Chapter Three
Jacob looked into his pack one last time, taking inventory of his meager finds, before he glanced back at Smitty’s corpse. “It’s not much, but thank you,” he whispered.
He pulled the sides of the bag tight and zipped the backpack shut. Turning toward the garage, Jacob froze as he found himself standing mere feet away from a young girl. She was alone in the doorway of the kitchen. She was missing a shoe and dressed in soiled jeans and a torn top. Jacob methodically dropped his hand from the shoulder strap of the backpack and let it find the grip of his still holstered pistol. He held his breath while trying to search beyond the girl and into the garage to see if she was alone. She looked familiar, but he knew she wasn’t part of Smitty’s family. She was looking away as if in a faraway place—not speaking, just staring into the floor space where a refrigerator had been before it was knocked to the floor.
She took a soft step in the direction of Jacob, still looking down at the floor. She moved deliberately, like an animal; her feet plodded up and down, arms twitching as her neck stretched, examining the void between the cabinets.
Jacob’s hand caressed the grip of the pistol; he squeezed it with his sweaty palm and let his finger drop straight over the receiver. He swallowed hard and in a low voice asked her, “Are you okay?”
The girl’s pale head snapped up to face Jacob; her eyes were a deep, solid black. When she opened her mouth, it revealed glossy white teeth wrapped in dark-purple gums. Her mouth stretched wide, her bottom jaw quivered, and she went to scream just as the sound of a gunshot filled the air. The girl’s head twitched and twisted toward the garage, like that of cat quickly searching for prey.
Jacob didn’t hesitate; he drew the pistol in a smooth motion and fired a single round into the girl’s chest. He saw that where the bullet punched through the girl’s light cotton top, black, oozing blood slowly filled the fabric. For a brief moment, Jacob feared he’d made a terrible mistake. His empty left hand reached out to help her, feeling regret for his actions.
The girl’s eyes looked back at him with hate. She hissed, letting the last of the air escape her body before she fell back to the ground. Jacob lunged forward and bolted past her for the door. He heard another series of gunshots and, recognizing the sounds of his .22 rifle, he stumbled his way through the garage then charged headlong into the driveway.
A teenage boy dressed in a T-shirt and jeans was searching the sky for the source of the gunfire as rounds skipped off the asphalt and smacked into the Lexus. Jacob looked toward the second story of his house and saw the shiny, blued barrel of the rifle poking out, accompanied by silver puffs of smoke wafting from the muzzle. The boy halted in place upon discovering Jacob. Its body turned in his direction and charged without warning as its mouth unhinged inhumanly wide, its black eyes showing no mercy.
Jacob raised the pistol and fired as fast as his finger would allow. Multiple rounds scored several hits as the thing collided with him and knocked him to the asphalt. Anticipating the impact, Jacob rolled back and went with it, then flung the now dead boy off him. He continued rolling until he was on all fours. Not wasting time to look, he scrambled on his hands and knees onto the lawn, pulled himself to his feet, and bolted across the yard and into the street.
He didn’t stop. Fleeing what was behind him, he ran for the side yard of his house and dove into thick bushes that scratched his face and cut into his hands while he clawed his way into the cover of the foliage. When it was too tight to crawl, he dropped to his belly and dragged himself ahead until he was tight against the foundation of the house. Jacob burrowed in and buried his face into the soft dirt. Clenching his eyes tight and trying to control his breathing, he lay there listening but struggled to hear anything above the beating of his own heart. Jacob pulled himself into a more open space near the wall and rolled over to face the street. Seeing nothing, he attempted to stand, but then he heard footsteps. He froze, and letting his body go limp, dropped back to the ground where he again tried to become one with the earth. The gunfire had halted, and Jacob prayed his wife was wise enough to return to her hiding place.
He cautiously lifted his head and laid his ear to the earth so that he could see the road. Several people were walking the street and scouring the area; their heads shifted from side to side as they searched for him. He watched as they left the street and surrounded the boy in the driveway. One lifted the dead thing and cradled it in his arms. With no emotion, it turned around and left, carrying the boy. Shortly afterwards, another left the confines of the house carrying the girl.
Why take them and leave Smitty? Jacob asked himself.
The Others loitered in the area for several minutes, not actively searching but clustered in the center of the street, as if they didn’t know what to do without direction. They moved to the edges of the street, standing near the curb looking out, their eyes watching the surrounding houses. Jacob heard no communication between them, no whispering, no orders, or commands; nobody seemed to be in charge. Eventually, they stopped moving altogether and stood motionless,
