Free The Complex by Brian Keene Page B

What’s your name?”
    “T-turo.”
    “Okay, Turo. I’ve got kitchen knives in a holder on the counter. Steak knives and such. You can grab one of those.”
    “The fuck am I gonna do with a steak knife?”
    “Stab anyone reaching through the window. Just make sure you stay clear so Shaggy doesn’t shoot you by mistake. You guys got this?”
    Nodding, Shaggy grabs Turo by the arm and directs him toward the kitchen.
    “Come on, dude.”
    Turo follows along as if half asleep.
    Sam turns to Mrs. Carlucci, who is staring intently at the door. Behind her are their new neighbors, a pretty young red-haired woman and her little boy. Both of them appear as terrified as Sam feels. The boy clings to his mother’s side, and she in turn, has one arm tightly wrapped around him, holding him close. Stephanie stands behind them, seemingly in a daze. She has the same blank expression as Shaggy’s roommate. Moments ago, Sam saw her stab and slash several attackers with a butcher knife. She’s still holding the knife now, but seems unaware of it. Indeed, she doesn’t seem aware of anything. Her eyes are glassy, and her posture is slack.
    “Stephanie, are you okay?”
    She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at him.
    “Stephanie? Are you hurt?”
    Outside, the chainsaw roars again. Seconds later, there is a terrible screeching noise as the chainsaw’s owner tries it against Sam’s front door. Everyone except Mrs. Carlucci screams. Sam’s scream is the loudest.
    “These doors aren’t made out of wood,” Mrs. Carlucci shouts. “They’ll hold.”
    “What the fuck are they made out of then?” Shaggy yells from the kitchen.
    “Watch your language and don’t be fresh! I don’t know what they’re made of. Plastic? Vinyl? But it’s not wood. I tried to drive a nail through one, to hang up my Christmas wreath one year. The nail kept bending.”
    “Mrs. Carlucci, you keep an eye on that over there,” Sam suggests, pointing at the living room window. “Stephanie, can you help her?”
    Stephanie blinks, as if waking from a dream, and turns her head to Sam. “The fat one had a Hello Kitty tattoo.”
    “What?” Sam frowns. “Are you okay, hon? Did they hurt you?”
    “The fat one,” she explains. “Outside. The one with the twitchy head. He had a tattoo. That’s the last thing I remember. After that I sort of…blacked out. What’s happening?”
    “I think you’re in shock,” Sam says, and squeezes her arm in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “They’re trying to get inside. We’ve got to hold them off until the cops get here. Think you can help Mrs. Carlucci guard those windows?”
    “Yes,” Stephanie agrees. “I can do that. I’m sorry…”
    “Don’t be sorry. I’m scared shitless, Steph.”
    She tilts her head to the side, smiling slowly. “You’re the first person to call me Steph, Sam. Until now, it’s been Stephanie.”
    “Oh yeah?” He grins. “Do you like it?”
    “I don’t know. It’s…different.”
    “Well, let’s make it through this alive and then you can decide. Fair enough?”
    She nods, still smiling. “Sounds like a plan.”
    The chainsaw scores against the door again. Stephanie flinches, but retains her composure and control. Sam jumps so hard he nearly drops his gun. The little boy buries his face in his mother’s thigh, and Sam notices that she’s squeezing him so hard her knuckles have turned white.
    “I’m Sam,” he says. “You’re the new neighbor?”
    The redhead looks at him as if he just asked her if she’d like a rabid weasel. Her pupils remind him of perfectly round circles of black ink. Her upper lip quivers, and her cheeks are wet.
    “It’s going to be okay,” he says. “The barricades will hold. Can you do me a favor?”
    The new neighbor nods, but when she opens her mouth to speak, she only whimpers.
    “Can you and your son…I’m assuming he’s your son?”
    She nods again, a bit more emphatically.
    “Okay. Can you take him into the bedrooms