"Throw it into neutral!" Eric shouted, and opened his door. In a moment he was at the back bumper, giving the car a great push to help it down the hill. He ran after it and jumped onto the hood while Carl again tried to start it up. Eric's face was plastered against the windshield. He screamed at Carl.
The crowd was running faster now.
The engine tried, but after a final painstaking effort, gave up.
On the hood, Eric cursed and pulled out the .45mm, taking aim into the crowd.
"NO!" shouted the Senator. "What are you crazy?" And, for a moment, she could see the headlines – Accused Senator's Bodyguards Shoot up Churchgoers!
Eric turned and snarled through the windshield. His lips moved, instantly read by Carl: Fuck this.
Carl stopped the drifting car and lifted the parking brake. He reached into his own coat for the .357 Magnum, and stepped out of the car. He ducked his head back inside for a second. "Lock the doors, Ms. West! And keep trying the engine."
The door slammed and Evelyn was left alone, staring helplessly as the twins circled in front of the car, guns in the air.
The crowd still raced toward the road. And still the man in black bobbed among the people, his lips moving, urging them on.
Eric heard something about 'unbelievers and demons,' and he decided he'd heard enough. He fired a warning shot into the air.
–And then ducked, dodging a rock that glanced off the roof of the Volvo. Evelyn saw Eric drop to one knee and aim. Fire spat from the barrel of the .45, and in the crowd somebody crumpled under a spray of red. Carl shouted, stood up on the hood and began pumping rounds into the approaching horde.
Rocks whizzed through the air, struck the car, pounded the headlights and grill, glanced off the hood.
Evelyn finally found her strength and lunged into the front seat. Something crashed against the windshield and rattled off onto the hood. More gunshots. Screams. She couldn't get her feet around; they were caught in the back. Couldn't reach the clutch. The windshield was a spider web of shattered glass, but not damaged enough to hide the nightmarish scene outside.
Carl twisted and fell face down on the windshield, his forehead caved in, nose shattered, glazed eyes staring at her while his body continued to be pelted by projectiles. He finally slid off the hood, leaving a brilliant streak of red across the metal.
Eric Bates was attempting to run away from the car, trying to buy the Senator some time. He pointed the gun behind him, but no recoil sounded; out of bullets, he dropped the weapon and dedicated his efforts to flight. Three young boys gave chase, outpaced him and brought him down. He roughly swatted and kicked free, sending two away with bloodied noses.
But he had lost too much time. Like a human tidal wave, a score of people – mostly men – bore down on him. His arms waved out over the bodies, and then he completely disappeared as more and more townspeople swarmed over him.
Evelyn turned away in terror; she wrenched her legs around, driving her left foot onto the clutch.
She turned the key.
THUD!
A rock crashed into the passenger-side window. Splinters of glass blew inside onto the seat. With a rush of desperate hope Evelyn realized her screams had drowned out the sound of the engine roaring into life.
Whimpering, she nudged the car into first. The engine held on, the car started to tremble, she was going to make it–
–the parking brake! Forgot the brake–
The front windshield blew inward, spraying her with glass. She was able to raise her arms over her eyes, but the rock continued through and smashed her right elbow. Daggers of pain lanced from the broken bone, and tiny shards ripped into her flesh.
And the car stalled again.
Through the open windshield she saw a host of bodies leaping onto the hood and crawling towards her, hands groping...
Dazed, she mumbled, "This isn't real. Not happening, not…" She was forcibly hauled out by three older men and one woman, dragged away from the street, made to stand on the grass and held still as the others approached with rocks held high.
"Wait!"
The people made a pathway, and through the human column strode the man in black, calmly walking up to Evelyn. He had a handsome face, a face you could trust, a face that could help. As he reached for Evelyn his eyes blazed like fire, reflecting the sun's inner core.
Evelyn, bleeding from half a dozen spots and quickly plunging into insanity, noticed something very odd a moment before she fainted.
The man had been holding a pair of white gloves in one hand. These he dropped on the lawn just before reaching out and taking hold of her head.
Zachary slowly flexed his fingers once they were back inside the gloves. He carefully climbed onto the hood of the car, then stepped up to the roof. He turned and scanned the crowd, his eager flock. Choking back a welling surge of anger, he observed the four good people who had died in this battle; women knelt over the bodies, weeping openly and pounding the earth.
As for the two demons, their bodies were far from recognizable after the people had gotten through with them. Later, he would instruct Roger and Stuart to burn their corpses. His flock was strong, their fervor high, which proved he was on the right track. He had suffered losses, true, but had demonstrated the courage of his people. They were truly worthy.
"My children!" he shouted, arms extended. "We have shown the Lord that we stand ready to do battle with the forces of darkness. We have proven ourselves, and as a reward, He has bestowed a gift, another weapon against our enemy."
The crowd whispered and murmured among themselves, speculating as to the nature of the gift.
Zachary stepped to the edge of the roof. He pointed down to the slumped body of the woman. She would be waking soon, he thought. Waking into terror. A terror from which only he could save her. And then... his mind wandered, his imagination spread, traveling far beyond this puny town.
"My children! The Lord has given us a sign. We are to move out, to spread to the corners of the Earth like the apostles of old. And here," he shouted, "is our ticket!"
The morning sun blazed across his features and dazzled off the dented metal into his eyes.
"We have been given… a Senator!"
He shouted out the word, and in his mind he completed a recurring dream: of entering the nation's capital, now with this woman at his side; meeting other politicians, judges and officials, attending banquets and galas, rubbing elbows with the rich and powerful.
And shaking many hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Darrington
Sunday Morning
They woke up earlier than Nick would have liked. He also would have preferred to lie in bed just a little longer, with Audrey in his arms, holding her, forestalling reality. But in the bathroom, the shower was running, signaling that Grant was awake and preparing for the day. His bed was unchanged from last night.
"Do you think he even came back here?" Audrey wondered.
"I doubt it," Nick replied rubbing his eyes. When he opened them and saw Audrey, her blouse rumpled, lines on her face, hair in tangles, he saw, finally, a reason to live. To breathe and move through a hopeful world once again. "You are an angel," he whispered.
"No. But I'm probably the next best thing." She bent over and brushed her lips against his.
"Except," Nick said, moving out of her reach. "Now I'm afraid to go back into town. Last night's resolve is kind of, well – diminished."
"Why?"
He tried to smooth down her wild hair. "Last night I was a man on my own. Nothing to live for except putting my aunt behind bars. And no one to live for."
"And now?"
Nick tried not to look directly into her eyes, as if he'd be blinded by their intensity. "Now," he said, "I'm scared. I dreamed last night. I don't remember much about it, except that you died, and I was alone again. Audrey, I can't bear to be without you so soon after finding you."
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Really
? I'm full of lines like that. Just give me a chance."
The sound of the shower had stopped, but they were oblivious. Audrey narrowed her eyes suddenly. She pushed aside Nick's arms, put a knee to his stomach, and pinned him to the mattress. "Okay, Nick. If you're still determined to see this through, keep in mind one thing. I don't want to lose you either."
Their eyes met. Nick's smile donned a more serious image. He nodded, and leaned up to kiss her.
The bathroom door slammed open and Grant stormed out, a towel around his waist. He glared at them both. "Who's talking about dropping out of our plan?"
They pulled into Joe's Roadside Diner at eleven-forty. An American flag high atop a silver post flapped in the breeze under a cloudless azure sky. Nick stepped out of the car first and made a surprised sound. Grant quickly opened the door, and Audrey reached for her purse. The 9mm was tucked away at the bottom of the bag, under her wallet and a change of clothes. It was all she had time to pack. She wore the same jeans from last night, and old running sneakers without socks.
Once outside, she saw that they were both staring at a mud-streaked police car parked in the corner. "Stan's here," Grant said, checking the restaurant's windows. He frowned and held his head. "We better hurry," he said, and walked briskly toward the entrance. "He needs help."
Stan sat at a two-person table in the farthest corner of the dining area, staring at an untouched plate of buttermilk pancakes submerged in a puddle of syrup. His coffee had grown cold as he stared, motionless, at a random spot on the table for almost twenty minutes before the librarian and the others arrived.
The waitresses were relieved to see them and pulled over another table and set it for three more. She offered to reheat Stan's breakfast while his friends looked over the menus. After they had ordered and were alone again, Stan leaned back in the chair and covered his face with his hands.
"It was horrible," he said in a choked voice. "Bad enough living through once, I don't think I can describe it again."
"Please," Audrey said, leaning across the table and touching his arm. "It'll help you to talk about it."
"Give him a moment," Grant said, and sipped at his coffee. He was looking at Stan's right arm, especially the exposed wrist under his sleeve.
They were halfway through their second cup of coffee before Stan finally found the strength to start. And once begun, he couldn't be turned off. It all came out – more than the listeners needed to hear, but telling it all was just what Stan needed. For fifteen minutes he spoke, pausing only for a greedy swig of ice water.
Finally he described the last event, the ultimate piece of the nightmare – after which he ran to his car and fled Silver Springs as fast as the wheels would carry him.
"Describe the woman," Nick asked.
Stan did, confirming Nick's fears. "Aunt Evelyn's here," he said and closed his eyes. "Why?" he asked of no one in particular. "Why did she come out here personally? How–?" Suddenly, the reason came within inches of his grasp. He remembered how she stood up for him at their last meeting. The way she handled O'Neil in Nick's defense. And the way she looked at him when Lloyd had made his accusation: she was ready to defend him again. Had he been wrong about her?
But what seemed even more alarming was that the stakes had just vaulted out of sight. He drew Audrey aside as Grant and Stan talked quietly among themselves.
"If we don't make it out tonight–"
"I know," Audrey said. "This is bigger than just Theresa and Lloyd, bigger than one little town. I'll make a call to headquarters."
"Audrey, we can't risk–"
"And tell them I'm on to something and that I need one more day. And if I don't call back before dawn–" She met his glance. "They're to come in with a fully armored unit. I'll give them Zachary's name and description, and make up some story that will impress them with the need for extreme caution, while not stretching the bounds of rational belief."
"Sounds good," Nick admitted. "At least we'll know that we're not the last chance in all this. Although that's a small comfort."
"Don't think about it," she told him. Together they walked back to the table and entered the conversation already in progress.
"–couple days a month," Stan was saying. "The arm hurts like a sonofabitch. Oh, sorry, miss. And then the skin starts bulgin' like there's giant snakes underneath just crawlin' around. Friday night one of 'em poked its head out and started squirmin' in the air. I ripped the sucker out and flushed it down the can."
Nick and Audrey exchanged confused looks.
"Any other weird symptoms?" Grant asked, intently eyeing the sheriff.
Stan laughed. "Ya mean worse than snakes livin' in my body? Hell, nothin' too dramatic. Bad headaches. A lotta pukin, usually around the same time that the snakes are active."
"Dizziness?"
"Yeah. And my eyesight's going too. Though that's probably hereditary. My old man was blind as a bat by the time he was sixty."
Grant nodded. He finished the coffee and pretended to read the back of a sugar packet.
"Well?" Stan asked, leaning forward. "What the hell's wrong with me? If anyone in the town found out about this I'd have been dodgin' stones myself this morning. Am I possessed?"
"You're not," Grant said. "And I think you'll be tremendously surprised to hear that the good Reverend is suffering from the same symptoms – and probably much worse. You were only under a few minutes, and–"
Stan held up a hand. "Under what?"
Grant sighed and glanced at his watch. He looked at Nick and Audrey. "I guess we have time," the librarian said.
Thirty minutes later all the pieces of the story finally came together for Stan. His emotions had run a gauntlet of disbelief that gradually gave way to wonder and finally, relief. He took a strange comfort from the fact that the madness he had witnessed this morning must have had its roots in a supernatural agent, that nothing so hellishly terrifying could just creep up on a town of generally decent people.
Moreover, Stan discovered what he had secretly hoped and prayed for: that his recent "attacks", although serious, were not fatal, and could even be controlled.
"It's just your body reacting to a radically powerful infusion," Grant said.
Stan rubbed his arm. "A what?"
"Look, Stan. You and I were subjected to some kind of foreign element down in that lake. Maybe a bacteria in the water–"
"Kind of like a bug?"
"Yes. But a very potent one."
Stan frowned. He seemed to be on the verge of recalling something important. "Wait – what if it's a radiation leak? Whatever's down there is givin' off these rays–"
"That was our thought, too," said Audrey.
"Like The Incredible Hulk!" Stan was grinning. "Bill Bixby changed – what, usually twice an episode? So, are we mutating or something?"
"I don't know," Grant admitted. "But it doesn't really matter. The point is that the nausea and the pain will fade soon, as your body gets used to the new situation. Don't worry, Stan, you're not a host to a nest of creatures or anything. But it's as you say, something triggers the 'bug' inside you on a periodic basis. The cells grow and mutate, then fall back into a new phase after adjusting to your body's chemistry. You'll soon learn to anticipate the onset and prepare for it."
"To stop it altogether?"
"Yes. And," he said with a dark grin, "to bring it on at any time."
"Huh? Why would you want to do that?"
Grant didn't respond.
"Wow," Stan muttered, holding his head and adding sarcastically, "I can hardly wait."
A family strolled by and sat at the other empty table in the rear section. Through the window the view darkened as the tip of an advancing cloudbank bit into the sun.
Nick finished his ice water. He was still thinking about the lake and the strange period before the town's reconstruction. "Stan? What do you know about the town's early history?"
"Like how early?"
"Like," Audrey said, "1963 through 1966."
> Stan looked surprised. "Isn't that when they were rebuilding this place, adding all new houses, modern plumbing, telephone wires?"
Audrey nodded. "When did you move here?"
"Uh, wasn't until June of 1979. So I can't help you too much with the early stuff. Only things I know are what I got from chattin' with the Mohawk boy. You remember me tellin' you about that Indian family that used to live here?"
"Yeah."
"Well, me and this boy – their eldest son, Robert Wingfoot was his name – we were doin' odd jobs together before I got into the sheriffing business. He used to gab a lot about the land and the woods, and how they held all sorts of mysteries."
Grant cleared his throat. "He termed it 'The Lake of the Quarter Moon', didn't he?"
"Uh huh." He looked up at Grant. "Goddamn. You're right. I wonder how much that injun knew?"
Grant sighed. "He was probably too smart – or maybe too superstitious – to go near it or to be infected by its power."
"Anyway," Stan continued, "Robert told me that something weird went on here not too long before. In the early sixties. There were reports among his people of observing armed guards around the perimeter to Silver Springs during its reconstruction."
"Armed guards?" Audrey whispered.
"Yep. And a lot of traffic moving in and out. But," Stan added, "you never really knew when to trust that Indian. He was always on about something – the trees and the earth being alive and everything having some kind of special order according to the gods. I never did figger him out."
Nick pushed his chair back. "What the hell happened in Silver Springs at the end of 1963?" Lowering his voice, he said, "And whatever the government did, why didn't they finish the job?"
"I don't know," Grant said. "But I almost wish that I had stayed under the lake a little longer."
"You mean, taken a swim over to the thing?" Audrey asked.
"Exactly," Grant said. "But somehow I don't think I'd have had the strength to face it, whatever it is."
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