Jacob lay with his head in the soil, afraid to move. He could feel insects crawl across his neck, and leaves tickled his nose, but he didn’t dare move for fear that he’d alert the black-eyed things standing in the center of the street. Gunshots followed by a woman’s scream sounded far in the distance; the things’ heads lifted all at once as if a switch powered them on. In unison, they turned and took off in the direction of the sound. Soon after, Jacob heard the high-pitched wail that he knew was their call, followed by the rumble of an attack. He crawled along the perimeter of the house until he was clear of the bushes, then scrambled for his garage door.
He made it inside then closed and bolted the door shut mere moments before losing his stomach onto the cement floor. His eyes watered as he gagged and coughed while pacing the room. He stopped beside the small steps leading to his house; he sat there collecting himself, but when he went to wipe his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, he noticed the boy’s blood. He looked down and saw it was on his hands and clothing. It clung to his fingers. It wasn’t red or sticky, or anything at all like he would expect the texture of human blood to be. He quickly pulled off the black hoodie and tossed it to the center of the room. He looked at his hands and saw that the black, greasy stains were still on his fingers.
Jacob grabbed a rag from a workbench and scrubbed his hands with a bottle of solvent. The greasy blood clung to his skin and tingled. He used the rag and scrubbed at his palms; the blood finally came off as a single rubber-like glob that then curled back on itself. With disgust, he let it drop to the floor. Jacob’s curiosity peaked, and he quickly retrieved the sweatshirt. He looked at the rest of the bloodstains, watching them shrink and retract like a heavy rubber film that was dry rotting as he watched. After a couple minutes, he was able to grab it by the edge and completely remove it from the sweatshirt. He lifted it and dropped it to the floor where it changed from the greasy black to an ashen gray.
“What the hell?” he muttered as he scuffed the remaining traces of it away with the toe of his boot. “What is this stuff?”
He dug through his pocket for his keys and re-entered his home. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into the comfy sofa in the far room and pretend everything was back to normal. Jacob shook away the thoughts, knowing Laura and Katy would be anxious after watching him disappear and not knowing where he went. Jacob dragged his tired legs up the stairs and pulled down on the attic hatch in a pre-arranged knock. After a moment, he heard the board slide away and when the ladder dropped, he saw his wife looking down at him over the sights of the rifle.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she said quietly.
Jacob nodded and quickly climbed the ladder, pulling it up behind him and barricading it. He reached out for her while still in the attic, grabbing her hands then embracing her in a tight hug.
She looked up at him. “I’m sorry I shot the gun… I didn’t know what else to do—its eyes… they were so black,” she cried.
Hugging her and trying to calm her, he said, “I know… You did the right thing, Laura. There was another one inside; I might not have gotten away if you hadn’t fired.”
They sat silently in the attic until Jacob removed the backpack and indicated for Laura to lead the way back into the rooms below. They moved into the bathroom and sat on the floor, leaning against the tub while he dumped the contents of the bag and separated the sports drinks. “It’s not a lot, but we can drink water and save these for Katy. They’ll help with her dehydration; at least until her fever drops.”
Laura picked up the items, sorting them into piles. “She still isn’t speaking,” Laura whispered. “I’m scared.”
“I know; so am I. It must be the stress. She has been through a lot,” Jacob said. “She’ll be okay once we get out of here and to some place safe. We just need to care for her and make her comfortable until then.”
Laura nodded her head in agreement and tried to hide her tears. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse then opened one of the drinks, poured the liquid into a small sippy cup, and left the bathroom. Jacob followed her out and while Laura helped the girl drink, Jacob walked to the bedroom window. He saw the rifle propped against the wall and looked down at the brass shell casings littering the carpet. Jacob removed the magazine and locked back the bolt, removing a round. He grabbed a yellow box from his nightstand, reloaded, and charged the weapon before leaning it back against the wall.
“What are they?” Laura whispered, not looking up from her task at hand. “Those weren’t kids down there.”
Jacob walked away from the window and sat on the bed, reloading his pistol. “I don’t know. The girl… she looked familiar, but when I spoke to her… her eyes… and the way she reacted to me. I didn’t even hear her until she was right behind me.”
“I don’t know where they came from. I was watching the street and then suddenly, they were there. I watched the girl go into the house. I wanted to warn you… I didn’t know how. The boy—that was the Emerson's son. His little sister, Mia, used to ride Katy’s bus. He looked up at us and I know he couldn’t see me, but through the scope—I saw his eyes, Jacob, they were so dark, like there was nothing
