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Posted By: jallen944 Dec 28, 2004 - 11:19 am

The Cerberus Incident
by Jack Allen

Part 1

He held the sword with both hands and swung it in a flat, horizontal arc. The edge of the blade sunk into the zombie’s neck, and through, and rang like a bell as it cut through the bone. The zombie’s green head rose away from its neck, tumbled in the air once, and plopped into the mud by its feet. The rest of the body stopped in mid-stride, one foot raised, tottering on the other foot.

“That was well done,” a voice behind him said.

Josey Binkle spun, holding the holy sword up in both hands, the tip pointed in the direction of the voice. It was her. He lowered the blade. Behind him, the decapitated body dropped into the mud with a splat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Binkle said.

Harmony jumped down off the fender of the overturned truck. She was wearing black boots that came up to the middle of her thigh, a black skirt that was barely wider than a belt, and a short black jacket that exposed all of her midsection. Her hair was black that night to match.

“We’re supposed to be on the same team, remember?”

She walked past him and bent over to look at the body of one of the zombies. The material of her outfit glistened in the light from the burning truck like some kind of oily liquid that clung to her body in certain spots. Binkle looked away. She wore nothing under the short skirt.

“Good, clean cut. You’re really getting very good at this,” Harmony said.

“Why are you dressed that way?” Binkle put the sword in his duffel bag and pulled the zipper shut.

Harmony turned and walked toward him.

“What, you don’t like it? It’s a new look. All the girls on the seventh level are wearing it.”

She stood beside him, smiling, showing the pointed tips of her teeth. Her eyes glowed dimly in the darkness and the stripes showed faintly through the skin and veins on her cheeks and neck. The demon half of her was strong that night.

She raised the short skirt. He glanced down at the dark hair between her legs.

“Makes it so much easier with all those he-demons around. Want to try?”

Binkle blushed and turned away. Harmony laughed. She put her arm around his shoulder and sniffed.

“You smell nice. What are you wearing?”

“Diesel fuel, or something,” Binkle said.

Her arm dropped from his shoulders. “I like it. Go with it.”

“Why are you here?” Binkle said. He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.

Harmony walked to the truck, which lay on its side. The front wheel was as high as her head. She spun it.

“I came to warn you.”

“About what?

“The dog is loose. You know. The dog?” she said, emphasizing the words.

“Yeah, so?”

She shrugged. “Just wanted to let you know. It might come looking for you. It has a great sense of smell, you know.”

“Yeah, fine, let it find me. I’ll cut its head off. Look, where the hell am I supposed to go from here?”

Harmony’s eyes turned up, studying the stars in the sky over her head.

“Try Chickasaw. I hear they’re expecting company.”

* * * *

The petals of the begonias shredded easily in its claws. The poodle dug into the soil of the flower bed with its front paws, shoveling small scoops between its hind legs like a miniature steam shovel. The dirt stained its pink, dyed fur, but it continued to dig.

The shredded begonias lay in a pile behind it, mixed with the soil. The pile grew higher and the hole grew deeper, until the poodle’s head was lower than its tail.

A hole opened in the dirt under its paws. The poodle backed out. An orange light shined from the hole.

The poodle crouched on its hind legs, raised its head, and howled as loud as it could, ending with a series of yaps. It paused. The light still glowed, growing brighter. The poodle howled again.

The back door of the house opened.

“Shut up, you [word edit. Bmat] mutt,” the man shouted.

The poodle turned, then ducked. A shoe hit the fence by the flower bed.

“And keep quiet.”

The door slammed shut. The poodle waited, its ears up. The door did not open.

Something behind it snapped and the poodle yelped. It looked back. Something had its tail, dragging it backward into the hole. The light was warm, then hot. The poodle dug its claws into the dirt, whimpering, until it disappeared into the hole.

* * * *

Binkle found Chickasaw just twenty miles to the east of the truck crash. It made sense. They had been making their way east for about a month.

Binkle thanked the truck driver for the ride and climbed out of the cab with the duffel bag. The truck drove off, kicking up dust. Binkle looked at the Thurston Motel with his hand on his hip. Already, the place smelled like death.

He dumped his duffel bag in the room and crossed the street to the Friends & Neighbors Party Store. He bought a local paper, the Chickasaw Herald, a six pack of beer and a bag of chips. In the motel room, he dumped it, too, on the bed, turned on the television, sat down and opened a beer.

The tv had only two channels. Both showed porno movies, and the picture was fuzzy on either one. He stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth and tilted the beer to his lips.

The Chickasaw Herald was filled with touchy feely local interest stories. Binkle flipped through each section until he found something useful: The Police Blotter. He scanned the list.

Nothing terribly interesting. A story about a break-in at the video store. A pistol stolen from the back of somebody’s truck. The story at the bottom of the column caught his attention.

Two teenaged kids killed when their car drove off the Cashun Bridge into the Altamoora River. Bodies yet to be recovered. Alcohol suspected.

Binkle folded the paper and threw it by his duffel bag. That was that. Those two kids had to be the company Harmony said this town was expecting. All he had to do was find them before they killed someone.

Chickasaw did not have a hospital. Binkle hiked to the Froggerton Funeral Home, the only one in town. The only person on the menu was an old woman named Hattie Place, looking puffy in her blue dress and blue casket.

Binkle slipped into the back room. Against the wall were three stainless steel examination tables, but there were no bodies on the tables.

“Hey, kid, what are you doing here?” someone said.

Binkle turned to a chubby man in a black suit.

“Uh, I think I made a wrong turn.”

The chubby man frowned. “Be careful where you go around here, young man. This area is off limits to patrons.”

Binkle smiled. “Yes, sir,” he said, and stepped out through the door.

The graveyard was back on the other side of town. He combed up and down the rows of graves. Behind him, the sun was setting behind the trees. He took off his sunglasses and squinted to watch.

He found only two fresh graves. One was still open, with the name Hattie Place on the headstone, and a birthdate from sometime around the turn of the century. The other was for a nine year old girl, and had a picture of her sealed behind glass.

What else was there? The kids weren’t at the morgue, they weren’t in the ground already. What did that leave? The river.

The Cashun Bridge led out of town to the next county. Binkle told the taxi driver to let him off at the near end of the bridge, where the police had set up yellow barrier tape. He waited until the taxi was gone around the far bend and scurried down the gravel slope.

Deep grooves had been cut into the dirt, leading out from the edge of the water. All around that area in the mud were footprints and tire tracks.

Binkle found an old log. The crickets had begun to chirp. The sun was gone behind the trees and the sky was turning purple. He sat down on the log and took out the sword.

Posted By: chowder Jan 05, 2005 - 05:35 pm

Wow, very good. I don't normally read stories like this (the kind of thing that keeps me awake at night), but I did enjoy this one.

Loads of hooks, making the reader want turn the page.

Thanks for sharing.