Twilight Hunger (4 page)

“No,” she whispered aloud. “It wouldn't be right.”

Wouldn't it?
her mind argued. She had just decided it was criminal that this work hadn't been shared. She had just acknowledged that if she had been the author, she would have spent eternity regretting that the work lay here, undiscovered. The written word was meant to be read, after all. Not hidden away but…shared. Experienced.

She knelt again in front of the trunk, licked her dry lips. What harm would there be, she wondered? Dante was long dead, and no one else could possibly know of the existence of these diaries. Could they? Of course not! If they did, these journals wouldn't have been left here to molder in a dusty attic.

And there were so many of them!

“My God,” she whispered. “This is a gold mine. I'm sitting on an absolute gold mine here.” And as she sat there, staring down at the trunk full of stories, she knew that they were even more than that. They were the key to getting everything she wanted, to reclaiming everything she had lost. Wealth. Power. Fame. Her triumphant return to L.A. It was all right here. Al most like a gift…
left just for her by some long-dead madman who'd called himself Dante and believed himself to be a vampire.

She took the first journal carefully, holding it to her breast like a lover as she straightened, and, turning, she carried it downstairs to her office.

This time, when she held her hands over the keyboard, Dante's journal was lying open on the table beside the computer. And this time, the words came.

M
axine Stuart was watching
JFK
for about the twelfth time on the little VCR/TV combo in her bedroom, a copy of
Catcher in the Rye
in her lap, a half-dead can of Coke on the bedside stand, when she heard the sirens. The sound stabbed her in the belly like an ice-cold blade and brought her slowly to her feet, though she couldn't have said why. She went to the window, pushed the curtains aside. She could see the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles passing on the highway in the distance. Heading south. Her gaze turned in that direction, and she narrowed her eyes on the faint red glow in the distant night sky.

A familiar Jeep bounded into her driveway, and about a second later she heard the front door of the small house open, heard her mother speaking to Max's friends as she let them in. Maxine shut the TV off, turned and opened her bedroom door as they came hurrying through the house.

Her two best friends came around a corner into the hall and stopped when they saw her standing there. Something was up. Jason didn't shake easily, and he looked shaken. Storm—her real name was Tempest,
but she hated it—was downright pale. Maxine's mom was right on their heels.

“So what is it, what's burning?” Max asked.

“It's Spook Central,” Jason said without even missing a beat. “It's bad.”

“It's awful,” Stormy added, and her round jewel-blue eyes were damp. “I don't think anyone got out alive.”

Spook Central was Maxine's pet name for the large, name less government compound just outside town. The main building was huge and sat well back from the road behind a large, electrified fence, surrounded by surveillance cameras and shrouded in secrecy. A research lab—that was the party line, anyway, and so the gullible locals believed. Medical re search was done there—they were working on finding cures for cancer and AIDS, stuff like that. Good work. Almost holy. Too sacred to mess with or poke around in. Who would question such a saintly mission?

Maxine had her own theories, as she did about most things, and right now she hoped to God the one she had always considered the most likely—that the place was a military lab working on germ warfare and chemical weapons—was dead wrong.

Nightmare images from Stephen King's
The Stand
coiled and uncoiled in her mind until she shook them away and stepped into action. She turned, reaching back into her room to snatch a jacket from the back of a chair. Then she was striding down the hall. “Let's go.”

“Go? Go where?” her mother asked, falling into step behind the three of them as they headed for the front door. When no one replied, Ellen got around them, stepping right into their path. “Max, don't you go over there. You'll just get in the way and maybe get hurt.”

“Come on, Mom, I'm twenty years old. I'm not going to bother the firefighters. I just want to know what's going on.”

“Then read about it in the morning paper, like everyone else.”

“God, how can you be so innocent?”

Ellen Stuart sighed, looking worried, but also resigned. No one had ever really been able to change Maxine's mind once it was made up about something, and her mother ought to be getting used to that by now, having experienced it firsthand from the day she brought the three-month-old orphan home for the first time. “Be careful.”

“Always.” Maxine yanked a mini-backpack off the hook by the door. An iron-on patch with the words Trust No One and the
X-Files
logo decorated its front. She slung it over her shoulder, and the three friends trooped out of the house.

They all piled into Jason's creamed-coffee colored Jeep Cherokee. He liked to joke that he had picked the color to match his skin. And it did, pretty closely. Maxine took the back seat. Stormy, a pixie-sized psych major with short, spiky, bleached hair, got into the front with Jason, closing her door just as he backed out into the street and headed out of town.

Maxine sat on the edge of her seat, her head between the two in the front. “You can see the fire from here. Look at that.”

They did. Stormy shivered, lowered her eyes. Jason stared as if mesmerized for a moment, then snapped out of it, flicking on the radio, turning the dial. “I knew you'd want to go,” he said. “It came over my brother's
scanner. If he wasn't a volunteer firefighter, I probably still wouldn't know.”

“Still nothing about it on the radio, Jay?” Stormy asked. She was nervous; playing with her eyebrow ring was always a sign of that.

He kept flicking the dial, then gave up, shaking his head slowly. “I expected special reports, crap like that, but there hasn't been a word.”

“They report what they're told to report,” Maxine said. “Despite my mother's gullible belief in the system, the phrase ‘free press' is an oxymoron in this country.”

“I
like
your mom,” Jason put in.

Max blinked at him as if he were speaking another language. “I like her, too. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I just don't think you ought to be calling her gullible. She wouldn't like it.”

Maxine closed her eyes, shook her head, then glanced at Stormy for backup.

“He's right,” Stormy said. “Your mom is cool. You're so lucky.”

“Of course she's cool! Hell, I would have gotten a dorm room or an apartment or gone to college out of town if she wasn't cool, instead of staying home and going to a local school. But this has nothing to do with my mother or how cool she may or may not be! I'm talking about the government here. Cover-ups. Covert operations.”

Stormy shrugged, averting her eyes. Topics like this always made her uncomfortable. But Maxine wasn't uncomfortable discussing it. She was more uncomfortable having lived practically in the shadow of that huge,
fenced in, well-guarded compound all her life, and never once knowing what went on inside.

She knew only one thing for sure. It wasn't cancer research. She would have given her eyeteeth for a look beyond the tall, electrified fences of that place. Just one look. Now maybe no one would ever know the truth.

Jason drove on, pulling the Jeep over onto the right-hand shoulder before they got to the point where emergency vehicles lined both sides of the road. Highway flares lay across the pavement. Orange and white striped sawhorses with red reflectors were lined up behind them, forming a boundary that was supposed to tell them to keep out. They got out of the Jeep. Flames in the distance licked at the night sky, and Max could already taste the smoke in her mouth with every breath.

“This way.” Maxine walked along the road's right shoulder, beyond the parked vehicles, and her friends followed. The burning compound was on the left, at the end of a long curving drive. She led the others forward until they were directly across the street from the entrance to the compound. Fire fighters were across the street, partway along the drive, facing away from them. They were completely focused on their work, anyway. Maxine crouched near an ambulance, tugging the others down with her.

The fire trucks had apparently driven straight through the gate at the head of the drive. The guardhouse nearby was empty, the gate itself lying flat. The fence to the left and right of it was buckled and broken. The surveillance cameras that had been mounted on poles lay smashed to bits. Volunteer firefighters in yellow jackets marked with glowing silver reflective tape manned huge hoses attached to tanker trucks in the curving paved
drive. Every time they beat the flames down a little, the trucks would roll closer, the men pushing farther into the fury.

“I don't know how they can stand it. God, I can feel the heat from here,” Stormy said, pressing a palm to her face.

“I'm surprised their hoses aren't melting,” Jason whispered. “If they move any closer…”

“If they move any closer, we'll be able to get in.”

The other two looked at Maxine as if she had sprouted horns.

“What?” she asked.

“You gotta be out of your freaking mind, Max,” Jason told her, while Storm just shook her head. “We can't go in there.”

“No one's watching the entrance. They're all distracted, fighting the fire. We can get in without even trying.”

“Okay, I'll rephrase that. We
can
go in there. But we shouldn't.”

Now it was Maxine's turn to gape. “What are you, crazy? I've been
dying
to get behind those gates since I was old enough to see through that lame cancer research cover story they've been using.”

“Which was when she was about six,” Stormy muttered.

Max shot her a look but hurried on. “Don't you guys get it? This is our chance. No guards, nothing. We can finally see something besides the lie.”

“And just what do you think there's gonna be left to see, Max?” Jason pointed at the place. “It's completely engulfed in flames.”

“I won't know until I try.”

He sighed, lowering his shaved head and running a hand over it. No one spoke again for a long time as they crouched and waited and watched. Twenty minutes went by before the firefighters pushed a few yards closer. Max shot to her feet, glanced both ways and ran across the street. Her two friends hesitated, then followed. They crossed the pavement and jogged through the opening, right over the mesh of the top pled gate, past the abandoned guardhouse and into the trees that lined the driveway. There were a lot of them. The better to block the place from the view of casual passersby, Max thought. Pines. Of course they were pines. Year-round-camouflage for whatever went on inside.

They ducked beneath one of the trees, and Max stared ahead. The fire was being steadily beaten down. Those fire fighters were something else, she thought, wondering if Jay's older brother, Mike, was among them. They never gave up, even though they had to realize by now that it was a lost cause.

More sirens came, and Max looked back toward the road to see police cars, cops getting out, dispersing some of the curious onlookers who had now begun to gather on the road out front. “We just made it in time,” she whispered.

“If they catch us in here, our asses will be toast,” Jason said.

“If we get any closer to that inferno, they might be toast anyway,” Stormy added.

The firemen ahead fought on, soaking the place down, beating back the flames and pressing ever closer. The trucks rolled forward a little more, and Max urged her unwilling comrades to do the same. “See that flag
pole over there?” she asked, pointing. Jason and Storm looked at it, then at her.

“Once they get up that far, we can cut around the side of the building and make our way to the back.”

“And then a flaming wall can come down on us, crushing us and roasting us at the same time,” Storm said. Her gaze was fixed on the burning building, and the flames' reflection danced in her eyes.

Max swallowed any second thoughts she had about dragging her two best friends into this, beat them down the way the firefighters beat down the flames. It was for the greater good, she told herself. And besides, they wouldn't get hurt. She wouldn't let them get hurt. Maxine Stuart took care of her friends.

Movement drew her attention. “There they go!”

As the fire truck rolled ahead, Max ran forward, cutting off to the left and moving rapidly away from the pool of firelight that spread like an aura from ground-zero. The trees ended there, and she paused at the very last one. She tried not to feel a huge sense of relief when she realized Jason and Storm were still at her side. But she felt it anyway. God, they were loyal.

The distance from the front to the back of the rubble that had once been the main building was at least half a football field, without so much as a shrub for cover. But it was dark. Getting darker with every cloud of thick smoke that wafted from the fire.

“We can make it,” Max said.

“They're gonna haul our asses to jail for this, Maxie,” Jason said.

“Ready?”

Neither of them answered her. Max licked her lips and trusted them. “Go!” And she ran.

She was never certain they were following until she stopped when she reached what had been the far end of the building and they bumped into her in the darkness. Hands gripped shoulders as they steadied each other. Then they stood for a moment, catching their breath, squinting into the darkness. There were fifty feet between where they stood and the smoldering remains at the rear of the building. It no longer much resembled a building at all. It wasn't tall or square. It was a heap. Flames leaped up here and there, although most of the real fire had moved hungrily toward the front, having had its fill here, it seemed. There were glowing red shapes forming mounds underneath the charred forms of the skeletal under pinning. There were ashes, smoke. Were there people in there? she wondered.
Bodies?

“This is close enough,” Stormy whispered.

Max looked around. “You see that shrub over there? It's out of the smoke.” She pointed. “You two wait for me there. I promise I won't be long.”

“Don't, Max,” Jason warned. He sounded pissed off. “Just…don't.”

“Five minutes,” she said. “Just five freaking minutes. This is once in a lifetime, Jay.” She didn't wait for him to argue. She ran, instead.

They didn't follow this time.

It was hot. Damned hot, and the smoke was burning her eyes and her nose, and she kept trying not to cough too loudly and give herself away. She ran until she reached the rear of the building, and then she moved closer and closer to it, as close as she could stand to get. She figured her hair was probably getting a little singed, and she had to watch where she put her feet to
keep from stepping on smoldering embers that would have melted right through the soles of her shoes.

She looked around, squinting through the veil of smoke and the shimmering heat waves. There were several things on the ground in one area. Large broken boxes—computers. Smashed to bits. Some burned and charred, others just smashed. Had someone thrown them out the windows in an effort to save them? Or maybe to destroy them? She kicked at one. What she wouldn't have given for a hard drive from one of those machines. God only knew what she might find. Bending, she reached out to pick through the pile of rubble, but the pieces were so hot they seared her fingers, and she jerked her hand away, sucking air through her teeth.