Vacation

He didn’t give that view another look. Not when he imagined that whatever came through that hole could still be here.

He spun around, his eyes darting, looking at the silent aisles, over to the restrooms, and then—as if catching on to the game way too late—to the tinted glass windows facing outside.

“Shit,” he said, moving quickly now.

Something smacked into him from the side, sending him flying against a rack of newspapers and magazines. He tumbled awkwardly, falling, and despite his grip—so tight—a metal spoke of the rack jabbed his hand, forcing his fingers to loosen.

His gun slipped away as he fell backward.

Unarmed, as something—and he knew, of course, what it was—jumped on top of him.

He wished time slowed, the way they said it did.

But after so many raids, so many times fighting Can Heads, he knew that was all a bunch of bullshit.

*   *   *

“Mom, I really have to go!”

“You really want to buy some of that junk they sell,” Kate said.

“I do not. I—”

“Simon, Kate—can you guys just cool it a minute? Dad will be right back. And we can go in.” Christie turned to the QuikMart. She had seen Jack in there a minute ago, but now he wasn’t there. Maybe checking out the restrooms? “He’ll be right back. Just…”

Just what?

Come on. What are you doing in there?

Christie waited.

13

The Decision

Jack felt the body on him, then smelled the breath, the mouth close to his head. Classic Can Head strategy. Go for the neck. Like any feral creature, any trained predator.

Immobilize your prey. Bite down.

The attack in Red Hook all over again.

Jack’s head turned to the side, meshed in the wire newspaper rack. He could see his gun, so close, but it lay feet away, an impossible distance with this thing on him.

Normal human-body vulnerabilities supposedly didn’t apply to them. Too amped up on whatever drove them to feed off their own kind, it was hard to cause any distracting pain when they were attacking.

Hard. But maybe not impossible.

Jack shot his right hand up to grab under the chin of the Can Head trying to chomp its way up to his neck.

That served to pin the thing’s jaw back a bit, and—for the moment—keep the teeth closed.

Now Jack risked a quick glance to his left.

Has to be something.

The Can Head wriggled its head violently left and right to free itself from Jack’s jaw-closing grasp.

A few more twists and it would be free.

Jack’s left hand reached out and began to search the area around his pinned body.

He only felt more metal spokes of the rack—but then one piece jiggled a bit. Loose. A bit of the metal frame sprung loose.

Maybe it could be detached.

Jack closed his left hand on it even as he kept his other hand locked on the creature’s head, squeezing so tight that his fingers dug into the skin of the Can Head’s throat.

He yanked on the metal strut. It moved back and forth, but it still wouldn’t come free.

Then, again, now making the piece wriggle, jerk up and down fast until—

It came off.

Jack felt a surge of hope. Now he let the other thoughts in—what might be happening outside. With his family. His kids.

He didn’t let himself imagine other possibilities. That there might be more Can Heads in here. That this one was only the first. That the trap was indeed hopeless.

Hand tight on the metal strut, he looked at the Can Head, now rearing back to free itself of Jack’s grip.

Jack letting that happen.

’Cause then it would come nice and close.

And as the Can Head reared back, it opened its foul hole of a mouth and dived forward. Jack was ready.

Though the thing’s head moved fast, Jack’s left hand seemed to match its speed, and his eyes were on its eyes, those filmy dull sockets, as he jammed the metal strut straight into one eye. As hard and as deep as he could.

At first, it didn’t seem to make any difference.

The Can Head kept coming on its downward, open-mouthed arc.

But when that plunge was completed, the Can Head turned lifeless, falling onto Jack.

He quickly twisted to dump the body off, then pried himself out of the mesh of struts that had helped pin him.

He dived for his gun, grabbing it like it was life itself.

Kneeling then, turning, scanning the room for more of them.

Standing.

No more here.

Then outside.

Everything peaceful by the car. Christie, the kids, oblivious.

*   *   *

Christie looked back to the QuikMart.

Where is he? Just supposed to be checking it out.

At least the kids had stopped complaining about not getting out.

Then she saw Jack. Walking slowly toward the car.

Too slowly, too apparently casual, she immediately thought.

Then …

Something happened.

*   *   *

As Jack got closer he felt Christie’s eyes on him. She couldn’t have seen anything, all buttoned up in the locked car.

But her eyes …

No question, she thought something had happened.

When Jack got to the car, Christie opened the window.