Hitchers
P. A. Douglas
Copyright © 2012 by P.A. Douglas
Copyright © 2012 by Severed Press
www.severedpress.com
Cover art copyright © 2012 Alan M. Clark
This novel is dedicated to Dane Hatchell.
Acknowledgments
For this 1st Edition release of Hitchers, my thanks go to everyone at Severed Press, Sarah Vonkain, Alan M. Clark, and Dane Hatchell. I had a lot of fun working on this one with you guys.
Author’s Note
Although Grayson, Louisiana is a real place, I have taken certain fictional liberties with it (including how it got its name). If you live there, don’t look for your favorite downtown bar or the safety of a familiar coffee shop. The world is changing and you won’t like what has been opened…
Chapter 1
The night sky was bustling with cloudy activity. It was only a matter of time before the clouds would decide to open up and fall to the earth. Thunder erupted in the distance suggesting that the city streets would soon be dry no more. Other than the unfortunate prospect of heavy rains, the streets of downtown Grayson were still. The northern most parts of Louisiana were like that at this time of night; silent and void of life.
Elliott Racca cringed at the idea that he’d finally stooped this low. If he planned to get a jumpstart on tomorrow, he would need to find a place to hunker down and soon. With the first few droplets of rain beating down on him in the alley, Elliott lifted his heavy coat up over his head to keep from getting wet. It looked like he was going to be in luck despite the rain. He scrounged around in a small dumpster in the back alley and came away with a partially eaten Subway sandwich. As he peeled the wrapper back revealing the half-eaten sandwich, he licked his lips with excitement. His nose tickled as his tongue slid across the course fibers of his matted mustache. It had been weeks since he last had the chance to shave, and even then, he hadn’t taken the opportunity. He wished he had. The stench of vinegar and something rotten wafted for a brief moment in Elliott’s face. His stomach churned and his eyes started to water. He fought the smell back, as his stomach muscles tightened against the stink.
Sadly, he was afraid it wasn’t the dumpster he smelled, but his mustache. He made a mental note to look for a water hose somewhere tomorrow and clean up. He remembered seeing another homeless couple using one near the downtown park just on the other side of where he slept, or where he used to sleep, at least. Maybe it would still be there tomorrow.
Then again, he thought, setting the sandwich down on the gravel and taking a seat next to it with his back against the dumpster. If I don’t get under cover soon, I might not need to rinse off.
The rain started to pick up, becoming more consistent rather than just little droplets here and there. With both hands, he lifted the coat up over his head only to expose his lower back to the elements. Preparing himself for what would sadly be his first real meal of the day, he took off his cotton fingerless-gloves and used them to wipe at his unkempt beard. Dust and the debris of God-knows-what drifted into the air as he batted at the unwashed facial hair. He swallowed hard not to recoil at the smell that drifted from his chin. He could only sit and wonder how it had all come to this.
As if he didn’t already know.
This was all Brian’s fault. He would have already eaten and been under shelter hours ago if that asshole had not muscled his way into Elliot’s territory. But here he was digging through an unfamiliar dumpster on an unfamiliar street corner in a back alley that he knew nothing about.
While breathing a heavy sigh of agitation, Elliott looked around. The alley looked secluded enough, but at least back at his old spot, the one that Brian had so kindly taken over, he knew the area, and he knew the people. He knew the good spots for food and when to hit them. He knew when to be out of sight and when he could freely be out in the open without the hassle from the police. If there was one person he hated more than Brian, it was the Sherriff. He was the cliché to beat all clichés.
Elliott reached down to retrieve his meal from the gravel at his side. Something moved under his hand, squealed a high-pitched yelp, and then scurried off. Startled, Elliott flinched in disgust as he watched one of the two furry rats dash away into the shadows. The other sat unscathed by Elliott, eagerly nibbling on one edge of the Subway’s bread. Now the six-inch sub was officially tainted.
“Scat!” Elliott grumbled, swatting the nasty creature away. Clearly, the rat was not fazed by his aggravation, so he yelled, “Get the hell out a here! That’s my food. Go get somethin’ somewheres else.”
Shoving at the small rodent, Elliott snatched up the sandwich, as the rat scampered off into the darkness. After examining the food, he picked away at the part the rats had chewed. Using the crumpled wrapper, he brushed a small bit of something unfamiliar from the tomato. Then satisfied, he smiled and took a bite. The bread had the texture of cardboard and what little meat was left tasted a little saltier than desired. Sour. Hell, he’d had worse. Doing his best to enjoy the meager meal, Elliott grimaced, his thoughts racing with regret, hatred, and anger.
No doubt, Brian was probably bundled up warmly in Elliott’s sleeping bag, and tucked away under the patio behind the Chinese restaurant on Main Street. It was hell to crawl under there, but it was dry and out of the rain. As the rain started to really come down on him, Elliott bit down on his tongue, thinking about showing up in the middle of the night and teaching Brian a thing or two. But that was just it. Brian was as ruthless as they came. Having lost his home and job when the construction industry finally fizzled out, Brian was much bigger, stronger too. Unlike Elliott, he was new to the area and immediately pushed himself into the good spots. Not only had he taken away Elliott’s sleeping hole, he’d also taken his street corner. Elliott had been working that street corner right in front of the coffee shop for the last three months and now that was gone. It had been the perfect spot. If he was up early enough, the morning crowd always dropped him a few bucks here and there for him to buy food, and this stupid Brian guy wasn’t even doing it right. He was too aggressive. He just scared off the customers and it made life on the street hard for the entire homeless community in Grayson. Something had to be done.
“Stupid prick!” Elliott bit his lip, while he was starting to get wetter than desired. The rain was coming down stronger now, pelting down on him in steady wave of thick mist. Standing up and tossing the Subway wrapper back into the dumpster, he grumbled to himself, “You ain’t seen the last me. I’m fuckin’ Racca the invincible. For sure, I’ll have my minions on you by this time tomorrow, Brian. You just wait an sees.”
Making his way deeper into the alley in search for shelter, he stifled a cough. Some cardboard boxes or a nook to crawl under would have been a welcome surprise. He considered getting into the dumpster, but the last time he did that, it hadn’t turn out very well. The sudden slam of a dump truck getting ready to pick up the dumpster had startled him and he had frightened the driver of the truck. No need to go there again. That was a nightmare.
The alley was the length of a small plaza. New. Two large buildings framed each side. Back doors lined the entire length, allowing employee access to the dumpsters and delivery vendors. Every other door that Elliott passed had at least one chair perched on the wall beside it. Cigarette butts littered the ground by almost every chair.
“Man, what I wouldn’t give for a nice ol’ pack a smokes.” Elliott’s mouth began to salivate.
He considered stopping to search for a good sized butt and decided against it. By now, all of the butts were soggy from the rain. Besides, he wouldn’t have a way to light it up without a lighter, anyway. Brian had the nerve to muscle that out of him too. Elliott rolled his eyes, aggravated. Aggravated at a few things; Brian, the rain,
his sleeping spot taken, and the wet cigarette butts. When they were soggy, they were no good.
“You could make it rain fire, yes you could. Then those butts would be all dry and ready to smoke. All just for youse,” he murmured to himself.
Elliott grinned at the idea, but instead, he would need to save his strength for the fight with Brian tomorrow night. No sense in using up his powers now when he would need them later. His stomach grumbled a protest of hunger and the idea gave way to a new thought; more to eat.
Let’s admit it. Elliott had no special powers and well . . . he was a little crazy. There was no way that he wasn’t crazy. Along with many of the other people in the homeless community, he had lived on the streets for more than five years now. Anyone who’s lived on the streets that long has to have at least a few screws loose. His demise from society was similar to Brian’s, suffering from the bottom falling out from under the economy, but Elliott’s main reason for being on the streets wasn’t economical. Anyone could tell you that just by looking at the guy. He wasn’t all there mentally. Standing almost 6’ 1” and less than 110 lbs., Elliott was a wiry, lanky little man. Along with his tattered clothes, ratty hair, and foul odor, he was a sight to behold. His eyes looked too big for his head, and his stare was unwavering with his eyes bulging out of their sockets. The coat he wore was two sizes too small. To say the same for his pants would be an understatement. His gangly legs made his pants more like long shorts than anything. The Velcro-shoes that he had fished from the dumpster a few months before were more than a few sizes too small as well. To make himself more at home in them, he cut the toes so that all ten digits poked out. The long blackened toenails were festering with sores and infection.
Aside from the constant conversations with himself and yelling at the buildings here and there, he was a really nice guy. Not much to worry about. Talking to himself and the buildings was what he found himself doing when one of the back doors to the plaza was kicked open. Three men and loud music spilled out into the alley. When the door slammed shut behind the three men, the echo of drums evaporated.
The smell of bourbon reached Elliott’s nose like the scent of wild flowers in summer. Instantly shutting his mouth and forgetting about his argument on which one of his fingers was his best friend, Elliott ducked back and into the shadows. He ground his teeth as his heart paced rapidly. His chest tightened as he held his breath. He had a few run-ins with people who were bad. Bad people. He wanted to avoid that at all cost. He didn’t have that problem back at his old spot. Once again, he cursed Brian for muscling him to move on as the three figures walked in his direction.
“You don’t know this area,” Elliott’s pinky insisted. “They could be nice. Give all of us a shower. Something to eat.”
“That’s not true,” his thumb interjected. “They are bad. I can feel it. We need to run before they sees us.”
All ten of Elliott’s fingers began to argue their individual ideas about the matter. Drowning them all out, although their opinions were all simply in his head and not real, Elliott watched as the three men staggered down the alley in his direction. One of the three men swayed as he walked. The other two men helped him along. Elliott might have been crazy, but he wasn’t dumb. They had just come from a bar. Maybe there were some unfinished bottles sitting by the small business’ back door. Against his better judgment, Elliott stepped eagerly out of the shadows toward the warm smell of alcohol. It was drifting off of the three men and Elliott couldn’t contain himself.
“Oh shit, pal! You scared the hell out of me.” One of the more sober men said, and stepped back defensively.
Instant remorse filled Elliott so he stopped his advance.
“We’re sorry,” he said, trying to back away from the three men.
“Ohh…” The staggering man cringed, still being held by his friends. “I think I’m going to puke, yo.”
“Not on me, you’re not.” The first man said, letting his drunken friend fall to his knees.
The wet splashing sound filled the air along with the smell of warm beer. The man on his knees leaned on one hand and continued to vomit in the middle of the alley. Both of his not-so-drunk friends began to laugh at his expense, and when the man was done puking, he looked up at Elliott and pointed.
“That d-dude. You smell t-that shit, yo?” His words slurred as he wiped vomit from his lips trying to stand.
“Ugh . . . gross.” The first man agreed, helping his friend back to his feet. “How’s about takin’ a shower, pal? Damn, you smell like ass, bro.”
“I’m . . . I don’t want any…” Elliott started to say, attempting to slip away into the darkness.
“Yeah, buddy,” the third, much larger man shouted, cutting Elliott off. “What the hell you doin’ jumpin’ out at us like that? Shit man. ‘Bout gave me a heart attack.”
“Hey.” The drunken man garbled. “Let’s teach this p-prick a l-lesson.”
“Yeah, punk. You almost got your stink on me,” the big man insisted, stepping forward.
“Not to mention that he made Paul throw up. But hell…that was funny.”
“I don’t care. Get him!” The big man shouted.
As he tried to swallow, Elliott felt his heart jump into his throat. The words got caught as he tried to plea forgiveness, and if having his thumb shout that it had been right wasn’t enough, Elliott’s legs refused to join him in his attempt to leave. Turning to retreat in the way he had come, he fell flat on his face. Whether it was from his resistant legs or from the sudden shove that he received to the back from one of the men, he didn’t know. What he did know was that this wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. He thought this as he felt himself falling forward. Water splashed, hitting him in the face, as his knees came down hard on the cement. The deafening crack jolted through his body like the sound of a shotgun going off as his left knee attempted to move past the pavement and into the earth. It didn’t prevail and his knee had no other choice but to halt at the cement’s request. Sharp pain surged through his leg, up his back and into his arms as he fell forward. Throwing his hands out in front of him, they splashed into a puddle of water and oil left from some long gone delivery truck. As the polluted water drenched his face, his eyes stung.
“Where the hell you think you’re goin’, stupid bum?” The voice called out from behind him.
Before Elliot could look back, he felt hands grabbing at his coat, pulling him to his feet.
“You asked for it, freak.”
“No. I didn’t ask for anything,” Elliott pleaded.
It didn’t matter, because these men were already going to do what they were going to do. Elliott could tell they had made their mind up about that, but the real question was; what were they going to do?”
“He was standing back here in the dark waiting to rob somebody.” The first man said.
“Is that true?” The bigger man asked, turning Elliott around while holding him by the coat.
“No…I…”
The first punch was the most painful. The big man cut Elliott off with a fast jab to the jaw. The homeless man’s neck kicked back from the violent blow. His face stung and his vision wavered. The second and third punches were less painful than the first, but that was only because the first one was so jarring. Elliott struggled to regain his sight as the man hit him again. Blood exploded from his nose as the cartilage cracked. Elliott could hear the large man’s two friends cheering him on as he swung again, splitting his lip as he tried to pull free from the large man’s grip. His mouth filled with blood and as he swallowed the iron filled crimson, he felt something solid go down—a tooth. Blood filled his mouth again as the man gave Elliott two jabs to the ribs. He cringed as his ribs folded under the strong blow. The man swung again as Elliot was wheezing in pain and trying to regain his breath.
“Yeah, that’ll show ‘em!” One of the men shouted as Elliott took another shot to the chest.
The last thing Elliott Racca wanted to do was cause even more problems for himself.
So, when the next punch crashed causing a crack to his sternum, he didn’t mean to spit blood and a loose tooth all over the large man holding him in the air. It was an accident. The powerful hit made him convulse forward with his mouth open. The red crimson plasma slashed across the brute’s chest. The stench of rot and foul breath rained from Elliott’s homeless lips as the man pushed him away to wipe his face. Dazed and disoriented, Elliott fell back and landed on his rear in a large puddle. He looked up between swollen eyes at the three men. What he witnessed was more than terrifying. It was downright horrifying. It wasn’t the men, but what was on the men that scared him.
“Stupid bum got shit in my mouth.” The large man groaned, wiping the blood and spit from his face with his sleeve. “If this punk gives me AIDS or some shit . . . I swear.”
“We can’t just leave him here,” one of the other men said.
“Naw, really?” The big man said sarcastically.
Elliott looked up from the cold puddle. The rain continued to beat down on him. Had it not been for what he was seeing, he might have taken the sudden opportunity to get up and run, but he couldn’t. Paralyzed in fear, he watched the three men argue about what they were going to do next, but it wasn’t the men that he was paying attention too. It was the things on their backs. The hitchers.
Gray slime covered monsters. They were large and pulpous things riding on the men’s backs. Perched on their shoulders like children playing chicken in a swimming pool, the things looked down at Elliott with raw hatred. How could those men not know what they carried? Those monstrous things were just as large as the men were. Their legs lay tucked under the men’s arms to support their weight. Long black talon-like nails jutted from their feet near the men’s sides. The bulky mass that was their stomachs kept going up to the round heads and they had no necks. The gray mass of slime that covered the skin like scales was totally hairless. Their eyes were large alien like spots of pure blackness. Elliott tried to look away, but he couldn’t. It was as if he were looking into an abyss and getting sucked into a vacuumed nothingness. They just stared back as if they knew that he could see them. Their mouths were long, covering most of the front of the body, revealing layers and layers of sharp teeth. As if talking to one another through a series of Morse code, the layers of teeth clapped together in rapid succession. The noise the teeth made began to drown out the conversation of the three men, who were still deciding what to do next. The creatures’ arms were long and thin, like that of someone with bulimia. Elliott recognized that immediately, having run into his share of sickly hookers on various street corners. Their grayish-dead looking arms were hairless and covered in sludge like the rest of the body. Long and gangly, the arms hung limp at each creature’s side nearly to the ground. They were definitely too long for how big the rest of their bodies were. Rather than hands, worm like things slithered just above the ground like squirming maggots. They even looked like maggots. Rather than the worm-like hands remaining gray like the rest of the body, the writhing things faded from gray sludge to white tips seeping black sludge.