“I tried to tell you what you were,” the Master of the Hunt said, his voice cold slate above the roar of the fire. “You have no idea what you’ve just done, how much you and your foolish friends have undone.” Chasseur raised the knife.
“Not a clue,” Heck said. “I find mindless violence loses its charm when I actually know what’s going on.” He slid his knife free of his belt sheath. The sheath fell apart and dropped to the ground, but the blade was in good shape.
“I’m going to skin you,” Chasseur said, spinning and tossing his own knife between his hands. Only twenty feet separated the two men now. “I’m going to put your head up on the sacrificial rocks and let the birds pick it clean.”
“I’m just going to fucking kill you,” Heck said. Ten feet now between them, and they were circling each other. Behind them, the house burned. “Nothing special, nothing fancy—just like you. You got jerked around by some big cosmic hoo-ha and you think that makes you important? Any asshole can kill people. Here, let me show you.”
Heck launched himself at Chasseur, tackling the Master of the Hunt. The two men rolled around in the high grass, grappling.
“Why don’t you sic your shadow puppies on me?” Heck said, driving his fist into Chasseur’s face. The killer rolled with the punch and disengaged from Heck, coming up in a crouch, slashing out with his knife. The blade cut across Heck’s stomach, leaving a trail of dark blood, but it didn’t cut deep. Heck punched Chasseur in the face again and connected solidly. The Master of the Hunt stumbled backward, almost falling. “Oh yeah, I guess it’s not as easy to call them up now, is it?” Heck said, pressing his advantage. The two men’s blades flashed and sparked as they lunged and swung, blocked and parried. “Same with those things you made from innocent kids, huh? All those little tricks aren’t working right now, are they?”
Chasseur’s knife darted out toward Heck’s chest. Heck tried to move, but he was too hurt, too slow, and the blade sank deep into his stomach; he gasped at the sharp, bright pain in his guts. He grabbed Chasseur’s hair and swept his own blade across the serial killer’s throat. A spray of blood covered Heck’s face. They staggered away from each other, both bleeding out.
“You bleed easier now, too,” Heck said, and coughed up some blood. Chasseur held his throat as blood gushed from his neck. “Just regular folks, right?”
“I’ll live along enough to kill you,” Chasseur gurgled. He charged Heck, swinging the knife wildly. Heck parried as best he could and tried to move out of the way, but he suffered another cut, this one deep to his biceps; part of his arm burned and another part went numb. He countered with a shallow cut to Chasseur’s shoulder and another punch, this time to his cut throat. Heck roared and hit the killer again, and again, driving him back.
Heck briefly blacked out from the pain, the lost blood. He swam back to awareness and found him and Chasseur staggering in a clinch. He could feel the heat from the blaze clawing at his face, the acrid smoke burning his lungs. Heck didn’t know where his knife was, and he was gripping Chasseur’s wrist, keeping the bone-handled blade from slipping into his gut again. He head-butted Chasseur. They both stumbled back to the very edge of the fire. Heck thought he heard voices shouting, calling to him, but his awareness was locked onto the killer’s bloody face.
“What you are … will devour you,” Chasseur spat through a throat full of blood. “Just … remember that. I wish I could watch it happen, watch you fall, watch you destroy everything and everyone you love, and laugh as you do it.”
“Bullshit,” Heck muttered. “I’ll never be like you, you mass-murdering psychopath.” Heck struck him again, slapped the blade from his hand and sent it flying. The universe was only Chasseur, only hurting him, making him shut up, forever. Heck heard a hissing, felt heat, but no pain from it.
“You’ll … be … worse,” Chasseur croaked. “Tell me, noble hero, how did you find me? Find the children? You got my loyal hound, Walden, to … tell you. He … would never betray me, his master, never betray … the Horned Man … he worshipped.” Blood was pouring from Chasseur’s mouth as well as from his throat now. His eyes, usually dead and dark, were bulging as he fought for the air for every word. “So … tell me, tell the evil psychopath, what noble means did you use … to find me?”
Heck remembered the blowtorch in his hand, the cool indifference, almost a controlled anger, with which he had used it on Wald until the old bastard gave him what he wanted. But he hadn’t stopped there; he had kept going, enjoying the pain and degradation he was inflicting. The cold rage roaring in his mind, at the center of him. Wald died begging, unable to cry because his tear ducts had been seared. He kept torturing the body even after Wald’s diseased soul had been pulled down into Hell.
There was hot ash blowing around them as Heck grabbed Chasseur by the shoulder and drove a combination of punches into the killer. Chasseur tried to block them as best he could, but the fury of the punches drove both men back farther and farther. There was a rumbling, like a furnace. Heck was locked into looking at the killer’s eyes. Off at a great distance, somewhere away from the furnace, voices shouted his name, pleading. But now there was only the man in front of him that he was going to kill and the fury of the flames.
The Master of the Hunt tried to smile as best he could with the muscles in his throat severed. “I … see,” he rasped as he struck at Heck again with a feeble combination of blows. “You do recall it … good. You always will.”
“Fuck you!” Heck screamed. He mustered the last shreds of his strength to strike Chasseur again and again, punch after punch. His awareness winked out and then back again, in a jerky, non-linear continuity. His knuckles were raw; his wrists ached as he drove punch after punch into that evil, broken, smiling face. All around them were glowing cinders floating in the smoke-smeared air like fireflies that stung his lungs and skin but left no mark, no harm. They were deep into the fire now—it was all around them. The heart of the blaze, the roaring skeleton of the house, was close. Each punch, each stumbling clinch, brought it closer. Heck felt the flames, but his eyes were only for Chasseur.
“You think … killing me is the end?” The Master of the Hunt said as the maelstrom of Hell fell down upon them. They were both on fire, and the whole world around them was crackling flame and the snap and groan of the house of the Horned Man dying. There was no clear sky, only smoke; no cool grass, only hot ash. “You … are the greatest of predators, my brother,” Chasseur said, his voice dry gravel. “I was initiated … into this life, but you … you have it … in your very blood and bones.”
“Shut up!” Heck screamed. They fell among the ashes. Heck straddled Chasseur, punching him again and again and again as they burned, as the house burned, as the world burned. The thudding in his ears returned, like great leathery wings flapping in time to each punch, each broken bone in his hands, as he struck the Master of the Hunt again and again. Chasseur no longer moved; his skull was on fire, but Heck continued to strike him, hearing his very blood hiss, devoured by the fire. Some distant corner of his mind thought this was not the sacrifice of blood and fire that Chasseur had planned on tonight. Heck laughed at this. He couldn’t stop laughing as he beat the serial killer called the Pagan to death with his bare hands in the collapsing frame of the Horned Man’s home. Heck’s tears evaporated from the fire that covered him. He was the burning, laughing thing in the desert now. That thought made him laugh and weep uncontrollably. It was his last thought before he slid off Chasseur’s blackening body and fell into blissful, cool darkness.
Jimmie stood as close to the burning house as he could. Max, Lovina, and the others from the town, from Buddy’s, were shouting, trying to figure out how to get into the blaze to go after Heck.
“I can’t believe that crazy SOB just fought his way into that!” Lovina shouted over the blaze. “He’s dead!”
“No!” Jimmie shouted. He grabbed a couple of plastic jugs of water that he and Max had fetched from the semi, which was idling in the field, near the a
ccess road. Jimmie poured them over an insulated fire blanket. He wrapped the blanket over himself as best he could.
“You’re not seriously going to try to go in there, are you?” Max asked as Jimmie adjusted the blanket.
“He’s my squire, my best friend’s son. He’s saved my life,” Jimmie said to the professor. “He’s my friend, and I don’t leave friends behind.” Jimmie sprinted to the edge of the fire; building speed, he closed his eyes and dived past the threshold of fire, vanishing from view in the smoke and flame.
“What do we do?” Max asked Lovina, who sighed and shook her head. A minute passed, then two. Lovina was pacing, looking for anything she could use to make a run into the flames. She was considering driving Jimmie’s rig in when a smoldering, stumbling figure appeared at the edge of the fire, carrying a still, smoking form. Jimmie staggered out, flames licking at the blanket covering him. He dropped Heck’s limp, blackened body as gently as he could in the grass, staggered a few more feet, and then fell, coughing and rolling, to extinguish the flames.
Jimmie heard shouting across the field and knew help was coming. The night air was cool, the stars were beautiful, and he was struck by how breathtaking this world truly was. He looked over to Heck, covered head to toe in black smudge and, he assumed, burns. His body was so still and had felt strangely cool to the touch when Jimmie found him beside Chasseur’s flaming corpse. Heck suddenly convulsed and coughed, and Jimmie smiled. Jimmie struggled to sit up. His hands were hot and hurt and were kind of numb. He recalled shock from his time in the Gulf, and knew that his hands had some burns and his arms and shins, too, but the fact that he could feel it made him think they weren’t too bad.
Sitting in the field, he looked across it to the dark woods. Then he saw it. It was close to the edge of the woods, vaguely visible in the jumping, frenetic light of the house fire. A dark man wrapped in shadows, with massive antlers, like the branches in the trees, spreading from his head, stared at Jimmie, at the cool, beautiful world, with burning, hungry eyes—predator’s eyes. The shadowy pack of hounds around him—eyes like moonlight, stared, too, silent and ready to heed their master’s command.
“Go on now,” Jimmie muttered through dry lips and a raw, soot-caked throat. He matched death’s gaze and did not blink this time. “Git.”
The Horned Man and his hounds retreated into the deep shadows of the ancient woods and were gone.
TWENTY-SIX
“10-42”
There was no body to lay to rest, so Ava had constructed a little shrine of smooth stones to act as a marker for Agnes’s grave. She placed the stones between Alana and Julia, near the wildflowers Agnes loved so much. Ava thought she would have liked that. She stood before the stones. It was a real spring day; the sun was warm and birds sang. She wanted to cry, but something held her from it, some knowledge that Agnes would not have wanted it.
Dennis sat in his wheelchair. He held a photograph of himself and his young bride, and he struggled to remain in the now, but Ava knew that he was already slipping across time again to a place where he and Agnes were together, would always be together.
Ava turned to look at the crowd that had come for the impromptu memorial. Folks like Barb and Carl, who had known Agnes for decades, and strangers who had become friends in the heat of battle: the trucker, Jimmie Aussapile, his arms and hands bandaged from the fire, and his companions, Max, Lovina, and Heck. Heck was also covered in bandages, and only recently up from his bed. Even Lexi and Cole, recovering from their own hellish ordeals, had come, for her more than for a woman they had never even met.
“I have no idea what to say,” Ava said, pushing her glasses back up on the bridge of her nose. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. Agnes was the most amazing person I’ve ever met. She saved my life, saved the lives of everyone here. She taught me what I could do; she believed in me even when I didn’t. And she died as she lived—with courage, determination, and the knowledge that some things in this world are worth fighting for, worth dying for. I’m a better person for having had the privilege of knowing her. The world owes her a debt that it will never know, never be able to repay.”
Ava looked up at the turret of the house that overlooked the backyard and the garden. Something had drawn her attention to the open window there for just a second. She thought she saw a figure standing there—a slender woman in white lace, pale, like old porcelain. But whatever it was she thought she’d seen past the fluttering transparent white curtains was gone now. She glanced at Dennis and saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. He began to sob.
“Thank you again for being here,” she said. “I wish I had more to say.”
* * *
The service was breaking up. Ava had wheeled Dennis inside and was caring for him. There was talk of gathering at Buddy’s for food. Jimmie walked up and shook Carl’s hand and hugged Barb.
“Whatever Chasseur did to the town, it’s gone, too,” Carl said. “People can come and go again. It’s pretty great.”
“I guess you two will be headed on down the road, then,” Jimmie said. Barb and Carl looked at each other, and Barb smiled. “I think we’re going to stay, at least for a while,” she said. “There are good people here, and more of them are staying than leaving. It’s nice to have a choice now, though. Thank you, Jimmie.”
“Don’t thank me,” Jimmie said, smiling. “No way we could have pulled this off without you two. Thank you. The wheel turns.”
“The wheel turns,” they both said. “If you ever want a cup of coffee or a plate of grub on the house, you come see us, Jimmie,” Barb said, and hugged him again.
Inside the house, Ava walked down the stairs from Dennis’s room to find Lexi and Cole waiting for her, holding hands.
“This place is yours now, huh?” Lexi said. “Pretty cool. Very Addams Family.”
“Actually, mine’s down the road a ways,” Ava said. “It needs some work, but I have time.”
“You staying?” Cole asked her. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Ava said, nodding. “I’m supposed to be here. I need to build that house back up, take care of it. I’ll take care of this one, too, until a proper owner comes along, and look after Dennis—Agnes would have wanted that.”
“You want us to tell your folks anything?” Cole asked. “Still no cell service out here. I doubt GPS works, either.”
“It doesn’t,” Ava said. “The houses like their privacy. I’ll get out to see Mom and Dad soon. Just tell them I’m okay … and I’m happy.” She nodded toward Lexi’s and Cole’s hands. “I’m happy for you guys, too. Truly.”
“You’re not mad?” Lexi said. “You know, Ava, you used to be … um—”
“A bitch?” Ava said. “Yeah, I still am.” They all laughed, for what it was worth. “This place shows you what you are, what you can be. I see it in you two as well. Listen to it, believe it. Take good care of each other.”
Lexi hugged her, then Cole. Then they were gone. Ava stood in the foyer, the ticking of the grandfather clock the only sound. The spring sun came in through the open door that only a few days ago had been barred and locked. She had stumbled through that door terrified and helpless before the powers of darkness and fear. The sun warmed her face, caressed her cheek like a gentle hand. Ava embraced it and smiled all the way down to her core.
* * *
Good-byes were said in the parking lot of Buddy’s Roadhouse following another amazing meal. Jimmie was happy to see a station wagon with Nebraska tags, towing a pop-up camper, roll down the two-lane. Not too far behind was a Kansas state trooper looking very confused that he had never noticed this little town in his jurisdiction before.
“We’re going to miss you guys,” Barb said.
“Hell, with that cooking, you won’t be missing me for long,” Jimmie said. “I’ll be back through, promise. And if y’all have any trouble you send me the word, and me and the other Brethren will come running.”
“You know,” Ava said, as she shook Lovina’s hand, “you could stay.
The Mother’s house likes you; you could claim it, repair it. And I sure could use the help.”
Lovina smiled broadly. “You’re doing great,” she said. “Agnes would be proud of you. But I don’t think I’m quite ready to settle down just yet. Besides, my name doesn’t start with an ‘A’”
Ava laughed. “Okay,” she said. “But don’t be a stranger.”
“It’s nice to know I have a retirement option,” Lovina said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be back. Take care, Ava.”
The crowd drifted back inside the roadhouse. The jukebox was blaring “All my Rowdy Friends are Coming Over Tonight,” by Hank Williams, Jr. The music muted as the door banged shut. Finally, it was down to the four of them—Lovina, Max, Heck, and Jimmie.
“This has been a hell of a run,” Lovina said, shaking Jimmie’s hand. Jimmie pulled her to him and they hugged.
“Thank you, Lovina,” Jimmie said. “I’d be honored to ride shotgun with you anytime. You’re one of us now—you know that, right? You need anything, you call me.”
Lovina nodded. “Goes both ways, Jimmie,” she said. “Now, get on home to that baby quick—and let me know the exact weight. Heck, Max, and I got a bet going.”
Jimmie laughed.
Lovina hugged Heck tight. He grunted a little bit in pain. “Sissy-ass marine,” she said, smiling.
“Take care, New Orleans,” Heck said.
Lovina walked to the door of her Charger and opened it. She looked back at Max, who had been standing very still and quiet. “You need a ride to DC, right?” Lovina asked.
Max’s face spread into a wide smile. “Yes, yes, I do, actually,” she said.
“Never seen DC,” Lovina said. “And I want to know more about this ‘road magic.’ Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”
Max squeaked a little and hugged Jimmie tight. “Thank you for all this, Jimmie,” she said. “It’s been amazing. I never dreamed…”
“What I said to Lovina goes for you, too, Max,” Jimmie said, hugging the small woman tightly. “You can ride with me any day. You’re one of us now; you earned it. Don’t ever forget that. Be safe.”
The Brotherhood of the Wheel Page 41