The Fallen 3 by Thomas E. Sniegoski Page A

they were, had moved closer, he had noticed an odd smell about them. A smell that had made him think of every sad thing he’d experienced in his nineteen years, and
that
had made every hair on his body stand at attention.
    He’d raised his weapon, bending forward ever so slightly as he prepared to defend himself.
    “Now what would entice this sheep to come to the aid of the carrier?” one of the creatures asked his brethren.
    Dusty tried to keep his eyes on them, turning to look at each of them as they circled him.
    “Curiosity,” the second suggested. “They are naturally drawn to the misfortunes of their own kind.”
    “As we have seen time after time, brother,” the third said, “they seem to gain some kind of sustenance from the suffering of others. This one has come in for a little snack only to end up as a snack himself.”
    Dusty felt as though he might vomit as he watched a thickblack tongue slither from the monster’s mouth and slide over teeth that seemed too sharp.
    “Perhaps,” responded the first. “But I suspect that there is something more to it … that there could in fact be some connection between—”
    “And you’d be right,” a new voice interrupted.
    Dusty found his own gaze following those of the three walking nightmares to the far end of the alley, where the old man had been abandoned.
    Only the man wasn’t lying on the ground anymore. In fact, he seemed to be in relatively decent shape considering the thrashing Dusty had seen him take.
    Dusty couldn’t stand it anymore and took his chance while the three were distracted.
    With a bloodcurdling scream, he’d swung the board in his hand as hard as he could. Visions of his freshman year in high school, when he’d played varsity baseball, danced before his eyes. He’d wanted to send that ball to the moon, and that was exactly what he’d wanted to do to the closest monster’s head.
    The board hit pale skin and skull with a strangely satisfying
thunk
, the monster’s body going comically rigid as it dropped to the alley floor. Dusty’s blow had cracked its skull like an eggshell, spilling its black, glistening contents upon the ground.
    Something eel-like squirmed and flopped within the oily liquid, squealing horribly as it was exposed to the light of themoon. Dusty couldn’t pull his eyes from the thing as it slithered across the ground, searching out a patch of darkness.
    The monster’s two comrades lunged at him, reaching out with long-fingered hands. Dusty swung at them, driving their distorted bodies back as he moved down the alley toward the old man.
    “Stay behind me,” Dusty ordered the old man once he reached him. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was he was going to do. He was probably only delaying the inevitable, but he’d gotten this far and wasn’t going to just lie down and die.
    He’d glanced quickly over his shoulder to be sure the old man had heard him, and it was then Dusty had realized with surprise that he was blind, his eyes milky white in his dark brown face.
    Dusty came out of his memory with a start, his hand flailing out and knocking over his soda cup, spilling the contents.
    “Shit,” he muttered, getting up from the table and leaving his bags, and the harmonica, to get some napkins to clean up his mess. He plucked paper napkins from the metal container, attempting to hold back his further recollections but having little luck.
    “Give us the instrument,” one of the monsters had hissed in the alley. “Give it to us and we’ll kill you quickly.”
    Again there was that thing with the tongue, fat and slimy, snaking from its mouth.
    Dusty had had no idea what they were talking about. Atfirst he thought the monstrosities were referring to his makeshift weapon, but then he heard the old man softly chuckle behind him.
    “I think this has gone on long enough,” he said, and Dusty couldn’t have agreed more.
    Then, as if things weren’t already bizarre enough, the old man pulled a tarnished horn