Hosts rj-5

by F. Paul Wilson

  "NO!"

  Not just Kate's voice—a chorus, in her head and in her ears. The Unity is on its feet, hands raised in protest.

  Jack pulls a pistol from behind his back, large and dark with sharp angles. He points it past Kate toward the members of the Unity.

  "Who wants it first?"

  The sight of the gun gives Kate an idea.

  The little pistol!

  Yes, Kate! Yes!

  Guided by the Unity, she twists free from Jack's grasp and snatches the tiny pistol off the table. As she lifts it the voice roars in her head.

  Shoot him! Destroy him!

  Someone in the Unity knows guns and of its own accord Kate's left hand slides back the top of the pistol and lets it slide forward.

  Point it at him and pull the trigger!

  But Kate can't do that. Won't do that.

  No. She's turning toward him. I've never shot a gun and if I try I may miss.

  Shoot!

  And if I miss he'll take it from me and we'll have no options.

  SHOOT!

  She faces him now and her arm raises the pistol toward Jack, but Kate bends it toward herself, jamming the muzzle against her throat.

  No, Kate!

  "Kate, what are you doing?" Jack cries, his face blanching.

  The Unity tries to make her lower the gun but a more powerful force, a surge of strength from some well deep within the maze of protective instincts in the most primitive regions of her brain flows into her arm and bolsters its position.

  Let me speak! I can make him leave!

  Suddenly her voice is her own.

  "Leave, Jack! Please."

  "No." His eyes are fixed on her throat, on the spot where his little pistol presses into her flesh. His voice is a hoarse croak. "Not without you."

  She sees his free hand edging forward, his body tensing, readying to spring.

  "I know what you're thinking, Jack. Please don't try it. I swear to God I will end it right here, right now, if you make a move toward me."

  His gaze moves down and lingers on her shoulder bag where it sits at her feet. Why is he staring at it? Then he looks at her again, his expression full of fear.

  "Kate, please. Be sensible. Put it down and come with me. Now. It's important!"

  Tell him you'll go with him later.

  "Give me some time here, Jack, and then I'll go with you."

  "It's got to be now!"

  He looks so nervous… so afraid… of what?

  "Later, Jack."

  He licks his lips and looks past her. "They'll let you?"

  Behind her, seven voices speak as one: "Return in two hours and she will be free to go. You may take her anywhere you wish."

  The farther, the better.

  Jack's eyes narrow. "Why should I believe you?"

  "It's true, Jack," Kate tells him. "I wouldn't lie to you."

  "No—"

  "I'm not going to let you take me, Jack." She presses the muzzle deeper into her throat. "I can die now or I can go with you later. It's up to you."

  Kate sees an agony of fear in her brother's face and hopes he will listen. She doesn't want to pull the trigger. Not because she's afraid of death—she will gladly die for the Unity—but because it will interfere with the transformation.

  Suddenly Jack seems to relax, as if he's come to a decision. "All right. Two hours." He glances at his watch. "Jesus! It's 9:52!"

  Alarm floods her. 9:52! Why does the time fill her with such dread?

  "Go, Jack! Leave now and go far away!"

  Her words—not the Unity's. Why did she say that? Why this blast of urgency to chase him away from here? She can't explain it but she knows he can't stay here. He must leave—now!

  "I'll leave," he says quickly, backing toward the door. "But I'll be back at exactly 11:52 and I want to see Kate standing out front, waiting to go. If not…"

  He lets that hang, then backs out.

  Excellent, Kate, the Unity says as she lowers the pistol.

  We told him the truth?

  Of course. Once the Great Leap is accomplished, we want you to travel—far and wide, spreading the transformed virus everywhere you go. He will think he is thwarting us, but instead he will be doing our work.

  Kate feels extra warmth envelop her.

  You did well, Kate. You turned an enemy into an unwitting ally. We are so proud of you.

  Kate basks in their approval.

  19

  What a scene!

  Questions flooded Sandy's head in a mad rush. What the hell was that all about? The Savior had said he'd been hired by the late great Dr. Fielding to protect him from the cult, but who was the woman he'd tried to pull out of there just now? His girlfriend? And when she'd put that pistol to her throat—what a moment! Sandy could tell from her voice she'd been serious about pulling the trigger. And then when all seven of her fellow cultists had spoken at once… wow. His spine had turned to ice.

  No one was ever going to believe this. He wished to God he'd brought a video camera.

  The cultists were all back in their seats now with rejoined hands, and Sandy was about to move away from the window so he could go find the Savior, when the front door burst open. And again it was the Savior, gun in hand, but this time he didn't stop, didn't say anything. Moving like a giant raptor he swooped in, grabbed the blonde, and pulled her from the seat, then he threw her over his shoulder and dashed out the door.

  Sandy stood frozen, gaping through the window, as shocked—and as mute—as the seven remaining cultists. A few heartbeats ago the blonde had been there, now she was gone. All that remained were her screams, trailing away in the night.

  Aren't they going to do anything? He spotted the little Semmerling sitting on the coffee table where the blonde had placed it. Was one of them going to pick it up and go after them?

  No. They just stood there in their broken circle. And then, unac-countably, they all began to smile. Sandy watched the Rottweiler woman pull out a cell phone and punch in a number, heard her say, "Dover Township Police? I want to report a kidnapping."

  The Savior was going to be in deep shit now! Should he warn him?

  20

  "Sorry for the caveman act, Kate," Jack said to the screaming, kicking, clawing woman of his shoulder, "but this is the only way."

  He glanced over his unburdened shoulder to make sure none of the others was following. The street behind him remained empty.

  So far so good. He knew he was still a long way from successfully pulling this off, but he had Kate now and he wasn't going to give her up.

  The first part had been easy. He'd guessed Kate would have to put down the Semmerling to resume the hand-holding thing. He'd given her half a minute before going back for her. He could have started shooting but burdened with Kate he might have missed a few of the remaining seven. Better to let Kate's bomb do the work.

  And right now he had to get them both away from here before it blew. In the unlikely event that any of the Unity survived, Jack would come back to mop up.

  He'd parked on the highway shoulder at the end of the street. Only half a block to go. Get her into the trunk and take off, try to be as far away as possible when—

  A deafening roar and then an angry giant slammed him in the back, sending him flying. He lost his grip on Kate. They hit the sandy road surface simultaneously, and then Jack crawled on top of her, as much to keep her down as to shield her.

  As she shuddered beneath him in something like a epileptic fit, Jack glanced back at the fireball mushrooming into the sky, carrying with it the last traces of the Unity hive.

  And then the debris, some of it aflame, began to fall around them.

  "You did it, Kate!" he whispered. "You—"

  Something heavy bounced off his shoulders and the back of his head…

  Next thing Jack knew he was alone on the road. Sick, dizzy, he pushed himself to his knees, propelled by Kate's voice crying out somewhere behind him.

  "Jeanette! Jeanette!"

&nb
sp; He turned and saw her stumbling away, toward the inferno that had once been a bungalow. He rose and lurched after her.

  Flaming debris lay everywhere—in the street, on roofs—and the bungalow where Kate had sat a few moments ago—gone. Nothing remained of the structure but its concrete foundation slab. Water gushed from severed pipes, steaming in the heat; the four cars that had been parked before it were twisted wrecks; a half dozen neighboring bungalows were ablaze.

  He caught up and turned her around. "Kate!"

  She looked dazed, and surprised to see him. "Jack? What are you doing here?"

  "Is it you, Kate? Really you?"

  She nodded, her tear-streaked face reflecting the flames. "Yes, but—"

  Jack threw his arms around his sister and hugged her, barely able to speak trough the joy exploding inside him. Kate was back. He could tell. The Unity was gone.

  "Thank God! I thought I'd lost you!"

  "But where's Jeanette!" she said pushing back. "I have to find her!"

  "You can't," he said. "You… won't."

  "But I've got to!" she sobbed. "I did this to her!"

  She tore away from his grasp. Jack watched her approach the flaming ruins only to be pushed back by the heat. He wanted to pull her away, spirit her back to New York, but he knew she'd never go until she was convinced there was nothing she could do.

  He glanced down the road. Cars were pulling over from the highway to watch, to call for help, to run and see. Gawkers trotted up the narrow sandy street, drawn like moths to the blazing spectacle.

  Turning, he spotted a dark crumpled form sprawled in the sand on the far side of the wreckage. What were the odds it was Jeanette? Almost nil, but he hurried forward, skirting the heat of the blaze, and the closer he got the more it looked like a person.

  He knelt beside the scorched body. No, not Jeanette. Someone else—a male, face mostly torn away by the blast, clothes shredded by debris missiles, but still recognizable as Sandy Palmer. Where had he been hiding?

  Poor jerk. Looked like he finally was going to get the fame he'd been chasing—HEROIC REPORTER DIES INVESTIGATING MURDER CULT!—but he wasn't going to be around to enjoy it.

  "Oh, Jesus!" said a voice behind him. "Is he dead?"

  Jack rose and glanced at the middle-aged gawker, but didn't answer him; more were coming up the street. He could hear sirens approaching.

  Time to go. He looked around for Kate, saw her wandering on the far side, near a neighboring bungalow half consumed by flames. He started toward her.

  "Hey, I wouldn't get too close to those shacks I were you," said another gawker. "Another one of these propane tanks could go any second."

  Propane? Is that what they thought? Of course they would. But Jack knew the bungalow's tank had only added to the blast, not caused it.

  And then he stiffened as he spotted the rusty four-foot tank on the side of the burning house where Kate stood, the flames licking at its flanks…

  "Kate!" Get away from—!"

  The blast was a pale shadow of the first—smaller burst of flame, barely a tenth of the noise and impact—and it momentarily staggered Jack. But it engulfed Kate and sent her flying. She slammed against the wall of the neighboring house and tumbled to the ground like a discarded doll.

  As the gawkers screamed and ducked and fled, Jack pounded toward the still form huddled on the sand, repeating one word over and over in a moaning whimper, the only word his dread-mired brain could manage.

  "No-no-no-no-no-no…"

  When he reached her he saw that her hair was singed and her blouse scorched, but her clothes hadn't caught fire. He was about to send up a prayer of thanks when he noticed the blood… and the jagged piece of metal jutting from her upper abdomen.

  He dropped to his knees beside his sister—not simply to be closer to her but because his legs refused to support him. His hands instinctively reached toward the bloody metal shard to remove it but paused, hovering, unsure, afraid of touching it, her, doing anything that might make things worse. Finally he grabbed her hand in both of his.

  "Kate! Kate! Are you okay?" Dumb-ass thing to say—she was anything but okay.

  Her eyes fluttered open. "Jack?" Her voice was a whisper in a shell. "Jack, what—?"

  "Propane tank… it…" The words dried up and blew away.

  He watched her gaze lower to her body and fix on the protruding scrap of metal.

  "Oh, dear."

  This helpless kneeling and watching was killing him. Jack needed to do something.

  "Should I pull it out?" She's a doctor, he thought. She'll know.

  "Better not."

  "Okay, then," he told her. "It stays. Help is on the way. Hear the sirens? You're going to be fine."

  She was gazing at him now. "I don't… think so." Her fingers squeezed his hand. "Jack, the dark… it's coming and I'm scared."

  "You're gonna be—"

  "Not for me. For you and Kev and Lizzie and everyone. It's coming, Jack. The virus is still in my brain and it let me see. The dark is waiting but it will be coming soon, and it's going to roll over everything."

  "Kate, save your strength."

  "No, listen. Only a handful of people are going to stand in its way, and… and you're one of them."

  She reminded him of the Russian lady now. Is war and you are warrior.

  "Kate…"

  "Please look after Kev and Lizzie, Jack. Promise me you won't let it get them."

  "I promise. Now hush."

  He looked up and saw half a dozen staring gawkers and wanted to shoot them all.

  "What are you looking at?" he shouted. "Get outta here! Can't you see she's hurt? Get help!"

  He looked back at Kate and his heart stuttered when he noticed her closed eyes. But she was still breathing.

  "Kate?"

  She didn't open her eyes, didn't move her lips. "Jack." Her voice so tiny, barely there.

  He could feel her slipping away. "Kate, don't go. Please, don't go…"

  Suddenly flashing red lights everywhere—two cop cars, an ambulance, and a voice shouting, "This way! This way! There's a woman hurt bad over here!"

  Jack leaned over his sister, his lips close to her ear. "Help's here now. Listen to me, Kate: I love you, and I'm not going to lose you. Just hang on a little longer and you'll make it."

  And then the EMTs, two men and two women sheathed in coveralls and latex gloves, crowded around; Jack watched their expressions change from curious to grim when they saw Kate. He allowed himself to be moved aside as three of them skillfully worked to lift her onto a stretcher while a fourth spoke on a phone to a doctor in the local emergency room, taking instructions and advising him to have a surgeon waiting.

  Jack followed close behind as they moved the stretcher—carrying it instead of wheeling it—to the idling ambulance, watched as they slid it into the back of the rig and crawled in after it.

  "I'm coming along," he told one of the EMTs. He had this insane feeling that if he stayed nearby, holding Kate's hand, he could keep her alive by pure force of will.

  "Sorry, sir. Against the rules."

  Jack's hand itched to pull his Glock for emphasis; instead he grabbed the man's arm. "Maybe you didn't hear me: I'm coming along."

  "Even if you were allowed, there's no room for you and you'd only get in the way if she crashes."

  Jack backed off. The last thing he wanted was to be in the way. He looked past the EMT's shoulder and saw the others starting IVs in both Kate's arms and hooking her up to a heart monitor.

  As they slammed the rear door a cop hove into view on Jack's right.

  "Did you know that woman?" he asked.

  Jack nodded, eyes on the ambulance as it began to move off.

  "I'll need to ask you a few questions," the cop said. His shoulder patch read DOVER TWP. POLICE.

  Jack began walking, following the ambulance. "I'm going to the hospital."

  A hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him a quarter way around.

  "Sir," the co
p said, "I need some answers before—"

  He broke off and stepped back. Jack was ready to kill then and maybe the cop saw that in his eyes. Jack forced a breath and held up an open palm: peace.

  "I'm going to the hospital. You want answers, you can find me there."

  He turned and hurried through the red-flashing night toward the highway and his car. The cop didn't follow. Maybe he had more pressing matters to attend to, like herding the gawkers away from the site to let the fire crews through, or unspooling yellow barrier tape like the other cop Jack passed.

  At a trot now, Jack was maybe a dozen feet behind the ambulance when it reached the highway and turned on its siren. Through the glass side he saw the EMTs go into furious motion, one of them leaning over Kate and beginning rhythmic thrusts against her chest…

  "No!" he shouted. "NO!"

  His heart was a booted foot, kicking at his chest wall as he leaped into his car and took off after the rig. Jack followed it across the median, then south along the highway, across a bridge to the mainland and down a crowded highway, staying close behind and traveling in its wake as cars pulled aside to let it pass.

  "Come on! Come on!" he shouted as they raced mile after mile.

  Where was this goddamn hospital? Why was it so far?

  And all the while he fought a panicked sense of unreality. This shouldn't be happening to Kate, not after all she's just been through. She's one of the good ones, the best of the good ones. This can't be happening to Kate.

  Finally the hospital. He trailed the ambulance up to the emergency entrance where he saw a doctor waiting at the curb. Jack was out of his car and standing with hands and face pressed against the rig's side glass in time to see the doctor shake his head and turn off his flashlight after shining it into Kate's eyes.

  "No!" Jack's voice was a whisper as he moved around to the rear to catch the doctor as he exited. "There's got to be more you can do!"

  "I'm sorry," the doctor said. He was dark skinned and spoke rapid, accented English. "She's gone. The steel must have nicked an artery. Only surgery on the spot could have saved her, I'm afraid."