Free Brood XIX by Michael McBride

house.
    The cicadas were already ahead of her,
clinging to the walls, the furniture, the ceiling...as though giving
life to the house itself.
    * * *

    The Cherokee slewed from side to side on the
gravel road, trailing an angry fist of dust. Trey watched the
mailboxes hurtle past until he saw the one he was looking for and
slammed the brakes. The car skidded sideways and he used the
momentum to turn a one-eighty without stopping. He hit the driveway
at thirty miles an hour, but didn't dare push it any faster. Miring
the vehicle in the swamp wouldn't help anyone. The road wound
fairly tightly, and he didn't want to prematurely betray his
approach either.
    The trees fell away to either side as he
drove into the clearing. The first thing he noticed was the open
front door. The second was the body collapsed at the foot of the
stairs.
    He drove right up onto the lawn and braked
hard. Turf flew from the rear tires. He was out of the car before
it hit the ground.
    Trey ran around the hood and crouched beside
the body. He didn't need to check for a pulse to know that Matthews
was dead. The knife had been driven straight through his chest and
the vertebrae of his cervical spine formed lumpy, bruised knots
where they had broken and separated from the column.
    Drawing his service pistol, a Beretta 92FS,
he crept up the stairs toward the front door. The only sound was
the soft scuff of his shoes. He sighted the darkness down the
barrel and cautiously entered the house.
    * * *

    Vanessa didn't waste any time searching the
main level. She needed to reach the basement. It pulled her onward
like an iron filing to a magnet.
    The formal living and dining room off the
foyer to her right was empty; the hallway leading toward the
bedrooms to the left deserted. She found the staircase between a
comfortably furnished family room and a kitchen ripped straight
from the pages of Better Homes & Gardens . The carpeted
steps creaked subtly as she descended. The stairs doubled back upon
themselves when she reached the landing. Were it possible, it was
even darker down there still. She gripped the railing and pressed
on. The damp smell of mildew greeted her, and beneath it something
else.
    Sweat.
    Ammonia.
    Fear.
    She heard something shuffle ahead of her. A
swishing sound, like soft-soled shoes or slippers across carpet.
Then the quiet click of a closing door.
    Tiny legs scurried across the back of her
hand. She brushed the wall when she jerked it away, grazing slick
insect exoskeletons.
    At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped to
gather her bearings and allow her eyes adjust to the darkness. She
was standing in a small recreation room. The faint seepage of light
around the sealed window showed the vague outlines of furniture,
maybe a rocking horse and a toy box on the floor. A hallway led
away from her to either side, shadowed and indistinct.
    Clicking sounds from her right. She turned
and ran her palm along the plaster, knocking off dozens of cicadas.
Their wings caught them before they hit the floor. They buzzed
around her head before alighting on the wall once more.
    Vanessa held her arms out in front of her as
she walked. She listened for the shuffling sound to repeat, but
heard only the clicking all around her.
    Her hands met with resistance and she managed
to stop herself before she collided with what felt like a door. She
traced the surface until she found a knob and turned it with both
hands. The door was heavy, crafted from solid, metal-reinforced
wood that dragged on the carpet. She had to lean her shoulder into
it to open it wide enough to squeeze through.
    The room reeked of Lysol, which didn't quite
mask the lingering stench of body odor and waste matter. Wan
squares of light framed the aluminum sheets bolted over the
windows. She could barely discern the shape of the canopy over a
small bed, the top edges of a dresser and a rocking chair. A small
table in the center.
    She heard shallow, whispered breathing. The
sound of a peacefully sleeping