Urban Gothic by Brian Keene Page A

echoed off the empty walls and ceiling as the dwarf wrenched her head back and forth, ripping at the prizes caught in her jaws until they finally peeled away from Brett’s hand.
    The dwarf growled again. Kerri edged closer and caught a good look at the shadowed, malformed face. It seemed garish in the cell phone’s light. The creature glared at her as it chewed. It sighed, clearly relishing the meal. A black froth of spittle dripped from the open maw.
    The woman’s teeth ground meat and gristle and bone into paste. Her throat bulged as she swallowed.
    Brett thrashed on the floor, eyes rolling and teeth clenched. His remaining fingers clawed at the wood. Blood jetted from his stumps, running down his hand and forearm as he kicked and jittered. He wasn’t screaming, but Kerri could tell he was trying to. His neck muscles were corded, and his mouth hung open, but the only sound he made was a low, pitiful whine.
    The dwarf hunkered down and grunted, almost barking as it charged toward Brett again, propelling itself forward on its elongated arms. Brett tried to defend himself with his good hand, but he wasn’t fast enough. The creature rushed to his side. Her head darted forward, slavering mouth open wide, aiming for his nose.
    And then Kerri swung the club in a wide arc and buried the nail in the dwarf’s eye.
    It shrieked, a rough, gurgling noise, and spun around so quickly that the weapon was wrenched from Kerri’s hands. The dwarf scuttled backward. The length of wood dangled from its face; the tip dragged across the floor. The thing tottered back and forth, swaying, then lurched forward, glaring at Kerri with its remaining eye. It tripped over Brett’s outstretched feet and fell face-first onto the floor. It lay there, jerking spasmodically. Its bowels and bladder erupted, spraying the floor and Brett with foul, yellow feces the consistency of vegetable soup.
    Kerri reached down, grabbed a fistful of the dwarf’s greasy hair, and jerked its head up. Then she wrenched the club free. The pulped eyeball came with it, dangling on the edge of the nail like a squashed, oversized grape. A strand of tissue stretched like taffy from the empty eye socket. Kerri twisted the weapon in her hands and the ropy gristle snapped. Cringing, Kerri shook the club until the eyeball fell off. It landed in a puddle of feces and blood.
    Kerri watched, forgetting about Javier or Heather or even Brett. She stood there trembling, absolutely transfixed as the dwarf’s motions slowed. Amazingly, it was still alive, despite the massive amount of damage it had endured. The thing rolled over and tried to crawl, failing miserably in all efforts to rise even to its knees. Kerri stared, horrified. It looked toward her, one eye rolling wildly while dark fluid gushed from the red, raw, empty socket. Then it breathed out one long, shuddering sigh and lay still. A strange expression of calm seemed to come over its misshapen face.
    Despite everything the freak had done, Kerri felt a sickened sense of pity for it.
    She moved past the corpse and crouched next to Brett. Without a word, she pulled at his belt until it came loose from his jeans and slipped it over his wrist. Two hard yanks and the leather strap was tight, pinching the flesh until the skin beneath was bone white. Brett let out a yelp but didn’t struggle.
    “Lie still,” Kerri soothed. “I’ve got to stop the bleeding. And then I’ve got to help Javier and Heather.”
    “W-wh-where …”
    “Don’t talk. Just lie still.”
    Kerri retrieved Brett’s cell phone and eyeglasses. She glanced around for his makeshift glass knife, but it had shattered at some point during the struggle. All that was left were tiny slivers. She put the glasses on his face. The frames had been bent during the attack, and they hung crooked—one side higher than the other. Using the sharp, white light from the phone, she examined Brett’s injuries. The three center fingers of his right hand were gone. Raw meat