The man-thing didn’t so much crawl out of the subway
tunnel, but rather shuffled, hunched over so his chest practically dragged on
the ground. He was eating something, black and furry, clutched in his deformed
hand – a hand that almost seemed to be put on backwards. When he heard
the pair approach him, he stopped eating and raised up slightly on his knees,
eyes wide. His ragged kilt/loincloth barely covered his mangled legs. Was one
heel attached to his hamstring? Sam heard a gun click. The man had tossed the
meal away and was now posturing at them - a blood-smeared face set defiant. His
other arm was a crude, sawed-off shotgun. And it was pointed right at them.
“Ya smell like food,” he said, “Where is it? Give it to
me.”
“Or what?” She said, “You’ll shoot me?”
“Damn righ’ ah will,” his gun quavered, “Ya got somethin’
on ya. Meat or fish.” He took a long drag of air through his dirty nostrils.
“Or woman,” he said with a lusty gleam in his eye. “Ya’ll give it to me.”
Mara chuckled slightly, “No. I won’t.”
Sam had drawn his own gun, the revolver he could cock
with one hand. He aimed the barrel at the burnout with his left hand,
while balancing on his crutch with the right.
Mara didn’t turn to him, but ground through her teeth,
“Sam. No.”
“I got this,” Sam responded in a husky whisper from
behind her, gun arm over her shoulder, lips pressed close to her ear.
“No. Sam. No.”
“Stop!” The burnout yelled shrilly, “Stop the talking
talking. Stop! Too loud!” He screamed. A loud BOOM echoed through the station. The recoil
flung the man-thing backwards onto his twisted hand. He cried out.
Time slowed. Mara shoved her hip into Sam as the 10 gauge
slug barreled straight into her chest. Sam’s weight shifted to the right,
where his leg was not. His left knee buckled and the crutch tilted with him
toward the floor.
He pulled the trigger.
The bullet went low, hitting the burnout in his working
leg, which he had stretched out in front of himself to counterbalance his
fall. Sam crashed to the hard tile of the station floor, the gun
skittering out of reach. The burnout yowled. Sam grunted.
Mara, on the other hand, had not fully lost her balance
and was staggering back into a true standing position. She lunged at the
monstrosity, grabbing his shotgun arm.
BOOM.
The gun went off again, this time the slug skimmed Mara’s
face, leaving an angry red trail drawn on her cheek. She wrenched. The
thing’s noises turning into an uncontrolled howl of agony as Sam could see his
arm twisting back unnaturally. A grinding reverberated through the air, like
claws on concrete. Sharp pops resonated through the pit of Sam’s stomach. With
one final crunch Mara had ripped off the burnout’s
shotgun arm. Sam blinked as the world reset itself.
The howling began to die to a whimpering mewl, as the
thing looked at his bare stump. Blood, the consistency of grape jelly,
flowed out of the wound almost languidly. The man, the animal, dug the stump
deep into his side as he undulated backwards in fear. Pivoting on his fused
knee, he loped and scrambled down the subway tunnel pulling himself along with
his free leg and gnarled arm.
When he was finally out of sight, Mara turned to him and
offered a shaking hand. She drew several quivering breaths as Sam stood. A
fiery gash on her cheek oozed blood slowly, and Sam stared at it in confusion. This
doesn’t seem right, he
thought.
Mara gasped and looked down.
Sam’s eyes followed hers and he stared longer, unease and
understanding growing in the pit of his stomach. He touched her chest, directly
over her heart. His fingers came away crimson (Definitely not right) and his eyes met hers. Mara paled,
realization crossing her features.
She drifted backwards, almost too slowly…also too
quickly.
“NO!” Sam
cried, reaching out for her hand. The red liquid painted streaks on her forarm,
palm, and fingertips as she fell.
His fist closed around a coarse blanket. He was sitting
bolt upright, blinking in confusion at the blackness in front of his eyes. His
mouth worked uselessly, trying to grab a breath that wasn’t there. His heart
thumped.
