In Laymon's Terms

“You know,” Steve said as they approached the steps, “I read a story once where these people found an old body with a stake in it in a ghost town like this.”

“This is supposed to make me want to sleep in here?” Alison stopped to tie her shoe while Steve went off to peek in what remained of the window.

“No.” He adjusted his sunglasses. “Just saying we might find something cool.”

The boy ran off the pavement and into the desert, loping on hands and feet, oblivious to the heat of the ground, the prickly plants he trampled, the rocks he kicked. He ran toward Kylie and the others, nose still full of that delicious scent.

Inside was slightly cooler but full of stale air. A counter ran the length of the side wall. It was hard to tell what color it originally was but it was now faded to the same nothing as the rest of the place. Broken pieces of furniture were strewn on the floor along with shards of glass.

“We’re gonna have some clean up,” Alison said. “I vote we just pitch the tent.”

Steve nodded. “Agreed.”

“I’ve gotta pee. Will you be all right without me for a few minutes?”

“You want me to go with you?”

“You want to watch me pee? That’s disgusting!”

“No, dufus, I just don’t know if we should split up.”

“Why, is someone going to watch me—like the people in that car?” She pointed out the back window to an old red car leaning heavily to the right. It was missing the driver’s door and the front seat. From the dirt and muck covering it, it looked like it had been there quite a while.

“All right, smart ass. You want to go, then go. But hurry up. I want to check out the rest of this place before we make camp.”

She kissed him on the cheek and said in her best Arnold voice, “I’ll be back.”

Despite what she had said to Steve, she looked around before going around the side of the building and lowering her pants. Should have gone to the car for toilet paper first, she thought. Her pockets held nothing except a few dollars and her ATM card, and the knife. Maybe she’d go back to the car, anyway, and grab a couple of sodas. They could sit on the porch and drink them. The thought of cool carbonation was too much to resist. She pulled up her pants and turned.

Someone was at the car.

At first she thought it was a shadow, dark and low to the ground, but then it moved.

Alison remained completely still, watching as it made its way around the back of the vehicle, then she ran as quietly as she could inside to get Steve.

He was upstairs and she hurried, sticking to the sides of the rickety steps in hopes they didn’t collapse. “Steve,” she whispered loudly. “Steve, do you have the keys?”

He walked out of one of the rooms and jangled the pocket of his baggy shorts. “Sure, they’re right here. But, didn’t we leave it open? What’s up?”

“Shh! There’s someone at the car.”

“What do you mean there’s someone at the car?”

“Someone’s at the car. I saw them slinking around the back.”

He stepped past her and went down the stairs, grabbing a table leg from the floor on his way out. She followed.

Alison waited on the porch steps as Steve approached the car, table leg held behind his back. There was a noise behind her and then she was falling off of the porch and onto her right knee. Pain shot up and she rolled to the side clutching her bent knee.

“Alison!” Steve turned to come back to her but a naked man crawled out from under the car. He was at least six inches taller than Steve, who stood a stocky five-eight, and wiry. He seemed composed entirely of thin muscle. He growled deep in his throat, and as Steve looked up he saw that the guy’s eyes were red. They glinted in the reflecting sun.

“Steve?” Alison was worried. She sat up, cradling her knee and tried to rise. She wanted to go over to Steve and put her arms around him, pull him away from the crazy man.

The boy ran excited circles in the street, tongue hanging out, as Alison struggled to her feet.

The man lunged at Steve.

The pair fell in a mass of flailing limbs. Steve struck out against the man’s side with his makeshift club, but it didn’t seem to affect him. The man scratched with surprisingly long nails, tearing trails down Steve’s side. Steve pushed forward in a panic, feeling with surprise that the fight was exciting the man. He pushed up at the man’s chest, dropping the useless table leg, and was surprised when his hand slipped. The man’s chest was now covered in fine, oily black fur.

Alison limped over and plunged the tiny blade of her knife into the sun-browned skin. She pulled it out and struck down again but was knocked backwards by the boy who jumped her from the side.

Steve grabbed the man’s face and pushed, hoping to break or at least damage something enough to make the man back off. Instead he looked at Steve with something like a smile. His smile was distorted, teeth impossibly long, eyes glaring red and angry.

He bit down on the hollow of his neck.

Steve screamed in agony as the man, now a wolf, chomped. Again and again.