Year's End: 14 Tales of Holiday Horror (11 page)

“Don’t know.”

“What about my friends?”

Lynn felt her voice wobble again. “I don’t know.”

Jack glanced at the phone. “Should we try and call anybody else?”

She considered that. Probably, but if no one answered, what would they do then? Then again, maybe they could warn them. “Sure. Can you dial for me? I’ll talk. Just start at the top.”

They called three people, none of whom answered, before the signal was lost and the phone blinked off. Jack held the phone in both hands as though willing it back to life. It grew closer to midnight as they drove, and there were fewer cars now. She followed the taillights of the truck in front of her, lulled by the steady hum of tires.

The truck ahead of her swerved violently to the side, going over the embankment and disappearing into the grass. Lynn slammed on the brakes, but she wasn’t fast enough. She ran over something that caused the car to bounce and skid to a stop; there was a loud pop and the car sank to one side. Jack managed to hold onto Wobbles, but the dog’s head thunked against the dash. He whimpered and shook.

“Mom?”

“Shh.” Lynn lifted herself out of her seat a bit, looking around. In the rearview mirror, she saw the pointed ends of broken pavement sticking up, as though something had tunneled underneath. The tunnel continued all the way across the road. The crack heaved as though it was breathing. Lynn pushed on the gas, bent rims be damned, trying to propel them away from the gash. A squealing noise and stench of burning rubber surrounded them, but the car didn’t move. “Jack,” she gasped, “We have to get out of the car and run. Run straight.” There was no time for anything more detailed than that. Jack grabbed for his seatbelt buckle, and the belt snapped back. As his hand closed over the handle, the ground quaked beneath and the car was upended, slamming them back into their seats. Jack lost his hold on Wobbles, and the dog went shrieking across the roof and slammed into the back window. Lynn could see a fine web of cracks spread beneath his body. She had an impression of Wobbles’ upturned white eye before the car was thrown forward, balancing briefly on the front bumper before slamming upside down into the pavement. Darkness.

Lynn’s hand brushed back against her forehead, pushing back tangles of wet hair. She hung upside down in her seatbelt, with the airbag pressed against head. “Jack?” she whispered. He lay on the roof of the car, Wobbles lying under him, eyes open and still. Fluid ran steadily across the glass. “Jack?”

She knew he couldn’t answer her. She reached out desperately for his face, but couldn’t reach, struggling in her seatbelt. Her hands were too slippery to grab the latch. Dizzily she tried to push away from the airbag. She had to get out, get Jack out. Maybe he was only unconscious. Maybe, maybe…

The ground shook. She clawed at the belt, and then froze. The car slid backwards, metal screeching across the pavement, then still again. Those whispers again, the same as those from the wall, hissing and cajoling. Hanging tangled in the belt, she sat helpless, listening. Her breath caught in her throat.

The lights in the dash were gone, and there was no way to see what was jiggling the door handle and peeling at the broken glass. The car shivered under the assault. Part of her wanted light, even the clock, to see what was coming
. It must be midnight
. It was the last coherent thought she had.

Contract Fulfillment

Jeremy Tyler

Rob Carlisle was feeling pretty good, watching the never-ending and never-dull parade of partiers walk past him. On any given night, the old Tampa neighborhood of Ybor City was a great place for nightclubbing. The hottest clubs were all on 7
th
Avenue, with lines forming for blocks out on the street. But even without going inside, there were plenty of open air bars and patio clubs where you could sit back, listen to the overlapping sounds of the live music, and just feel the excitement in the air.

Yes, Ybor was always a great place to be. But on New Year’s Eve, it was an absolute riot.

And Rob was in an especially celebratory mood. He had gotten word, not four days ago, that his life was actually his again. After three years of living with varying forms of chemotherapy, radiation treatments, and enough half-crazy experimental procedures to qualify as a decent sci-fi thriller, Rob’s doctors had given him the terrifying, but expected, final diagnosis. His cancer was terminal, and he had an estimated year to live.

Yeah, not exactly the kind of news that generally inspires a party. But, that wasn’t the part he was celebrating. It was the unbelievable, and clinically impossible, fact that his incurable, inoperable, and unrecoverable cancer had gone into full remission. Rob was cancer-free, and open to a life full of possibility.

That was something worth making a fuss over.

So, tonight he was out at the biggest New Year’s Eve party in the state, covering all of Ybor City. Tonight, he didn’t have a care in the world.

Those, he would tend to tomorrow. Or the day after, depending on how bad a hangover he was nursing.

There were considerations, of course. Rob had planned on living a short but full life for what time he had left, so he had quickly burned through his savings, indulging in a full range of once-in-a-lifetime activities. When he ran out of money, he realized that he hadn’t run out of things he wanted to do. At that point, an opportunity had turned up that seemed perfect.

The Best Days Group, a non-profit organization based out of the Cayman Islands, had approached Rob about a bold, new program they were running for people with terminal diseases.

You see, the current law stated that a person could not legally sell his or her body to science, even after they were done using it. But, through special funding and creative legal jargon, The Best Days Group were able to bestow sizeable grants to individuals who made the decision to donate their bodies to their sister organization, Rising Dawn Technologies.

Rob had received one of those grants, allowing him to live a life of absolute luxury in his last few days.

The fact that they weren’t his last days any longer made for a bit of a sticky situation. He would have to contact the group and let them know that he was no longer a dying man. They would, no doubt, want their grant money back, but they would just have to be reasonable with him while he worked out a repayment program. After all, now that he had a future, he was going to have to find a new job—which could take a while. What little grant money he had left would have to sustain him while he was looking.

And after all, what were they going to do? Sue him over a monetary gift made under questionably legal circumstance?

Regardless, it wasn’t his fault. Rob didn’t plan on remission. It just happened.

But, Rob wasn’t really concerned, anyway. He was celebrating his second chance at having a full and meaningful life. In an hour or so, he would be meeting up with his friend, Andy Meering. Andy was also out for a good time. He had just been promoted to a sweet assignment with the Tampa Police Department, in the Major Crimes unit.

Andy was really more of the straight and narrow type. The fact is, he would normally never come on out to Ybor on a weekend night – let alone New Year’s Eve. But, Rob had no qualms about using his diagnosis and subsequent recovery to get his way. Andy couldn’t really say no.

It was still early—5 o’clock. The sun was just now starting to show the first glimmering signs of setting, but Ybor was still packed with partygoers, nonetheless. People of every variety, from buttoned up business types, fresh from the office, to every variety of goth-inspired, angst-ridden teenager. You just gotta love Ybor City.

Rob’s cell phone rang, breaking through his reverie.

“Hello?” he answered. He didn’t recognize the number, but he figured that Andy might be calling from the FDLE building, if he was running late.

“Mr. Carlisle, I hope you are enjoying the day,” announced the voice on the line. Rob recognized the clipped, precise annunciations that always came off as too antiseptic. Dr. Gellingham had been the one to approach him about The Best Days Group, and had been the one to walk him through the whole process of becoming a grant recipient.

“Doctor, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you,” Rob said, nervously. He didn’t want to have to deal with the whole grant situation right now.

“Of course, of course. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I wanted to congratulate you on the recent good news you received.”

Despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing sinister about the sound of the man’s voice, Rob couldn’t help but feel a shiver down his spine.

“How did you know?” he asked. The doctor laughed slightly.

“You forget, Mr. Carlisle, as a condition of your contract, we have unlimited access to your medical records. We knew of the remission almost as soon as you did.”

Rob had forgotten that.

“I know that I need to return the grant money—and I will. I just need to set up some sort of payment plan…” Rob began.

“Slow down, Mr. Carlisle. Relax. We are not interested in getting our money back. And, even if we wanted to take it back, we couldn’t. Your contract was not provisional upon your having cancer. The money is yours. Enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” Rob replied weakly. He wasn’t sure how to accept that.

“No need. We couldn’t be more pleased, Mr. Carlisle. The fact that your body was able to stave off such a deadly type of cancer is validation of what we do. In many ways, we could not have hoped for a better result,” the doctor assured him.

“Well, that is certainly a load off my mind,” Rob admitted. “I just feel guilty accepting all that money. Are you really sure you don’t want me to return at least some of it?”

Rob wasn’t quite sure why he was trying so hard to give back the money. He just knew that there was something that seemed off about this situation.

“I am certain. We stick to the letter of our contract, and are happy to do it. But, if it makes you uncomfortable, I would be happy to send someone from our “contract fulfillment” department to assure you.”

That was the last thing Rob wanted. Some pasty-faced lawyer stopping by to bore him with a bunch of legal jargon—it sounded about as dull as dull could get.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Rob started to tell him, but Doctor Gellingham just talked right over him.

“It’s quite alright. As it happens, we have someone in your area. He’d be delighted to assist you, and it won’t take more than a few moments. Just sit tight, Mr. Carlisle. We’ll take care of everything.”

And with that, he hung up.

Rob stared down at his phone, as a dozen things just ran through his mind. Things like, how did I go from enjoying the holiday to waiting for a legal briefing; how could an organization afford to throw that kind of money at someone, then casually write it off when they had an opportunity to get it back; and most disturbing of all, how did they know where I am?

The odd little tingle at the base of his skull was beginning to bloom into full-on panic. What did he really know about these people?

He knew that they had plenty of money, and plenty of connections. He knew that they liked their privacy—he even had to sign a non-disclosure statement promising that he would say nothing about where his money had come from. He knew that they were involved in some cutting-edge medical stuff.

And, when you got right down to it, that’s all he knew.

Well, now he could apparently add one more thing to the list: they could track his location through his cell phone.

He had heard of such things. He knew that it was possible, and it was really the only thing that explained how they knew where he was, and why Dr. Gellingham would call him now, for no real reason.

Rob punched in another number in the phone, anxious to get in touch with Andy. Andy would be able to help. He would be able to get him help.

But, when he put the phone to his ear, there was nothing. His phone was suddenly, inexplicably, dead.

The crowd. Rob got up and started moving amongst the constantly flowing river of human bodies that covered 7
th
Avenue. They might have been able to find him, but Rob guessed that they would have to really work at locating him amongst the masses.

He weaved his way into one knot of people, then slipped into another. He was dressed in a nondescript pair of jeans and a green t-shirt, so he actually fit in, no matter where he was, or who he was with.

It seemed a good plan, at first. That is, until the third time he felt something sharp poke into him amongst that seething mass of flesh. In any other situation, he would have just assumed it was an accidentally exposed key, or an inconveniently outlandish bit of body piercing. At the moment, however, Rob couldn’t help but picture the prick of a hypodermic needle, and a well-timed depressing of the plunger.

Rob began to hyperventilate, which just served to draw attention to him. That was the last thing he needed. He needed to get out of the crowd, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be alone. He started looking amongst the various clubs and bars around him, but most of them had lines out the door, and even those that didn’t were so packed in, he’d have more breathing room on the street.

His best hope lie at Centro Ybor. Built to provide a more modern aspect to the Ybor City nightlife, Centro Ybor was a market square located just off the main drag of the old Cuban neighborhood, featuring a large movie theater, touristy shops, and a dozen or so casual dining restaurants.

The one thing that really made it important right now, though, was that it had a bit more space. A live band was scheduled to set up in three hours, but for now, it was just a spot for people to take a breather when the crowds were too much. One of the local hospitals had even set up a first aid tent there.

Rob began sliding through the bodies, worming his way west, toward the shelter of Centro Ybor. He ducked behind a massively built guy who probably would have had to move sideways to get through your standard door. He walked purposefully through the crowd, inspiring one and all to make room for his sizeable bulk. As long as he didn’t notice Rob slinking along immediately behind him, Rob should be able to ride his wake all the way to Centro Ybor.