All-Night Terror Read online

  It broke the surface, crashing into a sliver of moonlight as if on cue. Reptilian eyes glowed red from the sides of his jagged face. Two pointed horns jutted from behind the curved dome of his rounded scalp. His snout flared, and his mouth curled into a razor-blade smile.

  It was about the size of a baby elephant, with a tentacled back of wiggling nubs.

  Somewhere overhead Richie opened fire, while Gunny scurried across the deck with an M60 in his arms.

  Instinct pushed Shane to retreat, but he knew he would be outmaneuvered while in water. He watched the bullets bounce off the monster, and he knew he was better off charging. It might be the only way to catch the thing off guard.

  It squealed with what sounded like surprise as Shane slashed its extended neck and the blade bounced away as if he’d swung at concrete.

  The head snapped down and looked at him with wide eyes as he pushed himself against its neck, hoping it couldn’t angle its mouth that way.

  From the Razorback’s stern, Shane’s partners screamed to get his attention.

  A gust of fresh and powerful air exploded overhead, and the creature screamed so loud that its neck coursed and vibrated.

  Shane wiped his eyes clear and found a harpoon wedged halfway into its head, the tip buried right beneath one of its horns.

  He seized the opportunity and launched himself onto the bed of wiggling protuberances. Gobs of orange slime erupted from the harpoon wound, running down its neck like lava.

  He tried hacking down on the creature’s skull, but the prickly skin seemed impenetrable up here.

  The monster lunged back and forth, trying to shake the harpoon free. Its ferocious growls became whimpers as it tugged the Razorback through the water.

  Shane reached forward and closed his hand around the devil’s damaged horn, prying it free from its fleshy base with all his might.

  They were descending toward the water now, and Shane stabbed the machete through the flesh where the horn had been. He pulled it free and then jammed it back down, feeling the creature’s muscles go lax. In a second it was completely immobile.

  He collapsed atop the neck, the conquering hero.

  Jessica filmed every frame as Richie and Gunny winched him closer and fished him free of the beast.

  “My hero,” she said, ruffling his hair.

  It was the origin of his celebrity, and just like that, they became Monster Raiders.

  ***

  Only it wasn’t going to be that easy this time.

  Jessica was quick to point that out as soon as Shane approached her with the offer.

  “That thing...” She pointed to the flat screen hanging in their bedroom. Live coverage of Skorp’s San Diego assault. The conversation took a temporary pause as the creature brought fists down on a church, crushing the refugees inside, who probably thought God would keep them safe. “...is fifty times the size of the last one.”

  “This is what we do,” Shane said. There was probably more bravado in his words than he’d intended. Really, it was more like desperation, but no one needed to know that.

  The last five years had been good to them. They had a healthy marriage, a successful television show, and countless endorsement deals. There might have been some allegations of fraud concerning his battle in the Atlantic, but there was nothing that could be done about that.

  That creature’s corpse had fallen to the ocean floor once they fished the harpoon cable out. Richie called in a few favors to arrange for transportation, but they were never able to recover it. Because of that mystery, Monster Raiders had more skeptics than fans.

  Shane pled his case to Jessica, but he felt it falling on deaf ears. He argued that the network was throwing every conceivable resource behind Monster Raiders in order to support this hunt. A private military company was ready and waiting for them at Shaw Air Force Base right now.

  Season four was going to chronicle humanity’s last stand. A documentary that would capture every moment of our species’ struggle for survival.

  Can’t. Miss. Television.

  Jessica turned her back on the discussion, stepping onto the terrace that offered a placid view of the Atlantic.

  “If you do this,” she said, “I can’t be a part of it. We have too much to lose.” Her hand gently caressed her round belly.

  “Yeah, and that’s why I have to go,” he said, and left.

  ***

  Skorp’s San Diego siege proved twice as destructive. The creature had charged further inland, obliterating everything it came into contact with.

  The military had driven him back to the ocean, and now every coastal city in the country was being evacuated.

  Shane tried getting the rest of the band back together, but to no avail. Richie and Gunny were no-shows because cell-phone lines across the country were overloaded in the wake of Hurricane Skorp.

  The military company was waiting for him at Shaw Air Force Base, with twelve armored attack helicopters retrofitted with projectile cables like had been on the Razorback.

  The plan might’ve been crazy, but it had worked before.

  “When we get those horns off, we’re going to hit that abomination with every kind of explosive we got,” the commander said.

  “Hope it’ll be enough,” Shane said.

  “If it isn’t, we’re toast. Word is that the government is pulling people out of these cities so they can nuke that thing as soon as it reappears.”

  I have to be the one who kills it.

  Sleep didn’t come easy that night. The cot in the shadowy hangar bay was stiff. He felt miserable for leaving Jessica behind, but the thought of two flattened cityscapes reaffirmed his decision.

  Let’s see them call me a fraud this time.

  ***

  An air-raid siren blazed. It was dawn already. The commander was a silhouette in the hanger’s doorway.

  “Let’s go, FitzRoyce, it’s here.”

  “Where?”

  “Myrtle,” he said.

  Shane was assigned to Chopper 1 with the commander and three other men. Per the network, each helicopter was outfitted with a cameraman to capture the carnage from every angle.

  They were about to lift off when his cell phone vibrated. Jessica was still at home, and he pleaded with her to leave. The coast was about to become an uninhabitable wasteland.

  Jessica sounded breathless. “I’ve got to tell you something first.”

  She was usually the calm one, so this set him on edge.

  “Richie’s dead,” she said. “He was in New York City visiting his sister when that thing attacked.” Jessica didn’t wait for him to grieve. “There’s more. Network says Gunny was scouting some shooting locales in San Diego. He’s gone too, Shane.”

  There had been two attacks so far, and one of his guys had died in each. Now Skorp was headed for Myrtle. Had it somehow made this personal?

  Jessica started screaming, and in that instant he had his answer.

  ***

  The mansion was a smoldering ruin when Skorp lifted the squirming enemy into his palm. He studied her tiny expression before dropping her into his mouth.

  His teeth came down and punctured her body, crunching her bones, and then he rolled her liquefied remnants down the back of his throat.

  She tasted like justice.

  The creature lifted his snout to the sun. There’s only one left.

  Approaching helicopters were dark blotches in front of a sun-blazed horizon.

  Since the day his son’s defeated body plunged beneath the waves and his clan willed it back beyond the door, he knew only revenge. The thought twisted around in his brain every day on the journey from his world to this one.

  The helicopters approached and unleashed a hail of projectiles. A predictable strategy, one he expected having experienced the slaying of his overly curious child through his mind’s eye.

  Harpoons rained down, a few sticking just beneath his skin. Most bounced harmlessly off him, plummeting into the ruins below.

  Sko
rp roared and tugged the cables, yanking half the helicopters with them. Two of the helicopters collided with each other, exploding in midair, while another three hurdled toward earth, exploding into twisted hunks of metal.

  The one he wanted—the one carrying him—was quick enough to release the cord, separating it from the cable’s restriction.

  Skorp followed, angry, while rows of houses beneath him smashed apart like matchstick homes.

  The bird was over the Atlantic now, and six more followed, a torrent of explosives bouncing off Skorp’s crown.

  The main copter circled back around, and Skorp smashed his finned arm against his scaly chest, unleashing a war cry so loud the water became massive waves.

  It was coming right for him.

  Let it end.

  ***

  The commander screamed something about Shane being out of control before he leapt from the vehicle and screamed, on his way to a watery grave.

  The pilot hung on, probably because Shane had a revolver tight against his temple.

  “Get as close to his mouth as you can.” Shane’s scream sounded far gone, even to his own ears.

  All that mattered now was that he killed it. If they could get close enough, they were going to fire a few rockets straight into the fucker’s mouth.

  Skorp swatted at them, but the pilot had expected it, throttling out of the way and taking position alongside one of its blood-red eyes.

  “Fuck it,” Shane said, and clamped a hand over the controls, inching the propeller blades toward the eye until they tore into the socket.

  The gunship rattled and shook, and the blades broke apart with a horrifying screech of metal against scale.

  They were hurtling toward the waves, and the screams of the others made it impossible to hear anything else.

  It was like smashing into a brick wall, and the bodies bounced around the cabin like bloody pinballs. Shane found his impact blunted by the now-crushed body of a trooper, but there was no time to be thankful. He waded into the water, finding it shallow.

  The shore was a few feet away, and he trudged forward, collapsing onto the island’s beach and glancing back at the mangled fuselage.

  He saw the remaining six choppers hovering around Skorp, his flailing tentacles preventing any from getting too close. Surely they noticed him down here.

  Skorp sure did. Their eyes locked across what must’ve been a three-hundred-foot difference in height, and he came spearing through water, lowering his neck as he approached so Shane could see his face straight on.

  Shane felt naked and defenseless. The crew of the Razorback wasn’t behind him this time, and he knew now that leaving with Jessica would’ve been the smart thing, the fair thing.

  The six choppers broke off from the attack formation and retreated into the horizon, as Skorp closed the distance between them. He was close enough now that Shane could touch his snout with his fingertips.

  The monster opened his mouth, and Shane saw severed and dangling appendages in his teeth.

  A whistle came from overhead, faint at first but growing louder by the second. Shane looked to the sky and saw nothing. At least the helicopters had pulled out for reasons other than cowardice. Part of him hoped they had all the footage necessary to make him a hero.

  There’s no way they cleared the detonation range in time. No one was going to know what happened here.

  Skorp flashed another quick smile as the razor teeth came forward and took Shane, slicing through his chest. The sky was blinding white all around, and he had only a second to regret everything before the flames enveloped them both.

  Intermission #2

  The gun went off, and the old man dropped out of frame, leaving Count Mort standing behind him with a smoking pistol in hand. His makeup was sweat-streaked. Black tears stretched down his cheeks and over his lips.

  The camera zoomed in, like it couldn’t get the fresh victim out of the frame fast enough. Now there was only Count Mort, and he was screaming at someone off camera.

  “You ask them how many more I have to kill before they realize I’m serious. Now tell those fuckin’ cops to shut up. I’m putting on a show here, and all their yapping is ruining it.”

  How had the cops not stopped this by now? It had been going on for hours.

  Unease tightened around Danny like a vise. This wasn’t an act; he’d figured that out after the second break.

  It felt too natural and unrehearsed. The way the body just slumped over like that, there hadn’t been anything theatrical about it. It reminded him of the time he convinced the video-store clerk to let him rent Faces of Death for a sleepover. Everyone watched the movie, but he sensed it was more because no one wanted to be the guy that looked away, although it had been grim silence for 105 minutes. A lot of nervous laughter had filled the air while their popcorn went unmunched.

  This was a lot like that, only Danny didn’t feel like laughing tonight.

  Tania had tried telling him that Faces of Death wasn’t real, but how would she know? She was a girl. What did they know about stuff like this?

  He almost wished she were here now—beer breath and all—to make those same kind of assurances about Count Mort. He was freaked out enough that he just might believe her, would need to believe her.

  The basement was usually cool, but it felt hot and oppressive tonight. Danny stood up and shook popcorn from his lap while he tried walking off the tension.

  “So, darling viewer,” the count’s voice resumed with that now-familiar community-theater level of theatricality. “Are you ready to continue our macabre journey?”

  Danny froze. It was as if the question had been pointed squarely at him. He turned toward the TV, and his heart rate quickened. Count Mort faded out before he had a chance to answer, and there was a second of black before a washed-out image wobbled on-screen.

  It felt a bit strange easing back into the escapism promised by this third feature, but it brought a welcome break from Count Mort.

  Danny knew he had roughly ninety minutes before he had to face reality again.

  It was either that or stop watching and go to bed. But he wasn’t sleeping, not tonight.

  Incident at Night

  The girl pushed through the doors, blood-caked and screaming for help.

  “He killed my friends, and now he’s coming for me!”

  Her urgency jolted Chad off the stool, causing him to spill cherry Icee into his lap and spatter it across the register keys. His shorts were sticky with syrupy ice chips, and he reached for a roll of paper towels at the same time the girl’s hand clasped around his wrist.

  “Please, mister. You’ve got to help me!”

  Her touch was rough, the result of chapped and scraped hands. Her glossy green eyes were hysteric, and her cheeks were stained with splotches of enflamed pink.

  No one had ever called Chad “mister” before, and he believed he liked the sound of it.

  “Call someone,” she cried out, jostling him from his cloudy high, his thoughts lost in a sea of honorifics.

  “Fuck me,” the girl said. “Are you high?”

  She bent over the counter, knocking aside Hershey’s and Butterfingers while reaching for the phone.

  Chad felt momentary shame for taking the opportunity to ogle her. But she was cute. A dark denim skirt clung to her shapely figure, matched by a white T-shirt that plunged at the neckline. A coat dangled off her shoulders, caked in crimson streaks. Muddied black boots encased her feet, and she pushed up on the tips of them in order to get the receiver.

  “It’s dead,” she screamed, smashing a hand down on the counter. “The phone’s dead!” She whipped her head toward the entryway and then over to Chad. “Where’s your car? You have one, right? You have to have one.”

  He felt no pride in admitting that he did not. You kind of needed wheels to go anywhere beyond the bowling alley in Western Massachusetts. He’d been smacked with his third DUI a few months back, and Dad took away the car at the same time he lost his license.
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  That’s right, ladies, I’m available.

  The girl hurled another expletive over the crackly Moody Blues song on the intercom and headed back the way she came, skidding on the balls of her feet as a pair of headlights grew out of the dark.

  Chad saw the lights too. Panic fluttered all the way up his chest. His heart raged and his arms shook. Whatever this was, he wanted no part of it. There were horror stories about the meth trade out in Baldwinville. Sure, this girl looked far too healthy and pretty to dabble with that kind of body rot, but anything was possible.

  The truck idled on the edge of the parking lot, seemingly reluctant to come any further.

  They froze, and Chad felt he was a split second away from panicked flight.

  “We can try the police on this.” He lifted his hand to show his cell phone. “Never been much of a signal out here.”

  “Do it.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off the headlights.

  The engine grumbled as the PA system switched between songs, the innocuous music adopting a sinister vibe in light of recent events.

  “Actually...” She snapped her fingers. “Come here.”

  He didn’t want to, but Chad was surprised to find that beautiful women retained their allure even in the direst circumstances. She pointed to the doors.

  “Lock them.”

  He went behind the counter and grabbed the keys, returning to the dirt-streaked glass and locking the doors firmly in place. He wasn’t sure about this, though. There weren’t many paying jobs out in these parts, which was why he needed to keep this one. Chad had been fired from almost all the others and was running out of chances to prove to his parents that he wasn’t a royal screwup.

  Besides, he really wanted an Xbox One.

  What if this was all some kind of meth-head ruse to rob the place? Of course they’d send in the pretty girl to offset his suspicions.

  But maybe she just needs help.