The Night Parade (18 page)

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Authors: Ronald Malfi

BOOK: The Night Parade
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“No, thanks.” He smiled at her, mainly because she hung in the doorway a little longer than necessary and he didn't know what else to do. After she left, her perfume lingered for a moment. Something sweet, like cinnamon.
She's nice. Terrified and a hostage to that poor boy upstairs, but nice.
After having no luck identifying his stepbrother's phone number online, he had recalled the receipt of an e-mail from him last Christmas, which he'd saved in his Yahoo! in-box. Knowing Tim, addresses and phone numbers changed frequently, but e-mail accounts typically remained the same. He'd shoot him an e-mail and hope to hear back from him. It was the best he could do.
He accessed his Yahoo! account and searched for Tim's e-mail. As he waited for the screen to reload, he wondered if his account was currently being monitored. Would they go that far?
They've already been in your house, gone through your personal items, and posted your photos on the TV news—is there really any line you think they won't cross?
No. But it was a chance he would just have to take.
He located the e-mail, opened it up, and clicked Reply. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he hammered out a quick message, telling Tim to either respond to this e-mail or, better yet, call him on his cell phone. He added that he was in trouble and needed Tim's help. He thought it best to keep the e-mail brief and ambiguous; he could explain in more detail over the phone when he had more time.
He could access his e-mail periodically through his phone to see when—or if—Tim responded. The only problem was that he'd left his cell phone back at the surplus store with the rest of their stuff. He could go back and get it, but he'd have to take Ellie with him.
And what if they won't let you leave?
whispered the head-voice.
What if their hospitality has been a ruse to keep you calm and docile until “the others” get here?
Thinking this now, he realized that the thought had never been too far from his mind.
Chewing his lower lip, he typed his own name into the Google search engine. In less than three seconds, it returned enough hits to make his stomach sink. The first dozen hits looked to be an Associated Press article published in the online editions of various newspapers around the country. He clicked on the
Washington Post
link and read the following:
Police have issued an AMBER Alert for Arnold, Maryland, resident David James Arlen, 42, and his 8-year-old daughter, Eleanor Elizabeth Arlen, who have purportedly fled a Centers for Disease Control facility in Prince George's County on September 9. Police said Arlen's wife, Kathleen DeMarco Arlen, was under observation at the facility when she was found dead of an apparent suicide on the evening of September 9. Arlen and his daughter were also under voluntary observation at the facility, but following Mrs. Arlen's untimely death, CDC officials issued a quarantine order for Arlen and his daughter. Local police also want to question Arlen regarding the details of his wife's death. Police said Arlen is most likely driving a 2010 black Ford Bronco, Maryland license plate number M15972.
A spokesperson for the CDC, Dr. Sanjay Kapoor, said, “We are very concerned for the well-being of the little girl and her father.”
As to whether the Arlens had contracted Wanderer's Folly and if they posed a potential threat to anyone they might come in contact with, Kapoor would not say.
“It is important to remember,” said Dr. Kapoor, “that there is much about this illness that we still do not understand, including how it is contracted.”
Police, however, are warning the public not to approach Arlen or attempt to apprehend him. “The best thing to do,” said Anne Arundel County Chief of Police Martin J. Rasmussen, “is to notify the authorities if you happen to see David Arlen. Call 911. Let the police handle the situation.”
He read the article a second time, his skin growing hot. The bastards had lied, covering up Kathy's murder at their hands as a suicide. It made David want to smash something.
He peered over at the agonized face of Jesus on the cross and grimaced. The Savior's eyes blazed with delirious insanity. And as David watched, those eyes rolled in his direction, the pupils small as pinpricks, the whites networked with ruptured blood vessels . . . and for one terrible, impossible moment, the face of the maniac on the cross was David's.
Out in the hallway, a floorboard creaked. David blinked. His skin felt prickly and hot, his breath coming in great, whooshing gasps. It was nothing more than the shifting of daylight coming in through the blinds that had caused the statue's face to . . . well, to change. Nothing more.
David quickly minimized the screen, then leaned back in the desk chair and peered out into the hall. No one was there. He could hear the TV on in the living room, but that was all.
When he returned to the kitchen, Turk and Pauline were talking in low voices.
“I'm sorry,” David said. “I didn't mean to interrupt.”
“Ain't interrupting,” Turk said, clearing his throat. “Just discussing what's on the menu tonight.”
“I guess we'll be having more mouths to feed once your friends show up,” David said.
Turk gave him a wide smile. “That's right. It'll be a regular celebration.”
“I just hope we're not intruding. If we are, we can—”
“Nonsense,” Pauline said. “We're just gonna throw some burgers on the grill. You and your little girl like hamburgers?”
“Absolutely.”
“And beer,” Turk said. He sauntered over to the fridge and grabbed two more cans of Bud. He held one out to David.
“I think I'll pass. In fact, I left some stuff back at the place we're . . . well, where we stayed last night. I think I might head over and pick it up.”
“Well, now, I can't say I'd recommend that.” Turk popped the tab on the beer. “Remember what I said about wandering around out here? It ain't safe.”
“Turk would drive you, but we try not to waste gas,” Pauline added.
“It was only a few blocks,” David said. “It won't take me long. And I know how to be careful.”
“How 'bout this,” Turk said. “You tell me where your stuff is and I'll see if I can raise ol' Coop on his cell, tell him to stop by and grab it for you.”
“That isn't necessary.”
“It's no bother. He'll be coming back into town within the next hour or so anyway.”
Something—some twinge deep within the animal part of him—didn't feel right. This realization struck him all of a sudden, like a slap across the face, and despite the Powells' hospitality all morning and afternoon, David reminded himself that he'd met Turk staring down the business end of the man's shotgun. He recalled what Ellie had said to him earlier that morning, too, as they stood in the bathroom together—
I don't like it here. It's the same feeling I had last night, when we first got here.
Suddenly, David didn't like it, either.
25
I
n the end, David decided it was best to try to sneak out of the house before the others arrived and while the rest of the Powell clan was busy, even without the gun. While Turk went outside to clean off the grill and Pauline was busy excavating a packet of ground beef from the freezer, David crept into the living room. The TV was still on, an encore performance of
Beauty and the Beast.
But Ellie had lost all interest in the film this time around, and was instead seated on the sofa with a book opened up in her lap. Sprawled out on the floor with a thumb jammed in his mouth was Sam, snoring like a locomotive in his sleep.
“We're getting out of here,” David said.
Ellie closed the book, slid off the sofa, and followed him to the front door. David turned the knob and opened it, just as he heard the back door slap against its wooden frame at the far end of the house. Turk began whistling, then stopped and said something to Pauline in the kitchen. David couldn't make out a word of it.
“Let's go,” he whispered, and shoved Ellie out onto the front steps.
“Are we going back to the car?”
“Yes.”
“Good idea. I don't like this place. Something bad's gonna happen.”
They were halfway across the front lawn when a gold Silverado appeared at the end of the block, its subwoofers thumping. David paused and watched it progress up the street. He felt his testicles retreat into his abdomen when it pulled up into the Powells' driveway. The truck looked too new, too expensive, for this area. The driver revved the engine, then laid on the horn.
“Ouch,” Ellie said, covering her ears.
That must be Solomon and the rest of the gang. So either we run now, cut through the yards so they can't chase us in that monstrous truck, or we play along.
Instinct told him to run, and he would have if he'd been alone. But he knew Ellie wouldn't be able to keep up, and he certainly couldn't carry her all that way. Yet what truly prevented him from taking off was the fear that the people in that truck had guns, just as Turk had, and that they'd climb out and start firing at them before they even made it across the street.
The driver's door popped open just as the engine died. A lanky guy in his twenties got out. He had a clump of greasy hair that hung in his eyes and a face decimated by acne. He wore a ratty tank top and his boxer shorts mushroomed over the waistband of his cargo pants. There was some sort of strange, flat hat on his head.
“Heck,” the guy said. He smiled and raised one hand. “Hi! You Dave?”
“Yes.”
“I'm Cooper. Spoke to Turk on the phone earlier, said we had a couple visitors from outta town.” He sauntered over to them, his hand extended in anticipation of a handshake the entire time. Cooper was maybe six-three or six-four, and skinny as a rail. He had the pinched, beaky face of a rodent. The thing on his head wasn't a hat, but a plastic dime-store Halloween mask, held in place by a band of elastic that cut into the flesh beneath his chin. From what David could tell, it was the Incredible Hulk.
David shook Cooper's hand. The shake was loose and clammy. The guy reeked of marijuana.
Two others came out the passenger side of the truck. The man looked about thirty, tanned skin, dark hair, solid build. His forearms were intricately tattooed and the strap of a backpack hung from one shoulder. He wore a distrustful look that mirrored how David felt. The girl who was with him also looked about thirty, with a nearly nonexistent bosom beneath the drooping Kenny Chesney T-shirt she wore. She also had a straw cowboy hat perched back on her head and two long braids draped over her shoulders. Her face bore a striking resemblance to Pauline, so David assumed this was Bronwyn, her sister.
“Boy, you guys are in for a real treat,” Cooper said. Then he bent down to address Ellie, even though he was still a bit taller than eye level with the girl. David could see sprigs of dark, oily hair purling out of the Hulk's eyeholes. “You like fireworks, sugar?”
“Not really,” she said.
Cooper blinked in surprise. “You kiddin' me? What kid don't like fireworks?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “My boy Tre there's got a whole backpack full.”
“Is that such a good idea?” David said.
Cooper's gaze shifted toward him. His eyes were bloodshot and about as droopy as Bronwyn's oversized T-shirt.
“Turk mentioned there were . . . undesirables . . . still in the area,” David finished.
Cooper stood. Behind him, Tre and Bronwyn cut a circuitous path toward the front door that took them partway around the front yard. David felt like they were circling before closing in on him and Ellie, the way hyenas might.
“Undesirables?” Cooper said. He pronounced it as if he'd never heard the word before, or was at least unfamiliar with its meaning. “Undesirables . . .”
“Bad guys,” David clarified.
Cooper twisted his lips into a knot and looked skyward in a parody of contemplation. He even rubbed at his chin. David suddenly disliked him.
“No, no, I don't think so,” said Cooper. “Nope. No one that I can think of around here goes by that name. 'Course, this is Turk's neighborhood. He'd know better 'an me. I ain't from this side of town.”
“Coop's from the
bad
side,” Bronwyn chided, one leg up on the front step of the house. Her comment possessed the conspiratorial tone of an inside joke. “He's trouble, mister. Steer clear.”
The guy with the backpack—
Tre
, David thought—flared his nostrils as he glanced at Bronwyn. He looked irritated. He had one hand on the doorknob, which he twisted apprehensively, but did not open the door. There was a joint tucked behind his left ear.
“Undesirables,” Cooper repeated. There was a musical quality to his voice. Then he laughed and said, “I'm just fuckin' with you, mister. We're cool.”
“Language, shit head,” Bronwyn scolded, and jerked her head in Ellie's direction.
“My bad.” Cooper grinned toothily at Ellie. “I got me a bit of a potty mouth.”
“You smell awful, too,” Ellie said.
“Ellie,” David said.
Cooper just stared at Ellie. Then he crossed his eyes, lolled out his tongue, and made a clicking sound way back in his throat. A second later, he barked a single laugh—a high-pitched Pee-wee Herman honk—and said, “That's funny. You're funny, kid. Come on inside.” He took a step toward the front door.
“We were just leaving,” David said. He pushed Ellie toward the curb.
That goofy grin had yet to leave Cooper's face. “Yeah? Where you headed?”
“Just back on the road. This was only a pit stop. We got a little turned around last night.”
Cooper frowned. It was as goofy an expression as his grin. And while David did not like the stern and distrustful look on Tre's face, he liked the goofy, playful façade on Cooper's even less. At least Tre was expressing his true feelings, whether he realized it or not. Cooper was putting on a show. A very poor one.
“Seriously,” Cooper said. “Come on back inside.”
“No, thanks. Take care.” A hand against Ellie's back to usher her forward, he began walking toward the street. Yet he hadn't fully turned around, keeping Cooper and friends in the periphery of his vision.
“I doubt Turk will approve,” Cooper called.
“Approve of what?” Turk said, and David froze. Turk came around the side of the house, a long brush with steel bristles in one hand. He must have heard the commotion while he was out back cleaning the barbecue. Turk turned toward David and looked instantly hurt. “Hey,” he said. “Where you goin', Dave?”
“To get my stuff,” David said. “Remember? I mentioned it to you earlier.”
“And I told
you
that it wouldn't be safe,” Turk said.
“Undesirables,” Cooper said, and snickered.
“C'mon back to the house, Dave,” Turk said. He waved him back.
“Listen,” David said, “I appreciate the hospitality, but we really need to go.”
“I'm afraid I can't let you.” Turk took two steps in his direction. “As I said, it ain't for us to decide who goes and who stays.”
“That's Solomon's call,” Cooper said.
“Well, I don't think we can wait around for Solomon,” David said. “Sorry.”
“Oh, man, no need to worry about that.” Turk smiled widely. Sharklike. “Solomon's here.”
“Enough,” David said. “Thank you, but no.”
“Ain't up to you,” said Turk. There was a forcefulness in his voice now. In that instant, David knew the man would physically try to stop him. Could he outrun him? Probably not. Especially not with Ellie in tow.
Cooper stepped forward. He withdrew a handgun from the rear of his pants and leveled it at David.
“You're making this messy,” Turk said to David. It sounded like he was pleading with him now. “It ain't necessary, Dave. We've had a pleasant afternoon, haven't we? It don't have to be all fights and struggles, you know. We can have a nice dinner first.”
Cooper walked down the length of the driveway, birdlike in the way his head bobbed, never taking the gun off David. That kiss-my-ass grin was still firmly seated on his ugly, pimple-ridden face. The gun looked too heavy for his broomstick arm with its knotty, bulging elbow.
“What do you mean ‘first'?” David said.
Turk paused midway down the lawn. He lifted both arms in a
what-can-you-do?
gesture but said nothing.
“Ouch,” Ellie said. David realized he was squeezing her shoulder.
“Get in the house,” Cooper said. There was no trace of jocularity in his voice now. When David didn't respond, Cooper redirected the gun so that it pointed at Ellie and then repeated his request: “I said get in the
house,
man.”
He'll kill you dead,
David's head-voice whispered.
You and Ellie both. You can see it in his eyes. Hell, he'll even enjoy it.
Briefly, David considered stepping between Ellie and the gun, shouting for her to run, to go, to get the hell out of here. But he'd no sooner get half the words out of his mouth before Cooper would drive a bullet into his gut. Or his head. David knew that with certainty. And a second or two after that, the lunatic would fire at Ellie, who probably wouldn't even make it across the street.
“Okay,” David said, raising both hands. “I'll go inside. But, please, let my daughter go.”
“No, Daddy,” Ellie said. She gripped a handful of his T-shirt, which had formerly been Turk's T-shirt.
“Where would she go, Dave?” Turk said. “What good would that do? Besides, like I said, it ain't up to us.”
“Right,” David said. “Solomon. Where is this guy, anyway?”
“Shit,” Cooper said, cracking that grin once more. “He's right here with us, dude. So let's go inside and meet him.”
That was when David heard a high-pitched, tittering sound. It was so coarse that it hurt his ears. And his first thought upon hearing it was,
It's a bird, Jesus Christ, a goddamn bird. They're not all gone, not all dead. That is the sound of a bird shrieking nearby.
But it wasn't.
It was Bronwyn.
She was laughing.

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