Graveyard Games (27 page)

Then she ran into Shane, who stopped
abruptly, and she steadied herself by grabbing onto the back of his
jacket. She peeked around him and saw the mausoleum looked similar
to the others, rectangular and ugly, with two cement steps leading
up to the door. Except this door stood slightly ajar. Dusty
strained to see inside, but it was impossible. There was no sound,
just the swaying of the branches of the big oak above them and the
wind in her ears.

"That's it," Shane said, in awe. "That's
it."

He advanced, but she hesitated. Now that she
was here, the moment at hand, she didn’t want to go in there. Not
now, not ever. For Nick, she thought, looking at the gun in her
hand. But she started forward for Shane—she couldn’t let him go in
there alone.

He stood on the steps, looking at the gap
between the door and the frame. Then he looked at Dusty, who came
to stand beside him. Her hands trembled as she flicked the
flashlight on.

Why the silence? she thought. Where were the
guys? If this was the place, they should be jumping around and
clapping each other on the back for a job well done. Her mind
simply wouldn’t allow any other conclusion.

The silence was deafening, a roar in her
ears, and her breath turned to glass in her throat. She looked
away, up to where the icicles hung, and down, where they dripped
onto the snow. Something glinted there—glass, maybe a bottle. Dusty
leaned to get a closer look, shining the light on it.

It was glass all right—shining out of
wire-rimmed frames. Glasses—Evan's glasses—separated at the
bridge.

That's when whatever was left of the real
world began to ebb away as the slow horror dawned upon her, and
paradoxically, things began to happen at an alarmingly fast
rate.

There was that awful grating as he
shouldered the door open, and moonlight flooded inside, slanting
toward the back wall. The life drained out of her body in one fell
swoop, and all memory was lost—she forgot how to breathe, move, she
remained only eyes that watched, immense saucers.

Shane grabbed the flashlight from her hands,
shining it across the floor. Dusty stepped in beside him and
grimaced, looking down. The floor was darker, and as Dusty took
another step, she almost slipped and had to grab onto Shane to keep
from falling.

In the circle of the flashlight's beam she
saw the reddish tinge to the floor and realized with a slow,
dawning horror that she had slipped in blood. The floor was thick
with it, slick with it.

Shane brought the light upward and across
the floor and Dusty closed her eyes, a small gagging sound escaping
her throat. Blood pooled around Evan and Jake, sprawled across one
another, lifeless. The beam of light ran across their faces, and
there were gaping holes where their eyes had been. Their blue jeans
were stained black with blood, intestines spilling across their
laps, strung across the floor, ribs starkly white and
protruding.

Likes eyes best,
Dusty thought, opening her own eyes with a
shudder. Guns—the .38 and a sawed-off shotgun—lay uselessly on the
cement. The light flashed over them to the far wall,
trembling.

"Join me for a snack?" it croaked.

Dusty tried to scream, but air just escaped
her throat with a small hissing sound.

Sitting Indian-style on the cement, it
grinned up at them with teeth that looked as if they had been filed
to razor-sharp points. She didn’t know how long she stared at it,
unable to discern what it was, unable to digest what she was
seeing—the familiar comprehension patterns just wouldn’t form in
her mind. It couldn’t have been more than seconds, brief
impressions that would haunt her dreams in later years.

The beam of light wavered on its face. Red
gore dripped down its chin, staining the front of the suit it wore.
In its hands—claws sharp and thick—it held another hand. Dusty saw
the third hand, severed at the wrist, as the thing bit down, still
looking up at them as two of the fingers disappeared into its
mouth. A sickening crunching sound reached her ears.

bones, it eats the
bones—

It spit something out and there was a chink
on the cement. Whatever it was bounced past her and onto the first
step. Dusty glanced down, scrutinizing it in the moonlight. A ring,
the color of the stone looking black in the light. It was Jake's
class ring.

That’s when the surface calm broke. Finally
finding her voice, she began to scream. Looking back inside, she
saw it was beginning to get up. Shane stood immobile.

The scream wouldn’t stop and she covered her
mouth with her hands, her gun dropping into the snow, all her
training evaporating in the face of the monster in front of them.
Shane glanced back at her from inside, looking dazed. She began to
back away, down the steps. The monster was moving toward Shane, but
he was looking back at her.

"
Kill it
!"
she screamed, pointing. Shane whirled back around and she
watched in the moonlight. It moved toward them, grinning. Shane
raised the gun, and he was a split second too late. It tackled him
and they slid across the slick cement toward the door. Both the gun
and flashlight flew through the opening when Shane hit the floor
and

CRACK

the gun went off as it hit the ground about
three feet from Dusty, taking a chip of stone from one of the
headstones nearby. The flashlight bounced on the steps and the
light flickered and died.

She reacted then, finally, her breath coming
back, her body responding, and she grabbed the gun at her feet and
bounded up the steps. The thing was making an ugly, chortling
sound, and it took her a moment to realize it was laughing.

"
Shut up
!"
Dusty cocked the gun and aimed. The thing looked up,
startled, from where it had been about to sink its teeth into the
vulnerable flesh on the side of Shane's throat. Her hands were
shaking and she fired and missed. The bullet hit the far wall,
whizzing past its head. She cocked it again, and this time it hit,
the bullet sinking into its shoulder, jerking it back. It wailed
loud, clutching the wound.

Then it stood, snarling at her. She pulled
the trigger again, frantic, and the bullet made contact, tearing a
hole in the side of its throat. It stumbled backward, falling, and
then it was still.

Still.

She lowered the gun, her heart thrumming in
her throat. There was no movement at all, not a sound.

"Shane," she breathed, and looked down at
him. Eyes closed, covered darkly in blood, he lay motionless, but
she couldn’t tell if any of the blood was his. The flashlight was
useless.

"Shane? Can you hear me?"
She knelt beside him, ignoring a small
squish
under her right knee and not
bothering to look at what she had kneeled on.

He was breathing. Thank God for that. It was
shallow though, and blood was streaked across his face, in his
hair.

"Shane," she said, shaking him. "Shane, are
you okay?"

He came to, his eyes losing their dazed
look.

"Oh, thank God," she breathed, tears welling
up in her eyes. "Can you walk? Are you all right?"

"M'okay," he said thickly, lifting his hand
to his head and rubbing the back of it. "What am I laying on?"

"Never mind," Dusty said, not wanting to
think about the things that were beneath them in the darkness. Only
a foot from Shane, Jake gaped at them, lifeless. "Come on, I'll
help you up. I want to get the hell out of here."

She stood up, offering him a hand.

"Is it—?"

"It's dead," she assured him, looking over
at it. "Come on."

He took her hand and got up, looking
down.

In the moonlight he was able to see more
than she would have liked him to. He face twisted and he looked
away, closing his eyes.

"God," he said.

Dusty squeezed his hand, pulling him out of
the mausoleum. They went down the steps, out into the bright
moonlight.

"Jesus, my head," he said, rubbing the back
of his neck. "Where are Chris and Billy?"

"I don't know." Dusty looked at him, tears
forming in her eyes. She couldn’t help them and they rolled down
her cheeks in tiny rivers.

"Hey," Shane said, seeing her tears. "Hey,
what's this?"

"You're a mess," she said and then hugged
him fast and hard, pressing her cheek against his neck where that
thing had almost sunk its teeth. He hugged her back, and they stood
there, silent.

"Leaving so soon?" a rasping voice asked
from behind them. Dusty screamed, tearing herself away from Shane,
looking to see it standing in the doorway.

"Oh, shit! Dusty, where's the gun?" Shane
grabbed her arm and backed them up as it came down the steps.

"I shot it," Dusty cried. "I swear to God, I
did. It was dead, Shane. It was dead!"

"
Where’s the gun!?
” he bellowed.
Dusty looked up at him, startled, and then pointed.

"There," she said simply. He groaned as it
advanced toward them, chortling, claws raised.

"Damnit!" Shane rummaged through his pockets
as he backed away. "Give me a lighter, a match, something!"

"I don't think—" She began hunting in her
pockets as they backed away. It didn’t seem to be in a hurry as it
came toward them.

"Here!" She handed him a lighter out of her
jacket pocket.

Dusty looked at the thing
coming toward them, grimacing. Its hair was matted with blood, its
clothes stained with it—god, what
was
it?

"Get ready," Shane said, and she looked back
over at him.

He was holding an M-80, trying desperately
to light the fuse. The...thing...had decided to stop fooling around
and broke into a run. Dusty screamed, tugging at Shane's jacket. He
looked up.

"Come on, you mother," he said. The fuse
caught with a hiss.

"Run!" Shane yelled, pulling her arm. He
threw the M-80 at the thing, hitting it square in the chest. She
followed Shane, glancing back. It was bending to pick it up,
examining it.

"Shane," she gasped, tugging at his sleeve,
still looking over her shoulder. "Shane, look!"

He did. The M-80 had a long fuse and it
still hadn't gone off. The thing was lifting it to it mouth. Dusty
almost laughed.

We win,
she thought.
We
win!

"Son-of-a..." Shane's sentence trailed off
and he stopped, turning to watch as the thing tried to chew on the
M-80.

"It's gonna go off! It’s—"

Shane groaned as it threw the M-80 to the
ground, uninterested.

"It's a dud," Shane said grimly.

Dusty's heart plummeted. It looked back up
at them, grinning with its pointed teeth, its mouth opening in an
impossible yaw.

"Come on!" Shane grabbed her arm and pulled
hard, beginning to run.

"Where are we going?" Dusty gasped.

Shane didn’t answer, his fingers digging
into her flesh. It was gaining. She didn’t know how, but it was
gaining on them. Dusty glanced behind her, over her shoulder.

"Don't look," Shane
panted. "Just
run
!"

She stumbled over a headstone and Shane
caught her, slipping in the snow. He skidded down and Dusty slid
next to him, groping for a handhold. There wasn't one, and she
slipped until her hip hit another headstone. Shane was up already,
pulling on her arm.

"Come
on
," he said, and she got up,
stumbling after him, her hip throbbing.

She didn’t look back. Ahead was the western
fence. Maybe if they could get over it...

"Here." Shane hopped a headstone. Dusty went
around it, following him down a sloping hill to the asphalt.
"Hurry!"

They ran, their feet pounding on the
pavement. Dusty's hair flew behind her and she had a dreadful
thought, seeing that horrible thing, in her mind's eye, grabbing
her hair, pulling her back—

"Down here." Shane cut right, toward the
back of the cemetery. There was another mausoleum rising in the
dimness in front of them. She looked behind her and it wasn't in
sight. They had lost it—for now.

"Quiet," Shane urged, his own breathing
heavy as he collapsed on the steps.

Dusty sat beside him. He pulled something
out of his back pocket.

"What—?"

"Shh." He hit the chrome and six inches of
steel glinted in the moonlight. "Trusty switchblade. I don't leave
home without it."

"Kind of like American Express," she
whispered.

He smiled at her, examining the blade.

"I thought that M-80 was our ticket," Shane
said with a sigh. He spoke in a low voice. "I can’t believe it was
a dud.”

“
Just our luck.” Her eyes
were on the cemetery in front of them. It was out
there—somewhere.

He smirked. "Me and Nick used to go fishing
with M-80’s. They go off under water, so we used to take one, tie a
rock on, light it, and throw it in. The blast would knock the fish
out and they'd just float to the surface. We could just pick them
up with nets, or our bare hands if we really wanted.”

"That’s awful," she said, disgusted.

"And illegal," he added.

She couldn’t help smiling.

"What was that?" she asked. "Did you hear
it?"

"Shh," he said, standing up. There it was
again, a low rustling from the right side of the mausoleum. Shane
motioned for her to stay quiet, holding the knife in front of him.
Dusty looked at his back, blood caked and drying on his jeans and
in his hair. He moved toward the right side of the mausoleum.

He edged around the corner
and there were high-pitched screams, and
CRACK—