Fourteen

It’s a station just like any other. We’ve done this a dozen times before. As we pull into the car park I make a mental note to siphon more fuel; the gauge shows that we still have half a tank remaining, but it is better to be safe. The place is comprised of a Little Chef and petrol station. A body rests in the grass by the roadside, dried to leather and hollow beneath its clothes. We ignore it, climb out and go inside. The place smells musty and rank, but no worse than anywhere else that we’ve stayed.

“I’m going to look for food,” says Lisa as she heads off towards the restaurant. I wander towards the bathrooms; sometimes there will be water still held in the pipes, which we can use to refill our empty bottles. It is dark, and I’ve left the torch in the car along with the gun and our bags. I’ll bring then in later before we sleep.

I kick my way through the debris scattered on the floor and push open the door to the bathroom. In the slice of light it lets out I see what is lying at the far end of the main corridor. My heart stops.

The wall at the far end of the station has been sheared away–whether by a stray meteor or a wandering Creature I cannot say. It has been replaced by the white skin of a Creature nest, and within its papery walls I see the grotesque, inflated body of a maggot monster. Its sides move and stretch as it breathes. It must be sleeping, otherwise I would be dead already. I can see the red wet of its mouth, its glistening mouthparts, clutching sluggishly in its endless quest for food.

For a full minute I don’t move. Adrenaline floods me. How could I possibly have been so careless as to leave the gun behind? Then I bolt, moving as quietly as I can, through the station. I find Lisa in the kitchens of the restaurant.

“What?” She catches sight of the look on my face. “Are you okay?”

“Shh . . .” I put a finger to my lips. I grab her hand and take her outside to where we left the car. We climb in without a word. I’m shaking, and Lisa is white faced–she knows something bad must be happening. Any moment I keep expecting the thing to come stampeding out and kill us, but it doesn’t. And then we’re in the car and wheeling around, speeding away as quick as we can.

A mile down the road I tell her what I saw. She looks like she’s about to be sick. “I thought we were safe,” she says. I know what she means. For a while back then, I’d almost forgotten.