Hissers by Ryan C. Thomas Page A

waited behind a parked car for a few seconds, then ran to the next house. They kept up that pattern for a couple more blocks.
    “That’s my house. Right there.”
    “Wait!” Amanita grabbed Seth and yanked him down flat to the ground. “Look.”
    In the yard across the street from Seth’s house, two twitchy adults were huddled over what looked like a pair of legs wearing black and white Chuck Taylor sneakers. The top half of the body was missing. The two men tore at their prize with slashing, bloodied nails. When they flipped their head’s back and grunted into the air, their teeth were stained with darkness, strips of fresh, human meat dangling like spaghetti down their chins.
    “I’m gonna puke,” Amanita said.
    “I think that’s Mr. Farrell. He always wears those sneakers. He thinks he’s still living in the sixties.”
    Amanita put her head down and spoke into the grass. “Who’s that? Who’s Mr. Farrell?”
    “Just my neighbor. Oh jeez, he’s…he’s dead.”
    “Ya think! Where the hell are his head and arms?”
    “They’re really eating him. I mean look, their swallowing the…Oh, man, this is bad. Oh, man, I need to get home. I can’t do this. I need my Mom and Dad. This isn’t happening. This doesn’t happen in real life. I have to go.”
    Without looking up, Amanita gripped a fistful of his hair and pulled him so close to her he could feel the heat of her breath. “No. We’re going back to my place.”
    “Like hell. My mom and dad are right there. My dad has a gun.”
    “What kind of gun?”
    “Um…well it’s a B.B. gun but—”
    “Seth, we can’t make it to your house without being seen.”
    “We’re like, one hundred feet away! I’m not leaving my Mom and Dad. They just got me that PSP. They just bought it this summer.”
    “I don’t care about the frigging PSP!”
    “But I have to get them.”
    “Seth, what if these things see you? What if they’re inside your house?”
    From behind them came the sounds of stampeding feet on hot summer cement. More than two, more than three, maybe even more than five. Seth peeked over his shoulder just in time to see a loping group of bloodied men and women charging up the lawn for him.
    Where he found the strength or speed to get up and run was beyond him. But he was up and screaming bloody murder before he knew what he was doing, racing for the front door of his parent’s house.
    “Fucker!” Amanita was up and racing beside him, the footfalls of their attackers gaining behind them, almost on her heels.
    Seth hit the front door and pushed it open. Amanita flung herself in under his arm, knowing instinctively that in his terrified state he had forgotten she was even there. Seth slammed the door and threw his body against it as the group of hissers slammed into it like a battering ram. The door snapped open and three different arms reached in and waved like snakes, looking for anything to drag outside. As much as Seth was overweight he wasn’t big enough to fight off this group of mad men and the door began to slide open.
    “Push!” Amanita threw herself against the door as well. It opened even further, shoving the two teens toward the wall. Both were screaming, both were trying to dig their feet into the rug to get enough traction to force their weight backwards.
    “Get away from there!” The voice came from the street. Old and gruff like someone who’d been swallowing gravel for the last decade. “That’s right! I said get the hell away from that house!”
    BANG! Something small ripped through the door right between Seth and Amanita, spitting splinters into their cheeks. Whatever it was hit the ceramic lamp across the room and made it explode into fine dust.
    “What the hell are you freaks? What the hell is your problem? Help!”
    Bang! Bang! Bang! A second small hole punched through the door next to Seth’s head, close enough that he felt it move the hair above his ear. This time the mirror above the recliner spider-webbed