Dastardly Bastard(48)
The tallest trees showing on the skyline were disappearing, being felled by a creature so large Donald couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He caught glimpses of it moving through the woods. Whatever it was, it was coming right for them.
Justine let go of his collar and rose to stand at his side. The rest of the group also stood and stared. He couldn’t believe they weren’t running. The sheer size of the beast was terrifying, but what it was able to do, snapping trees like toothpicks, should have been enough to make them flee.
The thing hit the tree line, sending trunks splintering out into the street. Donald moved back, but stopped at the sidewalk across the street, just like the rest of the gang with him. With the final tree out of its way, the monstrosity stepped out into the light of the day.
He wanted to see it, wanted to witness the thing up close and personal, even if it meant his death. In all his years, with all the terrible horrors he’d described in his novels, none of it could have prepared him for this.
Jaleel Warner made up the upper left half of the beast, while Marsha Lake composed the upper right. Their torsos were attached with rope, which Donald knew without a doubt was none other than the rope from the bridge he’d crossed earlier that day. In the center, rising up from between Marsha and Jaleel, was Justine’s boyfriend, Trevor. His eyes were dark obsidian with red gems shining in the middle. The man’s mouth was fitted with jagged pieces of wood, hideously gnarled mockeries of teeth. The thing gnashed, and boards creaked, rubbing together and sounding like nails on chalkboard. The legs were goat-like, but bending backward at the knees like a flamingo. Black flesh shone in the sun from under reddish-brown fur. Its legs ended in hooves that clopped on the asphalt like Dutch dancing clogs.
“Trevor!” Justine screamed.
“That isn’t your boyfriend, chick.” Donald had wanted to be comforting, but his words just came off as weak. He puffed up his chest. “Justine! Look at me!”
“I-I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Just fucking look at me.”
Slowly, Justine turned her head and brought her eyes to his.
“That thing isn’t Trevor. You got me, sister? You fucking got me?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Her breathing calmed.
“Uh, hate to break your spell over there, but what do you think we should do here?” Mark asked.
Donald kept his gaze on Justine, just in case. “Can you run, big guy?”
“If it’s away from that…” Mark pointed at the ghastly amalgamation of the lost. “You bet your ass I can run.”
Lyle bolted for the street. The boy cut right, his shoes squeaking on the asphalt.
“Where are we going?” Donald asked as he took off after Lyle.
Donald kept up as best he could, but soon enough, Lyle and Justine were far ahead of Tubby and him.
“Away!” Mark growled as he snatched Donald up, carrying him under his arm like a football.
Donald bounced up and down roughly as the fat guy blundered away with him. “Hey!” Donald yelled between breaths. “Let me down!”
“I may not… be the fastest fucker out here, Squirt… but my legs are longer than yours. It’s simple physics. I can cover more ground.”
Behind them, closing ground, Trevor, Marsha, and Jaleel laughed.
35
MARK SIMMONS COUNTED.
ONE… TWO… three… four…
With every step, his stomach would sway left to right, throttling the little man under his arm. Donald’s words would come and go. Squirt was squealing, then muffled. Screaming, then mumbling. Mark tried to ignore him, focusing all his attention and concentration on escaping the monster at their heels.
Five… six… seven… eight…
Mark wasn’t kidding himself. Even if he tallied numbers up to a billion, keeping track of every single numeral as it rolled around in his gray matter, the fact remained the same. He was already out of breath, and he hadn’t even reached ten yet.
He could hear the thundering footfalls of the ten-foot giant. The squalling noise it made, the creaking plank-teeth clacking together in Trevor’s mouth, the cracking pavement from the monster’s footfalls, all made Mark move faster. Damn the weight. Damn the wind he so desperately needed. Damn the torpedoes, even. He wasn’t going to fall victim to that thing.
Nine… ten…
Donald was saying something, but at that moment, his face was buried in Mark’s love handle. Mark tried to ask Donald what he was saying, but questions required air, which was something he did not possess just then.
Eleven… twelve…
He couldn’t understand, not for the life of him, why the monster hadn’t caught them yet. His mind’s eye saw a tank, not all that fast, but deadly nonetheless. Though the monster’s legs were five feet long, and its stride was twice as long as his own, it still had to maintain a forward movement. That took energy. Just like a tank, it would need fuel. He imagined the thing running out of gas. Petering out. Good fuel mixing with the crud at the bottom of the tank. Carbon blocking the filter. The engine firing less and less, until finally, it would collapse.
Or he would.
“Mouses!” Donald grumbled, his mouth tickling Mark’s side.
He hadn’t the breath left to laugh, and the situation didn’t call for it. He found himself doing it anyway. “What… the… what?” Mark shifted his hold, lifting Donald up and away. He tossed the little guy up over his bouncing shoulder, laying a hand across his back to keep him stable.