What doesnt kill you, p.18
What Doesn't Kill You, page 18
And Gary Strickland, the man who once bought three hundred lottery pull-tabs to help pay for the church’s new roof, is now simply food.
“What have you done?!” Val screams, clutching the lapels of Emma’s coat.
Emma’s mouth moves. Her ruby-red lips tremble. She has no words, and it only makes Val angrier.
“What did I eat, Emma? What the fuck did I eat when I killed that… that thing?”
“I don’t know,” Emma whispers.
“How could you not know!” She shakes Emma like a rag doll. “You brought it here! What the fuck is it!”
“I don’t know. I thought I knew. I…” Emma cries out, clutching her head. Val lets go, watching the woman fall onto the floor and begin writhing. Her body twitches on the floor as if she’s having a seizure.
Screams echo through the chapel. Inhuman screams. Mr. Connor has moved away from his dead friend, trailing after his fleeing wife. Her hair has fallen over her face, and when she tries to brush it away with one of her honey-coated hands, she only succeeds in pulling out a wad of brunette hairs. She climbs over one of the pews. Mr. Connor hops over, and for a brief second, Val sees the full extent of his transformation: his midsection has ballooned, dark black hairs extending outward and pushing up his old Wisconsin Badgers t-shirt.
He tackles his wife just as she reaches the center aisle.
“No!” Val shouts. She looks around for a weapon and finds the hand axe where she dropped it in the greeting room. She leaps over Emma.
“No…” Emma cries, rolling on the carpet. “No… Get out of my head!”
Val sprints down the center aisle. Her eyes take in the entire chapel, and her brain seems to experience a moment of clarity, recognizing the severely fucked-up situation that this truly is. The monster has built a fucking art installation out of human bones and flesh. Men are turning into insectoid creatures, feeding on the corpses. Black bees are buzzing in the air. And earlier in the night, Val’s most pressing issue was a positive pregnancy test.
What are you doing?
She nearly stops at the sound of the voice in her head. It feels almost… magnetic. It echoes deep inside her body, and her muscles suddenly feel weak. But Val pushes through it, bringing down the axe on Mr. Connor’s head. Black liquid oozes out of his cracked skull. Val stifles the disgust bubbling in her stomach, grabbing what remains of his winter jacket and pulling him off his wife.
Now, finally, when Val sees what Mr. Connor has done, she can no longer deal. She falls back and screams at the top of her lungs.
Waxy honeycomb covers half of Mrs. Connor’s face. Her left eye looks around wildly. Her left nostril flares.
Mr. Connor groans. Wax squeezes out of his abdomen in eight different places, like ooze from a popped pimple. A pair of antennae unfold from the crack in his skull.
What are you doing?
Val reaches down and hits Mr. Connor again and again. She closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to see the violence she’s creating. Just the feel of the axe hacking into soft flesh is enough to make her sick. And the voice—what is the voice? It sounds like the chorus of a thousand devils, whispering so sharply inside her head that her eardrums shudder.
What are you doing?
More screams. Human screams.
Val opens her eyes, giving Mr. Connor’s mangled insectoid head only a passing glance. She looks around—where did the others go? She jumps onto the seat of the second-to-last pew from the back.
There. Near the wall, underneath the stained-glass images of Mary Magdalene and Peter. The two other insectoid men—Tony Wagner and Grady Williams—are lying on top of Emily Wagner and Susan Wright. Applying layers of wax over their heads. Changing them.
Into Queens.
Val has to stop this madness. She turns back to Emma, who’s managed to get to her knees by clutching the last pew. Whatever is wrong with her, she’s responsible for all this.
Val walks toward her.
What are you doing?
“I’m going to kill her,” Val says calmly. She feels no shame in answering the voices. It’s no more insane than anything else currently happening, for Christ’s sake.
No.
Emma looks up as Val approaches. Her bloodshot eyes are glassy with tears. She must have bitten her cheek because blood is leaking down the corner of her mouth.
“Can you hear them?” she gasps.
Val raises the axe. Black bees swarm around her, landing on her face, crawling over her skin.
No.
“They’re singing,” Emma says. “Can you hear them?”
Val brings down the axe. She closes her eyes so she can spare her memory the sight of Emma’s cracked skull.
Val’s muscles tense, and she feels a sharp pain in her elbow. Her arm stops mid-swing. She opens her eyes.
The axe is inches from Emma’s horrified face.
No.
27
Temptation
Danny lets Deputy Micah take the gun from him.
“Good boy,” Micah gasps. Behind him, Clark has turned on a flashlight, illuminating the center of the room where the monster lay with its hive-head split open. Danny can see a cut on Deputy Micah’s neck that’s bleeding pretty bad. Danny feels sick to his stomach, but he doesn’t want to throw up. He wants to get as far away from the monster as he can. But Melanie is still hugging him so tight that he can’t move.
And Garrett is still laughing. “Good job!” he says. “You had me worried there for a while. Not to brag, but I took it down without any help.”
“My God,” John whispers. “Clark… what are you doing, brother?”
Clark crouches down, hiccups, then immediately loses his balance and collapses. His hand lands right on the creature’s head. When he pulls it out of the gaping cavity, it’s coated in golden honey that oozes down in long ropes. “Look at this.”
“Clark,” comes Tiff’s squeaky voice.
“Everybody,” says Micah. “Everybody just—Garrett would you shut the fuck up!”
Garrett stifles his laughter. Danny hates him. He could have helped. He could have shut the door. He let the monster inside. He just watched as it attacked the deputy.
“Light those candles,” Micah tells Garrett. “John, can you close the door?” He snatches the flashlight off the floor and shines it on the creature’s caved-in head. Danny doesn’t want to look, just like he never wants to look when monsters kill people in horror movies. But he always ends up looking.
There’s no gore. No blood. Just translucent, golden honey dripping from Clark’s hand as he digs in. He brings his hand to his mouth before Deputy Micah can stop him.
“Oh my God,” Clark slurs. He begins laughing. “Holy shit.”
“You feel it, don’t you?” Garrett asks.
“You can come out, Davey!” John calls. “Whatever it is, it’s dead.”
Father George’s office door opens. Davey steps out, rubbing his arms. He slinks closer, keeping as close to the check-in desk as possible. “What the hell is it?”
Clark mumbles something. The words are lost in the sticky honey. He reaches in to grab more.
Deputy Micah starts to say, “Shit, man…”
“I can feel it!” Clark shouts. “I can feel it inside me! God, it’s the sweetest honey I’ve ever tasted!” His slurring has disappeared. With the flashlight on him, Danny can see the whites of his eyes. They look almost neon.
“You can all have it,” Garrett says. “It’s a gift.”
“It’s a fucking monster,” Tiff whispers. She’s come out from behind the couch, kneeling behind Deputy Micah and pressing a hand to his bloody neck. “It could have killed you, deputy.”
“It’s a person,” Micah says. “Or was.” He dips his hand into the hive, shining the flashlight. He plucks a chunk of honeycomb. Danny’s mouth has begun to water. He licks his chapped lips.
“Taste it,” Garrett says. Danny looks up and sees the young man is staring right at him, his eyes wide and… and seductive. Danny wipes the sticky honey off his face. He holds his fingers in front of his face.
“Danny, don’t,” Melanie whispers.
“It’s just honey,” Danny says. He’s not really saying it for Melanie’s sake. He doesn’t know why he just said that. Is he trying to convince himself? Yes. Yes! He wants so badly to lick it off his fingers. But he needs to convince himself. There’s something about it that he can’t quite explain. Something keeping him back.
It’s dark out. It’s night. That’s it! Honey is for toast or pancakes or waffles. It’s a breakfast thing. That’s why he’s hesitant. And now that he knows, he can have a taste, guilt-free.
But your sister. Val. This thing—it might have killed Val.
Just a taste. Just to get the goo off his fingers while it’s still warm.
A strong hand grabs his wrist.
“Wait.”
Danny looks up. It’s John. The man crouches down. “All of you, wait.”
Danny looks around to the other adults for confirmation. They’ve all gathered around now. They’re all staring into the cracked hive-head. Even Deputy Micah looks like he wants to dig in.
John removes his scarf. He scoops up some snow that’s accumulated near the front door, then uses the wet scarf to wipe the honey off Danny’s fingers. He spits on it, then wipes the rest off Danny’s cheek the way Ma used to wipe chocolate off his face when he was younger. He feels an intense anger at this man. This… this alcoholic. Who is he to tell Danny what he can’t do? He helped kill the monster.
He’s a hero.
“Just take one taste, I swear,” mumbles Clark. His grin is all yellow. “Something’s in this.”
“Something’s in it, all right,” John says. “This is temptation right here. This is everything Father George warned us about.”
“You fucking idiot,” Garrett snarls. “This isn’t crack. It’s a gift.”
“It’s just another high,” John says. “Call it a gift or call it by any other name you want. This,” he points to the hive, “is the temptation we’ve been preparing for.”
Clark laughs. Honey oozes out of his mouth. “Listen to him! Mr. High and Mighty, always ready with an answer that connects everything to God!”
“And this,” John says, waving at hand to Clark, “is the face of an addict.”
“You better shut your mouth,” Clark growls. Danny’s hand goes to Melanie’s. His muscles tense. Clark’s eyes are so white and wide that Danny is afraid they might pop. “I could kill you right now with my bare hands. I could kill every single one of you.”
“No one’s killing anybody,” Micah murmurs. He’s blinking rapidly, his head flinching as Tiffany applies a bandage to his neck. He looks to Danny, and there’s a strange glimmer in his eyes, almost pleading. As if he’s trying to break a spell.
The honey is practically glistening, illuminated by the flashlight at just the right angle. It looks made of crystals.
“Davey,” John warns. The young man has crept closer.
Clark reaches in and cracks off a piece of honeycomb. He holds it up to Davey. “My man. You’ve been tweaking your whole life. Guys like you never stay clean. You go through the steps, and everyone cheers for you, and then the moment you’re out on your own, boom!” He snaps his sticky fingers. “You’re back at it. Like you never left.”
“Davey, you’re a good man,” John says. “Don’t listen to that bullshit.”
“This,” Clark says, holding up the honeycomb with both hands, the way Father George would hold up the host during Communion, “is all you need. One taste and you’ll have the willpower to give up drugs the rest of your life.”
“You can’t know that,” Tiff whispers.
“Oh, I do.” And Clark’s eyes tell Danny he’s one hundred percent right. It’s such a scary look. Scary because Danny’s never seen someone from Seven Sisters look like that. Scary because it must take so much confidence to own that look. Scary because Danny wants that confidence.
“You don’t need that poison,” John says. “You’ve got us, and you’ve got God, and you’ve got an inner strength. I know it, Davey.”
“I’m a coward,” Davey croaks. He falls to his knees, his glassy eyes inches from the honeycomb in Clark’s hands. “I’m a weak piece of shit. I always have been.”
“John,” Tiff whispers. “John… What if Clark’s right? What if this is our chance to get clean forever?”
“We don’t need it,” John tells Davey. “We have each other. You think it was Father George’s cheesy speeches that got me through my first week? No. It was you two. It was the little things you said to me. You made me feel like a human being again.”
No one speaks for a moment. Danny can hear his heart beating in his ears. Then: Tiff takes a step back, breaking the spell. Davey tucks his hands in his pockets. Deputy Micah blinks hard and shakes his head. Melanie’s hands squeeze Danny’s.
Danny blinks. What happened? Why did he almost lose control? He feels an intense shame for thinking such horrible things about John.
“This is pathetic,” Garrett says. “You have a chance to be your best selves, right here! For the taking!” He snatches the honeycomb from Clark’s hand. “This, right here. One bite and you’ll never doubt yourself again. One bite and you’ll be able to conquer any challenge this shit world throws at you. Why would you give that up?”
No one moves. Melanie’s hands rub Danny’s. Their fingers interlock. Danny still wants so badly to grab the honeycomb, and he thinks Melanie wants it, too. But if they help each other, they can resist it.
“Tiff,” Clark says.
Tiff shakes her head.
Garrett laughs. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for. You think she’s dead? You think a few bullets and a baseball bat can kill her? She’s gonna wake up and kill you all. You people are weak. You’re nothing. You’re gonna die here in this shit town with every other nobody.”
His body flinches.
“Every… other…”
He flinches again. Whatever other insults he had ready, he seems to have lost his train of thought. Danny wonders if he’s suddenly realized what he’s said in the presence of a police officer. Can you get in trouble for saying that kind of stuff?
Clark hacks up a wad of honey and finishes Garrett’s thought: “Every other sad sack of shit who ever lived in this town. God, I hope Father George is dead. I really do. Because—”
He hacks up more honey. A rope of it hangs down his chin.
“He’d be so disappointed,” Garrett finishes, “knowing you passed up a golden opportunity to get clean forever. To actually make something of your lives. You—”
He flinches, more violently this time. His arm twists in a weird way, almost like he has no elbow. Danny looks around; did anyone else see that?
“You’re a real pair of assholes,” Deputy Micah mutters, getting to his feet. “As if this nightmare isn’t fucked-up enough…”
Clark hacks again. His tongue hangs out.
His tongue extends.
Suddenly, Garrett topples over. He cries out. His right hand is still holding onto the check-in desk. His arm… Something is wrong with it. It’s turned black and it’s so long. “Gah-gah-gah,” he croaks.
Micah shines the flashlight on his face.
Everyone cries out. Melanie screams in Danny’s ear.
Mandibles tear through Garrett’s cheeks. First one, then a second.
“Jesus fuck!” Micah reaches down, grabbing Danny’s jacket with one bloody hand, pulling him to his feet and bringing Melanie with. As he does, the beam from the flashlight shifts to Clark. Clark’s white eyes are now bulging, twice as big, stretching his cheeks. Black hairs are sprouting everywhere. His neck looks like it’s blowing a bubble.
Davey tries to run for Father George’s office again. But Garrett reaches out with one long arm and grabs his leg—no, grab is the wrong word because Garett has no hand. Just a single, insectoid claw.
“Davey!” Tiff shouts, stepping hard on Garrett’s arm with her boot.
He lets out an ear-splitting howl.
Strong hands grab Danny’s jacket, pulling him toward the front door. Danny watches in horror as Clark’s head swivels to follow, the eyes growing larger and larger, darker and darker. Clark says something that sounds like “help,” but it gets stuck on the second-to-last consonant— one long, drawn-out helllllllllllllllllllllllll.
John gets the front door open. He shoves Melanie and Danny through, into the blowing snowstorm.
“Run,” he says. “Anywhere but here!”
28
Direction
At the other end of the chapel, Emily Wagner and Susan Wright have stopped screaming. Nearer to Val, the black bees have taken over the work that Mr. Connor was doing, plucking pieces of flesh from the corpses near the chapel altar, eating each morsel, excreting warm wax over the face and head of Mrs. Connor.
Forming.
Sculpting.
“They’re turning us into that creature,” Val tells Emma. The woman in white has become shell-shocked, her mouth hanging open, her wide eyes staring in horror at the transformation happening in the center aisle.
Val kneels in front of her.
“Emma! They’re going to do it to us, too. We have to get out of here.”
She looks wildly up at Val. “Can you hear them? In your head?”
“I don’t know what I hear. But—”
“It’s a chorus. It’s a beautiful chorus.”
“Emma.” She presses her hands to the woman’s cold cheeks, holding her head steady. “How did you get that thing here?”
“I brought it,” she whispers. Her eyes dart left and right, up and down. “I told it where I wanted it to go, what I wanted it to do. I led it into the container. I was in control.”
“Were you?” She squeezes Emma’s cheeks when her eyes begin to roll back. “Emma, stay with me. Are you sure it was your voice in your head?”
“Yes,” she croaks. “It was my idea to bring it here. I wanted to share the gift.”
