In Laymon's Terms

The creatures, whatever they were, hadn’t tried to force their way through the door. He didn’t know what they’d do, or where they’d come from. The ceiling seemed a likely choice; it had been higher and unfinished across the hall. They might crawl over and drop in through the cheap, white tiles. Or they might, with a singular effort, smash their way through the door.

It was possible that the creatures might just go away. Dirk doubted it. So he listened to every sound, watched every corner and shadow through the corners of his eyes, and held his fingers tight on the triggers.

The girl sniffed. Once. Otherwise, he heard nothing except his unsteady breaths.

“I’m not happy about this,” the mother was saying. “Not happy at all.”

“We have to get out of here,” Dirk said, not turning his attention away from the door. “Get my keys.”

“What about our bags? Our car?”

“You want to go back and get them?” Dirk asked. When she didn’t answer, he added, “We’re going through the window, straight to my truck, and snow or no snow we’re getting the hell out of here.”

Jessie sniffed again, but otherwise made no noise. He was so glad she wasn’t crying; he didn’t know how to handle something like that. His jobs were usually solo gigs, involving no one and nothing else, and he’d never had to protect anyone before.

He didn’t have to protect this woman and her daughter, either. But he did. There was an obligation there that went beyond the stereotypes of “Me man, you damsel in distress.” It was because he had the guns. He was trained. But mostly because it gave him a goal just a little bigger than getting out of here alive. Made him feel important. Like he mattered.

“Where are they?” the mother asked, rifling through his bag and the other weapons.

“My coat,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

He looked just in time. The window smashed in as one of the creatures leapt through it, claws extended on all four limbs and teeth bared. Jessie screamed but she didn’t distract him. Turning, Dirk fired with both guns. Both bullets hit their target, tearing through the creature’s chest and spraying blood and tissue behind it. The thing folded in midair, tumbled across the bed, and landed on the mother.

“Fuck!” she cried. “Fuck Fuck Fuck!” She screamed, swirling her arms, spasms rocking her body as if she suddenly realized a spider crawled down the back of her shirt. Its guts spilled over her, but the thing was dead; its limbs hung loosely, and it only moved when she did. But underneath it, she must’ve thought it was alive.

Dropping one gun on the bed, he shoved the creature aside. “It’s dead,” he told her.

Snow swirled into the room. This side of the motel faced the woods; the road and parking lot were just a few rooms down to the right. The wall of white falling from the sky made it impossible to see more than a few feet beyond the first trees, if that far. His truck wouldn’t be visible until they’d covered half the distance at least.

He retrieved his gun, now aiming one toward the window and one toward the door, and said, “We’ve got to run now.”

“Wait.” The mother pulled the keys out of his coat pocket. “I’m not going anywhere with a stranger.” She looked pathetic, strands of creature flesh clinging to her hair.

“We hafta,” Jessie pleaded.

“What she said,” Dirk said. “Name’s Dirk. That’s good enough for now.”

“Diane.”

“Fine,” he said, inching toward the windows. “Get out there. Now.”

Diane carried her daughter through the window, already shivering and red because of the cold. None of them were dressed for the weather. They didn’t have time.

He backed to the window, keeping most of his attention on the door. Had he been organizing the attack, he would have sent in three or four of the creatures through the door at the sound of breaking glass, but there were none.

No, there were more. He knew it. He just didn’t know how many, or where they hid, and now he doubted they had any strategy at all.

As one, Diane and Jessie screamed. Dirk had reached the window, and easily saw what they saw. In the woods, not too distant, were three sets of eyes. Four. Maybe five. Blinking but unmoving. Shit, they were everywhere. Did he have enough ammo?

“Close to the wall,” Dirk told the girls. “Straight toward the parking lot. Don’t look at them. Don’t even think about them. Pretend they’re not there.”

“Fuck you,” Diane said.

“I’m trying to convince me,” he snapped. Dirk swung one leg over the edge of the window. Another creature dropped down on him from the roof.

He shifted at the last moment, catching sight of it (despite the white on white) in his peripheral vision. Still, one clawed hand ripped through his shoulder. Dirk pulled back, firing point blank at the back of the creature’s skull.

The others attacked from the woods.

They were fast. Too fast. His torn arm came up slowly, somehow still gripping the 9mm. He fired repeatedly with the other; all the creatures were coming at him now, ignoring the women.