1

“Hit her again,” I said, gripping my beer until the perspiration around the bottle dripped over my fingers to the ground. “Hit her harder.”

Drake had been drinking for a couple of hours now and the way things were headed, it was going to either be “jail or ditch,” as he liked to say. Hopefully not jail. Jail was the worst. When Sheriff Thomas had been elected, things had calmed down somewhat, but the beat of life had caught up and things had returned back to where they had begun. Except for the Drazi. They were new, and nobody liked them.

“Hit her real hard.” I told Drake. “Hit her until she stops puking.”

I had seen my first Drazi about a month ago and she had been real pretty. I had been half lit and she had lured me into an alley near the bar and we had started making out. I was glad that I hadn’t gone into the bar earlier and started my usual round, because I wouldn’t have had such quick reflexes. She had tried biting me on the arm but I had shook her off. Screaming she had fallen to the ground, writhing. It was early on and we didn’t know anything about the Drazi then so I tried talking to her and that had been, in retrospect, a huge mistake.

Now, a month later, whenever they came wandering out from the desert, we just killed them. It was no fun sober though. They whined and cried and screamed but, really, if you let them have their way, you’d end up like Chalmers. Near the beginning, Old Sea (as we all called Chalmers) had shacked up with one for about a week. He didn’t show up for work, didn’t come out to the bar… Just stayed in his house. After four days of that nonsense, Drake and I went over to his house to see if he had picked up that nasty flu that had been going around. He didn’t answer the door but she did and invited us inside with pleading hands.

We found Old Sea in his bed crying and moaning and the Drazi was trying to get us to fuck her. She was taking off her clothes, whining  and everything, thinking that we would do a three-way, but Drake had gotten real mad at her when she didn’t answer us about what Old Sea was doing lying on the bed like that and not moving. He was naked and whiter than his sheets and he had bite marks all over him. She didn’t even seem to notice he was there, just started taking off her clothes, getting all in the mood or whatever. Drake pushed her up against a wall, real mad like and then she snapped and came for us, all claws and teeth and Drake had killed her with a baseball bat.

And now here I was, in an alley with Drake, commiserating with the devil-woman this savage act. The Drazi seemed to come in packs, or swarms, or litters… Whatever you want to call it. Really beautiful girls that you could smell the sex on. They looked like big city girls with nice faces, but were dressed in hand-me-downs from anywhere and everywhere. Did they raid a Salvation Army Store? The clothes were years out of date and always dirty. But, who cared – they all died the same. Screaming and puking and then eventually turning into a blackened goo that sank into the ground and stank like skunk.

Drake hit her again, this time right in the jaw, and it fell off, clattering.

“Aww fuck this!” He said, and stood up over her and continued with his boot into her skull until she gurgled and stopped moving. Her head sort of exploded and splattered. She quivered once and then disintegrated.

“That’ll show her.” I said, kinda drunkenly. My vision was still alright but the old lady teddy that she had been wearing was now just a dark blue bulge in a black puddle. It was a perfect time for the sheriff to pull up. Almost like someone had phoned him.

“Cheryl gave me a call.” He said as he got out. His big frame made the car creak, sighing relief as he exited. He wasn’t overly fat, but he was really tall. Maybe six feet four.

“She said another one came in, trying to stir up trouble.” He looked at us, at the black blob, and then back to us.

“But… No more trouble I reckon?” He said more than asked. He walked over to the black blob and pulled out his phone, snapped a couple of pictures then put it away, taking a look at us again.

“You boys been drinkin?” He asked, knowing the answer. Of course this is what a cop is going to ask, after he already knew better enough to ask. Usually you get this question on a DUI, but under the circumstances, it seemed a bit odd. Obviously we had been. I had a bottle in my hand and we were behind the only bar in town.

“Well hell, Jeremy,” Drake began, “of course we’ve been drinking. Whatchu think?” Drake sassed everyone, even his own mother. The Sheriff, whose name was indeed Jeremy Thompson, gave a little chuckle.

“How many is that this week?” I asked.

“Four, if you count the one Jorge’ Garcia caught out on his farm near 302. He thinks he knows where they’re coming from so I gave one of the Rangers out of Odessa a ring and he wants to try to track ‘em down and bury ‘em at the source. You fellas wanna ride along?”

This was news. And I thought the Rangers didn’t believe any of it. I said so.

“Well yes, and no.” Sheriff Thompson said. “Seems they do and don’t believe us, even though the tox reports tell ‘em they should. They’re gonna let one of their boys come along just to humor me.”

“Just to humor you?” Drake almost spat.

“Well, Ranger Gibson from Odessa believes me, so that’s who’s coming.” he said, looking us over. “You boys go home and get some rest ‘cause we’re starting pretty early in the morning.”