Chapter Nine

Jesus Christ, what were we thinking? We are so fucked. Is this guy even alive?

Dunwoody’s sagging weight made untying the knots nearly impossible. Chuck was all sausage fingers, tugging uselessly at the top knot that secured Dunwoody’s torso to the tall stump. One of the branches kept stabbing Chuck’s back whenever he moved. He was pretty sure it had broken the skin, judging by the faint wetness he felt sliding down his back. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at this point except untying Dunwoody. Chuck could then spend his time waiting for his future to collapse before his eyes.

What he needed was a knife. Mick always had some kind of knife on him. Where was he?

Chuck leaned around Dunwoody and saw Mick trying to get back in the truck, arguing once again with Dredd.

“Mick! Get the hell over here and stop fucking around. I need your knife. Now!”

A tired groan escaped Dunwoody’s lips. At least he was still alive. Maybe the trauma would cause some kind of amnesia. Once they got him back home, they’d plop him on his couch and the rapist would wake up in the morning none the wiser about why his nose was broken and how he had come to be covered in his own waste.

No, they were not going to be that lucky. That was the kind of crap that only happened in soap operas like The Young and the Restless that his mother watched religiously every day at twelve thirty. Amnesia was as common as a cold or barking your shin against the furniture on soap operas.

What had happened today was a total shit show, and amnesia would not be on the menu for the final act.

“Mick!”

That’s when his gaze lit upon Marnie. She was pointing at something behind him, her eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. Her mouth was covered by one quivering hand.

“What is it? Marnie, what’s wrong?”

She wouldn’t answer him. Dredd put the truck in drive and was starting to make a three-point turn.

Chuck stopped worrying at the knot. He turned around.

The scream couldn’t pass the lump in his throat.

People were coming out of the woods, slowly making their way to the makeshift teepee. As the truck turned, the headlights swept over at least a dozen of them.

They were hideous.

In that brief glimpse, Chuck saw deathly pale faces, some with eyes spaced too far apart, others pinched close together, slack-jawed mouths with more gums than teeth, the bone structure of the faces and heads looking as if they’d suffered some kind of tectonic upheaval. Sprigs of ratty hair hung limply from their heads. They wore patchwork clothes that looked like they had come fresh off the assembly line in Mexico around the time Nixon was resigning. Their arms were stretched out, hands grasping, making them look like a swarm of hungry sleepwalkers. Eeriest of all was how little sound they made. If he hadn’t seen Marnie pointing, he never would have known they were coming.

Goddammit, they were real! The Melon Heads were real!

But what people had neglected to mention in their tales of the offshoot of humanity living in the woods was their sheer numbers. An entire village was descending on the teepee.

Chuck spun around to see if any were close enough to grab him. The nearest was maybe fifteen feet away, though with the truck now facing away from him, he’d lost most of the light to see them. He tried frantically to loosen the knot again. “Mick! Your knife!”

Mick was now pounding on the side of the truck with his fist. Chuck wasn’t sure he noticed the Melon Heads.

Even if this knot somehow miraculously came loose, there were still four others to untie. Chuck flicked a glance to either side. They were coming closer. Now he could hear them; the shuffling of their feet through the crackly foliage and worst of all, the smacking of their lips. It made his skin crawl. They really were coming to eat Dunwoody. And if Chuck didn’t haul ass, he was next.

Marnie finally broke her silence, shouting, “Run!”

Something hard as steel dug into Chuck’s shoulder. He was spun around as if he were made of cotton candy.

When Chuck stopped, he was looking down at a woefully deformed person. Their sex was unfathomable because the face was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, the loose clothes revealing no clues. It opened its mouth wide and the stench that emanated from that maw made Chuck’s eyes water. It grasped his arms to hold him in place, reared its head back and slammed its face into his chest. His flesh was pinched hard enough to elicit a sharp and terrified yelp.. His only saving grace was that this Melon Head had no teeth. That didn’t stop it from suckling at him through his shirt, its hard jaws locked on him like a vise.

The teepee sticks crackled as Melon Head bodies pressed against it. Dear god, they were surrounding him.

Chuck flexed his arms, loosening the Melon Head’s grip. He took two big strides, the Melon Head still latched onto his chest like an enormous sucker fish. More hands shot out and tried to grab hold of his arms, his hair, his legs. He looked down for a moment and saw a child Melon Head with bulbous protrusions on each side of its skull lying flat on the ground, grasping for his ankle while moving like an inchworm, its back rising and falling, gaining ground on him. Even though it was small and young, he kicked at it, connecting with its lower jaw. The Melon Head didn’t make a sound. It rolled away, clutching the lower half of its face. Chuck grabbed the Melon Head stuck to his chest by the sides of its head. It gave out a tiny shriek and mercifully released its mouth hold on him. He tossed the Melon Head aside. It landed on its back and was up on its feet quicker than a cat. It even made a kind of hissing noise at him, its lips and gums red and raw and just plain horrid.

A branch cracked overhead. Chuck jerked his head up and saw they were scaling their way down the trees. They’d been above them the entire time, watching, waiting for their moment to attack.

The gap between him and Marnie quickly filled in with slobbering Melon Heads. So many of them had twisted bodies, hunchbacks, one shoulder dipping low enough to make their frames resemble the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Chuck had a considerable height advantage over even the tallest Melon Head. He saw over them easily. Marnie looked as if she didn’t know whether to help him or run.

“Get to the truck!” he shouted.

With fat tears running down her cheeks, she took one last look at him and ran. The truck was pointed at the path leading far away from this terrible place. Mick had darted in front of the truck, preventing Dredd from leaving…at least for the moment.

A Melon Head tried to take Chuck down from behind. It impotently rolled off him and was swiftly replaced by another. The ones in front went for his arms again. Chuck side-stepped their advance, hip checking a Melon Head in his way, sending it sprawling in the moldy leaves. Another lashed out at him, connecting with his side. It felt like getting hit by a brick. They may have looked weak and broken, but they were strong as hell.

Marnie dashed toward the truck. Dredd revved the engine. Was he going to run Mick over? Chuck ran through the Melon Heads the way Mark Bavaro on the Giants plowed through defensemen. Fingers hooked into the back of Chuck’s belt. He kept his legs moving; the added weight slowed him down but did not stop him. Marnie had made it to Dredd’s door and was slapping her hand on the window, screaming at him to stop and let them in.

A Melon Head dropped from the sky and landed in front of Chuck. This was most certainly a male, as he was completely naked, his flaccid penis stuck to his inner thigh by grime and who knew what other dried fluids. Chuck punched the Melon Head in the throat, staggering it. The Melon Head kept on his feet, one hand on his throat, the other lashing out for Chuck. It got him by the collar, pulled its legs up and started swinging like a pendulum. Having one in front and one in back was more than Chuck could carry. He began to waver, weaving from side to side and front to back. He wasn’t going to make it to the truck. The others were right behind him.

“Mick!”

Mick spun to face him. “Marnie, come here!” Marnie took his place in front of the truck. He’d gone paler than milk. He ran to Chuck, extracting his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans.

It was like running through wet cement. The Melon Heads knew enough to go slack, hoping to drag him completely down so the others could pile onto him. Chuck had thought it sad and ridiculous earlier when Dunwoody had cried out for his mother. He didn’t think that anymore. He and his mother hadn’t been on the best of terms lately, but he would give anything in the world to have her here at this moment. She would save him. She always had.

“Fucking freak,” Mick blurted, awkwardly ramming into the Melon Head that had Chuck’s collar. When he pulled away, there was a fresh, red crater in the Melon Head’s back. A steady stream of blood poured out of the hole. The Melon Head released its grip, trying in vain to touch the wound near the center of its back. When the one stuck to Chuck’s belt saw what had happened, it let go too, scampering to its wounded comrade.

Mick looked down at them, admiring his work. “I just stabbed a real live Melon Head.”

“Let’s go,” Chuck said, feeling hundreds of pounds lighter. He hooked his arm through Mick’s and practically dragged him to the truck. The other Melon Heads stopped once they reached their fallen brother.

Mick scrambled into the truck bed. Chuck called over to Marnie, “Back here!”

She skirted around the truck. For some reason, Dredd didn’t lay down rubber and peel away. Chuck helped her into the truck. A wincing pain in his chest made him hiss. It felt like he had the world’s worst hickey. He dreaded seeing the damage the sucker-Melon Head had wrought upon his skin. He got into the truck and pounded on the roof. “Get us the hell out of here.”

Only Dredd didn’t move so much as an inch.

The Melon Heads gathered around the wounded one. In the dark, Chuck couldn’t see their eyes, but he could feel the hate and hurt just the same. Several more dropped from their hidden branches.

“What are you waiting for?” Mick shouted, hitting the back window with the end of his switchblade.

Leaning over the side of the truck, Chuck was able to see Dredd staring out the window at the cluster of Melon Heads. He looked like death warmed over twice. His mouth hung open in stunned silence.

An instant later, the Melon Heads belted a chorus of wailing that set his teeth on edge. It sounded like every instrument in an orchestra being played out of tune. Marnie grabbed his arm and dug her fingers in deep. A faction of the Melon Heads tore away from the group, loping toward Dunwoody, who had remained out of it the entire time. The moment they bit into his flesh, he came instantly awake with his own matching shriek. As one, the Melon Heads changed their caterwauling to match Dunwoody’s tone.

Chuck felt as if he were going to be sick. Even through the shadows, he was able to watch them pull Dunwoody’s arms off. Wet ropes of gore hung from the stumps. Still Dunwoody cried, and still the Melon Heads matched his lamentations.

“I think you killed him,” Dredd said. He’d rolled the window down halfway and pointed at the Melon Head Mick had stabbed. The truck pulled away from the gruesome scene. “Now we’re all gonna die.”