Midian Unmade by Joseph Nassise Page A

Jeb threw himself across the front seat, hand poised over the door lock to engage it, but the girl was faster, grasping the outside handle and ripping the door out of its frame before Jeb could lock it. She reached through the empty doorframe and grabbed Jeb’s left arm, tearing it from his torso then throwing the meaty limb behind her, where it landed on the road with a loud thwack.
    Jeb screamed, and the girl punched him in the throat, compressing his windpipe until the scream became a gurgle. He collapsed against the passenger door, grasping at his throat with his hand as the girl placed her hands on either side of his head and twisted until it detached from his neck. Dropping the offensive head into the well between the front seats, she turned her attention to the twins, who were falling all over themselves to get out of the bus, hands scrambling to unlatch the door.
    Grabbing a fistful of blond hair in each hand, she dragged them backward across the seat, pulling them into the front so she could get a better grip on their necks. Then she bent over each one in turn, and used her crocodile teeth to rip out their throats.
    *   *   *
    The police had blocked off both sides of the street, yellow crime-scene tape flapping in the chilly early-morning breeze, but the neighbors ignored the cordon, standing on their porches and out on the street in their pajamas and robes, eyes wide as they took in the procession of investigators and forensic technicians alighting on the crime scene.
    Abra sat on the roof of a nearby house and watched as the coroner loaded the four mangled bodies onto stretchers and took them away. She wasn’t sorry for what she’d done, only for what she was.
    Not that any of it mattered anymore—she wasn’t going to make it back to one of her bolt-holes before the sun came out, and she was glad for it. Besides, it was nice up here, the coolness of the slate roof radiating up through her back and head as she watched the stars wink out one by one above her.
    It wouldn’t be long now.

 
    BUTTON, BUTTON
    Ernie W. Cooper
    Kathryn Miller wrinkled her nose as she dug into the damp mass at her feet. The breeze was cold, colder than she had expected when she first decided to haul the overflowing laundry basket to the small yard behind the modest house. Their dryer had broken several weeks ago, and she now had to hope for the weather to cooperate whenever the piles of clothing in her or Elliot’s room approached critical mass.
    At the other end of the yard, Elliot crouched in the grass. The stiff breeze tousled the twelve-year-old’s brownish hair as he lined up a row of twigs meticulously in the soft earth.
    â€œâ€¦ seven … eight … nine.”
    He nodded slowly at the ninth stick, and then knocked the collection to the ground. Kathryn sighed as, moments later, he began to line them up once more.
    â€œElliot!” she called to him, softly at first, and then again.
    Her son destroyed his handiwork, oblivious to her calls. She sighed and shook out one of her work skirts. As she lifted it to the line, she swore softly. The three buttons that ran down the side of the garment were missing. She ran her fingers over the little frayed areas where they had been plucked off, and then strode across the lawn to Elliot.
    He plunged the seventh twig into the ground, and then her shadow made him pause. He looked up, blinking. She held the skirt out to him.
    â€œDid you do this?”
    He stared at the skirt and then gingerly reached up, running his hand across the cloth.
    â€œOne … two…”
    She pulled the skirt away. “Three, yes. All three buttons are gone. Why did you take Mommy’s buttons? You know she needs this skirt for work.”
    Elliot’s fingers slowly twitched in the air, still feeling for the third cloth nub. “Didn’t,” he replied sullenly.
    Kathryn threw the skirt over her shoulder and knelt down in