or Mrs. Davis would take care of Alex’s problem and it would also get him back in the good graces of his wife. The trick would be getting his hands on one of the Davis’, then keeping them alive long enough to get out of the house. Before he had time to consider a plan of action, the situation was thrust forward for him.

John’s
foot touched the floor in front of the slightly ajar hall closet and the door to the room near the stairs sprang open. Mr. Davis took a step out into the hall, keeping half his body concealed within the room. In the pale light, John saw the sure outline of a pistol raised chest high. He plunged into the closet as Mr. Davis fired and the round buzzed past his head and into the far end of the hall. The high-pitched screams of the two boys in the far room were echoed by Mrs. Davis’s shriek somewhere behind her husband.

John stepped back out
into the hall and brought his shotgun to bear. Mr. Davis tried to recover, but John was too fast. The reverberation of the shotgun firing made the pistol sound like a popgun. The round hit Mr. Davis in the arm and spun him around like a top. The old man slammed into the door and fell back into the room.

John took two long strides before the reality of his situation came back to him. He was out of rounds, reducing his shotgun to a
well-balanced club. His first reaction was to rush into the bedroom and catch Mr. Davis while he was down, but he hadn’t expected Mrs. Davis to be carrying a pistol of her own. She grasped the small gun with both hands and stood over her bleeding husband, catching John dead in her sights. He watched Mrs. Davis close her eyes as she pulled the trigger. He fell to the floor as the gun went off, missing him by inches.

“Leave us alone
.”

Mrs. Davis moved further out into the hall as she pressed
the attack. Tears streamed down her face as she ran awkwardly, holding the gun out in front of her. John stumbled to get to his feet and dashed for the boy’s room. The gun went off behind him and he was hit with a barrage of splintered wood as the round lodged into the wall.

“Yo
u stay away from my children.”

John pushed into the room as Mrs. Davis
fired two rounds into the door behind him with no signs of slowing. He had the presence of mind to slam the door closed and felt the impact as the door struck Mrs. Davis square in the face. She hit the floor and the pistol went off again.

John
hesitated, and then heard a new sound that changed his mind from rushing toward the window. Mrs. Davis had apparently decided to put a round through the door, which would have been a good idea with John standing directly behind it. Her idea and noticeable strength came to an abrupt end when she pulled the trigger and heard only a loud click. She tried again in vain to get the gun to fire.

John pulled the door
open and stood over a terrified Mrs. Davis, still lying on the floor. She pulled the trigger several times with no result and screamed as John leaned over her and punched her twice in the face. The first hit split her lip and the second nearly knocked out a tooth. She continued to scream, but managed to kick John in the gut. He doubled over as she scrambled to get on her feet.

“Get over here,”
he said.

He decided she’d be the one he would take. He came to that conclusion quickly; mostly because he figured she’d be easier to carry
, but also to make up for the swift kick he received moments earlier. He grabbed at her as she started to run back down the hall. In her frantic state, she seemed incapable of choosing between running for safety and turning back for her children.

She
turned toward John and swung the pistol like a Billy club. He saw the pistol grip, but couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. The hit caught him on the jaw and in one blinding moment, his face felt like it caught fire. The next second, he was lying on his back in the middle of the hall and Mrs. Davis was already past him.

John shook his head trying to get his vision straight. He heard the door of the boy’s room slam close and another
door screeching open behind him. He struggled to get to his feet and stumbled to turn around. He found himself face to face with Mr. Davis. The old man’s shoulder was covered in blood and his eyes were filled with desperation. He focused on the pistol in Mr. Davis’ hand, and it was only then that he realized that he’d dropped his shotgun on the floor. John stood hopelessly defenseless without as much as his gun to use as a club. The two men stood silently staring at one another until Mr. Davis spoke.