Page 8 of The End of the World As We Know It: New Tales of Stephen King’s The Stand

“Momma? What’s wrong, Momma? You ain’t gonna hurt us, is you?

” She didn’t respond, just continued to smile as she walked closer to the stairs, to her kids.

Talik looked beyond her at the front door, but it was too late to make a run for it now.

They would never get past her. Going back up the stairs had been a mistake. He’d trapped them both.

“What’s wrong, Momma? What’s wrong?” Lawanda yelled. Her voice cracked with fear.

Their mother’s steps became more rapid. When she reached the stairs, she sprinted toward them, raising the big kitchen knife above her head as she closed the distance, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Run! Go! Go!” Talik yelled, pushing Lawanda up the stairs and into the hallway, careful to avoid the holes in the landing.

Their mother’s foot fell through one of the holes, and they heard her curse, but it barely slowed her down.

She yanked her foot free, scraping skin from her ankle, then continued the chase.

Talik could hear his mother’s footsteps and ragged, wheezing breaths right behind them.

He heard her succumb to another coughing fit.

This time, her footsteps paused. Talik and Lawanda kept running.

They dashed down the hall and back into Lawanda’s room, slamming the door and locking it.

Seconds later, there was a loud boom as their mother crashed into the door, cracking it down the center.

“Y’all kids get out here! Get your asses out here, I said! Y’all listen to your momma! Get your little bad asses out here this minute!”

“No! You ain’t right, Momma! I heard you talkin’ to yourself—talkin’ about killin’ us!”

There was a moment of silence, and Talik could hear what sounded like weeping.

“I don’t want to kill you both. Mr. Flagg said all I had to do was kill you, Talik. I kill you and he’ll let Lawanda live. He’ll let us all live. He just wants you.”

“Who’s Mr. Flagg? Why you listenin’ to him? Why you lettin’ somebody tell you to kill me?” Talik said.

The reply came as a whisper through the door.

“He knows about Mother Abagail. He knows you been talkin’ to her.”

Talik froze.

“He knows you been talkin’ to Mother Abagail,” she repeated.

“Help me push the dresser in front of the door! Talik! Help me!” Lawanda said. The tip of their mother’s knife slid between the door and the doorjamb, jabbing and slicing, trying to stab anything she could reach. “Talik, come on! Help!”

Talik shook himself back to reality, a reality more surreal than his dreams and nightmares. He ran over to help his sister, and together they slid a large dresser across the room to barricade the door.

“What’s wrong with her, Talik? Why is she doin’ this?”

“I—I don’t know,” Talik said. “She said she been talkin’ to some dude named Flagg. She said he wants me dead because I been talkin’ to Mother Abagail.”

“That old woman you tol’ me about that wants us to go to Nebraska?”

“She only said me,” Talik said quietly. “She said she wants me to go to Nebraska. She—she never mentioned you. That’s why Momma only wants to kill me. She’d probably let you go.”

“I ain’t goin’ out there with her crazy ass! What the fuck is goin’ on, Talik?”

Talik shook his head. “It don’t make no sense. None of it makes sense. People dyin’ of the Tripps. Rest of ’em out there shootin’ each other. Our own mother tryin’ to kill us. It don’t make no damn sense.”

Their mother began chopping at the door with the knife.

Talik had seen their father put his foot through a door the day their momma finally kicked him out, so he knew the doors were hollow and not worth a damn.

Her knife sank through the wood like it was cardboard.

She stabbed it again and again, weakening it to the point that she’d have no problem punching a fist through the fragile tapestry of splinters that remained.

Talik looked out the window. They could jump, the fall wasn’t too great, and there were still bodies below they could land on.

But Talik didn’t know if that would be better or worse than hitting the concrete, and then where would they go?

What if either one of them broke a leg or twisted an ankle in the fall? Then they would be helpless.

He looked around the room for something to fight his mother with; a thought that would have seemed insane just a few minutes ago and still boggled his mind.

Their mother was trying to kill them. There was nothing.

No weapons. In the room he shared with Malcolm, they had a baseball bat, nunchucks, ninja stars, and even a samurai sword.

But his sister’s room had only worn stuffed animals, busted thrift store Barbie dolls, and moth-eaten lace curtains.

The curtains! Talik thought. Maybe they could use the curtain rods as weapons?

Hopping up onto his sister’s bed, Talik tore down the curtain rods on both windows, hefting them in his hand to test the weight before tossing one to Lawanda and keeping one for himself. The rod was heavy, made of wrought iron. It would do.

The door was completely destroyed now. Their mother kicked the cracked wood, and it fell apart with little resistance.

“You badass kids shoulda listened when I tol’ y’all to come out.

We coulda done this quick,” she said, reaching through the hole she’d made in the door and unlocking it before pushing the dresser out of the way.

She coughed that strangled death rattle, not bothering to cover her mouth anymore.

Flecks of bloody phlegm splattered Talik, and he winced in disgust.

“Stop, Momma. Please stop. You don’t have to do this!” Tears streamed from Talik’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, baby, but you have to die. The whole world’s dyin’. If I kill you, Mr. Flagg says he’ll save us. Me and your sister. Can’t you understand that? We have to sacrifice you for the family.”

She stepped forward, and Talik swung the curtain rod at her head, catching her right above the temple and opening up a huge gash. She staggered. Blood leaked from the wound into her eye, but she kept coming forward, knife still gripped firmly, jabbing at the air between them.

“I’m so sorry, Momma.” Talik swung again and again.

Lawanda was swinging her curtain rod now as well, beating their mother in the head until she finally fell to her knees, still gripping the big carving knife, eyes fixed on Talik.

Her head began to come apart. Blood rained down her face, forming a mask of gore and turning her blue and white polka-dot robe red and purple.

She collapsed onto the floor and began to convulse.

Her body bucked and kicked, fighting to hold on to her spirit.

“Just die, Momma. Please, just die!” Talik said, choking on sobs.

Lawanda reached down and retrieved the knife from the floor. She wasn’t crying anymore, wasn’t screaming. She calmly walked over, straddling her dying mother. She reached down and seized a fistful of her mother’s permed hair.

“Lawanda? What are you doing?” Talik asked, watching his eight-year-old baby sister jerk their mother’s head back and slit her throat, unzipping the flesh and opening a yawning pink maw where smooth brown skin had been. More blood cascaded from the wound, raining down like a red waterfall.

Lawanda sat down on top of her mother. Her eyes were blank. She still held the knife in her hands.

“Come on, sis. Let’s get outta here,” Talik said quietly, reaching out for his sibling and taking her hand, helping her to her feet.

Talik guided his little sister out of the room, sparing one last look at his mother’s battered corpse.

Lawanda was in shock. Her eyes were still wide and glazed, and she was mumbling quietly to herself.

Talik couldn’t believe Lawanda slit her own mother’s throat.

It was as hard to believe as him beating her half to death with a curtain rod, or that she’d tried to kill them—him.

They walked down the stairs and out the front door.

Talik stepped over Tonya’s and Diesel’s bullet-riddled carcasses.

Moose was gone. Probably crawled into some hole to die.

Screams, gunshots, and sirens continued to echo in the distance.

Billowing black clouds of smoke and ash choked the air as the neighborhood burned.

There was nothing for them here anymore.

Talik looked back at his sister, who had fallen behind, still staring off into space, mumbling and whispering.

A trickle of snot dripped from her nose, and she began to cough, not bothering to cover her mouth.

She had the Tripps. She began whispering again.

Talik stopped in his tracks as he finally made out what she was saying.

Mother Abagail had warned him the Walkin Dude was in their house.

He hadn’t understood what she’d been trying to tell him, but now he put it all together.

Mr. Flagg and the Walkin Dude were one and the same.

He wiped a tear from his eye as he watched his little sister slowly raise the knife, aiming it at the center of his chest.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Flagg,” she whispered. “He’ll never make it to Nebraska.”