Authors: Anthony Izzo
Evil Harvest (17 page)
“Definitely not.”
“What did it do next?”
“It reached for me because I was closer to it. Jim and me were screaming and the thing was grunting. It tried grabbing me by the leg, but I pulled away. It raked me with its claw and cut me. I saw the blood and Jim tells me I fainted.”
“What happened next?”
“Jim told me the next day at the hospital that another camper heard the screaming and came running with a shotgun. He fired at the thing and hit it. It ran off into the woods.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to say?”
“I’ll never go camping again. You sure you’re not a cop? Or one of them reporters for the
Enquirer
or one of those papers?”
Enquirer
or one of those papers?”
“I’m not. I promise.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I can see why you’d be suspicious. Thank you for your time, Charlie.”
“You’re welcome. I hope this helps you.”
“It will.”
Jill got up and turned off the tape. She rewound it and they listened to it again. After the tape had finished, Jill sat on the couch again. “What was your impression of Charlene Matthews?” she asked.
“I think she was telling the truth. She was a little flaky, one of those New Age types.”
“How’s that?”
“When I interviewed her she had on hippie garb. Tie-dye shirt, lots of turquoise jewelry. She had candles and incense burning. Couple funky looking Hendrix posters on the wall, too.”
“Some of those people are into UFOs and stuff,” Jill said.
“I know what you’re thinking. Spacey hippie-type chick, probably fresh off a bong hit thinking she saw Bigfoot. She got pretty broken up when it came time to talk about the attack. She wasn’t lying.”
Jill leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her head on hands, similar to the Thinker. “Matt, I need some time to think things over.”
“Put it all together, Jill.”
“Let me walk you down.”
He had blown it by spilling everything to her. “Let’s talk some more.”
“Not tonight. My head’s swimming,” she said.
He stood up and took his tape out of the stereo.
Jill walked him out to the truck and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
“Give me a few days.”
He climbed in the truck and watched her walk up the driveway, her head down. He hoped she came around, saw things for what they were in Lincoln. Whether she believed him or not, he planned to stay.
Rafferty pulled into Jimbo’s parking lot, the bumper on the cruiser scraping against the cement incline to the driveway. He squealed his brakes and stopped in front of the gas pumps. He was feeling meaner than usual, like he could break someone’s nose for fun.
He had come from the Greek joint where he had downed four steak Souvlakis, an order of french fries, two milk shakes and a banana split for dessert. It tasted bland and mushy to him. What he really wanted to taste, he couldn’t have. Yet. So he had temporarily satisfied his hunger with tasteless breads and meats. The waitress said she’d never seen anyone eat like that, and he had told her to hurry up and bring him the check.
When he was in the restaurant, he noticed a teenage couple three booths down from him, holding hands and drinking out of the same milk shake with two straws. They giggled, whispered and occasionally kissed across the table. It repulsed him in the way that a human might be repulsed by watching flies crawl over food.
Love, what was it? The females of his race only desired sex from the males. They kept up a good front in their human skins, pretending to be married couples or lovers. Had to keep up appearances, after all. But love? It didn’t exist.
Now, he stepped out of his patrol car, his boot heels clicking on the pavement. It was a wonder Jimbo ever did any business in this place, because it was run-down, old and smelled bad, much like Jimbo.
The look of the place really made no difference to him, as long as he got free gas.
He entered the office, where Jimbo’s helper Carl sat with his feet up on the desk reading a copy of
Playboy
.
Playboy
.
“Evening, Chief.”
“Where’s Jimbo?”
“He never works nights.”
“I know he’s not here, you moron. Is he at home?”
“I dunno. Either home or out at one of the bars.”
Rafferty sniffed the air. There was something underneath the smell of the grease and gasoline. He moved closer to the door that separated the office from the garage and took another whiff. He noticed Carl watching him and trying to act like he wasn’t really watching him at the same time. His eyes shifted from the magazine to Rafferty every few seconds.
“Want me to pump your gas, Chief?”
“In a second.”
He knew that one of them had made the change here, possibly Jimbo. The sulfurous smell lingered in the garage, and under that, the hot, metallic smell of blood. “Gotten many strangers in here, Carl? Out-of-towners?”
“No. Well, there was one guy. A salesman. But he was just passing through.”
“Jimbo didn’t tell me about that.”
“Must’ve forgot.”
“He’s not supposed to forget. He’s my eyes for whenever someone new comes through town.”
Although Jimbo had always reported to Rafferty when strangers stopped at the station, he sensed that the old coot never really liked him.
“Let me pump that gas for you, Chief.”
Carl set his magazine down on the desk and rushed out to pump the gas. He was acting so skittish, Rafferty would almost put money on the fact that there had been a kill in the garage. He would stop by Jimbo’s house and see if he could get the real story, for Carl was of little help.
Carl finished gassing up his car and came back into the office. “No charge, Chief.”
“I know. Anything out of the ordinary happen here lately?”
“Uh, not that I can think of.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Business as usual.”
Rafferty gave him a hard stare, hoping he would crack and reveal some information, but Carl stood firm.
Something had gone down in Jimbo’s Garage. Maybe the old coot had lost his temper with a customer, or maybe the urge to kill had been too strong for him to resist, but someone was dead. Rafferty knew it.
Whatever happened, he would pay Jimbo a visit and find out.
He got in the cruiser and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving skid marks on the concrete.
C
HAPTER
16
HAPTER
16
Donna turned and darted out the bedroom door, slamming it behind her, hoping to slow the creature down. She heard the door being opened and slammed shut behind her.
She reached the top of the stairs and ventured a peek over her shoulder. It was coming, but it moved slowly, deliberately. She could swear the thing was smiling at her.
Due to its size and musculature, Donna was sure it could be on top of her in two strides. It seemed content to play with her, letting her believe she might get away, perhaps only to pounce on her and rip her to pieces at the last minute.
She hurried down the stairs and it bounded after her. Her foot reached the third stair when it pushed her between the shoulder blades.
God, it was quick, she thought as her ankle twisted and she skidded down the steps.
She landed hard, smacking her ribs and knocking over a small table in the hallway. If she made it out of here alive, tomorrow would be an Advil day.
Shaking her head, she looked up at the stairs and her pursuer. It stood with one foot on the bottom step and one a few steps higher. Its arms hung to almost its knees and it stood in a crouch, measuring her with eyes the color of swamp water.
She got to her feet, wishing she had the Beretta on her.
It took a step down, its nails clicking on the beige tiles in the hallway.
To her left was the living room and dining room; to her right and slightly ahead was the hallway leading back to the kitchen. The front door was in the foyer, but she didn’t think she could get to it and unlock it before the creature closed on her.
It took another step so that both feet were on the hall floor. She was in grabbing distance and didn’t like it.
“Dietrich, if you’re in there, you’re dead. Understand me?”
The creature flashed its teeth. It was definitely a grin this time, probably meant to scare her by showing off its fangs. They
were
impressive; three inches long and shaped like thick needles, ideal for piercing skin.
were
impressive; three inches long and shaped like thick needles, ideal for piercing skin.
It feinted, pretending to reach for her, as if to test her reaction.
She recoiled from it and then took off down the hallway toward the kitchen. It could have grabbed her if it wanted to, but it seemed content to let her escape again.
It likes the thrill of the hunt. The bastard.
Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she could hear its thick sniffing as it tested the air, inhaling her scent. She was lucky she hadn’t killed herself fleeing in a dark house. She grabbed the doorknob and opened the basement door. Then she went through. She slammed the door but couldn’t secure it, for the lock was on the other side.
Hobbling down the stairs, pain flared in her ribs and at the base of her spine. Her back was going to be a sunset of bruises.
The door at the top of the stairs banged open and she heard heavy footfalls descending the stairs.
The window was her only hope.
Rafferty climbed the cracked concrete stoop and knocked on the door. The house wasn’t much of an improvement over Jimbo’s service station. The numbers 1 and 9 hung on the door, the zero in between them having fallen off. The green paint was chipped and blistered, as if it were trying to remove itself from the house.
After knocking on the door, Rafferty backed down the step, and a chunk of concrete broke off, nearly sending him sprawling.
He muttered a curse and pounded on the door.
“Jimbo!”
After knocking again, he heard shuffling footsteps and then the old buzzard clearing his throat. The door opened with a soft click and Jimbo stuck his head out.
The yellow porch light illuminated his head, revealing scaly white skin on his balding scalp. The light made his skin appear waxy, like it might run off of his face.
When he saw Rafferty at the door, he opened it all the way. He still had on his grimy coveralls from the garage.
“Evening, Ed.”
“Just came from the gas station.”
“Carl pump your gas for you?”
“Yep. Didn’t charge me either. Appreciate that, by the way.”
“Any time.”
Jimbo tugged at the crotch of his coveralls.
“Took a look around your place. Anything funny happen there lately?”
“Nope.”
His eyes darted to the left, then to the right, and Rafferty knew he was lying.
“No kills this close to the Harvest, you know.”
“Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget the rules.”
“Was always a stupid rule, anyway.”
“It’s designed to make sure none of the Outsiders get suspicious. You know, I smelled something funny in the garage.”
Jimbo spat over the porch railing. “Let’s quit the dance, Ed.”
“There
was
a kill, wasn’t there?” Rafferty said.
was
a kill, wasn’t there?” Rafferty said.
“Yeah.”
Rafferty felt his heart pump harder. He could feel his anger starting to rise, and if he didn’t try and relax a little right now, he might splatter the old coot’s nose across his face. “You killed someone?”
“No, Carl did.”
“Did you feed on him?”
“Yeah.”
“You stupid bastard.”
Rafferty gritted his teeth. Jimbo clenched and unclenched his fists, as if he were preparing to spring. Rafferty was angry enough to slam Jimbo back into the apartment and thrash him, teach him a lesson. But he had to be careful. Jimbo was old, but he was also crafty and vicious.
“Carl needs to be punished. I need to make an example of someone.”
“Why not me?”
“You might be next if you’re not careful.”
“Carl told me something when we were standing over the body,” Jimbo said.
“And?”
Jimbo folded his arms. “He said I shouldn’t put up with your crap no more. He said maybe
I
should lead the Harvest.”
I
should lead the Harvest.”
“You’re old, Jimbo.”
“I’ve made more kills than you ever will.”
“But I killed Worthy. He was the last clan leader, so that makes me top dog. If you think you can beat me, go ahead and try. You don’t have it in you.”
Jimbo’s eyes narrowed, bringing out the crow’s feet around his eyes. He ran his tongue over his cracked lips. The old goat appeared to be sizing him up.
“I think I will, Ed.”
“What?”
Jimbo’s hand whipped from his side, claws revealed. Rafferty jerked his head back, lost his balance and tumbled backward. He spun and landed facedown, his nightstick jabbing him in the gut, popping the air out of his lungs.
Jimbo stood in the door grinning, his teeth the color of an old taxicab. “Forgot I could do that, huh, Ed? One of the benefits of being old. Pretty good trick, huh?”
Rafferty stood up and immediately doubled over, sucking air in big gasps, his diaphragm refusing to work. After a few seconds, he grabbed a gulp of air, thinking that if he hadn’t jerked away, he would be minus most of his face.
Jimbo slammed the door, and from behind it, Rafferty heard him pounding through the house.
Donna went to the broken window. She grabbed the windowsill, pulling with all of her strength. A piece of concrete came loose and she hit the floor, landing on her back.
She heard the thing as it reached the bottom of the stairs. Its rank odor permeated the basement.
She got up and gripped the sill again. The creature took two strides and yanked her down to the floor. Her shirt ripped and she landed near the workbench. Something hard and narrow jabbed into her back and she smelled gasoline fumes.
She looked down to see the gasoline can on its side. The nozzle had poked her in the back. Cold fabric pressed against her back. It had soaked the back of her shirt.
Rising to her feet, she saw the creature ready to pounce, back on its haunches like a big cat. It leapt at her with ferocious speed and pinned her to the ground. She felt the cold concrete through her shirt.
The raw, sulfurous smell from the creature stung her eyes. Thick saliva dribbled in a runner down its chin.
The beast straddled her, then lowered its huge head and sniffed at her neck. Her lungs felt like compressed footballs. But it hadn’t pinned her arms.
My arms are free. Time to do some damage,
she thought.
she thought.
She wanted to find something to hurt it with, but what? She turned her head left, then right, hoping for something on the floor. There! A black-handled screwdriver near Bob’s bench.
She had to fight it, or she’d be seeing Dominic in the land of clouds and angels a lot sooner than she planned. She was probably doomed, but she could at least give the thing a battle before it killed her.
It reached back and dragged its claw up her thigh. She felt a burning sensation and heard the fabric pop. Then the sting of her skin being opened. She guessed it planned on cutting her to pieces, maybe seeing how many agonies she could bear before those teeth clamped down on her throat.
She stretched and got her fingertips on the screwdriver’s handle. She pawed at it and it rolled toward her and she slapped her palm down on the handle.
It lowered its head and now its face was a few feet from hers. Yellowish fluid pooled in its nostrils.
She swung her arm in an arc and drove the screwdriver into its left eye, turning the eyeball into jelly. Before letting go of it, she twisted the handle, hoping that she hit the brain.
The creature reared back, clawing at the screwdriver, chattering and screeching.
She rolled to her feet, spotting the gas can as she rose. Picking up the can, she unscrewed the spout and splashed gasoline on the creature. The fluid ran down its legs and gathered at its feet.
It pulled the screwdriver from its eye, the lid closed over the ruined socket.
It snapped the screwdriver in half and flung it. Then it looked down at itself and sniffed, detecting the gasoline bath Donna had given it. It looked at her with bubbling fury in its good eye, aware of Donna’s intentions.
She picked up the box of blue tip matches. Opening the box, she took one out. Its soft glow provided minimal light in the dark basement.
It swiped at her and she ducked. Its blow connected with the top of the workbench, splintering the wood and scattering tools across the floor.
She struck the match against the box, praying she wouldn’t wind up lighting herself up like a road flare. Blue flame rose from the tip.
Before she could toss the match at the creature, it raked her forearm with its claw, slicing her open. God, but that hurt! The match tumbled to the floor. It hit the puddle of gasoline on the floor and a curtain of flame erupted from the concrete.
Fire raced up the creature’s legs and it flung itself against the wall, as if trying to separate the flames from its body.
Now was her chance, maybe the only one. She ran around it, getting out of the way just as the fire climbed up the workbench.
Scrambling up the stairs, hoping she wouldn’t pass out, she hurried through the kitchen.
She heard the thuds coming up the basement stairs and smelled the thing’s skin cooking, a mixture of spoiled meat and sewer gas that made her stomach lurch.
She reached the front door in the foyer, flipped the dead bolt and pulled it open. Goddamned police tape. She clawed through the tape and it fell to the floor like giant limp noodles. A siren screamed from down the block. Good, here comes the cavalry. God knew she needed it right now, even if it happened to be Rafferty.
She turned the screen door knob and flung it open.
The flaming horror caught up to her and drove its fist into her lower back. It felt like a two-by-four to the kidneys.
She flew forward, palms scraping the wood on the front porch. Fresh pain traveled up her wounded arm.
It busted through the screen door and the door flew to the right and hung on a remaining hinge like a marionette on a string.
This would be the end. She was sure of it.
The blood leaked from her arm, making her head feel muddy. She looked up and the treetops spun.
Her ears split again as the cop cars pulled up. She could tell by the sounds of the sirens they were prowl cars.
A blast from a big gun. A .357?
Darkness.
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