Cruel World(60)

The pipe snapped off midway through and spurted a stream of liquid surrounded by white steam past his face. A portion hit his shoulder, his skin burning like nothing he’d ever felt before. He spun away from the back of the tanker, bringing his rifle up as one of the stilts lunged at him. He blew away a portion of its throat in a spray of tissue and blood that coated its brethren behind it. Its eyes flew wide, but it continued to reach for him, snagging its filthy fingernails in his shirt and tearing it partially from his chest as it tipped forward.

Quinn fell on his side, slamming to his throbbing shoulder but keeping hold of the rifle. His vision shook with the impact and his breath rushed from him. He rolled, coming up on his feet in the time it took the stilt to slide to a stop. He made it two shaking steps back before he paused, the view before him stopping him in his tracks.

The width of the bridge was covered in fog.

The liquid nitrogen spread like something alive, coating everything it touched in speckled white frost. It flowed out of the damaged pipe in an arching fountain that reminded him of the one near the facility. It ran to where the fallen monster lay, turning the already pale skin a lighter shade of gray as its warm flesh froze in a matter of seconds. The remaining stilts were backing away, the low croak running between them in a steady chorus as the nitrogen crept closer, pouring over every inch of the bridge. The tallest near the front of the pack loomed over the top of the tanker truck, its eyes finding Quinn’s, locking tight. Marking him. Quinn brought up the rifle, but the creature retreated farther out of sight.

“Quinn! Come on!” Alice’s cry shook him from his immobility, and he turned and sprinted the last twenty yards to the Tahoe, climbing into the passenger side as she gunned the engine and they sped away down the street.

Well-groomed yards flashed by outside his window. Houses, garages, sidewalks, pavement, more grass, trees. The trees were beginning to cause a feeling inside him, their slender trunks, long branches, reaching. He blinked, biting down hard on the inside of his mouth. His breathing slowed, his heart’s pace coming down from hummingbird range closer to a human being’s. Alice blew through stoplights and surged around sharp corners, the Tahoe’s wheels screeching their protest. A repetitive sound came from the back seat, and he finally turned to see what was making it. Ty wiped at his nose and sniffled again, creating the scratchy sniffling, lower lip trembling. He kept running his hands over the dowel in his lap. He’d managed to hold onto it through their flight from the facility. Quinn reached back and put a hand on his small knee. The boy jumped.

“It’s okay, Ty. We’re going to be okay,” he said. Ty rocked in his seat and nodded, biting down on his lower lip as if he knew it was betraying his courage.

Alice brought them out of the city, the last neighborhoods clinging to the sides of the streets like patches of lichen before giving way to old growths of forest that lined the turnpike. They rode in silence, slowing only to circumvent the random vehicle that blocked the highway. After a half hour, Quinn glanced at Alice and opened his mouth to speak when he saw her arms trembling, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. She gave no sign she heard him, her eyes locked on the road ahead. A tollbooth approached, bordered by the first clearing they’d seen since leaving the city. The orange arm was down and blocking their lane. Quinn was about to open his door to get out and raise it when Alice put the SUV in park. She didn’t look at him, instead climbing out and walking to the edge of the silent turnpike overlooking the field. She stood there, arms crossed before her, head down.

“I’ll be right back, Ty,” Quinn said, exiting the vehicle. He moved across the lanes, rocks snapping beneath his father’s hiking boots, eyes scanning the woods surrounding the field, but there was no movement. When he neared her, he noticed her shoulders shaking and thought she was going to be sick. It was only when he stopped beside her that he saw the tears coating her cheeks. When she didn’t say anything and continued to cry, staring ahead at the field, he spoke.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time and lowered her face once more. Another silent sob coursed through her, and he extended his arm to put it around her shoulders before dropping it back to his side. He glanced at the idling Tahoe, Ty only a small shadow behind the tinted glass.

“I almost got him killed. The most precious thing in my life,” she finally said, her voice raw. “It was stupid, so stupid to go there.”