Megan's eyes were just like that, now. Like a dead rat or a chewed sparrow. The eyes never lie.
Carefully, silently, Shane unhooked the latch holding the window shut and pulled. There was a tiny sound, like a suction-pad being released. He never took his eyes from the lurkers below – from Megan's pure-white orbs – and none of them seemed to notice as he calmly eased the window inwards.
The tears streaming down his face were all but forgotten; he had a purpose, and it was clear what he needed to do.
He carefully positioned the pistol, using both hands to steady his tremulous grip.
He took one deep breath . . .
*
River practically erupted into the dinosaur-room. Her meaningful strides threatened to spill whatever she was carrying.
A sepia bowl, probably thousands of years old, and almost as big as the girl's head. She was smiling, obviously pleased with herself for some reason or other.
'What you got there?' Terry said, pushing himself up from the carpet. His back was sore, and his elbows would have been red-raw with carpet-burns.
'I made breakfast,' River said, feverishly.
Marla clambered to her feet; she was thankful of the little girl's entrance. The conversation with Terry had been pretty much nonexistent for half an hour, perhaps longer. They'd been staring blankly at each other, neither knowing what to say next.
River held the bowl up so that Marla could appraise the food. It was, as expected, a mishmash of junk-food. There were salted chips amongst flapjacks, tortillas on a bed of mints. It was a diabetic's worst nightmare.
'Wow,' Marla said, taking the bowl from River. It must have weighed close to five kilo, and if she hadn't been prepared it would have taken her by surprise. 'This looks like such a good breakfast.'
River smiled from ear to ear. 'I thought we might need it. Especially if we're moving on soon. Need to get our energy up for the fighting.' She pulled her machete out of a makeshift sling she had fashioned and tucked into her trousers.
'Well, none of us need to worry in here,' Terry said, 'so you might want to sheath that little beastie for the time-being.'
As she slipped it back into the sling – was that hundred percent silk? - she looked a little disappointed. Terry, on the other hand, felt nothing but relief.
'Honey, we might need to ration some of this food for later,' Marla said, crouching so that she was level with River. 'We don't know how long it'll be before we move on, and this food has to last.'
The girl's face contorted into something like a grimace; she looked apt to cry at any moment. 'Didn't you like it?'
Marla gasped. 'Oh, the breakfast was a beautiful gesture, honey. Thank you so much for going to all that time and effort.' She paused and offered Terry a glance which seemed to say “feel free to jump in at any time.”
'What Marla's trying to say, River,' Terry said, also dropping to one knee so that they were eye-to-eye, 'is that we may not be moving on as soon as we would like to. You see, it's very dangerous out there at the moment, and—'
'I know,' River interjected. 'I can look after myself. I must've killed like, a hundred of them. Maybe even a thousand!'
It was cute that the girl didn't differentiate between the two numbers, but now was not the time to fall for her adolescent charm.
'I know you did, River.' Terry didn't know whether to quit while he was behind or keep batting at the pinata until the good stuff fell out. 'And we will be leaving soon, but we might just have to hold on for a few more weeks, until it's a bit safer.'
She screwed her face up once again, obviously dissatisfied with the decision. 'I know everyone thinks I'm just a kid, but I'm not.' She wasn't; they all knew what she was capable of. 'I was doing okay on my own, and if I was still on my own, I'd be hauling ass towards those jets.' There was something inherently wrong with River using such a word, but neither Marla nor Terry wanted to be the one to tell her.
'And we will,' Marla said. She couldn't believe that she was having to justify herself – and the other adults – to an eight year-old girl. 'You like Shane, don't you?'
River took a sharp intake of breath, as if slightly embarrassed by the question. 'Course.'
'Well, Shane has just found out that his daughter is one of . . . one of those things out there, and that his wife is dead. We need Shane to be in the right frame of mind before we go out there, and until he—'
She was cut off mid-sentence as the sound of a single gunshot came from above.
Terry straightened up and shot Marla a look of pure horror. River, for the first time since they'd met her, appeared to be terrified; her bottom lip quivered with fear.
'Stay here,' Terry told them both before turning and rushing for the door. Had he really expected them to heed his words? Not really, so when he turned to tell them not to follow, only to find them a foot behind, he simply said, 'Then stay close.'
They headed in the direction of the gunshot. River had unsheathed her machete and held it tightly in her white-knuckled grasp.
They slowly manoeuvred the staircase, unsure of what to expect when they reached the top. It had been a single shot, and all Terry could think of was the state they had left Shane in last night, how upset he had been.
A man could do anything if pushed too far, and even though he had known no man stronger, mentally, than Shane, he was only too aware of breaking-points, and how they creep up on you when you least expect it.
The door leading to the room where Shane had been watching the perimeter was closed. He was in there.
In one piece, Terry hoped.
He turned to Marla and silently, between them, they agreed that he should enter the room alone. Shane had almost shot Marla only yesterday; God knows what he might do now, when forced into a corner and expecting no sudden guests.
Terry began to shuffle across the landing, being careful not to make any untoward sounds. Occasionally, he turned back, as if seeking the approval of the watching girls. They were staring, rapt, tensed as if they were frightened of moving just as much as Terry was of making noise.
Outside, the incessant groans of lurkers could be heard. They sounded disturbed; more than usual, as if something had happened. The single gunshot had been enough to tip them off, and sure enough there came scratching and clawing at the doors and windows on the ground floor.
They couldn't get in, though. The museum had been barricaded most competently. Even a horde of a hundred would struggle to traverse the furniture blockade propping up the windows and doors.
Still, it wasn't nice to hear them skittering away down there, like mice behind skirting-boards.
Terry had almost reached the door at the end of the landing when it suddenly pulled inwards.
Shane, and he didn't appear to be injured.
The pistol in his trembling right hand wasn't a threat to any of the survivors gathered on the landing, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and hope.
Terry stopped. He looked to Shane, who didn't make eye-contact. He simply said: 'We leave tomorrow.”
Nobody asked what had happened. To Marla and Terry – and even, perhaps, little River had an idea – it was obvious who the bullet had been used on. Questions would only dredge up the god-awful memories of what he had just seen . . .
What he had had to do.
Tomorrow they would move, and that was all any of them needed to think about.
CHAPTER FOUR
When River showed Shane the breakfast she had prepared, he brightened a little. It broke Marla's heart to see the expression on his face. It would have been the same way he smiled at his own daughter; the same way he would have reacted if Megan had brought him breakfast in bed.
'You did this?' he asked the girl, who was once again showing signs of increased confidence.
She rolled her eyes. His question perturbed her. 'Duh. It's only a few chips and a chunk of chocolate. It's not like I made you all a Spanish omelette.'
Shane almost choked. He reached in and took a handful of
. . . well, whatever it was, before cramming it greedily into his mouth. It was River's turn to laugh, and she followed it up with a snort, which set them all off.
The sense of relief in the room was palpable. It was as if somebody had finally decided to pump fresh-air back into the museum after first sucking out several thousand gallons of Radon.
Terry had spoken briefly to Shane in the corner of the room, but Marla knew that it wouldn't have been with regards to his daughter. Shane had nodded along to Terry's dulcet tones, and they had patted each other, the way in which men did when affection was required.
The lurkers had given up trying to gain entry. It was fruitless, and even they weren't dumb enough to keep at it for long. Marla figured they were clawing for ten minutes, at most, before they forgot exactly why they were bothering and moved on.
'I'm going to teach Terry how to sword-fight,' River said as she placed the bowl down on a chair, its contents spilling a little on the crimson carpet beneath. Terry, as if awaiting River's announcement, strode into the room. He was holding a samurai-sword that Shane recognised from one of the display cabinets.
'Whoa, there, Shinobi,' Marla said as she noticed the sword in Terry's hand. 'Careful where you point that thing.'
Terry smiled; River danced across to where he was standing. He looked, to all intents and purposes, a little lost. It was as if he had been handed a baguette with a bomb attached to it.
'How did you learn to fight?' Terry asked the girl. 'I mean, you didn't pick it all up from watching Jackie Chan movies.'
'Who?' she replied as she unsheathed her machete.
'Jackie Chan. You know? One of the greatest martial arts actors of all time. Does all of his own stunts. Practically broke every bone in his body during his career.'
River tutted. 'Can't be that good, then.' She assumed a stance before continuing. 'My parents made me go to karate class three nights a week. My daddy used to say that I needed to learn how to look after myself, 'cos there are a lot of pricks out there who only want one thing.'
Shane burst out laughing, and only stopped when Marla shot him a reproachful glance. 'That's true, River,' he said. 'Your daddy was a very wise man.'
'So you took karate lessons.' Terry pulled his sword from its sheath. He looked, to Shane, even more lost now that the blade was out. 'Pretty sure they don't use swords in those classes.'
River shrugged. 'They don't. Daddy bought me a bo for my sixth birthday. My mom said it was okay because it didn't have a sharp edge so I couldn't do any real damage.' She rolled her eyes at this. 'Good job my dad went behind her back and taught me how to use a katana. We used to go up behind the tool-shed and train. I think she knew, really, but she never said anything.'
'And you're going to teach Terry?' Marla said, folding her arms in an almost motherly fashion.
River nodded. 'Sure. I know he's old, but you're never too over-the-hill to learn how to sword-fight.'
Terry looked mortally offended; his mouth shaped into a puckered O. 'I'm hardly pushing up daisies, River,' he said. 'For all you know I'm the best sword-fighter never to pick one up.'
She chortled, and it was a wonderful sound. 'Kinda doubt it.'
Shane patted Terry on the arm. 'She's got a point. I've seen you fight.'
'Yeah, but we all have to start somewhere,' Terry said, and now he was smiling at the absurdity of the conversation.
And so the morning gave way to afternoon. Terry and River practised in the dinosaur-room. Marla helped Shane prepare the packs. Nobody said anything about the gunshot, or Megan, and Shane tried his hardest to remain indifferent, though Marla could tell it was eating him up inside.
She watched as he stuffed bottled water – piss-warm, no doubt, since the vending-machine's cooler had long since stopped functioning – into the two rucksacks. She sensed he wanted to say something; he looked, on a few occasions, about to start speaking, only to bite his lip and remain silent.
'Do you think we can make it?' she finally said after much deliberation.
He stopped packing and looked up at her; he had quite a beard growing, now, and she didn't find it altogether unattractive. 'If I didn't, do you think I'd even contemplate going out there?'
It was rhetorical; he had a very valid point.
'What you said last night, about the planes,' she said. 'You were right. They could be going anywhere. We won't know unless we go after them.'
Shane stuffed one last bottle of water into the pack, which bulged from the contents. 'I figure it's about two-hundred miles south before we hit ocean. If we can get a car running we could do it in a few hours, providing we don't hit any roadblocks along the way.'
Marla sucked air in through her teeth. 'We had a lot of snow,' she reminded him. 'We'll do well to find a car that'll start. I don't know a thing about mechanics, but I know what cold weather does to batteries.'
She was right; Shane had forgotten about the snow, the blizzards, the sub-zero temperatures from the previous week. You didn't need to work for triple-A to know that frost and cold was a car-killer.
'On foot it'll take us six days,' he said. 'Closer to seven.' It wasn't a nice thought, but their choices were limited. Shane knew he could keep the pace, but he doubted River, and Terry was – despite their earlier jesting – not as young as he used to be. Shane had seen the guy crack his back after sitting in the same place for too long; it wasn't reasonable to expect him to be able to cover two-hundred miles on foot.
Yet what else could they do?
'The only way to find out is to get out there and see what's what.' Marla grabbed the pack and tried to zip it as best as she could. 'I'm fit, healthy,' she said, 'and I know we don't have to worry about you.'
Shane grimaced and rubbed at his neck. 'I wouldn't say that. Even I could do with a massage every now and again, just to keep the old nerves loose.'
'Is that a hint?'
He hadn't intentionally meant it to be, but now that she said it, he realised what he'd done. 'You ever given a guy a massage before?'
She held both arms up. 'I was a doctor, remember? I've massaged more body-parts than a Thai hooker.'
Shane exploded with laughter; Marla had a way with words that always seemed to cheer him up. Then, as if he had been given the worst news imaginable, his expression dropped once again. Marla knew he was thinking about Megan, and what he had done to her – what he had had to do to her. She changed the subject before it had chance to start.
'So this is all we're taking, huh?' The packs were over-stuffed already, and travelling light was of utmost importance. There was no point being weighed down by needless luxuries – not that they had any – when they were only going to be on the road for a week, less if they were extremely fortunate.
'I'll carry one,' Shane said, feeling the weight of the fattest pack. 'I'm pretty sure Terry can manage the other.'
Marla smiled. 'I'm not a complete girl, you know? I reckon I could manage that.' She pointed at the second pack, knowing that Shane would never expect her to be the second packhorse. Not because he doubted her ability, but because he knew that Terry would be gravely offended if he wasn't utilised.
'Your job will be to keep that little damsel in check.' Shane didn't know which one of the girls would be most vulnerable, but he had to place Marla ahead since she was the responsible adult. 'If something bad happens, I want you to get her to safety as quickly as you can. Don't even look back. Terry and I will be fine.' He didn't like the thought of separating the group, but if it came down to it, there was no point in them all remaining in the firing-line.
Besides, he felt responsible for River, somehow. Not in the same way he'd been responsible for his own daughter, but he knew that River was just as important, in her own unique way. Losing her was not an option.
From the dinosaur-room, there came a clattering of steel on steel. Terry was yelling randomly. “En-Garde,” and “One for all, and all for one.”
'He'll be fucked by the time we leave,' Marla said, giggling childishly throug
h her hand. 'That pack might be mine, after all.'
Shane picked it up and launched it towards her. Instinctively, she plucked it from the air about an inch before it hit her in the chest. She almost dropped it as its full weight became apparent.
'Second thoughts,' she said, carefully lowering it to the ground. 'The old man can have it.'
Shane nodded, hoisted his pack onto his shoulder, and said, 'He'll be happy to hear it.'
As he made his way towards the door, his muscles bulging beneath his tee-shirt from the strain of the pack, Marla wondered how serious he had been about the massage.
She couldn't help hoping that he would take her up on it sometime in the near future.
CHAPTER FIVE
Nightfall came with very little in the way of danger. A few lurkers had decided to attempt entry to the museum through the rear-doors, but the weighty Tutankhamen statuette that had been dragged in front of it was enough to keep them out. Shane and Terry had stood watching as the door rattled in its frame; the woeful groans from the creatures on the other side were quite satisfying to listen to.
Forget your whale-music and those stupid CDs of thunderstorms you could buy down at the local hippie-shop. Lurker-speak was enough to lull anyone into a peaceful sleep, so long as there was no chance of it penetrating the safety of a double-fortified door and a solid-bronze Egyptian Pharaoh.
When the lurkers finally ceded, Terry and Shane made their way back to the dinosaur-room to find Marla and River asleep beneath a silk, ceremonial textile. It was definitely the most expensive bedding either of them had slept beneath, though now it was nothing more than an old object, something with no classification other than the fact it had probably been used to dry one of the apostles' sodden feet.
The Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Line Page 3