Skinners Read online

  Skinners

  Craig Wesley Wall

  Broken Nose Books

  SKINNERS

  Copyright © 2017 by Craig Wesley Wall

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Book cover by The Cover Collection

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Newsletter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Thanks for Reading!

  About the Author

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  Chapter One

  Steve Finney never thought he’d have a knack for robbing convenience stores. Hell, what young white kid from middle class suburbia does?

  Yet to be locked up, or blown away by a clerk with a hidden shotgun, Steve insisted it was this knack – a sixth sense, he liked to call it – keeping him out of harm’s way. At least that’s what he told Lisa, his partner in crime and only friend in the world. With one eyebrow cocked, she would just smirk, agreeing with her cohort, secretly thinking their good luck was just that – luck. Dumb luck.

  Deep down, Steve knew his good fortune had less to do with a sixth sense and more to do with the fact that he just didn’t care; he didn’t give a shit whether he lived or died. He would often hear his mother’s sweet voice in his head, “God takes care of drunks and fools, Stevie.” The drunk driver that killed her on that lone stretch of highway walked away unscathed, lending credence to the quote; and Steve knew his and Lisa’s reckless behavior ranked far beyond foolish.

  However, there was one practical aspect of their larcenous escapades that facilitated their freedom – a method to their madness, steering them clear of incarceration and death by bullets. Simply enough, it involved choosing the right mark, selecting a store with all the specifications they desired. And the moment they’d walked into the Gas n Snax in the small mountain town of Kibner, Georgia, they knew it met all their criteria: isolated, late hours, a single employee, and lax security. After learning the lay of the land and staking out the store for two nights, they were ready. And on the night of the robbery, their plans were unfolding without a hitch.

  Until the bleeding woman stumbled into the store.

  * * *

  Steve realized he’d been studying the vast array of energy drinks for far too long, sure his feigned interest in each selection’s ingredients would be seen for the sham it was; he couldn’t even pronounce half the chemicals making up the drinks, much less explain their benefits or detriments. So, when the obese woman on the motorized cart and her brood of offspring finally made their approach to the front of the store, he decided it was time to stop dilly-dallying and set things in motion.

  Nodding with exaggerated approval in case anyone was watching, Steve chose a large, camouflage-patterned can promising hours of extreme energy. He then moseyed his way along the aisles toward the front of the store, picking up products at random and placing them back on the shelves with a dissatisfied shake of his head and a frown. Stopping at a display of potato chips, he surveyed the remaining customers – the scooter lady and her kids; and an old, burly, bald guy at the beer cooler.

  His excitement mounting, Steve stifled a sinister grin begging to spread across his face. Almost go time, he thought.

  The first time Steve had robbed a store he’d literally pissed himself, soaking his jeans right there in front of the equally frightened clerk. Steve’s bow-legged sprint from the register to the car had reminded Lisa of an Animal Planet special she’d seen, where the aptly named Jesus Lizard scurried across water when startled; she’d almost crashed the car from her fits of laughter. But Steve, regardless of his soggy pants, had immediately fallen in love with the adrenaline rush that followed once they were in the clear. Despite the rush, he announced after each successful getaway that it would be his last, but somehow Lisa would talk him into just one more hit. It didn’t take much convincing on her part. The Gas n Snax would be his fifth store in just as many months.

  Steve watched the customers, mentally willing them to make their purchases and leave the store, and as if on cue, the woman and her kids started toward the cashier. Like a giant gaseous planet with several barren moons, the women scooted down the center aisle, her slack-jawed spawn following, pulled along by her immense gravitational pull. The overtaxed electrical motor hummed in protest as she rolled up to the counter and waited for the clerk to tally up her basket full of sodas and junk food. She grumbled disapproval at the total, jumped from her seat, and reached down the front of her shirt, rummaging around her massive cleavage. For a split-second, Steve thought the lady had beat him to the score, and almost burst out laughing when she extracted a checkbook and wrote the skinny clerk a check. Steve inched closer to the register as she plopped back into her seat and cruised out the door with her kids in tow, the door-chime sounding it’s annoying two-tone bell like a British police siren.

  Steve timed his approach, giving the old guy a chance to select his beer and beat him to the register. With his head down to hide his face from the lone security camera, Steve crept closer, his nerves buzzing, his grip threatening to crush the can in his left hand. All right, he thought, feeling the cold steel of the pistol against his stomach, if nobody else comes in you’ll be good to go once the old-timer leaves.

  Steve’s method was simple. Most small town stores had the same Plexiglas barriers any big city shop would have. However, Steve found they never shut the security windows out here in the sticks. Good old small town trust. He would casually ask for a pack of cigarettes, a brand directly behind the clerk, and once they turned to grab the smokes, Steve would hurtle the counter, gun drawn. Simple and quick. He failed to contain the grin now as he inched forward, admiring the wide-open window.

  Come on, old dude. Buy your beer and get out of here.

  The door chime sounded again and a woman staggered into the store. Blood trickled down her face and neck, painting the front of her shirt. The sight of the woman caused Steve’s already nervous state to reach its limit. His hand instinctively flew to the gun in his belt. He clinched his fist, stopping the hand before it could lift his shirt. It was a minor victory that he managed to keep the pistol hidden, and an ego-crushing defeat as a fat drop of warm piss soaked into his boxer briefs.

  Shit, Steve cursed himself, staring down at his crotch. Not again.

  The old guy abandoned his beer on the checkout counter and jogged over to help the woman. The muscles and tendons in her neck stood out like the strings on a bass guitar, her arms hung rigid at her sides, fists clenched into tight, pale balls. He guided her by the elbow and sat her down in front of a video blackjack machine; the game burped a manic, happy tune, greeting the pair. After a few seconds her muscles slackened and she stared at the front door, her eyes hollow and expressionless.

  So much for that plan, Steve thought, his nerves set
tling, the warm wetness in his pants already turning cold against his skin. He adjusted his damp crotch and placed his drink on a shelf. Already on the landline, the clerk ignored Steve, reporting the woman’s arrival and condition to a 911 operator. His head down, Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and crept to the exit, the pistol in his belt gaining weight at the thought of paramedics and police on the scene.

  “Hey,” the old guy said, one meaty hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Where’re you going? Help me out with her would ya?”

  Steve stopped in his tracks, stared at the man, and shrugged. “What the hell can I do? The guy behind the counter called an ambulance.”

  “Water,” the woman croaked, the word monotone and robotic.

  The fluorescent lights glimmered from the old man’s head as he nodded toward the rear of the store. “Bring her a bottle of water.”

  Steve noticed the faded green tattoos on the old guy’s thick, hairy forearms. The ink, along with the authoritative demeanor, gave Steve the impression the man was retired military. Of course, he thought, probably a homophobe jarhead just like my dad.

  Steve sighed and glanced out the front window to the car waiting at the curb. The store’s lights reflecting off the windows of the Volvo concealed Lisa sitting behind the wheel, but he could imagine the scowl on her face, and the string of curses most likely flowing from her mouth as she wondered what was taking him so long.

  She had staked this store out with Steve for the past two nights, learning the night employee’s routines, timing the robbery while half the town would be away enjoying the Kibner Meteor Festival. When she’d shown him the flyer for the festival – an annual event apparently – they’d laughed at their good fortune. So Steve was certain he’d be getting an earful for coming out empty-handed. As he eyed the Volvo, a mini-van sped from the lot, fan belts shrieking, a motorized cart hitched to the back.

  “Come on, son,” the old man said, forcing Steve’s attention back to the bloody woman. Steve examined her injuries in detail. Several swollen lumps dotted her face, like massive pimples or insect bites, each one oozing watery blood from their centers. The glare of the overhead fluorescent lighting shone from her slick, pale flesh, lending it the appearance of chilled custard. She shivered as the old man held her in place on the chair.

  Surrendering, Steve held up his hands. “All right, I’ll get her some water. Hold your horses, old-timer.”

  Steve retrieved a bottle of spring water from the cooler, taking his time, doing whatever he could to delay the berating waiting for him in the car. He glanced over at the clerk as he exited the checkout counter’s enclosure. Steve showed him the water. “I’m not paying for this.”

  The clerk – a nametag identified him as Aubrey – snatched the bottle away and tossed it to the old man. “Here you go, Thom.” He turned back to Steve with a sneer. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge you. And don’t strain yourself trying to help.”

  “Thanks, Aubrey,” Thom said after he caught the bottle. He gave Steve a disappointed look as well, a look he’d seen on his father’s face many times in his eighteen years.

  Well fuck you both, Steve thought, once again heading for the exit. And what the fuck kind of name is Aubrey?

  Thom opened the bottle and offered it to the woman. “Here you go, ma’am.” She upended the bottle, splashing the entire contents over her face and into her mouth as if she’d forgotten how to drink.

  Surprised at the woman’s behavior, Steve stopped and stared, Lisa and her imminent tirade forgotten for the moment. He gasped, repulsed by what he saw. Something moved in the woman’s open mouth, something pulsating and white like a giant grub. Convincing himself it was just her tongue, probably discolored and swollen from thirst, he shrugged it off an instant later.

  Thom spoke to her in the soothing tone used when speaking to a scared child. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “Hey,” Aubrey said, stabbing an index finger toward the woman. “I recognize her … she was in here earlier with her kids, buying sodas and snacks. She mentioned that they were going up to Highpoint to watch the meteor shower.”

  At the mention of her kids the woman’s gaze shifted, looking at the men in turn as if she just realized they were there. She blinked several times, the vacant stare vanishing, replaced with a look of fear and concern. She opened her mouth to speak, but a strangled gag and thick, dark blood was all that came out, cascading over her bottom lip, smacking onto the white tile floor.

  Steve jumped back. “Nasty. What the hell’s wrong with her?”

  Like a magician, Thom conjured a bandana, wiped the blood from her chin, and returned the soiled rag to his back pocket. Aubrey covered his mouth with a shaking hand. Neither man answered Steve’s question.

  “Water,” she said again, her voice emotionless.

  Thom soothed the woman some more. “You’re okay … help is on the way.”

  Aubrey cleared his throat. “Actually,” he said, lowering his voice. “They said it might take a minute. They’ve gotten a ton of calls in the past hour.”

  “Great … just great,” Steve said, pointing to the pool of blood on the floor. “You know what this is, right? It’s probably that Ebola shit that they’re talking about on the news … and you got her blood on your damn hanky, man. That’s it, you guys don’t need me, I’m getting the hell out of––”

  Steve halted his rant as the woman looked him straight in the eyes. It wasn’t the fleeting plea for help that stopped him, or the vacant stare that replaced it. It was the blood. Red and purple lines covered the whites of her eyes like a New York City road map, all streets leading to two large pupils, fully dilated even under the harsh glare of the lights. As he watched, a single crimson tear formed and dropped from an eyelash, like a rusty dewdrop falling from a length of wire.

  Lost in her gaze, Steve once again jumped at the grating sound of the door chime, but managed to hold his pee this time. A man walked in, shuffling his feet as if he’d just crossed a vast desert, ignoring the three men huddled around the bloody woman. Almost identical seeping sores peppered his sallow face and neck. “Water,” he said.

  Steve backed away. “What in the fuck is happening in this shithole town?”

  The man ignored the question, stumbling past Steve to the enormous tub of iced-down sodas and single beers next to the checkout counter. Steve, Thom, and Aubrey could only watch in stunned silence as the man dunked his entire head into the freezing slush like a Halloween partygoer bobbing for apples.

  The dumbstruck trio turned their attention back to the woman when she released a feeble moan. In conjunction with the sound, the weeping lump on her left cheek bulged out then flattened, as if her tongue had pushed from the inside. Then, the other sores pulsed and protruded as well, her flesh boiling. Thom and Aubrey backed away from the woman, giving the man with his head submerged in the ice tub a wide berth. Thom bumped into Steve, but the boy didn’t seem to notice; he just stood there, gawking at the throbbing sores on the woman’s face.

  The woman catapulted to her feet, toppling the chair with a splintering crash. With a sound like bubblegum popping, the sore on her left cheek burst, squirting bloody pus toward the men.

  “What the fucking fuck, man?” Steve shouted, jumping backward, knocking a display of Pringles to the floor.

  Steve wanted to run, to leave the store and its register full of cash in the Volvo’s rearview mirror, but the woman now blocked the exit. Trapped, he could only watch in horror, hiding behind Thom’s broad back as the other lumps on the woman’s face erupted, spraying the shelf of beef jerky next to her, coating the floor at her feet with thick, blood-streaked pus. She reached up and touched her face, her shaking fingers probing the holes in her cheeks. She released another long moan, a pleading, almost inhuman sound that both hurt Steve’s heart, and repulsed him at the same time.

  The man emerged from the ice tub, the wounds on his face also pulsating and discharging fluids. With surprising strength and speed, he overturned the
tub. Beverages and icy water flooded the floor, soaking everyone’s feet. The three bystanders scrambled backward even further. Steve spied a glowing exit sign above the back door to the building, but the strange man stood in his path.

  A bloody, fluid-spurting stranger blocked both exits to freedom. Steve’s sixth sense had never warned him of this scenario.

  “Okay, folks,” Thom said, holding his hands in the air, pleading for calm. “Don’t worry. Help is on its way. But I’ll call again just to make sure.”

  Thom took one step toward the counter.

  And that’s when the thick brown worms burst from the man and woman’s faces simultaneously, surging from the gaping wounds, whipping and thrashing about like snakes on fire.

  The audience of three grown men screamed like terrified children.

  Chapter Two

  Angie Ferguson clutched her brother’s tiny hand, leading him down the incline of the dark gravel road. At eight years older than her brother, she’d found his incessant fear and shyness an annoyance and burden while growing up, constantly having to babysit him when there were plenty of better things she could be doing. Now, at seventeen, her maternal instincts had kicked in at the first sign of fear in her brother’s big blue eyes.

  “It’ll be okay, Leland … I promise,” she said for the third time since things had gone sour, patting him on the head with her free hand.

  Leland looked up at her. Moonlight glimmered from his wet eyes. “Are Mom and Dad coming back?”

  I doubt it, Angie thought. “Yeah, they’ll be back soon. I promise.”