Hissers by Ryan C. Thomas

restrained her. With her head in Connor’s lap she screamed as Mr. Prudhome hit the glass again, his amber eyes staring at her through the smears of gore. The second madman ran on top of the car, beating the roof with his hands.
    “Go go go!” Nicole urged.
    “My mother…” Connor looked at this father, met his yellow eyes. “Please, Dad, it’s me.”
    The roof of the car dented inward under the force of a pounding fist. Mr. Prudhome swung his arm back to punch the window.
    Connor hit the gas, spinning the tires, watching his father’s bloody fist cocked and loaded. The tires caught and the car bucked forward, the velocity pinning Connor to the seat. His father’s punch landed on the trunk. The man on top fell to the street but got up and started running after them at an amazing speed. Mr. Prudhome came after them as well, both men running as fast as humanly possible. For a split second Connor thought the car might not even outrun them, but the engine shifted and the car hit 30 miles per hour and began to widen the gap.
    He took a right turn onto Asheford without braking and the car skidded sideways, hit a telephone pole on the driver’s side. Connor smashed his head against the side window hard enough to see stars. Thankfully, the seatbelts pulled tight across himself and Nicole, holding them in place. The car straightened out, decreasing speed.
    Nicole shook her head and looked behind them. The two men were still running, still intent on catching them and tearing their flesh off.
    “Just go,” she said. “They’re getting closer.”
    Connor hit the gas again, this time easing the pedal down to avoid a spin out, and did his best to steer the car down the residential street until Mr. Prudhome and the other savage man were lost by distance and darkness.
     
    Saturday, 9:31
     
    The streets were filled with the susurrations of treetops blowing in the summer night breeze. At least Seth hoped to God it was just the leaves making that sound. The alternative was too scary to think about. He and Amanita had left her house almost ten minutes ago, sticking to the front lawns of the neighborhood houses, staying in the shadows. Each house they passed was as dark and ominous as a tomb. Seth imagined himself shrunk down to action figure size and placed in the scenery of the train sets they displayed at the mall each Christmas, only the power had been turned off in this satanic Dickens’ Village.
    “What was that?” Amanita ducked down behind a freestanding trellis supporting a rose bush.
    Seth cocked an ear and felt a shiver run through him. From the end of the street he heard running footsteps and labored hissing. In the darkness they could not see who it was.
    “Don’t even breathe,” he whispered.
    “No shit.”
    The footsteps continued on to another block and were gone.
    “Sounds like there are more and more of them.”
    “You think the people in these houses are home?” Amanita asked.
    “Don’t know, and I’m not knocking to find out. We were in your house long enough for this shit to get over here, obviously.”
    “How much farther is your house? I need to piss.”
    “Why didn’t you do it at your house?”
    “Because I just wanted to leave, okay. Don’t mention my house again.”
    Seth dropped the subject. Ever since leaving Amanita’s house she’d been growing angrier. They’d stuck around for a few minutes and still could find no trace of her parents. The only logical explanation was that they’d run down to the plane crash to be lookie-loos. It had been Amanita who finally suggested they go to Seth’s house.
    “It’s not much farther. Can you hold it?”
    “No, I’m gonna piss my pants right here in front of you. Of course I’m gonna hold it. Why do you think I asked, Einstein?”
    “I dunno, because my mom always goes to the bathroom like every twenty minutes. She says girls can’t hold it like boys.”
    “Well I can. Can we go now?”
    They detached themselves from the trellis,