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Chapter Eleven

David could tell his friend wasn’t digging his plan. He might be right. Maybe it was better—and smarter—to just hole up in one of their houses and wait for the good guys to swoop in and clean everything up.

Then he thought of the massacre on Virginia Avenue. The good guys had come, and they were more than likely dead.

Which left him wondering, What makes me think we’ll do any better?

“Because we know what those things are.”

“What’d you say?” Patrick asked. They were poised by the front door, peeking out of the bottom portion of the screen. So far, the street was clear.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud. Now, the good news is, those things are probably all that way,” David said, pointing to their left. “And we’re going that way.” He pointed to their right. “Totally in the opposite direction.”

“There’s one word that scares me.”

“What’s that?”

“Probably. It’s been over three hours since we saw them outside the Kendall. They could be everywhere by now.”

David chewed on a thumbnail, or what was left of it. His old habit had come roaring back, and already most of his nails were down to the quick. “I don’t think they’re going anywhere for a while yet. There were a lot of people down there. You saw what that thing did to Jimmy and his dad. It didn’t even look up until it had eaten every last scrap. There’s too much to eat down there. At least for a while.”

He tried not to linger on the image of the monster tearing into his friend. Jimmy may have been a know-it-all smartass, but they’d hung around with each other since they were three. He was really going to miss his sarcasm.

David smiled, trying to bolster Patrick’s spirits. “Besides, we have these.” He hefted one of the weaponized baseball bats.

“I’ll do it, but only because I’m faster than you.”

David was about to ask what that could possibly mean when it dawned on him.

“Thanks for planning on leaving me to those things, bozak.”

“Don’t make me have to.” Now it was Patrick’s turn to smile, pained as it was.

They made sure the door didn’t make a sound when they left. Each one watched the other’s back as they hopped over the fence onto the sidewalk. David spotted Alan watching them from his living room window. He waved to him with the bat. Alan gave him a thumbs-up. He hoped Alan would decide to come with them, but he had Chris to keep an eye on and Chris couldn’t even watch The Twilight Zone without having nightmares. There was no way he was leaving the house.

He figured it would take them ten minutes to get to the little strip mall over on Tuckerville Road. That’s if they jogged most of the way. Running would be even better, but they had to be careful.

They agreed to stay close to one another, only speaking in whispers.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll run right into the police or army,” Patrick said.

“You still holding on to the whole army-to-the-rescue thing, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t that what they do? Save people from danger?”

David wasn’t sure where the nearest army base was, but he bet it wasn’t anywhere near Tuckerville, which was just outside of Manhattan. Not too much call for military installations in the suburbs.

They kept pace with one another, turning left at the end of Churchill and following Garvin Street for several long blocks. It was beyond weird, not seeing cars on the road or people out and about. They did see plenty of people looking out from their windows, but no one made a move to ask them what they were doing or offer any help.

“This town is full of chickenshits,” David said, huffing.

“Maybe someone came by and told them to lock their doors and stay inside.”

“Whatever.”

David did his best to burn the image of each person and house in his memory. If they survived this, he was going to make sure he never let them live their cowardice down.

They were just about to make the left onto Webley Street when a German shepherd came bounding out of a driveway. It was covered in black slime, with patches of fur missing, bloody flesh exposed. The boys stopped dead in their tracks.

“He looks pissed,” Patrick said out of the side of his mouth.

“And hurt. I don’t wanna have to kill a dog.”

“I don’t think he’s going to give us a choice.”

David choked up on the bat, one of the knives pressing into the meat of his hand.

The dog was barking so loud, so fiercely, foam and spittle flew everywhere. David was sure the whole world could hear.

“Keep it down, boy,” he ordered. The dog kept right on growling and barking.

In an instant, its wounded legs sprung. Its mouth was wide open, hungry to tear a chunk of flesh from them. David and Patrick raised their bats but couldn’t swing in time.

The German shepherd bowled into them like a missile, the flames of death burning in its cold, black eyes.