Unknown - The_Growing_589064

The Growing

CHAPTER ONE

Its the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

1

THE TAVERN IS dimly lit, cozy, and smells faintly of wood smoke and evergreen. Still six weeks from Christmas, it is, nonetheless, festooned with sprigs of pine and gaily blinking lights that chase themselves around the walls and rafters in a never ending race.

In deference to the blowing storm outside, the tavern is almost empty. Two couples move slowly across the small dance floor as Randy Travis croons from the juke about old men talking about the weather.

At the far back, where the long, battle scarred bar meets the rear wall, the bartender, a bearish man with a winter-thick beard, sits and thumbs though an old issue of Detective Thrillers, his large thumb unknowingly caressing the nearly bare breast of the vixen on the dog-eared cover.

Almost directly across from him, a toothless old codger, well into his cups, lifts his head and stares blearily at the keep through yellowed, rheumy eyes. Turn on the tube, Harry, he slurs, toothless mouth working, I wanna see the game.

The bartender rolls his eyes and lowers his magazine just enough to pin the old man with a glare. Its Wednesday, ya old coot. You know there aint no game on.

Turn it on anyway. Damn jukes makin my ears bleed.

Sighing, Harry tosses his magazine on the bar and stands up, wiping his hands on his too-tight jeans. Reaching up, he twists the knob on the ancient television set sitting on a shelf above the hanging wine glasses that are never used.

The set comes to life gradually, grudgingly, showing fat snowflakes of static with vague, doubled images parading around behind them, incomprehensible to the naked eye. Biting off an oath, Harry twists the channel knob, getting nothing but static all the way across the dial.

Stupidtub a.bolts Raising a ham-sized fist, the bartender smacks the side of the set. The picture wavers, then reduces itself to a tiny dot before winking out completely. Damn it, Clut! Ya made me bust my damn TV.

Didnt make ya do nothin, Harry. Now get me another drink. I aint gittin any younger here, ya know.

Quit flappin ya gums, old timer. Ill get to ya.

Harry turns and looks down to the other end of the bar, where a lone figure sits, clasping a nearly empty bottle of beer in one large hand.

How bout you, Koda? Want another?

The figure lifts its head, revealing the face of a stunning woman whose long, dark hair brushes past the shoulders of her oilskin duster. Her smile dazzles the barkeep as she shakes her head slowly. No thanks, Harry. This ones fine.

The keep grunts and turns away, more to slow his racing heart than anything else. Hes never sure why he asks the same question week after week, since he already knows hell get the same answer. Dakota Rivers is as sure as clockwork, coming in every Wednesday evening, rain or shine, staying long enough to drink one beer, leaving a large tip, and driving home.

A solitary and quiet woman, she never offers much in the way of conversation, but on the rare nights when alcohol and testosterone mix poorly, shes always there with a strong hand and a no nonsense glare that stops most fights unborn.

Maybe he asks for that reason, or maybe its just so he can see one of her infrequent smiles. Smiles that always make his guts flutter like a butterfly was trapped in his belly, struggling to get out.

Fetching a deep sigh, he reaches under the bar and draws forth a full bottle of Wild Turkey, Old Cluts drink of choice. As he breaks the seal, the television turns back on again with a loud burst of static, scaring a few more gray hairs into him.

What the hell?

The snow obscures the screen for a moment, then clears suddenly, to reveal the face of a teenaged boy.

Thats Cal Martins kid, aint it? Harry asks no one in particular. What the hell is he doin on TV?

The boys face is battered and bloody, and the few untouched areas are white as chalk. His eyes are wide saucers revealing a soul very close to madness.

Run!! he shouts into the camera, body trembling as if hes holding a live wire. Get outta here!! Theyre killing everybody! Theyre.oh GodRUN!!!

He looks off camera then, and his eyes widen even more. His lips curve and stiffen in a rictus of horror, and a scream, high and breathless, comes up from his very being. He turns and manages a few stumbling steps before an arm darts into the cameras range and yanks him back by his long, greasy hair.

The scream goes on and on until it is abruptly ended when another arm joins the first and easily snaps his neck. The sound is loud, like a rifle shot, and seems to echo in the suddenly silent air of the bar.

Jes-us Christ, Harry breathes as the boys lifeless body is indifferently dropped to the ground.

The arms retreat, then reappear, this time attached to the body of a tall, broad-shouldered male. The male turns, faces the camera, and smiles. The picture fades to snow again, blotting out everything but the thin band of silver resting just above the Adams apple of the smiling killer.

The silence is again broken, this time by the sound of exploding glass as the whiskey bottle Harry has been holding drops from his nerveless fingers to shatter on the floor. The liquid hisses and foams, then goes silent.

Dakota recovers first and strides down the bar until she is opposite the stunned bartender. Harry?

When he doesnt answer, she tries again. Harry?

He finally turns, and when he does, his expression is eerily reminiscent of the now dead boys. Was that?

Yeah.

But how?

Dakota shakes her head. I dont know. But Im gonna try to find out.

What are you gonna do?

Dakota takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. First, Im going to check up on my family.

Harrys eyes widen. Your family? They dont?

No, but some of their neighbors do, and if what this kid was saying is true.

Dear God.

Dakotas hand reaches out and manages to clamp onto Harrys elbow, preventing him from collapsing onto the floor. Harry, listen to me. Were not sure whats going on yet, and yeah, it looks pretty damn bad, but you cant panic, alright? You need to keep your head on straight. Going nuts or passing out isnt gonna help anyone, least of all yourself.

Looking into his shining eyes, Dakota isnt too sure what, if anything, is getting through, but she feels a little better once she senses the body under her hand firm up slightly. She lets go, cautiously, ready to grab him if it seems like hes going to fall out again.

Are you alright?

Harry snorts. No. But I guess Im gonna have to be, huh? He looks at her with such an expression of naked pleading that her guts twist, deep inside. What am I gonna do, Koda? What are any of us gonna doif what he said is true.

Dakota looks over her shoulder. The tavern is now empty, except for Clut, who is passed out cold on the floordrunk or in shock, she doesnt know, and doesnt really care. You got a cot back there, right?

Yeah, but what?

Look, this is the safest place you can be right now. Theres no windows, and the doors are solid. Just lock up tight, stay in the back, and dont let anyone in who you dont know personally, alright? As soon as I make sure my family is safe, Ill try and make it back here with whatever information I have. She sighs. I know its not much, but its the best I can offer right now.

Harry nods slowly. Okay, Koda. I can do that.

Dakota gives him a slight smile. Good. Ill be back as soon as I can. Make sure you lock up the minute I leave, and remember, dont open the door up for anyone, no matter what they say, unless you know them well, alright?

Yeah, alright.

Take it easy, Harry. Ill be back soon.

Walking out into the storm, Dakota waits until she hears the door lock securely, then heads out to her truck.