Collection by John Rector Page B

in the driveway.  
    Mattie sat for a moment, watching them get closer.   Dark shapes, silhouetted against a burning pink sky.   She leaned forward and turned on the headlights.
    Now there were faces, and Mattie recognized each one; neighbors, classmates, friends.   The woman closest to the Jeep was wearing a pink and yellow waitress dress that Mattie knew from the Dinner Diner in town.   Her skin looked rough, like asphalt, and her lips were dried and shriveled back away from her teeth.  
    She was smiling.
    Her right arm had been snapped just above the elbow, and a thin shard of bone showed from under the short yellow sleeve of her dress.   Her left arm hung to her side, weighted down.   She was carrying something, but Mattie couldn’t tell what it was.  
    When she got closer, Mattie saw the diaper.
    The woman was holding the child by one badly dislocated arm.   Its face was gigantic, bloated purple and black.   The eyes were gone, and its head, unattached from muscle or bone, rolled sickly between its shoulders.   In the halo of the headlights, Mattie watched the child twitch, the mouth opening and closing, empty and silent.
    Mattie couldn’t move.   She was aware of others coming up the driveway, out of the corn, all moving toward the house.   She wanted to scream.   She wanted to drive.   She wanted to head north, to take Nathan and just go.   She’d promised her father.   She’d promised Nathan.
    She’d promised Nathan.
    Something hard hit the rear window, and Mattie looked back.   One of them was behind her, slamming his head against the glass.   Mattie put the Jeep in reverse and backed up fast, into the garage.   He held on, and when they hit the wall, a wet smack covered the window.
    Mattie looked back.   The glass was coated with a slow, black ooze.   Through it, in the dimmed red glow of the taillights, the man slumped against the jeep.  
    Mattie grabbed the gun and got out.   She inched her way along the wall toward the door, never taking her eyes off the man.   When she got closer, the man’s head rolled back, his eyes focused on her.  
    She stared at him, and for a moment neither of them moved.   Then the man opened his mouth and screamed.   The sound started slow, building, growing louder, reminding her of the tornado sirens that sounded in the spring, sending everyone underground.
    Mattie looked up, toward the driveway.   The others were getting closer, and she reached for the doorknob and went inside.   When she closed the door behind her, the screaming stopped.  
    Everything was quiet.
    She made sure the door was locked, then lifted the gun and walked through the kitchen toward the front of the house.   There was a low scraping noise coming from outside, and she tried to block out the sound.
    When she got to the entryway, Mattie looked up at the bedroom door.   It was half open, and as she climbed the stairs she watched for movement in the room.   There was nothing.   Her legs felt weak, and she balanced herself against the railing as she went.   When she reached the top, Mattie held the gun against her shoulder and stepped inside.  
    The bed was empty, and for a moment she felt certain Nathan was behind her.   She backed up, lost her footing, and came down hard on the floor.   The gun fired into the ceiling, and dust fell in shards around her.   Mattie slid back against the wall, pushing herself to her feet.  
    As she stood, she saw him on the other side of the room, staring at her, only his eyes visible over the top of the mattress.   Downstairs, she heard glass break, and she knew they were inside the house.   Mattie ignored the sound and walked slowly around the bed toward Nathan.   When she got closer, her breath caught in her throat.  
    She didn’t recognize him.  
    Nathan’s face was the color of tar and covered with flies.   His skin leaked dark fluid, which ran down his neck and swelled into a stain on his shirt.   The smell was terrible.   His