Chapter 9

  "Honey?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you awake?"

  Chris sighed deeply to signal his disgruntlement at having been brought back to full wakefulness. "I'm awake, baby."

  There was a short silence.

  "There's something I've been wanting to talk about." Laura paused mid-sentence, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue before finally going on. "Something I guess no one ever really wants to talk about, but something that I think everyone, eventually, has to talk about."

  Chris could see that this wouldn't be a quick subject, and allowed his hopes of getting to sleep early that night to die as he flipped on the nightstand lamp. He rolled over to face his wife in the bed that they shared, bringing one hand up to gently to brush the hair back from her face. Her features held a look he had come to know reflected thoughtful apprehension. She was biting her lower lip softly. Something was eating at her.

  "What's wrong?" He asked.

  She sighed and closed her eyes as she spoke. "I've been thinking a lot lately. I keep thinking about what would happen if one of us," she paused again, and her eyes opened to meet his, "if one of us was to die."

  Chris didn't say anything for more than a few breaths, knowing that the question hadn't yet been finished.

  "I mean I know it really sucks to talk about it," Laura continued, "but what would you do if I died tomorrow? Or the next day? Would you eventually be able to find someone else? Would you feel like you would be somehow wronging me if you did? There's so many questions. And we've never talked about any of them. I just think maybe we should. I know it's a horrible thing to talk about, but... I don't know. It's just that for some reason I haven't been able to get it out of my head lately. I don't know why, and it's really starting to get to me. I'm sorry."

  "Why sorry?" Chris asked. "I've never really thought of it as something I want to plan out in any kind of detail. I don't want to plan for death like I would retirement or a trip to Europe. It's something different, and it happens when it happens. I guess I'm one of those people who would rather just deal with it when and as it comes."

  "But what about the financial part of it?" Laura asked. "What about the kids?" She sighed. "You can probably tell I've been talking to my mother."

  Chris smiled. "Pretty much guessed."

  Laura rolled onto her back to stare absently at the ceiling in the lamplight. "I just don't know what I would do if I was suddenly just left without you -- left alone."

  Chris realized he could see a trail of wetness down her cheek where a tear had passed. Her eyes glistened damply. Chris raised himself onto one elbow and leaned in to kiss her.

  "I love you." He told her. "I won't just leave you."

  "You can't promise that." Laura said.

  "No, but I can promise you'll never be alone." He said. "And I can promise it would take every trick the Grim Reaper might have up his sleeve to pull me away from you."

  Every trick, huh?" She stopped chewing her lip long enough to smile quickly. "So now you think you could take on the Grim Reaper himself? Does nothing scare you, Mr. Porter?"

  "Never said that." Chris pulled her to him this time when he kissed her, and it was some time before the lamp was finally flipped off and they had settled again in the darkness.

  "Honey?"

  "Yes?"

  "If you were ever left without me, would you eventually be able to find someone else?" She asked him. "I wouldn't want you to be alone forever, and I want you to know I would never hold something like that against you."

  "I wouldn't be alone. I'd still have memories of you. Memories of us together. Beyond that it's not really something I want to think about. You're not going anywhere, remember?"

  There was silence for a few moments.

  "Baby?"

  "Yes?"

  "I love you."

  "I love you, too."

  "Did you set the alarm?"

  "It's set."

  "Goodnight."

  "Goodnight."

                        

  The travelers kept up their pace for what Chris would have guessed to have been at least several hours without stopping. His own legs ached despite the high tolerance for walking they had developed. He had placed the girl into the trailer with the other children after less than an hour of carrying her. She fell asleep shortly after along with most of the other kids, their heads resting on each other in the cramped spacing. Chris watched them often as he walked, the peacefulness on their sleeping faces comforting and enviable at once.

  Exhaustion became evident in the expressions of those he walked within the procession after perhaps the eighth hour, but there were no complaints until much later, when the elderly began to literally collapse and needed to be carried. Cal dealt with the grumbling sternly. A brief word or sentence of reproach from him went a long way, but even he couldn't keep the column moving after a point and so he called everyone to a halt. Cal had ridden at the head of the trailer for the majority of the walk, and as those pulling it came to a stop he stood up to face back over the procession.

  "We'll make camp here." He said, his voice again being amplified inexplicably. "Those guardians responsible for a child should keep close watch over them until we've scouted a perimeter. As always, keep your weapons with you and all able bodies should come to me for their scouting assignments." Cal turned to Triht where the boy slept curled up in one forward corner of the trailer. "Triht." He said simply, and the boy woke up with a start almost instantly. Cal's voice resumed its normal volume as he no longer needed to address the entirety of the column. Chris wondered at the fact that the man was able to control the impossible ability with such ease.

  "I need you to create a bonfire and keep it burning until we have enough material collected to give it fuel. Stay awake and do not allow it to go out." Cal said.

  Triht nodded and climbed from the trailer with an oddly purposeful look on his young face. Cal jumped from the trailer and sought out Chris, Danny, and Sanchez among the suddenly bustling throng of bodies.

  "Mr. Sanchez, I'll leave it up to you to select those who will be taking first watch." He addressed the large man." Everyone is tired, so make sure those you choose understand the importance of staying awake until their replacements have had some rest."

  Sanchez gave a barely perceptible nod. "Done."

  Cal turned to Danny. "I want you to take Chris with you and scout the extended perimeter. I'm going to allow John and the rest of our scouts to sleep for a few hours before sending them out. Have you seen John or Lisa since we abandoned last camp?"

  Danny nodded with a slight grin. "I've seen them. They're here. They joined up a few hours ago. Must've been laggin' behind a ways to have taken that long to catch up."

  "Good." Cal said before looking thoughtfully to Chris. "If you go with Danny you'll need a weapon. Danny can introduce you to Turo, he should have something for you. Tell him I sent you and he can add it against my debt. We can always use more good scouts. Danny can train you in some of the basics, just stick with him. That is, of course, assuming you would like to join me and my companions." He raised an eyebrow in question.

  For a reason unknown to him Chris found that he had the simple urge to turn Cal down -- to tell the man he wanted nothing to do with him or anyone associated with him and run. He didn't know why he felt some instinctual mistrust for the man. Cal's eyes seemed to be reading his every thought, dark pupils surrounded by bloodshot white searching him for weakness. And something else.

  The boogieman doesn't exist the boogieman can't hurt you there's no reason to be afraid because even if there's a hell the boogieman can't be real...

  Chris thought the man to be somewhat mad.

  "Yes." His actual reply to Cal was almost a surprise to him as it rang in his own ears. "I'd like to help out. It's not really as if I have anywhere else to be." He forced his gaze not to wander, forced his eyes to return Cal's stare evenly. "I'd like to learn about some of the things I've seen here. I'd like to know why you forced that boy out of your camp, and what it is that you do when you speak to everyone as if from inside their heads. How you can make it sound like your words aren't even coming from you but from speakers right inside their ears. What are the creatures I've seen and where do they come from? And how does Triht do what he does with fire?"

  A dry smile touched Cal's lips. "You have a lot of questions, friend, as do we all. Perhaps I'll try to answer some of them for you, but now is not the time." He turned as if suddenly bored with the conversation. "Stay with Danny at all times outside camp unless you have a desire to die. Light go with you, friends. If we should be parted, may we each rest in the light at the end."

  As Cal left them Danny turned to Chris with a puzzled expression.

  "What's wrong? Chris asked.

  "I think he likes you, man." Danny said.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I don't know, but I think he does. He's going to buy you a weapon." Danny shrugged as he pulled his machete from the loop it hung from at his waste. He held it up in one hand, inspecting it absently. "I've never seen him do that for anyone."

  "I can't exactly say that I return the sentiment." Chris said cautiously. "Have you ever noticed anything strange about Cal? I'm not talking about the things he does with his voice or anything like that. I've almost gotten used to seeing the impossible here. I'm talking about the way he acts, the way he treats Triht."

  Danny's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "Triht's special. Cal has reasons for what he does. He's a really great guy, I owe him a lot. I didn't know what to do when I woke up here until he found me. Most of these people would probably be dead if Cal wasn't leading them and keeping them together."

  Chris nodded his understanding cautiously. "I've just been tired. I'm probably misreading a lot of things. I miss my family." He said. "I don't know when I'll be seeing them again. Hell, I don't even know if I'll see them again." He looked to Danny thoughtfully. "But you probably know exactly what I mean. Were you still living with your family? You look young."

  "I'm seventeen. I had one more year of high school before I was plannin' on movin' out, dependin' on how many scholarship offers I got." Danny looked almost wistful. "I had one more season of football. I was the best defensive end my school's ever had. That's what my coach used to say. He's been coaching there for twelve years, and he told me I was the only reason we made it to state last year. I would've been able to play college ball, and maybe even the pros. My dad's gonna kick some ass until he finds me." Danny's look turned pained. "My mom's not gonna be ok with this. Sometimes I ain't so sure that anyone's gonna be able to find me here. Things happen here that shouldn't. It's almost as if I fell asleep without knowin' it and now I can't wake up. It's like I'm stuck in a fuckin' bad dream. You know what I mean, man?"

  "Yeah." Chris found that he didn't know what to say to the kid who stood before him in a giant of a man's body. Danny looked as lost as he felt. "I know what you mean. I'd bet a lot of people know exactly what you mean. We're not alone in this place."

  Danny re-hung the machete at his waste. "Guess there ain't much use in talkin' about it." He said. "C'mon and I'll let you meet Turo. We'll get you a weapon and then get movin'. You and me get the job of making sure the camp's perimeter is clear." Danny took off through the throng of bustling bodies, and Chris followed close behind. What little illumination there was shifted around them erratically as they walked, those carrying torches and other sources of light moving through the crowd quickly as they worked to organize a new camp. Danny was finally able to locate the man he was looking for -- a small, wiry man with bronzed, weathered skin.

  "This is Turo." He said to Chris before looking to Turo and pointing one thumb to Chris. "Turo, this is Chris. Cal told me to see what you might have as a weapon for him. Cal said he'd pay you back."

  The man looked at Chris through squinted, skeptical eyes for a long moment or two before finally snorting and turning to Danny. "Cal will pay?" He asked in heavily accented English, his thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed. "He said this?"

  "Yeah." Danny said. "Cal's going to pay for whatever you've got, but we need something nice."

  Turo scratched the underside of his chin thoughtfully. "Something nice?" He looked Chris over as if sizing him up before turning and whistling loudly into the darkness at his back. The throng of people had begun to scatter into a roughly circular formation, torches being posted at intervals in a ring around them. The three men stood near the edge of the perimeter of faint light, but Turo wasn't looking towards those in the newly forming camp. He stood facing towards the blackness that surrounded them and whistled a second time, one foot tapping the ground impatiently. Just as Chris began to think the small man might be somewhat senile, two forms emerged from the darkness before him. The two men who stepped silently into the torchlight were dressed similarly to Turo, each wearing simple hand-sewn robes and carrying a large, rolled pack on their backs. They were both much larger than Turo, nearly rivaling Danny in size. Turo clapped his hands as if pleased and clicked his tongue impatiently. He spoke to the two men in a language Chris didn't recognize, motioning for them to move more quickly as they removed the packs and unrolled them on the ground at Danny's feet. Turo watched with his chest puffed proudly as Danny eyed their contents.

  "Nice?" Turo asked humorously. "These are not nice. These are exceptional." The two men who had appeared from the darkness stood behind Turo wordlessly, and Chris noticed that each held a knife as if ready to protect the items that lay spread out if needed.

  Danny looked impressed. He elbowed Chris lightly. "What do you think?" He asked under his breath. "See anything you like?"

  Chris scanned the assortment of items slowly. The spread included everything from sharpened kitchen knives to hatchets to household odds-and-ends that would service as makeshift weapons. A baseball bat with the word "Todd's" written across its handle in black marker lay near the center of the items. Chris saw something that piqued his interest and leaned forward to reach for it before stopping himself short. He looked to Turo questioningly.

  "May I?"

  Turo grunted and nodded almost imperceptibly. Chris picked up a small handgun and scrutinized it for a few moments before raising one eyebrow at Danny.

  "Think this works?" He asked.

  Danny eyed it for a moment before taking it from him and opening the barrel.

  "Not a real powerful sucker, and there's only three bullets in the chamber." He replied. "These fuckers are so rare I'd almost buy it just to look at every so often. But you might not want to get something that's only going to work a few times for you." Danny tapped one palm against the hilt of the machete at his waste. "Might want to think about getting something you can use as much as you want, and hit as hard as you want with."

  Chris nodded. "Makes sense." He reached for a long, sheathed item and grasped the handle. Turo's breath caught audibly in his throat.

  "Be careful with blade." The old man said almost irritably. "Is not cheap."

  Chris pulled the handle from the sheath to bring the blade into view. Polished steel caught what little light there was gracefully as he turned the blade upwards to admire it.

  "What about this?" He asked Danny.

  "Looks like some sort of Samurai thing." Danny was staring at the sword admiringly. "Almost looks like the kind of thing they used to sell in one of those fancy shops in the mall near where I lived. The kind of thing people would buy to mount on the wall or some shit, but that one's had the hell sharpened out of it."

  Danny reached out to touch one finger to the blade's edge gently, immediately snatching it back with a surprised tsk. "Damn. Fucker's sharp all right." He held the finger to his tongue to slow the bleeding.

  Chris re-sheathed the sword and brought the hilt closer to his face to make out what was engraved in its handle -- a robed figure of a man thrusting a blade through the heart of an over-sized serpent. Chris shook his head and smiled dryly to himself. The thought that he was considering purchasing such a weapon with the intent of possibly actually using it seemed beyond absurd at that moment. It seemed downright laughable.

  Chris Porter the armed badass. He thought. What do you think, old man? Should we get the badass his weapon? What do you think the kids would think if they could see you now, standing with a sword in your hand and blood on your pjs? Think they might just be impressed with their old man? Or would they laugh?

  "I'll take this one." He said to Turo. "Do you have something I can use to keep it sharp?"

  Turo's eyes had narrowed to slits, and the look he gave Chris then was liquid acid. The old man turned to Danny.

  "You are sure Cal will pay? Is not cheap. Is very expensive." He said again.

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  "Turo, he'll pay." Danny said. "Relax, man. Cal said to get him the best you have."

  Turo stared at the sword for a few long moments, his expression slackening. "Maybe Turo will not sell." He said softly. He took the sword from Chris and unsheathed it in one fluid motion, causing both Danny and Chris to take a quick step back in surprise. The old man moved the blade through the air in a combination of forms that Chris thought could have been taken straight from an episode of Kung Fu or some such show he had watched as a kid. Turo's eyes never left the blade as he moved it. He re-sheathed it with a sigh, staring silently at it for a few moments before suddenly throwing one hand up in apparent exasperation.

  "Phaw!" He said with no small amount of angry annoyance. He shot Danny a look that would have peeled fresh paint. "Turo will sell. But not cheap. Not cheap at all."

  Danny nodded his understanding. "Cal will pay you when he settles with you."

Turo handed the sword to Chris and clicked his tongue, motioning for the two men at his back to gather up the items at his feet.

"When next you see Cal," he said," tell him Turo will not be traveling with him much longer."

Danny looked surprised. "Not gonna stick with us for awhile, old man?"

  Turo furrowed his brow and stared off into the darkness. "Turo does not wish to die yet." He said softly before motioning for his men to follow him and disappearing into the blackness surrounding the camp. "Stay safe and kill quickly, boy." The words faded with him.

  Chris knelt to pick up the items the men had left, including a box of flint and a length of cloth that had been knotted into a belt. He tied the sword around his waste and handed the flint to Danny with a shrug.

  "No pockets." He said in explanation, then looked down to admire his strange garb. "How do I look?"

  Danny grinned widely. "Think we need to pick you up some real clothes as soon as we get the chance. Maybe even some boots or somethin'." He said. "I don't know how much longer those pajamas will hold out for ya before they just fall the hell off of you, and, no offense, but your feet look like shit."

  Chris returned the grin. "Thanks." He said. "Hadn't noticed."

  "Guess we should go ahead and get out there." Danny nodded toward the blackness. "We've got first watch. Cal gave us the perimeter."

  "Thinking we'll run into anything?" Chris asked.

  "Hope so." Danny said.

  The look in his eye made Chris wonder whether or not the kid was even kidding.

                      

  Jared Kissinger had peed his pants. He couldn't believe he had peed his goddamn pants.

  He lay curled up, his knees brought nearly to his chest. A cold sweat had mixed with his tears to leave nearly every inch of his face streaked damply. He had been unable to stop shivering for the past few hours but wasn't sure why.

  Jared wanted to go home. Wanted to be home. It wasn't fair, none of it was. He shouldn't be wherever the hell he was. It just wasn't fair. He had been on his way to a friend's house after the night's first party had been crashed by the cops. He had been driving. He hadn't been alone. His girlfriend had been in the passenger seat, and a half dozen drunken seniors had been packed into the back of his '73 Kingswood Estate station wagon. Jared couldn't remember what had happened, couldn't remember what happened next after he saw the light on Transmitter Road turn green and turned left onto 12th. Someone in the back had shouted something about wanting to go back and see who had gotten their asses arrested, which had provoked a chorus of hoots and hollers from nearly everyone else in the vehicle. Jared had been looking over his shoulder into the back seat, and he could remember turning back to look at the road. He could remember that he had suddenly realized his eyelids were incredibly heavy. They had shut for a second or two, and he had reopened them, only to find that he couldn't keep them open.

  Jared had fallen asleep at the goddamn wheel. The more he thought back and tried to remember the more certain he became that he had somehow managed to fall asleep at the wheel of his Chevy, but it made no sense to him. He hadn't been tired, hadn't been sleepy at all. Jared was sure of it. He had been wide awake and then had suddenly been unable to keep his eyes open. It was so unfair. So goddamn unfair.

  What had happened to him? The next memory he had was of waking up slowly to impenetrable darkness. Slapping himself again and again in a vain effort to wake himself up, screaming for help until he had lost his voice completely. There had been no sign of his girlfriend when he awakened after falling asleep at the wheel, no sign of his 'wagon or the drunken teens who had been in the back. Even the bottle of Heineken he had been holding in his right hand as he drove had somehow disappeared. He lay there in the darkness reliving the last few hours of normalcy he could remember over and over, unable to make himself get to his feet or even move. He had been alone for days before finding Cal and the others. He had thought he was alone in the darkness until he saw their lights, and things had been better for awhile.

  But Jared had fucked it all up. He had let them leave him behind. The site of the woman's body being snatched suddenly into the darkness above him, the feel of her blood as it showered down over him had been too much. How could he be expected to deal with that kind of shit? He remembered the thing that had hovered over them in the darkness as they ran, remembered the tentacle that had suddenly been among them, wrapping itself around the woman who ran beside him. Jared hadn't known her name. She had screamed wordlessly, had fought as hard as she could, kicking and twisting to no avail. There had been no time for him to have helped her even if it had been something he had considered. Jared watched as she was taken, heard her screaming and had begun to scream himself.

  And then the blood had begun to sprinkle his face, and something more solid had landed on his shoulder. He remembered someone trying to help him when he fell, but he hadn't wanted to get back to his feet. He had been sure he was going to die, sure they would all die. And so they had left him behind.

  Jared lay in the darkness wishing he had kept running, but it was too late. He was alone and the thing that had killed the woman was still out there, still hovering somewhere in the darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut for what must have been the hundredth time and wished it was all over. He wished -- prayed even, something he had done more in the last hours than he had done his entire life -- that when he opened his eyes he would be back in the Chevy heading down 12th Street. He wanted another taste of that bottle of Heineken, wanted to take his new girl home and fuck her brains out, wanted to go to school the next day and tell how he had done it. It was only fair that he should get to do those things. But when he opened his eyes Jared Kissinger was still curled up in the fetal position, soaked in his own sweat and staring into pure shadow.

  He whimpered, then began to cry again as he thought he heard a sound in the darkness coming from above him. The thing was still out there. He could hear it, could almost feel it getting closer. It had probably been circling him for hours then. Had probably been watching him, waiting. He brought one sleeve of the Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt he wore up to cover his mouth and stifle the sound, but Jared didn't really believe it had been in time. It was too late

  because he had made too much noise and it had heard him the thing that he knew was out there and was so very close had heard him crying had heard him whimpering like a little girl and was coming for him because boys who whimper like little girls never make it they die when the Boogieman comes for them and oh yes they die screaming

  and Jared did die screaming. He screamed as he was snatched into the air, screamed as he felt his lower limbs separated from his body, and screamed as the darkness that surrounded him flooded in to consume all else.

  A single Nike shoe fell silently and landed on the ground where he had lain with a low thud, its lace untied and the foot within it all that remained of the kid named Jared Kissinger.

                        

  "Triht must've gotten the fire goin'." Danny said, looking back towards a newly formed mass of orange light in the distance behind them. "That'll make it a helluva lot easier to keep track of camp. We just make a really big circle around it and make sure everything's clear."

  "You're not big on keeping light with you all the time," Chris asked him, "are you?"

  Danny snorted, and although Chris couldn't see the kid's face in the darkness he was sure Danny thought the question to be amusing.

  "I ain't afraid of the dark." He said. "I've got a flashlight I picked up from a guy who said it'll never die 'cause it doesn't run off of regular batteries or some shit like that. Said the batteries are like fuel cells or something scientific . I ain't really sure exactly how it works. It never leaves my pack when I'm out here, but I don't use it much when I'm scouting. Light draws too much damned attention out here, and when you've got light with you it kinda messes up how far you can see. Another reason is when you're out scoutin', tryin' to find what's huntin' you, you don't want whatever you find to see you first. Light makes you an easy target. That's why I almost feel safer out here scoutin' than I do when I'm back in camp sometimes. You just have to get used to listening out here. You might not be able to see anything, but there aren't many types of things out there that don't make some kind of sound when they move."

  Chris followed the sound of Danny's boots when he wasn't talking, their distinct, hollow thudding on the ground beneath them seeming to contradict Danny's reason for not traveling with light.

  "Don't think those boots are a little loud?" Chris asked. He could tell quickly that he had touched on a sensitive subject by the mere tone of Danny's answer.

  "These boots almost never leave my feet." He said after a short hesitation. "My old man gave 'em to me last year. He never gave me much, but these here are some of the nicest boots I've ever seen. All leather, steel-toes. I can be quiet as the dead if I want to, though. I kinda like the sound most of the time. Reminds me of the old man. He wore boots just like these."

  "What do we do if we run into something?" Chris changed the subject.

  The sound of Danny's boots paused as the big man came to a stop, and Chris could hear a low rustling as Danny pulled the flashlight from the pack he carried slung over one shoulder and switched it on.

  "Guess since you're with me you can carry the light." He said, his face illuminated weirdly as he pointed the flashlight's beam towards his upper body. "If we hear somethin' we get as close as we can as quiet as we can, and when I give you the signal you flip on this light and try to keep whatever we're after lit up long enough for me to kill it so long as it's somethin' we think we can take. If we don't think we can take it we haul ass back to camp and warn them quick as we can."

  Danny saw the look Chris gave him and added quickly, "I ain't sayin' you shouldn't help me fight, just that you'd come in after me so that at least one of us has both hands free to use, that's all."

  Chris nodded and took the flashlight from him. He turned it over in his hands. The words "Made In Taiwan" were beveled cheaply on its underside. "You said the batteries never run out? How does that work?"

  Danny shrugged. "Ain't real sure, but it's true. It's got some kind of real high tech batteries in it that re-charge themselves or somethin'. I ain't sure exactly how it works, just know what the guy who sold it to me said about it. So far it's never let me down."

  Chris studied the flashlight skeptically, finally flipping it off as Danny began moving again. They walked in silence for a long while. Sounds from the camp would occasionally escalate above the constant hum of voices that carried well into the darkness. A shout or a yell, a child crying. It became almost impossible not to look back towards the camp without seeing with blinding clarity how obvious a target it made in the expanse of nothingness that surrounded it. What Danny had said about feeling safer when he was outside of camp made a haunting kind of sense. The camp's fire was a massive beacon, the noises created by those around it easily heard miles into the darkness.

  At some point Chris realized that, for the first time since waking to the unthinkable, he was comfortable in the darkness. More importantly, he was more comfortable in his own head, comfortable with his own thoughts. He wondered what his two sons were doing at that moment in time, what they were thinking. He could only guess as to whether or not they were still looking for him, but was sure they wouldn't have given up hope for him yet. They'd have a lot of faith in their dad, they always had. He only wished he had more confidence in the fact that he could live up to the innocent beliefs of childhood that made him invincible in their eyes. Invincible because he was Dad. They didn't deserve to go through having that blind trust crushed suddenly and completely, to realize he had seemingly abandoned them. There would be no body, no proof that their father was dead or otherwise. There would only be questions.

  Chris ran one finger over the smooth metal of the wedding band he wore on his left hand, finding that he wasn't strong enough to allow himself to dwell on what Laura might be going through as he wandered the unknown. He still couldn't bring himself to imagine how his wife would take losing him, could only allow himself to see her face smiling and strong.

  The low thudding came to a sudden stop and Chris paused. The sound of his own breathing seemed far too loud in his ears. He stood silently for several seconds, afraid to speak or make any sound because he wasn't sure what had brought Danny to a halt.

  "Did you hear that?" Danny finally whispered.

  Chris listened intently, but was unable to hear anything other than the constant faint murmur from the direction of the camp.

  "I can hear the camp, but that's it." He whispered lowly. "Why? What did you hear?"

  But the question needed no answer. A kind of whining, high-pitched series of squeaks pierced the air - emanating seemingly from only a short distance away. The closeness of the sounds brought a chill to Chris's skin. A warm, flushed feeling climbed his spine and neck as he remained motionless - a claustrophobic sense of entrapment teetering on the verge of panic. He thought he recognized the sounds. There was something in the darkness possibly only yards away and he thought he knew what it was because the sounds were all too familiar. The squeaking continued, its source seemingly not on the move.

  "I think it knows we're here." Danny's whispering was so low that Chris had to strain to make out his words. "We almost stumbled over it. Shit." He said. Then: "Follow me."

  "Wait." Chris whispered fiercely. He stopped the big man, reaching a hand out to find his shoulder. "I think I recognize that sound."

  "I recognize it too." Danny said. "And I think I know why it's here. I'm gonna kill it. I just hope I ain't too late."

  This time when Danny began moving again Chris was surprised at how difficult it was to follow the sound of his boots. The dull thudding became barely perceptible taps, yet Danny was moving extremely quickly. Chris struggled to keep up without losing him for perhaps a minute or so, and then the tapping was suddenly gone. It was replaced with unbroken silence for seconds that passed disguised as a short eternity.

  Not afraid of the dark, old man? Chris thought, his pulse throbbing palpably within his skull. There's not supposed to be anything under the bed. Christ. What do you do when you find out there is something under the bed? What if there is and you can't just reach over and flip the lights back on? Then what? Do you just keep telling yourself it isn't there and that it can't hurt you? Or do you get scared shitless?

  "Don't jump." The words came from just behind Chris's head, and in the split second it took for him to realize the voice was Danny's Chris had nearly done just that. "Don't make a sound." Danny whispered in a tone so low Chris was positive he wouldn't have been able to hear it if he had been only a few feet farther from the kid. Danny had somehow circled to stand just behind him.

  "Is the flashlight in your right or left hand?" Danny asked.

  Chris licked his lips for moisture before answering beneath his breath. "Right."

  He felt one of Danny's hands reach around his torso and grip his right elbow. It moved down his arm to enclose Chris's grip on the flashlight he held, taking his hand and positioning it in front of him. Another series of animalistic squeaks emanated this time seemingly from only yards in front of the two men. Danny adjusted the angle at which Chris was holding the light slightly, then released his grip on the other man's hand.

  "Hold it just like that and don't move." Danny whispered, his words coming from only inches behind Chris's ear. "Count to thirty and flip it on."

  The instructions were incredibly simplistic, but Chris had more questions at that moment about them than he had ever had when given any mathematical formula in any college course from any professor. Beads of sweat had begun to stream down his face; he was afraid even to bring a hand up to wipe them from his eyes.

  "When do I start counting?" Chris asked. But there was no reply.

  He shut his eyes and forced his breathing to steady.

  One.

  His ears had begun to pick up on another strange sound in the darkness. Chris was reminded of the particular noise that his oldest son's dog, Max, often made when eating a plate of scraps or a freshly filled dog bowl. The sound of jowls working ravenously to break down a particularly large bite of food or meat.

  Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen...

  This was what he had followed Danny into the darkness to do. He had come to chase what was under the bed. Being careful to hold the flashlight steady in his right hand, he grasped the hilt of the sword at his waste with his left.

  Twenty-six, Twenty-seven, Twenty-eight...

  As he came to the end of his count his fear had become muted, replaced with only a simple sense of purposefulness. He had recognized the high-pitched squeaks, and knew before he flipped on the light that the thing would be oddly cute. He knew its limbs would be too large for its body, knew how awkward and short it would appear. It was a Kala, and its features showed no surprise as the flashlight's beam suddenly illuminated it, separating it and the body it stood over from the shadows. It was already looking at him. Its jaws grinded slowly, and Chris had been right about the sound. The Kala was feeding. Chris knew the body at its feet, recognized the boy despite how little of his body was actually left. Pablo. The boy who had been exiled from camp. The boy who had been exiled to a lonely death in the dark.

  The Kala cocked its head and squeaked loudly. Chris got the impression that his interruption of the creature's meal was unwelcome.

  "Fuck you." The words were less than eloquent, hardly the type of witty one-liner that would've made the guys back home proud, but he had never meant the two-word phrase more ardently. He knew how fast the Kala was, knew how deadly. At that moment he couldn't have cared less. He pulled the sword from its sheath and actually grinned to himself. It felt good in his hand. Not like something he was in any way qualified to wield, but still good. The Kala squeaked again, this time in a pitch so high it was actually painful to hear. It was clearly agitated at his presence. Had its mouth not been full, Chris thought the creature would have already attacked. Its jaws were its weapon of choice.

  Danny struck with a quickness that belied his size, his machete seeming to appear from nowhere as he stepped into the edge of the light and swung the large blade at the Kala's head in one fluid movement. The machete half crushed, half buried itself into the creature's skull. It continued to squeal as blood gushed from the wound, one half of its jaw having collapsed inward. But the thing was far from dead. In an instant it had circled Danny and leapt onto his back, its awkward limbs proving extremely effective as it clamped both clawed hands into the flesh of Danny's shoulders. The Kala's speed was like nothing Chris had ever seen. He was reminded of cartoons he had watched as a kid in which certain characters would move so quickly they would simply be illustrated as a blur. The Kala almost seemed to materialize on Danny's back, its head now hanging strangely upon its neck.

  Danny's jaw clamped down hard with the pain, but the creature's attack didn't slow him. He reached back swiftly with both hands to grab the Kala by either arm and wrenched its entire body over his head in an impressive show of strength. The Kala's claws were torn from the muscle of his shoulders; Danny let out a howl as he brought the thing up and over his head to slam it down into the ground at his feet. The creature hit with enough force to bring a series of loud cracks as the bones in its body gave way, but Danny wasn't finished. He slammed the thing repeatedly into the ground - its form now completely limp. When he was finally satisfied, he allowed the Kala's body to fall in a misshapen heap and dropped to his knees, his shoulders arched in pain. Blood from the large gashes the creature had dug soaked through his shirt and ran down his back.

  "We need to stop that bleeding." Chris said after taking a moment to process what he had just witnessed, moving quickly to shine the flashlight on Danny's wounds. "You're bleeding really badly."

  Danny shook his head. "It's just a flesh wound, man." He said. "Maybe you've seen. We heal faster here. I'm cool. I feel fine. Just give me a second and I'll help you carry the kid. I don't want to leave him out here rotting like this."

  Chris re-sheathed the sword and held his left palm under the light to examine it. "Yeah, I've seen. The gash that wolf put in my hand wasn't small. Went straight through to the bone, but it's completely gone. You're bleeding a lot worse than I was, though."

  Danny shrugged and stood back to his feet. "You don't have to worry about me. I've had a lot of shit happen to me since I've been in this place. This ain't nothin'."

  Chris grunted. "Just let me know if you start to feel weak or faint." He said. "There's nothing wrong with resting for a few minutes if we need to."

  "I've seen one of these before." Danny said, pointing to the Kala's corpse. "I think they've actually got a couple of names for 'em. They're from a children's tale. Kinda like little fucked up demons or some shit like that. They like to kill little kids who stay awake at night. Cal told me a little about 'em, 'cause he's seen 'em before, too. Lots of times. Cal's been here forever. I think he knows a little bit about everything."

  "Why did Cal kick Pablo out of camp after that first one attacked?" Chris asked. "What did the kid have to do with it?"

  Danny looked at Chris and grimaced. "It's all so fucked up, man." He said. "It's like in this place, whatever you fear-" He paused. "Whatever you fear can come alive if you fear it enough. And if you fear it enough to create one, and you're still lucky enough to survive, then you can create two, or even more. Cal kicked him out of camp 'cause he couldn't take a chance. If the first one was Pablo's, then there could've been more. Cal had to get him away from camp to protect everyone else."

  Chris understood what Danny was telling him, but the logic of it was something he had subconsciously avoided. The explanation had been there, tickling at the back of his mind since the first Kala attack, but it was too implausible, too harsh. People creating their own fears. It was impossible. The very nature of nightmares.

  "What do ya think, Danny? Are we in hell?"

  "If you can die in hell, maybe so."

  There was a short pause. "We need to get back to camp so they can look at those shoulders." Chris said finally.

  Danny moved as if to pick up Pablo's remains, but Chris stopped him and handed him the light.

  "I'll carry him." He scooped the boy's mutilated form into his arms. "I could use the exercise."

  Danny grunted, amused, and switched out the light.