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will drag it back to the house with him and then he will show it why it shouldn t have
fucked with him. The running is a little slower and he is accosted by two more slags.
Swinging out the leg that already has the slag attached, he fends them off. They tumble
away and begin fighting amongst themselves. If only he could turn all of them against
each other.
4.
Finally, he reaches the house, practically throwing himself inside. He is weak with
blood loss and pain. The blood, at least, he will be getting back at dinner.
Holding the gun by the barrel, he bashes at the slag s head and mouth, not really
caring that he occasionally slips and bashes himself in the shin. The most important thing
is separating himself from this parasite. Once it releases its grip on his leg, Darren pulls
Luke from his pocket, flicks it past a couple of sparks until there is flame and then holds
the flame to the two gaping holes on his leg, cauterizing them. He clenches his teeth
together and grunts, spewing forth every curse he knows.
He looks at the slag on the floor and knows he will have a feast tonight. Maybe
it will be the highlight to an otherwise disappointing day. Until he remembers the taste.
He can t imagine that taste magnified to the size of this thing. He almost thinks he would
prefer to eat a steaming pile of his own shit.
Eventually, he does eat the giant slag. He eats little bites at a time. They are
heinous and he thinks he would rather be dead. Still, long after the thing has rotted, he
continues to eat. Luke chars little bite-size pieces, dulling the taste.
Luke gets sick, spitting out little sparks before producing a low flame. Darren is
sure to use Luke s dying breaths to get a nice fire started in the fireplace. He has been
lazy about this the past few days. One day, Luke stops producing a flame. Darren figures
that is pretty much the death of the lighter. He puts him in the pocket of his stinking
jeans. Occasionally, he pulls him out and flicks him, hoping he will kick out a flame,
however small.
5.
More and more, Darren holds the gun. It is a hefty little Glock that isn t really so
little. Darren names the gun Gary. Gary the Glock, he thinks it has a nice ring to it.
Will he ever use it?
He doesn t know. He has left one bullet in there for a reason but he continues to
hold on to some dying hope.
The slags continue to grow until they become giants. Some of them are nearly as
tall as the house and Darren figures any chance he has of escape is over. Even worse, they
seem to know he is in the house. They circle hungrily, pressing their sick little snouts to
the windows and sniffing. Jesus, he thinks, if you re going to take me just come in and do
it.
He sleeps more and more. Every day seems gray. The ocean is an endless
rhythm, lulling him to sleep. He has lost so much weight he can encircle his biceps with
his hand.
One morning, he is awakened by the house shaking. He doesn t know what is
going on. He doesn t really want to know what is going on but he figures it out anyway.
The slags are lifting the house from its moorings. At first, he wants to believe they are
taking him to the tent. The house and the tent, what a lovely romance, he thinks. But he
isn t going toward the tent. He is going toward the ocean. They walk him out and release
the house. Careful to make sure he still has Gary, Darren scrabbles up to the attic, out the
window and onto the roof.
It is kind of like a boat. He is a captain, going out to sea. No. It is more like a
Viking funeral and he thinks about touching Luke to the shingles to see if they will burst
into flame until he remembers Luke is dead.
The lapping waves drag him directionally toward the tent but further out to sea.
He looks longingly at the opening of the tent. Yes. He is sure he can see fabulous things
inside. At this very moment, he is sure he sees a woman, a beautiful woman with long
blond hair, pass through the flaps and stare out at the violent sun bursting over the ocean.
Darren looks at Gary. Sinister Gary. Blessed Gary. Gary with his promises to
make all of this go away. Then he looks at the tent.
He dives into the ocean and swims.
6.
He tries to keep the figure on the beach in focus but the waves are choppy and
he s swimming more or less one-handed, trying to keep Gary above the water. He doesn t
think Gary will like water much at all. He desperately plunges his legs into the water,
trying to find purchase but he just goes under, sucking the salty water into his mouth. He
rises above the water and coughs.
The beach comes back into view. He must be about fifty feet out. If the figure is
still there he can t see her. It s possible she is covered up by the slags standing on the
beach. There are at least ten of them.
Shit.
Darren figures he has two choices. He can either give up where he is and let the
sea reclaim him, take him for good. Or he can reach the beach and use the one bullet he
has left to shoot himself in the head. Provided Gary will even shoot. The waves take him
under again and he bobs to the surface and vomits out the ocean water.
He rolls over onto his back and relaxes. There isn t really any reason to be in a
hurry to reach the beach since it will most likely mean death. Lying on his back and
looking up at the blue sky is more relaxing and it feels more productive. With each tug of
the waves, he goes shooting toward shore. He looks at his house out in the ocean. He
figures there must be slags out here too. They re everywhere. He s known that for a very
long time. He feels stupid for getting his hopes up.
He tries to stand again and this time, his feet find the rough sand. He turns
around and walks toward the beach. Even from here, he can tell the slags are twice as tall
as he is. They even have fully formed arms and legs, although they are much thinner than
their bodies. Now they are neither slug- nor maggot-like. They are, if anything, more
human-like.
He presses Gary to his temple and walks slowly toward the waiting line of slags.
Darren hears a loud sound and he jumps and accidentally squeezes the trigger.
7.
Click.
His body goes immediately slack with... was it relief or fear? Didn t he want the
gun to go off? Didn t he want the gun to scatter his brains all over the beach so he didn t
have to face indubitable mauling from the slags?
No.
Because he had heard that other shot and once he recovers from nearly wasting
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