Demon Fog by Jeff Thomson

Author:Jeff Thomson [Thomson, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-13T22:00:00+00:00

"Murphy strikes again," Steve observed.

"What an asshole," Casey agreed.

"What now?"

Casey looked at him for a moment, after casting his eye toward the soccer field. "Guess we better turn off some of those lights."

"Only a temporary solution."

Casey nodded. "Somebody's gonna have to go into town."

The lights flickered, making both of them jump.

"Pretty Goddamned quick," Steve said.

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

They stared at each other for a moment, neither one of them liking this plan, but what choice did they have? Steve gulped, as if trying to get his balls back down out of his throat, and said, "No time like the present," as he headed toward the generator shed.

"No, wait…," Casey said.

Steve stopped.

"Go back to the Dining Hall," Casey began. "Let everybody know what's going on so they don't shit their pants when I turn some of these lights off."

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He stared at them for a moment as if knowing the fatality of his actions, before handing them over.

"Just in case," he said.

Steve considered them in the palm of his hand for a doubtful beat before nodding and sliding them into his pocket. He turned to go, but stopped and faced Casey again.

"Good luck," he said, holding out his hand.

"You too," Casey replied, shaking it with a firm grip.

"Murphy can go fuck himself."

Casey seemed about to respond when the lights flickered again.

"Get going!" Casey said, taking off at a trot toward the shed.

Steve watched as the deadly obscurity swallowed Casey whole, and then he headed for the Dining Hall.

62

The Dining Hall

Susan joined Donna in going through the motions of checking out Michelle. There was little else they could do, but doing something seemed a lot better to her than doing nothing in this situation.

"He's pretty cute," Susan tossed out a non-sequitur, softly out of context.

"Who is?" she asked, the picture of innocence, as if somehow the public display of affection hadn't happened.

"The new guy, Steve."

"I guess," she replied.

"You guess?" Susan asked, incredulous. "Are you in the habit of twirling tongues with a guy you guess you like?"

"There were no tongues," Donna protested, feeling her temperature rise as her face flushed a deep crimson. "Absolutely tongue-free."

"Uh huh," came the response.

"It was tongue-less," she asserted. And this was true. She'd kissed him with closed lips. And okay, maybe she'd wanted there to be some small degree of tongue involved - had, in truth, wanted to throw him to the ground and mount him like a wild pony - but she hadn't. The shrinks at Weaver’s would have called it progress.

"Right…"

She verged on protesting further when Carly, still at the window, suddenly perked up.

"Somebody's coming!"

Everyone moved at once - everyone not currently in a fear-induced coma, that was. Donna followed Susan as she headed to the window, her trip-hammer heart beating like bad techno at a rave.

At the table, Bobby and Amy both grabbed for the remaining shotgun at the same time, but Bobby had the stronger grip. He ripped it from her hands and leveled it at the door as it opened and Steve entered - alone.

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