Cruel World(59)

“Was it just me or did it sound like he was yelling to someone right before you shot him?” Quinn asked.

Alice paused in stroking Ty’s hair, her eyes widening in the dim light.

The sound of the front entrance opening filled the hallway, the hinges echoing to them in a short moan.

“Turn out your light,” Quinn hissed, dousing his own. The hallway fell into dappled darkness. They waited, listening, not breathing. Quinn took a step forward. The wind, it was the wind, had to have been. He motioned for them to follow, and they moved as one down the hall. The lobby was brighter than where they stood, but the sun still hid behind a blanket of clouds and didn’t lighten every corner. He strained his eyes, trying to make out any movement, but there was nothing. The front doors were closed, and the steps beyond their glass were empty. They came even with the glowing exit light and stopped.

“Wind?” Alice asked, a note of hope in her voice.

A stilt stepped into the mouth of the hall, its bulbous joints bending so that it stooped down, peering in at them like a hunter cornering a warren of rabbits in a log. Its lips split revealing broken teeth.

“Go,” Quinn said, pushing Ty and Alice toward the emergency exit.

The stilt rushed them, its slender body bent almost double to clear the ceiling tiles, feet hissing against the floor. The exit corridor was short, and they hit the emergency door with a bang and burst outside into daylight.

Three more stilts were moving toward them across the facility’s grounds, their pale flesh the same color as the clouds. They paused as they caught sight of them then began to lope in their direction.

“Run!” Quinn yelled, swinging his rifle up. Alice scooped Ty into her arms and sprinted in the direction of the Tahoe. He fired off three quick shots, and tufts of grass whipped at the creatures’ feet. He tried to find one of the monsters in the rifle’s sights and was about to squeeze the trigger again when the emergency exit blasted open and the first stilt stepped out, its mouth open, teeth glinting.

Quinn put two rounds into its head.

It fell on top of him, its momentum carrying it forward. He tipped to the side, the stitches in his thigh straining, then bursting, and managed to slide away from its full weight before it pinned him to the ground. Regaining his feet, he saw the other three were closer now, lumbering toward him as fast as they could, their marionette movements clear and horrible in the light of day.

He turned and fled.

The baritone calls chased him, the air vibrating with them. They’re excited. Must not be any of the ones that got supper last night, he thought crazily as he pelted across the lawn, trying to focus on the bottoms of Alice’s feet ahead of him. She and Ty were already on the street leading from the facility toward the bridge. Movement to their right caught his attention, and he glanced that way, stumbling, as he saw two more stilts running across the grounds, their eyes locked on Alice and Ty. Quinn fired three more times, and a chunk of flesh exploded from one of the creatures’ shoulders in a red haze. It spun and bellowed, putting a massive hand to the wound before finding him, its gaze boiling with pain and hatred. It redoubled its pace, blood flowing down its arm and dripping from bony fingers.

“Go! Go! Go!” Quinn yelled, glancing over his shoulder. The three behind them were closer, the distance closing with each enormous stride. He came even with Alice and Ty and his hand found Alice’s arm. Blood ran down his leg, and their collective panting was a rasping soundtrack to their flight. The bridge neared, the vehicles’ bright paint muted beneath the stainless steel sky. He threw another look backward and nearly cried out. The two groups had melded into one pack of skeletal limbs and flexing joints, eyes black and mouths yawning. Hungry. The Tahoe seemed to be further away with each step they took, the sound of the stilts louder, closer.

They made the bridge and sped between the cars, their footsteps slapping hard against the cement. Quinn searched the opposite side, somewhere for them to hide, but the only building was the antique shop, its front decimated by the eighteen-wheeler. For the first time, he read the script painted in bold letters on the side of the tanker: NITRO-LOCK-REFRIGERATED LIQUID. The rear of the truck was dead center of the road, blocking the middle of the bridge with its girth. A square, steel box was bolted to its end, one of two doors hanging open. As they neared it, Quinn veered off to the truck, and Alice turned sideways, still moving with Ty clutched to her chest.

“What are you doing?” she yelled.

“Just go!” he replied, swinging the second door of the truck open. The sound of the stilt’s breathing filled the air, the world. He would feel their long fingers grabbing him any second just as Graham had done, their teeth biting through him. There was a number of gauges and pipes inside the truck’s attachment housing, some of them covered with a thick layer of frost. A brass hammer hung from a support and he snagged this, bringing it down as hard as he could on the closest freezing pipe.