Laws of Nature -2

by Christopher Golden

  With a thunderous roar that Jack felt in his gut and his bones, Bill deftly turned the attack aside, then lunged forward, driving Lemoine back. The two of them went down in a tumble, clawing and biting.

  With feline grace, Tina moved toward him. Then she paused, not threatening, not attacking.

  “I'm sorry," she growled.

  Then she lunged at him.

  Jack fired three times, hitting her twice. One bullet tore through her shoulder and spun her around, the other punched through the side of her head.

  “So am I," he muttered with regret, remembering her human fingers strumming an acoustic guitar.

  With one last glance at the dead creature, he grabbed up the second nine millimeter he had placed on the shelf earlier. When he turned, he saw Bill lift the Alpha over his head and slam him hard against a bookshelf. Wood cracked and books tumbled down. With that eyeblink of a respite, Jack glanced over toward the windows. The sheriff was there, shielding Molly from the new onslaught from outside as he fired four quick rounds at the monsters silhouetted in the windows.

  “Tackett! Let's go!" Jack shouted.

  The sheriff glanced back quickly, but hesitated. Molly did not give him a choice. She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. Jack caught her eye, saw the iron courage there, and knew they were going to be all right. They had to be.

  “Bill!" Jack shouted. “Get us the hell out of here!"

  “Let's go!" Bill roared.

  The enormous Prowler led the way, bounding powerfully for the door. Jack and Molly followed, with the sheriff bringing up the rear. Tackett fired twice more into his office as they ran out into the corridor.

  Then the sheriff swore. He was out of ammunition.

  Jack was barely paying attention. Down along the corridor, the front door was wide open and six or seven Prowlers were already inside. The animals froze a second when their prey lurched out into the corridor. Then they started forward. A snarl started low, building as it was joined by each of them in turn until they formed a savage harmony.

  Molly stopped short, leveled the shotgun, and blew a hole in the one second from the left. The one in front reached them, but Bill was there. With a single, darting motion, his claws tore out the monster's throat. Blood fountained from the wound as it went down.

  Jack slapped one of his guns into the sheriff 's hand, then reached around to snag the third nine millimeter he'd clipped to his belt.

  With a gun in each hand, he fired at the Prowlers even as they rushed in. Two of them were hit, wounds popping open in their chests like firecrackers.

  “Back there?" he snapped at the sheriff, tilting his head toward the rear of the building, where the cells were.

  “Not that way," the man replied quickly, firing into the crowd of monsters as even more slipped in through the front door. “Follow me."

  “Bill!" Jack cried out to his friend.

  Molly had fallen back beside them. She pumped another round into the shotgun's chamber, and almost as one, the four of them surged forward, toward their attackers instead of away.

  But only for a heartbeat or two.

  The side corridor they turned into was narrower and seemed to dead-end at the door to another office. As they ran down it, the Prowlers screeching and calling out in triumph as though they believed their prey cornered, Jack felt fear spike up inside him. Unlike the sheriff 's large office, or even the main hallway, there was no room to fight here.

  His heart raced. His throat went dry and he gritted his teeth as he hustled after Molly and the sheriff. Bill was bringing up the rear as they ran past multiple doors on both sides of the hall.

  Jack stared ahead at the door at the end of the hall, and a horrible certainty filled him, that the door would not open. That they would be cornered.

  Then the sheriff slammed into the door, twisted the knob and nearly tore it off the hinges. On the other side was a kind of conference room with a long wooden table in the center and a broad picture window on the far wall.

  The sheriff glanced back at Jack.

  “Got it!" Jack shouted. “Bill, the door!"

  They were all inside the room and Bill slammed it shut, twisted the lock on the door, and threw his weight against it. It splintered as Prowlers crashed into it from the other side, hard enough to shake Bill.

  The sheriff was already at the table and Jack joined him. He tossed his guns onto the wood and bent down to push. The legs scraped the floor, but it slid grudgingly across the room to slam against the wall right under the window.

  “Molly!" Jack glanced around to see her leveling the shotgun at the six-foot-wide, multi-paned window.

  “Got it!" she shouted.

  The shotgun roared.

  The picture window exploded out into the night, leaving jagged edges of glass jutting from the frame.

  But it was enough.

  “Go, go!" Bill yelled behind them.

  Molly went first, scrambling up onto the table and leaping out into the darkness. Jack said a silent prayer that there were no Prowlers waiting. As the sheriff followed Molly, Jack grabbed up his guns.

  “Bill!" he snapped.

  The Prowler let go of the door and in three long strides had leaped up on top of the table. He grabbed hold of Jack, hauled him up, and then the two of them dove out through the jagged maw of glass side by side.

  They tumbled on the grass.

  Molly and Tackett were already up, guns aimed into the darkness. Inside the conference room they could hear the door give way with a crash of breaking wood. Jack hesitated.

  “There are too many of them, Jack," Molly said quickly. “We need room to breathe."

  It pained Jack to do it, but with a single glance back at the sheriff 's building, he ran. All four of them went together, sprinting around the front of the building, where at least a dozen Prowlers milled about, battering at windows in a kind of animal fury that was irrational, savage, and inhuman.

  Beasts, Jack thought. That's all they are. Not evil.

  But they seemed so evil.

  Mainly 'cause they want to kill us.

  The sheriff 's patrol car was all the way around the other side of the parking lot. The Jeep was closer. Jack slapped the keys into Molly's hand. With her in the lead, they ran diagonally across the lot toward the Jeep as the Prowlers began to lope across the pavement to intercept them.

  Tackett paused, took aim, and put a round through the right eye of the one in the lead, blowing out the back of his skull. He went down, tripping up a couple of the others.

  “Back off!" the sheriff commanded.

  They did not listen. But at least they slowed down a bit, perhaps wary of his marksmanship. Jack fired a few times at them as well, and one of the bullets connected.

  He heard the Jeep's engine rumble to life and looked up, legs pumping beneath him. Molly was behind the wheel, and Bill was standing outside it. Both passenger side doors were open. Jack ran faster, Tackett rasping, trying to catch his breath as he did his best to keep up.

  Bill had Molly's shotgun now, and he waited until Jack and Tackett were nearly to the Jeep before he pumped and fired twice in succession. Jack dove into the backseat. The sheriff climbed into the front, as Bill leaped in back.

  The doors slammed.

  Molly floored it in reverse and the tires squealed on the pavement. With a loud crumple of metal, she rammed one of the Prowlers. The others leaped on top of the Jeep as Molly shifted into Drive and accelerated again. Several of the beasts fell off.

  One of them tried to hang on to the hood, but rolled off when Molly took a corner. But there was one on the roof, and another used the roof rack as a hand hold as he smashed the rear window with one huge, hairy fist.

  “We've got to get them off!" Jack roared.

  Jack slid down in the seat and shot two rounds through the roof of his Jeep. There was a wail of agony, and the beast up there tumbled off the side of the vehicle. Even as he sat up, he saw the sheriff take aim out the back window. He shot the Prowler back
there twice, and would have done so a third time had the clip not run out of bullets.

  They were free.

  They had won.

  Yet it did not feel as though it were a victory. Lemoine was still back at the police station. We survived, that's all. Jack tried to come to terms with that, for he knew that, for the moment, it would have to be enough.

  Buckton was curiously silent as they rode toward the downtown area. Inside the Jeep, no one said a word.

  Jack stared out the window at the street lamps casting their eerie glow upon the road, at the forest beyond, and the buildings that grew more numerous as they approached the Post Road. When he glanced up front again, he saw another car coming toward them. Its headlights reminded him of the sickly yellow illumination from the street lamps.

  It passed them by going the other direction.

  Phil Garraty's postal van.

  Garraty's ghost glared sadly at him from behind the wheel as the spectral vehicle slid past in the night. One among many lost souls who were relying on him to destroy this Pack, not merely for vengeance, but to make sure they never killed again.

  “Jesus," Jack whispered.

  He closed his eyes, thinking about how many Prowlers were behind them - far more than he and Molly would have guessed. How many were still alive? They had killed maybe eight. Even if they could count on there being twelve or fifteen others back there, there was no way to know if they had even seen them all.

  “Jack?" Molly asked, voice soft and anxious.

  He opened his eyes.

  “Are you all right?" she ventured.

  They were passing through the main area of town now. The buildings looked almost abandoned. Dead. Ghosts themselves. There were a couple of people on the street, in front of the Empire Theatre. And along the sidewalks, he could see the ghost victims lining the road.

  The ghosts stared at the Jeep as it rolled past, on its way out of town. The spirits of the dead knew that he was going. Leaving them unavenged.

  “Damn it," Jack snapped.

  He felt Tackett staring at him. In the passenger seat up front, Bill turned around. He was human again, and Jack had not even noticed him changing.

  “What is it?" Bill asked him.

  Jack swallowed hard. “You got those grenades?"

  Bill touched the small bag that was still strapped around his shoulder. In the rearview mirror, Jack could see the reflection of Molly's eyes studying him. Worry lines crinkled the skin around her eyes, and he thought how wrong it was that she should have lines at the age of eighteen.

  Then he crawled over the backseat and pulled the top off the crate back there. He withdrew boxes of ammunition for the nine millimeters, and a carton of shells for the shotgun. He tossed them over onto his seat, then he pulled out the assault rifle.

  When he slid back into his seat, the sheriff was staring at him wide-eyed.

  “What the hell are you doing, Jack?" Tackett demanded.

  Jack held up the assault rifle. “You ever fired one of these?"

  “Maybe not that one exactly," the sheriff replied carefully. “But I was a marine."

  “That'll do," Jack said. He handed the weapon to the sheriff, then started loading his own guns again. “Bill," he said, “hand back that shotgun."

  Molly's eyes still watched him in the mirror. “Jack?"

  “Turn it around, Molly. We have to go back."

  “You're out of your mind!" the sheriff told him. “Now's not the time, kid - "

  Jack rounded on him. “You can't see what I see, Tackett! You can't see the dead lining the streets. We can't just leave. How do we know what they'll do in the meantime? How do we know they'll even still be here? But right now they're all back there waiting, probably pissing all over your office, your duty to this town.

  We have to go back."

  Tackett looked as though he'd been struck in the face. After a moment he blinked once, then popped the clip out of the assault rifle to make sure it was fully loaded.

  Molly hit the brakes, and they turned around and headed back toward the police station.

  “Make sure my shotgun is loaded," she said from the driver's seat.

  It was quiet after that. Jack saw the ghostly postal truck in the road up ahead, but he did not mention it. Nor did he say any more about the phantoms that lingered on the sidewalks, moving swiftly along with them, keeping up with the Jeep as though it were no effort at all.

  Yet though he did not mention the dead again, all three of his companions glanced furtively out into the dark from time to time, as if they might catch a quick glance of the lost souls who even now urged them on their way, crying silently for justice.

  * * *

  Molly's knuckles were white on the wheel. Her breathing was shallow and for a moment she felt as though she were underwater; there was pressure on her ears and everything sounded so far away. Her foot was heavy on the pedal. The Jeep barreled up the road, covering the mile or two between downtown and the police station in what seemed like no time at all. The headlights seemed strangely dim. Beside her, Bill loaded her shotgun. Then he slid two grenades out of the bag and cradled them in his hand.

  In the rearview mirror she saw Jack staring out the side windows, face slack and pale, ghostly. She knew what he was seeing. The lost souls, the victims of the Prowlers. He did not have to tell her. Molly wondered if the Meredith girl, the one they'd been unable to save, was out there, looking on.

  It made her angry to think that. And the anger gave her strength.

  The Jeep hit a pothole and the headlights seemed to blaze with renewed vigor. In the backseat, the sheriff checked the clip on the assault rifle again, and Molly tried not to think of the destructive capacity of that weapon. All guns scared her, but this one more so. It seemed so uncontrollable, even in the hands of a man with such confidence.

  Of course, most of the sheriff 's confidence was gone now. An expression of grim determination was etched on his face, but there was none of the air of authority around him anymore. He was just another soldier now.

  “There," Bill rasped.

  Ahead, the Town Hall was dark. As they cruised past it, the police station came into view, its shattered windows gleaming with light from deep within, a flickering jack-o'-lantern of a building. Dark shapes cavorted in the paved parking lot.

  “They're still here," Molly whispered.

  “It looks like they're . . . celebrating," the sheriff rumbled.

  “They think they've won," Bill told them.

  Jack grunted in the back. “Like hell."

  “Molly, hit a few if you can, but get us right in front of the door." Bill rolled the grenades in his hand.

  The faces of the Prowlers, their animal countenances, were almost absurdly comic when the Jeep turned toward them and the headlights picked them out, spotlighting them against the front of the station. Molly pumped the accelerator instead of the brake, and the Jeep surged across the parking lot. Several of the Prowlers were smart enough and quick enough to dive out of the way.

  Two of them weren't.

  The Jeep struck them an eyeblink apart, the impact of metal on shattering bone reminding Molly of big fireworks, and the way the explosion is heard first, and then the report right after. One of the Prowlers went under the tires and the Jeep bumped over him. The other flew up and struck the windshield, which splintered, and the thing slid off the spiderwebbed glass, limbs at odd angles, when she slammed on the brakes.

  “Go!" Jack shouted.

  Molly grabbed the shotgun from Bill, kicked open her door, and blew the arm off a Prowler that was coming for her.

  They rushed the Jeep immediately, but only a few were still outside. As if enjoying the spoils of war, most of them were inside. Jack figured they were looking for Lemoine's journal. He could see several outlined in the open door, beginning to stream out, primal rage mixing with surprise as they prepared to finish what they had started.

  Jack had the same idea.

  He shot the first Prowler to
rush him right through the window on his door. Then he kicked it open, dropped to the pavement, and shot again as the animal swiped a claw toward Molly's legs.

  Gunfire split the night.

  “Bill!" Jack shouted. “The door!"

  Even before the words were out, he saw Bill pull the pins on a pair of grenades and lob them at the front door of the station.

  “Cover!" Bill roared.

  They all ducked their heads, shied away, but the blast was bigger than they expected, and when the grenades exploded, Jack and Molly were knocked off their feet. His head smacked the pavement hard, and he shook it as he got up.

  Molly pumped the shotgun and decimated the chest of a Prowler that lunged at him. He fell beside him with a wet crunch and twitched only once.

  “Stay down!" Sheriff Tackett snapped.

  Jack glanced up at him from the pavement and watched in amazement as the aging man with the round belly and the thick, steel gray mustache opened fire with the assault rifle. There were four Prowlers remaining in the parking lot that were still on their feet when he started. Tackett swept the gun in a wide arc at gut level, and the Prowlers jittered like tacky plastic skeletons as the bullets thumped through their flesh.

  They all went down.

  “Let's move!" Bill snarled.

  Jack was up in an instant. He grabbed Molly by the hand and pulled her up with him, and when they turned toward the station, he saw that the entire face of it, the front door and the wall around it, had been blown in. In the harsh light from inside, he could see several Prowlers getting to their feet. Others were scrambling over the rubble, howling with fury and bloodlust as they rushed to get out to the parking lot. Two kept going, along the side of the building, running for their lives.

  Even as Bill reached into the bag at his side, his flesh rippled, the fur pushed through from below, and his bones stretched. It happened in three seconds.

  In that time, he'd pulled the pins on two more grenades and tossed them into the open corridor of the police station.