Eleven
“Hey, Ellington. Do you have any cigarettes?” Al dug through his duffle bag in vain.
“Yeah, I have an extra pack,” said Danny Ellington. “You can have it. I’m trying to quit.”
“Thanks. I’m not. I’ll take whatever you don’t want.” Al removed a cigarette from the pack and lit it, blowing a cloud of smoke into the small underground space. “Of course, in here you’ll be a smoker whether you like it or not.” He sat back on the narrow metal bunk bolted to the concrete wall and picked up the book he had been reading.
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Danny. “What are you reading?”
Al turned the book over to look at its cover. “It’s a bunch of stories about vampires.”
“You mean, like Bela Lugosi and Dracula?” asked Danny.
“Yeah, sort of,” said Al. “Except these are more like the old folk stories about vampires. They’re a little more interesting than the movie stuff.”
“Does your wife like that sort of thing?” said Danny.
“No, not much,” said Al. “And she’s busy chasing the kid around. Now that he’s two he just about takes over the place.”
“Wow. Two years old,” said Danny. “You really started young.”
Al formed three near-perfect smoke rings. “Yeah. But that’s why we got married. We got busy too soon.”
“Lila and I will have kids sometime. Maybe after this mess is over,” said Danny.
Danny looked through the portal over the 50-caliber gun mounted on the swivel at his feet. He could see a large expanse of the Pacific, illuminated by the light of a full moon. “I feel like we have enough monsters to watch for without dreaming up any more.”
“We’re not going to see any subs,” said Al. “This part of the coast is too rocky.”
“Yeah, but that oil refinery in Goleta got shelled a few months ago,” said Danny. “1943 is only a few months away. It could be time for another attack.”
“When I enlisted, I never thought I’d be keeping America safe in a machine gun bunker within a hundred miles of Los Angeles,” said Al. “My old man went to France during the Great War. He thinks I’ve got it easy here.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Danny, scanning the horizon once more. “So why do you like those stories?”
Al set his book down and took a pull on the cigarette. “I don’t know. I guess life seems either really boring or really scary—like war. It would seem great to just float around, never being afraid of dying and never having to do all the stupid crap that people have to do. I’m getting sick of this life. I think I’d like that kind of existence.”
“Al, you’re only twenty-one and you’re still a private,” said Danny. “Don’t you want to see if you can be a fifty-year old general?”
“Ha!” Al took another hit from the cigarette. “That would be the day. This is not the life for me. When this is over, I’m gone. Hell, you’re only a year older than me and you’re a corporal. Do want to end up dying in uniform?”
“No, I don’t. But I also don’t want . . . what the hell?” Danny and Al both looked up in response to a loud scraping sound against the steel hatch above their heads. Danny looked again out the portal but saw nothing but the moonlit waves. The sound above them increased, sounding more like metal-against-metal than the sound of an animal dragging its claws as it passed.
Danny grabbed a rifle, leaving the bayonet on the floor of the bunker. He climbed up the steps of the steel ladder and tapped loudly against the hatch with the end of the rifle. The scraping sound stopped.
“What was that?” asked Al, gripping the other rifle with both hands.
“I don’t know,” said Danny. “Maybe some kids. I think they’re gone now. Let’s radio back just in case . . .”
The inside lock of the hatch exploded into pieces as the top was ripped open. The hatch was being twisted away from the inner shaft, bending the hinges and causing a screaming sound as the hatch was forced open. Danny fell from the ladder and landed on his back on the floor of the bunker, dropping his weapon. Al stepped over him and pointed his rifle toward the opening.
Something crawled rapidly down the shaft. It was human in its shape, yet moved like a lizard down a wall. Al fired. When the bullet hit, the shape recoiled, but then lurched downward. An arm shot out and grabbed the rifle, tearing it from Al’s grip. The shape righted itself and jumped feet first onto the bunker floor, knocking Al against a wall, where he slid down to the floor into a sitting position. Danny rolled away and was partially covered by the lower bunk in the wall.
The thing that glared at the two soldiers seemed initially to be human until they focused on its face. While it had all the features of a man, it was devoid of all that made it a living human. It not only appeared drained of color but also gave off no indication of emotion—no anger, no fear. If anything, it presented itself as superior, having no need to relate to these men in any primal way.
Although both men were on the ground, they recognized the intimidating height of the thing. It appeared to be well over six and-a-half feet tall, with shoulders that extended beyond what would appear normal for someone of that height. Although it was tall, it was extremely thin and gaunt. Yet there was a power and strength that emanated from it, seeming to pin the two men to the ground.
“Who the hell are you?” The sound came from Al in a more high-pitched tone than he intended. “Get out . . .”
The creature stepped toward Al and leered at him. Its mouth spread wide in an obscene grin. Sharp incisors, dark with rot, extended below its lower lip. It spoke in a harsh, airless whisper. “You want this.”
Al stared with bulging eyes at the thing looming over him and pressed harder against the wall. The thing leaned down toward Al’s face. Al grimaced in revulsion as the thing’s fetid breath reached him. It spoke again.
“You want this.”
Al began to sputter in protest, then stopped, locking his eyes on the face of the creature. His expression moved from terror to fascination. His jaw dropped as the muscles in his face relaxed.
From under the bunk, Danny dove for his rifle. The thing spun instantly and swung a skeletal arm in an arc, hitting Danny in the ribs, cracking two of them. Danny screamed out in pain. The thing turned back to Al.
“Now.”
Al opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The creature leaped forward, grabbing Al by the side of the head with one hand and at the waist with the other. In a rapid motion, it opened its mouth impossibly wide, then clamped it tightly on Al’s neck. Al gasped loudly as the creature’s cheeks caved in, drawing over and over on the vein it had punctured. Al’s face went slack and the color drained from it. His eyes rolled back and he ceased to struggle.
Danny watched in horror as the creature fed on Al. After several minutes it released its bite and let go of Al’s head. Al fell sideways like a rag doll, still held by his side in the creature’s grip. The thing pulled its own wrist across its bloody teeth, ripping the white, stony skin open. Blood oozed out of the wound. Laying Al on the ground, it pulled his head forward and forced Al’s mouth over the bleeding wrist. Blood dripped into Al’s mouth. As though the blood was reviving him, Al began to move his lips as a water-starved man would after a rescue from the desert. He sucked at the wrist hungrily, pulling the monster’s blood into his own body.
Danny’s pain had been momentarily displaced by the terror of the scene before him. Drawing in a painful breath, he pulled himself to his knees. He reached over and took hold of the detached bayonet, gasping as he gripped the handle. Raising the weapon over his head, he screamed in agony as he brought it down into the back of the monster. It arched its back and howled, releasing Al and filling the space with a putrid odor. As it twisted its body to attack, Danny pulled the bayonet out.
The thing spun quickly, knocking Danny over the mounted machine gun and back against the wall. With a scream of unbridled rage, it leaped upon him. Danny forced himself upward, the bloody blade of his weapon extended toward the monster. As their bodies collided, the blade pushed through the creature’s chest. Tremors shot through it, arms and legs flailing electrically. Danny wretched as foul, rotting breath hissed into his face, spattering him with globules of thick, dark blood.
As the body stopped moving, Danny pushed it away, leaving the knife embedded. The thing began changing before it hit the ground. The skin and underlying tissue tightened and then split as it contracted. The smell of decay filled the bunker, forcing Danny to resume his gagging. The sound of the body’s deterioration was like insect bodies popping as they were smashed against a pavement. Within minutes, only a frail, gray skeleton remained.
When Danny composed himself, he reached over with his boot and kicked the skeletal leg. The bones of the foot and lower leg separated from one another and melted into dust. Danny painfully rose to his feet and stumbled toward Al.
Al remained on his back, his head pulled back from his bloody, elongated neck. To Danny he looked dead, except that Al’s chest was moving up and down rapidly as he took in shallow breaths. Danny slowly knelt next to Al’s body. Taking a handkerchief from his back pocket, he carefully wiped at the blood covering Al’s neck. The two puncture wounds in the neck were inflamed and raw, but there were no other apparent injuries. As Danny checked, Al began to take in deeper breaths and move his limbs.
“Slow down, buddy. It’s okay. I’ll get you some help,” said Danny. “You’re going to be okay.”
Al moved his head back and forth, licking his lips with a dry tongue. “I’m so thirsty. My eyes hurt . . .”
“Hold on,” said Danny. “I’ll get you some water.” He crawled over to a shelf unit next to the bunks and grabbed a canteen. Returning to Al, he unscrewed the top and gently poured a trickle of water into Al’s mouth. Al licked eagerly at the water, but then began to choke. He turned his head as he vomited on the floor.
“Help me sit up.” Al’s voice was raw and dry. Danny helped him sit up against the wall, his own injuries making the process slow and painful. Al held his head in his hands.
“I don’t know what just happened, Al,” said Danny. “This is the craziest thing in the world. What the hell was that? What did he do to you?”
Al shook his head beneath his hands, but said nothing.
“I’m going to radio for help, Al,” said Danny. “You okay for a minute?”
Al nodded, head still in hands, his eyes closed tightly.
Danny rose stiffly, holding onto his side. He was starting to feel feverish and sick. He moved to the smaller room and steadied himself against the doorway. “No one’s going to believe what happened, Al. I don’t think I believe it,” said Danny.
He stumbled to the desk, resting one hand on the side. He stared at the radio, waiting for his eyes to focus. His head was pounding now, making it difficult to see clearly or to hear that Al had pushed himself away from the wall and was moving in the next room.
Danny was reaching toward the radio when the blade of the bayonet entered his back. The pressure forced him over the desk, knocking the radio over. He gasped loudly as Al pushed harder, driving the blade slowly through his body. The knife moved through his right lung as Al put his full weight on the handle. The blade stopped with a metallic thud as it struck the top of the steel desk. Al stepped back as Danny rolled off the desk to the floor, landing on his left side. He looked up at Al.
“Al . . . why . . .?” Danny coughed hard. Blood sprayed into the air.
Al stared down at Danny. His face was slack and white. His eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded. His arms hung limp at his side and a large, wet bloodstain covered the front of his uniform. When he spoke, his voice sounded to Danny like that of a lizard, if lizards could speak.
“You should have wanted it. It would have been better.” Al lurched forward a step and slowly leaned toward Danny’s face. Danny forced his eyes open, but he began drifting toward unconsciousness.
Danny’s eyes rested on the dog tag that hung from the chain around Al’s neck as it dangled in the air above his face. As darkness came over him, he saw only the name impressed on the metal tag.
Alec Sisera.
Danny’s breathing stopped. Al continued to stare at him. When he stood, he looked around the room slowly as if the space was new to him. He turned and walked to the steel ladder and climbed upward. He moved through the broken hatch and out into the night. He stood silently looking out over the ocean.
Al turned his head and focused on the jeep parked on the road below the hilltop entrance to the bunker. He walked down the hill to the rear of the vehicle. He reached for the metal strap holding the gasoline can, disconnecting it. Holding the can by the handle, he walked back up the hill.
His movements now more fluid, Al slipped back down through the hatch into the bunker. He doused everything with gasoline—the supplies, the ammunition, the bunks, and Danny’s body. He stopped to gaze at the deteriorating remains of the skeleton in the main room. He poured gasoline on the skeleton and watched as it crumbled into dust and mixed with the fluid, making a gray mud. He climbed back out of the bunker and pulled his cigarette lighter from his pocket. Striking it until the flame caught, he dropped the lighter into the bunker. A bright yellow glow illuminated his face.
Alec Sisera turned and walked away into the darkness.
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