Rockinghorse (25 page)

“Just don't ask me to run,” she replied, her voice pain-filled. “The bastards sodomized me. Part of the ceremony, so I was told. Between shifts,” she added drily. “Then they were to give me to the Rejects in the woods.”

“The Rejects?” Kyle asked. “Is that what you just said?”

“They are poor pitiful creatures who live in the woods,” Karen said, buttoning the shirt over her naked breasts. “Much like the Bigfoot of the Northwest. But the Rejects refused to come to the Brotherhood's call. They have never obeyed man-that's according to legend. Their refusal to obey the Brotherhood seemed to infuriate the men.”

“Good for the . . . beasts,” Kyle said. “Come on. We'll continue this later. Right now, let's get the hell out of here. We've been lucky, lucky so far.”

Their luck ran out the next second.

As they turned to leave, a man stepped into the doorway, a rifle in his hands. Lucas was the closest to the door and he did not hesitate. He lifted his shotgun and pulled the trigger. The sound was enormous in the small cottage, momentarily deafening the trio. The buckshot caught the man directly in the stomach. With the muzzle no more than ten to twelve feet away from the target, the shot did not have time to separate. The member of the Brotherhood caught the full load in the belly; it slammed him backward, blowing a hole in his stomach. Bits and pieces of the man were splattered all over the wall and ground behind him.

For a moment after the shotgun blast, all was silent on the estate grounds. Then the sounds of yelling reached the trio.

“Let's go!” Kyle shouted. “Sorry, Karen, but you're going to have to run. Do your best.”

The trio made it to halfway between the mansion and the cottage before gunfire forced them to drop to the damp ground.

“Stay down and low,” Kyle told Lucas and Karen. The M-16 was not a new model, and it still had full automatic capability. He slipped the selector switch to full auto and burned a clip at a knot of charging men, knocking several of them screaming to the ground. “Go!” he yelled to Lucas.

Lucas grabbed Karen's arm and jerked her to her feet. He pushed her toward the darkened veranda. Lucas banged his shin on the porch steps and almost lost his grip on the shotgun. He pushed Karen toward the door, then the door opened and Mark grabbed her, jerking the woman inside.

Lifting his shotgun, Lucas shouted, “Now, Kyle—
Go!
”

Lucas blasted the night with the twelve-gauge, the recoiled pad pounding his shoulder. He wasn't sure if he hit anything other than night air and trees, but he sent the members of the Brotherhood yelling and running and diving for cover as the buckshot whistled over their heads. Then he heard one screaming, his voice hoarse and pain-filled.

Kyle ran onto the porch and the men ducked into the darkened kitchen, both of them panting for breath.

“I'm gut-shot!” the wounded man outside squalled. “Oh, God, it hurts. Oh, Momma, Momma. Somebody please help me.”

“Die hard, you motherfucker!” Lucas heard the words come out of his mouth. He snarled them through clenched teeth.

Lucas was startled at the hate-filled words. He looked at Kyle.

Kyle grinned at him and clasped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club, buddy.”

Lucas shook his head in disbelief. “Is this the initiation?”

“Damn sure is, buddy. And you passed it with flying colors.”

Tracy came to Lucas and put her arms around him, hugging him close. “You're a lawyer, old man. Not a warrior.”

“Tell me,” Lucas said drily. “But I sure am glad I spent those summers with Granddad, up in Vermont.”

“Umm,” she said.

“And when this is over, dear,” Lucas said.

“Don't tell me,” she said. “Let me guess. I'm enrolling in a gun class and learning something about firearms.”

“Right.”

“Some little voice tells me my formerly liberal husband has now changed into a hardline conservative,” she said, smiling against his chest.

“You got that right,” Lucas said.

“Republican Party, here we come,” she laughed.

While Karen was being tended to by David, who, as it turned out, was a also a graduate M.D.—although he had never practiced—Lucas read the old journal handed him by Tracy.

He could only shake his head as he read the hate-filled words, obviously written when his brother was no more than a boy, probably just after escaping from the mental institution. When Lucas finished the journal, he went in search of the others.

Karen was in bed, resting with the help of a sedative given her by David Siekmann. Kyle was standing guard at the rear of the mansion; Jan in the foyer at the front. All inside doors leading to rooms not essential had been locked and barricaded from the inside. Paul had pitched in and helped, ripping out shelving from the storage rooms and pantry, nailing the 1 X 12's over the now-locked doors.

Both Kyle and Lucas had noticed how pale Paul was, and how his hands trembled.

Those not on guard had gathered in the den. Jackie stood up and faced the gathering of adults. “I have something I'd like to say,” she announced. “It's probably too late to do any of us any good, but I have to say it. I noticed a lot of things weird about this house when I first got here. Maybe it's because kids go to movies more than adults; watch more movies on TV. But here's what I finally figured out. Uncle Ira was twelve when he was committed to a mental hospital, right? Yeah. Daddy was six. That comes out three sixes. 666. That's the mark of the beast. Everything about this house comes out in sixes. There are six columns in front. One hundred and sixty-six windows. Thirty-six rooms. Three sets of spiraling stairs; each set has one hundred and twenty-two steps. There again the numbers come up. 666. There it is. That's all I have to say.”

The girl looked at the gathering.

David and Mark glanced at each other and smiled ruefully. David said, “From the mouths of children. It was looking at us all the time. We passed the house several hundred times and didn't connect it. I'll wager if one counted the window panes, they would end in sexes.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackie said. “My brother and I counted the panes. You're right.”

Lucas looked at his daughter. “Thanks, Jackie. That was very astute of you.”

She nodded her head, a worried look in her eyes that confused her father. “What can we do to help, Dad? The kids, I mean.”

He smiled at her. “Staying safe would be a great relief to us all.”

He doesn't understand, she thought. But why should he? She returned her father's smile. “We did like you and Mr. Cartier asked, Dad, and pulled mattresses into that room just off the hall. The one without any windows.”

“That's good, baby. That's where I want you kids to sleep. And don't go anywhere in this house without an adult with you. OK?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucas watched the kids begin their retreat to the small room. The responsibility for their safety seemed to be squarely on his shoulders. And it weighed heavily on the man. He slowly expelled a deep breath.

Jackie stopped and turned around, looking at her father. “It isn't your fault, Dad. Not your fault, or Mom's fault. It was planned a very long time ago.”

Lucas gawked at his daughter, confusion mixed with a touch of fear in his eyes. Not fear of Jackie, but fear of a new power within her that Lucas did not understand. “How did you know what I was thinking, Jackie. And what do you mean, it was planned?”

“All of a sudden, we,” she looked at her brother, “have this ability to know things other people are thinking. Not everything. Just the important stuff. We can't read your minds, or anything like that. I don't know. I can't explain it.” She looked at her mother. “Mom, when did you first get the idea to come down to Georgia? I mean, was it all your idea?”

“Why . . .” The woman started to speak then closed her mouth. She was thoughtful for a moment. “Why, I don't remember, Jackie. I . . . Wait a minute! Yes, I do, too.” A horrified look came on her face. She shifted her eyes to Mimi. “You were with me, remember? At the club. Yes, that's where it was. We had just finished tennis and were having a drink.”

“I don't remember that,” Mimi said. “Are you . . .” Mimi paused, deep in thought. “Oh, my God! Yes. John Bradberry stopped by our table and sat down uninvited. He talked to us for a few minutes. We both commented later on what a nosy old man he is.”

“John Bradberry?” Harry said. “The president of the bank?”

“One and the same,” Tracy said. “It's coming back to me now. Right out of the blue, he asked about our property down south. Said you had talked with him about it, Lucas. About how interested you were in visiting down here. He said you said it would be like a second honeymoon. I told him we didn't even have a
first
honeymoon.”

“I never said anything about anything to that officious jerk,” Lucas said. “I have never been able to tolerate that man.”

The terrible awesomeness of the situation came full force to Tracy. “The memory of that meeting had been erased from my mind until just a few seconds ago,” Tracy said. “But it's all coming back to me now.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Mimi said. “Oh, my God. You mean that John Bradberry is? . . .” She cut her eyes to the dark surrounding the mansion. “One of them?”

“It's beginning to look that way,” Lucas said. “All very carefully set up, and I stepped right into their trap.”

“That's why I said it wasn't the fault of either of you,” Jackie said. “I think the Brotherhood must be worldwide.”

From outside the mansion came the very faint sounds of a horse whinnying. It was mocking them all.

“There's got to be a way to kill that damned thing,” Lucas said. “Only God and Satan are immortal. That's what I believe. If legend is true, the horse was created right here on earth, from a tree. So, by God, it can die on earth.”

“How, Lucas?” George asked.

“I don't know. But I believe it can be destroyed. We're overlooking something. Something very impor-taunt.”

The whinnying of the horse became wild laughter. The laughter changed into a shrieking that cut at the people inside the mansion.

An object came crashing through a window to bounce on the marble floor. It left a red smear as it rolled over and over, finally coming to rest at Anne's feet.

She took one look at the bloody thing and vomited on her shoes.

The sightless, open eyes and bloody tortured mouth and matted blonde hair of the object was just recognizable to a few.

It was Lyda's head.

Lucas had placed the severed head in a bag and put it outside on the veranda. He didn't know what else to do with it. He didn't know if he should say a prayer, or what. Not being a religious person, he decided it would be hypocritical on his part.

Back in the house, Tracy asked, “And you think Jim is? . . .”

“Dead by now. They had driven a stake through his stomach. Among other things done to him. He's dead.”

“Try to put it out of your minds, people,” Louisa said. “We've got to stay mentally strong to fight this.”

“Why don't they just fire into the house and kill us all?” Anne asked, her voice shaky. “They certainly have the guns and the manpower—I assume they're all men—to rush us and overwhelm us all with no trouble.”

“They want us alive,” David said. “As many of us as possible. For some sort of ceremonial use. And I believe they would rather not hurt the house if they can help it.”

Paul practically jammed his fist into his mouth to prevent his giggle from escaping. His eyes looked a bit mad.

“Steady, Paul,” Lucas said. “Steady, now.”

The rocking horse laughed and whinnied. The house took a deep breath.

The lights went out.

Amid the screaming of the women, the frantic yelling and calling of the men, and the frightened shrieking of the kids, Lucas could hear the rustle and scratching of something. Something—or some
things
—were making strange clicking sounds on the marble floor.

“Rats!” Mimi screamed. “There's rats everywhere. Oh, God! George, get them off me.”

Lucas felt claws digging into his jeans. He cussed and slapped at the creatures, knocking half a dozen of the furry rodents from his legs. He suppressed a shudder of revulsion.

A squealing rat leaped from a lamp onto Nancy's head, its claws digging into her hair.

Jan felt the sharp teeth of the rats snapping and tearing at her jean legs. She screamed in pure terror.

George rolled on the floor, attempting to dislodge the snapping, clawing, disgusting creatures.

The young people fought and screamed and slapped at the rats.

Tracy fled into the darkness, fighting her way through a seemingly endless sea of rats, trying to reach the children. She felt hands on her shoulders; hands that shifted to her arms and began dragging her toward the back door. She screamed for Lucas to help her, her screams lost in the confusing cacophony of many panicked voices.

A hard hand slapped her, stunning her into silence. As she was dragged down the hall, she wondered what had become of the rats.

That thought was torn from her mind as she was dragged from the kitchen and onto the porch. She fought the man, finally grabbing onto a railing post and holding on for dear life.

“All right, now!” The voice sounded somehow familiar to her. “That's the way you want it. Fine. I'll take you right here.”

The man backhanded her, again and again, until she lost her hold on the railing. She dropped to the deck of the veranda, stunned but not quite unconscious.

She felt the coolness of night air on bare skin as her blouse and jeans were jerked off, ripped from her. Her bra was yanked off, bruising her skin. Callused hands gripped her flesh until the pain tore through her daze, bringing her back to painful reality. Hot stinking breath fouled her face as her attacker panted and cursed, his face only a few inches from hers.

If he tries to kiss me, Tracy made up her mind, I'll bite his damned tongue off and spit it at him.

A knee parted her legs and she felt a hot touch on her belly.

She lunged upward, attempting to bite the man on his face, his arm, anywhere. A fist exploded on her jaw, dropping her back into numbing semi-consciousness. Pain brought her back swiftly as the man forced himself upon her.

She screamed into the man's ear. He jerked his head back, the shriek startling him.

“Shut up!” he snarled at her.

Dimly she was aware of the door opening as her attacker panted and hunched on her. Through the mist in her eyes, she could make out the form of her husband.

She opened her mouth to yell, then had the presence of mind to quickly close both her mouth and eyes as she realized what Lucas was only a heartbeat away from doing.

“You son of a bitch!” Lucas shouted.

The man looked up, turning his head.

Lucas leveled the muzzle of the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The explosion blew the man's head completely off his neck. Blood, fluid, brains, and bone splattered over the porch and lawn.

Lucas, suddenly weak, leaned against the side of the house. The shotgun felt so heavy in his hands. Tracy scrambled to her feet and jerked her torn clothing around her. She pulled her husband into the house.

“Where are the rats?” she asked, looking around.

“There were no rats,” Lucas said flatly, fighting to regain control of his emotions. He handed her a roll of paper towels to wipe off her attacker's blood that had splattered all over her. “It was some kind of illusion. Probably staged to aid in grabbing you.”

“How do you feel, Lucas?”

“Fine. The important thing is, how do you feel?”

“I'm all right. Lucas, you know who that man was you shot, don't you?”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Edmund County Sheriff Bill Pugh.”

* * *

As abruptly as the horror-filled night had begun, the horror ceased. The night darkness seemed to hold nothing out of the ordinary. The bonfires went out, the sounds of dying faded. The night became as quiet as a grave.

But all inside the mansion knew many eyes were watching, waiting.

Jan was the first to speak after the fires went out. “What in the hell are they waiting for?”

“They're playing a game of nerves,” Lucas said. “Just waiting for one of us to break and make a mistake. It would be a mistake that would cost somebody their life.'‘

“Stay alert, people,” Harry said. “Jesus!” He shook his head. “I sound like John Wane.”

“I sure would like to see the Duke come ridin' up about right now,” George said. Then, realizing what he'd just said, muttered, “Anything's possible around this place.”

Mark and Nancy chuckled softly at that.

“It's . . . eerie,” Paul said. “And despite everything that is happening, part of me is screaming out that it's all just a game. This is Georgia, 1984, and those are all civilized men out there. Or,” he sighed, “maybe it really isn't happening.”

No one said anything in response. They sat in the darkened den and looked at Paul.

Paul glanced around him at the group, sitting in chairs, on the floor, some wrapped in blankets, resting on the marble floor. His gaze touched all eyes that were awake.

“All right,” the man said. “Let's get it out in the open. I know you think I'm weak. And I know you're thinking I'll be the first one to crack under the pressure. Well, maybe I will be. Sure. I have before.”

“Paul . . .” Anne touched his arm. “You don't have to bring all that up.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, shaking off her hand. “I cracked up in Vietnam. I pulled four months in combat and went to pieces. It used to be called shell shock. The doctors are much kinder now. It's referred to as battle fatigue. And,” he struggled to continue, “I cracked up twice since Anne and I have been married.” His eyes touched his wife. “I'm still under a shrink's care. So look out, folks. You never know about me.” He laughed bitterly.

Full of self-pity, David thought. Wanting people to feel sorry for him.

“Vietnam screwed up a lot of people, buddy,” Kyle spoke from where he and Louisa lay on a blanket on the floor. “And anybody who says you should be ashamed of it is a goddamned fool. God made us all different; some are stronger than others. Men of all units fell apart. And I mean
all units.
Don't sweat the past, Paul. Just look ahead.”

“You were there?” Paul asked him through the darkness.

Kyle laughed, a strange note to the laughter. “I pulled eighteen months with various SEAL teams, Paul. So, yeah. I was there all right.”

“But you came back a whole person. Obviously, you did.”

“Sure,” Kyle said. “If you don't count the dreams that never seem to go completely away. Or get any better with time. The memories that won't ever leave you. The dead buddies. Yeah. And more. But what you have to do, Paul, is you put all those things into a tiny room in your head. And every now and then, you open the door to that room and look at all the horrible things; let them walk out into the light. Don't keep them all shut up. Or try to. That's what will drive you nuts. I'll send you a bill for my services first of the month. Now, good night.”

* * *

The horrible screaming woke them. Awakened them with a cold, fearful sweat bathing their bodies. Only two of those present had ever heard anything like the howling that seemed to completely fill the night, shattering nerves like crystal hit with a hammer.

Even before Kyle could struggle out of the blankets, M-16 in his hands, he could smell that unforgettable odor. It threw him backward in time, spinning him back years.

“God !” Mimi said, wrinkling her nose. “What is that smell?”

“They're burning someone alive,” Kyle said, his voice a deadly flat tone. “I saw several monks do that in 'Nam. To themselves.”

“Not again,” Paul sobbed, his face in his hands. “Oh, no. Please. Not again.”

Anne put her arms around him, pulling his head to her breast. “It's all right, Paul,” she spoke gently, soothing the man. “It's all right. Hang on.”

David, like many of the others, held a handkerchief to his nose. “Let me guess,” he said. “Paul saw something like what Kyle described during his tour of duty in Vietnam?”

Paul was silent for a moment, then screamed out, “Yes, goddamn it. I saw a bunch of doped-up G.I.'s pour gasoline on this VC prisoner. They set him on fire and laughed about it. I tried to stop them. I couldn't. But goddamn it, I
tried
!”

Kyle grunted. His eyes found Lucas in the gloom of the room. “Not all the bad guys were Victor Charlie. We had our share of maniacs, too. Believe it.”

David left the room for a moment, returning with a bottle of pills and a glass of water. He knelt down beside Anne and Paul. “Here, Paul,” he said, holding out two of the small pills. “Take these. You'll be asleep in ten minutes. I promise you.”

Paul gulped down the pills, chasing them with water.

“Stay with him,” David told Anne.

She nodded and lay down beside her husband.

David walked across the room to Lucas and Kyle. He said, “You both know what this means, don't you?”

“The Brotherhood,” Kyle said.

“Yes. Through the powers of that . . . goddamned rocking horse, or this house, whatever, they've discovered Paul's weaknesses and they'll be working on them.”

“Wonderful,” Lucas said. “Now we have that to worry about.”

“That is correct,” David said. “I can't keep him sedated for the duration. I don't know how long that will be, and I don't have that much medication with me, anyway. We're going to have to watch him very closely.”

The guards inside the house changed shifts to the flickering lights of the human bonfire dancing off of and through the many windows of the east side of the mansion. The screaming of the burning human being had lasted no more than two minutes.

But those two minutes of intense, painful screaming were now seared into the minds of all those in the mansion.

And it was a memory that would never leave any of them.

In the dark ground level of the great old mansion, those beings and parts of beings stored there were growing restless as they heard the silent song from beyond the river of death. A pair of long-ago severed hands that floated in a large jar of formaldehyde, jerked once, then twice. The fingers, pale white and wrinkled, twitched as unnatural life touched them. The fingers closed into fists. A human head, its eyes long ago burned sightless from torture, moved in its jar of preserving fluid. The hair gently waved, reaching toward the top of the closed jar. The long hair coiled and wound together, created strong, thick rope-like strands. The ends of the strengthened hair formed knots and began punching at the sealed lid of the large container.

The tapping just faintly reached those on the floor above. No one among them cared to vocalize what they might be hearing.

In the musty, cobwebbed ground level of the mansion, in long narrow wooden packing crates, the lids nailed shut, strange life began stirring. Long-inactive arms and legs and fingers and feet began to slowly tremble with strange life. Bits and broken pieces of human bodies, carefully preserved over the long years, struggled to once more, come to be and serve the Master.

On the second level of the mansion, tired eyes looked out, but could only guess at what unknown horror lay waiting in the thick darkness. The fire from the burning body was gone, leaving only a charred lump of what had once been life. The stink of burned flesh and hair and organs formed a thick, almost tangible stench around the mansion, invading the nostrils of those trapped inside.

Waiting for the dawn that would, they hoped, they prayed, bring some sort of relief.

Dawn finally extended its gold-and-silvery-gray fingers, hesitantly, shyly, spreading faint light over the land.

But it brought no relief.

Jackie was the first of the young people to awaken. Being careful not to step on someone in the mattress-filled crowded room, she dressed and went down the hall to the bathroom. She emerged and walked softly to the kitchen. There, she poured a glass of milk and, leaning against the counter next to the kitchen door, her back to the door, she drank her breakfast.