Page 19 of Them

As the man expected, the two Scorpions began parsing the remains of the farmhouse. They plucked up chunks of floorboard with their mouths and tossed them aside. Their tails swept away heavy heaps of brick as if they were nothing more than pebbles.

The man stood beside the window, still studying the beasts through the slits in the curtain. They weren’t searching through the ruin; they were clearing it. He had much less time than he’d anticipated.

One of the searching horrors paused, then bowed its head low. With its speared feet planted, the legged serpent began to trace the bottom of its skull along the ground, reaching out farther and farther with an uncoiling neck. The whole thing, as metal as it was flesh, as alive as it was alien, seemed to float over the broken wood and scattered brick.

Then it paused again. The head tilted, three eyes staring down into the rubble. It held that position for quite some time.

This was the man’s chance to run. The moment of distraction he’d been waiting for. He stood and prepared himself, feeling again for his half-empty canteen.

Go! his mind screamed. Fucking run, you idiot!

As he was about to abide, one of the Scorpions plunged its long, dark stinger into the debris.

Its head now loomed over the wreckage, its tail wedged deep into the ruins. As if it were searching for something buried there.

But there’s nothing for them to find, so go, dammit! But his legs refused to heed the command.

The Scorpion probing the debris called out—“Akkra!”—and its partner rushed to its side. It began to clear the debris around its companion, shoveling away mounds of dirt and detritus until the other Scorpion heaved and its coiled stinger rose, finally revealing its hidden prize…

A human body.

Legs and arms dangling.

The man watched in stunned disbelief as the person was flung into the air by the thick, whip-like tail. They sailed limply, high above the treetops, before hurtling back to the ground and coming to an unceremonious splat in the adjacent field.

The man bit down on his tongue.

The body didn’t move.

The man’s teeth did not relent. He tasted blood.

Not long after, they found another one. But this one was different.

This one was even smaller.

They examined the body for a long moment before flinging it aside, high and arcing, just as they’d done with their first discovery. The tiny figure bounced when it hit the ground—once, twice—before coming to a dusty stop near the cornfield. It didn’t move either. How could it?

The pair of Scorpions searched a few minutes longer, both of their tails exploring what had once been a cellar or basement or bunker, before calling back to their leader. Their jagged voices echoed over the land.

“Kr’ot!” a command instantly called back. “Kr’ot!”

The demolition crew quickly disengaged and vacated the ruins of the farmhouse. On their way back to the cornfield, they located their victims—

my victims

—and their tails snagged the lifeless bodies by the legs. They scissored into the cornfield, their stilted scythes working in that slow, comfortable spin. As the tripod terrors waded deeper into the crops, their obsidian carapaces looming above the overgrowth, the distant human shapes disappeared beneath the wilting leaves.

The Scorpions were satisfied.

The man breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe. For now.

Was it worth it?

I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Could you have guessed that? That’s one way to gauge yourself, I suppose. Litmus test of the conscience. It’s better now. I guess it got better in the bunker.

My underground fortress was built into the lost hills of Virginia beneath a log cabin owned by one Joaquin Cisneros. No fake name necessary. Just an old friend with a hunting cabin out in the Shenandoah that he didn’t use much.

Jojo didn’t raise an eyebrow when I asked to build a bunker beneath his cabin, at no cost to him, of course. He only asked if he could join me when the time came. He didn’t know what I was worried about, and he didn’t bother to ask. Even over the telephone, he could tell I was scared.