Fantastic Metropolis

Apparently, it did. He heard the sound of the small glass pane over the doorknob shatter, and Davey turned his head to look in the direction of the sound. Alan snatched up the pillow that he’d been smothering under and swung it as hard as he could at Davey’s head, knocking him around, and the door was open now, the summer night air sweeping up the stairs to the second-floor bedroom.

“Alan?” It was Curt.

“Curt, up here, he’s got a knife!”

Boots on the stairs, and Davey standing again, cornered, with the knife, slashing at the air toward him and toward the bedroom door, toward the light coming up the stairs, bobbing, Curt’s maglight, clenched in his teeth, and Davey bolted for the door with the knife held high. The light stopped moving and there was an instant’s tableau, Davey caught in the light, cracked black lips peeled back from sharp teeth, chest heaving, knife bobbing, and then Alan was free, diving for his knees, bringing him down.

Curt was on them before Davey could struggle up to his good elbow, kicking the knife away, scattering fingerbones like dice.

Davey screeched like a rusty hinge as Curt twisted his arms up behind his back and Alan took hold of his ankles. He thrashed like a raccoon in a trap, and Alan forced the back of his head down, so that his face was mashed against the cool floor, muffling his cries.

Curt shifted so that his knee and one hand were pinning Davey’s wrists, fished in his pockets and came out with a bundle of hairy twine. He set it on the floor next to Alan and then shifted his grip back to Davey’s arms.

As soon as Alan released the back of Davey’s head, he jerked it up and snapped his teeth into the top of Curt’s calf, just above the top of his high, chain-drooped boot. Curt hollered and Adam reached out and took the knife, moving quickly before he could think, and smashed the butt into Davey’s jaw, which cracked audibly. Davey let go of Curt’s calf and Alan worked quickly to lash his feet together, using half the bundle of twine, heedless of how he cut into the thin, cracking skin. He used the knife to snip the string and then handed the roll to Curt, who went to work on Danny’s wrists.

Alan got the lights and rolled his brother over, looked into his mad eyes. Dale was trying to scream, but with his jaw hanging limp and his teeth scattered, it came out in a rasp. Alan stood and saw that he was naked, his shoulder and bicep dripping blood down his side into a pool on the polished floor.

“We’ll take him to the basement,” he told Curt, and dug through the laundry-hamper at the foot of the bed for jeans. He found a couple of pairs of boxer shorts and tied one around his bicep and the other around his shoulder, using his teeth and chin as a second hand. It took two tries before he had them bound tight enough to still the throb.

The bedroom looked like someone had butchered an animal in it, and the floor was gritty with Darrel’s leavings, teeth and nails and fingerbones. Picking his way carefully through the mess, he hauled the sheet off the bed, popping out the remaining staples, which pinged off the bookcases and danced on the polished wood of the floor. He folded it double and laid it on the floor next to Davey.