Jeff. Jeff. They killed you. These fucking animals ruined our lives.
He thought about what Bonnie had said. They had only killed Jeff to protect themselves. They had no choice.
Bullshit!
He was just a kid! A poor, stupid kid!
He reached for the anger and the hatred that was slipping away from him, and with a great effort managed to hold onto it. Just a spark. A feeble glowing remnant of the fire that had driven him for so long.
He focused on it. Fanned it with memories of Jeff, of his mother.
They took everything from us.
And still, as that anger again rose to flame, as the wave of hatred swept out through him, he nearly let go of it. It just didn’t seem worth it, to throw his life into those black depths. Not for this. But he clung on. Desperately. Because the hatred and the anger were the only things he had, the only things that were keeping him sane, keeping him going. And if he let go, if he just gave up, there would be nothing for him. Emptiness.
Trembling, he stepped away from the tree. Blood trickled into his eyes. He shook it off.
Slowly, he moved toward the top of the ridge.
Below him was a pond. They were gathered there. Perhaps fifty of them. Children mostly, some women. There were lawn chairs set out. Blankets on the ground. Food. A radio on a wooden picnic table was playing a Top 40 song. One or two mangy-looking dogs ran among the children, yapping and wagging their tails.
Some of the children were splashing and swimming.
The boy who had seen Shep was still shouting, pointing up toward the ridge.
Two children stood at the edge of the water, peeling skin from one another’s faces. As they leaned together it almost looked like they were kissing. The fallen skin floated around their feet like algae. Shep watched, and felt his testicles shrivel. They’re kissing and their faces are falling apart.
It looked, he thought, like a church picnic.
He had to remind himself that these things were not human. They looked like children and women, but they weren’t. They shed their skin. They killed people.
This was the creche. To this place his brother had come, and died for it.
At the urging of the boy, the whole group was looking up toward Shep now. A low murmur passed through them. If it was talking, it was like nothing Shep had ever heard. Hissing mostly.
He unhooked one of the grenades from his belt.
They killed Jeff. They’re monsters.
He unslung the Uzi.
The murmuring stopped. Shep grinned.
I’m here. Bringer of death, terror, and justice.
From the crowd by the pond, a young boy broke free and ran toward Shep. Shep pointed the gun.
The boy stopped.
“Hi!”
Shep’s heart, already pounding, wanted to explode. He looked at the boy’s face, and his arms began to shake. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He could only stare.
A woman came out of the crowd, her face a mask of terror, eyes pleading. She ran toward the boy and put her arms around him. She was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt untucked, breasts loose.
She looked up at Shep, and for a moment the look of terror was gone, replaced by surprise.
“Shep?” she asked. Then, standing, looking at him with wide eyes and open mouth. “It’s you!”
Shep stared. The Uzi slipped from his hand. He stared at her and could not look away.
Long, corn-colored hair. Blue eyes. A body to ache and die for.
Just like the picture Jeff had sent with his letters.
“Dawn,” he whispered.
But it was the boy who held his attention. The boy’s face.
Younger, smoother, happier.
But there was no doubt.
It might as well have been Jeff. Jeff at six.
He moved forward, anger and hatred dissipating so quickly it weakened him, filled now only with a sadness that threatened to make him collapse. In their faces he saw only fear, and that made it worse.
But they weren’t looking at him. They were looking at something above, and behind him.
Shep turned, reaching halfheartedly for the Uzi.
But it was too late.
The real monsters had arrived.
“Bonnie!”
Bonnie, who was so lost that she could not even tell from which way she had come, froze in her tracks. Harris stepped out of the trees to her right, and behind him came Risely and Constance.
Constance came up to her and looked into her face.
“You could have been killed,” she said softly.
“Shep wasn’t going to hurt me. You don’t understand him.”
“I’m not talking about Shep,” Constance said, looking into the trees.
Bonnie’s breath caught in her throat. Something slid out of sight behind the trunk of a tree. She glimpsed a hand, impossibly large, protruding long black claws.
“Oh, Jesus.”
Then another to her right, and another. She spun, and they seemed to be everywhere, just out of sight.
The forest was filled with soft hissing noises, and Bonnie realized she’d been hearing them for quite a while now. She shuddered violently.
“You’re safe, now,” Constance said.
“But you could have been lost out here,” Harris said. “You could have been hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” Bonnie said. “I couldn’t leave Evan alone.”
“Where is he?” Risely asked. His rifle hung over his arm, pointed at the ground.
“He went after Shep,” Bonnie said.
Constance seemed alarmed at the news. “When?”
“Just after I left you. He said the protectors wouldn’t stop Shep.”
Constance nodded, as if she’d already guessed that.
“You think the kid can stop him?” Risely asked.
Constance was looking at Bonnie. She did not answer Risely’s question.
“The creche is close. We have to stop both of them. Shep may be one of us now. If Evan hurts him …”
“What? What will happen?”
“The protectors will turn on Evan.”
“But why? He’s only trying to help! I told him to! Shep’s going to hurt a lot of people!”
“They won’t have a choice. They’ll consider Evan an enemy.”
“But can’t they think it out? It’s obvious he’s just trying to help you people!” Frustrated, Bonnie was close to tears.
“They don’t think,” Constance said. “Not when they’re protecting. They simply act. Evan will be part of an equation, and they’ll remove him.”
“Oh, God.”
“We’re close,” Constance said, gripping Bonnie’s arm. “Come on.”
“What about me?” Risely said, looking concernedly into the trees. “Should I wait here?”
Constance looked at him thoughtfully.
“Come with us, Ron. But leave your weapons here.”
He hesitated, then nodded. He dropped the rifle and unstrapped his holster. Unarmed, he fell in behind them.
The trails were a maze that Bonnie could not follow. If Constance had not been leading, she really would have been lost. She doubted she would ever have found her way out.
As it was, when the trees started thinning, she was relieved.
Around them, hidden by trees, protectors continued to follow. Bonnie caught glimpses of their movements, but nothing more than that. Her skin crawled at the sight of them, and she felt sick at the thought that Evan was now one of them.
When the first of the low log buildings appeared, Bonnie nearly gasped.
“This is it?”
“Part of it, yes,” Constance said.
“But it’s nothing.”
“Not many of us live here,” Constance said defensively. “Only the very young, and the very old. Those who can’t leave.” She looked at Bonnie with an unreadable expression. “But this is our home.” Her voice trembled as she said the last.
They continued along the trail, up a
shallow incline that led to a ridge. Beyond the ridge came the sounds of shouting. When they came over the crest, Bonnie stopped in her tracks.
At first, she could not tell what she was looking at. There seemed to be a crowd. Mostly children, most naked, or wearing only swimming suits, huddled together, some crying, some comforting. The adults spread throughout the group, looked confused and frightened. They stood at the edge of a pond, looking up at her.
Between her and the crowd, something moved on the ground. It took a moment for the image to snap into focus, and when it did Bonnie let out a small cry.
Shep was flat on his back, arms up to protect his face. Crouched over him, looking like nothing less than a wild animal, was Evan.
But this was not her son.
He seemed to be trembling, hovering over Shep as if not sure what he should be doing. His hands trembled on Shep’s chest, long black talons extended fully, pricking at Shep’s shirt. His pajamas were torn to shreds, and the muscles of his calves and thighs rippled beneath his skin. His back looked humped, and it appeared as if his spine were straining to break free.
But his face was the worst. His eyes were bulging, his mouth was open in a silent scream, his teeth protruded like fangs, his cheek bones jutted like jagged stone.
He looked mad. Insane.
Constance stepped past her.
“Protector. Enough.”
Evan growled and snapped his head at her. Saliva splattered the ground. But his talons did not move from Shep’s chest.
“Protector, leave now.”
Evan growled. The sound made Bonnie’s teeth grate.
My God, what had she encouraged her son to become?
In the trees to either side, Bonnie heard movement. Branches crunching. Hissing.
The crowd below became more agitated.
The other protectors had arrived.
“Protector, go now!”
Bonnie barged past Constance, ignoring the other woman’s cry of warning.
“Evan.”
He stared at her, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Her son was gone, somehow consumed by the creature he had become. He pressed his face close to Shep’s and growled. Shep trembled beneath him.
“Evan, please. Don’t hurt him. He’s harmless now. Please.”
The boy looked at her again, and for a moment the expression on his face changed. She saw doubt in his eyes.
“Please, Evan. Please. I love you. I love you with all my heart. But they’ll hurt you if you hurt Shep. Don’t. Please don’t.”
She stepped toward him, despite the sharp “No!” from Constance, despite the sudden agitated movement from the surrounding trees. She held out her hand and, with closed eyes, touched her son on his exposed back.
His skin was burning. She trembled, hardly able to speak. She was in the presence of something truly dangerous, and although she kept telling herself it was only Evan, that nothing was going to happen, her subconscious knew better. It warned her to flee. It was doing everything in its power to make her do that.
“Please, Evan. Please.”
Beneath her hand, his flesh softened. Muscle moved and bony ridge slid under concealing skin. Talons retracted.
She let out her breath.
The thing before her had changed. In the face of the monstrous, she could once again see her son.
Eyes full of confusion and fear, he reached for her.
She took him into her arms and collapsed to the ground, muttering his name into his matted hair.
“Evan. Evan. Evan.”
As she spoke, Risely darted around her and pulled an assortment of weapons away from the fallen Shep. He remained on the ground, shuddering, crying, face still covered.
Holding onto Evan, holding so tightly she feared she might break him, but not willing to lessen her grip by even one iota, she studied the fallen man.
He was a wreck. A huddled, frightened, shell.
Nothing like the self-confident, frightening Shep Thomas who had approached her in the bookstore.
This was a man who had fallen victim to the worst fate imaginable. Changed, transformed, become the very thing that he had feared and loathed above all else.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Are you okay?”
Bonnie opened her eyes. Harris was leaning over her.
“Harris.”
It took her a few seconds to recollect where she was. One of the log buildings. They had taken her here as darkness had fallen. At first, she had doubted she would be able to sleep in such surroundings. But the moment her head had touched the pillow, a pillow like any other pillow, she had succumbed to her fatigue.
This particular building consisted of a single room, perhaps fifty feet long and thirty feet wide. The only windows faced south. Although no electricity, there was a propane-powered refrigerator, kerosene heaters and lights. One whole wall was lined, top to bottom, with books. Fiction, history, sociology, science. A veritable library.
Bonnie and Risely had been left in the hall through the night. It had been too late, too dangerous to attempt the journey back to the farmhouse.
“You look rested,” Harris said.
She noticed that the windows were bright with daylight. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“At least twelve hours.”
“Oh, hell.”
“Wait, don’t rush.”
“Where’s Risely?”
“Eating. We’ll go out soon.”
“Where’s Evan?”
“Outside,” Harris said.
“We have to talk,” Bonnie said.
“Yes.”
“About Evan.”
“Yes.”
“Harris. Can he ever leave here?”
“Perhaps I should be the one to answer that,” Constance said. She had been standing in the en try way.
“Can he?”
“Given some time, yes.”
Bonnie shook her head, disbelieving. Evan had been a monster, just as Shep had said. There had been nothing human about her son.
“But he looked so bad.”
“As he grows more accustomed to what he has become, he’ll learn to control his ability,” she said. “None of us stay here all the time. Only the very old. Not many of those.”
“This place,” Bonnie said. “It’s not what I expected it to be. It’s derelict, isn’t it?”
Constance sat on the edge of the cot, pushing Harris aside.
“I suppose it is. Five years from now, it may be empty. Once, many years ago, when I was a little girl, the creche was much larger, much fuller. But our young have left us, to join you in your cities, with your jobs, and your culture. You have much to offer that cannot be had out here. It’s the right thing, I think.”
“But how do they do it? Aren’t they discovered?”
“If they want to be, I suppose. We are human, you know. We have the same desires that you have. We want to share with those we love, reveal our secrets and our selves.”
“And look what came of it.”
“Even six years ago, I suppose we knew this day would come.”
“Jeff Thomas really was in love, wasn’t he?”
“Both of them were. Dawn was very young, and she could not see inside of Jeff, could not see his fear, could not know that fear will always turn to hatred. They had a child.”
“Oh, God. That’s the reason Jeff came back here, wasn’t it? To get his son?”
“We did not want to hurt him. Some of us tried to meet him, to stop him entering the forest with weapons, but once the protectors detected him, it was too late.”
“Poor Jeff. I know what it’s like. To lose a child, I mean.”
“What happened then was a tragedy. But it was not something we could have stopped. Perhaps we could have done things differently. We should have done things differently with Evan.”
Bonnie looked at Harris, and felt a deep stab of guilt. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Harris. I should have known that you, of all people, would n
ever do anything to harm Evan.”
He was sitting on the end of the cot, looking down at his hands.
“I’m still not sure I did the right thing, Bonnie. All I know is that Evan would be dead now if it hadn’t been for the Silliarah.”
“What about your mom and dad? If I go back, they’re not going to believe me. Not one word.”
“I’ll deal with them. I’ll talk with them.”
“And tell them what?”
“The truth, eventually. Nothing else will do.”
“And the police?”
“Perhaps you can settle things with them.”
“I’ll do everything I can.”
Constance stood up.
“Do you feel like meeting some people?”
“I guess so,” Bonnie said.
“There are some youngsters who would love to talk to you. It’s not often we get outsiders here.”
“Okay. But I’m not sure what I could tell them. I don’t lead a very glamorous life.”
“Compared to what?”
“Point taken. Lead the way.”
Outside, it was sunny and warm. Constance and Harris led her back over the ridge, toward the water. The group was gathered again. As Bonnie appeared, a few of the children ran up the incline to meet her. They stared at her in wonder.
At the front of the group was the little boy that looked so much like Jeff Thomas. Bonnie kneeled down and smiled at him.
“What’s your name?”
“Shep,” he said with a shy smile.
Bonnie nearly gasped. She looked up at Constance, who shrugged. “The father and mother named him.”
“Oh, God, does Shep know?”
“Not yet.”
“Where is he? Can I see him?”
“He’s in one of the longhouses. It’s probably better that you don’t see him.”
“How is he?”
“Frightened. Confused. But mending.”
“Mending?”
“Some sicknesses are not simply physical. Shep’s illness was inside of him. It blinded him to many things. The change will help him. He’ll be well, given time and help.”
Bonnie thought of Shep, thought of the hatred and anger that had driven him. Sickness. Madness. Yes, yes.
“The people he hurt? The little girl?”
Constance’s face stiffened.
“The girl is fine. She’ll heal quickly. There was another, back at the farmhouse. She’ll take longer. But there were others.”
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