Silk - Caitlin R. Kiernan [157]
“Niki. Niki. Look at me,” and she did, opened her brown eyes, irises ringed red from crying and for a moment there was no recognition, blank unknowing and Daria thought maybe she would scream. And then, “Daria?” one hand reaching cautiously up to brush Daria’s cheek, fevery touch, as if maybe she thought this part wasn’t real, all the rest, but not this.
“Yeah,” Daria said. “It’s me.”
“You see it, too,” and yes, she said, yes, I do. “Let’s get out of here, Niki.”
“I can’t just leave her. That’s what she thought, that I was gonna run away again. That I was too frightened to stay with her anymore.”
“I don’t think you can help her now,” Daria said, not knowing if it was true, hardly caring. She looked frantically around the cluttered room, saw Mort again, Mort and Theo both staring in at her: pissed, very scared. Five steps to the window and she tugged at the handles, fresh agony from her hand, and it wouldn’t open anyway, unlocked but it wouldn’t even budge. One of the handles came off in her hand and she saw the nails, the sash nailed down all the way around the edges, probably painted shut besides.
“Get away from the window!” she yelled, loud enough that they would hear, and when Mort and Theo were clear, she picked up a stool by the window, swung it hard and the glass shattered on the first try, crash and tinkle as the shards rained out across the junk on the porch. The night rushed in, sobering cold, and the flame on the candle danced and guttered in the breeze, setting an example for the roomful of shadows. Daria dropped the stool and Mort was back at the window. “Will you please tell me what the holy motherfuck is happening—” and she cut him off with one finger held to her lips.
“Give me your coat, Theo. She’ll freeze out there.”
“There’s something out here, Daria,” Theo hissed.
“Just give me the goddamn coat.”
“Daria, something tried to wreck the fucking van,” but she was already taking off her coat, black vinyl handed past Mort, through the broken window. Daria took it and no answer for Theo. No time now for thoughts of what might or might not come later.
“Do you need help?” Mort asked, and, “Yeah,” she said, “Wait there, and Theo, you go get the van started. And be careful.”
“Yeah, fuck you, too,” and Theo was gone. “Hurry, Dar,” Mort said. “She wasn’t shitting you. There’s something out here…” Daria turned around and Niki was watching them, wiped her nose with the back of one hand, an action so simple it was absurd, and she said, “I need a knife, Daria.”
“Put this on, Niki,” holding out Theo’s coat. “Put this on and let’s get out of here.”
“I need a fucking knife. Mort, do you have a knife?”
“Uh, yeah,” but still looking at Daria, helpless, and he reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out the big lockblade, opened it for her.
“We can send someone back to help,” Daria said, trying not to show how scared she was, how angry she was becoming; Niki was already getting to her feet, stepped around her and she took the knife from Mort. “Jesus Christ, Niki,” and Daria followed her back across the room.
“She thought I was leaving,” Niki said, down on her knees again. “Just like he did. And that’s what she was most afraid of, being left alone. Just like Danny.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and a gassy sigh and spit, then, stink like rotting peaches when Niki sliced into it, slit open a drooping thick spot where one shoulder should have been. Darker membrane underneath, and Niki cut through that, too; a couple of milky pale drops leaking out, falling to the floor and skittering swiftly away.
“Niki, wait…” but the blade sank in hilt deep and it split a wide, melon-tearing rip down the middle, and the violent gush of a hundred thousand white bodies pouring out. A hundred thousand tiny specks white as new snow, covering Niki’s arms and chest, burying her lap and Daria’s feet up past her ankles.
“Fuck this,” disgust and reflex, and Daria had already brought her boot down, crushed a few hundred of the spiders before Niki screamed, screamed for her to stop, please stop, and the alabaster