Free Bits & Pieces by Jonathan Maberry

like he melted out of the moment and reappeared somewhere else. It was surreal. That was a word he knew from books he’d real. Surreal. Not entirely real.
    That fit everything that was happening.
    His feet were so cold it was like running on knives. He ran into the teeth of the wind as the white-faced people shambled and splashed toward him and then turned away with grunts of disgust.
    I’m not what they want, he thought.
    He knew that was true, and he thought he knew why.
    It made him run faster.
    He slogged around the end of the Durango and tripped on something lying half-submerged by the rear wheel.
    Something that twitched and jerked as white faces buried their mouths in it and pulled with bloody teeth. Pulled and wrenched, like dogs fighting over a beef bone.
    Only it wasn’t beef.
    The bone that gleamed white in the lightning flash belonged to Uncle Roger. Bone was nearly all that was left of him as figures staggered away, clutching red lumps to their mouths.
    Jack gagged and then vomited into the wind. The wind slapped his face with all the Cheerios he’d eaten that day. He didn’t care. Jill wouldn’t care.
    Jill screamed again and Jack skidded to a stop, turning, confused. The sound of her scream no longer came from the far side of the truck. It sounded closer than that, but it was a gurgling scream.
    He cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed her name into the howling storm.
    A hand closed around his ankle.
    Under the water.
    From under the back of the truck.
    Jack screamed, inarticulate and filled with panic as he tried to jerk his leg away. The hand holding him had no strength, and his ankle popped free and Jack staggered back and then fell flat on his ass in the frigid water. It splashed up inside his raincoat and soaked every inch of him. Three of the white-faced things turned to glare at him, but their snarls of anger flickered and went out as they found nothing worth hunting.
    â€œJack—?”
    Her voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Still wet and gurgling, drowned by rain and blown thin by the wind.
    But so close.
    Jack stared at the water that smacked against the truck. At the pale, thin, grasping hand that opened and closed on nothing but rainwater.
    â€œJack?”
    â€œ Jill! ” he cried, and Jack struggled onto his knees and began slapping at the water, pawing at it as if he could dig a hole in it. He bent and saw a narrow gap between the surface of the water and the greasy metal undersides of the truck. He saw two eyes, there and gone again in the lightning bursts. Dark eyes that he knew would be red.
    â€œJill!” he croaked at the same moment that she cried, “Jack!”
    He grabbed her hands and pulled.
    The mud and the surging water wanted to keep her, but not as much as he needed to pull her out. She came loose with a glop! They fell back together, sinking into the water, taking mouthfuls of it, choking, coughing, sputtering, gagging it out as they helped each other sit up.
    The white things came toward them. Drawn to the splashing or drawn to the fever that burned in Jill’s body. Jack could feel it from where he touched her. It was as if there was a coal furnace burning bright under her skin. Even with all this cold rain and runoff, she was hot. Steam curled up from her.
    None curled up from Jack. His body felt even more shrunken than usual. Thinner, drawn into itself to kindle the last sparks of what he had left. He moaned in pain as he tried to stand. The creatures surrounding him moaned too. Their cries sounded no different from his.
    He forced himself to stand and wrapped an arm around Jill.
    â€œRun!” he cried.
    They cut between two of the figures, and the things turned awkwardly, clutching at them with dead fingers, but Jack and Jill ducked and slipped past. The porch was close, but the water made it hard to run. The creatures with the white faces were clumsier and slower, and that helped.
    Thunder battered the farm,