Free The Outkast by Craig Thomas Page A

FUCKING door.”
    “ Ok, Donnie. I’ve heard you now, and I’m coming. But you don’t need to scream every single time to make me understand what you’ve got to say, you know?”
    A rustling of leaves behind. Donnie cast a swift glance backwards and saw the thing approach him from the left flank of the building. Donnie literally flew off the porch, and raced down the gloomy wooded path.
    He lost his bearings a number of times.
    He stumbled twice, ran into a tree trunk once. Nose bleeding, head pounding, he tripped over a log lying across the floor, covered beneath a camouflage of leaves, and he finally nose-dove towards the foot of an oak tree. He raised his head to continue his race. To his left, just about six feet away, was Robert Smallwood. The boy sat on the leave-strewn ground, leaning his back against the trunk of another oak tree, his legs stretched out straight in front of him, his hands in his lap. He appeared to be slumbering.
    Survival was of utmost importance to Donnie. However, the sudden amazement of finding Robert here at this time of night all by himself put him off his stroke for a short moment. “Rob, is that you?” Donnie cried even as he endeavored to rise and proceed.
    He got an answer in the shape of a blow to his throbbing temple. As he took a descent back to the ground, he dreamily thought, And all I wanted to do was ask if it was Rob, and if he was doing okay .
    Damn right. He’s doing okay, Donnie the overnight caring guy.
    Donnie gazed up at the ape-man, who gazed back down at him.
    “ Please, don’t kill me,” he pleaded. With blood seeping out of his nose and lips, his words issued forth in a wet, throaty voice.
    The huge monster kicked him hard, the impact flipping him face-down.
    Donnie groaned.
    The creature bent down, grabbed Donnie’s collar, and picked him up—as effortlessly as one would pick up a withered bloom. “You shall be cast out into the bottomless pit of hell, where you shall burn without end,” it said to Donnie. Its voice was raspy, the kind of quality you would very much associate with an alien inflicted with a ruptured throat. “Pit, filled with blazing fire and killing brimstone. Can you stand on your feet?”
    Donnie opened his mouth to answer, but realized only a spasm of whimper escaped his lips. This close, his appraisal of the terror that had fallen upon him was escalated.
    “ Come on,” the terrible voice said. “You should be able to stand on your own two feet, big boy. Or I might as well cut them off. Can you?”
    “ Oh, no, please,” Donnie blurted out, finding his voice by the power of will he thought he’d lost. “Yes, I know I can. I have to stand ... Oh, sweet Jesus, I just have to be able to stand on my own two ... oh, please, don’t cut—”
    His captor let go of its grip all of a sudden. Because the release was so abrupt, Donnie’s injured knees buckled under him. He crashed back on the ground, face-down.
    “ Useless,” the ape-man shrieked, and swung its leg upward, catching Donnie’s left flank, towards his rib cage. There was a slight crunching sound. “Can’t even stand on your own feet.” Another swing, another crunch.
    Donnie screeched in pain. “My ribs ... oh, please, stop this.”
    “ I shall help you rise to your destiny,” the thing said, not paying any attention to Donnie’s petition. Then, it stabbed Donnie’s backside with its scythe, very deep. Certain the weapon had hooked securely within Donnie’s flesh, it yanked it up, hauling Donnie along with it.
    Donnie’s scream had turned delirious, almost like a wild laugh. And it grew even wilder as he felt himself levitating in the air, flesh tearing, blood spurting.
    But the bulk of Donnie’s weight was too much, and the scythe caved in, biting off more flesh as Donnie cut loose from it and dropped back to the ground.
    Weeping and screaming and writhing in pain, Donnie looked to his side. He called out to Robert, telling him to run away now and call the cops.