The Road North

The sound was wet. A soft, precise puncture, barely audible over the hum of the backup generator.

Arthur staggered. He dropped the gun. His hands flew to his neck, but it was too late. The blood was already there, a dark, pulsing geyser.

He fell to his knees. He looked up at the woman standing over him. His eyes were wide with shock, not pain.

"Margaret?" he gurgled.

She didn't answer. She just watched him fall forward onto the concrete.

The room was silent. The mixer had stopped. The construction workers were frozen against the wall. The security guards were staring at the body of the man who signed their checks.

And Julian.

Julian was still on the floor, clutching his shoulder. He was staring at his mother.

"Mom?" he whispered.

She turned her head. Her eyes found him. They were the same cold, flinty blue as Arthur’s, but there was no recognition in them. Just a blank, terrifying vacancy.

She stepped over Arthur’s body. She walked toward the elevator. Her bare feet left bloody footprints on the concrete.

I scrambled to Julian. "We have to go. Now."

"Mom," he said again. He tried to stand, but his legs gave out.

I grabbed his good arm. "Julian, look at me. That's not her. That's what he made her."

I pulled him up. He was dead weight, shock and blood loss taking their toll.

"Help me!" I screamed at the construction workers. "Help me get him out!"

One of them moved. He was young, maybe twenty. He grabbed Julian’s other side.

We dragged him to the elevator. Margaret was already inside. She was pressing the button for the lobby, over and over again.

I shoved Julian into the car. The worker stayed behind.

The doors closed.

I was trapped in a metal box with my bleeding husband and his murderous, resurrected mother.

Margaret didn't look at us. She was humming. A low, discordant tune. It sounded like a lullaby played backward.

I ripped the sleeve off my blouse. I tied it around Julian’s shoulder, pulling it tight. He groaned.

"Stay with me," I said. "Stay with me."

The elevator stopped. The doors opened.

The lobby was empty. The night shift security guard was gone, probably hiding in the bathroom.

I half-carried Julian to the front doors. Margaret followed us, trailing blood.

We burst out into the night. The air was cold and clean.

"The car," I gasped. "Where's the car?"

I saw the Honda, still hidden in the brush where I had left it.

I dragged Julian toward it. I shoved him into the passenger seat.

Margaret was standing on the pavement. She was looking up at the sky. It was starting to rain.

"Get in," I yelled at her.

She looked at me. For a second, her eyes cleared.

"Elena?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "It's me. Get in the car."

She shook her head. "No. I have to go back."

"Go back where?"

"To the room," she said. "He's coming. He brings the flowers."

"He's dead, Margaret. He's not coming."

She smiled. It was a terrible, broken smile. "He always comes."

She turned and started walking back toward the facility.

"Margaret!" I screamed.

But I couldn't go after her. Julian was bleeding out in the front seat. And sirens were wailing in the distance.

I got into the car. I started the engine.

I looked back one last time. Margaret was standing in the doorway of the facility, silhouetted against the light. She raised her hand to her hair. One, two, three strokes.

Then she walked back into the darkness.

I slammed the car into gear. I drove away, leaving my mother-in-law behind for the second time.

But this time, I knew where she was.

And I knew exactly what I had to do to save her.

I looked at the GPS. It said *Arriving.*

But there was nothing but trees and a ten-foot fence.