The flickering light from the garage flames revealed a ladder built into the bulkhead near the stern of the boat. He forced his shuddering muscles to move and kicked toward it. Focusing his remaining strength, he used his good hand to grip the side rail. His feet found a rung and he pulled himself half out of the water. Even at full strength, climbing the ladder with one hand would present a challenge. In his current condition it seemed insurmountable.
And then the boat recoiled on its rope and the stern bumped him, almost knocking him off the ladder. He managed to hang on.
The boat.
He released the ladder and swung his right arm over the transom. He found a handhold on the far side and clung for all his life. He swung his damaged arm over the edge and hooked the crook of his elbow there. The stump screamed with pain but he ignored it and kicked off the ladder. Slowly, painfully, he wriggled himself onto the transom, then tumbled over onto the deck.
He allowed himself a few seconds to lie there gasping, then struggled to his knees. The boat seemed to be secured by only a single line. He untied it and felt it begin to drift away from the dock… toward the bay.
This was it. This was his answer, his escape route. All he needed were a few moments and he’d drift out of the lagoon into the open water of the bay. Once there, he’d be beyond their reach. No one else out here had a boat. The dark and the snow would swallow him and he’d be free. He’d The boat banged against something and lurched to a stop. He looked up and saw it scraping against the far bulkhead. The wind angled out of the lagoon but also across it, and was holding the boat against the bulkhead.
He was stuck.
No!
His attackers could return any minute. They’d find him and take their time using their guns to reduce him to ground meat.
He thought of climbing out and crawling into the brush, but they’d see the boat and guess what had happened. His best bet still was out on the water.
He crawled to the bridge and hauled himself onto the seat before the steering wheel. The keys were in the ignition.
Did he dare? He’d been fooled once.
But he had to think that his attackers wouldn’t booby-trap both the car and the boat.
He realized he had no choice. He might die if he turned the key, but he would certainly die if he didn’t.
***
Jack found the can in the garage and hefted it-damn. Just a tiny bit sloshing in the bottom. He – froze as he heard the faint sound of a diesel engine sputtering to life.
What the-?
The boat! Rasalom had reached the boat. Jack couldn’t imagine how, but he knew how to stop it.
He grabbed the second Stinger and a BCU and raced back toward the dock, shoving the cooling unit into the grip as he ran. The boat’s engine was roaring now, full throttle no doubt.
Jack arrived in time to catch a glimpse of its stern as it raced from the mouth of the lagoon into the open water of the bay. The snowy darkness swallowed it, leaving him no target.
Then he remembered he didn’t need one. The Stinger was a heat seeker. All he had to do was fire it and it would find the boat and ram itself up its exhaust pipe.
He rested the launcher on his shoulder, aimed where he’d last seen the boat, and pulled the trigger. For maybe two seconds he followed the blazing yellow streak of the missile’s rocket engine as it flashed across the water, just a few feet above the surface. Then impact. The explosion lit the night-high explosive plus whatever diesel fuel was in the tank. The swirling snow and mist enhanced the glow as Jack watched bits of flaming debris pinwheel and tumble in all directions-bits of Rasalom among them, he assumed. He hoped. He prayed.
The One is the None.
But was he?
He’d survived everything else Jack had thrown at him. Could he have survived that?
Jack had hit him with everything he had, but still he wasn’t satisfied.
What would satisfy him?
Pumping Rasalom’s lifeless body full of kerosene and watching it burn, adding more as needed, poking the burning flesh to make sure it was fully consumed, then taking the ashes up in a plane and scattering them over the ocean.
Yeah. Then he’d be satisfied.
But unless Rasalom’s body washed up somewhere, he was going to have to make do with this.
He checked his watch. Four minutes gone. The neighborhood was due for lots of company-the flashing-light kind-real soon.
Time to clean up and move on.
His Glock brass had ejected into the water. The last 40mm buckshot empty remained in the thumper’s chamber. He picked up the other casing and trotted back to the O’Donnell garage where he policed the HE empties. They all went into the Vic’s trunk along with the Stinger launchers and the M-79.
A quick trip through the house to retrieve his Leica and the remotes. He’d worn gloves since the wipe-down, so no worry about prints.
At the five-minute mark he was backing out of the garage. He left the doors open to guarantee that Dawn’s body would be found. He’d call later to identify her.
He made it to Route 27 without passing anyone and was halfway to Amagansett when the first police car screamed past going the other way. The road was slick and the Vic had rear-wheel drive, so he took it easy.
He called Gia.
“How’s everything?”
“Fine. We’re at Weezy’s.”
He felt like he’d been punched. “ What? You and Vicky?”
“You sound surprised.”
Surprised? Try shocked. The last people he wanted involved with that baby were Gia and Vicky. Dawn, Gilda, and Georges were dead because of that child. It was dangerous, it was bad luck, it was “How-?”
“Weezy called and said she needed help, so we came over.”
Weezy called… Jack clenched his teeth. She should know better.
Or should she? She hadn’t seen him sucking his mother’s blood off his fingers. To her it was Dawn’s baby-one weird little baby, but just a baby.
Was he overreacting? Could be.
He forced calm.
“How’s the baby? Making that noise?”
“Not anymore. Vicky read to him and in ten minutes he was asleep. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Safe and sound and on my way back. You’re heading home?”
“Soon. You going to stop by?”
“Your place? Hope to. Gonna stop off and see Glaeken first.”
“Be careful out there. I hear the roads are awful. What? Weezy wants to speak to you.”
And he wanted to speak to her. Did he ever want to speak to her.
“Okay. Bye. Love ya.”
“It’s over?” Weezy said when she came on.
Jack stayed cool. The baby was asleep, Rasalom was dead, Gia and Vicky were okay and were headed home.
“Think so. Hope so.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Couldn’t be. Circumstances wouldn’t allow. I hit him with everything I had. I do believe he sleeps with the fishes.”
“Let’s hope. By the way, you know who I love?”
“Who?”
“Vicky. The little lady hath charms to soothe the q’qr breast.”
Jack loved her too. More than life. That was why he wanted her far from that little monster.
“Yeah, Vicky’s the best.”
Jack ended the call then leaned back and sighed. What was done was done. He just wished he could be sure Rasalom was done.
Uncertainty gnawed his gut all the way back to the city.
18
Ernst had been switching back and forth between the city and the Long Island stations, waiting for news of an incident from somewhere between the Hamptons and Montauk. Exactly what that incident might be, he had no idea, but he’d know it when he heard it.
He fairly leaped toward the screen when he heard an announcer mention a “live report from Nuckateague.” A pretty woman reporter wearing a hooded parka stood in the swirling snow and spoke into a microphone while firefighters, lit by flashing
lights from their trucks, milled back and forth before a large pile of smoking rubble.
“I tell you, Evan, it’s like a war zone out here. A waterfront mansion in this quiet, well-to-do hamlet has been razed to the ground after reports of multiple explosions. The detached garage has also been reduced to ashes and the car within appears to have been ripped apart by a bomb. Take a look…”
Ernst stared in wonder as the camera panned across the scene. The Order had owned the property for decades. Ernst remembered spending a weekend there a few summers ago. How shocking to see what had become of it.
Jack, Jack, Jack… I do believe I underestimated you.
The reporter went on to mention the three bodies that had been found in a garage across the street-two women and a man, all murdered.
Georges and Gilda, no doubt. But who was the second woman?
Jack had taken no prisoners, apparently.
But where was the most important body? What had happened to the One? Had Jack destroyed him so completely that no trace remained? Were his ashes mixed with those of the house?
Ernst hoped so. For that would mean that the Change would be postponed indefinitely. Perhaps forever. Certainly for his own lifetime.
And his own lifetime was all that mattered.
19
Glaeken had given him a key to the elevator. Jack entered the darkened apartment, knowing he’d find him up. He was right. He spotted him by the big picture window, silhouetted against the glow of the snowy city.
Three and a half hours on the road to get here, dreading and anticipating this moment.
“Well?”
Glaeken didn’t turn from the window.
“You’re asking me if he lives?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t know?”
“I blew him up, set him on fire, and blew him up again. But I couldn’t confirm the kill. What’s left of him is somewhere on or under Gardiner’s Bay.”
Glaeken sighed. “He lives.”
Jack dropped onto the couch and let his head drop back. “Shit.”
“But barely. Just barely.”
“What’s that mean?”
Now Glaeken turned but Jack could not see his features. He imagined a pretty grim expression.
“Ever since his rebirth he has been a presence, a dissonant hum between my ears. That hum is still there, yet it has grown so faint in the past few hours that it hovers on the edge of perception. He is severely wounded, perhaps mortally so. He is dying.”
“But he’s not dead.”
The silhouette shook its head. “No. Not yet.”
Jack didn’t know what more he could do. Be great if he knew someone in the Coast Guard. He could commandeer a cutter and go out in the storm with a harpoon, searching for what was left of Rasalom.
Yeah, right.
“Tell me the circumstances.”
Jack recounted the progression of events during the four fateful minutes in Nuckateague.
Glaeken shook his head. “I don’t see what else you could have done.”
“I could have gotten more up close and more personal.”
“And if you had, you might not be here describing your travails.”
Jack banged the arm of the couch with a fist. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“We wait. From the sound of what you put him through, he must die soon. Unless…”
The last thing Jack wanted to hear right then was an unless.
“Unless what?”
“Unless someone helps him. But his two attendants are dead, and the storm is keeping everyone inside. Where could he find help?”
“He could wash up near the house and some rescue worker could spot him and pull him out. Some CPR, some IV fluids, some hypothermia treatment, and some do-gooder could assure the end of life as we know it.”
“What are the chances?”
“Who knows? I listened to the radio all the way in. Plenty of talk about the fire and the three bodies, but not a word about a survivor.”
“Yet.”
Jack nodded. “Let’s turn on the TV and keep posted as to whether there’s a sole survivor of this terrible tragedy. Because if there is, he’s going to require a late-night consultation by Doctor Jack to finish the job.”
20
He opened his eyes again and saw the light. And once again he reassembled his scattered thoughts into a semi-coherent assessment of his situation.
He had washed up on an unknown shore. He lay upon snow-covered sand. A light shone somewhere ahead. He had been trying to reach it, crawling toward it. But every time he progressed a few feet, he passed out. And each attempt yielded less progress and briefer consciousness. But now something new.
Somewhere a dog barked.
The light went out…
… and came back on again. And something else. A vocal rumble nearby.
A dog, sniffing, panting, and growling. Would it attack? He could not defend himself against a sick kitten, let along a hungry dog. Never, not even during his darkest days trapped in the depths of the keep, had he felt this helpless.
And then a voice… one of the cattle… a cow… far away… or perhaps it only seemed far away.
“Rocky? Rocky, come back here this instant!”
He clung to the sound like a sailor to flotsam. He tried to speak but had no voice. He managed to raise his remaining hand, and that set the dog to barking again.
“What have you got out there, you dumb mutt?” the cow said. He sensed age in the voice. “Whatever it is, leave it alone and come inside before you catch your death.”
No! Do not go in! Stay!
“Don’t make me come out there!”
Yes! Come out! I beg you, come out! I will give you anything! I will seat you at my right hand after the Change if you will only bring me into your house!
He moved his hand again, precipitating a new round of near hysterical barking.
“I declare, you are the dumbest creature on Earth!” The voice… growing louder. “And I’m even dumber for coming out in this to get you. I should leave you out here, but you’re so dumb you’d forget how to find the door! You’ll probably-Mother of God! Is that-?”
He felt something nudge him. A toe? He raised his hand as he had before.
“Dear God, he’s alive!”
He felt something tighten on his left arm. He assumed it was the cow’s hands but he was too numb to feel anything beyond deep pressure.
“You’re going to have to help me, mister,” she said. “I’m assuming you don’t know I’m on in years and don’t see so well. You’re dead weight and I can’t move you on my own.”
He pushed against the ground with his right hand while she tugged on his left arm. Suddenly she released him and he dropped again.
“Dear God! Your hand! Did you lose your hand?”
He wanted to scream, Isn’t that obvious, you old idiot?
Fortunately for him, he still had no voice. He could only grunt.
She grabbed him again, pulling on his truncated left arm while he dug his right hand into the semi-frozen snow and pushed toward the light.
21
Plenty on the late-night news about the destruction and dead bodies out in Nuckateague, but nothing about a survivor.
Jack didn’t know if that was good or not. If they found an unidentified man hovering near death, he’d know where to go and what to do to finish the job. If they didn’t, it meant Rasalom was still out in the storm, burned, battered, barely breathing-and ready to breathe his last, Jack hoped.
He rose and grabbed his jacket. “I might as well head out.”
“Stopping in to see your ladies?”
“Nah. Don’t think I’m good company tonight.”
“You need them.”
“But they don’t need me. Not like this.”
Glaeken was staring at him. “Are you all right, Jack? I ask this knowing the answer.”
“Well, if you know the answer, why are you asking?”
“Be
cause I’m curious about the reason. I understand you’re angry and disappointed and frustrated about tonight-”
“Do you? Can you? I threw every goddamn thing I had at him-everything short of a tactical nuke-and you tell me the son of a bitch is still breathing.”
“You haven’t failed yet. He still might-”
“Not knowing is driving me nuts.”
“All the more reason to be with people who love you.”
“They won’t want to be with me very long. Even I don’t want to be with me tonight. So rather than alienate them, I figure it’s better I keep to myself.”
The old man continued his annoying stare. “This isn’t like you, Jack.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m not feeling much like me lately.”
“Oh?”
He looked at the finger he’d cut batting away the knife Georges had thrown. Pretty much completely healed now.
“I told you about the healing bit.”
Glaeken nodded. “Not good news for either of us.”
“Got that right.” Glaeken on his way out and Jack being pushed someplace he didn’t want to go. “But what’s happening seems more than physical.”
Another nod. “A certain… ruthlessness?”
“Right again.”
“That’s part of it. As your recuperative abilities increase, your empathy diminishes.”
“So it’s not just me.”
“No. It’s the Ally, or whatever infinitesimal fragment of it remains with this world. To be the Defender you must not only be physically resilient but you must have a singleness of purpose. As you’ve so painfully discovered, the Ally cares not a whit for us as individuals, only that we survive as a species to keep this corner of reality sentient.”
“‘A spear has no branches.’” The phrase tasted bitter.
“Correct. Nor should said spear have any concern beyond hitting the target.”
Jack shook his head. So that was why he’d considered setting out the shaped IEDs anyway, even if it meant sacrificing an innocent driver. And why he’d been kicking himself on the way home for not doing it.
The Dark at the End rj-15 Page 22