The Awakening (9 page)

Mike stood by the bar in front of the men and waved
for quiet. One of the men, dark haired, tall and thin, stood up and faced Mike.
The room grew silent. “You got something to say, Jack?”

Jack Hosserman was the feed dealer for the town, and
all the men there had known him for years. “Yeah, I do, and I think I’m talking
for everybody here.” Jack looked around the room, gathering murmurs of
agreement. “We’d like to know why you called us here, what’s going on, and what
you’re doing about it.”

Mike glanced at Derek and then back to Jack and the
men. “Okay, here it is. I don’t know what’s going on, and I can’t do a damn
thing until I get an idea what is. That’s why I called you all out here
tonight. I want to know if any of you have seen or heard anything out of the
ordinary, or anything that might help me. Several people have been killed,
neighbors of yours, and I want to keep it from happening to any more.” Mike
paused to look from face to face. “Now, does anyone have anything to tell me?”

The men talked to each other and to Mike, but no one
had anything of importance to report other than unidentified noises and general
vague fears. There were many questions and no answers, and Jack Hosserman again
spoke for the group.

“Mike, none of us know what it is, but there are a
few ideas about what it might be. Some of us have seen what might be wild dogs
here and there. Do you think we may have a killer pack on our hands? We’ve
heard of that happening before.”

Mike shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s the
problem. If it was wild dogs, or a renegade pack, they would be after the
livestock. Chickens, calves, things like that. Have any of you been losing any
more livestock than usual?” There was a general negative. “I didn’t think so.
Whatever it is we’re up against, it’s after people.”

“What about getting the state police out here to
help? I mean, we pay taxes for stuff like that.”

“I’d be glad to have them swarming out of the
woodwork right now, but if any of you have tried to use a telephone lately, you
know they’re not working. And with the mudslides and the bridge out, I don’t
think anyone could get out to let them know what’s going on here. So, at least
for the time being, we are going to have to try to handle this thing
ourselves.”

“And how do you suggest we handle it, Mike? Seeing as
we haven’t done so good so far.” Jack waved his arm at the men. “What do you
say we gather up our guns and track this thing down? What do you say we do the
job ourselves and keep anyone else from getting killed? If we don’t, which one
of us is going to be next?”

Mike’s hand shot out and caught Jack’s arm, hard, and
spun him around, his face angry and stiff. “Damn you, Jack! If you get these
men going…” He shoved Jack back towards the bar. “Listen to me, all of you! If
you go running around in this rain, crazy to kill you-don’t-know-what, half of
you are going to end up with your heads blown off! You’ll be shooting at each
other! Then who’s going to take care of your wives and kids?”

There were a few nods of agreement, but most of the
men were restless and worried. Jack wasn’t ready to give up the floor, either.
“Then what do you suggest we do, sheriff? Sit around until whatever it is gets
to us one by one? Or maybe it’s just that you don’t like somebody doing your
job better than you!”

“You say another word like that, Jack, and I swear
I’ll break your face! Now shut up! What I want you men to do is to get your
families and go home. If some of you want to stay with others, that’s fine.
Nobody should be alone at any time, not even for a minute. If you have chores
to do, have someone with you, and carry guns. Be ready to use your guns, but
don’t shoot until you know what it is you’re shooting at. We’ve got enough
trouble without killing each other. Anybody got questions?”

“Yeah.” A mean, heavyset, shaggy man pushed his chair
back and stood up. “While we’re doing this, what’re you gonna be doing, Mike?”

“Everything I can, Paul. Every damn thing I can.”

*          *          *

“I already know, but tell me anyway. Why didn’t you
say anything to those men about what we saw tonight?” Derek stood at the window
of Mike’s office, Staring out, but seeing nothing.

It’s out there, Mike. You know it and I know it,
but my god! What is it?

Mike sighed and crushed his cigarette. “What would I
tell them? That you and I were driving around in the rain and just happened to
run into a seven-foot monster? That we’re being invaded by ghouls from outer
space or god knows where and they’re running around tearing people to pieces?
Shit and double shit! Even if I am sheriff, they’d lock me in my own jail cell
and lock you in with me. And if for some reason they did believe me… These are
simple, god fearing people in these parts, but they wouldn’t handle something
like this any better than anyone else would. It would be a mass, free-for-all
panic! People killing each other for any kind of chance to get out, and heaven
help the man who got in the way, or who they thought was in the way.”

Mike scowled and lit another cigarette. It tasted
terrible. They all did anymore. “No, I don’t think it would be good to say
anything yet. Not till we can tell them something that’s going to help, not
just something that’s going to make them laugh or scare the holy shit out of
them. And if they think I’m a fool, or worse, I’m not going to be able to help
them at all.”

“But Mike, we’ve got to do something. I agree, we
really can’t tell them much, but how safe are they not knowing anything?”

“You telling or asking? If there was any…”

The air around them seemed to light up for a moment,
thick, almost alive from the rain and fog. At the same time the telephone on
Mike’s desk jangled and the lamp beside it dimmed and flickered, then grew
bright again. Instinctively Derek counted,
one… two… three… Thunder rolled,
muted and heavy. Eleven hundred feet per second, not too close. If you see it
and hear it at the same time, better check your back pocket…

“Yeah, that’s all we’d need, the power lines to go
down,” Mike muttered. He picked up the telephone receiver, and then put it back
without listening to it. The room seemed quiet. For a while, even the rain gave
the impression of slacking off out of respect for the sound of thunder… before
slashing down again with renewed strength. “Derek, what do you think it was we
saw?”

Derek left the window to slump in a chair opposite
Mike. He snaked a cigarette from Mike’s pack and lit it. “That depends on
whether you want an answer that sounds reasonable or not. If you want
reasonable I’ve got no idea. If you want unreasonable, it still sounds
ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. The things that have been going on,
this whatever-it-was we saw, and the stuff you said about the Jarmans.”

“Wittakin was talking in that direction too, but even
after tonight, it’s still hard to buy. Halloween is still a long time off.”

“Then what was it we saw?”

Mike glared at Derek for a second, then swung his
gaze toward the window. “I’m getting a headache.” He straightened up and
rummaged in his desk for a minute, then shoved a revolver and shells across the
desk to Derek. “Thirty-eight Smith and Wesson. You know how to use one?”

“Yes.” Derek picked it up. It was well worn,
efficient and ugly. “Why?”

“I’m going to have to do some digging around and I’m
likely to run into that thing again. If I do, I’d rather not be alone. What do
you think?”

Derek looked back at the gun in his hand, then
nodded. “I’ll help, but I don’t think it’s going to be fun. Are we going to be
able to handle this thing ourselves?”

“I guess we’ll have to. There’s only one thing that
bothers me.” Mike indicated the gun wryly. “I just hope we don’t need silver
bullets.”

*          *          *

“Shut up, Pat! Just shut the fuck up! I’ve had all
the bitching from you I can take for one night!” Paul Sims juggled the clutch
and accelerator, working the gearshift from first to reverse and back again. He
was an expert driver, but the thick, slick mud held the Chevy pickup tighter
with every revolution of its wheels.

The mud won; with a dejected shudder the truck
settled deeper and the tires spun futilely. Paul sagged in the seat, scowling,
and switched off the ignition. The rain was loud.

“Well, Paul, you just gonna sit there? I want to go
home. Do something.” Patricia Sims was seven years older than Paul and could
find hundreds of ways to make his life miserable, not the least being her
voice. Paul was positive it would shatter granite if it was any louder.

“I’m gonna have to find something to stick under the
wheels. Brush or sticks or something. I’ll need your help.”

“You want me to get out in that?” Her voice shifted
into a whine, more irritating than before. “You can do it. You don’t need me.”

Paul slammed the door open and jumped out, mad.
“You’re damned right I don’t! You just sit there!”
Goddam old bat! I’d like
to shove you under the wheels. They wouldn’t be able to tell you from the mud.
“Just give me the flashlight out of the glove box.”

He grabbed the flash light and stomped to the side of
the road, thumbed the switch, and watched the light dim and go out. Banging it
on his palm did nothing; it was dead, the batteries drained. He wanted to cry,
to scream how unfair it all was. He threw the useless flashlight as far as he
could into the darkness. It felt good, but not good enough.
Mile and a half
from the house, no goddam light, that worthless lump in the truck, and
something running around out here in the dark looking for somebody to kill.
Holy shit.

He considered yelling for his wife to turn on the
truck lights, but decided against it. She’d just bitch some more. He didn’t
want to ask her for anything. Anyway, he could feel what he needed under his
boots, dead weeds and small rocks, things he could use to get traction with if
he shoved enough under the tires.

Gathering as much as he could in his hands, he began
piling and packing it around the wheels. Again and again he repeated the process
until he was sweating in spite of the rain and chill. The truck was stuck badly
enough to make his hopes of getting it out slim, but he was going to try.

He was crouching for another handful of weeds when he
felt the explosion in the side of his head. He felt himself spinning in slow
motion through the darkness to land softly on his back in the mud. It didn’t
hurt, nothing ever would again. The blow had broken his neck.

Something was over his face, something huge, evil,
with what might have been eyes behind a red glowing fog. Red fog seemed to
surround his face, his world, his universe, growing darker and deeper until it
was cold and black.

*          *          *

Patricia Sims sat in the truck. The windows were
black, so black they seemed to be painted, and it irritated her like everything
did. She wished Paul would hurry.

Over the pounding of the rain, she heard something
scrape the metal of the door. “Paul, what are you doing? Is the truck ready for
you to move it?” The scraping came again and she felt the truck shake slightly.
“Are you trying to scare me, Paul? Stop it and get in here.” Whining, she
fumbled for the overhead light switch. “There, damn you, Paul…”

Behind the glass the face was a grotesque leering
mask of horror, its eyes red with hate and its teeth red with blood. Patricia
slipped, screaming to the floor.

*          *          *

Derek stopped to say goodnight to Ann before he drug
his weary body into his own room. He hadn’t told her very much of what was
going on and it made him feel slightly guilty, but he guessed it was for the
best. No reason to start frightening people until there was something definite
to frighten them about.

He pulled off his boots and lay back, scrunching his
pillow into a comfortable position. He lit a cigarette and reached to put the
pack on the nightstand.

“Damn!” a thin tendril of blue fire snapped at his
hand and he jerked it back, scattering cigarettes across the floor. He sat up.
There was nothing on the stand but the lamp… and the piece of metal he had
fished out of the river. He gingerly reached out and touched it, but nothing
happened; it was just cold metal.

“Must have been static.” Derek’s voice seemed to come
back to him from the walls.
But isn’t it too wet for there to be static?

It was heavy in his hand. He turned it over slowly,
examining the fine lines and etchings on its surface.
That’s odd. It isn’t
as rusty as it was.
Derek rubbed it with his shirtsleeve for a minute
before holding it under the light again. There was no question about it; it was
less tarnished than before. Derek shrugged and set it back on the stand. It was
a minor mystery that would keep. He turned off the lamp and sat smoking slowly
in the dark room. It was going to be a long, wet day tomorrow. He was going
with the sheriff to do some digging around, and he hoped they didn’t find
anything they didn’t want to find
.

“Okay already! I’m up, give me a minute!” Mike rolled from his bed,
groaning, peering in the dim light to see his watch.
Six-thirty? I’m gonna
die. Or throw up.
The door to his office shook again with someone’s
pounding and he could hear his name being called.

He pulled his boots on and tried to tuck his shirt
in, but he had slept in his clothes and nothing seemed to fit. He gave up and
went through the office. Spotting his cigarettes on his desk, he grabbed them
and lit one while he opened the door.

“What’s wrong? At this time of the morning, it had
better be good,” Mike growled.

“It’s Pat Sims, Paul’s wife, Mike. We found her this
morning and thought we better tell you about it. I think she’s gone crazy.” The
man talking was Ned Hannerlan, one of the farmers that lived near the Sim’s
place. With him was his wife and two other farmers.

Mike shook his head, trying to clear it. “Wait, hold
on, you found Pat? Where’s Paul?” He could feel something uncomfortable in his
stomach. Like gravel.

“We don’t know where Paul is, nobody’s seen him this
morning. His truck was over about a mile from their place, stuck tight as hell
in the mud. That’s where we found Pat.” Ned took a long breath, looking at the
others for support. “Couldn’t understand nothin’ she said, really. She kept
talking about the devil and paying for sins. Never heard anything like it.”

Mike yanked his jacket from the rack by the door and
put it on. “Where is she now?”

“We took her back to her house and put her to bed.
There are two of the women with her now. She acted like she might do somethin’
crazy, so we didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“That’s good. Let’s go out there. I want to talk to
her, and I want to find out where Paul is.”

*          *          *

It wasn’t unusual for Patricia Sims’s appearance to
be somewhat on the poor side. It was often down right bad. But this morning she
looked ghastly.

Her hair was spread out in snarls around her head and
one hand, claw-like, worked its way through it, leaving more trails of tangles.
Her face was empty, the muscles slack. A pool of spittle formed on the pillow
and sheets, glistening on her neck and left cheek, small rivulets running from
her open mouth. Her bowels had emptied in the bed. Now and then her face would
change and her eyes would move searchingly around the room, and her mouth would
let loose with an almost girlish giggle. Mike wanted to leave, to go outside
where there was clean air to breath and a bush where he could puke, but he
couldn’t; right now he had to be a goddam sheriff.

“That’s the way she was when we found her and brought
her here, only she was talking then,” Ned said, looking at her. His face was
starting to turn green. “I’d just as soon wait outside if you don’t mind. You
can holler if you need something.” He backed towards the door, bumped into the wall,
sidestepped, and disappeared into the living room.

There was a spindly wooden chair beside the
nightstand, white paint peeling from its worn seat. Mike pulled it up next to
the bed and sat down. He thought he should reach out and touch her, hold her hand
or something, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. It would have been like
touching a live corpse.

“Pat? It’s Mike,” he said softly. He leaned a little
closer. “It’s all right, everything’s all right. We’re here and we’re going to
take care of you.”

Another giggle.

“Do you remember what happened? Can you tell me?”

The old woman’s hand pawed through her hair, twisting
it, and she giggled again.

“Pat, this is Mike, do you understand?”
Oh, God,
why did Doc have to go and get killed? Then I wouldn’t have to…
“Pat, where
is Paul? Do you know where Paul is?”

Her eyes stirred and focused on his face as if she
were peering through a fog. The hand stopped twisting for a moment, then
started again. “Paul? Where’s Paul? I know where he is,” she said with a whisper
that made Mike’s skin want to crawl off his body.

“Where is he? Where is Paul?” Mike whispered back.

“He’s in hell!” It wasn’t a scream; her voice was
still quiet. But she had spit the words out with such violence that Mike jerked
back in the chair, almost breaking it. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.
“He’s in hell just like I told him he would be! And I saw Satan, and he talked
to me, and he told me I wouldn’t be taken, not yet. Oh, no, not yet! It wasn’t
time, but the time is soon. For all of us it is soon, and he would be ready. He
would be ready for us soon, for all of us! So soon, so soon…”

Her hand fell away from his wrist and found its way
back to her hair. Her face went slack again, and her eyes wandered from his
face to the far corner of the room. She giggled, a horrible, bubbling sound.
“He’s almost ready, he’s almost ready…” she whispered.

Mike stood, watching her for a moment, then shoved
the chair back and went into the living room. Ned and his wife were waiting,
and Ned gestured with his head for Mike to join him. They went out onto the
porch. It was surrounded with the old style metal screening to keep out the
pesky summer bugs. Mike stood by it and watched the drizzling rain. The air was
damp and cold, and he drew it deep into his lungs. It felt good, but he still
had the gravel in his stomach.

“I heard. She was talking like that when we found
her.” Ned came over and stood by Mike to watch the rain. “Gives me the creeps.
Got any idea what she was talking about?”

“No I don’t.”
At least, I hope to hell I don’t.
Mike
reached for his cigarettes, paused, and decided he wanted fresh air more. He
looked at Ned. “No, I don’t, because I’m not a doctor or a psychiatrist or
whatever it is she needs. I just don’t know.”

“You think she’s really crazy?”

Mike looked toward where the old woman lay, shrugged,
and then turned back to the rain. “Can you take me out to the truck where you
found her? I ought to see what’s there, if there’s anything to see.”

“Yeah, sure. Give me a sec.” Ned stepped into the house,
then came out with his coat. “You got any suggestions about what we should do
with her?”

“Have somebody stay with her and… and just take care
of her.”

*          *          *

Ned and Mike had stopped at Paul’s truck and looked
around for a few wet minutes, but had found nothing to indicate what might have
happened. If there had been anything earlier, it had been long since washed
away by the heavy rain. They drove slowly back to town.

Mike sat in the diner, staring morosely into his
coffee, waiting. Ernie was doing the best he could to repair the mangled holes
in the hood of the patrol car. He glanced up from his coffee just in time to
see Parker stomping in through the doorway. He sat down next to Mike and
ordered coffee.

“You know, Mike, I’ve been calling you ‘bloodhound’
for quite a while, but now you’re starting to look the par. You’re sagging
around the edges.”

“Thanks. Makes my day, hearing that, but you’re
probably right. Here it is only nine in the morning, and I feel like I haven’t
slept in a month. You hear about Pat Sims yet?”

“Of course. Ned was by the store a bit ago. Won’t be
an hour before everybody in the county will have heard. Would have already if
the phones were working.” Parker cradled his coffee cup in both hands. When he
spoke again, his voice was soft. “Mike, a lot of the folks around here are
getting scared. You know as well as I do that these are good, down to earth
folks, and they don’t scare easy, but there’s just too much going on. All of a
sudden there’re some of us dying and a lot more just plain missing, and
nobody’s got any answers that make sense. They need to know something.”

Mike took a long time before answering. “I wish I
could tell them something that would do them some good, but I can’t. There’s
nothing to tell. Derek and I saw something last night, before we had that
meeting, but we don’t know what it was. I can’t say for sure that what we saw
has anything to do with what’s going on, but my guess is that it has.”

“And you don’t want everybody getting shook up over
what you ain’t sure about.”

“You got it. That’s why you’re not going to mention
to anyone what we’ve been talking about. Right?”

Parker had a pained expression on his face. “You know
I wouldn’t, Mike. I got a big mouth, maybe, sometimes, but I know how to keep
it shut when I should.”

Mike clapped a hand on Parker’s skinny shoulder. “I
didn’t mean it that way, you old buzzard. I’ll let you know anything I find
out. Jumping Jesus, I need all the help I can get right now, but I want you to
keep all this under your coat for the mean time. You understand.”

“Yeah, Mike, I do. Have you seen Derek yet this
morning?”

“No, I haven’t. He and I plan to do some running
around this afternoon to see if we can come up with anything. I gave him a
gun.”

Parker frowned. “I take it you figure you two might
run into some trouble, then?”

“I don’t know, but there is that possibility. It’s
good to know you got somebody to back you up if you need it, and I think Derek
would be a good man to have.”

“I do believe you’re right about that.” Parker fondled
his cup in both hands, savoring its warmth. The rain and cold weather wasn’t
doing his arthritis any good. “Mike, I know I ain’t much, just an old man, but
if you need any more help…”

“Shit. You’re not old, just well-seasoned. A man gets
tougher the longer he hangs around in this world.” Mike grinned. “So you keep
your ears open, because if I get in a bind, I’m gonna holler my socks off.”

*          *          *

By six-thirty that evening, the hand of darkness had
covered the country side, crushing out any sign of light. There was no comfort
in this darkness. No young couples drove over the back roads or to the river to
get better acquainted. No old couples sat on their front porches in comfortable
rocking chairs, watching the universe spinning overhead.

Many of the houses were empty, vacated by men and
women seeking the security and shelter of others, who received them with open
arms, because they were also afraid. All of man’s technology and civilization
and politics meant very little when men were afraid. Before a man ever had
those, he sat huddled in caves and around fires with as many of his own kind as
he could. Man’s natural fear of darkness, or rather, his fear of what might be
in it, remained with him no matter how far he wandered down the road of
progress.

Mike had borrowed a four-wheel-drive Scout from
Ernie; the dirt roads that he had to cover had deteriorated to the point that
his patrol car was useless. He and Derek drove over back roads using the
spotlight to comb the edges of fields and ditches. Several times they left the
warmth of the Scout to rummage through old abandoned shacks and buildings.
There were dozens of them that, at one time or another had been used for road
side storage of farm equipment or makeshift barns or such, but had long since
been left to rot and fall apart. Fortunately most of them had collapsed over
the years, becoming the home of mice and spiders, and saving the two tired men
the trouble of having to bother exploring them. Neither one of them could have
imagined what it was that they might find crouched in one of the old buildings.
Each had his own fears.

They stopped at all of the houses on their route that
had lights on. Fear was the general theme they encountered wherever they went,
and they were greeted with an almost pitiful show of welcome. Families were
glad to have the two added to their numbers, if even for a few minutes, and it
was at least some measure of security to have two armed men patrolling and
watching the area.

After two and a half hours, they were both exhausted.
It had turned into a routine; peer through the rain, searching for anything,
getting soaked, then drive to another place and peer through the rain and
search and get soaked.

Mike swung the Scout onto a gravel side road that ran
between two iron posts. As they drew closer, Derek made out the outlines of a
large house ahead of them. It looked familiar.

“This is the place you found that book, isn’t it? The
one you call the Jarman place?”

“Yeah, this is it. The Jarmans were some of the first
people to turn up missing.” Mike pulled the Scout to a stop in front of the
house and killed the engine. Flipping on the search light, he ran its cone of
light across the face of the house. It looked dead and broken. “See what a mess
it is? That’s how I found it when I was out here the other day. Like it got hit
with its own private hurricane.”

Mike switched off the spotlight and lit a cigarette,
looking at Derek. “These Jarmans are, or were, one strange lot. You heard much
about them while you’ve been here?”

“No, not much. Mostly from Ann. She made it sound
like they were insane. Raised monsters for pets and things like that.”

“I’d believe it. What do you say we grab our
flashlights and give this place a once over?”

“Sure. And look for pet monsters.”

The two men reluctantly climbed out of the warm Scout
and spent a few moments gouging holes in darkness in front of the house with
their flashlights. Overgrown with huge shrubs and weeds, the area around the
base of the house presented an almost impenetrable mess neither man really
cared to explore. As the two neared the entrance, Derek noticed an odor that
grew from unpleasant to nauseating. It was coming from the house itself.

“Damn. This place stinks!” It was an understatement.
Derek wanted to stop breathing.

“I know. Forgot to mention it.” Mike almost, but not
quite, grinned. “That’s the way it smelled when I was here before, but I think
it was worse then. I don’t know what it’s from; I never did find anything. It
just stinks.”