Will the Sun Ever Come Out Again? (15 page)

“Weapons? Like what?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I got knives and shit down in the kitchen.”

“Doesn’t hurt, I guess,” Charlie replied. “Don’t really think it’ll do a lot of good, though.”

“Why not?”

Charlie took a single step away from the window. He looked to the sky. The gold and orange were gone. The red had darkened, and a purple hue had crept around its edges. Night was coming on fast.

“Because I don’t know what’s coming,” he answered. He sprinkled a thick line of salt along the window’s ledge, which was painfully close to the floor. Even worse, it was only about four feet up from the water line.

“You don’t know?”

“Not really. Could be something real bad. Hell, Jimmy, it might not be anything at all. I’m betting it’s a little worse than a giant catfish, though.”

“But you don’t know? And you think it might come in here?”

“I think it might try. I’m gonna shut the windows up tight just in case, and I’m hoping the salt will stop anything getting through, but there’s some terrible shit in that river. Sure as hell, there’s stuff I don’t want to look in the eye.”

Jimmy stood at the edge of a long shadow. He shivered the slightest bit, his eyes fixed on Charlie. “Stuff like what?”

“I don’t know, Jimmy. I thought I’d just got done tellin’ you that.” He swung the windows shut and locked them. Once they were good and tight, he placed a hand to each pane and muttered a simple charm. It might work; it might not. Time would tell. “And don’t give me that ‘the river’s part of me’ shit. It don’t add up to jack or shit at the end of the day.”

“But--”

“You’ve seen the stairs, right?”

Jimmy nodded.

“That’s what I thought.”

Of course Jimmy had. Everybody in Sulfer knew about the goddamn stairs. A series of concrete slabs, ten feet by ten. They started at the edge of State Road 56--the two-lane blacktopper that ran between Sulfer and Rising Sun--at the mouth of Third Street and ran all the way into the Ohio’s syrupy waters. Not a single resident of Sulfer remembered a time when the slabs hadn’t been there.
Older than the town,
most said. Just about everybody figured the concrete served as a set of steps for something in the river. Nobody knew what that something might be, though. They only knew it had to be something big.

Mills’s face had gone more than a little pale. “You think whatever needs the stairs--”

“I doubt it. I’m just using it as an example of what might be coming, okay? What
could
decide to haul ass into town. Like I said before, it could be anything that comes or it could be nothing. Now go and get those knives, you think they’ll make you feel any better.”

“Sure.” Jimmy nodded a little too eagerly, then raced for the wooden steps at the loft’s rear.

He returned his gaze to the window. The sun was officially gone, and night had made her big debut. The storm that caused the flood had occurred five days before and well upriver, leaving the night sky clear. Stars and a half moon shone down on the town, giving Charlie just enough light to appraise the buildings on the other side of Second Street. They were dark, but who could tell if they were deserted or not? Could be folks inside who’d stuck around to protect their interests. The upper stories might also be full of creepers. The bastards were just a human form of vermin, clawing for any scratch of a living they could make. You couldn’t shake the bastards once you were flush with them--worse than cockroaches and rats put together and bred for show. Damned amazing Mills didn’t have a crop in the loft. Not that Charlie would be able to spot a creeper that didn’t want to be seen. The buggers could dig in like ticks on a basset hound if they had half a mind to.

Maybe whatever was coming wouldn’t spot them. Right. Like it would ignore what was probably dozens of bodies buried beneath the building. Charlie cursed himself. He could kill himself for not making sure he wasn’t walking into one of the graves. He’d let personal reasons drag him into this one, and now he was stuck on what might well be a pile of bait.

Yeah, he needed some bait, but had something real specific in mind...

He heard the proprietor’s footsteps loud and clomping on the stairs at the rear of the loft. Sounded like a sasquatch trying to sneak up to the second floor.

“Picture of grace, aren’t you?”

“What?” Jimmy replied. He really did have a fondness for that word.

“Nevermind, okay? What did you get?”

“I thought I was getting knives.”

“So did I. Did you?”

“Yeah.” The cook held out a butcher knife, presenting the handle to Charlie.

The blade was probably eight inches long, and it gleamed even in the faint starlight. Not bad. Would probably cut a bastard up good and proper before it even thought about going dull.

“You got one for yourself?”

“Not exactly.” Jimmy raised one arm and presented the meat cleaver he held in that hand. If the knife he’d given Charlie was dangerous, then this piece of hardware looked like an atomic bomb.

Cooks and butchers, man. Creepy, dangerous fuckers. Charlie eyed the blade and couldn’t help but whisper his thanks that he wasn’t waiting out the flood with Davey Ross, the butcher down at Tandy’s. He’d seen the way Davey liked to smile when cutting up meat, and it was enough to put a sharp stab of fear in any man, even somebody like him.

“Jesus Christ, Jimmy.”

“You said it might be something bad.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t expect the mad chopping prick of Sulfer to come marching back up the stairs, either.”

“You want the knife or not?”

“Oh, I want it! Mostly in case you come at me with your fuckin’ man-hacker there!”

Anger flashed across Jimmy’s face like a racing shadow. “Oh, fuck you! How about you leave now?”

“At dark? Nice try, but that ain’t gonna happen. Sorry about your trouble.” He held Jimmy’s eyes for a long time, until the darkness of night threatened to swallow them both.

Mills looked at their surroundings. From his expression, he appeared to be noticing the shadows for the first time.

“Maybe we should make some light.”

“Right,” Charlie said. “Maybe I should open the windows back up and put out a sign that says ‘Free Crackers. Get ‘em while they’re hot.’”

“Think light’ll give us away?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I meant, yeah.”

Jimmy’s mouth twisted with the first signs of more bitching, then went slack as a scraping sound filled the cavernous loft.

Crawford’s muscles locked for a split second, then did something that wasn’t quite the same as relaxing. He heard the noise, and he knew it was anything but good. Slowly, he turned to face the wall of windows. He wished he’d find a brick wall--anything solid--but wishing wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good in this situation. He cast the thought away--better to forget about it and move on than keep wishing while you were ripped to shreds.

The sound was slow, ominous. Charlie didn’t know if it was made by a set of nails or claws. A sudden image of cuts that dripped water flashed through his head, and he forced it down. Too soon.

He could tell by the sound that something was feeling its way, testing the path. The cautious exploratory nature worried him. It meant whatever was making the noise was at least a little smart. Maybe it would be intelligent enough to stay away, to feel the salt and hexes that were meant to keep such awful things at bay.

But if it was working its way up the building, then it was in the water he’d salted. That wasn’t a good sign.

Jimmy reached out and touched his shoulder. “What do--”

Charlie placed a finger to his lips, and somehow Jimmy managed to understand what that meant. Good boy.

He backed up a step, raising the knife to his waist. He felt Jimmy shiver at his side, and he hoped the guy wouldn’t get freaked and start swinging that cleaver around like a panicked madman.

He hoped whatever was outside would go away.

Tough luck.

The sound of even more claws scratching on the brick outside made that hope evaporate like corn whiskey on a sunny day. Charlie heard at least three sets on the building now, each one reaching, scraping. The noise was terrible even in its relative softness. It was just so persistent. Whatever these things were, they sure didn’t look to be going anywhere, and that wasn’t a damn bit of good.

“Where’s the salt?” he whispered.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jimmy point. He followed the man’s outstretched finger--shaking as it was--and found the canister. He’d left it next to the window.

Way to fuckin’ go, Charlie.

He didn’t know if the salt would really help, but he knew he’d feel a lot better with it in his posession. What was on the other side of that window? He knew it wasn’t the main event, but it could wind up being one hell of an undercard brawler. Did he really want to risk finding out?

He thought it over for an instant and decided no, not really.

“Jimmy, go grab the salt.”

He could almost hear the tendons in Jimmy’s neck creak as the man turned to face him. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” the cook said.

“We’re gonna need that salt.”

“Then you go get it. Last I checked, I’m the guy paying you.”

Charlie let out an annoyed breath. “Fine.” He took a step forward, and the creaking of his foot on the floorboards sent a shiver from his toes up to the top of his cranium. His breath whispered past his lips--sounding impossibly loud to his ears.
Bullshit,
he told himself.
Letting your mind play those familiar tricks. You’re better than that, Charlie.

He could push them back. He knew just the spell, had used it a time or two in the past. He needed to save his energy, though. There were other things out there, and he’d need all of his mojo to confront them.

So he took a second step, followed by a third. His eyes never left the window as he moved forward. He kept a steady pace, and he forced the nerves that jangled throughout his body to settle the hell down and do what they were told. He knew the body was a simple instrument, just like the mind. You could play it any way you wanted, if you knew how. He slowed his breath, which slowed his heart. His arms began to swing in a way that was casual and sure. Hell, just walking across the floor to pick up some salt. Didn’t matter that there might be some goddamn river monstrosity on the other side, just waiting to get inside and take a bite out of old Charlie Crawdad. Nope. Didn’t matter for squat. All that mattered was his leisurely walk to scoop up his old friend Mr. Salt Tin.

Just a few more feet. No big deal.

Charlie eyed the salt, and in the same instant he heard the squealing sound of something scratching at the windowpane. It sounded like a cat dying on a quiet night—squalling with pain and rage. His controlled breath and pulse jumped right into the stratosphere.
Fuck you, buddy! How dare you try to keep us in check?

Charlie felt his eyes begin to slide toward the sound, and he commanded them to stop right the fuck where they were. He didn’t know what was scraping at the glass only five feet to his left, but he was sure he didn’t care to find out until he was at least a little farther away. Behind him, Jimmy hit a screeching note that almost matched the scratching at the pane. Good for him.

Charlie stooped and stretched out a single arm, snatching up the canister of salt with grateful fingers.

“There we are!”

And a single pane of glass shattered inward.

Charlie leaped away from the window, and he was only dimly aware of the sound of tinkling glass as it hit the floor. This time he allowed himself to look at the noise. His eyes fixed on the busted window as he fumbled the top off of the tin.

The hand that appeared in the broken window didn’t sport any scales, and Charlie took that as a bit of a comfort. The skin was blacker than expensive ink. Its three fingers and thumb ended with long, curved talons that shone a pale yellow in the starlight. He’d never seen anything like it, and that was saying something. He only knew it wasn’t the creature that had attacked Tammie. It was a small relief, but he still wasn’t too keen on examining the rest of the creature.

“Sweet Jesus,” he whispered as he scooped a handful of salt from the tin. “Don’t let this be bullshit.” He darted forward and threw the mineral. It flew through the air like a speeding cloud, coating the hand with a fine layer.

The skin began to smoke at once.

“Hurts a might, don’t it?” Charlie said as he watched the hand bubble and burn. The fingers peeled away from the window all at once, and a cry like a broken police siren filled the air.

Charlie turned to Jimmy and flashed him a smile. Mills replied by raising the cleaver over his shoulder, cocking his arm back like a Triple A pitcher.

“You fuckin’ crazy?” Charlie screamed. He flinched as the cleaver left Jimmy’s swinging arm and cartwheeled through the air. He heard the continuous chop of the blade, so loud it was audible over the howling creature on the other side of the window. He tucked the tin of salt close to his chest and dove out of the cleaver’s path.