“What?” she
breathed. “What is—”
The first of the
bugs hit the window with a squelching pop, and Roxanne screamed, jumping back.
Greenish-brown goo splattered out from the point of impact, but she barely had
a moment to register it before more slammed into the glass. Hundreds of them
peppered it like bullets, leaving behind a nauseating smear of guts and gore.
Each impact sent her back another jerky step until she bumped into the bar.
“Why are they
doing that?” she demanded to keep from screaming again. She wanted to cover her
eyes and ears, but fear of not seeing kept her from doing either one.
“Fuck,” Sal
yelled. “Look at the ceiling.”
She tore her gaze
away only to see that the stain above had thickened into a slick black ooze. It
looked like an upside-down oil spill on a choppy sea. Soon it would reach the
bar and the kitchen. And the stench . . . Damp and foul. Rotten eggs in a
steamy soup.
The blackness
began to drip, and Roxanne fought down another scream.
“Reece! Reece, get
out here!” she shouted instead, just as a loud crash came from the kitchen.
“Reece!”
Santo turned, his
gaze unerringly finding hers. The look he gave her spoke volumes, but she
couldn’t understand what it meant. She couldn’t understand what was happening.
The bugs had completely obscured the windows, the live ones crawling over the
splattered remains, trying to get in. She felt the blood drain from her face.
Could they? Would they find a way?
For more information, go to:
No comments:
Post a Comment