Laws of Nature -2

by Christopher Golden

  Molly took a deep breath and let it out noisily. "Most of this stuff I can't even imagine using. I mean, I couldn't aim a rifle, and I'm sure as hell not tossing explosives around. I'd kill us both."

  Jack nodded slowly. After a moment, he reached into the crate and withdrew a long, mean-looking pump-action shotgun. He cracked it open and found that it was fully loaded. Satisfied, he slung the weapon over his shoulder and reached back in for another, which he handed to Molly.

  "Anyone can fire one of these. Aim in the general vicinity of something, and you'll hit it," he told her.

  "All right," she said, though somewhat reluctantly.

  For one long moment Jack stared into the chest again, wondering if he should bring the assault rifle or a grenade or two. But he was no more confident than Molly of his ability to use either without killing them both.

  "Artie would hate this," Molly said suddenly.

  Jack froze. He swallowed hard and stared at the guns, glanced at Molly, and found the sight of her bearing arms very disturbing. This was wrong. Guns were nasty, brutish things. But then, what choice did they have?

  "I think he'd understand, given the circumstances," he quietly assured her.

  Molly frowned. "Do you really think so? The way he felt about guns?"

  Jack reached into the Jeep and shut the crate, locking it up. "We're not killing anyone, Molly. Not even aiming a gun in the wrong direction. We're after monsters just like the ones that killed Artie.

  "Trust me. He'd understand."

  There was no way he could tell her that he had had that very discussion with Artie's ghost.

  Fortunately, Molly did not argue it further. She slid her pistol into the clip at the small of her back and held the shotgun in front of her with both hands. Jack slammed down the back of the Jeep and they set out across the parking lot, moving as fast as they could.

  "This is suicidal, you know," she told him.

  "Then why are we going?" Jack replied.

  They did not speak for quite some time after that, for they both knew the answer. They could not just leave that girl to the Prowlers. Behind the school, they found a trail that led up into the forest toward the mountains. It was possible, of course, that the Prowlers had simply gone through the trees, headed in another direction entirely.

  But it was also possible that they were following the path. And Jack and Molly had nothing else to go on.

  Together they jogged along, peering into the darkness for any sign of the monsters' passing, listening intently for some sound that would indicate the girl was still alive.

  CHAPTER 10

  Sirens pierced the night, and emergency lights cast the trees on either side of School Street in a flickering, ghostly red and blue. Alan Vance ground his teeth as he trailed the ambulance up toward the school. Tina had met him at the Paperback as planned, and they had worked for hours to help clean up the mess the vandals had left behind. Then, a little after eight, Tina had started to get a migraine and headed home. Alan had been moping about it, wondering if she really did not feel well or if she was angry with him for something, when the sheriff had called.

  Shots fired down on School Street, near the library. One of the neighbors had called it in. Alan had run out to the car and sped toward the scene. At the center of town he had fallen in behind the ambulance, tires squealing a bit as they raced around corners. On the way to the scene, the sheriff had come over the radio, shouting at them all to hurry.

  The ambulance hit a speed bump ahead as they raced past the high school. A pang of nostalgia for simpler times came unbidden to Alan's heart as he glanced over at the darkened building. Then he realized that compared to this, they had all been simpler times.

  Ahead of him, the ambulance turned into the library parking lot without signaling. Alan tapped the brakes, then turned to follow, engine revving as the car swung in behind the ambulance. The other emergency vehicle bumped right up onto the library lawn, no longer blocking Alan's view of the scene before him.

  The lights inside the library blazed, the whole building lit up. The front doors were shattered, some of the windows as well. The sheriff 's patrol car was skewed at a crazy angle across the lot, door open and blues flashing. There was another vehicle in the lot, however.

  A green, somewhat weathered Jeep Cherokee Laredo.

  It took him only a moment to recognize it as the vehicle driven by Jack Dwyer.

  "You've gotta be kidding," he muttered to himself. But he knew there was no joke involved. The kids had asked him about the library earlier that same day. The sheriff had been suspicious of the two teens from Boston the moment he had laid eyes on them. Now it looked as though that suspicion was going to be borne out.

  Alan's tires grabbed the pavement as he laid on the brakes, then jumped out of the car. Sheriff Tackett jogged across the lawn toward him, leaving the wounded face of the library abandoned for the moment.

  That was the second alarm that went off in Alan's head. Sheriff Tackett did not pick up the pace for anything, ever. Yet now the man's slightly rounded face was grave and determined. He had his gun out, held down by his leg, as he came over.

  "What's going on, Sheriff ?" Alan asked, thinking the question made him sound like a dimwit.

  "Ned Meredith's been murdered," the sheriff said, a twitch in his left eye revealing his tension. John Tackett did not get rattled easily, but he was rattled now.

  "Mr. Meredith?" Alan asked, heart sinking. The dead man had been a football coach at Buckton High when Alan was there.

  "The library's been ransacked, Ned's blood is all over the place. I found a backpack and some things belonging to his daughter, Janelle. I think she was here, but she isn't now."

  Alan hung his head. "Oh, God."

  The EMTs were running across the lawn toward the school when the sheriff called after them.

  "Langer!" he shouted at the man who was senior among them.

  Both EMTs turned.

  "I hereby deputize both of you. The man in there is already dead. He doesn't need your help. I do. Secure that crime scene and don't let anyone in until I get back."

  "Get back?" Alan asked. He stared at the sheriff, wide-eyed. "Where are we - "

  "Did you see the Jeep?" Tackett snapped.

  "Well, yeah - "

  "It belongs to those kids you told me about today. You know, the ones who knew there had been a third murder before we did? Well, this is number four, and I have a hard time believing it's a coincidence that their vehicle is here? The hood was still warm when I arrived. They can't have gotten far."

  Suddenly Alan understood what the sheriff was planning, and he held up both hands in protest. "Sheriff, I don't know if this is the best - "

  "I'm going, and I need backup, so you're going," he told Alan. "Ned's dead. He's not going anywhere. The way I've got it figured, maybe these kids - if they're the ones doing this - have Janelle up there in the woods."

  "It's night," Alan said. "How're we - "

  Tackett suddenly turned on him, rage in his eyes, face contorted so that for a second he looked almost inhuman. "Think of the girl, Alan!" he snarled. "I've been walking the trails back there my whole life. They can't have more than ten minutes on us, and they don't know this mountain. Now, let's go!"

  The sheriff spun and walked away, and for a long moment, Alan just stared at his back. Then he ran to his car and pulled the flashlight out of the glovebox.

  There was one main trail that led up from behind the library into the mountains. In high school, he and some of his buddies had gone up there dozens of times to drink beer or make out with girls, so he knew the path well enough. But off that path, there were dozens of narrow trails. Alan thought it would look kind of silly if he and the sheriff got lost up there.

  The sheriff . . . Alan stared at Tackett's back as the man jogged across the lawn of the library toward the forest. There had been something in his tone, something in the way the man had eyed the woods, that unsettled Alan. What had happened in the library was
nasty, but it was a bit premature to blame it on Jack and Molly just because the Jeep was there. The kids had been poking around, sure, but for all they knew, those two could be in danger as well.

  Weird, Alan thought.

  Then he trotted toward the tree line.

  Behind him, inside Jack's Jeep, a cellular phone began to ring, but there was no one there to answer it.

  In the alley behind Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub, Bill Cantwell threw a suitcase in his trunk and slammed it shut. He glanced over at Courtney, who stood in the open back door of the restaurant with a cell phone to her ear. Bill could tell by the dismay on her face and by her scent that there was still no answer.

  As he walked back around to the driver's door of his huge, aging Oldsmobile, Courtney clicked a button on the phone and then held it at her side. She came out into the alley to stand by him.

  "Nothing," she said, voice hollow with fear for her brother.

  "They're all right," Bill promised, though it was only a guess.

  "Then why aren't they answering?"

  His only response was to retrieve his keys from his pocket and unlock the door.

  "Bill."

  Her voice caught him, all the emotion in it, the confusion making his heart ache. Bill turned and went to her. But he did not reach out for her. Did not try to embrace her.

  "It's hard," he said. "You seeing what I really am. It puts a lot of distance between us."

  Courtney glanced away. "It does," she admitted. "I don't live in the world I used to. This is all new, and pretty terrifying."

  Finally she raised her eyes.

  "It's going to take some getting used to," Courtney revealed. "But I can't pretend, can I? I can't go back to being ignorant like everyone else. We'll deal with it.

  We'll evolve."

  Bill smiled. "We can do that."

  He slid behind the wheel of the Olds, started her up, and rolled down the window. Courtney bent down to gaze in at him. Neither of them had any idea what he would find when he got to Buckton.

  "Bring them home," she told him.

  After only a moment's hesitation, Bill nodded.

  While he drove off, she stood in the alley and watched him go, arms wrapped around herself as though it were the dead of winter.

  It was quarter to eleven on a Saturday night in the middle of July, and even that late, it was well above eighty degrees.

  The whole forest seemed alive.

  Jack and Molly were city people, born and raised. Unlike some of their friends, they had spent little time out of Boston, hiking or camping or rafting. Now as they hurried along the trail that cut through the forest, ducking low-hanging branches and jumping over dead-fall, Jack felt as though the woods around them were allied with the Prowlers.

  This is the wild, and we are intruders.

  He gripped the shotgun tighter and watched the ground before him as best he could, knowing that a wrong step could cost him. He felt eyes upon him from the trees on either side of the path. It might have been only paranoia, but he would not rule out that the Prowlers were lying in wait.

  One of them, at least, had their scents. Jack knew that meant the monster could find them any time now.

  Fortunately, the wind through the trees was coming down off the mountain, and thus their scents would not carry to the Prowlers ahead of them. Of course, the beasts would likely hear them coming; their senses were far more acute than those of humans. But Jack could not worry about that, could not even think about it. He knew that he and Molly would not be able to look at themselves in the mirror if they did not try to save the girl.

  A few minutes into their trek, a scream tore through the woods, and something rustled in the underbrush off to the left. Jack tried to convince himself that it was just an animal, something harmless. He froze on the path and glanced back at Molly.

  "They're not on this path," she whispered, her eyes were wide as she gazed into the darkness for some sign of the Prowlers.

  Jack nodded in agreement. He had hoped they would not have to go through the trees. They would make even more noise, and the going would be much slower. There was nothing to be done for it unless they were willing to turn around and go home.

  It was too late for that. Too late for going back.

  Molly touched his shoulder. Their eyes met and he knew that she felt the same way. His heart raced even faster, but he reminded himself how much more terrified that girl must be. Molly gripped her shotgun with both hands once more.

  Together, they stepped off the path and into the trees.

  Folded in his back pocket he carried the area map they had marked up on their explorations of the area. They had no flashlight, and he doubted he could have read it by the light of the moon. On the other hand, he was far from certain he would be able to figure out where they were at the moment even if he had had enough light to read it by.

  The forest was not as dense as Jack had expected, and the going was easier than he feared, but there were plenty of branches to brush by and twigs that snapped underfoot. Any hope he had of catching the monsters unaware was dashed by those tiny noises.

  As they jogged through the woods, the air close and humid and far too warm, they were careful not to catch their feet on stones or roots. Horrid sounds came down to them at odd intervals: another scream or two, a howling laugh that sounded much too close, the swish of something moving in the dark nearby. Their eyes had now fully adjusted to the moonlight, but the trees stood out in silhouette, more like paper cutouts than actual growing things, and once again Jack had the impression of being on a movie set.

  But the fear, that was real. And that made it all real, no matter how eerily false the world around him appeared.

  Those black silhouettes that made up the woods could have hidden anything. Their depth seemed endless. Jack almost wanted to close his eyes, but he dared not. A branch scratched his right cheek and he felt a thin line of blood drip from the cut. The smell of pine needles and of wild things was strong.

  Several times they passed places where the stink of animals was almost overpowering, and Jack wondered if the Prowlers had marked those spots.

  They had been moving through the trees for at least ten minutes when Molly tapped his arm. Jack flinched then, and he let out a long breath when he glanced at her inquisitively.

  "I don't hear anything," she whispered.

  A cold shroud blanketed him suddenly, heavy and cloying. He knew she was right. There had been no audible sign of the Prowlers for over a minute. Either they had lost the monsters, or the girl was already dead.

  "Damn it," he cursed, voice so low the warm breeze seemed to steal it away.

  Jack let out a frustrated sigh and turned to peer into the forest ahead of them.

  The monster stood between two trees, almost as though it had been there all along and he had only now noticed it. It was the large Prowler with reddish fur who had carried the girl over his shoulder. The one who had scented them, marked them with a glare.

  "Don't lose faith now," the monster said. "You've almost got us."

  Without even raising the weapon, Jack fired the shotgun. The Prowler bolted to one side behind a thick maple and the blast peppered the tree bark. The creature darted around in the woods just out of the edges of their vision. It was fast, despite its size.

  It was playing with them.

  "You two are just determined to get killed, aren't you?" the monster asked, voice guttural and cold.

  Jack shivered. He pumped another round into the shotgun's chamber and backed two steps toward Molly. A quick glance at her was all the communication they needed. She turned her back to him and they began to make their way forward, back to back, watching every tree, every pocket of blackness left unilluminated by the moon.

  "Just give us the girl and we'll leave you alone," Jack said aloud, relieved to find that his voice did not reveal his fear.

  The Prowler laughed. It was a sickening sound, like bones snapping. "Truly amazing. Who do you think you are?"

/>   "We're the ones with the shotguns."

  Molly bumped against him slightly. "We're the ones who killed Owen Tanzer."

  Silence in the trees. Jack smiled to himself. Way to go, Molly. That had unnerved the monster, he was sure of it.

  "We'll just be going, now," Jack said. "Up, I mean. There's a girl up there we're going to take away from you."

  "You can't go up there," said a voice from the trees. "It's sacred ground." Jack tried to get a fix on him, but the voice seemed to roll across the ground like mist.

  "Sacred?" Molly asked. "What do Prowlers hold sacred?"

  "Sanctuary," it replied. "This place has been a haven for all our kind for ages. Once before we were driven out, and now your kind threaten its purity again. You steal our past, our legacy."

  "We stole nothing," Jack said grimly, tensed and expecting the monster to attack at any second. "Just give us the girl."

  "Stole . . ." Molly muttered. "Jack, he means the book."

  The red-furred beast snarled. "What do you know of the book?"

  Something swept between two trees ahead of him, and Jack's finger twitched on the trigger, but he did not fire. No waste. Not now. Not when their lives could depend on it.

  "Jack!" Molly cried.

  With a sudden rush of fur and gleaming teeth, a pair of Prowlers hurtled at them from either side. Jack swung the shotgun toward the monster lunging in from his left. The trigger was tight, and when he pulled it the kick of the shotgun drove him back a step and he stumbled, nearly fell. It was little more than sheer luck that the blast tore a chunk out of the creature's chest, spattering fur and blood and flesh on a fat tree trunk.

  Two echoes resounded through the trees, and he knew that Molly had fired as well. Jack pumped another round into the chamber and spun to see that the second Prowler was slumped against a tree as though he were drunk. He swayed there, holding on to a branch, and his head rolling on his thick shoulders, eyes turning toward them.