They lumbered in the fog, slowed by the thigh deep muck and long grasses bound in clumps and rooted to the shallow earth below the surface. They weren't close enough to see their faces, but we could tell what they were by their steady, intentional movements. Aside from these monsters there was no life in the swamp. No birds fluttering into the air at the sound of danger, no frogs leaping into the water to avoid their approach. The morning was silent, only the soft sloshing of hundreds of legs churning against murky water and the occasional moan or shriek.
I poured the last of one of the 5 gallon cans into the tank behind the driver's side door and screwed the lid on tight. Placing the can back in its slot in the carefully organized truck bed I ran the bungee cord through the handle and latched it to the metal hook bolted to the bedliner. The monsters were still at least 20 yards away, more than enough space to make a clean getaway. I looked at Oliver in the front seat who gave me a nervous thumbs up and flipped the tarp back over our supplies before joining him in the cab.
The engine sputtered at first, unwilling to start on the fumes in the lines. I missed my fuel injected jeep that would start as soon as I turned the key. Glancing out the passenger window I could see the first few approaching the guardrail. They were pale and soggy looking, covered in mud from the chest down. Some were in suits, others in street clothes. One even looked comical in a shower cap and robe that hung open, exposing a dingy sort of flower patterned house dress commonly worn by low income mothers.
I pumped the gas twice, not wanting to flood the engine, and turned the key again. The engine turned over and then cut again, and Oliver looked over at me nervously. One of the creatures had made its way over the rail and was now dragging an injured leg toward us. It's eyes yellow and thick, void of emotion, yet determined to reach us. It's mouth opened silently, several teeth missing from the black gaping hole caked in dark, dried blood.
Oliver sat in his seat, wrenching the handle of his hammer nervously. He fidgeted in his seat, readying himself for the attack he felt reluctant to participate in, but sure would come. His eyes stayed fixed on the lumbering beast as it came closer, and he sat up in his seat as it came to the window. I pumped the gas again and turned the key, squinting my eyes in silent pleading. As if by answer to a prayer, the engine roared to life, vibrating the truck powerfully. I slammed the car not gear and pulled away quickly, leaving a confused lurcher standing in the road behind us, looking on.
Oliver was visibly relieved, relaxing down in his seat as we picked up speed. He shivered from the chill wind blowing through he broken passenger side window, and I pulled him closer to me and turned on the heater. "You okay?" I asked, glancing down at him as I drove. He nodded, placing his fingers over the vent to feel the warm air coursing from the fan. "I was ready..." He started to explain as if I was questioning his ability to protect us. "I know you were." I said, trying to imagine how a proud parent should reassure a child. "You did great." He nodded again, as though confirming to himself that he had, indeed, been ready. I wondered what kind of man he would become, remembering the cares I had at his age. He would be forced to grow up quickly, if he survived. I determined to give him the best chance I could.
"We're going to a safe place" I said, starting up a conversation. "Bur first we're going to get my friend." He sat up, looking over the tall dashboard to see the road ahead. "Where?" He asked, scanning the horizon. I pointed to the right, toward the buildings. "There, in the city."
No comments:
Post a Comment