6Terry woke up a while later to the smell of frying eggs and bacon. He briefly curled back into a ball, but his stomach convinced him to get up. How long had it'd been since he'd eaten? Too long, judging by the growling in his gut. He peered over the back of the couch and into the kitchen.
"What're you doin'?"
Marc looked over his shoulder and froze, like he'd been caught pocketing something pricy. "Uh, making breakfast."
A quick look at the clock on the wall. "It's almost seven."
"Breakfast for dinner."
As Terence stared at the spatula in Marc's hand, he felt a peculiar and ill-defined annoyance. He stood up, held himself against the arm of the couch for a minute to let the dizziness go away, and walked over to the stove. Marc moved aside without a word as Terence snatched the handle of the frying pan and the spatula. The mess made in the former turned the annoyance into mild anger.
"Th' hell d'you do? Everything's all burnt up."
Marc, who by now was standing at the far end of the kitchen some five feet away, looked sheepish. "Sorry, I'm not much of a cook."
"Obviously," Terry said, and scraped everything into the trashcan.
"I would've eaten it," Marc said somewhat meekly.
"Don't bother." Terry set the skillet back down, went to the fridge.
"I don't like wasting food," Marc began, but Terence cut him off.
"It was free anyway," he said as he pulled out a few eggs and the opened package of bacon. "There's a lot more in the back freezer."
Marc leaned back against the counter and watched as Terry threw in a few slices of bacon. They sizzled in the hot skillet right away, and a moment later in went the eggs.
"How d'you want 'em?"
"Over hard, I guess," Marc said.
"Plates."
"Yessir."
Before long, several perfectly cooked eggs and bacon slices were slid onto the cheap and minimally chipped ceramic plates that Rick kept stowed in the cupboard. Marc stared at his food for a moment, while Terry dug in immediately.
"Wow, where'd you learn to cook like this?" Marc asked.
Terence shrugged. "They're just eggs," he said around a mouthful of food. "You gonna eat them or what?"
"Yeah," Marc said, and picked up his fork.
Terry had made it through all three of his eggs and most of the bacon before setting down his silverware.
"So, uh. How's the, uhm, is the thing still asleep?"
Marc nodded, and swallowed the last of his bacon. "I cleaned its head about half an hour ago, put on some proper bandages. Doesn't look too bad, but he hasn't woken up yet."
Terence didn't feel like finishing his last piece of bacon. "You think it might be hungry when it does wake up?"
Just then, a crashing sound came from a room down the hall. The pair jumped, then stared at each other. Marc giggled nervously.
"I guess we can ask him now."
"You go first," Terry said a bit too quickly. Marc looked a little scared, but nodded grimly. The guy had guts, he had to give him that.
The giant made his way around the corner and down the short hall, stopping in front of Jaime's door. It was still closed, the room inside silent. Terence maintained a safe distance behind Marc, clutching a baseball bat he'd grabbed from behind the front door. He felt a lot better with the scarred and worn grip in his hands.
Marc knocked on the door.
Terence shot him a "what the hell" look, and adopted perfect batting form. Marc, however, insisted on proper door etiquette.
"Are you okay in there? May I come in?"
"For fuck's sake," Terry said with surprisingly little waver in his voice. "It probably can't even talk."
"How would you know?" Marc said, and turned the knob.
He didn't walk into the room right away, but just stood slightly out of sight of the small gap he made. They waited.
Nothing happened.
Terence very much wished he wasn't standing only a few feet down the hall. Anyplace way the hell away from Rick's was sounding like a good place to be at the moment. He was probably overdue for a heart attack. In fact, he could have sworn he almost felt one coming on.
Marc remained much more composed, at least outwardly. He pushed the door slightly, then a little wider again. Terry thought he heard something rustle inside, but he may have been hearing things.
Why was he so scared? It wasn't like he didn't know what was sitting somewhere in Jaime's room; he just couldn't say what it was.
Or what it was capable of.
Of course, Marc disappeared through the mostly open door, leaving Terry standing suddenly alone. Why did he have to go ahead and do that? He tightened his grip around the bat, which he hadn't realized was possible.
The damn fool was going to get himself killed.
Terence didn't want to have to deal with that sort of thing on his conscious, so against his better judgment he stepped softly to the door.
Marc was standing just inside, still as stone. Terry thought about saying something, anything, but saw Marc's hand poised neutrally at his side, as if to tell him "Don't make a move."
Well, that was the message Terence got, and he was quick to freeze where he was. He waited.
"We won't harm you," Marc spoke gently, like to a child, or to a hurt dog hiding behind a dumpster. "We're here to help."
There was a short silence, followed by a low hiss that rose and slithered like a snake. Little icy pinpricks crawled down Terry's spine, and he took a step back.
Marc had the same idea, and inched his way into the hall, never taking his eyes off the thing in the room. Terry made room for him by retreating behind the couch, still wielding the bat.
Marc left the door open, and rejoined Terence in the living room. He swallowed, and Terry noticed that his forehead was shiny with sweat.
"I don't think he's feeling all that talkative," he said with a half-hearted smile. Terry was not amused in the least.
"You think? Oh, Jesus tap-dancing Christ, what are we gonna do with that thing? Fuck, and Rick's probably on his way back by now, or Adrianna, or maybe the fuckin' neighbors called the cops—"
"Terry…"
"It's holed up in the house, and now it's awake! It can come out after us now, and why didn't you shut the god-damn door—?"
"Ter!"
"What?" he snapped.
"Please just shut up for a minute, or do you want to spook it?"
Maybe it was Marc's low, even tone, or just plain old common sense, but Terry shut up as per request. He'd let himself get hysterical, which wasn't all that unreasonable considering the situation…
Marc was clearly scared, too, (the balled fists didn't do much to hide the shaking,) but at least he seemed to have a firmer grasp on the situation. Maybe he knew what he was doing.
It wasn't like Terry had a clue, in any case.
He took a few shaky breaths, then nodded. "Okay. Yeah. Calm, quiet, don't wanna do anything quick. Good and slow, it won't attack anything what doesn't look like it wants a fight…"
"That's the spirit," Marc said, then sat back down on the couch. Terence followed suit, though he really didn't see what it accomplished besides putting them where they were just a few hours ago, except even worse off.
They left the television off again, even though the distraction would probably have been welcome by that point. Terence fidgeted in his seat, keeping one eye to the hallway, in case the creature decided to come out.
Finally, there was a shuffling. No more hisses yet, but nothing else that could give Terry an idea of the thing's motives.
What if it was a man-eater? A flesh-devouring monster, just waiting for an opportunity to pounce…?
He could almost see into the room from his vantage point, and saw a shadow move against shadow from behind the edge of the door. Terry's whole body ached, especially the small, hard lump just under his ribs and deep in his stomach.
The shadow stopped where it was, though, and the door closed ever so slightly.
"It's okay," Marc said, not budging from his seat. "You can come out."
Terry was almost on the verge of punching the idiot for even suggesting it come out and join them, but luckily the thing seemed to hate the idea just as much. The door closed a few more inches, but didn't quite shut all the way.
"Or not," Marc said. He shot a glance toward Terence. "See? We can probably reason with it."
"Just doesn't want a fight right now," Terry said. It was tough getting words out with a dry tongue.
"I try to be an optimist," Marc responded without much humor. "Let's give it some time to warm up to us."
"It's not a fuckin' cat, it's, I dunno what it is, but what if it doesn't wanna come out? I ain't explainin' it to Rick, when he comes back an' it's still in there."
"You let me worry about that," Marc said. Terence was more than glad enough to, but didn't say as much out loud. "In the meantime, think you could cook up some grub?"
It took several moments for Terry to realize he was staring. He quickly closed his mouth and shook his head.
"Howintha hell can you think about food now?"
Marc shrugged, which turned into a rolling of the shoulders and back that carried him gracefully off the couch. Terence wasn't particularly impressed, given the situation.
"Not for me, I just ate," Marc said. "But our guest might be hungry." He motioned in the general direction of the kitchen. "So, where did you say you kept that freezer full of food?"
"This is such bullshit," Terry said, but lead the way.
What else was he supposed to do?
The extra freezer was in the back room, and Marc followed quietly behind as Terry took him past the kitchen and the laundry room. "In here," he said as he pulled open an old plywood door.
Marc peeked into the small room, walked inside. He stood in front of the large appliance, arms akimbo, looking suitably impressed.
"Wow, you could fit like two or three bodies in here," he said.
"Four," Terry said, "maybe more if you chop them up."
Marc took a moment to ponder this, then decided it was a joke. He laughed. "Either way, you can fit a lot in here. Let's see what you got…" He proceeded to open the top, and whistled. "You gots lots, I see." He pulled out a packet of pork chops, rummaged around and grabbed some steaks, breasts, fillets, and frozen peas.
"Jeez, why so much food?"
Terry shrugged, still leaning on the door frame. "Rick doesn't like letting stuff spoil, so he always takes home more than we can eat. There's always stuff we can't salvage."
Marc looked back, set down a tray of chicken legs. "Salvage?"
"Rick's a Freegan," Terence said, almost like an apology. "Well, he salvages food that gets thrown out, says it's a damn waste and it's free, so it cuts down on living expenses. He figures, since there's so many of us that come 'n go all the time, it's cheaper when it comes t' keeping us all fed."
"Ah, no, that's actually pretty cool," Marc said, but eyed the date on the package of legs anyway. "What do you think our friend will want to eat?"
Terry shivered as he remembered the creature's long hiss. "I dunno, grab a little of everything. Not just meat, but lots of that, too. I'll get the pan ready."
Terry went back to the kitchen and got out the necessary supplies, including a large pot of warm water. He wanted to unfreeze as much of the food as quickly as possible, and he didn't trust the microwave not to ruin some of the food.
He was just trying to feed a strange creature that probably wouldn't even appreciate a warm meal, but dammit, he took pride in his work.
Marc eventually walked out, arms full of plastic-wrapped Styrofoam trays of chicken breasts, tilapia fillets, London broil, pork chops, frozen peas, carrots, corn, and string beans. He threw everything onto an empty counter and started rubbing his arms through his sleeves. "Need anything else?"
Terry was already tearing open some of the packages. "Get some bowls for the vegetables, throw those in the microwave for a few minutes. They should be fine. Plates for the meat, you don't have to use the good ones. Uh, I have the cutting board and everything else. Just stay outta my way."
The fish thawed the fastest, so Terence started with that. He put one of the fillets straight onto the plate—maybe the thing ate stuff raw, he didn't know—and threw the other into a smoking puddle of olive oil. No spices, no seasonings… It felt wrong, not adding anything to a good piece of fish, but if the creature had a pepper allergy, well, how could he tell?
It would have to deal with bland food for now.
Before long, the chicken, beef, and pork were cooked through and set on their respective platters. Terry diced everything to cook a little faster, and set the cooked piles next to the soggy lump of raw meat on all of the plates. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing a hack job, but it wasn't that important. The big thing was keeping the damn thing from starving.
If hungry cats ate their late owners, he hated to imagine what a person-sized thing could do to a living kid.
He walked out of the kitchen, plates in hand, and realized he'd been cooking for almost an hour. Time sure flew.
Marc was sitting on the couch, beer in hand, but stood when he saw Terry enter the room. He set his beer down. "Need a hand with anything?"
Terence handed him a few of the plates. "Has it moved yet?"
"No, it's been a while. Door hasn't budged, either."
Terry swallowed. "Good." He didn't want it looking at him as he set everything down. There was no way he was going into Jaime's room, no, not with it waiting in there for them.
It the damn thing was hungry, it could come to the food. They weren't a damn catering service.
"Hey, hand it here, I'll set it in front of the door," Marc said as they walked softly toward Jaime's former room. He set his two plates down on the worn wooden boards just outside in the hall. Terry handed his plates over without a word.
He was just glad that he wasn't the one bent over and vulnerable in front of a partially open door with a possibly hungry something inside. He'd done his part; the cooking.
He still regretted not being able to use at least a little salt or rosemary. The pork really needed it.
Well, the cooked pork, anyway.
Marc stood up slowly after the bowl of mixed vegetables was set down. He waved Terry back, then knocked once more on the door.
Terence shouldn't have been surprised, but he was pissed, too. Damn that guy.
"Dinner's served," Marc said, and hurried back to the relative safety of the couch. Terry had him beat by less than a second. The two of them peered over the back of the couch like a couple of kids, just watching.
And waiting.
Fortunately, for once it wasn't a long wait.
Terence felt his stomach tighten as the door actually creaked open slowly. At first nothing moved, but then a few fingers curled around the edge of the door and pulled it slightly wider. From the living room, they looked like a person's fingers, but Terry knew better. He couldn't keep from shuddering.
He could have sworn he heard a snuffling sound coming from inside the room, and for all he knew, he did. The door widened one more time; now it was about half open. Whatever was inside kept on the other side, though.
Except for its arm.
The creature's right arm snaked out, fished around blindly on the floor. For how much was still hidden behind two layers of thin plywood, the arm looked pretty damn long. Longer than a person's. The fingers looked like they had some kind of webbing between them, too, up to the second knuckle. Thankfully, there weren't any long talons at the ends of those fingers.
The plates were close enough to the door that the thing ran into one almost right away. It stopped, then gently caressed the edge of the plate before grabbing the edge and dragging the mess of London broil across the threshold and out of sight.
Terence had a sudden nightmare vision of the creature grabbing his ankle and doing the exact same thing. He must have whimpered or made some kind of noise, because he caught Marc staring at him. He could have said something, but the arm snaking around the door was too distracting.
It felt around again, this time grabbing the fish plate. This one was gone with the scraping of ceramic over wood. Another pause, and the arm returned.
Eventually all of the plates were dragged into the abyss; even the vegetables.
Terence licked his lips. His whole mouth had gone dry without him noticing it. Marc looked to be about the same way, but put on a better face.
"He must've been hungry," he said, trying to be light about it. Terry only managed to nod.
He hadn't seen its teeth, yet. Oh, God, they had to be horrible.
Marc was reaching for his forgotten beer (probably definitely warm by now) when they heard the door whine on its hinges. Terence jumped about a foot out of his seat, and turned to look down the hall.
Between the angled door and the frame with its flaking paint was a face, staring at the couch.
Terry hadn't taken a good look at the thing back when it was lying on the warehouse floor, but he had a nice eyeful now. From a distance, it almost could have been a human; dark hair, slightly tan skin, eyes, cheeks. The nose was the problem, though. From what he could tell, it was some kind of cross between a dog and a horse, long and fleshy and lipless. Two nostrils sat at the end of its snout, visibly twitching like they were busy smelling something.
He didn't notice the ears poking out of the mess of hair until one of them shook itself forward. They sat on the sides of the head, like a normal person's, but were a few inches too long, and pointed.
They also seemed to be pretty mobile. The ear twitched again, and the creature licked its chops.
They heard it from across the living room.
Terence wasn't sure about Marc, but he felt the sudden need to run to the bathroom. Shame it was down the hall, too. He'd do his damndest to make due, for now.
The creature smacked its lips again, and snuffled.
"Fua," it said, simply.
Marc and Terry stared at the creature, then at each other.
"You heard that, right?" Terry asked. Marc nodded.
"Fua," the creature repeated with something like a stern look on its face, then licked pointedly again. "Jet ti jado, yto izhel'yi."
Terry swallowed. "You catch any a' that?" Marc shook his head, but was looking too excited for his own good. The creature seemed decidedly annoyed, now.
(Watching human emotions flash across something inhuman's face was damned unnerving.)
"Marc, it can t-talk…"
"Seems so," he said with too big a grin. "No idea what it's saying, though."
"U'enjet eén ne'ti…"
"Whaddaya think it wants?"
Marc shook his head, that stupid grin still plastered across his face. "No idea, but I'm gonna try to find out."
He slid off the couch, walked around slowly toward the hall. Terence half followed, but stopped and crouched behind the furniture. "Hey! Hey! What th' hell d'you think you're doin'? Get back here! Stop!"
Marc didn't, of course. He was at the head of the hallway when the creature pulled back from the door, closing it slightly. Terry could see the thing just inside the room, watching them.
Was it scared?
Terry blinked. Where had that thought come from? Maybe it was only natural to assume something like that, cornered in a strange place, might be scared. Hell, it was scary being on the other side of that equation…
By now, Marc had sat himself down at the head of the hall, cross-legged and looking like a ridiculous hobo Buddha in his old jeans and ragged long-sleeved shirt. He had his hands on his knees, more or less neutral. He was quiet, intent.
The creature paused a moment, and opened the door a little bit. It licked its chops again. "Fua," it said. "Hnn, eauo? Agoo'a? Drra, u'enjet ti lajet-éa..."
"Did you hear that?" Marc asked, still completely still in his spot on the floor.
Terry thought for a minute. "I dunno, maybe? It said words, I think."
"Nothing you know, though, right?"
"'Course not!" Terry snapped. "You think I'd know any 'a what that thing's sayin'?"
Marc nodded toward the creature. "Listen again. Ah, hey, agua, right?"
The creature perked its ears upright. "Sa, agoo'a!"
"You thirsty?" Marc mimed drinking from a glass.
"Sa, izhel'yi. Agoo'a."
Marc half-glanced over his shoulder. "You heard the man, Ter… Get him some water!"
"This is crazy," Terry muttered even as he stood up and walked into the kitchen. "How th' hell's that thing know fuckin' Spanish?" He grabbed a bowl from a cabinet and filled it a little more than halfway full of water.
Marc never moved from his spot, but accepted the bowl as Terence passed it to him. "I couldn't tell you, kiddo, but I think we may have discovered a means of communication from here on out. You fluent at all?"
Terry stepped back by the couch and crossed his arms. "I know a little. Cusses, mostly."
"I don't think that'll be too useful," Marc said. He scooted forward a foot or so, set the bowl on the ground. The door creaked open another few inches as the creature watched the water slosh around and threaten to spill over the edge. Marc shuffled backward again, leaving plenty of room for the thing to retrieve the bowl without feeling crowded.
It eyed the water and licked its lips again, but didn't move.
"Oh, for chrissake," Terry groaned. "Now what?"
Marc shook his head. "I don't know. It said it was thirsty."
"No, it said some nonsense an' you thought you heard it say somethin' in Spanish," Terence said, feeling suddenly very annoyed.
"It has to be thirsty," Marc said, sounding very let down. "It said agua and eau; those both mean 'water,' and it's been licking like a dog does when it's thirsty…" He focused again on the creature, which had moved forward slightly and was now sitting almost in the door frame. "¿Se quisiera agua, verdad?"
The creature nodded. "Sa. Agoo'a, hnn, a beber."
"Ha!" Marc almost jumped up from his spot on the wooden floor. The creature flinched a little, but stayed where it was. "See? It can understand us! We can talk with it!"
"Then why isn't it drinking?"
"I don't know. Hey, we can ask now… Uh, ¿porque no bebe la agua?"
The creature snorted. "Beber, u'laffarse. Hnn, no laffarse. Me. No me laffa."
"What does laughing have anything to do with it?" Terry asked in Marc's direction, not really expecting an answer.
The vagabond, however, still seemed intent on figuring out what the creature was trying to say. "I don't think he means 'to laugh,' Ter… Uh, how about this; ¿Quisiera beber agua, verdad?"
The creature seemed slightly exasperated. "Sa! Agoo'a, beber agoo'a. Ifosi, ui ofus." It cupped one hand and brought it near its mouth. "Ifosi."
Marc sat back on his hands. "What does… oh!" He turned around, that stupid grin back on his face. "I think I figured it out!"
Terry couldn't help but be curious. "Huh?"
"Go get a glass from the kitchen and fill it up with water."
"A glass of water? That thing's damned picky," Terry said, but complied with the request anyway. If the thing was too good to drink out of a bowl…
He returned a moment later, glass in hand. He handed it off to Marc again, who scooted forward and set it next to the bowl. This time, the creature wasted no time reaching out and grabbing the cup.
Terence watched as the thing brought the glass to its mouth and started drinking just like a person. He wouldn't have thought something with a face like a dog could do that; he'd imagined that it lapped stuff up with its tongue.
What else could it do?
The whatever-it-was finished the cup in no time, set it back down and licked itself noisily again. It had some sharp-looking teeth, Terry noticed with a slight squirming in his stomach. Nothing too long or scary, but definitely sharp…
It caught Terry's eye, stopped licking. The creature had grey eyes, round pupils, just like a human…
"Gras-yas," it said, grabbing the bowl off the floor and slowly rising to its feet. The other hand it clasped to its side, right around the lower few ribs. Terry felt a stab of fear and guilt, the latter as he remembered accidentally kicking it twice when he found it…
If the creature remembered any of that, it didn't show any hint of knowing, and it silently turned around and walked back into Jaime's room. A few seconds later, the door closed with a small click.
Terence and Marc were alone again.
No one spoke for a moment, until Marc rose to his feet with a soft grunt. He turned around, that idiot smile apparently still stuck there from before.
"Did you see that? Ter, we can talk with him now!"
Terry shook his head.
"Rick's gonna kill me."