“Come on,” said Anne. “We don’t have much time.”
Jenny looked at the window one last time, apparently reluctant to tear her gaze away. Out of the living room, Jenny finally sped up, ambling through the hall after Anne and into the kitchen.
Eleanor and the children stood waiting by the back door, studying Jenny nervously.
Anne ran to the door, opened it a crack and peered through. A bright beam of light cut vertically down her eye and cheek as the sun flooded in.
“Looks good,” she whispered, opening the door wider. She ducked out and stood on the small patio.
The only sign of Prowler activity was Charlie’s football, slashed to pieces in the middle of the garden. Anne listened to the alien calm that had descended onto Penny Crescent, finding the lack of birdsong disturbing.
There were few places for any Prowlers to hide in the back garden. The shed was always a risk. It had housed many different animals: rats, mice, even a fox had been spotted sneaking out a couple of years ago.
Beyond the shed was the large apple tree, its leaves hanging motionless. Behind that, a shoulder-high fence of concrete posts and wooden panels. It separated the orderly and neat garden from the wilds of the fields on the other side. The fields were a place for Charlie to kick his football around when Frank allowed it, normally when the Dean twins weren’t tearing across it on their motorbike. The area had been granted planning permission for more housing that would link Penny Crescent to the estate on the other side of the field. The housing estate was Anne’s target. A lot of people lived there, and people always helped in a time of crisis, didn’t they?
“Come on,” called Anne. “It’s clear.”
Eleanor emerged from the dark interior of the house and stepped onto the bright patio, holding each child by the hand. Jenny also emerged, head hung low.
Shit
, thought Anne, looking at the women.
I didn’t think! How the hell am I supposed to get them over the fence? Jenny’s too big to make the climb and Eleanor’s too frail!
She nearly cried out when inspiration hit.
The panels. They slide upwards. Jenny and I can lift one up while Eleanor and the kids slide underneath!
“We all ready?” asked Anne, stepping forwards. She felt confident, realising their escape would be easier than she first imagined.
The leaves high up on the apple tree started to rustle.
Anne snapped to a stop and held out her arms, signalling to the others to hold their advance. Holding a hand over her eyes to block out the sun, she strained to see what disturbed the upper reaches of the tree.
“Be ready to go back inside,” she whispered. “Just in case.”
“What is it, Mum?” asked Charlie.
“Probably just a bird,” she replied.
Please let it be a bird.
The area of movement in the tree travelled down, and more branches bounced and swayed; whatever lurked in the tree was efficiently masked by the thick, spring foliage.
“Eleanor, give me Bronwyn,” said Anne. The child ran to her and Anne immediately scooped her up and held the girl close to her chest. “We have to be quiet. I’m not going back in the house unless we need to. I don’t want to lose our chance of escape because of a bird or cat. We’re going to have to sneak past the tree though, to be on the safe side.”
“Good idea,” hissed Eleanor.
“Jenny, you understand?”
Jenny remained staring at the ground, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Jenny,” Anne whispered sharply. “Jenny! We need to-”
She turned at the sound of a thud from the tree and gasped.
Montgomery landed in a storm of swirling leaves, all the mouths in its naked white body snapping and growling. Unleashing a roar, it burst towards them.
6.
The bike vibrated beneath Jake, and his teeth chattered. He stared at The Collector. Behind Jake, the main road continued on in two directions, easily taking him away from here should he choose. But his destination was
here
, his destination was
him
.
“What are you thinking about, boy?” asked The Collector. “Making a run for it? Getting help?” He strode forwards. “I hate to burst your bubble, but you’re not going anywhere. I have plans for you, Jake, for you and the rest of them.”
Jake revved the bike.
“I have plans too,” he said.
He lifted his foot from the floor and turned the throttle hard. The bike shot forwards, directly towards The Collector. He held on steady with his right hand and raised the hammer in his left.
The Collector’s smile never faltered as the bike hurtled towards him. From behind, the crowd of restless Prowlers hurried forwards, skirting around The Collector and pouring down the street towards Jake.
Jake aimed the front tyre for the lead Prowler and mowed over it seconds later. The speeding bike instantly pulped it into a black, slimy mess. The saddle vibrated beneath Jake, but his experience of racing with Adam on the dirt tracks kept him seated. He swung the handlebars back and forth, forcing the bike into a zigzagged path as he entered the mass of Prowlers. They popped in quick succession under the tyres, making the bike jerk and bounce. One Prowler managed to leap up, flying through the air towards Jake’s head, claws snapping. Jake swept the hammer across at the right time, knocking the Prowler aside. He barely heard the crunch of it hitting the ground over the engine of the bike.
He veered away from The Collector, feeling a pull in his head. He sensed the area around him alive with static, sparking in his hair.
The Collector watched him pass, not moving from where he stood.
Prowlers continued to try and climb onto the bike, most failing and becoming mashed under the hot rubber of the tyres. One lucky Prowler managed to hook a claw through the bottom of Jake’s jeans. It was snatched from the ground, swept along with the bike.
Feeling the pull on his leg, Jake removed his foot from the bike and kicked out. The Prowler fell back, tumbling across the road. Another Prowler jumped at his face. He ducked, and it sailed over his head.
The bike burst free of the creatures, emerging near the McGuire house. Jake drove a little further, turned the bike and slowed to a stop.
The Prowlers scuttled down the street to catch him up. The Collector had turned, watching.
Jake swallowed.
The road was littered with the squashed and mangled bodies of the Prowlers he’d ran over, but it was barely a dent in the numbers that swarmed towards him.
“Go!”
Jake looked around, not sure if he had heard the voice or not with the growling of the bike grumbled in his ears.
“Go, damn it!”
A little way down the road, from around the side of his sports car, Joe’s anxious face appeared.
Fuck,
thought Jake.
They’re hiding behind the car and I’ve led the Prowlers straight to them!
He pumped the throttle and the bike shot back up the street.
More Prowlers, apparently not learning from Jake’s first pass, fell beneath his tyres. Jake again gave The Collector a wide berth as he passed, knowing if he got too close, The Collector would be in his head.
“That’s enough,” shouted The Collector as Jake passed. “You’ve had your fun.” He raised his arms.
As he reached the top of Penny Crescent, Jake chanced a look over his shoulder, sure The Collector had tried to make a grab for him. The Prowlers were gathering around him, making no effort to pursue the bike further. The Collector still held his hands out, waving them like a magician preparing to pull a rabbit out of a hat.
They’re not chasing anymore. I have to lead them away…
The bike wobbled.
“Whoa,” Jake cried, grabbing the handlebars tight to avoid being thrown off. The bike felt like a bucking bronco. He tried to steady it, but the speed of the bike rapidly decreased. Jake looked down, expecting to see smoke billowing out of the engine or a loose pipe spraying out petrol.
The road around him had softened and melted, looking like black mud. Both tyres of the bike were already submerged a couple of inches and spun wildly, kicking up a thick spray.
Jake screamed and uselessly pumped the throttle.
The road started to move.
7.
Huddled behind Joe’s car, the men quickly glanced over the top.
“Jesus Christ,” hissed Joe. “Frank, look at that!”
He turned to Frank, who watched with his mouth hanging open.
“That’s it,” said Joe. “That’s the doorway.”
“Let’s do this while he’s distracted,” said Frank, grabbing one of the petrol cans.
Quiet as they could, both men stood up, keeping their gaze on The Collector. Joe quickly dumped a can under each seat, an easy task with the car top down. He placed his remaining two cans in the foot well on the passenger’s side. Frank popped the caps of his two cans and splashed petrol over the car, soaking the seats, steering wheel and dashboard.
“What are you doing?” asked Joe.
“Making sure,” Frank whispered. “More likely to go up when it crashes. Just pray it doesn’t go up when you start it.”
Frank placed the empty cans underneath the car when all the petrol was used.
“How’s Jake doing?”
“Not good,” replied Jake. The melting patch of road had grown bigger, reaching from pavement to pavement. A current in the liquid tarmac lazily drifted in a clockwise direction. The road had transformed from a flat, solid surface to a slow, black whirlpool. Jake fought for control of the bike, but it slid sideways under the pull of the current.
“You ready to do this?” said Frank.
“Now? What about Jake? I’ll hit him-”
“He’ll be fine! Probably just trying to save his precious bike. He can easily jump to safety.”
Joe shoved his hand in his pocket to retrieve his car keys. Finding it empty, he patted his other leg.
“Strange,” he said. “I always keep them in…”
He looked down and felt sick, struck by horrific realisation. He wasn’t wearing his jeans at all; these were Frank’s jeans, given to him the night before. His jeans were on the bedroom floor in his grandmother’s house.
“Oh shit…”
“What?” said Frank. “What now?”
“The keys,” Joe groaned. “I don’t have the keys!”
8.
Anne fled back into the house following Jenny, Eleanor and the children. She heard the advance of Montgomery bounding along behind, its hands pounding into the soft soil of the lawn.
“Run,” she shouted, watching those ahead of her disappear into the dark doorway. “It’s coming!”
Montgomery growled.
Anne skidded on the slippery floor as she entered the kitchen, turning to grab the door and slam it shut.
The moment it hit the frame, Montgomery rammed into the other side, knocking it open a few inches.
Anne cried out and pushed her body against the door, trying her best to keep it closed as she fumbled for the higher deadbolt.
The creature attacked again, this time shooting a hand through the created gap. The white, hooked fingers clawed the air at the side of Anne’s face.
She drove her shoulder into the door, but Montgomery’s hand stopped it from closing.
“Someone help me,” she cried.
She turned to see Jenny run from the kitchen and into the hall. The sound of her heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs.
“Eleanor, help me,” Anne pleaded.
The old woman dove forwards, helping to push the door at Anne’s side.
“Kids,” gasped Anne. “Get upstairs, back in the bedroom and lock the door. Get Mrs Dean down here. Quick!”
The two bewildered and shaking children fled from the kitchen.
“Anne,” shouted Eleanor. “Look out!”
Montgomery’s hand erupted into a collection of yet more mouths, all snapping their small, pointed teeth and licking their lips with tiny, forked tongues.
Anne leaned back, away from the hideous group of mouths. Some on the fingers were as small as pennies, looking to Anne like teeth-lined belly buttons.
The door shook and swung inwards a couple more inches.
“No,” growled Anne, shoulder-barging it hard.
The creature yelped as the door clamped across its wrist. It pounded the door with its other hand.
“We can’t hold it,” she panted. “We’re going to have to run.”
“How?” said Eleanor, voice raised over the knocks and bangs from the other side of the door. “It’ll be in here as soon as we let go!”
Anne gazed down at Eleanor, whose veins were visible in her neck and forehead with the exertion.
“Then you go,” said Anne. “I can hold it alone a little longer. When you get up there, be ready for me.” She cried out and strained her body against the door. “Just get the kids safely in the bedroom. I can’t hold this forever!”
After a final push against the door, Eleanor ran. Negotiating her way around the Prowler carcasses on the floor, she bolted out of the kitchen.
“Come on, you bastard,” Anne hissed. She let go of the door for a second before ramming back against it. The wood again cut into the creature’s wrist. It howled.
The burn of exhaustion built in her legs and arms, and with the extra leverage of Eleanor gone, her feet slid on the floor.
“Damn you,” she said, conceding and running back through the kitchen.
The door swung open, nearly torn from its hinges. Montgomery staggered in, limping slightly on the hand previously trapped in the door. It sniffed, raising its head.
Anne screamed and retreated upstairs from the hall. The sounds of the chasing creature joined the knocking and shouts from the landing ahead. She leapt the last few steps.
Eleanor and the children, all crying and screaming in panic, beat against the closed bedroom door.
“Jenny,” wailed Eleanor. “Open the door!”
A crash rang out from downstairs, sounding from the hall.
Anne ran over to the door and joined in the hammering of fists. “Jenny,” she screamed. “Open this door! It’s coming…please!”
The door remained closed.
“Mum,” cried Charlie. “I can hear it! It’s on the stairs-”
Anne beat the door even harder. “Jenny, if you don’t open this door, I’ll kill you! You hear me?”