Wormwood Dawn (Episode III) (6 page)

Gunfire followed as the other three men emptied their rifles. The creature thrashed and howled, barreling around the yard like a flaming meteorite. Dan stood and dashed through the yard. The creature attempted to follow, unleashing hellish screams as its flesh was burned away. Finally it fell to the ground, twitching and squirming, moaning and chuffing.

“Here,” Drew said, tossing him his Glock.

Dan caught it, chambering the first round, and approached the burning monster. It was a twisted bundle of stick-like limbs and lumpy white flesh, trembling and gagging in the last throes of death. Dan raised the Glock, aiming right for its forehead.

“Later, dude,” he said, pulling the trigger.

The bullet silenced the creature for good as it splattered open its head. Dan put a few more rounds in it for good measure, and watched as the creature settled down into its final rest. The others came out the side door, quietly gathering around and watching the strange carcass burn to cinders.

“Fuck, man,” Vincent said. “I ain’t
nevah
ridin’ no damn horse again.”

Dan heard him, but continued staring at the chaotic pile of limbs and flesh. He was mesmerized; not only by the incident, but by the nature of the horse’s mutation. It was the strangest thing he had ever seen. Horrifying, yet fascinating at the same time. He took out his cell phone and snapped a quick picture of it.

“Alright,” Drew said. “I’m gonna go puke.”

Dan awoke at sunset the next day. Jake and Drew were still snoring away—especially Jake—but Vincent was already awake. Dan found him outside on the deck, enjoying the evening with a beer and a pair of tongs. The smell of grilled meat filled the house, along with the fresh October air.

Dan stepped outside, going to the railing, and stared up at the sky.

“Sup, dawg?” Vincent said, weaving from side to side in beat to the soft jazz that played on the stereo.

“Mornin’,” Dan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Shit,” Vincent said. “’bout two hours. Didn’t sleep much. Took some speed and thought I’d make my homeys some breakfast.”

Dan chuckled. “Is we yo’ homeys?”

Vincent laughed, shaking his tongs at Dan in mock anger. “Watch yo’ mouth, cracka!”

“That’s not the horse is it?” Dan asked as he looked at the meat on the grill, only partially joking.

Vincent shook his head. “That mutha fucka was gone,” he said. “The rest of the other horse, too.”

“Wow,” Dan said. “I wonder what the fuck took it.”

Vincent grunted, twirling the tongs in his hand as a sax solo lifted his spirits. He took a sip of his beer, pouring a little on the pork chops that sizzled on the grill. Out in the yard, Pauli came scurrying out of the creek, happily gazing up at Dan and wagging his tail.

“Did you let Pauli out?” he asked.

“Yeah. Tossed him over the railing.”

Dan laughed. “I’m gonna pop something,” he said. “I need to wake up.”

He went back into the house and hovered over the stash of pills. Vyvanse was a good choice. He took one and looked over at the living room where Jake was beginning to stir. Drew, who had killed a bottle of wine early in the morning, was still comatose.

“Wakey, wakey,” Dan said. “T-bone steaky.”

“You got T-bones?” Jake asked through a yawn.

“Nah, just pork chops. Vincent’s grillin’ ‘em up.”

Jake sat up, stretching. “After that barbecued beast last night?”

“Yep,” Dan said. “But don’t worry, we’re not having that. I asked.”

Jake smacked his lips, grumbling, then picked up a pillow and hit Drew in the face with it.

“Fuck off,” Drew growled from under his blanket.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” Jake said, poking him.

Drew rolled over, pushing himself up to his knees. “Fuck,” he said. “What the hell kind of wine was that?”

“Food’s done!” Vincent yelled from outside.

Dan let Pauli in, and they went out to the deck. It was unusually warm, and a good dinner—or breakfast, in their case—outside on the deck was an excellent idea. Drew passed beers around. Jake opened a Diet Coke.

“Man, that smells good,” he said. “My compliments to the chef.”

“They’d be better if there was some barbecue sauce,” Vincent said.

Vincent plopped a giant pork chop down on everyone’s plate. Nobody really bothered with silverware. There wasn’t any clean, anyway. They all picked their meat up with their bare hands and chowed down like starving dogs. Dan tossed Pauli a sliver, and the little dog snatched it up and disappeared into the house.

“Fucker,” Dan said.

“He been waitin’ for that shit,” Vincent said, grinning.

“You know,” Jake began, “you’re surprisingly calm for someone who just lost his brother. I couldn’t do that. I don’t have any brothers, but if I did, I would be fucked up.”

“It ain’t like that, man,” Vincent said. “Sho’ he was my brother, but that’s the way we all wanna go out. In a blaze of glory, fightin’ for yo’ life. We like black Vikings and shit.”

The three of them chuckled. Dan pictured Vincent and Terry in Viking garb, wielding axes and hammers, facing an army of mutant Saxons. He grinned to himself.

“That’s funny,” he said. “Blikings.”

“He sho’ got his wish, though,” Vincent said, his smile fading a little.

Drew dropped his pork bone on the table, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I’ve been thinking about what Shirley told us,” he said. “About the Bible stuff.”

“Uh oh,” Jake grunted.

“I mean, I’ve read about the star called Wormwood. Can that just be a coincidence?”

Vincent chimed in. “Maybe. Maybe not. It ain’t all about magic and hocus pocus. Those dudes back in the day knew what they was talkin’ about. They weren’t really prophets or anything, seeing the future and all that. Those mutha fuckas were the first scientists. They was lookin’ up in the sky and seein’ shit that other people didn’t understand. Maybe one of them saw the comet somewhere up there and knew it would come back some day and cause some shit.”

Jake nodded. “And when he told others of what he saw, they interpreted it as prophecy.”

“Yeah,” Vincent said. “That’s all anybody
could
think. They didn’t know shit. They was just one step above cavemen.”

“Some of them haven’t evolved much,” Drew said.

Dan thought about Vincent’s words. It was a good theory. It made sense. There were a lot of things in mythology that sounded suspiciously like modern technology, or were events that had actually happened. Maybe there was something to the science.

“Vincent the Philosopher,” he said.

Vincent smiled, downing the rest of his beer. “I think, therefore I am. Is. Hahaha.”

Dan chuckled. He was starting to feel the Vyvanse kicking in. It felt good. Everything felt good.

“So,” he said. “What are we doing today?”

“Are there any more neighborhoods around here?” Jake asked. “Maybe we could give Vincent a tour of Whiteyville.”

“Maybe we could introduce Vince and Jake to Shirley,” Drew added.

Dan nodded. “What do you think, Vincent?” he asked. “You wanna meet a crazy old white lady?”

Vincent smiled. “Wouldn’t be my first.”

The Hummer was stocked and ready to go in an hour. After securing the house, and making sure Pauli had enough food and water, they loaded up and were off. Dan drove, with Jake in the front seat, and Vincent and Drew in back. Jake had apparently won the coin toss.

There was only a bit of sun left; just a golden glow on the horizon. The road was dark and shadowy, and the tops of the trees curved overhead, creating a creepy tunnel-like ceiling. Dan had only the parking lights on, and their reddish tint added a little more mystery to the scene.

“Gary and Linda’s house is just ahead,” Dan said. “That’s where we found the solar panels.”

“And where Linda blew her brains out right in front of us,” Drew added.

“Damn,” Vincent said. “That’s some crazy shit. No warning or nothing.”

“Nope.”

They passed by slowly as Drew shined a flashlight on the house. Dan, however, was focused on the stable. The wall had been knocked down from the outside, and there was a strange white substance surrounding the gaping hole. He had the feeling that this is where the horse had come to mutate. How it got infected, though, was anybody’s guess.

A deer bounded across the road, making everyone jump. They were silent for a few seconds before breaking out in chuckles. Dan kept it slow, watching as the ghostly forest passed by them, wary of anything that could jump out and scare the shit out of them—again. He had never realized how creepy nature could be at night.

They rounded the last bend, curving to the right, where Shirley’s house was tucked back into a shelter of trees and limestone. It stood dark and seemingly abandoned; not what Dan was expecting.

“You think she’s home?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know,” Dan said, pulling over in front.

“She would be shooting at us now if she was,” Drew said. “Maybe she’s zipping around in her new Jeep.”

Dan continued forward, pulling into her driveway. He kept his eyes on the windows, fully expecting at least a candle or two burning inside. There was nothing. He put the Hummer in park and turned to the other guys.

“What do you think?”

Drew shook his head. “She might be sleeping or something,” he said. “She
is
old, after all.”

“Only one way to find out,” Jake said, opening his door.

They piled out, each with a lighted shotgun and a smaller backup. There was an intense feeling in the air, as if they all knew something wasn’t right. Even Jake and Vincent, who had never met Shirley, seemed to be wary. Drew kept glancing at Dan as they walked up her yard, as if silently echoing his concern.

“Do we knock or what?” Jake asked.

“If she’s in there,” Dan said, “she knows we’re here.”

“She ain’t prejudice or anything, is she?” Vincent asked.

“Who knows?” Dan said. “But we’re all fighting on the same side now, right?”

“I guess,” Vincent replied, nervously.

“That was kind of fucked up, Vincent,” Drew joked. “Assuming an old white lady is racist.”

Vincent laughed. “Shit,
all
old people are racist. If this was a black neighborhood, they’d be shootin’ at y’all.”

“What if it was a Mexican neighborhood?” Dan asked.

“Hmm,” Vincent said. “Then it’d be brightly colored.”

“And fabulously landscaped,” Jake added.

A howl sounded in the distance, stopping Drew, Jake, and Vincent in their tracks. Dan turned to look at them.

“Was that a wolf?” Vincent asked.

Dan laughed. “Coyote,” he said. “An
actual
coyote. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stellar,” Drew said. “I shit my pants again.”

They went up Shirley’s driveway to the side door. The screen door hung open, and the big door was unlocked. Dan looked back nervously as he turned the handle. Everyone had their shotguns ready.

“Turn your lights on,” Dan said.

As he pushed the door open, the smell of decay slowly wafted out. It wasn’t as intense as some of the other houses, but it was there. Dan shined his gun light inside, sweeping it from side to side. There was nothing unusual; only the typical side door mudroom items. There were muddy boots, jackets hung on hooks, and a mop leaning against the wall.

Dan stepped in first, taking a few steps before hearing the others follow. The decaying smell was mixed with the smell of wax and burnt wood. Shirley had obviously been burning candles, and had the fireplace going recently.

The mudroom led to the kitchen, which was clean and tidy. Nothing was in disarray; other than the strange feeling that Dan had. He shined the light around, seeing nothing unusual, and moved on.

The living room was the same. Everything was in place. The fireplace was clean, other than the ashes of a recent fire, and there were candles scattered about; half burnt and covered in frozen drips of wax.

Dan swept the flashlight around to check every shadow and every corner. Nothing was out of place or suspicious.

…other than the writing on the wall.

Dan’s light froze on the letters on the wall behind the couch. The others groaned as they saw Dan’s discovery. The writing was in dried blood, and had run a little before becoming crusty and dry. Dan approached, his heart thumping nervously as he recognized the halting script. It was square and macabre; like the writing of a madman.

Naughty boys

“What the fuck?” Drew whispered.

The dead serial killer’s face flashed in Dan’s mind. It was the only explanation. The handwriting was the same, and the words told him that the writing was meant just for them. The psycho had been here before slashing his own throat. It had to be recently, as Dan and Drew had only been here a few days ago.

How long had it been? Dan had lost track of the days.

“Not good,” Jake said.

“That’s some fucked up shit,” Vincent added.

Dan lowered his light, looking around the room as he caught his breath. “Oh my God,” he said. “Poor Shirley.”

“He’d been watching her, too,” Drew said. “Everyone on the street.”

Dan shined his light on the stairs, seeing bloody handprints on the walls. They led up in a teasing and taunting fashion; almost daring them to climb the stairs.

“She’s up there,” Dan said, stepping toward the stairway. “She’s gotta be.”

The others followed as Dan mounted the stairs and crept upward. He kept his eyes on the top as he went, pointing his gun light upward. The handprints continued all the way up, leading to the landing, where there was more writing.

Watch your step

Dan looked down. There were bloody drag marks on the last landing. Dan swallowed hard, shining his light up into the hallway. There were more handprints on the walls leading to the bedroom door at the end of the hall.

“This is fucking crazy,” Drew said.

Jake grunted, peeking through the railing. “It’s beyond crazy,” he said. “But we gotta know.”

Dan nodded, mounting the top step and proceeding down the hallway. The floor creaked, and the doors whined lightly as they passed; moved by the force of their wind.