The Last Two

An underground draft brushes the back of my neck, a weightless hand that tickles the hairs in warning. Ahead of us, a shadow creeps through the room at the end of the long hallway where a single, weak bulb is the solitary source of light. The lumbering movement of the shadow belies its ability to outrun any human, its occasional predatory thrashing the only indication of its intentions.

Beside me, my big sister’s wide eyes glisten in the near-darkness, her rapid puffs of warm breath on my cheek. I steady myself on the rough concrete wall with one hand while the other gropes for her hand, finds it, squeezes. “There’s only one in that room. If we time it right, we can slip past, and as soon as we get through there, we’re free.”

When she doesn’t respond, I say, “We will get through this. You have to trust me. It’s like how you got me to ride the roller coasters when I was little. I’m returning the favor. Concentrate on Mom and Dad, on Nick. They need to see you again. I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

This time she gives a small nod. Progress.

I suck in a lungful of the cool, stale air while ignoring my hammering heart. I squeeze her hand again, hoping she doesn’t notice the excessive sweat on my palm. “On the count of three?” There’s no reply, but I plow on. “Okay, one, two…” After a brief hesitation, I breathe, “Three!” Pull, but meet resistance.

I glance back. She shakes her head, her cheeks now streaked.

I wrap my arms around her, my skin pressing against her shirt, damp with blood that is not hers. I give her a moment before saying, “If we don’t go soon, they’ll get us. Doing nothing is more dangerous than going in there.”

For the first time in ages, I hear her voice, a soft whisper in my ear. “I know. But I can’t. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

As the terror begins to crowd out my other thoughts, desperation seeps into my voice. “We have to get out. We have to try.”

Again so quiet it’s like a breeze forming words. “Megan. I’m so, so sorry.” A shuffle and a scrape echo from behind us, back the way we came, and the ground beneath us heaves, as if drawing in and releasing an enormous breath. Her body shudders within my grasp. “Did you know a flying head looks like a soccer ball?” A manic cackle escapes her lips, and I clap a hand to her mouth.  For that instant, the madness I see in her eyes makes me shiver almost as much as the things hunting us.

The dark abyss is threatening to drag me in with her. I swallow to contain the scream building from within and then lick my lips, tasting the salty sting of tears. I am ashamed at the powerful urge to leave her behind and make a run for it. Through my parched throat, I force out, “We’re not going to die. Come on, I’ll help you.” I release her, grab her wrist, and pull her arm over my shoulders. I begin to inch forwards but, being a head shorter and thirty pounds lighter, can’t budge her.

The sounds behind us are growing louder, multiplying. More are joining the hunt, and they have our scent, the scraping and moaning of them overlapping into a nightmarish hellscape. If the one in front of us hasn’t already heard them, it will soon, and I’m willing to bet it will know the cause of the commotion. I tug and tug, each attempt becoming more panicked as I relive my recurring nightmare where I have to run, but my legs won’t move. The urge to give up on her grows, and I can feel my grip on her arm slackening. I tell myself it’s against my will, yet at the same time, I am weighing the odds of escaping alone. My inner voice goads me on, convincing me that it’s better for at least one to survive.

But she’s my sister. The one who punched a boy because he called me “horseface". Besides, who am I kidding? Neither of us are getting out of here.

No, don’t think like that.

I tug again, and on the fourth try, she finally drags a foot forwards. We have moved less than six inches, but we have moved.

“Okay, that’s it. Keep going.”

Pulling with all my effort, we creep towards the door. But I know it’s too slow. The sounds are close now, too close, and they are speeding up.

“Come on, we need to move faster.”

“I’m trying,” she weeps. “I’m trying.”

A far-off rumble vibrates the floor beneath us, and as it ceases, the light bulb from the adjacent room glows brighter for a second before shattering, leaving us in darkness so complete I may as well have gone blind. Paralyzed, the entire world focuses on the encroaching noises. They do not slow. I suspect those things don’t require light to track us.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she whispers, gripping my shoulder so hard I nearly scream. I squeeze my useless eyes shut and continue walking, groping for the doorframe, anticipating any second for my hand to be seized, for me to be yanked off my feet and torn to shreds, more blood to splatter my sister’s shirt before it’s soaked with her own.

My hand finds the doorframe, and I stop. Though we are this close, I can’t hear it. I have no idea where it is. In desperation, I open my eyes, but they’re playing tricks on me, conjuring shadows within the darkness. I could swear it’s inches away, a looming shape staring hungrily into my face with whatever passes for a smile, reaching towards me with those vicious claws, grasping, brushing against my cheek, playing with its prey, savoring my helplessness…

It takes all my resolve to remain still, to ignore the imaginary fingers playing across my skin. I breathe into her ear, “We need to make a run for it and hope we find the stairs. Please do this with me or we’re both dead.”

I cannot tell if she nods. I pray she does.

“One. Two.”

Deep breath.

“Three.”