Forever Man (24 page)

“There better be a damned good reason for this,” muttered Webber.

“The truck’s still there,” Jack said, pointing to the Silverado. “Maybe he’s inside—”

From the far end of the motel, the office door creaked open. Denny emerged, his face ruddy from the cold and the beer. He saw Jack and Webber, nodded a greeting, and hurried over to them.

When he got close enough that he didn’t have to shout, Denny said, “Dammit, guys. You locked me out. I had to use the office restroom to take a piss.”

Webber stepped up close to Denny, so close that their noses almost touched. Jack wondered how Webber could put up with Denny’s beer breath. To him, Denny smelled as sour as a cheap brewery.

“Hold it next time,” Webber told Denny in a low, menacing voice. “We’re not playing a game here. Wander away again, and you won’t have to worry about Owens or Morris. I’ll kill you myself. Understand?”

Jack waited for Denny to back down. The old Denny, the one Jack knew only a week ago, wouldn’t have been so meek. The old Denny would’ve had a few words for Webber, would’ve shown a little in-your-face attitude of his own. Jack supposed Jimmy’s death had eviscerated the man; he’d been hollowed out as easily as someone scooped out the insides of an overripe honeydew, leaving nothing behind but a useless shell. Jack marveled at how far some people could fall when confronted with a little unpleasantness.

Look who’s talking, the devil on his shoulder whispered into his ear. Does the word
cannibal
mean anything to you?

Jack mentally flinched. His stomach rolled a little at the thought of what had happened back at the tree line. Swallowing hard, he shoved aside his own bit of unpleasantness with brutal efficiency. He didn’t have time for distractions.

But Denny surprised him. The man gave Webber a little push back.

“Kill me, huh?” He and Webber were still nose to nose. “I buried my son today, Mr. Webber. He’s lying cold in the ground. My wife’s at home right now, probably scrubbing the house clean again, like maybe she could scrub away the memory of his death. I should be there with her,
for
her, but I’m not. I’m here, trying to help you get back at the guy who killed my boy.” Denny took a step forward, forcing Webber to move back a step. “Kill me? Be my fucking guest. I got nothing left to lose.”

Webber’s hands curled into fists. He drew in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring wide. He held the air in for a few moments, then let it seep out. His hands unclenched.

“You’re right,” Webber said to Denny. “I keep forgetting what you’ve been through. Look, you don’t need to stay with us. Jack and I can finish things from here on out.” Webber picked up the paper bag and placed it in Denny’s hands. “Go home to the little woman. We’ll let you know when Owens is dead.”

Denny’s mouth dropped open. His jaw started working soundlessly up and down. To Jack, he looked like a big fish who’d just been yanked from his small pond and cast onto shore.

“Wait—no! That’s not what I meant.” This time it was Denny who took a step back. “I’m here, and I mean to stay until Owens is finished. I owe Jimmy at least that much. It’s just…it’s been a long day. And I don’t take kindly to threats.” He placed the bag back on the ground. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. What if I’d’ve got caught planting that pick? And I almost got killed by that damn detective. No, I think I’ve done good by you, but I draw the line at asking for permission to take a piss.”

Webber’s lips curled into a smile. “Right again, Denny. You’ve done well. I shouldn’t have been so short with you. Chalk it up to nerves.” He put his hand on the chair. “You mind still keeping watch?”

Denny shook his head. “I got no problem with it, but it’s gettin’ late. Where am I gonna sleep?”

Webber’s smile slipped a little. “Unless you want to spoon with Jack here, I suggest you take the truck. Maybe the cold will help sober you up by morning.”

Denny gave Webber another hateful glare. He sat down, pulling a beer out of the bag and opening it. After taking a long pull, he said, “I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

“You do that,” Jack muttered as removed the room key from his pocket and inserted into the lock.

Once inside the room, Jack tossed the room key onto the desk. Turning to Webber, he said, “How long will it take for that thing to do its job?”

Webber shrugged. “I should know something within a few hours.”

“I’ll finally be rid of Morris,” Jack said, gloating at the thought.

“Don’t get too happy,” warned Webber, moving over to a bed and lying down. “We still have to find your son.”

Jack took the other bed. He yawned and said, “Killing Morris will bring the bartender back. And my son.”

Jack looked over at Webber. The man’s eyes were already closed. His eyes were also getting heavy. He thought momentarily about getting his cell phone, but he was too tired to get up. Anyway, he’d hear if anyone called.

*   *   *

The noise surrounded it, filled it, soothed it—made it remember the darkness, the pain, so much pain.

Home.

The female: her image burned hot, a crimson flame.

Ahead, under the emptiness, away from the closeness of the tall, gray, rough….

Sticks?

No, wrong—trees.

It burst past the trees, loping low, fast. White was falling from the emptiness, covering the ground. Good. It could hide, even if the cold hurt.

It crouched, muscles tensed. Leaping high, it landed, skidded. Claws dug in, found purchase. Slower. Careful. It jumped higher, from place to place. Clear open spaces.

The female. Nearby now.

It dropped down to the ground, hidden by the white, hidden by all that clutters this world. It hurried. A stone wall. Scale it. On the other side, creatures, black and white. One left, lights flashing, red and blue. It waited until the other creature was gone.

Through the white it moved, silently. In front of it, a barrier, like a wall within a wall.

The female.

She was on the other side.

Izzy Morris sat in her office, weary from calling motels and getting nowhere. They hadn't been able to narrow their search; the call from Jack had been unexpected, and tracing it had proved impossible. It had been another setback, another delay. She needed to catch a break soon, or she was afraid her daughter would die.

“It’s getting late,” said Gene. He sat between Owens and Katie, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. “We’re going to need some rest.”

“I know,” Izzy said. “But that poses its own problems. I’ve put off the State guys until tomorrow. In the morning, they’re going to want to talk to me about Carlton Manick.” She picked up her own coffee and took a sip. “I’ll be tied up with them for who knows how long.”

“Not if they can’t find you,” said Gene. “Screw the calling. Let’s go and check out the motels ourselves.”

Izzy shook her head. “I should’ve listened to Sten. He was right all along. I think it’s time to bring in the cavalry. We’re not going to be able to do this alone.”

Katie leaned forward. “And how long will that take?”

“Well, nothing can happen tonight. In the morning—”

A thundering bang startled her into silence.

For a few seconds, everyone stared silently at one another.

Katie said nervously, “What was that?”

Gene got to his feet. “Sounded like someone ran into something.”

Izzy pushed back her chair and stood up. “Yeah, it did. And other than Aggie, I think we’re the only ones here.” Izzy walked toward her door. “Everyone stay put.”

There was another explosive bang, this time forceful enough for Izzy to feel vibrations through the floor. She stepped back and drew her gun. The weight felt reassuring in her hand.

Owens stood. He was fingering whatever hung by a chain under his Predators sweatshirt. What Izzy saw in his face sent a shiver through her.

The normally unflappable Bart Owens looked worried.

“We need to leave,” he said. “Right now.”

“I agree,” said Izzy. “New plan. Follow me.”

She edged quietly up to the door. Listened. Nothing. She eased the door open.

Her office was at the junction of two hallways. One stretched before her for sixty feet and ended in a thick, steel door that opened to the parking lot. The shorter one went left and led to the dispatcher’s office, the lobby, and the entrance to a small resource room.

Both hallways were empty.

Nodding for the others to follow, she crept forward. The long hallway was empty, she could
see
it was, but it didn’t
feel
empty. Whatever was going on, it was that way. Another step. Something was down there, lurking, waiting. She heard a scrape, saw movement to her left. She brought the Glock around hard and fast. There was a terrified yelp, and Izzy recognized the frightened face of Aggie Ripley. The poor woman had agreed to work a second shift, and Izzy had just drawn down on her.

“Shit.” Izzy lowered the gun, her heart racing.

“Chief,” said Aggie. “What’s going on? Who’s making that racket?”

“Aggie, go,” urged Izzy. “Get—”

At the end of the long hallway, something crashed into the metal door. Thick steel buckled in one corner, the top hinge snapping free of the metal frame with a sound like a firecracker exploding. Another blow and the upper half folded in like it was some kind of cardboard movie prop. Two arms reached through the opening, longer than a man’s, thickly muscled and covered with coarse, black hair. Claw-like hands gripped the door and pulled. There was a loud screech as the remaining metal hinge tore free. The door was thrown into the dark night.

A creature advanced through the opening.

Izzy’s first thought was wolf, but much, much larger, with a long muzzle and narrow ears folded flat against a broad head. But parts of it didn’t make sense. Black hair covered most of the chest and body, but then it thinned in places, disappeared, where it looked like it had—

No way. Not possible. Were those…
scales
?

Izzy said, “Quickly, everybody out the front—”

The creature lifted its head and throated an eerie, thrumming howl. Then it started charging down the hallway on all fours, claws digging into the carpet, sharp teeth snapping at the air.

“Go!” Izzy shouted. In one smooth motion, she brought the gun around and fired. The creature surprised her—it leapt high and to the side, colliding hard with the wall, and slid to the ground. The bullet plowed uselessly into the floor where the thing should have been.

“The door on the right!” It was Bart Owens. He’d grabbed Katie and Aggie each by an arm and practically threw them down the shorter hall. Gene ran after them. “Into that room!”

The creature dragged itself off the floor. Then it was rushing at her again, its claws ripping the carpet. Izzy sped around the corner of the hallway, tried to reach the room. She wasn’t quick enough. The creature rounded the corner, panting, growling, close enough she could smell it, making her eyes water—the stench was acidic, like pine tar, but mixed with something foul, rotting.

From the doorway, Owens yelled, “Hit it! Slow it down!”

She spun, leveled the Glock at the thing’s head, and fired. She knew to expect some kind of evasion and let the recoil bring her gun up. The creature leapt high and she fired again, the bullet slamming into its chest, spinning it in midair. Momentum carried it forward, and it collapsed onto the floor at her feet.

“Yes!” Izzy gave a small fist pump.

Owens grabbed her arm, propelled her toward the room. “It’s not dead.”

“Bullshit. I killed it.” Izzy tried to pull her arm free but couldn’t. “It’s over.”

When they were at the doorway, Bart released her arm and pointed back down the hallway. “Look.”

Izzy turned. What she saw couldn’t be real. I’m dreaming, she thought. This is some kind of nightmare.

The creature, the
monster
, was slowly pushing itself off the ground, blood trickling from a wound that should have killed it. Now that it was close, she could see its eyes: they were a bilious green-yellow and far too expressive for an animal. As it glared malevolently at her, those eyes looked almost human. Then it screamed a sound that chilled her—she thought she could hear two voices, both wailing in pain.

Swearing under her breath, Izzy ran into the room and slammed the thin wood door. She pushed her shoulder against it, then realized how futile that was: the creature had just busted through steel like it was paper. She looked around. The resource room was small, with a door opposite her and another one to her right. There was a conference table, four chairs, a wire rack holding informational pamphlets, a distilled water dispenser, and a four-foot-tall file cabinet full of extra pamphlets. Not much to defend themselves with.

Owens raced toward the cabinet. “We need to block the door.”

As Gene rushed over to help the old man, Izzy noticed Aggie Ripley crouched in the far corner of the room, her hands knotted in her hair, her face strangely slack. Katie was kneeling beside the dispatcher, shaking the older woman’s shoulder.

Izzy holstered her gun and ran over to Gene. “No, let me.”

Gene’s back was flat against the cabinet, and he was pushing with his legs. Through a grimace of pain, he said, “I got this.”

“Gene, please. If your back gives out, we won’t be able to save you
and
ourselves. You’ll get us all killed.” He shot her a wounded look. She’d hurt him, hurt his pride, but there was no time. She would apologize later, if they were still alive. “Go see what’s up with Aggie. She doesn’t look right. Please.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. Then he stood without saying a word and stalked off across the room. He never lost the hurt look.

Izzy put a shoulder to the cabinet. She pushed as Owens pulled. With a final effort, they wedged the cabinet against the door just as the monster crashed into the other side. The door bucked, and they threw their weight against the cabinet.

“Where to now?” Owens asked as they strained to hold the thing back.