The hood had fallen away from his head, exposing the protruding brow, the apelike eyes and nose and mouth . . . and the fangs when he howled.
“Jesus God!” Jesse cried. He floored the gas pedal and began swerving side to side on the road, trying to shake the hideous creature.
The creature began hammering on the already cracked windshield.
“Do you have a gun?” Jesse screamed the question.
“Are you out of your mind? I hate guns!”
A hairy, clawed fist drove through the windshield, fingers groping for either passenger.
Jesse began swerving from side to side, frantically spinning the wheel, trying to dislodge the hideousness from the hood. The small car hit a patch of gravel and went into a spin, then a long sideways slide, with the creature howling and Jesse and Sonya yelling and screaming.
The car left the road and smashed into a tree, the impact crushing the grill and mangling the dangling legs of the creature, trapping him between car and tree.
Jesse had a bump on the head but other than that, was unhurt. “You hurt, Sonya?”
“I ... don’t think so.”
The creature hammered on the hood of the car with its fists, howling in pain.
The reporter in both of them surfaced, shoving aside any aches and pains from the accident. They both grabbed cameras and managed to get the sprung doors pushed open. Outside, they took pictures of the creature, with his great fanged mouth and bloody simian face. Then the thought came to them at once: If there was one of those things, there was probably more . . . whatever it was.
“Let’s get out of here, Jesse!”
They took off running up the road. Around them, on both sides of the road, the timber suddenly appeared much thicker and darker and ever so much more menacing.
* * *
Carl came to a sliding stop and left the car, the 9-mm in his hand, hammer back. Harry’s county unit was nowhere in sight. But two other cars were. He did not recognize them. But Carl had that giveaway tingly feeling on the back of his neck that told him Harry was close.
He locked his car and ran to the porch, where Dee was waiting.
“No sign of Harry, Carl. How about Janet?”
“Pregnant.”
“Shit! The baby?”
Mike’s unit slipped to a stop.
“Not . . . normal. And no, it can’t be aborted. Either way, it’s going to kill Janet. Doctor Bartlett has her sedated. She’s sleeping. Who do these other cars belong to?”
“The kids Gary and Janet told us about. Gary called them just after you left.” Her eyes searched his face. “Who’s going to tell Gary?”
“I will. But not now.” He turned to face the young deputy. “You following me, Mike?”
“Jim’s orders. He says he wants Harry alive.”
Carl spat off the porch. “Not fucking likely, pal.”
“If Harry shows up, I plan on arresting him,” Mike said, sticking out his chin.
“If Harry shows up, he’ll come in shooting,” Carl replied. “So I suggest we get off the porch and stop offering ourselves as targets.”
Inside the A-frame, Gary’s eyes were worried and his face showed the strain. “Janet?”
“Doctor Bartlett has her sedated,” Carl said, telling the truth. “He wanted to keep her at the clinic so he can run more tests in the morning,” he added, not knowing if that was the truth or a lie. He didn’t know how he was going to tell the boy about his girlfriend.
Carl was introduced to Lib and Peter, Jack and Becky, Susie and Tommy. “Your parents know you’re out here?” he asked.
“Our parents don’t care,” Tommy told him. “They left home and work about noon today. They didn’t say where they were going. It’s all coming unglued, isn’t it? I mean, the coven business?”
“It’s coming to a head,” Carl acknowledged, his eyes flicking to the window just as a sheriffs department car roared by, heading back to town, Harry Harrison behind the wheel.
“I’m gone,” Mike said, moving to the door. “Jim said to get him.”
He was out the door and off the porch before anyone could make any attempt to stop him.
* * *
“Car’s coming real fast, Sonya,” Jesse said. “I don’t like the sound of it.”
“Me neither.”
They both hit the ditch by the side of the road. Harry roared by. The reporters started to get up just as the sound of Mike’s fast-moving unit came to them, the engine screaming. They hit the ditch again and stayed there until both cars were out of sight and sound.
Jesse’s car was well off the shoulder of the road, nearly hidden by the timber. Neither Harry nor Mike had seen the wrecked vehicle as they roared past.
The reporters climbed slowly to their feet and began walking as the silence of the timber once more fell around them. Rounding a curve, they saw the roofline of the A-frame.
Up to this point, neither had brought up the creature that had clung to the hood, howling and snarling. As the house came into view, both of them feeling that safety was finally within their sight, Sonya said, “What was that thing back there, Jesse?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t believe in ghosts and things that go bump in the night. It was some sort of crazy person, I guess.”
Several silver-gray shapes flitted across the road several hundred yards ahead of them, in sight only for a few seconds before disappearing into the timber.
The reporters stopped in the center of the road. “Jesse, those looked like wolves!”
“We have red wolves in this area—a few of them. Those weren’t red wolves. There are no timber wolves in the eastern United States. Those were German shepherds, probably, running in a pack.”
“Biggest police dogs I ever saw!”
“They get pretty big. I sure am glad to see that house. This is the loneliest stretch of road I believe I was ever on.”
“For a fact. Jesse? You feel sort of odd about asking for help from the man we’ve set out to get?”
“You’ve set out to get, Sonya. I’ve been doing some thinking about it. I got nothing against Carl Garrett. From what I’ve been able to find out about him, he’s done a lot of good.”
Before Sonya could reply to that, a strange sound reached them as they walked up the lonely road. A very faint singing that seemed to be coming from deep within the timber.
“It’s beautiful,” Sonya said. “And . . . something else too.”
Jesse listened and slowed his step. “Haunting. That’s what it is.” A mist covered his mind, clouding reason. He turned, heading for the timber.
A low snarl stopped him, clearing away the mental clouding and widening his eyes.
A huge gray timber wolf stood at the edge of the timber, watching the pair through cold yellow eyes.
Sonya tugged at Jesse’s shirtsleeve. “Come on, Jesse. What’s the matter with you?”
“That singing . . .” Jesse shook his head. “It . . . seemed to pull me toward the woods.”
The wolf, now joined by several others, paced the pair as they walked toward the now-visible A-frame. The wolves made no attempt to leave the timber; indeed, they seemed to be acting as guards, discouraging Jesse from entering the woods.
When the reporters reached the wide clearing, the wolves stayed in the timber, watching them as they walked up to the chain-link fence.
“That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” Sonya said, standing by the gate. “I wonder why they didn’t attack us. Instead, they acted like they wanted us to stay out of the timber.”
“That’s the impression I got,” Jesse agreed. Once my head cleared from all that strange singing. I think they were just big dogs.” He looked back at the timberline. The wolves were gone.
Sonya and Jesse turned their attentions to Dingo, who stood in the center of the walkway, looking at them. The big dog was not snarling or growling, but his stance and expression warned them they had better not enter the fenced-in area.
“All in all,” Jesse
said. “This has been a damn weird day.”
Sonya looked toward the west. The sun was nearly gone and shadows were pushing away the light. For some reason she did not as yet understand, she shuddered, goose bumps rising on her flesh. “And now it’s night,” she said. “And I’m scared.”
Chapter 22
Harry cursed long and loud as he barreled toward town. Everything was getting all screwed up. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was supposed to have been easy. Kill the Garrett punk, ape Dee Conners, grab some money, and then ice Jim Hunt and split.
Now he had Mike Randall hanging on his tail and nothing had been accomplished. Harry rounded a curve, slowed down and put the unit into a slow spin. When he stopped, he was facing Mike.
Grinning, Harry floored the pedal and headed straight for Mike in a game of chicken. Just at the last second, Mike spun the wheel and left the road, ending up in the ditch, stuck in the mud.
“I’m stuck!” Mike yelled into his mike. “About a half a mile north of the old drive-in theater. Harry is just outside of town and should be approaching the four-way on Elm. Everything’s all right out at the Conners place.”
“Ten-four, R-10. Stay put. Someone will be out to get you in a little while. You need a wrecker?”
“Yeah,” Mike said disgustedly.
“Ten-four.”
“R-2 to R-10.”
“Go ahead, Chief.”
“How’d you get stuck, Mike?”
Mike cussed for a few seconds. “Harry ran me off the road playing chicken.”
Jim had all kinds of follow-up questions about that answer. He thought he’d save them for later. Matter of fact, he wasn’t real sure he wanted to know.
Mike turned his head just as a shadow fell over the driver’s side window. He was looking straight down the muzzle of what appeared to be a .44 magnum. He watched the cylinder slowly turn as the hammer was jacked back.
* * *
The pastor of the First Baptist Church of Butler, Chris Speed, had heard all the rumors about what was going on in his town. Had heard about that so-called coven-buster staying out at that female writer’s house. Both of them probably living in sin. Disgusting. Chris changed clothes and walked to his car. He was going to drive over to Sheriff Rodale’s house and confront the man, find out what was going on in Butler. Sheriff Rodale was one of the best tithers in the church. Was in church every Sunday morning. Very good man, that Ned Rodale. Chris never believed any of those rumors about the sheriff. Probably spread by people of low morals who were jealous of the sheriffs dedication to the Lord.
Chris walked to the garage and looked at the tires on his car. All flat. On closer inspection he found they had all been cut.
“Hooligans!” he said. “Heathens! Undisciplined young savages.” He marched into the house and called the sheriffs department.
“You might want to handle this one, Chief,” the deputy said. “It’s Preacher Speed. Someone cut all the tires on his car.”
“What the hell does he want us to do about it?” Jim griped. Jim did not like Chris Speed, thinking him to be a pompous windbag and a fool to boot.
“Wants us to come get him and take him over to Sheriff Rodale’s house. You know how he thinks Rodale hung the moon and stars.”
Jim smiled, remembering that Ned was sloppy, passed-out drunk. “You tell the preacher I’ll be right over to do that little thing.” He chuckled. “Yes, sir. Anything for the pastor. You heard from Mike?”
“Not a peep.”
“Keep trying. You call Busby at the Ford place?”
“Doing it right now, Chief.”
* * *
Mike hit the floorboards just as the .44 mag roared, the slug passing through the car’s windows. He was out the passenger side and rolling in the ditch, coming up with his .357 in his hand, hammer back.
Mister Snelling, a man who owned a small neighborhood grocery not too far from where the unit was stuck in the mud, stepped around the car and grinned at Mike.
“You asshole!” Snelling said, jacking the hammer back and leveling the big .44 mag at Mike’s head.
Mike shot him, the hollow-nose slug taking the grocer in the center of the chest, shattering the heart. The grocer dropped like a stone, the mag falling from his dead fingers and going off when it hit the ground. The slug knocked a hole in one of the front tires of the unit.
“Shit!” Mike hollered, just as the shakes grabbed him. This was his first time to fire his pistol at anything other than a paper target or a tin can.
He got to his feet and into the unit, grabbing up the mike and calling in.
* * *
“What do you mean, Mister Garrett?” Sony asked. “Why are we not going anywhere?”
“It isn’t safe after dark. Especially not now. I think the lid is going to blow off the town tonight.”
“The . . . lid?” Jesse asked.
“You two drink?” Dee asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“Help yourselves,” Carl said, pointing to the wet bar. “Then sit down. I’ve got a story to tell you. I was hoping it would be over before you people learned of it, but you’re here and apparently you’ve encountered at least one of the creatures from the woods. You’d better know what you’re up against.”
* * *
Josh Taft and the other escaped cons sat in the farmhouse and looked at the man and woman, who sat on the floor, looking at them.
The man’s throat was cut from ear to ear, but he was alive . . . and grinning at the pack of murderers and rapists and thieves and other assorted dregs of society. The woman was changing slowly, turning into a horrible-looking hag. She sat and cackled at the expression on the faces of the cons.
“I’m haulin’ my ass!” Paul Grant announced. “I don’t know what’s really goin’ on around this whacky place, but I ain’t gonna be a part of it no more.”
Josh looked at the wicked lightning that abruptly began lashing the sky. Somehow he suddenly knew there was to be no following thunder; he knew the lightning was a message or a signal. He wasn’t sure about which.
“Sit down, Paul,” he said quietly. “I don’t know exactly who would do it, or how, but you’d never make it out of this county alive.”
“I’m damn sure gonna try, Josh!”
“Then you’re a fool, Paul. Think about it, man. When we was all being whispered to back in the bucket. You gave yourself to the voice’s demands, didn’t you? Said you’d do anything to get out didn’t you?”
“Yeah. So what?”
Josh chuckled without humor. “That was the voice of Satan, Paul.”
* * *
Ralph Geason squirmed on the dusty floor, glad to see the night fast approaching. Soon the young people would be arriving. Hot, tight young cunts to mate with and fresh meat and blood to appease his stomach hunger.
He squirmed and growled in anticipation.
* * *
“There he is, Pastor,” Jim said, pointing to Sheriff Rodale, who was sprawled on the couch, a whiskey bottle perched precariously on his big bare belly. “You wanted to talk to one of your flock, so talk.”
“Hi, Preacher!” Ned hollered, his words slurry. “How’s your dick hangin’, man? Say, how about you and me goin’ out and runnin’ the ridges, maybe chasin’ up some pussy?”
Book TWO
Lead me, Zeus, and you, Fate, wherever you have assigned me. I shall follow without hesitation; but even if I am disobedient and do not wish to, I shall follow no less surely.
—Cleanthes
Chapter 23
Carl sat by the window and watched the lightning dance across the sky. He waited for the question he knew was coming.
“Why is there no thunder?” Lib asked, after viewing a wicking burst of lightning.
“Because the lightning is not natural,” Carl told her, without taking his eyes from the sky. “It isn’t nature’s doings.”
“Who . . . what is causing it?” Sonya asked.
“You had it right the first time
. Who. Satan.”
“Bullshit!” Jesse said. “I don’t believe in that crap.”
“You will,” Dee told him. “And I don’t think it’s going to take very long.”
Carl turned to face the people in the den. He had no intention of arguing the point with Jesse or Sonya. They would both change their minds—if they lived long enough to do so. “You said you saw wolves? Gray wolves?”
“We don’t know for sure. Maybe they were big German shepherds running in a pack,” Sonya told him. “If they were wolves, I believe they would have attacked us.”
“There have been few documented incidents of healthy, full-grown wolves—unprovoked—ever attacking a human being,” Dee told her, the conservationist and animal-rights activist in her surfacing. Carl smiled as she talked. “Man is the only animal who kills for sport. If those were gray wolves, I think it’s wonderful that they’ve come back. I hope they stay.”
“For God’s sake, why?” Sonya asked.
Before Dee could reply, and before an argument started, that awful odor drifted to them. It was the worst Carl had ever smelled.
“Phew!” Sonya said. “What is that smell?”
The singing began, mixing with wild-sounding chanting.
“What kind of game are you playing, Carl?” Sonya asked him. “Whatever it is, it isn’t funny.”
Dingo stood up, teeth bared and the hair standing up on his back. He growled deep in his chest.
“Hit the floodlights, Dee!” Carl said, jumping to his feet. “We’re in trouble! The Old Ones have surfaced.”
* * *
What had been Alice Watson broke the leather restraining straps on her wrists, ankles, and across her chest and sat up on the bed. Doctor Bartlett’s full-time nurse heard the noise and ran toward the room.
She jerked open the door, and stood inches from what appeared to be a huge Galapagos lizard that had learned to walk upright. It hissed at her, the foulness of its breath nauseating.
The nurse opened her mouth to scream just as a heavy clawed hand ripped across her face, taking out one eye, a cheekbone, and all the flesh on one side of her face. The nurse fell back against the corridor wall, the blood squirting from her face and puddling on the floor. As the woman was slowly sinking to the floor, the big lizard swiped with its other claw, the blow splitting flesh and cracking the nurse’s skull, sending brains splattering on the walls and the hall floor.
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