Free Bank Owned by J. Joseph Wright Page A

surrounded by large, dark circles. Skin cracked and flaked in large sections, so much so it looked like half its face would soon slide off. But the worst were its teeth, which a child of that age shouldn’t have had. But it did. Huge teeth. Jagged and aggressive and splashed red with blood. Her blood. The wound in her neck gushed, and at the same time the little demented thing unleashed a terrible hiss. By instinct she dropped the child to the floor. It wasn’t harmed at all. In fact, the blow only made the baby angrier. On all fours, it moved so fast it shocked her and she, hand on her neck, still not believing what she was seeing, sprinted to the stairs for safety.
     
    She stopped before she could get started. At the top of the stairs, crawling down rapidly, was another baby, the same freakish features, the same ravenous stare in its black, black eyes. Both babies made the most awful noises she’d ever heard. Howls of evil hunger, mixed with wicked delight. She stepped back from the staircase and searched for an escape. Instead, what she saw made her sick. In the dark, wallowing, kicking, creeping, fighting to get at her, were ten, twenty, a hundred tiny toddlers, so small they couldn’t yet walk. But they could crawl. And they were coming for her, each rougher than the last. Like little wild animals. Starving, cunning, unstoppable.
     
    She wanted to flee, but had nowhere to go but back, back, back until she ran against a wall. Babies were everywhere, and as soon as she stopped, one was on her, taking a meaty chunk from her ankle. She cried out in agony. Cried out for Brian. Cried out for God almighty to save her from this hell. Not a soul would hear her. Not a soul aside from the unfeeling monsters amassing all around her. Another bit at her leg, then another, climbing on top of several others to get to her thigh. She called her husband’s name until her voice went hoarse. By then, the babies—gnashing their blackened, uneven fangs and wailing in devilish delight—had formed a mountain on all sides, walling her in with a fortress of the undead. She was trapped. No hidden door for escape. No getting away. She felt stinging, slicing, gnawing from all parts of her body now. Then the mass collapsed on her, pulling her down, burying her in teeth and sharp nails and wiry, sinewy muscle. As the tiny monsters ripped into her, tearing off larger and larger pieces, burrowing in with their powerful jaws and twisting off mouthful after mouthful, all pain went away. All pain but the sorrowful, hollow gnawing in the deepest depths of her belly. She no longer had to be afraid, and she knew it. Eat , she thought as they ravaged her flesh, tore her organs and consumed her essence. Eat little children. All little children must eat.
     

 
     
    18.
     
    Breathlessly, Brian held his wife’s cheeks and tried to get her to look at him. “Angie, answer me! Say something!”
     
    Her open eyes remained cold and distant. Her head wobbled freely on her neck. She wasn’t breathing. Then he saw a leather collar buckled around her neck, so tight it had suffocated her. All life drained out of him at that moment, the moment he knew she was dead. He remained motionless, not knowing what to do. Then he decided to not give up. He’d save her. He’d resuscitate her. She’d live. She had to.
     
    Before he could get her out of the shackles, a low thump from behind made him stand and turn. That’s when he saw him, the man responsible for all of this, a giant of a man, wrapped head to toe in black leather with zippers over the mouth, nose, even the eyes. Brian’s rage became an irresistible force, propelling him forward, fists clenched, throwing a hard roundhouse. He’d teach this guy. Kick the shit out of him. Boot stomp him to death. However, the leather-clad man had other ideas, and he also had the jump on Brian. He stepped out of the way, letting Brian run headlong into an old workbench, scattering the metal utensils and chains and small