“What's wrong?” Terrick's voice was full of concern. He turned to look at her: Eyes. Clare's breath caught. She threw her hands out toward them. The creature. It was beside her.
Clare blinked. It was just the sheriff, who was now struggling to control the car. Terrick braked, causing the car to spin ninety degrees to a halt. A truck coming from the opposite direction flashed them a couple of times and Terrick waved them on.
“What the hell, Clare?”
“I… I'm sorry Terrick. I don't know what's going on. The creature, the Viruñas. I started seeing it everywhere. In the woods, walking beside the roads, even you. I have the strangest feeling I've seen it somewhere before. It feels somehow… familiar.”
“Yeah well whatever, keep your hands down girl, or sit in the back. We're little more than a mile away from the State border and we're tryin' to remain nondescript. The sooner we get you to a hospital…”
The reminder caused a knot in her stomach, on top of the pain she already felt. The sooner I have to admit there's something really, really wrong with me.
“We can't do that. Not until I have enough evidence to keep us out of cuffs.”
“What if it kills you? Clare, you're looking worse and worse.”
“I don't care.”
Terrick said no more, just shook his head and resumed driving.
Not far down the road, they passed the Massachusetts State sign, the chickadee sat on mayflowers in front of a blue background. The woodland never changed, still the same dense mix of elms, ash, linden and pine, all grown to dizzying heights where the forest had lain undisturbed. At least they never came face to face with a wall of police and for that Clare was thankful.
“Feelin' a little on edge?” Terrick asked, noticing her increased unease.
“I just don't know how this is gonna go down,” Clare replied. “We assume that Logan came into Ashby by the most direct route.”
“Therein lies your problem, Clare. There's no direct route into Ashby. The roads are a spider web of routes around here. Logan could have taken any one of a dozen combinations and been captured, lost at any one of them. Or he may have just given up entirely. Look, I'm just tryin' to set a bit of perspective here.”
He was trying to make her feel better in his own gruff way. Terrick took no prisoners when it came to tolerance. He would never mollycoddle her but he was honest to a fault. The heavy scents of the forest took a back seat as the woodland withdrew from the sides of the road. A green sign at the side of the road read 'Willard Brook Conservation' and Terrick nodded.
“Almost there. Now be careful here, girl. I've heard things.”
The whoop of dual sirens caught him by surprise as two black and white cars marked 'Ashby Police Dept' sprung out behind them. The noise was so loud Clare had to initially cover her stinging ears.
“Crap.” Terrick punched the wheel. “Any ideas?”
Clare turned to look behind. “There's four of them, two in each car. Can we outrun them?”
“Yeah sure. Let me just press the hidden button that turns the Lincoln into a Ferrari. We were tryin' to remain unremarkable.”
“And yet here we are, caught all the same.”
As if to reinforce their situation, one of the cars behind nudged them with deliberate force, causing Terrick to lose control for a moment.
Clare grabbed the edges of her seat with clawed fingers, finding her strength was now barely sufficient to even hold on. “Terrick, just stop the car. We aren't getting out of this one without a fight.”
“I warned you, girl. These are a different sort. That's a bad idea.”
Clare grabbed her bag, rummaging for the gun.
“That's a worse one. Leave it. This lot'll shoot first, ask… no they won't even ask questions.”
“Why? Who are they?”
The answer came quickly. Terrick slowed to a stop, pulling the Lincoln off the road onto a triangle of bare brown dirt that formed as two roads intersected. Power cables crisscrossed the air overhead, leaping from one picket-fenced house to the next. Small sycamore trees shone red, their leaves about ready to drop for the winter. One half of their escort pulled in front to block any escape. The other parked at an angle behind them. The only noise came from idling engines.
“Whatever you do,” advised Terrick, “don't give them cause to anger.”
“Why not? We haven't done anything wrong as far as they are concerned.”
“And yet they stopped a car drivin' within the limits, trappin' them as if they expect flight.”
Four men got out of the vehicles, blocking the two doors. They obstructed the light, their black uniforms throwing the interior of the car into shadow. Clare marvelled at how similar they looked. They all wore moustaches, were all barrel-chested with guts barely contained by their belts. None were younger than perhaps forty.
“They develop clones up here?”
Clare's quip had no time for a response. The doors were opened.
“Out,” a heavyset man wearing a broad-brimmed black Stetson, demanded. Most of the muscle had turned to fat but Clare suspected he wouldn't shirk from enforcing his stunted demand.
Terrick indicated that they should do as asked.
Clare climbed out of the car, an effort in itself given how her nervous legs wanted to collapse under her. She eyed up their captors. Every one of them seemed predisposed to violence. The day was quiet; even nature was sitting this one out.
“Can I help you officers? What appears to be the problem?”
“The problem woman is you opening your mouth without being asked,” broad-brimmed hat shot back in a tone of voice that suggested she not do it again. “Spread 'em.”
Clare was manhandled round until she had her hands spread on the roof of the car. On the other side, Terrick had been placed in a similar position. Hands frisked her far more intimately than was necessary, lingering between her legs and on her chest. Clare endured it, hoping that her scrawny state gave them little satisfaction.
“Hey now,” Terrick shouted. “I'm a cop. That's not what you…”
His voice was cut off as one of the patrolmen on his side of the car slammed him into the Lincoln, winding him and leaving him to collapse on the dirt.
“Boss said silence, meat.” The patrolman kicked Terrick in the stomach twice for good measure.
“You want the same?” Broad-brimmed hat growled in her ear. “Just make a sound. You're in my pond now, bitch. You might wish you'd stayed in New Hampshire.”
Clare refused to move or make a sound. She could hear Terrick's groans but she couldn't see him. She would not give them the satisfaction of a beating.
This fact dawned on the leader. He leaned into her, making it very obvious he was enjoying this situation. His breath reeked of coffee and onions. After a moment he stepped away.
“Chief, this is Montgomery. We've got 'em, coming in from the east on Main.”
“Good job, sergeant,” approved a voice through the radio. “Bring them in quietly. No fuss. Worcester will want them intact… mostly intact. Harley's orders were specific.”
Grins spread across the faces of all four officers.
Clare's heart nearly stopped when she heard the name. He knew. All along, he knew where we would be. How?
“You two, go on ahead. See that our route back is undisturbed.” The patrolmen grunted an affirmation. Clare's hands were cuffed behind her back before she was bundled in the rear of the cop car. Terrick had to be dragged up as they cuffed him. He was dumped beside her, barely conscious, blood dripping down his face from a cut above one eye.
By the time this happened the first car had left the scene and was a distant speck far down the road. Congratulating each other, Montgomery and his heavyset clone took their seats and prepared to set off. They had only gone ten yards or so when a shuddering impact threw them all sideways. A black van had appeared from the other road on the intersection, slamming into the front of their car with violent force. Clare felt her head collide with Terrick's c
hest as the spinning car forced them all to one side. He groaned in response, still only semi-conscious. Clare tasted the warm iron tang of blood in her mouth. The car skidded to a halt. Moving her head from side to side, everything felt in place. Just a cut lip. The same couldn't be said for their two escorts. The driver was unconscious, Montgomery screamed in pain where the impact had crushed the front right wing of the car into his legs, shattering the bones.
Within moments, three figures clad in black and wearing balaclavas appeared from the van, wrenching Clare's door from its hinges. Hands reached in and, despite her struggles, removed her with surprising care. Two men set her on the wooden flooring inside the back of the van and then disappeared to help the third retrieve Terrick. A fourth figure dressed the same watched her from behind the wheel of the van.
“Who are you?” Clare's demand came dry and raspy from a stressed and parched throat.
“If you want to live, stay quiet.”
Chapter Seventeen
Clare twisted, attempting to get around Terrick and out of the van. If the report was taken she was screwed, Harley off the hook and the janitor free to kill again.
One of the masked men grabbed at her leg, causing her to bash her shoulder as she crashed to the floor. Pain blossomed and she cried out.
“What in the hell are you doing, lady?” The voice was surprisingly youthful. “We're trying to save your life here.”
“My bag,” she gasped. “We need to get it. All is lost otherwise.”
This caused a moment's contention among their captors, or rescuers. Clare had a hard time working out which. She took a gamble. “Logan. We're here about Logan.” As an afterthought she threw out, “and Viruñas.”
That did it. Three of the masked men turned to look at her in alarm. One had familiar eyes and a certain set of the jaw that reminded her of… someone.
“Get the bag,” said a voice Clare couldn't fail to recognize. Those blue eyes shone at her from behind the mask, concerned.
The van stopped and one of the figures jumped out. In quick order, the bag was retrieved and they moved off.
The men in masks sat in silence as the driver navigated a twisting track through dense woodland. Clare watched Terrick, too scared to look up at her captors. He groaned several times but otherwise showed no sign of returning to consciousness.
One of the masked men, the one Clare was convinced was familiar, leaned down and checked on Terrick, peeling one eyelid back. “Stunned; He'll make it.”
“Make it to what? Should I be thanking you or trying to dive out the back of this van?”
“Where would that take you?” Laughed the driver, a woman. “Even those cops have no idea we exist. How're you gonna find your way back to civilization?”
The woodland eventually opened out to moorland for a while, before they plunged back into darkness down a track just wide enough for the van. Behind them, Clare saw people moving a barricade into place as they barreled through the dense forest.
“What's going on out there?”
“Protection,” said blue eyes and turned to face forward. In moments the track opened wide enough to permit Clare a view of a two-storied wooden house built entirely of logs. The trees reached over the roof leaving the building entombed in leafy shadow.
“Get him out,” said blue eyes. “Take him upstairs and check him over.” To Clare he asked, “What did they do to him?”
“I couldn't see exactly. It looked like several kicks to the midriff. He fell down beside the car. Then there was whatever happened when you hit us.” The tone of her voice left no uncertainty as to who she blamed for that particular incident. Clare watched helpless as Terrick was manhandled, albeit with some modicum of respect, out of the van and into the log house.
“It's a necessary evil. We can't have them tracking us. You're too important.”
Clare barked a laugh. “Important? You could have killed us in there.”
“Yet here you are. You should know all about taking calculated risks. Why are you in Ashby in the first place?” The question was rhetorical.
“I think you know more about my business than I do. Why don't you get these cuffs off and we can talk?”
Blue eyes nodded. “Do it.”
The smallest of the four brought a set of picks out and jimmied the cuffs off. The instant her hands were free, Clare dipped into her bag and pulled out the gun, pointing it at blue eyes.
“Back! Get Back! I want answers. Now.”
“Steady,” warned blue eyes, raising his hands slowly aloft. He waved his team away. “Clare, don't do anything rash now. You aren't among enemies here.”
“Prove it. What are you doing with us?”
“We're giving you a safe haven. Wilf O'Reilly said you would likely be coming to see us.”
The name caused Clare to waver. “This… this was a set up?”
“Not as such. You've wandered into something here, Clare.”
“You say my name like you know me.”
“I do.” He pulled his balaclava off, revealing the dark hair and chiselled jaw that had so recently made Clare forget her woes.
“Dominic? What the hell?” The gun became a dead weight, tugging on her arm until she lowered it, dropping the weapon to the floor.
Dominic jumped back in alarm. “Whoa!”
Clare smirked at him. “It wasn't even loaded. Serves you right though. Why didn't you say anything?”
“We couldn't afford to be recognized. When I say you've wandered into something here, I mean exactly that.”
“I'm only looking for whatever killed my parents.”
”And that led you here?”
“A lot has happened,” she conceded. “To both of us, it seems.”
“I have no doubt. Suffice it to say I don't just work at Alden. But look at you. Last week you appeared a bit thin. Now you're positively skeletal. Clare, why aren't you in hospital?”
“Because that guy is out there, killing people to appear like a monster.”
Dominic nodded. “Viruñas. What if I told you he's not out there mocking a monster but in fact killing to feed.”
Clare leaned back against the interior of the van. “I'd say you're insane, but for what I've seen. The husks of children were twisted and empty. My parents the same. There's just nothing on earth that can do that to a person so quickly.”
“There's more,” Dominic pushed both doors open as wide as they would go. “Come inside. Let's at least get you warm.”
Clare brushed a loose lock of hair back over her ear. As she ran her fingers through her hair, several strands came loose and remained entwined in her fingers. She looked at them, confused. “When the body is under heavy stress, hair is often the first thing to go…”
“Inside,” Dominic ordered. “Now.”
The interior of the lodge was like a normal house, albeit somewhat larger in scale, more like a mansion. The logs were facia designed to blend in with the outside. Clare conceded they did a great job. Warm, spacious and welcoming, she collapsed into the deep plushness of a forest-green chair, exhausted. The home was spacious and airy, their few captors also discarding their disguises now they were away from the wider world.
“Here,” Dominic offered a glass of water.
Clare took the drink and attempted a demure sip but ended up draining the glass in one go.
Dominic's face darkened. “Wait and don't move.”
In a matter of moments, he was back with a small black pouch. He produced a pen-like device and a small meter into which he stuck a narrow white strip. “Hold out your hand.”
Clare did as bidden, allowing Dominic to swab her pinkie. He placed the pen next to it and depressed a button.
“Ow,” Clare said, attempting to pull her hand away.
Dominic's iron grip prevented this and after dabbing an initial drop of blood away, he dipped the small strip on the end of the meter into the second drop that had swelled as if eager to leave her body. The device bleeped a few times before the scree
n lit up.
Dominic sighed. He turned the meter around to show her.
“It reads two hundred slash eleven point one. What does that mean?”
“The numbers are the two international standards for measuring blood glucose levels. By either one of those, your blood sugar is abnormally high. That means either your pancreas is failing to produce enough insulin because of overuse, which I highly doubt, or because the cells that produce insulin are being attacked by your immune system. With the weight loss and the way you gulp down water, it looks like you are well on the way to developing diabetes.”
It was the letter from the hospital all over again. Putting the issue aside had been a mistake. All came crashing home now. “How long have I got?”
“Before you become incapacitated? You have a week, maybe two. It depends on the ketoacidosis.”
“The whosyacidwhatsit?”
Dominic sat down opposite her. “Ketoacidosis is what happens when your body can't get the energy it needs to function from sugars. If glucose is absent, the body looks for the next best source. That's fat. Once all the fat reserves are used up, protein. Your body will literally eat itself alive to survive. The by-product of this is called ketones, a toxic sludge that builds up in your system over time and does all manner of damage. If not treated, you will eventually fall into a coma and die.”
“How is it you know so much about this?”
“Come with me.” Dominic held out a hand, which Clare gratefully accepted and refused to let go of once he had pulled her upright. He led her from the lobby of the house up a broad staircase of deep-stained oak that split in two directions just before reaching the second floor. The climb was a strain on her legs, Clare breathing heavily by the time they reached the top. They took a left on the landing, their steps muffled by a series of Paisley-patterned rugs until they stood at a large door. Dominic took a deep breath then led her in.
The Eyes Have No Soul Page 14