The Nightrunners - Joe R. Lansdale.wps

by phuc

  Pop groaned, quit trying to rise.

  Loony brought a booklet of matches over. Brian took them, said to Pop, "We're going to play a little game, old man. I used to catch armadillos around the house once in a while, and I'd get me some gas out of the lawn mower can and I'd put it on their ass and let them go and I'd chase them tossing matches. Never had one armadillo get away from me. Know what I'm saying?"

  Pop had gotten to his hands and knees, the cracked rib felt like a knife blade in his side.

  "We're going to play that little game I used to play with the armadillos. You're the armadillo. One for the money—"

  Pop got up and ran.

  Brian flicked a match at him, yelling, "Cheater."

  It hit the old man in the back, bounced down to the seat of his pants and they burst into flames. The fire licked up his body like a torch. His face and head caught on fire from the gasoline that had been spilled there. His shirt leaped into a blaze. He ran zigzag-crazy, screaming. Finally he fell to the ground rolling, tossing along the cement drive like a fish flopping on dry land.

  "Cute, ain't he?" Loony said.

  "Precious," Brian said. He turned to Jimmy and Angela. "You two, go in there and get something for us to eat and drink. We're moving out."

  Jimmy glanced at Pop tossing on the driveway, keening like a rat in a trap. "Sure,"

  he said. He turned to Angela. She was leaning against the Chevy, vomiting.

  "You're gettin' it on the goddamned car," Brian yelled. "Get the fuck away from there."

  "I'm getting her," Jimmy said. He put his arm around her and eased her gently from the car.

  "Get the stuff, like I told you," Brian said.

  "We're going," Jimmy said, and he began leading Angela toward the store.

  When they had disappeared inside, Loony said, "What about them, you aren't going to just let them go, are you?"

  Brian glared at him. The flesh at the corner of his mouth jumped, and then his whole face began to tic, thumping and rippling like a frantic rat trapped in a leather sack.

  "What do you think, Loony?"

  "They get theirs?"

  "Right, they get theirs—when I'm ready. I'm not ready."

  They looked at Pop. He was lying still now. Flames were rolling from his back, all the way to his shoes. Smoke was curling up into the store lights, like an escaping soul.

  Brian turned to yell at Stone, "You're driving for a while."

  Stone nodded.

  "Loony, go in there and hurry them up."

  Loony trotted for the store. Two minutes later Jimmy and Angela came out, and behind them came Loony. He had his hands full of Halloween masks. "Hey," he said,

  "look here at these. Ain't tonight the night?"

  "Get in the car," Brian said, and the trio ran past him.

  Brian ran inside the store. Moments later he came darting out. Behind him, licking from the doorway like forked tongues, were Barnes.

  TWELVE

  "Come back here, you sonofabitch," Moses Franklin yelled.

  The black and tan hound disappeared into the darkness. Moses could hear him rattling in the bushes, and then he was gone.

  "You goddamned sonofabitch," Moses yelled. "I'm gonna blow your ass off when I catch you!"

  He was pissed, really pissed. Hundred and fifty bucks he'd paid for that dog at the Canton Trades Day, and the sonofabitch didn't know any more about Hunting than he knew about baying at the moon.

  The other two hounds came bounding through the bushes, tongues wagging. But not the black and tan knucklehead, he was out running wild.

  Moses turned up the beam on his helmet light, and with a sigh, set out in the direction the dog had taken. His hounds trotted alongside.

  He looked down at them. They weren't so hot either, far as hunting went, but least they came when you called. If you were going to have a dog, the flea-bitten sonofabitch ought to know its place.

  Crashing through the brush, calling for the dog, getting no answer, he resorted to his hunting horn. He was lifting it to his mouth when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

  Redness.

  He squinted. What the fuck? That was the direction of the main road and . . .

  Pop's.

  By God, Pop's was on fire!

  Swinging the strap on his rifle over his shoulder, putting the hunting horn back in his belt, he began to walk briskly in the direction of the flames, pushing and swatting the undergrowth out of his path.

  The dogs bounded along behind him. From a tall oak, a possum watched in silence as they went.

  ........

  Down the dark clay road two cars moved. One car was a Dodge Dart. The other a black Chevy. The Dodge was in front of the Chevy by several miles, but it wasn't moving as fast. The kids inside the Dodge were drunk and happy. The kids inside the Chevy were high on fire, blood and hate— except Angela and Jimmy, they were high on fear.

  Sam Griffith, the ugliest and the drunkest of the Dodge's occupants, tossed out a beer bottle; tossed it high and backward. The bottle sailed upward, flashed like a quick, silver-toothed smile in the moonlight, fell into the middle of the road, bounced twice, lay still.

  The Dodge turned left down a narrow road. Griffith said he knew some good lake cabins they could egg down that way.

  The Chevy roared on, hit the bottle Griffith had tossed, whipped it from beneath its rear left tire and tossed it backward thirty feet. The beer bottle shattered into three large sharp fragments.

  ........

  And Ted and Larry, fall of chicken fried steak and too much coffee, were driving toward Minnanette again, this time by the obvious route. Prom Minnanette they were going to make a few back roads then call the area off, try elsewhere.

  ........

  "God, God, oh God," Moses screamed.

  The store was a writhing monster of red, yellow and orange flames. It spit black smoke to the sky.

  Pop was little more than a charcoal stick in the driveway.

  "God, Jesus, God," Moses kept saying. He went over to Pop, bent down.

  "God, Jesus, Pop?"

  One of Pop's hands lifted, slightly, like a dying butterfly, flopped back on the cement.

  "Oh God, Jesus, God."

  ........

  Ted and Larry saw the flames standing hot and tall above the pines.

  They made a curve. The store—what was left of it; a charred wood skeleton being devoured by a fire blob—was visible now. A man crouched over something in the drive.

  Ted put it to the floorboard, screeched into the driveway.

  ........

  The kids in the black '66 were nearing the cutoff that led to the cabin where Becky and Montgomery Jones were, but they didn't know it. Brian was cursing himself for killing Dean Beaumont too soon. He thought he would have gotten better directions if he had waited awhile longer before starting in on his eyes.

  No matter, they'd find them, if they had to turn down every goddamned road in the country. At least he was certain of one thing: they were close. He'd gotten that much out of Beaumont before he died. The cabin was nearby.

  ........

  "I didn't do anything," Moses said.

  Ted took the rifle from him. "Doubt you did," he said.

  "Tell us about it," Larry said.

  "I was up there in the woods, hunting, looking for one of my dogs," he waved a hand at the animals who were sniffing about nearby, "and I saw the flames. Came down here and found Pop like this."

  "Those pumps might go," Larry said in an offhand way.

  "Is he dead?" Ted asked Moses.

  "He moved his finger when I said his name."

  Larry went over to Pop, squatted down in front of him. "Wheee, burnt to a cracker," he said.

  "For heaven's sake," Ted said. "Shut up, will you?"

  "Say, just take a look at him."

  A dog came over to sniff at Pop. Larry slapped him with the back of his hand. The dog yelped once and slunk off.

  Ted knelt down by the man-thi
ng's charred head, asked, "Can you hear me?"

  One finger lifted, tapped the drive.

  "We're going to move you. Too close to the pumps. Got me?"

  The finger lifted again, fell.

  "Larry, get his feet." Ted swung Moses' rifle onto his shoulder.

  "Move him, he'll come apart," Larry said.

  "Don't move him, and he gets blown apart maybe. Us too."

  Larry took hold of Pop's feet. He could feel the heat through the charred shoes, socks and flesh. A bit of all three came loose and stuck greasily to his hands.

  They carried him off the drive and out into the dirt. They were about a hundred feet from the pumps now. Nothing great, but better.

  Moses came over to stand by them, said, "God, Jesus, God."

  Ted and Larry picked the fragments of cloth and flesh from their hands.

  "Shit stinks," Larry said.

  Ted looked at him and shook his head.

  Ted knelt at Pop's head. "We're going to pull the car around here and load you in. I wanted you away from the pumps so we could take our time getting you comfortable. I feel a bit safer out here. I think we better haul you to the doctor, on account of... Well, you're pretty bad off and an ambulance would have to get here first—"

  The old man tried to speak. It was a harsh, painful sound.

  "Just take it easy," Ted said.

  "Kids," Pop said.

  "What's that?"

  "Kids," Pop managed again.

  "Listen, just take it easy, I'm going to bring the car around."

  Ted went to the car. Larry squatted down, bent, looked into the black, ruined face.

  "Who did it, nigger kids?"

  Pop moved his mouth, but nothing came out.

  "Try again," Larry said.

  "Black Chevy," Pop said quickly, harshly.

  "Kids in a black Chevy?"

  Pop tapped his finger in the dirt.

  "All right, got you."

  The finger tapped in the dirt again.

  "What is it?"

  "Trying to kill . . . couple." The words were coming harder now, were more difficult to understand.

  "The kids?"

  The finger tapped.

  "Got you."

  "Beaumont. . . cabin," Pop said, and the words were like rasps on cold steel.

  "What's that?"

  "The Beaumonts, that's what he means," Moses said. "I've met them a few times."

  "How's that?"

  "Lake cabin, they've got one. That's what he's talking about."

  "You know where this cabin is?" Moses nodded.

  Ted drove the car around, got out. "Look here," Larry said to Ted, "this guy said some more stuff."

  "And?" Ted said.

  "About some kids, and a cabin. How they're going to try and kill a couple there, something like that. I couldn't hear him too good." "Maybe he's delirious." "I don't think so."

  Larry, who had stood while talking to Ted, squatted back down. "Hey," he said to Pop.

  "Hey, you still with us?" No movement.

  Larry reached over, touched the burned flesh around the neck, felt for a pulse.

  There was none. "Cashed in," Larry said, and stood up.

  "With those burns, it was probably best," Ted said.

  "God, Jesus, God," Moses said.

  "This guy," Larry said, "Nimrod the hunter. Says he knows where this Beaumont cabin is."

  "Beaumont cabin?" Ted asked.

  "That's what the guy said. Something about the Beaumont cabin. He says," he pointed at Moses, "he knows where it is."

  "That right?" Ted asked.

  Moses nodded.

  "Get in the car," Larry said to Moses, "we're going after them."

  "We can't do that," Ted said, "he's a citizen."

  "I am," Moses said. "Always have been a citizen."

  "You want the guys that done this or not?" Larry asked.

  "Sure . . . We can just get directions from . . . What's your name again?"

  "Moses."

  "Uh-uh," Larry said. "I want to be sure I get there. We'll let Moses out before we get there."

  "I don't like it," Ted said.

  "Me either," Moses said.

  "Look at this poor fucker," Larry said, pointing at Pop. "We can't just let kids get away with french frying folks."

  "Suddenly you're sentimental, Larry."

  "We're the good guys, they're the bad guys. I say we blow their black hats to hell."

  Ted looked at the burning building, the flames had licked the wooden flesh from its wooden bones. He looked down at the charcoaled mess that had been a man.

  "All right," Ted said to Moses. "Get in the car, and take that stupid light helmet off."

  "I don't like this," Moses said. "What about my dogs?"

  "To hell with your dogs. Get in the fucking car," Larry said. Then looking at Ted:

  "Why don't you give him his rifle back, for insurance."

  Ted nodded wearily, handed it to Moses.

  Ted opened the back door. Moses climbed in, tossed the light helmet in the seat and put the rifle across his knees. Ted closed the door.

  "You get to take credit for this, anything happens," Ted said.

  "Gladly. Come on, I'm driving. You call in the fire department and a meat wagon...There's still the pumps that might go."

  They got in the car, Larry behind the wheel. He cranked the engine, looked out the window at Pop's body. "We'll get 'em for you, fella."

  Moses said, "You got to take this road a bit, then we'll do some turning later."

  They pulled away from the flames and onto the road. Ted picked up the radio mike, called in the location of the fire and the body.

  "Sound the trumpets," Larry said. "Here comes the goddamn cavalry. Look to your asses, black hats."

  THIRTEEN

  "Oh, Monty, don't move. I've just about got it."

  Becky had used wire cutters from the shed to cut the tip off the hook, and she was working the rusted thing out now. She tossed the hook fragment into the bar ashtray, poured alcohol on the wound.

  "Just like the dream," Monty said. "And the TV . . . what I saw was part of the dream you told me."

  "Couldn't be. On the TV?"

  "I'm the one talking the loony talk now and you're telling me I'm crazy. We've got our roles changed around. I tell you though, I saw this car you told me about on TV. Did you see it or not?"

  "I was just sitting here, watching Lucy, and suddenly I felt this thing in my head, like something wiggling, and then the next thing I know I'm looking at your bloody hand—"

  "There's some sense to it," Monty said, interrupting. "If you're some kind of receiver . . .

  and there's something sending out there, whatever sends these messages to you . . .

  Maybe the TV picked them up, just like you picked them up—"

  "Bounced through my head and into the TV?" Becky said without humor. "Old Beck, the satellite receiver."

  "And maybe I was imagining it. The hand part had come true, so vivid, like the way you told me in your dream . . . You were in a trance when I came in, I glanced at the TV . . . maybe the channel had some kind of difficulty and another show was sticking in, that's why it was so fuzzy."

  "Makes sense," Becky said. Then she laughed. "This is nuts. Now I'm the straight man, trying to make you realize you're hallucinating. I said if I were in your shoes I wouldn't do that." She paused for a long moment. "Monty, the dreams are real. Maybe you did see something on the set. Whatever, you did hurt your hand, like I said. Clyde hanged himself just as I dreamed. If those things came true, then the others will come true. The woman I saw—"

  "Now hold on—"

  "—was me, Monty. She was dead and hung up by her feet and it was me, I know it for sure."

  "You don't know that."

  "Yes, I do. The goblins—"

  "There are no such things as goblins."

  Becky smiled. "Back and forth," she said, "we change roles back and forth. There was no such thing as a per
son who could dream the future either, remember?"

  Monty was silent for a moment, then; "Maybe these are warnings. If I had understood your dream was about a hook in the hand, and if I had believed your dream, I probably could have avoided the hook by not going fishing."

  "And maybe you can't change the future. Maybe you wouldn't have known it was a hook even if you had believed. I couldn't tell it was. All I saw was the hand, the blood."

  "Listen here. We're not going to submit to this, whatever it is."

  "I'm going to die," she said softly. Her eyes seemed to glaze over.

  He could see that she was on the edge of hysteria. In fact, he was on the edge of hysteria.

  Calmly, he said: "If you lose your head, you just might. But if we keep calm, we can whip this. It may be nothing more than our imagination and we can laugh about it later."

  "The dreams are not my imagination." Pushed the wrong button, he thought.

  "We're going to keep calm. Now, from the way you described the dream to me, there was the car, and there were trees and a lake. Whatever is supposed to happen will happen here—if there's anything to this. So, simple. We leave. Right now. Don't get anything, just come on and let's go."

  "Monty . . ."

  "Now. Let's go, come on. Try to recall everything you can about the dreams, as vividly as you can. Tell me as we drive. The more you can warn us against, the better chance we have avoiding it."

  He took her arm, and as he led her out, he began to feel silly. It had crept up on him suddenly. The stuff he'd been rattling was crazy. Christ! He was going off his bean, going the way of Becky.

  For a moment he thought of changing his mind, but he remembered the TV, the car.

  Silly, goddamned silly. How could it be on TV? That's the dumbest idea ever.

  But the more he thought about that car, Becky's other dreams, the less he thought of going back to the cabin. In fact, they left so hurriedly they forgot to lock the door and they left the lights on.

  FOURTEEN

  Dark now. The moon riding high in a cold, clear sky. The wind playing music in the tops of the pines. The '66 Chevy pushing shadows to flight with its bright headlights.

  ........

  Monty cranked the Rabbit, backed it around, drove out to the road, headed for Minnanette.

  The Highway Patrol car was blowing fast. Larry was grinning. Ted was gripping the seat.

  Moses had his head down between his knees, saying, "God, Jesus, God."