Clickers. Part 14

The storm had probably knocked out the power somewhere, or had probably affected the GE power plant. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and rummaged around for her boots and a jacket. She'd have to go outside to find the circuit breakers; she didn't remember what electrical items she had left on before she and Bobby left this morning, but she didn't want to take chances and burn the house down should the power suddenly come in. Better safe than sorry.

She found a heavy windbreaker with soft down insulation and a pair of rubber boots. She rummaged in the closet for an umbrella, found a red one, and took that with her. She opened the door, stepped outside, opened the umbrella, and prepared to step off the porch to go around to the side of the house.

And stopped dead in her tracks and stared down the street.

A dozen or more of those creatures that had attacked Bobby were scuttling toward her, clicking their powerful claws. A few of her neighbors had ventured outside out of morbid curiosity and now most of them were running back into their homes, their mad cries coming through loud and clear. The things were just as fast, chasing after their human prey, some of them overpowering them.

Janice stood rooted to the porch in fear as she saw old Mrs. Smith, the eighty-five year old widow who was so sweet to her and Bobby when they took afternoon walks, being attacked by three of the monsters. Their barbed tails jabbed downward, bringing shrieking cries of pain from the old woman. Janice's limbs shook as giant claws dipped down, ripped flesh, stuffed them into their mandibles. Her stomach roiled as Mrs. Smith's abdomen began to swell, her housedress splitting from the intense pressure. Her body expanded and blew up like a hot water balloon, inflating to almost double her size before the skin split and reddish, meaty goo splashed over the crabs, drenching them in Old Woman Sauce. More eruptions over her body exploded in blood and gristle and the crabs feasted on the sizzling, bubbling flesh. Janice turned her head away, her breath heaving.

G.o.d, one of those stung Rick, what if they had stung Bobby?

Click, click! Click, click!

She whirled around at the sound, her heart jumping into her throat. Four blood-red creatures were scuttling up her walkway, their insane eyes wavering on their eyestalks. With the darkening sky moving in fast, she didn't noticed they were coming up the sidewalk toward her house. She turned and scrambled to the front door, the sole of her right foot slipping. Her arms reached out to break her fall, grasping the doork.n.o.b, her feet slipping as she fought to regain her footing. She panted, struggling to get up, her ears barely registering the click click sound of their claws as they scrambled up the walkway and steps that led to the porch. Her mind reeled with panic as she regained her footing, her hand turning the doork.n.o.b, the weight of her body pus.h.i.+ng the door open, her fear propelling her inside the house...

She slammed the door behind her, threw the umbrella down on the floor and scrambled up the steps, taking them two at a time. She ran down the hall to Bobby's bedroom, adrenaline spurring her on.

Bobby was sitting up in bed cradling his hand to his chest when she bolted in. He started, his face streaked with tears, his eyes scared, afraid.

"Mommy..."

"It's okay, honey." Janice went to him, hugging him. Bobby buried his face in her shoulder, the tears flowing more freely. Janice cradled his head, comforting his cries. "It's okay, honey, it's okay..."

"What happened to my hand, Mommy, what happened?"

"You had a bad accident," Janice said, the lie slipping out effortlessly. Her mind worked on overdrive: get him out of bed and in some warm clothes and shoes just in case she had to get them out of the house. What did she have for a weapon?

"What happened, Mommy? What were those things that hurt my hand?" He was clearly crying over the realization of what had happened earlier in the day. He'd probably blocked everything else out of his memory.

"They were..." They were what? Giant crabs from the ocean that came to devour the town, and don't worry honey, you were lucky. They only clipped off half of the middle finger of your right hand.

She didn't answer him. Instead, she pried his fingers off her neck and moved away from the bed, heading toward the hallway.

"Mommy!" Bobby wailed, arms stretching out to her.

"It's okay, honey. I'm just going to check on something." She left his bedroom and headed back to hers, heading straight for the end table by her bed. She opened the bottom drawer and took out the flashlight she kept stored in there for emergencies. She turned it on; it emitted a strong beam of light. She left the bedroom, using the flashlight to light her way, and made her way toward the stairs, trying to listen to any alien sounds above the steady drum of the rain. The first floor lay in darkness; with the power out it seemed to be even darker since her porch light, which was on an automatic timer, now sat silent and dark. She took the steps down slowly, one by one, ears c.o.c.ked for anything out of the ordinary. Above her, Bobby called out, shattering the atmosphere and rippling through what she thought was a sound. She turned toward the second floor. "It's okay, Bobby, hus.h.!.+ I'll be right back."

"Don't leave me here alone!" Bobby wailed.

"I'm not leaving you alone, Bobby, now will you please be quiet." She said this with a little too much anger in her voice and instantly regretted it. A choking sob emanated from his room; it sounded like he'd been on the verge of letting loose another wail when she told him to be quiet, stopping it in its tracks. He sniffled, choking back the sobs in that hitching way children do when they are trying to stop crying. Janice felt the gloom of guilt flow through her as she continued her descent down the stairs. She hated to be stern with him because he was always such a good boy. But now...

Now she was trying to make out whether she'd heard something unnatural before Bobby's scream cut it off.

She stood still on the staircase, straining her ears to catch anything above the din of the rainfall.

Nothing but the wind.

And the rain.

And the slight scratching sound that was coming from the bottom of the front door.

Janice froze, every cell in her body freezing up. The sound was very clear above the soothing drum of the rain on the rooftop.

Scritch scritch scritch scritch...

Janice took a step forward, peering into the darkness. The front door was built of heavy, solid oak. There was a small stained-gla.s.s window set at eye level in the door which served as a nice porthole. It usually allowed a small beam of light to stab into the house, illuminating the floor immediately below the door and the first three steps of the staircase. Now it was pitch dark. Janice stabbed the beam from the flashlight down at the spot and looked at the bottom of the door to where the sounds were emanating from and her heart lodged in her throat again.

The door was being picked apart from the outside.

OmiG.o.d!

She knew it was those things even as she turned and scrambled back up the steps, knew it was them as she burst into Bobby's room, her expression stopping another wail set to burst forth from his lungs as he looked at her in stunned shock. She moved toward his bed. "C'mon honey, you're going to have to get up out of bed."

"What's wrong?" All traces of tears had left Bobby's face, replaced by utter confusion.

"We have to get out of here." She set the flashlight down on the nightstand by his bed, its beam casting a warm glow toward the ceiling. She stooped toward the bed and cradled Bobby carefully in her arms and picked him up, blankets and all. He put his arms around her neck and clung to her as she moved toward his bedroom window, which overlooked the south side of town. She thought she could dimly make out the scratching sound of the crabs picking their way through the door downstairs. They'd burst through any moment now...

"Think you can stand up for me, champ?"

Bobby nodded, a brave expression on his face. Janice gave him a quick smile and kissed his forehead. "Atta boy." She set him down carefully and he was standing next to her, still swathed in the blankets from his bed. Outside, the rain beat harshly against the house.

Janice scooted toward Bobby's nightstand and rummaged through, searching for the painkillers Glen Jorgensen had left her with. She found the bottle and pocketed them. They would come in handy later.

She turned just in time to see Bobby moving toward the bedroom doorway. For a moment her heart leaped in her chest as a vision of Bobby crossing the threshold and being overwhelmed by dozens of the giant, snapping crustaceans tearing his young body apart, flashed through her mind. The vision got the best of her, prompting her to leap across the room. "Bobby!"

He stopped at the sound of his name and turned to her. The expression on his face made her feel slightly stupid for jumping to conclusions. "What?"

She held her tongue and herded him back to the window. "Nothing," she said. "Put your shoes on and stay here. I'm going to get my coat."

Bobby raised his cast encased hand at her as if to say you expect me to do what? Janice got his drift and sighed, smiling. "Okay, stay here and wait for me while I find my jacket. When I come back, I'll help you put your shoes on. Okay?"

Bobby nodded and sat down on the bed. Janice smiled and ruffled his hair. "I'll be right back."

She stepped quietly in the hall, her ears straining for the slightest sound. Despite the darkness of the hallway, she could see pretty well. She went into her bedroom and found her heavy wool coat and donned it. She found a pair of thick gloves in her dresser and put them in the right pocket of the coat. Then she walked softly out of the room and tiptoed down the hallway back to Bobby's room.

The scratching sound from the front door was getting louder. She stood at the top of the stairway, her body frozen, straining to listen as the creatures continued their mad frenzy at trying to claw their way inside.

Surely they couldn't claw their way through two solid inches of heavy oak...

But she surely couldn't stand up here all night to find out. She went back into Bobby's room and closed the door. Bobby was sitting on the bed, his features questioning. Trying to be brave. "Those...things are coming back to get me, aren't they?"

Janice picked up his Converses and knelt in front of him, putting the left shoe over his foot and knotting the laces. "We have to get out of here, Bobby." She couldn't bear looking in his face.

"They are coming to get me, aren't they?" Bobby said, with all the demanding conviction an seven-year-old could muster.

Janice finished knotting his left sneaker and moved to the right. "Nothing is coming to get you."

"Then what is that noise?"

"What noise?"

"The one downstairs." That sarcastic tone of voice again. G.o.d, but kids could be such little s.h.i.+ts.

She finished knotting his sneaker and put her hands on both his knees, her green eyes locking onto his. "Everything is going to be all right. Okay?" Her tone of voice told him otherwise. It said, don't argue with me. Do exactly what I say and don't argue. She hated to be so stern with him when he was so tuned into things, but she was dealing with the situation as things were occurring.

Bobby got the message and nodded. He stood up as Janice rummaged through his closet and took out his parka. He put it on while Janice double checked everything; gloves, painkillers, keys, wallet. Everything was in place. Now for the escape.

She went to the window and opened it. A gust of cold air blew in through the screen, blowing rain through the sill to splash on the floor. The cold air and fresh atmosphere began evaporating the mist that had fogged up the windows from the heat of the room. Janice threw her weight into the window and heaved it all the way up. She looked out the window, her body blocking the view from Bobby for his sake.

It was now fully dark outside but she could see surprisingly well. There were scattered flashlights waving back and forth in the distance; people in the streets were a.s.sessing the situation. She could also make out beams of light coming from darkened houses. The street directly below appeared deserted. Through the heavy rain and wind, she could make out the clatter of people running amok, car engines revving, and what sounded like gunfire to the north. A dozen men in hunting gear ran down the street, rifles in hand, shouting excitedly to one another. It was true then. Something was definitely up.

The men turned the corner and began running down the street, rifles ready. Janice leaned forward till her face was kissing the screen and screamed at the top of her lungs. "Hey guys! Up here! Hey guys! Hey!"

Lightning flashed amid the downpour, briefly illuminating the street below. She screamed again. "Heeeyyy!" It was drowned out by the booming thunder.

She winced as the thunder rolled. She turned back to look at Bobby. He was still sitting on the bed, his expression grave. His brown eyes looked up at her, seeming to say don't let them get me, Mommy. Please don't let them get me.

She gave him a smile that she hoped was enough to put his mind at rest. "Everything's gonna be okay, sport."

He smiled back.

She turned back to the window. The men with the rifles were out of sight, but now another pair was in sight. And they were moving toward her house.

"Hey!" She yelled. "Heeeyyy out there!"

The figures were closer and grew familiar. Janice felt a sense of relief pour through her as recognition set in. One was tall and gangly, the other of medium height, long, dark hair flapping behind him. Rick and Jack...

"Hey, guys! Rick! Jack! I'm up here!"

And as they picked up their stride and dashed up her street to her house, she felt a strange sense of relief despite the fact that she felt like it was the end of the world.

Chapter Nineteen.

"They're at the front door!" Janice shouted down as Rick and Jack ran up to the house. "They're trying to get inside-"

They stopped in their tracks, catching sight of the creatures tearing apart the front door of her house. Rick only paid them a glance before he darted up the lawn to the side of the house beneath the second story window of Bobby's bedroom. He held his arms out. "Come on, let's get you out of there."

Janice reached for Bobby and lifted him up onto the window sill. She gently prodded him. "Go on, honey, it's okay."

"Come on, big guy, I'm right here," Rick said, his heart pounding. The rain was drenching them. He held his arms out to the frightened, injured boy. "Just climb out onto the ledge and I'll catch you."

Janice swung herself out the window and edged down the s.h.i.+ngled ledge. Bobby scooted farther, his face blank, as if his system was blocking the fear out and he was on auto-pilot, doing what he needed to do to survive. He swung his legs over the sill and Rick held his arms out. "Come on!"

Bobby jumped. Rick caught him, the boy's sudden weight slamming into him and giving the pain in his right leg an added burst, only to be replaced by the rush of adrenaline that pumped through his system at the reaction of the act. He swung the boy down on the ground and Jack hustled him off to the sidewalk. Rick stole a glance around the side of the house; those things were still occupied at the front door, but should they catch wind of what was going on here, on the other side of the house- He turned back to Janice who was now perched on the ledge. He motioned for her to jump. She jumped.

She landed in a forward roll and was on her feet in a flash, moving toward Bobby who was standing at Jack's side. "You okay, baby?" Bobby nodded.

Rick grabbed Janice's arm. "We've gotta get out of here!"

She nodded and together, in a closely-knit pack, they headed down the street, away from the Clickers at Janice's front door.

They hit the corner of Sycamore and Elm and made a left. Janice held Bobby's hand as they darted down the street. It was deserted and dark with no signs of the Clickers anywhere.

Rick stopped and motioned to Jack. "What now?"

"We gotta find the Sheriff," Jack said, panting. The rain had let up slightly but it was still drizzling. He wiped his wet brow with a large, bony hand. "There's a radio at the station, one with a stronger signal, and somebody should be back by now. If they are, they've no doubt radioed in for help. Plus, we can get flashlights there."

Janice winced. "I had a flashlight upstairs I was using. I forgot it."

"That's okay," Rick said. While it was fully dark now, they could still see fairly well. Up ahead of them, bobbing lights moved urgently. The streetlights themselves were dark.

"It won't be like this for long," Jack said. He motioned toward the sky where the clouds were moving at a fast pace with help from the wind. What little light they had from the moon was soon going to be obscured by more heavy clouds.

Rick nodded. "Then let's go."

They headed down the street, past silent houses settled back in comfy lawns. They reached the end of Elm, turned left on Spruce, and zigzagged their way through the residential section of Phillipsport, braced for any sign of a Clicker. Bobby kept up with the spirit of a trooper; he held onto Janice's hand with a firm grip and an equally grim determination.

At the town center and along the beachfront shops and pier, the town was out en ma.s.se. Those who lived close to the beach who'd witnessed the initial uproar had either gathered their firearms and ammunition to begin the battle from windows, or braved the rainy weather and fought on the front lines. They lined up like soldiers in battle, guns cradled in their arms, ammunition ready for reloading, lanterns and flashlights illuminating the darkness. Gunfire sounded even as Rick and Jack rescued Janice and Bobby, and its faint echo was a constant reminder of the threat they faced as they threaded their way to the center of town. Along the way those that saw what the uproar was about either beat a hasty retreat- some scrambling into their cars and making a beeline for farther points inland-or gathered their own firearms and held down the fort to protect their respective homes and families. Many Clickers that managed to make it past the front wave of people shooting them were killed by those that lived farther inland. However, quite a few managed to survive and do what they came to do: breed and forage for food.

And eat they did. Most of what went down their gullets were hapless pets that got caught up in the ruckus: dogs, cats, some pot-bellied pigs, the occasional hamster or guinea pig. A pair of Rotweillers chased down several Clickers, attacking them with their jaws, and were quickly swarmed and overrun by more. The cats were usually able to escape, but some weren't so lucky; a mother cat nursing her nine kittens underneath the porch of one house was ravaged by a pair of Clickers, her meows of pain reduced to sizzling fur and flesh. For the most part, however, those cats that were outside were able to escape where most cats escaped to-up the nearest tree. Local wildlife was infected as well: a group of foxes nestling in a burrow were torn apart and devoured; squirrels and other rodents made small appetizers. One Clicker invaded the den of a hibernating rattlesnake and began chowing down before the slumbering reptile could gather its senses. By the time it did it was too late.

There were human casualties as well, but these numbered less than the animals and pets of the area. A dozen Clickers invaded a home and descended on the owner, a portly woman of fifty-five and her thirty-seven cats. They left the house ten minutes later, leaving a ma.s.s of goo, fur, and bubbling flesh. A handicapped man who had been rendered paralyzed from the waist down in an automobile accident fifteen years before in Atlanta, Georgia, was attacked as he tried to hoist himself up the stairs of his home; the Clickers swarmed through the pet door he'd installed for his dog and they found him halfway up the stairs. He screamed, trying to scoot up the stairs faster, but he was no match for their numbers. Five minutes later what was left of him sizzled on the green s.h.a.g carpet of his steps. They left his dog in the same condition on the back porch.

The Clickers that beached themselves by burrowing into the sand were forgotten as others scuttled up the sh.o.r.e, heading toward the townspeople now lining the pier with rifles, shotguns and semi-automatic rifles. Billy Ray Wilkeson, the town tough who hung out at Juke's Bar on the outskirts of the city-and was a frequent lover of Stacy Robinson when her boyfriend was slaving away at work, and who sometimes accompanied Sheriff Conklin on rides through back-roads on the lawman's off time to beat up n.i.g.g.e.rs and f.a.ggots-let out a bloodcurdling scream and dropped the rifle he was firing at the Clickers. A large one had snuck up on him right below his line of fire and clamped down on his ankle with one blood-red pincer. Billy Ray screamed again and stepped back as the Clicker's segmented tail rose and jabbed. The stinger plunged through the paunch of his stomach and Billy Ray promptly fell down on his a.s.s. The Clicker lunged, tore out a chunk of his face with a mandible and began eating even as Billy Ray's stomach expanded and sizzled.

But for the most part, the people were winning.

Glen Jorgensen was watching the action from his third floor attic, viewing it all through his telescope as his opinion became clear. He stepped back from the telescope as the realization dawned on him: he was in a relatively safe place, so long as they didn't go by human scent. He had three guns in the house-a Luger semiautomatic with a ten round clip, a .45 Magnum Long Barrel, and a Winchester thirty-ought six hunting rifle with a scope-and he had several hundred rounds of ammunition. All the guns except for the Luger were kept in the attic; the Luger was kept in his bedroom, in the top drawer of his nightstand. An old habit he'd never broken when he was completing his residency at St. Mary's in Yonkers, New York. His one room apartment had been a five minute walk from the hospital, and he often pa.s.sed by patients he worked on who had come into the hospital after having been stabbed, shot, or beaten up in domestic disputes, gang turf wars, or Sat.u.r.day evening barroom brawls. And more often than not, he was accosted at the hospital itself for his cash by some gun-toting junkie who would snake through the busy hospital corridors, shaking down anybody and everybody. He was glad when the residency was over; he didn't know if he'd eventually face the barrel of some hood breaking into his apartment, or if he would go crazy himself from the eighteen-plus hour days.

Now he gathered the weapons together, breaking open the rifle. He sat on his desk loading the rifle, all the while keeping his attention to the window and what lurked out in the rainy darkness. He could hear the sound of gunfire and from the sounds of yells and jubilant screams it sounded like the citizens of Phillipsport were going to be mounting some strange-looking trophies over fireplace mantels in the weeks to come-not to mention bringing the scientific community down on this little seaport haven in droves. But that wasn't what worried Glen.

It wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

He finished loading the rifle and turned his attention to the Magnum. He opened the chamber and began loading it. He was lucky to find a window between two trees on the north east corner of his home where he could train his telescope. Once there he had a great view of the beach, and he'd been watching the action on the sh.o.r.eline for the past two hours. Those crabs weren't just hurtling themselves en ma.s.se to wreak havoc on the town; they weren't just beaching themselves to forage for food. Glen witnessed the intensity of their scramble to sh.o.r.e and their haste to breed in the sand. He noticed as the last wave hit the beach that they were more frantic, more concerned about scuttling up the beach and away from the sand, than with mating. They barely even noticed the threat of the men on the sh.o.r.e blasting them away with their guns. They continued to scurry up the beach even as others were blown to mush. They were scuttling inland as fast as they could.

It almost looked like they were fleeing from something.