Checking In

Darryl slid three quarters into the vending machine and weighed his options.

Options? he thought, wheezing out a laugh that shot pain through his bruised ribs. He rubbed both eyes with a trembling thumb and forefinger.

There’s no damn electricity. Get it together, man.

Darryl had sensed the fringe of crazy coming on in recent hours. A voice would call out at times. A lady’s soothing timbre, prodding him along when he needed it most.

And now… thinking somehow his pocket change would bring this old rusty contraption back to life.

He could still differentiate between his mind’s tricks and reality. But after God-knows-how-many miles of tortured trekking since the storm sent his truck flipping into the dunes, delirium was setting in and he knew it.

The only other thing setting was the sun—quickly sliding behind the hills of an endless Nevada desert.

Darryl groaned as he picked up a fallen plank from beside the dilapidated motel. He tapped the glass front of the snack machine with moderate force. It cracked, spider-webbing in one corner, but remained intact.

He tried again, swinging this time. The cracked glass splintered and the remaining shards slid off like three large puzzle pieces, shattering onto the stony ground with a crash.

All this for a couple stale bags of… I don’t even know what the hell these are. “If only you were a drink machine,” he whispered, licking his dried, splitting lips.

Labels of the once brightly colored snack packages had long been sun-bleached away by years of relentless exposure. “And just what flavor are you?” he asked, as if expecting the bag to reply.

The friendly female voice holed up in his head began to speak, then trailed off. “Don’t lose your figh…”

Darryl rubbed his eyes and stared intently at the bag in his hand. “Don’t do what? Was that you?” He cocked his head and blinked.

Damn it, Darryl. Don’t lose it now. You’re too close to lose it now.

He tore into the snack bag to discover crumbles of some orange, flaky substance dotted with dark red seasoning. Possibly an early iteration of Cheetos?

Down the hatch, he thought, pouring it back.

He immediately began to gag and cough from an acidic flavor coating the lining of his throat. Involuntary heaving stabbed pangs throughout his body as expired cheese dust shot-gunned from his mouth. Darryl fumbled for the canteen slung around his shoulder.

Without thinking, he sloshed and gargled the last remaining gulps of water, forcing himself to swallow it down.

What in God’s name kinda flavor was that? He coughed a couple more times and dumped the leftover seasoning into the palm of his hand.

Ants. Dead ants. Well, shit. At least I got a little protein in my system.

He wiped his mouth shakily, and snagged the other chips, hoping to God he could outlast the need to try whatever hellish tastes lurked inside. Have you tried our new Cool-Roach Dorito flavor? He snickered at the thought and looked over his shoulder.

The sunset had already ducked below the horizon, and Darryl decided to make the most of the quickly diminishing light for setting up camp.

The tiny, crumbling motel still had some roof left, supported by sections of wall that would withstand and block out the cold sweeping winds. That’ll be nice for a change. They had come on strong and regular at night.

This is good.

Darryl unslung his backpack and set it in his chosen corner. He unzipped and began to inventory the supplies he’d salvaged from the wreckage.

His flashlight’s batteries had died out the evening before, rendering it useless unless he needed to beat someone over the head with it. But he had a box of matches; two left. His cell phone—cracked to hell and also dead. An extra pair of socks. A tiny first-aid kit containing Band-Aids, ointment, and a couple gauze pads. His multi-tool pocket knife. Two canteens; both empty now. An extra pair of underwear and a sweater.

He pulled the sweater out and balled it up on top of his bag for the night’s pillow.

“Water,” he said to himself, realizing the last stream he’d found from the storm runoff had been... He couldn’t even remember when he’d last filled the canteens, but his portions had been carefully measured until the final sip. “Need to find some water.”

The grey landscape was fading to black, and the first hint of chilled breeze already stung his skin.

Water can wait ‘til morning.

Darryl stretched and massaged his tender side just below his right lung. “Well, champ, you went and broke your damn ribs, didn’t you? Idiot.” He yawned and shook his head, drawing in a seething breath as he prepared to lie down for the night.

A deep, phlegm-ridden cough sounded from somewhere outside. Darryl froze. He stood silently for a moment, arching his head like a dog straining to hear. “Hello?”

Maybe someone lives around here and heard the glass break.

A brief sense of excitement flooded in. “Hello? Anyone there? Hello?!”

He stood in silence for a few long minutes. Only a slight breeze hummed through the wall’s crumbled openings.

Nobody’s here. That’s okay.

“Tomorrow,” he said, nodding his head to himself. “Tomorrow’s the day this all ends.”

Darryl stretched, laid down, and grinned as the darkness blanketed all around him. He had real hope for the first time since crawling out from under his upturned truck bed.

The blinding dust storm had quickly hidden the road, and any other hints as to where it might have led. Other details of his drive, like where he was heading and why he was in the desert to begin with, eluded him now. The only thing he knew for certain was there had been no sign of civilization for a long time.

No sign of anything…

At least not until the little motel dotted itself against the landscape in the distance—an oasis amid a sea of rolling sand.

Darryl’s sore, dragging feet had propelled him at a near sprint over dunes and around boulders until he reached a small, windy road.

“And I made it,” he said, yawning loudly.

Where there’s a road, there’s people.

“And where there’s people, there’s food and water.”

He fluffed his makeshift pillow and closed his eyes. The slight grin spread into a wide smile.

Visions swam of cherries spilling from a wedge of flaky pie, dolloped with a towering cone of whipped cream…

Yes.

A porterhouse, thick as a dictionary—the shank bone winking from fat, marbled meat—charred to crackly doneness. A pat of butter melting overtop. The steak almost sighs as the knife slices through it.

And ice water.

The tall glass beading with chilled condensation, streaking down the side.

Hell yes. Tomorrow’s the day, he thought, and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

“Wake up, Darryl.” That voice. Her voice.

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to force the dream back into motion.

Something grunted.

Darryl sat upright, tearing away from his fantasy and swiveling his eyes back and forth in their sockets.

The stars shone down a brilliant sheet of white through missing sections of roof, creating a confusing source of angled shadows. They all stabbed into contorted shapes of imaginative possibilities in every corner.

Probably the wind. Just the wind.

He took in a few measured breaths to calm his pulse and waited as silently as he could.

Satisfied, Darryl laid his head back down, a little pissed that his dream had been about to take off into a wonderland of-

Broken glass crunched sharply outside, near the vending machine.

A footstep? Probably an animal or-

Another grunting noise like a gorilla or what Darryl imagined a caveman might sound like.

Oh, no. Jesus, what is that?

Darryl sat up again. Slowly this time. Quietly.

He slid his hand into the backpack, felt around for his multi-tool, grabbed it, and peeled open the small knife. It clicked, locking into place.

Footfalls crept on the gravel outside the motel.

Darryl held his breath.

Don’t move. They’ll go away. Don’t. Move.

Something whistled a quick, shrill tweet, and Darryl’s body reflexively jolted. His back hit the wall, knocking a plank onto the ground. It slapped across the floor—the smacking echo ringing through the room.

Darryl clenched his eyes shut, waiting for someone… something to pounce on him. His fingers wrapped so tightly around the knife handle it hurt.

He waited, trying to control his breathing.

Silence.

Not even the wind blew.

This is all in my mind. Yeah. Just my hunger firing off signals in my brain. Just like yesterday when-

Another whistle. Then another from somewhere outside, behind him. Two more whistles ping-ponging like birds calling to one another in the dark.

Darryl heard evidence of more footsteps closing in faster, but saw nothing. Another five… no six, maybe seven quick, bird-like whistles.

He couldn’t tell how many anymore.

His pulse throbbed in his neck and temples.

What the hell is happening to me?

His bruised ribs and lungs fired off burning flashes of pain with every panicked breath.

A silhouetted shape stumbled through the room’s entrance with a sudden, tortured shamble, like a disoriented bear stirred from hibernation.

Darryl let out an involuntary moaning sound that seemed to emanate from his chest. He sat frozen—plastered against the wall—wrapped in pure terror.

His sensible self fought back. This is ridiculous. Idiotic. It’s all in your fucking mind. But the primal, instinctual part ruled by the lizard brain issued only a mindless buzz.

He squinted at the shape, hoping to identify some object blown in by a gust of wind.

The wind stopped blowing a while ago.

Maybe a stray dog?

No. Stupid thought, Darryl.

The shape advanced a little more, and Darryl’s eyes could now make out a person. Almost sloth like, but definitely human. It seemed to spot him, cocking its head. A shrill blast of a whistle sent icy tongues of fear licking over Darryl’s skin.

He couldn’t move.

The shape ambled closer still, fully materializing under the light of an uncommonly bright sky as it stopped beneath a roofless section of the room.

Darryl beheld a grotesque caricature of a man, lashed by ropes of waterlogged muscles. Its skin falling off bones in grey, lace-etched rags. The lips were thin, bloodless filets. Its gums had receded, making the teeth look like yellowed tusks protruding from its mouth. Patches of long grey hair strung down over a bony, angular, skin-stretched face. The pale eyes were focused and intent, boring down on him.

It spoke in a gargled hiss as spittle popped and drooled from its mouth. “Come. Your time is over.”

A cacophony of whistling conversations began to chirp from all directions.

Continuous.

Louder and louder.

So many of them.

Darryl positioned his pocketknife in his hand as the creature-of-a-man crept so uncomfortably close its cadaverous odor wafted by in sheets.

“Fight.” Her voice was back. This time he listened.

In a maniacal, adrenaline-fueled effort, Darryl pitched forward, hurling himself blindly at the creature.

The knife blade caught some portion of skin or meat or… something on the man and sliced itself free. Darryl hit the ground headfirst, groaning with another burst of sharp pain that lanced down his spine.

A melancholy wailing tore through the motel as the man-thing retreated through debris and back into the desert.

The whistling stopped.

#

Darryl’s socks stuck to the blisters on the back of his heels, pulling away with each aching stride. The road winded uphill, and he strained his dehydrated muscles, fighting to keep moving.

Just run. Run until there’s a house. A gas station. Until those things are all gone.

A sudden bout of vertigo took hold and Darryl stumbled, bolting face-first to the ground, off the roadside.

I may as well just die. Give up and die.

“Keep going,” her voice called out from the shadows.

“I can’t,” he moaned, turning his head to the side and spitting out a mouthful of sand. “I can’t!”

“Fight. Keep going. Stay with-”

Footsteps shifted from behind him, followed by whistling reports converging on every side. Darryl forced himself to a plank position, pulled his feet underneath his body, and cried out in agony as he willed himself to stand.

He looked back. The eerie starlight’s reflection revealed a small army of mangled bodies lurching closer in quick pursuit.

Run. Don’t die here.

Darryl stayed off the road, taking a more direct route to the top of the large dune. He dug one foot after another into shifting sands, pushing and heaving himself to the crest of the hill.

“That’s it. You can make it.” That soothing voice. Perhaps his conscience. Maybe his insanity in full effect. Regardless, it was for him, and he accepted it.

The hill’s peak declined sharply on the other side and Darryl tumbled over, somersaulting downward—sprawling out onto his back. He slid to a stop midway down.

The whistling and grunting and shifting feet still followed.

“Open your eyes, Darryl,” her voice said. “Look at me.”

He put his right hand to his side and propped himself up. “Where are you? Where do I look?”

He scanned the horizon, nearly forgetting the terror that scraped and clambered behind him. The moon traced the ridges of distant hilltops with thin blades of silver light that seemed to go on forever.

“Open your eyes.”

“I am. Where-?”

There. A dark shape, maybe fifty yards away, contrasted itself against the pale desert glow.

What the hell is that?

Darryl maneuvered himself to sit up and scooted down the remaining slope of the hill. As he reached the bottom, he managed to stand.

One more time. You can keep going one more-

An icy sting stabbed at his shoulder. Something had clawed or jabbed or… bitten him?

Darryl ripped himself away but stumbled and fell back onto the ground. He rolled over to see the man-thing baring its yellowed teeth.

It scrambled on all fours like some sort of giant decaying spider, and crawled on top of Darryl, pinning him down by his shoulders.

The thing hissed. Its arm had been slashed open—blood spilling out in thick torrents that gulped out like molasses on Darryl’s shirt. “You are with us now,” it gargled. “Your time there is done.”

Other creatures had descended the hillside and gathered nearby, watching. Hacking and mumbling in gravelly whispers.

Darryl shifted his head erratically from side to side.

Her voice broke through. “Fight, Darryl. Come on. Don’t give up.”

The thing pressed down on Darryl. Its sweetly sickening smell, like roadkill after days in the heat, engulfed him in a nauseous fog.

“You are already gone-”

“No!” Darryl lifted his knee with as much force as he could conjure.

The thing screamed and turned onto its side.

Darryl crawled away with desperate reaches. He pushed forward with every ounce of remaining effort.

Hisses, screeches, and whistling bounced around the desert as if thousands of creatures were closing in.

Darryl focused on the object ahead in the sand.

“That’s it. Fight it!” Her again.

The skyline had slowly begun to brighten to a misty pink along the bend of the earth.

It’s morning already? The sun’s rising!

A renewed energy surged through him. He pushed to his feet and hobbled onward.

The object up ahead came into view. Red and metallic. It was. It was…

Impossible.

Impossible or not, Darryl fought forward and clambered up to his overturned truck. He heaved the door open and began wedging his body through. Once inside, he scooped sand away and pulled the handle as hard as he could. The door clicked shut.

The things scraped metal and tapped on the glass, whistling at each other. They grunted and rocked the truck back and forth, staring in at him, drooling onto the window.

“Go away!” Darryl shouted and closed his eyes tightly. “Go away, now!”

They began pulling at the handle and clawing at the door.

He covered his ears and pushed out the sounds as the truck rocked.

This is where I will die.

#

“Don’t die on me!”

Darryl opened his eyes with a start. He laid, cradled in the cab's roof. A flashing pain like an electric prod shot down his right side and he groaned weakly.

“Darryl! Darryl, you’re awake!”

The truck shook as if it would spin around and flip back upright. Whistling screeches surrounded him.

Suddenly he remembered where he was.

His eyes widened, and he looked out the window expecting to see the ungodly creatures tearing through with gnashing yellow teeth, loose leathery skin, dripping pustules, and that rotted stench. Instead, an eerie, mustard yellow wash of sand pelted the glass in violent waves as the wind whistled all around.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Darryl jerked his head towards the voice and looked at her. “Kate?” He rubbed his eyes. “How did you get in here? Where-? What the hell’s going on?”

“Take it easy. You’ve been in and out for two days now. Mostly out. I got you to drink-”

“What about those things? What about-?”

She smiled. “It’s okay. Calm down. The storms don’t last long. This one should be over soon, and-”

“Where are we?”

“We were in an accident two days ago. There’s no cell service. Now we’re out of water and I’m gonna have to go looking as soon as the dust settles outside.”

“Don’t go out there, Kate.”

“It’s fine. I already scouted it out yesterday. We’re close to a side road just over the hill. It leads down to an old-”

“Kate. Promise me you won’t go back out there.”

“We have to have water, Darryl. I didn’t find any yet, but there’s this old motel-”

“Kate.”

“And I didn’t exactly see anyone, but I heard-”

“Kate, no.”

“The winds were picking back up and I had to get back to you, but I heard someone whistling. I know I did.”

Darryl closed his eyes. “Kate. Listen to me. Do not go back to that motel. I know it sounds crazy, but… Well… Maybe it is crazy. I just have a really bad feeling about this place.”

“It’s our only choice.” She pouted and stroked the side of his face.

Sunlight now streamed through the windows, and the wind had died down.

Kate leaned over and pulled the handle, then stood to push open the door. “We’ve got to have some ventilation in here when the sun’s out. Otherwise, it’s like we’re boiling in hell.”

We might already be there.

Darryl breathed in the warm desert air. “If we’re still alive, we need to stay here by the main road. Someone’s sure to drive by or fly overhead and see us.”

“If we’re still alive? I think you need to trust me. There’s people over that hill, and someone is bound to be able to help. No one has come down this road in two days.”

“They’re not people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Kate. I think we may have… I think… We may already be dead.” Darryl furrowed his brow as he said the words.

She snorted so loud it startled him. “That is what no food and water’ll do to you.” Kate smiled in a motherly, concerned way, and reached into her bag, fumbling around for something. “You’ve got to be starving. It’s not much, but when I was at that little motel, there was a vending machine, believe it or not.” She pulled out a sun-bleached chip bag—the words too faded to read. “This might hit the spot.”

Darryl sensed the blood drain from his face.

Somewhere, just up the hill, something whistled.

#

The End