The Camaro Murders by Ian Lewis Page B

else’s skin.
    Out of habit, I alternate between the road and the rearview mirror. When I check the rearview for the third time, I hear Jasper swear. I turn my eyes back to the road to see a figure standing in our path about two blocks ahead.
    â€œIt’s Tickseed,” Jasper says. “Gun it—don’t stop.”
    â€œWhat?!”
    â€œRun him over!”
    I floor the accelerator, and the transmission drops a gear in response. The car closes the distance between us and Tickseed in a matter of seconds.
    Tickseed’s grin is all I see before we connect with a “whump.” He rolls up and over the roof of the car.
    â€œDon’t stop!” Jasper is manic.
    Confused, I obey and glance in the side mirror to see Tickseed is already on his feet, running after us.
    He’s transformed again like he did that day in the field, blackened and wolfish. Somehow he’s gaining, as if we’re slowing down.
    Jasper looks over his shoulder to see Tickseed’s loping strides. “You know what to do. Just keep on heading towards the drop-off point; I’ll try to slow him down.”
    I watch in disbelief as Jasper opens the door and hurls himself into the road. In the rearview, he rolls three times before coming to his feet. He meets Tickseed head-on with surprising quickness, and they collide into a mass of swinging limbs.
    Stopping to help Jasper never occurs to me. The pedal is as flat as it will go, and I continue on, desperate to reach the drop-off point. I want to get this over with. No stalling.
    Both sides of the street are a blur, and I’m reacting faster than I ever thought possible. The car seems to respond to my sense of urgency. I can’t tell what speed I’m going, but somehow I’m traversing miles when I should only be traversing feet. I see where I’ve been and where I’m going at the same time.
    Soon the city is gone and the fog engulfs the car. Visibility decreases and motion comes to a crawl when the hood hits the sleeve. Inside there’s darkness. This is the time to focus.
    I picture a farm like the one Jasper told me about. On the northern end of town, there are empty fields and long stretches of road, gradually rising and falling. The scene forms in my mind before I find myself slowly cruising past the actual farm.
    I made it. I crossed over. Firm pressure on the brakes brings the car to a halt along the shoulder. Can anyone see me? This is my primary concern, and I refuse to get out of the car at first.
    Panicking, I struggle to recall everything Jasper said about staying out of sight. He said I have to hold myself in like I’m holding my breath. It’s the only trick that will work. No one will see me then.
    I exit the car, determined not to be seen, pretending not to be seen. The house seems like it’s a mile away. I force myself to walk and I feel closer to implosion. I must be a freakish sight, dead and moving across a never-ending yard.
    Jasper said to go to the rear of the house, where I can expect to find the boy in the back room. I pass the cars in the driveway, and count steps to calm myself. There’s still time to turn back even as I round the corner of the porch.
    In the side yard, I’m afraid to peek in the windows. I’m also afraid to run. So I’m deliberate in my movements, focused on holding in, trusting that no one will see me. Invisible strides, invisible placement of my feet…
    The back yard comes too fast. A decaying barn sits at the rear; behind it are fields choked by weeds. I feel stark against them, like I’m made of something less substantial. The urge to turn and run is at its peak, but in all my wavering I decide I have to stay.
    I said I’d do this. Jasper can trust me. My word is solid, and I won’t break it. I turn and face the house, the unwelcome sight it is. The faded white paint and empty windows impress upon me the filthy work at hand.
    With caution, I traverse the few