“Trying to cut us off,” Jack said.
Jesus, we're not going to make it, they're everywhere, the damned building's infested with them, they're all around us-
In his mind, Jack quickly slammed the door on those bleak thoughts, closed it tight and locked it and told himself that their worst enemies were their own pessimism and fear, which could enervate and immobilize them.
Just this side of the foyer, in the living room, Faye and Rebecca were helping the kids put on coats and boots.
Snarling, hissing, and eager wordless jabbering issued from the vent plate in the wall above the long sofa.
Beyond the slots in that grille, silver eyes blazed in the darkness. One of the screws was being worked loose from inside.
Davey had only one boot on, but time had run out.
Jack picked up the boy and said, “Faye, bring his other boot, and let's get moving.”
Keith was already in the foyer. He'd been to the closet and had gotten coats for himself and Faye. Without pausing to put them on, he grabbed Faye by the arm and hurried her out of the apartment.
Penny screamed.
Jack turned toward the living room, instinctively crouching slightly and holding Davey even tighter.
The vent plate was off the duct above the sofa.
Something was starting to come out of the darkness there.
But that wasn't why Penny had screamed. Another hideous intruder had come out of the kitchen, and that was what had seized her attention. It was two-thirds of the way through the dining room, scurrying toward the living room archway, coming straight at them. Its coloration was different from that of the other beasts, although no less disgusting; it was a sickly yellow-white with cancerous-looking green-black pockmarks all over it, and like the other beasts Lavelle had sent, this one appeared to be slick, slimy. It was also a lot bigger than any of the others, almost three times the size of the ratlike creature in the bedroom. Somewhat resembling an iguana, although more slender through its body than an iguana, this spawn of nightmares was three to four feet in length, had a lizard's tail, a lizard's head and face. Unlike an iguana, however, the small monster had eyes of fire, six legs, and a body so slinky that it appeared capable of tying itself in knots; it was the very slinkiness and flexibility that made it possible for a creature of this size to slither through the ventilation pipes. Furthermore, it had a pair of batlike wings which were atrophied and surely useless but which unfurled and flapped and fluttered with frightening effect.
The thing charged into the living room, tail whipping back and forth behind it. Its mouth cracked wide, emitting a cold shriek of triumph as it bore down on them.
Rebecca dropped to one knee and fired her revolver. She was at point-blank range; she couldn't miss; she didn't. The slug smashed squarely into its target. The shot lifted the beast off the floor and flung it backwards as if it were a bundle of rags. It landed hard, clear back at the archway to the dining room.
It should have been blown to pieces. It wasn't.
The floor and walls should have been splashed with blood — or with whatever fluid pumped through these creatures' veins. But there was no mess whatsoever.
The thing flopped and writhed on its back for a few seconds, then rolled over and got onto its feet, wobbled sideways. It was disoriented and sluggish, but unharmed. It scuttled around in a circle, chasing its own tail.
Meanwhile, Jack's eyes were drawn to the repulsive thing that had come out of the duct above the sofa. It hung on the wall, mewling, approximately the size of a rat but otherwise unlike a rodent. More than anything else, it resembled a featherless bird. It had an eggshaped head perched atop a long, thin neck that might have been that of a baby ostrich, and it had a wickedly pointed beak with which it kept slashing at the air. However, its flickering, fiery eyes were not like those of any bird, and no bird on earth possessed stubby tentacles, like these, instead of legs. The beast was an abomination, a mutant horror; just looking at it made Jack queasy. And now, behind it, another similar though not identical creature crept out of the duct.
“Guns aren't any damned use against these things,” Jack said.
The iguana-form monstrosity was becoming less disoriented. In a moment it would regain its senses and charge at them again.
Two more creatures appeared at the far end of the dining room, crawling out of the kitchen, coming fast.
A screech drew Jack's attention to the far end of the living room, where the hallway led back to the bedroom and baths. The man-shaped thing was standing there, squealing, holding the spear above its head. It ran toward them, crossing the carpet with shocking speed.
Behind it came a horde of small but deadly creatures, reptilian-serpentine-canine-feline-insectile-rodentlike-arachnoid grotesqueries. In that instant Jack realized that they were, indeed, the Hellborn; they were demonic entities summoned from the depths of Hell by Lavelle's sorcery. That must be the answer, insane as it seemed, for there was no place else from which such gruesome horrors could have come. Hissing and chattering and snarling, they flopped and rolled over one another in their eagerness to reach Penny and Davey. Each of them was quite different from the one before it, although all of them shared at least two features: the eyes of silver-white fire, like windows in a furnace — and murderously sharp little teeth. It was as if the gates of Hell had been flung open.
Jack pushed Penny into the foyer. Carrying Davey, he followed his daughter out of the front door, into the eleventh-floor corridor, and hurried toward Keith and Faye, who stood with the white-haired doorman at one of the elevators, keeping the lift open.
Behind Jack, Rebecca fired three shots.
Jack stopped, turned. He wanted to go back for her, but he wasn't sure how he could do that and still protect Davey.
“Daddy! Hurry!” Penny screamed from where she stood half in and half out of the elevator.
“Daddy, let's go, let's go,” Davey said, clinging to him.
Much to Jack's relief, Rebecca came out of the apartment, unharmed. She fired one shot into the Jamisons' foyer, then pulled the door shut.
By the time Jack reached the elevators, Rebecca was right behind him. Gasping for breath, he put Davey down, and all seven of them, including the doorman, crowded into the cab, and Keith hit the button that was marked LOBBY.
The doors didn't immediately slide shut.
“They're gonna get in, they're gonna get in,” Davey cried, voicing the fear that had just flashed into everyone's mind.
Keith pushed the LOBBY button again, kept his thumb on it this time.
Finally the doors slid shut.
But Jack didn't feel any safer.
Now that he was closed up tight in the cramped cab, he wondered if they would have been wiser to take the stairs. What if the demons could put the lift out of commission, stop it between floors? What if they crept into the elevator shaft and descended onto the stranded cab? What if that monstrous horde found a way to get inside? God in heaven, what if…?
The elevator started down.
Jack looked up at the ceiling of the cab. There was an emergency escape hatch. A way out. And a way in. This side of the hatch was featureless: no hinges, no handles. Apparently, it could be pushed up and out — or pulled up and out by rescue workers on the other side. There would be a handle out there on the roof of the cab, which would make it easy for the demons, if they came. But since there wasn't a handle on the inside, the hatch couldn't be held down; the forced entrance of those vicious creatures couldn't be resisted — if they came.
God, please, don't let them come.
The elevator crawled down its long cables as slowly as it had pulled itself up. Tenth floor… ninth…
Penny had taken Davey's boot from Faye. She was helping her little brother get his foot into it.
Eighth floor.
In a haunted voice that cracked more than once, but still with her familiar imperious tone, Faye said, “What were they, Jack? What were those things in the vents?”
“Voo
doo,” Jack said, keeping his eyes on the lighted floor indicator above the doors.
Seventh floor.
“Is this some sort of joke?” the doorman asked.
“Voodoo devils, I think,” Jack told Faye, “but don't ask me to explain how they got here or anything about them.”
Shaken as she was, and in spite of what she'd heard and seen in the apartment, Faye said, “Are you out of your mind?”
“Almost wish I was.”
Sixth floor.
“There aren't such things as voodoo devils,” Faye said. “There aren't any—”
“Shut up,” Keith told her. “You didn't see them. You left the guest room before they came out of the vent in there.”
Fifth floor.
Penny said, “And you'd gotten out of the apartment before they started coming through the living room vent, Aunt Faye. You just didn't see them — or you'd believe.”
Fourth floor.
The doorman said, “Mrs. Jamison, how well do you know these people? Are they—”
Ignoring and interrupting him, Rebecca spoke to Faye and Keith: “Jack and I have been on a weird case. Psychopathic killer. Claims to waste his victims with voodoo curses.”
Third floor.
Maybe we're going to make it, Jack thought. Maybe we won't be stopped between floors. Maybe we'll get out of here alive.
And maybe not.
To Rebecca, Faye said, “Surely you don't believe in voodoo.”
“I didn't,” Rebecca said. “But now… yeah.”
With a nasty shock, Jack realized the lobby might be teeming with small, vicious creatures. When the elevator doors opened, the nightmare horde might come rushing in, clawing and biting.
“If it's a joke, I don't get it,” the doorman said.
Second floor.
Suddenly Jack didn't want to reach the lobby, didn't want the lift doors to open. Suddenly he just wanted to go on descending in peace, hour after hour, on into eternity.
The lobby.
Please, no!
The doors opened.
The lobby was deserted.
They poured out of the elevator, and Faye said, “Where are we going?”
Jack said, “Rebecca and I have a car—”
“In this weather—”
“Snow chains,” Jack said, cutting her off sharply. “We're taking the car and getting the kids out of here, keep moving around, until I can figure out what to do.”
“We'll go with you,” Keith said.
“No,” Jack said, ushering the kids toward the lobby doors. “Being with us is probably dangerous.”
“We can't go back upstairs,” Keith said. “Not with those… those demons or devils or whatever the hell they are.”
“Rats,” Faye said, apparently having decided that she could deal with the uncouth more easily than she could deal with the unnatural. “Only some rats. Of course, we'll go back. Sooner or later, we'll have to go back, set traps, exterminate them. The sooner the better, in fact.”
Paying no attention to Faye, talking over her head to Keith, Jack said, “I don't think the damned things will hurt you and Faye. Not unless you were to stand between them and the kids. They'll probably kill anyone who tries to protect the kids. That's why I'm getting them away from you. Still, I wouldn't go back there tonight. A few of them might wait around.”
“You couldn't drag me back there tonight,” Keith assured him.
“Nonsense,” Faye said. “Just a few rats—”
“Damnit, woman,” Keith said, “it wasn't a rat that called for Davey and Penny from inside that duct!”
Faye was already pale. When Keith reminded her of the voice in the ventilation system, she went pure white.
They all paused at the doors, and Rebecca said, “Keith, is there someone you can stay with?”
“Sure,” Keith said. “One of my business partners, Anson Dorset, lives on this same block. On the other side of the street. Up near the avenue. We can spend the night there, with Anson and Francine.”
Jack pushed the door open. The wind tried to slam it shut again, almost succeeded, and snow exploded into the lobby. Fighting the wind, turning his face away from the stinging crystals, Jack held the door open for the others and motioned them ahead of him. Rebecca went first, then Penny and Davey, then Faye and Keith.
The doorman was the only one left. He was scratching his white-haired head and frowning at Jack. “Hey, wait. What about me?”
“What about you? You're not in any danger,” Jack said, starting through the door, in the wake of the others.
“But what about all that gunfire upstairs?”
Turning to the man again, Jack said, “Don't worry about it. You saw our ID when we came in here, right? We're cops.”
“Yeah, but who got shot?”
“Nobody,” Jack said.
“Then who were you shooting at? “
“Nobody.”
Jack went out into the storm, letting the door blow shut behind him.
The doorman stood in the lobby, face pressed to the glass door, peering out at them, as if he were a fat and unpopular schoolboy who was being excluded from a game.
IX
The wind was a hammer.
The spicules of snow were nails.
The storm was busily engaged on its carpentry work, building drifts in the street.
By the time Jack reached the bottom of the steps in front of the apartment building, Keith and Faye were already angling across the street, heading up toward the avenue, toward the building where their friends lived. Step by step, they were gradually disappearing beyond the phosphorescent curtains of wind-blown snow.
Rebecca and the kids were standing at the car.
Raising his voice above the huffing and moaning of the wind, Jack said, “Come on, come on. Get in. Let's get out of here.”
Then he realized something was wrong.
Rebecca had one hand on the door handle, but she wasn't opening the door. She was staring into the car, transfixed.
Jack moved up beside her and looked through the window and saw what she saw. Two of the creatures. Both on the back seat. They were wrapped in shadows, and it was impossible to see exactly what they looked like, but their glowing silver eyes left no doubt that they were kin to the murderous things that had come out of the heating ducts. If Rebecca had opened the door without looking inside, if she hadn't noticed that the beasts were waiting in there, she might have been attacked and overwhelmed. Her throat could have been torn open, her eyes gouged out, her life taken before Jack was even aware of the danger, before he had a chance to go to her assistance.
“Back off,” he said.
The four of them moved away from the car, huddled together on the sidewalk, wary of the night around them.
They were the only people on the wintry street, now. Faye and Keith were out of sight. There were no plows, no cars, no pedestrians. Even the doorman was no longer watching them.
It's strange, Jack thought, to feel this isolated and this alone in the heart of Manhattan.
“What now?” Rebecca asked urgently, her eyes fixed on the car, one hand on Davey, one hand inside her coat where she was probably gripping her revolver.
“We keep moving,” Jack said, dissatisfied with his answer, but too surprised and too scared to think of anything better.
Don't panic.
“Where?” Rebecca asked.
“Toward the avenue,” he said.
Calm. Easy. Panic will finish us.
“The way Keith went?” Rebecca asked.
“No. The other avenue. Third Avenue. It's closer.”
“I hope there's people out there,” she said.
“Maybe even a patrol car.”
And Penny said, “I think we're a whole lot safer around people, out in the open.”
“I think so, too, sweetheart,” Jack said. “So let's go now. And stay close together.”
Penny took hold of Davey's hand.
The attack came suddenly. The th
ing rushed out from beneath their car. Squealing. Hissing. Eyes beaming silvery light. Dark against the snow. Swift and sinuous. Too damned swift. Lizardlike. Jack saw that much in the storm-diluted glow of the streetlamps, reached for his revolver, remembered that bullets couldn't kill these things, also realized that they were in too close quarters to risk using a gun anyway, and by then the thing was among them, snarling and spitting — all of this in but a single second, one tick of time, perhaps even less. Davey shouted. And tried to get out of the thing's way. He couldn't avoid it. The beast pounced on the boy's boot. Davey kicked. It clung to him. Jack lifted-pushed Penny out of the way. Put her against the wall of the apartment building. She crouched there. Gasping. Meanwhile, the lizard had started climbing Davey's legs. The boy flailed at it. Stumbled. Staggered backwards. Shrieking for help. Slipped. Fell. All of this in only one more second, maybe two—tick, tick—and Jack felt as if he were in a fever dream, with time distorted as it could be only in a dream. He went after the boy, but he seemed to be moving through air as thick as syrup. The lizard was on the front of Davey's chest now, its tail whipping back and forth, its clawed feet digging at the heavy coat, trying to tear the coat to shreds so that it could then rip open the boy's belly, and its mouth was wide, its muzzle almost at the boy's face—no! — and Rebecca got there ahead of Jack. Tick. She tore the disgusting thing off Davey's chest. It wailed. It bit her hand. She cried out in pain. Threw the lizard down. Penny was screaming: “Davey, Davey, Davey!” Tick. Davey had regained his feet. The lizard went after him again. This time, Jack got hold of the thing. In his bare hands. On the way up to the Jamisons' apartment, he'd removed his gloves in order to be able to use his gun more easily. Now, shuddering at the feel of the thing, he ripped it off the boy. Heard the coat shredding in its claws. Held it at arm's length. Tick. The creature felt repulsively cold and oily in Jack's hands, although for some reason he had expected it to be hot, maybe because of the fire inside its skull, the silvery blaze that now flickered at him through the gaping sockets where the demons eyes should have been. The beast squirmed. Tick. It tried to wrench free of him, and it was strong, but he was stronger. Tick. It kicked the air with its wickedly clawed feet. Tick. Tick. Tick, tick, tick…
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