Terror Town (27 page)

“But will you? That’s what I’m wondering.” Nicolas looked at Holbrook. “How about you, tough guy? Do you know how to build dynamite? I do. Three parts nitroglycerin, one part diatomaceous earth, and a small admixture of sodium carbonate. That makes me the boss. Will you do what I say, or will you be the reason I shoot Mandy in the head?”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Peter Holbrook said. “I’m not being a tough guy, just don’t hurt the girl.”

“Oh, but you
are
being a tough guy, you are. Everyday of your life you act like Mister Big Shot... Mister ‘
I know everything and that’s why I’m rich
.’ Driving around in a goddamn
Corvette
. Just looking at the two cars I know who owns what. Do you think people
like you
? Do you? Do you think anyone in this two-bit town doesn’t want to see you
hang?
You’re a
fool
it you think people like you or respect you, Mr. Holbrook. If I cut off your balls and stuff ‘em down your throat this town will throw a goddamn parade.”

“That’s not true,” Burton said.

Nicolas’ eyes slid from Holbrook to Burton like they were greased. “Do you want to stick up for this chunk of shit or keep your daughter in one piece?” Nicolas’ head slinked towards Mandy. “And what about you? What did I say? Get out of the car! Now! I’ll bury you in the swamp if you don’t get moving.”

Mandy pulled herself from the car with tears rolling down her face. She wasn’t crying full on, not yet. But she was close. She walked past the two kneeling men, past her father. She inched towards Nicolas.

Burton wanted to reach out and touch her, tell her everything was all right. He wanted to tell her not to worry but he didn’t chance it, because things weren’t all right. And there was reason to worry. The situation was getting worse all the time.

Nicolas grabbed Mandy by a pigtail and pulled her close, making her shriek, making her cry.

With one hand around her neck and the gun pointed at her temple, he said, “Okay assholes, ready to play a game? Yes or no? Say the wrong thing and I’ll put a bullet in the girl’s head.”

Burton said, “But the police are coming!” And as soon as the words escaped him, he knew––

It was the wrong thing to say.

29

They ran towards the ladder with dozens of crab-critters moving towards them. Some seemed to dance while others limped.

Dan stomped two.

Pat kicked one against the wall. It exploded like a watermelon in a microwave, splattering his face. He turned away, saying, “You first.”

“No, you first.”

“No Dan, look at my hands! I’m going to be moving slower than cold shit and I don’t want you behind me. I want you in front. I mean it. I might need help near the top too, so get going.”

“But––”

“But nothing. You first. Go, and stop fucking around! We’re out of bullets, remember? This is no time to argue!” He stomped another crab, but eight more were moving in and getting close,
too
close.

Dan didn’t like it but Patrick was right, no point having them both climb slowly. “Okay,” he said, shaking his head as he mounted his first tread. A few rungs later he noticed that his shoes were gooey with critter guts, limiting his traction.

Pat followed; after two steps he stopped climbing and reassessed the situation. The pain in his hands was an issue, but not the main issue. With something as simple as pain he could have accepted the circumstances, climbed the ladder, and endured the discomfort. Yes, it would hurt but it wouldn’t last forever. Pain wasn’t the
big
problem. The
big
problem was the fact that his fingers were so bruised and swollen they couldn’t grip the rungs.

Dan was fifteen feet up when the first crab-critter climbed its long-stock body onto him, making its way up his left arm. It touched his neck with a claw. Wasting no time, Dan flicked it off.

He looked down, watching as the crab-critter tumbled through the air end-over-end. It landed on its back with a
WHAPP
. Spiny legs twitched wildly. Beside the critter, Pat stood practically motionless, staring at his hand in a state of unease. Critters were all around him, scuttling and scampering, a moment away from attacking. Some had thirty legs or more. Some had eyes the size of apples, clustered together in a bunch.

Dan shouted, “Hurry!”

“Keep climbing. I’m trying to figure this out!” Pat wrapped his arms around the back of the ladder. Using his forearms to keep balance, he climbed. It was a better approach, one that didn’t hurt his hands because he wasn’t using them.

A crab scooted across the wall.

Dan knocked it away before it got too close. He looked down, saw Pat climbing and continued his journey. But he moved slower now, allowing his friend time to catch up, figuring they should stay together. He wanted to keep Patrick’s path clear.

For the first while everything was great; the crabs kept their distance. But everything changed near the sixtieth rung. Three crabs scurried quickly, attacking Dan at the same time. One was small and translucent. Dan knocked it away easy enough, but he allowed a big, black crab to crawl between him and the ladder. It had yellow eyes and tentacles hanging from its abdomen. He swatted it a couple times before using his fist. A brown crab with purple eyes and thin wings flew through the air and landed on his back.

Disregarding the winged critter, he slammed the black crab against the wall. Gray foam squirted from its side. He pulled away from the ladder and the critter fell, legs scrambling, mouths opening and closing, stupid eyes turning dim.

It landed right on Patrick.

Pat had no idea it was coming, and when it plopped onto his head it grabbed on tight and stabbed him with two stingers. Patrick made an
AWOOOO
sound and the creature climbed down his face and onto his chest, wedging itself between him and the ladder. He didn’t see the irony in this, didn’t know the same crab had set camp in Daniel’s lap a moment ago. Trying to gain his wits and deal with the situation appropriately he knocked the creature a few times with his right hand, accidentally sliding his mangled index finger inside one of the open mouths.

Hearing Pat shriek, Dan knew something bad had happened but he couldn’t do anything about it; he had problems of his own. The crab clinging to his back was taking little bites out of his shoulder.

Patrick––with his face white and terror stricken––thought for sure he would fall from the ladder. It seemed logical.
Don’t fall
, he thought as the crab tried to snatch another nip from his ruined hand.
Whatever you do, don’t fall
.

Dan reached behind his back, grabbed the winged critter by a leg and pulled it as hard as he was able. The leg tore from the creature’s body and the creature squealed in pain. He reached behind his back, grabbed another leg––a thick hairy one––and pulled again. “Come on,” he said. “Get off me!” Same result: the leg tore free. He tried to grab a third leg, hoping to rid himself of the pest once and for all. The crab tried to bite him on the knuckle twice. Then for reasons unknown, it released its grip and flew away.

Pat wasn’t in the way of a falling critter this time. The flying monster skimmed his shoulder and zipped past, membranous wings flapping quickly.

Dan climbed.

Pat climbed too.

And the black crab-critter that had eaten Patrick’s finger was still there––wedged between him and the ladder with tentacles wiggling, yellow eyes watching, gray foam running from its wound.

Pat didn’t care. He needed his feet to rest upon solid ground again; he didn’t have the time or the energy to fight.

Thinking he’d faint, he climbed.

The crab took a nip from his knee. He stepped on it and the creature fell. Ten rungs later he was attacked by a villain with little white tuffs of fur under its belly. It grabbed hold of Pat’s shoe and crawled up his leg.

Pat didn’t fight it; he kept on going.

Dan looked down and assumed things were all right. But he was nervous now; his battle with the crabs left him on edge. The little guys could knock him off the ladder quick enough if there were more than one of them, and with that in mind he started to pull away from Pat, just a little.

The crab with the white tuffs climbed onto Patrick’s ass, nipped him a few times, and got a claw caught in his front pocket. His belt unbuckled and his pants––a pair of dirty blue jeans––began sliding down his legs. Pat figured he’d lose them before he reached the top of the ladder and he
did
see the humor in that. Escaping without pants would be embarrassing; he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Dan climbed. He was almost at the top now.

Pat felt dizzy. He thought about letting go, falling. He wasn’t sure if he could make it to the top and the crab clinging to his waist was adding another eight pounds, easy. Then something happened. Given the situation it was good news: a pocket tore open, the belt pulled free of a loop, pants ripped and the crab dropped to its death. Unfortunately Pat’s cell phone, wallet and keys fell with it.

Dan stopped climbing, exhausted. With only a few more rungs to go he looked down. “You okay?”

A crab scurried overhead.

Pat stopped climbing, took a deep breath and nodded his head. His pants were hanging off; he wanted to pull them up but he couldn’t. Looking down he saw more crabs climbing towards him.

Better keep moving
, he thought.

He climbed two more steps.

He was going to faint. He couldn’t help it. The world was spinning, blood was pouring out of his finger, and the crab’s poison was in his bloodstream. It was going to happen; there was nothing he could do.

Daniel made his way to the top rung, pulled himself onto the basement floor, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. There were three crabs inside the basement. When he saw one scrambling towards him he knew his battle wasn’t over. Not yet. He raised himself to his feet, struck with a morbid thought:
Wouldn’t it be funny if the crab knocked me off balance and I fell down the shaft?

No
, he thought.
It certainly would
not
be funny.

He stomped the approaching crab and kicked the second one against the wall.

It slammed against a two-by-four with legs broken; then it danced around in a crippled-man’s jig. Dan stomped it twice more, bringing an end to the activity. Meanwhile, the third crab ran up the staircase and escaped into the house.

A bottle of beer sat on the floor, half full. Daniel didn’t know who opened it or how warm it was, and he didn’t care. He lifted the bottle and finished what was inside. The beer was room temperature but that was okay. He was thirsty and warm beer was better than no beer.

Looking into the hole he saw Pat.

“Oh no,” he said, wiping a dirty hand across his wet mouth. “Oh dear God, tell me it isn’t so.”

30

Nicolas rammed the gun against Mandy’s temple.

Holbrook closed his eyes; he didn’t want to see the girl die.

Burton wondered why he gambled his daughter’s life away. Was he really that careless? Was he really that stupid? Apparently he was.

Mandy, who was young and upset, didn’t grasp the fact that a line had been crossed. She was afraid, terrified in fact. But she didn’t know things had gotten worse, specifically for her.

Nicolas was momentary stunned. He was bluffing, that was the truth of it. He had a plan brewing and splashing the girl’s brains across the Milky Way wasn’t a part of it.

Yet.

He tightened his grip on the girl’s neck. “That was your one and only screw up, fuck-nub. Next time you say something stupid the girl’s dead meat. From here on in you’ll do what I say, how I say, when I say. You got me?”

“Good. I have a closet you know. I have this little closet in my hallway and I keep it empty. It has a heavy wooden door and a yellow knob and sometimes when I close the door it gets stuck in the casing. It’s nearly impossible to open the door at times, unless I put a foot against the wall and yank it as hard as I can. There aren’t any shoes in the closet; there aren’t any coats, there isn’t even a shelf to put things. It’s empty, just empty… and do you know why? Do you know why I keep it empty? Because sometimes I like to go inside the closet and close the door tight, lock myself in. And when I’m in there I scream and I scream and I scream. Sometimes I scratch myself. Sometimes I shit on the floor. Sometimes I bite my fingers but mostly I just scream. Stand up or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Holbrook couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t understand but he understood everything perfectly. The guy was psycho. He stood up quickly because not doing so was the stupidest thing in the world.

Nicolas walked backwards, dragging the girl uncaringly. He said, “Step in front of the car.”