Marysue grunted. “And I bet you still believe in Santa Claus.”
Jennifer guessed that nearly an hour had gone by. She was getting cold and decided it would be easier to wait and get warm by walking around. She slipped out of the car and walked around it, staring in the direction Conrad and Monica had gone, staring back at the trail, and straining to listen for the sound of pursuit.
Something small and dark streaked across the dark water, and Jennifer had to clamp a hand to her mouth to stop herself from screaming when Marysue crept up beside her.
“You okay?” Jennifer asked.
“I’ll live. But I’m still gonna sue.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder, sharing their warmth, sharing their wavering strength.
“You know Overbrook?” Marysue said quietly.
“What about him?”
“All this stuff he said—it scared me to death.”
“I know.”
“Do you think he’s right?”
Jennifer shrugged. “I have to think so. He’s the expert we were looking for. He knows more about this than we do.”
Marysue sighed out loud. “I wish you hadn’t said that, Field. I was hoping you were thinking he was full of it.”
“I wish he was.”
They turned to face the car. Borden Overbrook was still inside, but they couldn’t see him. Jennifer looked away—it was like looking at a ghost, and she didn’t like it.
“It’s been too long,” Marysue said as they gave up waiting by the lake. “I could have crawled there and been back long before this.”
Though Jennifer was beginning to feel the same way, she didn’t respond. Borden Overbrook was getting out of the car, and when she was close enough to see his face, she knew he agreed.
“The horns of a dilemma,” he said. “We can’t go after them because we might miss them in the dark. And if we stay here, we’re going to drive ourselves crazy.”
“Well, then, two of us will go, and we’ll leave someone here.”
“Alone?” Jennifer said.
“Well, we can’t stand around here anymore,” Marysue snapped tearfully. “Like the man said, it’s driving—”
She stopped when Jennifer suddenly whirled around and faced the direction Conrad had taken. Someone was out there, running, crashing into the underbrush, making no attempt to hide his approach. Borden pulled them back in the direction of the car and slightly behind him, and held out his arms just in time to catch Monica, who tripped over something unseen on the ground and fell against his chest.
“What happened?” Jennifer demanded. “Where’s Conrad?”
Monica gulped for air, then looked up at Borden. “Back there,” she gasped. “They—they saw us. He’s back there.”
Twelve
MARYSUE CRIED OUT, LESS IN FEAR THAN IN ANGER, and she looked at Jennifer and said, “I’ve got to find him!”
Jennifer tried to stop her.
To go out there then, in the dark, with the alarm raised and the aliens knowing there were others hunting for them, was suicidal, but Beauford refused to listen. She stood for a second with her hands flapping at her sides, then bolted toward the trail.
Borden yelled at her to stop, but he couldn’t move because Monica was holding on to him so tightly.
Jennifer wavered between good sense and going with her friend. It was crazy; the whole plan was falling apart. Finally, with a sigh, she cast an apologetic look at the instructor and raced away into the dark.
She could barely see.
Though the clouds were still breaking up, and the resulting starlight was better than nothing, there were still more shadows than substance. She braced herself with every step in anticipation of tripping.
The bulky silhouette of the ruined cabin was dark on her right, the lake on her left nothing more than a faint break in the trees. Ahead, she could see Marysue slow down abruptly as she searched for the trail, a short length of wood in her left hand for a club. When she came up behind her, Beauford whirled around, ready to strike, and grinned sheepishly when she saw Jennifer. Marysue told her to pick up a weapon because the creatures weren’t going to be satisfied, this time, with simply scaring the girls away.
Marysue went first, sweeping the wooden board from side to side to clear the path they were following; but they hadn’t gone more than a few yards when they heard something crashing through the trees toward them.
Jennifer tugged at the back of Beauford’s coat, telling her they’d better retreat—at least until they found out who, or what, was coming.
Marysue balked.
Jennifer insisted, gripping her arm firmly and yanking her until they were back in the clearing. Then, as Marysue crouched down to hide, Jennifer hurried to the cabin, scanning the ground for something she could use to protect herself.
It came nearer.
Jennifer straightened up for a moment—there was more than one, but she couldn’t tell if they were coming together or if one was being chased.
Suddenly the headlights of the Mercedes flared on, nearly blinding her though they weren’t aimed in her direction. Its engine roared, and she could hear earth and pebbles being kicked out from under it as the automobile backed out toward the highway. She ran a couple of steps toward the departing headlights, groaned in despair, and ran back to the cabin. And there, near the concrete slab that had been used as a stoop, her foot kicked something hard. She bent down, ran her hands along it, and realized it was a poker, old and rusted but still heavy enough to do damage.
Footsteps made her leap to her feet, the poker at her shoulder like a baseball bat.
It was Borden.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I sent Monica back to get the police.”
“But will they come?”
He grinned. “They will if she does what I tell her.”
The thrashing was even louder, so close it was impossible to tell how many were making the ungodly noise.
Nightbirds rose complaining from their branches, and the snapping of twigs and branches made it sound as if a lightless fire was racing toward them.
Then Marysue cried out from her position by the trail and ran to the cabin, spun around when she reached Borden and Jennifer, and pointed.
They could all see it.
Lumbering toward them along the path.
It was as tall as a man, walking on two legs, yet its shape and the fur that covered it gave it the appearance of a gigantic wolf.
But it was the eyes that were the most terrifying—slanted and green, almost aglow in the starlight. And though life was there, it was life she had never known. It was cold. It was distant. It was impossible to read anything from the animal’s expression save its clear intention to destroy its enemies.
The creature stopped when it saw them standing by the cabin, and a low, satisfied growl rumbled from deep in its throat. Marysue was gone. Where was she? Borden backed away a step, reached for the poker, and scowled when Jennifer refused to give it up. Instead she side-stepped a few feet away from the instructor, dividing the creature’s attention, giving it a choice.
Suddenly it threw up its arms, howled, and fell face first to the ground. Marysue stood over it, clubbed it again on the back of its head, and gave the others a thumbs-up gesture.
Howling exploded from the woods.
Another one came out of the brush by the lake.
It charged straight at Jennifer just as a third one broke from the trail and managed to duck under Marysue’s wild swing. Borden ran to help her while Jennifer stood her ground, watching the alien lope toward her, snarling, spitting, its eyes firmly fixed on her and not blinking once when it spotted her weapon.
It came on, and Jennifer braced herself, trying not to listen to the struggle on her right.
Then she threw herself to the left and swung one-handed, the poker slamming into the beast’s side and sending it sprawling. A fierce stinging raced up her arm as she regained her balance, and she grunted, shifted the poker to her other hand, and watche
d the alien roll over several times before struggling to its feet.
It stood, swaying, rubbing its side and shaking its head slowly.
She inched closer, switching the poker in front of her like the tail of a cat.
Borden Overbrook bellowed in pain; Marysue screamed in rage.
Jennifer swung the poker halfheartedly, a deliberate feint to see which way the beast would jump. But it didn’t move. It only watched her as it continued to rub its side. And when she swung again, its growl was almost like laughter.
Marysue shouted.
Two more creatures burst out of the trees.
Jennifer wasted no more time. She lunged with the poker, pulled back when the creature reached for it, and laid it solidly on the side of its neck. It fell to its knees, and Jennifer kicked its shoulder, lashed out again as she ran by, and charged the alien pair that were running toward Beauford.
Overbrook, having fought off the third one, threw his hands out just as one of the pair flung itself at him. They rolled over and over, grunting, snarling, and finally disappearing around the corner of the cabin. Marysue, meanwhile, was fending off the other one with what was left of her board, her hair matted over her face, one sleeve of her jacket torn from shoulder to elbow.
Jennifer, unable to get close enough to strike the creature because it was moving too quickly, screamed to distract it. The alien hesitated for only a moment, but it was enough—Marysue jammed her battered club into its midsection, which doubled it over, driving it back. Jennifer slammed its head viciously, the sickening sound of iron crushing bone loud enough to fill the clearing.
Beauford immediately dropped to her knees, panting, and Jennifer hurried to her side.
“Are you okay?” she asked, running a trembling hand along the slash of her coat.
“I—think so.” Marysue leaned back on her haunches and lifted her face to the sky. “You know, I didn’t really think I could do it.”
Jennifer nodded her agreement and averted her eyes from the wolf-things lying on the ground. Then she turned and ran toward the back of the cabin, looking for Borden and the creature that had attacked him. But she could see nothing, not anywhere in the clearing, and no sounds reached her that would give her a clue.
Feeling her knees begin to weaken and her arms fill with lead, she staggered back to her friend and helped her to her feet.
“Overbrook?” Marysue said.
“I don’t know. They’re both gone.” She looked into the dark, eyes straining and failing. “I don’t know. Maybe he chased the thing down the road.”
“Or the other way around.”
Jennifer shrugged. Right then it didn’t make any difference. There was nothing they could do, and their next step was to get back on the trail to look for Conrad. Beauford wasted no time, and, supporting each other like a pair of drunks, they ducked under the trees.
“He better be all right,” Marysue whispered harshly.
Jennifer thought about Monica and prayed that the girl had somehow contrived to get the police to chase her back. Though a quartet of aliens were out of commission, she had no idea how many more, if any, were still back at their den.
Several times they stopped to listen but heard nothing except the ragged gasp of their own breathing.
Every few minutes the wind would kick up, and the trees would release more of their leaves. They skated off their heads and shoulders, more than once making them think they were bats. Underfoot they crackled, and the two soon gave up any pretense of being quiet.
Above them the wind blew steadily, keening through the bare branches on top of Ballad Hill.
It was, Jennifer thought, like walking through a graveyard; and she scolded herself immediately. Thoughts like that weren’t going to do her any good, especially not then.
Some time later they reached a small clearing, where many of the plants and trees were dead or dying from the experiments the aliens were doing to get them to emit something other than oxygen.
The idea made her shudder.
And when Marysue grabbed her arm and pointed to the uphill edge of the clearing, she almost yelled.
There was a dark form on the ground—alien or not they couldn’t tell. After listening for any signs of someone lurking beyond the reach of their vision, they separated and approached the form from two sides.
When it groaned and sat up, Jennifer brought the poker to her shoulder.
When it swore, Marysue uttered a short cry and ran to it, dropped beside it, and threw her arms around Conrad.
Jennifer waited seconds before joining them, helping the young man to his feet.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said, grinning at them somewhat weakly. “Monica and I were down there”—he pointed toward the continuation of the trail—“when we were jumped. We ran, but one of them hit me from behind when we got back here. I guess he thought I was dead. We Changs have thick skulls, you know. Anyway, the next thing I know this maniac is throwing herself all over me.”
“I was not throwing myself all over you,” Marysue said, only partially fighting back her tears of relief and concern.
“Whatever,” Jennifer said briskly. “We can’t stay here. Come on, we have to get back. Can you walk, Zucco?”
Conrad nodded, winced, and grabbed the back of his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Just don’t plan on doing any running.”
The return to the cabin clearing was slow, and though Conrad asked several times what was going on, neither of the girls wanted to take the time to answer. Marysue told him just to wait and she’d explain everything; Conrad insisted he wasn’t an invalid and had a right to know where everyone else was. By the time they were more than halfway back, Marysue had given up and tried to fill him in, but the answers came in fits and starts as they dodged fallen trees and stumbled into brush. And by the time they reached the clearing, Jennifer was sure Conrad was more confused than ever—especially about what had happened to Borden Overbrook.
“The last time I saw him was here,” Jennifer said, pointing at the area between the cabin and the woods. “I don’t know what happened to him after that. I looked but—”
Marysue touched her shoulder and hushed her. Pointed toward the other cabin on what would be the other side of the road.
Jennifer looked, blinked, and saw a car parked there.
And before any of them had a chance to move, the headlights came on and a voice said, “It’s all over, punks. There’s a gun here. Drop whatever it is you’re holding, little lady, and raise your hands high.”
“Wouldn’t you know it,” Conrad muttered. “It’s Jack Rumbel.”
Thirteen
SLOWLY JENNIFER LOWERED THE POKER TO THE ground, while, with her other hand, she shaded her eyes against the glare of the headlights. She could see nothing in the beams they cast, though she heard the fat detective moving across the ground and heard Conrad whispering something to Marysue as he shifted to his left.
“Shut up!” Rumbel said. And Conrad almost snapped to attention, Marysue grabbing hold of his arm with both hands and turning her face away from the light.
Oh, no, Jennifer thought, what does he need a gun for?
Then one of the headlights was blotted out by the large figure in an overcoat. The detective approached them cautiously, the leaves beneath his feet snapping like thin glass. And the closer he came the more she could make him out—from the dark open overcoat he wore with the collar up to the flapping trouser legs beneath it.
She still couldn’t see his eyes, but she could see the gun and the twisting plumes of steam as the man breathed.
“It seems,” Rumbel said casually, “that you have some explaining to do.” He laughed, though it sounded more like a series of snorts, and moved the gun to cover Conrad. “This I gotta hear.”
“Aliens,” Jennifer said.
Rumbel moved closer, his left hand hanging loose at his side. “Aliens?”
“No, Jenny,” Marysue whispered, and when Jennifer tu
rned her head to tell the girl this was the perfect time to let the secret out, she realized that the aliens they had fought in the clearing were gone. She turned a tight circle, using the car’s lights to show her that they all had been taken away.
“You gonna tell me,” the policeman said, “there are illegal aliens here? In Connecticut? You think I’m gonna believe there are aliens up here?”
Closer still, the gun’s dark metal gleaming.
She shook her head.
“Right. Wise move, little lady.”
“How’d you know we were here?” Conrad asked.
“A little bird,” Rumbel sneered.
“Monica—”
“Who?” The detective was less than ten feet away now, the gun aiming at no one in particular, but neither was it pointing toward the ground. “Who’s Monica? Another one of your little gang? From high-and-mighty Thaler?”
Jennifer and Marysue exchanged startled glances—if Monica hadn’t lured the man there, then how did he know where to find them? And what had happened to her?
And where, she thought further, is Borden?
She didn’t want to think he was dead, but he’d been gone too long, and there was no other conclusion.
From his coat’s deep pocket Rumbel pulled out a flashlight and shone it toward the lake, toward the cabins, swept it across the face of the trees bordering the clearing. “I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s this place to you?”
“Nothing,” said Marysue. “We just like it here.”
“Really?” He laughed again and shook his head. “You kids must think I’m really stupid, huh? You come here to hang out. Walking, yet, ’cause I don’t see any car or bike. No booze, no fire, not even a little smoke or two, right? You just hang out in the dark and tell each other ghost stories.” He scowled and stood to one side. “Over there,” he ordered, using the gun as a prod. “Over by the car. Now!”
The temptation to make a break for it was strong. Running, however, wouldn’t solve anything now. Not so long as Rumbel had the gun.
Jennifer walked past without looking at him and stood by the driver’s door, waiting. She watched Conrad remain beside Marysue.
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