Shadows (15 page)

So where are the other two men?

She looked at the old man in that ridiculously outsized hat. “Abel?”

Saturday night.

“I don’t like it. They’ve been gone way too long, practically since dawn, and they don’t hunt during the day. Plus, they got a bonfire going in the
snow.
What sense does that make?” Sharon dug a grimy fingernail into a huge, weeping sore pocking her right cheek. The ulceration, mushy and liverish, occupied the bull’seye of a faded green-gray tattoo of a web like a squashed spider.

Sharon tossed a glare at Acne, perched on a low coffee table to the left of a crackling fire Alex had gotten started, and then turned an equally suspicious eye on Alex. “How come they ain’t come back to camp?”

“How should I know?” Alex asked, although this place could hardly be called a camp. From the metallic scent of hard ice and what she’d been able to make out in the failing light, the Changed had claimed someone’s old lake place: a swank and very large Victorian with gingerbread, a porch swing, and even a flagpole. Acne and Slash, the pack’s muscle, had herded them into a small guesthouse that held the long-stale whiff of sulfur and rancid fat from an ancient breakfast of fried eggs. Compared to the run-down sheds and frigid lean-tos of the past week, this place was a mansion. “I don’t know any more than you do.”

Sharon coughed a laugh. Alex had known used gym socks with better breath. “That’s horseshit,” Sharon said. “I got eyes. So does that boyfriend of yours.”

“Christ,” Ray said. Once a fleshy man, his gut now sagged like an empty paper bag. Putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders, he hugged Ruby closer. “Aren’t things bad enough?”

“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” Sharon snapped.

From his perch, Acne turned to look at them, and Sharon brayed, “Hey, you son of a bitch, when you gonna feed us?”

“Sharon.” Ruby’s voice quivered like the string of a bow drawn to the breaking point. “Don’t provoke them.”

Sharon glowered. “Well, I wouldn’t, except we’re
hungry
. We need
food
, unless you want us all skin and bones, ya assholes!” Given that Sharon had more ink per square inch than anyone Alex had ever known and that the Changed had a distinctive taste for, ah, unusual
accessories
like tattooed skin-kerchiefs and bandanas, Alex had a sneaking suspicion the Changed would be just as happy if Sharon was nothing
but
skin. Easier to peel. A mean thought, but then again, Sharon wasn’t her favorite person.

“You know why they haven’t fed us, Sharon,” Ruby said.

“Because they haven’t found anyone else. It’s just . . . bad luck.” 

“Luck? Got nothing to do with it. We’re all going to end up stew meat, except maybe little Miss Alex here.” Sharon squinted.

“Don’t think I don’t see the way you and that wolf-boy keep making googly eyes at each other. That’s one itch he’s got that I’m thinking only you can scratch.”

“Sharon,” Ray said, without much heat. “Put a cork in it.” 

“It’s all right, Ray,” Alex said.

“Yeah,
Ray
,” Sharon said. “Me and Alex are just talking while we all sit on our butts, waiting to die.”

“But must you be so hateful?” Ruby forked hair from her face with a hand that was all brittle bone tented with frail skin. “We’re all in the same boat.”

“Wanna bet? I think
one
of us has got herself a pretty nice little life raft. So where you think your boyfriend’s got himself to, Alex?” Sharon grinned, not a pleasant sight. Her mouth was a gaptoothed tangle of discolored, off-kilter pegs. “Think maybe he ran out, got hisself a new girlfriend? Or maybe him and that blonde are—”

Alex zoned out. This was a tune she knew by heart. Turning aside, she carefully teased flannel and gauze from her shoulder.

Her left arm throbbed and she could almost see the heat shimmers. Although she kept the wound as clean as possible, the shakes had started up a little after noon, if Mickey could be trusted.
God, not an infection.
If that happened, she might as well lie down in the snow right now. As she unwound the last strip, she had to bite down on her lower lip to corral a whimper. That whiff of spoilage was unmistakable. Patches of her muscle were a soupy snot-green.
Okay, try not to panic. Clean it, maybe scrounge up some 
alcohol and antibiotics if they let you. That’s a nice house. There’s got to 
be a medicine cabinet somewhere.

“Oooohhhh.” Sharon’s tongue wormed over the ruins that passed for her teeth. “That looks pretty bad. You know, you could leave it rot. Get like Brian there and they’ll only kill you.”

Oh, well, that made her feel so much better. She wished she could think of something pithy, but her hunger clawed her stomach and her mind was dried up as a prune with hunger. So all she said was, “Just go to hell, okay?”

“Too late.” But the wind seemed to have gone out of Sharon’s proverbial sails because she turned away from Alex to Ruby. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” she said, confidentially. “I’m thinking the reason those little monsters ain’t come back with anyone in the last couple days? It’s because there was nobody waiting, which
means
the others aren’t honoring the agreement anymore.”

“Either that, or there’s no one left
to
send out,” Ray said. “What are you talking about?”
Nobody waiting?
She’d never heard them talk this way, and Alex was curious, almost despite herself. They all might share food, but she really didn’t know much about the others. Understandable: no one wanted to get too chummy with someone they’d then have to watch get turned into hamburger. “What agreement? What do you mean, no one left to send out?”

“Well,
you
know.” Ray lobbed a puzzled look at Ruby and then back to Alex. “Sent out the way you were. The same way we’ve all been sent.”

“I ran away. I escaped. I wasn’t sent,” Alex said, but then she recalled that, given the circumstances, she
had
been told exactly where to go—and Jess’s shotgun had been nothing if not persuasive. Then she felt her brain catch up to the words Ray and the others had actually used. “Sent . . . you mean, turned out? On purpose? Why? Did you do something wrong?” That would be the most likely explanation, she imagined. Rule probably wasn’t the only village that meted out expulsions for bad behavior.

“Course not,” Sharon put in. She sounded genuinely insulted. “Just drew the short straw is all.”

“The short . . .” Alex gaped. “You had a
lottery
?”

“That’s how we did it,” Ray said, with a shrug. “It’s up to each village or group to decide how they go about it, of course.”

“But you could’ve stayed,” Ruby said, quietly. “You shouldn’t have come, Ray.”

Ray’s jaws worked. “You’re my wife. You go, I go.”

“Neither of you had to do anything!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Acne’s head turn for a look, but she was too appalled by what Ray was saying—what they were all
suggesting
—to care.

“Of course we did. It’s for the greater good,” Ruby said.

“You’ve been around Sharon too long,” Alex said.

“Watch it,” Sharon said.

Alex ignored her. “What good does it serve for you to die? To voluntarily walk out of town to get eaten? Why would you even cooperate with something like that? Why would you ever agree?”

“You’re from Rule,” Sharon said. Her voice was suddenly low and shaky with anger. “You’re from that goddamned village, and you’re lecturing us? You’re the ones came up with the idea in the first—” She broke off when she saw the look on Alex’s face. “What?”

“I . . .” In her confusion—distracted by the sudden, heavy welter of odors—Alex almost blurted something stupid that would’ve given her away. But then Acne stiffened from his slouch so abruptly that the others also realized something was very wrong.

“What?” Sharon demanded again as Acne stood and aimed the business end of his rifle at them. She looked at Ray and Ruby. “Jesus, maybe they got someone.”

“I hope so,” Ray said. “I got to have something to eat.”

That must be how it works.
Mind still reeling, Alex followed the others as Acne herded them toward the door at gunpoint.
That’s what Ruby meant that very first day about
sharing
. Whoever gets sent out also brings a little food. Not much, but enough so the Changed can build up a herd and move on.

She watched as Acne made Ray open the door. The fire cringed as a gale of frigid air and thick snow swept in. Thirty yards away, Slash had turned from the sputtering bonfire to the woods.

She smells them, too, just like Acne. Just like
me,
and I did it from behind a closed door.
Okay, this wasn’t good. Her spidey-sense was definitely getting stronger, and because of that, she knew what Acne and Slash did.

And for her money? If what she smelled was true?

They’d all just drawn that short straw.

If not for the flashlight, Jed might have spotted what was wrong before he and Tom were well up the hill and only fifty yards from running out of woods. But he was focused on the shine of snow at his feet and only just happened to glance up at the cabin—and that’s when he noticed, immediately, what wasn’t right.

With the day gone, the west window was a pulsing orange sliver with light thrown by Grace’s cook fire. On any other night, Grace might have lit a candle or the Coleman, but she’d wanted the cabin as dark as possible for the surprise. Still, he saw Grace’s silhouette quite clearly, as well as the letters taped to an exposed beam above the table: we love you, tom
.
So all that was fine.

But then he spotted how those shimmering words danced and fluttered and the tinsel winked—and
that
, he reasoned, was because there must be a draft, which would only happen if someone were shutting the front door.

So Jed knew, instantly: something was very, very wrong. If he’d had any doubts, that stupid bombardier hat was a dead giveaway. Fine-tuning his hawk-eye until its owner’s face jumped into stark relief was only a formality.

Abel.
Jed watched his neighbor move deeper into the room.
What the hell . . .

Then he saw that Abel wasn’t alone. His companion, also male, was blunt and jowly. A hair past seventy, Jed thought, but that rifle looked pretty perky.

“Well, shoot,” Jed said, and pulled up so suddenly that Tom nearly piled into him. “I forgot that darned Phillips. Grace was complaining about one of the chair legs wobbling.”

“I’ll get it.” Tom shrugged the pack a bit higher on his shoulders. “I can always use the exercise.”

“Mind if I keep the flashlight?”

“No problem. I’ve been up and down in these woods so much I could find my way blindfolded. Come on, Raleigh, let’s go for a jog.”

“I’ll wait right here,” Jed lied. He stayed put until the boy’s footfalls faded back into the woods before flicking off the flashlight. It might already be too late. That light was as good as a flare, but the woods might have shielded him.

Unhooking the carry strap of his rifle from his shoulder, Jed moved up the trail in a low crouch, his good eye angled to keep the cabin in view. Abel would not have come with just one bounty hunter. Jed was unlikely to cooperate. If Tom ran, they’d have to chase him. Abel was a worthless piece of trash, so that meant one old man guarding Jed and Grace while another old man went after Tom. That would be risky. Tom was young and strong and, evenwith a gimp leg, plenty fast now. So there had to be at least two other old men, maybe even three.

He winced as a whippy tangle of brush grabbed at his parka. The sound was thunderous in the dead cold, and he held his breath, every nerve quivering as he listened. Nothing. No shush of snow or crackle of a branch. He was alone.

He saw that Grace had moved farther back into the room now and closer to the window. Abel and the hunter followed, drawn along on an invisible tether. His heart fired with pride. Yes, that was his girl. She’d figured how to play them—get the fools into position—because, of all the people in the universe, she would understand how gravity tugged at even the fastest bullet. But if she gave him a clear shot—

His Bravo 51 was chambered, ready to go, the detents already adjusted for his height. Working fast, he clicked out the legs, seated the bipod into the snow, and then stretched out full length. Snugging the butt to his right shoulder, he put his very good eye to the scope—and almost laughed. He didn’t need a scope now, did he? But habits died hard. The hunter’s head bloomed in the sight, the magnification so great that Jed saw that the man’s eyes were brown.

One shot. That’ll do the trick. Abel’ll freeze and then I’ll pop him, too.
He only hoped Grace had the sense to stay put until both men were down. Then, do it the way they’d already planned in case of emergency: lock herself first in the bedroom and then the bathroom. There would surely be other hunters, but the shots would draw them into the house. While they were busy breaking down doors, she would have time to get out through the bathroom window. By then,
he
would be close enough to grab her. If he wasn’t, she knew to go around to the root cellar and padlock the doors after her. Those doors were solid, with good iron hinges. Take too many bullets to punch through that, and the hunters wouldn’t want to waste them on her anyway.

Tom was the only wild card, a way this all might go south in a hurry. The boy would hear that first shot. Lord, Jed hoped the boy realized that blundering
toward
gunfire would be a mistake.

Use your noodle, son. Circle around and
—

A hard knob of metal pressed against the crown of his head. “I wouldn’t,” the hunter said.

Jed froze but thought:
Be fast, be quick.
There was simply no time to figure another way, and surrender was not an option. Grace would understand. Even better, she would know exactly what to do next. God, he hoped Tom would, too.

Be smart, son.
Think
about what you hear, and get clear.