He was unlocking the door when he realized that Rusty had stopped barking. When had that happened? When he was getting the gun? The flashlight? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it had just been a coyote passing close enough for Rusty to pick up its scent. Probably that was it, but since he already had the shotgun and flashlight, he might as well take a quick look-see. At least he would feel better about leaving Carolyn there alone.
Sam opened the door and peered out into the blackness. Nothing moved, which was odd because Rusty usually came running when he heard a door open. Surely the dog hadn’t gone off in pursuit of whatever it was that had spooked him. Rusty was territorial; he guarded the yard as if he owned it, but he wasn’t prone to wandering off. He called for the dog. Like Carolyn, Rusty did not respond.
Well, it wasn’t getting any earlier. He had five minutes, tops, before he had to leave. Even though they lived only a few minutes from town, he had to pass through the Springs and travel another fifteen minutes to get to the mine. He hadn’t been late since he’d started the day shift, and he wasn’t about to tarnish his record.
He walked out onto the small back porch and again called Rusty’s name. No dice. It wasn’t like the mutt not to come when Sam called, either. He wasn’t as much concerned as aggravated; he was sure Rusty would come dragging home with his tail between his legs sooner or later. He listened for a moment, heard nothing out of the ordinary, and started back inside.
Something hit his legs, hard and low, and he grabbed the door frame to keep from tumbling over. He looked down to see a naked kid wrapped around his legs. Except it was a funny-looking kid, the way its backbone arched, and it stank to high hell. Then it bit into his leg. The pain was tremendous, but he didn’t concentrate on it for long because another one jumped on his back and sank its teeth into his shoulder. He tried to swing the shotgun around, but it was torn from his grasp and lost to him.
More of the kids-that-weren’t-kids piled onto him, driving him to his knees. He saw several of them run through the door and into the house. He tried to scream for Carolyn, to tell her to lock the bedroom door and call the police, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle.
The last thing that Sam heard was a single, startled scream from his wife. Then his world fell silent.
Chapter Twelve
“It’s time to go,” McCoy said to the five people circling him. “If we wait any longer, a lot of people are going to die.”
“Finally,” Big John said. “I’m tired of being holed up like a scared rabbit.” He checked his sidearm for the hundredth time and, satisfied, shoved it back in the holster.
“Remember,” McCoy said, “regular ammo will slow them down, but it won’t kill them. Use the shotgun I brought when you’re in close and know you’ve got a killshot. And don’t forget that we have limited ammo, so please don’t waste it firing at shadows.”
Big John carried one of McCoy’s shotguns, while Amanda had the other. McCoy had given his 9mm to Deidre, and was himself carrying the black rowan walking stick. Kenner had declined any type of weapon since his wounds made him pretty much useless in a fight. The plan was for him to hang back and act as a spotter, so that none of the others would be ambushed from their blind sides.
Baracheck was also unarmed, but he would be in the least danger of being attacked as long as Cynthia was present. Since their plan was to find and confront her, her presence was all but guaranteed.
They had decided to travel in one vehicle, and since the cruisers would not accommodate six people, Boo was the obvious choice. Three people could sit in the cab, while the other three rode in the bed. Those three would be more vulnerable and exposed, but they would also be armed the heaviest.
“They’ll come in from the north,” McCoy said as they prepared to leave. “We’ll ride out to where the houses start. If we don’t encounter them on the road, we’ll wait for them there. John, make sure we have plenty of lights. And whatever you do, don’t forget the bullhorn.”
“Got it covered,” John replied.
“Dave, give me a hand with those trash bags,” said McCoy.
They opened the front doors and began to file toward the waiting truck. McCoy pulled Amanda to the side.
“I’d rather have you up front with me,” he said.
“We’ve been through this, Finn. Baracheck and Kenner are up front. I can handle the shotgun just fine, and I’ll have two cops with me.”
“I realize that. But if the Sluagh attack, it’ll be like a swarm of ants.”
“That’s only if we get caught in the middle of them. I’m trusting you not to let that happen.”
“Right. Put all the pressure on me.” He gave her a serious look. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Every chance I get,” she said, and gave him a quick kiss.
They sprinted to the truck. Amanda hopped into the bed with John and Deidre. McCoy and Baracheck tossed the trash bags into the bed, then scampered into the cab. McCoy pulled into the street and headed north. There was no sign of life as they sped through the town, human or otherwise.
Kenner was sandwiched between McCoy and Baracheck. The smaller man seemed nervous, and he kept glancing at McCoy.
“Something on your mind, Deputy?” McCoy asked when he could no longer stand it.
“They say you’re a spook-hunter or something,” Kenner replied.
“Or something, yeah.”
“So, you can see ghosts?”
“Sometimes, when they want me to.” McCoy took a curve as fast as he dared. He checked the rearview mirror to make sure he hadn’t slung anyone out.
“And you can, like, sense their presence?”
“I guess,” McCoy said somewhat irritably. “Is there a point to this? I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Yeah. I mean, I know. It’s just that…if I don’t make it through this, I’d like to think that there’s something more. That this isn’t the end. I figured if anyone might have an insight into that, you would.”
McCoy sighed. “Listen, I don’t know exactly what happens when we die. I do know that the soul lives on, and I know that there are other worlds besides this one. Maybe you can find some peace in that.”
Kenner looked at McCoy for a moment, then smiled. “Yeah, I guess I can find peace in that.”
“Good,” McCoy said. He suddenly needed to know that he’d remembered to bring his knapsack with him. He looked down and saw it nestled in the passenger floorboard behind Baracheck’s feet.
“Look out!” Baracheck yelled, and McCoy looked up to see that the road was blocked by a fallen tree. He hit the brakes hard, causing Amanda and Deidre to slam into the rear of the cab.
“Everyone okay?” McCoy yelled.
“Yeah,” Amanda said. “But give us a little warning the next time you want to do a brake check.”
“What do you think?” John asked.
“I think this isn’t the best place to make a stand,” McCoy replied. “The woods are too close. I’m gonna back down the road a bit, find us a spot with some more breathing room.”
“Better rethink that,” Deidre said.
McCoy looked into the side mirror and saw that the road behind them was filled with Sluagh. Of Cynthia, he saw no sign.
“Shit! Dave, we need you visible. Kenner, stay here and make sure they don’t sneak in from the other direction.” McCoy grabbed his walking stick and hopped out of the cab.
The Sluagh were about fifty yards behind the truck. McCoy couldn’t get a reliable count in the dark, but he was sure there were fifty or sixty of them, at least. The creatures made no move to attack, but stood watching the group with obvious interest.
“Is she here?” Baracheck asked. “Does anyone see her?”
“All I see is a bunch of little uglies,” John said.
“She has to be here,” McCoy said. “John, hand me the bullhorn.”
John tossed the bullhorn to McCoy. He raised it to his mouth, then paused. Something wasn’t right. The Slu
agh could see that they were armed, but they couldn’t know about the iron ammo. Likewise, the trash bags were hidden safely in the bed of the truck. The creatures had them outnumbered ten to one, yet still they hesitated. There had to be a reason, but he couldn’t see it.
And then, suddenly, he did. He had been outplayed. The horde had known that they were coming, and had known that Baracheck was with them. The creatures had scouts back in town, but McCoy had never dreamed that they would be able to communicate so effectively and quickly.
They were no longer between the horde and the town. The sly creatures had let them pass through, and now their path into town was unobstructed.
As if confirming McCoy’s suspicion, the Sluagh turned their backs to the group and began to move down the road toward the town.
“Damnit!” McCoy hissed. “We’ve got to get back in front of them.”
“And how do we do that?” John asked. “They’re blocking the road.”
“We’ll roll right through them if we have to. We have to block their assault, and we can’t do that from this side.”
“We might be able to slip past them,” John said. “A thousand feet back down the road there’s open fields on both sides. Your truck has four wheel-drive.”
“Good idea,” McCoy agreed. “We’ll give them a few minute’s head start.”
“Won’t they be protecting their rear flank?” Amanda asked.
“I’m sure they will, but we don’t have another choice. If this tree weren’t blocking the road, we’d be able to loop back to town, but it’s too heavy to move and I don’t have enough room to get around it.”
“Can’t we just pick them off from the back side?” Deidre asked. “We’ve got enough ammo to thin their ranks quite a bit.”
“What we saw was probably only a fraction of the main force,” McCoy said. “I don’t think Cynthia is even with this group. If there’s even twice as many, we wouldn’t stand a chance. We have to get Baracheck in their path, or we’ll lose the town.”
Behind them, Boo began to cough and shudder.
“Kenner?” McCoy called. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Kenner shouted. “The temperature light’s flashing.”
McCoy ran back to the truck and climbed into the cab just as Boo gave one final cough, spat a puff of gray smoke, and died. He tried several times to restart the truck with no success.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he yelled. He looked at Kenner, who shrugged apologetically.
“Looks like we’re on foot,” John said.
“Yeah, and we’re going to have to make tracks,” McCoy agreed. The whole situation was deteriorating at a rapid pace, and the chances of coming through it without losing more people were dwindling. On foot, they would almost certainly be ambushed by the Sluagh, and while Baracheck might escape unharmed, the rest of them didn’t have the luxury of being Cynthia’s father.
“All right,” he said to the others. “Here’s the best Plan B I can come up with on short notice. We’re not going to be able to get through them or around them on foot, so we need to draw them back.”
“How do we do that?” Amanda asked. “Baracheck’s right where Cynthia wants him: behind the lines. She wouldn’t compromise her position unless he was in danger.”
McCoy considered her words. He was getting an idea, but it was a hell of a long shot, and it would have to be executed flawlessly to work. The key was getting Cynthia to think that her father was in danger. He and the others could pretend to threaten him with their weapons, but there were two problems with that scenario. First, it would probably come off as fake and unbelievable. Second, if Cynthia did buy it, she would simply sic the horde upon them, and if that happened, everyone—with the exception of Baracheck—would have a really bad day.
Fortunately, there was a wild card at play, and one that only McCoy knew about. The others in the group would not have to fake surprise, because they would be surprised, and that would give the whole thing an air of authenticity. The unknown in the equation was how Cynthia would react, but McCoy was willing to bet that she would act to save her father.
“My dear,” he said to Amanda, “Your beauty is rivaled only by your genius.”
Amanda raised her eyebrows in question, but McCoy gave her only a wink and quick smile.
“Okay, listen up everyone. We need to act fast. John, give Dave the shotgun and help me with those trash bags. Everyone else get ready to move out. We’ve got to catch up with the horde.”
“What about me?” Kenner asked. “Can I come?”
“You bet your sweet life you can.”
McCoy ran to the passenger side of the truck and retrieved his knapsack. He made a quick check of the contents and, satisfied, slung the bag across his shoulder. He then grabbed one of the trash bags out of the truck’s bed. John handed Baracheck the shotgun and hefted the remaining bag.
“What’s in the bags?” he asked McCoy.
“Presents for the Sluagh. Feel like Santa?”
“Not nearly as jolly.”
“You will, later. Come on, let’s get a move on.”
McCoy slipped the bullhorn’s strap around his wrist and picked up his walking stick. He started down the road at a brisk pace and the others followed.
***
Cynthia was pleased with herself.
She had outfoxed the Hoodoo man, had let him come charging right through her ranks, and now he, as well as her father, was now safely behind them.
Her scouts had performed their tasks perfectly, and now no barriers lay between the horde and the town. What was left of the police force was also behind her rear flank, though the sheriff was conspicuously absent. That fact did not worry her, however. She would find him in good time, and then he would pay for what he had done to her.
She had not wanted to see her father, so she had stayed back, away from the road. If she had glimpsed him, she might have experienced a feeling of longing, a moment of weakness which she could ill afford. Now she would be able to concentrate on the task at hand: exterminating the town of the petty fools who had allowed the suffering of her and many others.
The lights of the town were now within sight. The horde was growing anxious; she could feel their eager hunger flowing all around her. Soon, it would be all but impossible to hold their bloodlust in check. She would be forced to release them from the tentative leash upon which she now held them and free them to attack with abandon.
There was the sound of gunfire from behind her. She had left a small group to guard the rear as they advanced. Surely the Hoodoo man was not so foolish as to try and attack them. His group was vastly outnumbered, and his weapons could not kill her minions.
But what if he were that foolish? And, worse, what if he were still dragging her father along? Whatever else happened, no harm could come to her father. Cynthia would not permit it. The others could die—would die—but her father was to remain untouched.
She paused, unsure whether to double back or continue on. A voice, unnaturally loud in the cool stillness of the night, made the decision for her.
“Cynthia!” Dave Baracheck called from the darkness. “Cynthie!”
Chapter Thirteen
“Keep calling,” McCoy said to Baracheck. “We have to get her attention. She must know you’re here.”
Baracheck raised the bullhorn and called to his daughter once more. In the road ahead, barely visible in the faint moonlight, the Sluagh horde came into view. As before, they made no move to attack, but their small bodies trembled with unbridled anticipation. McCoy supposed that Cynthia Baracheck must have a very strong will to keep the creatures in check.
“Call again,” he whispered. “We need to bring her out where we can see her.” And where she can see us, he thought.
“Cynthie! Please come out! It’s your father! It’s Daddy!”
The center of the horde suddenly parted and Cynthia stepped out of the darkness. Big John blushed at the sight of her nakedness and looked at his shoes
. Unnoticed by everyone but McCoy, Kenner gave a lewd smile of approval.
Baracheck either didn’t notice her lack of clothing or dismissed it. He saw only his daughter, his precious little girl, taken from him so long ago. Tears welled in his eyes. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak choking noise.
Cynthia stared at her father, her expression unreadable. McCoy was not close enough to look into her eyes, but he sensed a storm of conflicting emotions raging within her. The Sluagh, perhaps sensing this as well, shifted about nervously.
“Go,” she said, breaking the tense silence. “Go home, Father. I go to avenge us, for what was done to us. Go home. You will not be harmed.”
Slowly, carefully, McCoy edged between Baracheck and Kenner. He nudged John, and when the big man looked at him, McCoy gave a slight flick of his head. Move out of the way, the gesture said. John, thankfully understanding, shuffled slowly to the side.
“Talk to her,” McCoy said to Baracheck. “Try to reason with her.”
Baracheck struggled to find his voice. “Cynthia,” he said. “Please don’t do this. We’ve suffered, you and I, but we can put that behind us now.”
“Can we?” Cynthia asked haughtily. “I was bartered into slavery so the sheriff could keep his job. But I am a slave no more. These people need to be punished for their complacency. I am here to serve justice.”
McCoy slipped his hand into his knapsack and felt around until his fingers settled on the item he was seeking. He eased the item out of the bag, being careful not to let any of the others notice.
“But most of those people are innocent,” Baracheck argued. “If Sheriff Lyle is guilty of what you say, then he should be punished. None of these other people knew what was happening.”
“The greatest crime is to stand and do nothing while injustice is taking place,” Cynthia said. She shook her head like a stubborn girl. “I don’t have time to argue the point. Just go. Go home and forget you even saw me.”
Homecoming (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 1) Page 11