Page 48 of When the Night Comes Knocking

Thomas exhales shakily, unsure of any true answer. Jim’s mouth is frozen in a hard line as his eyes slide wordlessly toward Billy’s covered body, while Kimi pinches her necklace between her fingers. Ashley’s own lip trembles, her eyes shiny as she stares at the bloody smear on the ground Jackson left behind.

“Pointing fingers won’t help us,” Thomas says, imagining the pressure amongst them rising dangerously fast. They’ve been stuck inside this fluorescent brick box for hours now, and everyone is starting to look more or less like ghosts haunting the place. “We just need to focus on how to kill this thing before it takes any more from us.”

Ashley presses firmly against her wound. The collar of her shirt is soaked crimson. “I thought we were going to wait it out until sunrise?” she says.

“Sunrise is hours away. It’ll just find a way in again,” he replies. “It’s already gotten a taste of almost all of our blood, so we know it’ll keep changing forms. As long as we’re in here, it’s just going to keep taunting us.” His eyes briefly flit to Jim’s as he adds, “It’s just a big game, right?”

For all Thomas knows, it’s already masquerading as himself somewhere outside in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to invade again.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” his sister whispers, as though sensing the direction of his thoughts. “Besides, we were able to run it off earlier. That’s gotta count for something,” she says, while looking over at the exposed store entrance.

The set of closed blinds blows gently forward from the wind, while handfuls of bloodred leaves have been swept inside, scattering across the floor like a trail of dying rose petals.

“We need a new plan,” Thomas agrees, eyeing their small, bleeding group. “We need to trick the Mimic.”

Kimi locks onto him with those oddly disarming eyes, and he waits for her to throw it all back in his face with some hopelessly sharp quip. But instead, she gives a strong nod. “I won’t say you’re right, but I’m in,” she tells him, and for the first time all night, Thomas does not feel so monumentally terrified; in fact, the cold night air creeping in is like a shot of pure energy.

Ashley raises a single eyebrow before exhaling tiredly. She holds out her hands for Kimi to help her stand. “Fine,” she mutters, her voice thick. “Whatever doesn’t get us all killed, preferably.”

Jim laughs then, hearty and slightly manic. He shakes his head repeatedly, spilling beer onto the floor, where it splashes up at their feet. “Aren’t we all tough now?” he says, giving Thomas a light smack on the cheek. “Am I really the only one willing to see what’s going on here? Or are we all just gonna forget who that monster locked in on before anyone else, huh?” He cuts a look to Jane and laughs again, sharp and bitter.

“I heard it call out to you, girl,” the man continues, and like the flip of a switch, his face turns deathly serious. “Your brother can try to cover it up till he’s blue in the face, but I know what that thing really wants. And it sure as hell ain’t the rest of us.”

“Shut up,” Thomas tells him, stepping in closer. “Just shut the hell up.”

“I ain’t the only one that’s thinking it,” Jim replies, glancing between Kimi and Ashley. “The rest of you are just too scared to admit it, but not me. I know she belongs out there with it.”

Ashley’s hand falters, lowering the bloody tissues as her eyes widen. “You’re joking, right?” she says. “She’s just a kid.”

“Y’all didn’t seem to have any problem with me tossing out that other young one.”

Kimi shakes her head, shifting farther away from Jim and looking slightly green. “My God, Jim, this is different. What happened with Jackson was a mistake—”

Jim sails his beer across the store, and a burst of foam explodes from the can when it nails the far wall. “Oh, enough of this horseshit! Look around!” he snaps, flinging out a wild hand to where the store is beginning to look more akin to a postapocalyptic crash site.

Kimi raises a careful hand up toward his shoulder. “Jim, please,” she says, dark eyes softening. “I know this isn’t really you talking. You’re just grieving Billy—”

“Don’t,” the man warns, slapping her hand away. His Adam’s apple bobs for a moment as he looks sideways at Jane. “The way I see it is one life traded for four—five, actually,” he adds, pointing a finger at Ashley’s belly. “Now, I ain’t a numbers man, but that outcome seems pretty fair to me. Y’all might think so too if you’d bother to pull your heads outta your asses.”

Thomas notes the way Ashley stares down at her stomach as though she can see all the way through to what’s growing inside. Kimi’s own shoulders droop, eyebrows furrowed at Jim’s words.

They’ve already done it once, he thinks, clenching his fists as he pictures the distance to the doors, to Jane, to the car and the main road beyond, while the clawed hand of Death reaches greedily after them. And could they really outrun it a second time?

Jim wades through the silence, pausing only inches away from Thomas’s face. The smell of beer wafts between them like a crumbling bridge. “You wanna try and fool that thing out there?” he says, jerking his chin at where Jane stands small and teary eyed. “Well, right there’s your bait.”

Thomas doesn’t process the movements his body makes, limbs rushing out like live wires. All he knows is that there is no Jackson to hold him back this time.

He grips Jim by the collar and lugs him closer. His vision tunnels as his hands tremble, though the stabbing pain going up his right wrist and forearm feels like nothing more than flint sparking.

“Stop acting like you’re so innocent,” Thomas hisses.

He pictures Jim in that fit of idiotic rage as he dropped Jackson’s body in the dirt outside, kicking his head again and again, only now the body on the ground starts to look like Jane’s.

It’s him or you, some distant voice crows in his mind.

Thomas tightens his grip on the man’s shirt, welcoming the pain. “I think you know it’s your sorry heart the Mimic really wants,” he says. “That’s why you’re so desperate to shift the blame to someone else, huh?”

Thomas steps close enough that he can see the pulse in the man’s throat pick up, can smell the stench of sweat and motor oil and cowardice. “So come on then, Jim. Why don’t you tell us what you’re guilty of,” he continues, with his jaw clenched so tight he thinks it might crack. “Because you want to know what I think?”