Bonfire: Part Two
Dallas feels Molly place a reassuring hand on his back that nearly breaks him. As gently as he can, he shifts his shoulders to shrug her off. He can’t be comforted right now, not yet. This is all too much, and he can’t break down now. He’ll process everything later. He looks up at Eric, who nods his head towards Billy and widens his eyes.
Dallas sighs deeply, “Billy. What… what happened, man?”
Billy mumbles under his breath, mouth moving but barely a sound coming out. Dallas asks again, “Billy. Listen, man, you gotta talk to us, cause this is really ba-”
“They blocked the road,” says Billy, dipping the barn back into total silence. Dallas can hear the distant sound of trucks starting up, of tires rolling over dead grass and gravel.
Dallas waits until Billy gets the cig lit, and then asks, “Who blocked the road?”
“I-,” Billy starts, hesitating. But then it all begins to pour out of him.“I’m not sure. Men with guns, big guns. And big tan trucks but like, not normal trucks. They had lights pointing down the road, it was hard to see. They had helmets and looked…looked almost military.” Billy stops, visibly shaking, before taking a few breaths and continuing. “I had just started to slow; they were blocking the road to the highway. Then they opened fire, no warning. Glass shattering, Sam screaming…” Billy looks over at Sam’s body before closing his eyes and turning away. “I spun the wheel, tried to turn around. I was flooring it back here when I noticed Sam. She’d stopped moving, and I could see blood seeping into her shirt. But then… There was something else. Something moving in the field—in the dark—keeping pace with the truck. It looked like some kind of animal running on all fours. I kept looking over at it, glancing between Sam, the road, and then back to the thing. It broke off a little ways before I made it back here. I don’t know what it was.”
Billy shakes as he talks, and reaches a hand up to his right shoulder, now slick with his own blood. He moves to stand, but quickly crashes back into the couch, breathing heavily and sweating.
“We need to stop your bleeding,” Dallas says, unsure of how else to respond to Billy’s story. He nods his head at Molly, who quickly walks over to the table where Sam lies dead. Someone had already retrieved the barn’s first aid kit and had slung it by its strap over the back of a chair. Dallas watches Molly take the long way around to fetch it, staying as far from Sam’s body as possible.
Dallas moves to sit on the arm of the sofa and holds out a hand to Molly. She gives him the first-aid kit, and he begins to quickly pick through its contents, looking for gauze and alcohol. Using scissors from the bag, Molly snips off the arm of Billy’s jacket, revealing his shoulder and the bleeding gunshot wound.
Dallas tries his best not to shake as he cleans the wound; it’s difficult when he can practically feel Hailey fuming behind him, hovering right over his shoulder.
‘Just wait for the cops, just wait for the cops, just wait for the cops.’
Hailey inhales sharply.
‘Shit.’
“You guys don’t actually believe him, right?” She asks, her voice hanging in the air. Billy’s eyes flick up towards her, but he is too weak to do anything more. Dallas just keeps cleaning the wound. “Why would ‘the military’ be blocking a dirt road in the middle of nowhere? And why would they open fire on a random truck? And what does any of this have to do with ‘an animal’ running next to Billy’s-”
“Hailey,” Dallas says, “We don’t know. Just calm down and wait for the cops-”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Shouts Hailey. She points a finger at Sam, “My best friend is dead,” she shifts her finger to point at Billy, “and I don’t believe a word coming out of his mouth.” She hesitates, for just a moment, and then continues, “Ask him what he brought to the party, Dallas. Ask him what he and Sam took.”
Dallas looks at Billy’s face and catches his eye, “Billy?”
Billy grimaces in pain, eyes blinking rapidly. Dallas notices just how wide his pupils are. “Billy, what did you take?”
“Just,” Billy takes a deep breath, “we took some mushrooms. My brother Danny gave me some last night, after the game.”
Dallas looks up at Molly, who hands him the last bit of gauze. Dallas binds the wound and steps back, thinking.
“That,” he starts, “that doesn’t explain everything, Hailey. Doesn’t explain the literal bullet holes in his truck, not to mention the ones in him and Sam…”
Hailey's pacing now, her feet slapping hard against the gray concrete floor as she bites her nails. A wave of exhaustion begins to roll over Dallas, causing him to sway on his feet. Sam’s dead eyes continue to watch him from where she lies on the table. Dallas wishes he were home asleep; that tonight was just a bad post-game dream, and that any moment now he’ll wake up in his bed to a million texts from everyone congratulating him on the big win and asking what time the party starts.
From a recliner in the corner, a sobering Bryan D finally chips in. “Uh… “ he starts, one hand covering his sweaty face. “Do you guys hear that?”
Hailey stops pacing and Dallas goes still as he tries to listen. For several seconds there’s nothing, but then he hears it.
Screams, coming from outside.
“What the hell?” He half whispers as he moves towards the barn door. Eric, Molly, and Hailey follow close behind.
He steps outside just in time to watch Brenden barrel into the back of someone’s car. Glass screams as it shatters and flies off into a field. The truck flips onto its side, rolling into the ditch. Dallas watches in frozen disbelief as another car comes speeding down the dusty road, crashing into the back of Brenden’s truck and meeting the same fate. He sees his friends crying and screaming and bleeding in their seats, some trying desperately to open wedged doors while others crawl out through broken windshields. A dozen cars and trucks clog the gravel parking patch, all honking at each other as they try to leave. Kids lean out the side of windows to get a better look, while a few others ditch their cars and run towards the crash to help.
“Oh my God,” whispers Eric, his face pale and clammy. The bonfire continues to rage, casting an angry, orange glow across the carnage.
“W-we have to help. Dallas, we have to help them,” says Molly.
Dallas nods his head, barely listening. He takes a step forward, feeling his friends begin to move with him, but then stops. He stares, eyes gazing off into the darkness beyond the ditch.
“Dallas. Dallas, come on, man, we gotta help,” Eric tugging on Dallas’s shoulder as he speaks.
Dallas takes a small step forward and raises his hand, pointing.
“Guys, do you see that?”
Something is perched at the edge of the ditch, barely visible amidst a cluster of scraggly trees. The branches are drenched in crimson by the dim glow of Brenden’s brake lights; but Dallas swears he sees something else within the trees.
Movement draws Dallas’s attention to Brenden’s truck. The back glass shatters as Brenden kicks it out. The large linemen squeezes himself through the busted glass, screaming into the night as broken glass digs into his flesh. Dallas registers that Hailey is talking, no, screaming at him to go help, but he can’t move. He looks back at the trees. Two spots, hidden behind bramble, appear redder than before.
Brenden finally makes it out of the truck and pulls himself to his feet. A large gash runs across his forehead, blood dribbling into his eyes.
“HELP!” He screams. Dallas observes several kids picking their way through the wreckage towards him. Brenden stumbles, falling to a knee at the back of the truck, directly in front of the patch of trees.
Dallas blinks, then blinks again and rubs his eyes.
Something’s moving within the trees. A large, fleshy appendage creeps out from the foliage. It extends, and extends, and extends, further and further until it is the length of two men. Smaller appendages half the length of Dallas’s own arms slowly position themselves behind where Brenden kneels.
In a moment of clarity, Dallas realizes that what he is looking at, is a massive, pale hand.
Dallas opens his mouth to scream, heart burning with the desire to act, to sprint into the fire and save his friend. But no sound escapes his lips, and his legs refuse to move; his brain countering his will. The kids running towards Brenden slow before stopping completely, each finally taking notice of the hand. Brenden cocks his head, likely at something said to him, before rising from his knees and turning around.
Like a mechanical crusher dismantling a car, the hand instantly closes around Brenden's chest. The pressure of it sends blood shooting from Brenden's gaping mouth, his lungs instantly collapsing along with any hope of a final word, or even a final sound. His eyes dangle from cords of flesh, ejected from their sockets by the crushing force of the hand. Blood paints the gravel road, dripping down Brenden's legs as whatever grips him hoists his spasming body into the air.
Dallas’s ears ring, an indescribable, high-pitched buzz. People are pouring out of their cars, mouths open, screaming—though he cannot hear them. Something tugs Dallas’s shoulder; he resists. A hand slides against his cheek, reaching back for his neck before yanking him down. Dallas blinks, eyes opening to the face of a tear-stained Molly yelling…something. The sight of her brings him back; the chaos consuming the small field returning in full force.
“Dallas. Dallas, please, WE HAVE TO GO!”
Adrenaline runs like ice through his veins. Dallas flicks his head back to where he last saw Brenden.
Brenden’s truck tips over from its side, tires popping as it is forcefully returned to its intended orientation. Metal screeches and glass crunches as something pulls itself on top of the truck. The crowd of running kids slows, all turning to stare—panic replaced by awe-inspiring terror.
It looks like a dog; a mangy dog without fur, ruffles of flabby, scaly, ruined flesh instead covering its withered body. It is bone white, and Dallas realizes much of what he sees is, in fact, just that. Bare bones, loosely covered by skin so thin and so weak it flaps in the slight night breeze. Where skin meets bone, thin lines of something watery and pink, perhaps tainted blood, leak from its body. Its ribs protrude, and the surrounding skin is vacuum-sealed against them. Its face is nearly barren of any flesh, a thinner-than-paper lining hanging and tearing across its skull. Fangs protrude wildly from its blood-stained mouth, as well as a leathery white tongue.
For a moment, all is quiet as Dallas stares at something he knows deep down should not exist. He imagines everyone around him is feeling the same thing—all wishing for ignorance, all waiting for the tension to break.
A metallic clanking sound draws Dallas’s gaze to Alice. Her hands shake, and at her feet lie the keys to her Honda. Dallas takes a sharp breath and blinks.
Metal caves beneath the weight of the beast’s legs as it launches towards Alice. It crosses what must be at least a forty-foot space with a single leap, landing directly on top of Alice. Dallas can hear her bones snap, just before panic once more consumes the crowd. Dallas turns, grabbing Molly by the arm and yelling at Eric. “Barn, NOW!”
Dallas takes off, running as fast as Molly will allow back towards the barn. He glances over his shoulder. Some kids are trying to make it to their cars, risking a long run down the packed dirt road. The beast is ripping through them, massive hands cutting through kids Dallas has known since pre-school in an instant. Dallas yanks open the door to the barn, ushering in Molly and waving in anyone nearby. Eric runs through the door, followed by Hailey.
Hailey turns as she reaches the door’s edge, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dallas. “BRYAN,” she yells. Dallas scans the crowd and spots Bryan hiding behind his car, still parked with the tailgate down, over by the waning bonfire. Bryan glances up from his cover behind the tower. Dallas frantically motions with his hands to the door while watching the beast. It has its snout buried in some poor soul’s chest; their head is gone, making it impossible for Dallas to identify them.
Bryan bolts from behind the tires and makes a break for the barn. Dallas stares, the short distance between them now appearing impossibly long. Dallas looks for anyone else to save, and in his search, his heart grows still. The dead and dying lie scattered across the field. The air is quiet, save the groans of the wounded and the grotesque sound of consumption coming from the creature. A raw aching urge to hide fills Dallas, and he looks back towards the beast.
Time slows—just like it did the night before, during the last play of the game. The beast is in the air, mid-pounce, about to intercept Bryan. Bryan hasn’t noticed. In an instant, Dallas knows Bryan is gone. He meets his friend’s gaze, watching the color drain from his face as he realizes what is about to happen. Dallas shoves Hailey back with one hand, hard enough to send her to the floor as he slams the door shut with the other. The last thing he sees is Bryan—hand extended, just a few feet from the door—as he is impaled by the beast’s fingers.
The door shuts with a crack, the force of it reverberating up the metal sheet walls of the barn. Dallas stands still, listening to Bryan’s screams. They last a few short moments before being cut off and replaced by the muffled sound of the beast tearing into his flesh.
Dallas hears Hailey inhale sharply and turns to see her mouth open, moments away from a scream. He dives on top of her, pinning her to the ground with his weight. She fights him, trying to slap him away, but Dallas isn’t fazed. He quickly covers her mouth with one hand while desperately holding a finger to his own mouth with the other. There is no telling how intelligent the creature is. After it’s done with Bryan, if it doesn’t hear or see or smell them inside, it might just go away. That’s what he’s hoping for anyway.
The seconds stretch into a minute, but eventually Hailey stops squirming. Slowly, Dallas removes his hand from her mouth. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “but he wasn’t going to make it.”
Tears bubble up behind Hailey’s mascara-ruined eyes. “You don’t know that. You couldn’t know that.”
Dallas looks away, the raging panic of survival emotions swirling within his stomach replaced with the steady, putrid nausea of shame at what he had done.
“I killed him. I didn’t, but I did.” He thinks to himself. “Why is this happening?”
Dallas rises, and Hailey shuffles away, staring at him as if he’s some rabid dog. Eric stares motionless at the ground, and Molly sits on the couch opposite Billy, elbows on her knees and hands on her head. Quietly, Dallas steps over to the couch and sits next to her. From outside he can hear, if he really listens, the sound of his truck still playing Eric’s shitty rap play-list, the deep bass faintly rumbling in his chest. He leans back into the couch, letting his head fall to the left, whatever peace he is looking for shattered at the sight of Samantha lying dead on the table.
‘Shit.’
Dallas breaks, the last twenty or so minutes finally coming to a head. He tries to breathe through it, tries to calm himself down, but it’s as though he’s lost all autonomy. His lungs begin to rapidly gasp for air. His back arches against the couch, straining for relief, but finding none. His whole body shakes, and it takes every ounce of strength he has left not to scream, to rage, to stand and pace the floor and lash out at everyone around him. He sees Eric staring concernedly at him, but whether it’s real concern for him or simply Eric being scared of the beast outside, Dallas isn’t sure—and he doesn't care. In his mind, he sees Brenden being crushed by the impossible force of the beast, and Dallas feels as though that same force is pressing against his own chest; just enough to cause as much pain as possible without killing him. He wishes he could cry, but there is no relief for what he feels. There is no escaping this.
His body jerks involuntarily as something touches his back. Molly is there, still sitting next to him. He’d forgotten. In an instant, the look on her face—a look of fear, like that of staring at a caged animal—finally, truly breaks him. He falls into her, his head against her thighs, and sobs; the strained sobs of a boy not yet prepared for what he has been forced to endure. The muffled, constrained sobs of a boy whose trial has yet to end. Dallas feels her arms wrap around him as his tears wet her jeans.
END OF PART TWO.