The Impulse, Chapter 5
The serialized slasher story continues...
Hey. Welcome back to Fiction for the Cosmically Disturbed, a newsletter for family, friends, and readers of my work. As promised, my serialized story, The Impulse, continues this week with its fifth chapter. You can catch up on previous entries (for free) in the archives. If you’d like to support me beyond the newsletter, you can grab my latest book Goddamn Graveyard Zombies. That link gets you the book for $10, but it’s also available in the usual book spots, albeit for a slightly higher price tag. As always, thank you for reading. If you like what I do here, make sure you subscribe.
Now, let’s get gory.
Lauren stumbled out of the woods and onto the gravel road leading into the Henshaw Valley Falls campground. She gasped for breath and finally slowed her steps, as if breaking out of the unpaved land was some symbolic victory. That now, back at something close to civilization, nothing bad could happen to her. No hulking beast men could chop off her boyfriend’s head or throw an axe at her.
The ranger’s station was only a few short paces away. A blue light bulb in a metal cage flickered above its door. She moved toward it, every inch of her body throbbing, itching, burning. Behind her, smoke billowed from the wreckage of her car.
“Hello,” she called hoarsely. “Help me please.”
The door to the ranger station banged open and a young man of average height emerged. He had a baby face but broad shoulders and, most importantly, a gun. Although she was sure the killer was dead, the sight of a polished revolver and an authority figure made her feel a lot safer.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
Then again…
“No, I’m not all right! Do I fucking look all right?”
The ranger froze, caught off-guard by her outburst.
“There’s no need to shout,” he said, holding up a hand in what he likely thought was the universal signal of peace and benevolence. “I’m here to help.”
“You want to help me? Let me use your phone.”
“Has there been an accident? I thought I heard a crash out on 73 …”
“There’s been a lot more than that, genius. Walt, my boyfriend, that psycho chopped off his head.”
“What’s that now?”
“Just let me use your phone, please.” She looked down at her filthy, bloody clothes. “I need to get to a hospital.”
“Jeepers, is all that blood yours? I’ll get my first-aid kit, and ….” He looked past her, toward the border of trees. “Ma’am, is that guy with you?”
She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, God.”
Impossible, yet as sure as she was standing, that motherfucking killer was standing too. He loomed at the road’s edge like a human-shaped stone, some aberrant rock formation that could somehow breathe.
With a cry of frustration, fear, and rage, she faced the ranger and reached for his gun.
“Whoa, ma’am,” the ranger protested, snatching her wrists.
The killer took a step forward. Lauren twisted in the ranger’s grip. Her fingers clawed at his holster. The killer drew closer. He no longer held the axe, but given his size and strength, his hands were sufficient weapons. How the hell was he still alive? How the hell was he moving?
Lauren tangled with the ranger. Her fingernails scraped the grip of the revolver.
“Ma’am, if you don’t stop reaching for my gun, I’m going to have to use force!”
He was trying to put some bass into his voice, but he was just a kid. A kid with a badge and a gun, probably experienced in no more than busting marijuana farms and citing campers for fires during one of the county’s many burn bans. Violent confrontation was as new to him as it was to her.
Now, violence was bearing down on them both on two monstrous feet.
In a fit of panic and misguided self-preservation, the ranger shoved Lauren to the ground. She landed at the killer’s feet. Bathed in blue light, his sloping forehead and scraggly beard appeared even more pronounced, more otherworldly, more beast than man. He gritted his crooked teeth and lifted a boot to pulverize her head.
She rolled aside in the nick of time, just as his boot collided with the gravel, kicking up dust and small stones.
“Hey!” the ranger called in a trembling voice. He had his gun out now, and it was trained on the killer’s chest. “You stop right there, or I’ll shoot. I mean it.”
The killer looked at the ranger and narrowed his eyes. Lauren crawled away from the mountain of a man and scrambled to her feet. The killer looked at her, then at the ranger. He took a step forward.
“I said, ‘stop!’” The ranger sounded shrill now, almost childish. The killer kept coming. “Just hold it now. I’m warning you.”
“Fucking shoot him!” Lauren yelled.
The ranger glanced in her direction. That momentary distraction allowed the killer to swipe a stray stone off the ground. He reared back and hurled the projectile just as the ranger squeezed the trigger.
The slug caught the killer in the chest, right beside the gaping axe wound; the stone connected with the ranger’s mouth, shattering teeth and caving in his jawbones. The ranger fell with a mouthful of blood and bone shards. The killer took two steps backwards, looked again toward Lauren, and reached for her with a meaty hand. Then, he collapsed.
Lauren exhaled and limped her way past the ranger, who was still gagging and twitching. She half-heartedly murmured that she’d call for help, knowing full well nothing could save him. Nonetheless, she entered the station and took the phone off the hook.