The Straw Men tsm-1

by Michael Marshall

  her feet, grabbed the wheel and stepped up. This time when she fell at least it was on the seat.

  She dragged herself more or less upright, pulled the door shut. Scrabbled for the keys.

  They weren't there.

  * * *

  'John, listen to me,' I said. 'She's sick. She doesn't know what she's saying.'

  Zandt backed down the stairs away from me, his gun steady in front. Sarah was sheltered behind him, her arms looped tightly around his waist, both for protection and to hold herself up. She stumbled, nearly fell. Zandt had to turn to catch her, putting an arm around her shoulders and clamping her body to his. She had stopped screaming now, but only because her voice had dried to a rasp. The noise was still there inside her own head.

  I walked slowly down the steps toward them. My hands were held up, and I was talking in a low, calm voice.

  'I did not abduct her,' I said. 'I was not in Santa Monica at the time. I was in Santa Barbara. I can

  prove it. I have hotel receipts.'

  'It's a half-hour drive.'

  'I know, John. I know that. So if I was lying, why would I tell the truth about that part? I could have told you I was in fucking Florida. John, what the hell is going on in your head? You think I'd come up here with you, you think I'd be tracking down these people, if I was one of them?'

  Zandt reached the bottom of the stairs. Still supporting Sarah, who was still trying to hide behind him, he backed across the wide corridor and toward the front reception room. This time they were going out the front door.

  'There's no telling what people will do,' Zandt said. 'Including me. Make a move and I'll blow your head off.'

  'It's not me.'

  'She says it is. She says you were there in Santa Monica.'

  I stopped walking. 'Okay,' I said. 'Okay. Here's what we'll do. I'll stay here. You leave. You get her out, and then you come back for me, and we'll talk.'

  'I'll come back for you,' Zandt said. 'But we won't talk.'

  * * *

  Sarah felt herself falling, but the good man held her up again. Nokkon Wud was receding now. He was staying at the foot of the staircase. He was tricking them, she knew. He was making them think they could get away, and then he'd come for them. He didn't have to walk. He could leap up through the roof and into the sky. He could fly over people's houses, he could dive in and kill them from above. He wasn't normal. He wasn't like anyone else.

  She tried to say this to the good man, but it was too hard. She tried to tell him to shoot Nokkon now, but she couldn't and he didn't. He just kept carrying her, into the room at the front of the house. Sarah didn't have any choice about where she went. Her legs weren't working. She just had to go where she was taken.

  * * *

  Nina believed he wasn't going to be there. All the time she stumbled across the lot, as she pushed open the door to the lobby, as she navigated through the marooned hulks of oversized armchairs and settees, Nina had half-believed that Davids would have disappeared, that all she would find was an empty space on the floor. It didn't make any difference. She could not start the car without the keys. Either Bobby had taken them or Davids had. She didn't know where Bobby was. She had to find Davids, and she had to start from where he'd fallen.

  And that's where he was. Hardly believing it, Nina reached down to go through his pockets. It would be easier to kneel, but she feared that if she did that she'd never get up again. She'd been able to get across the lot and back into the building, but she didn't know how much she had left. She slipped her hand into his jacket.

  His hand lashed out and grabbed hers. His mouth opened.

  'Mary,' he said.

  She stared, terrified, at his face. He pulled her and she fell.

  Her knee crashed straight into his face. The neck twisted with a crunch, but she was barely aware of

  this as her own head smacked into the floor. She scrabbled at the slippery floor, got no purchase, then realized nothing was pulling at her. She

  twisted round. Put her hand back in his jacket. He didn't move.

  She still had to find the keys. If that was the last thing she ever did, then so be it.

  She found them in his right trouser pocket. Found three sets. Took them all. Slid along the floor, keeping as far away from him as possible, until she was by a chair. Maybe the chair she'd been lying in, she thought, though she wasn't sure. That seemed quite a while ago.

  Triumphant with possession, it only took her thirty seconds to get to her feet. And then she went back across the lobby, over the body of the dead policeman, through the door, and back out into the lot. Her second wind was ebbing, and she knew it — not because she was hurting more, but because the pain was being occluded from her. Blood loss and shock. Her body was pulling up the draw-bridge. It needed its energy, and she was wasting it.

  She got to the car, grateful she hadn't shut the door. Pulled herself across onto a seat that was now soaked with rain.

  The second set of keys went into the ignition. She closed the door only then, knowing she wouldn't have to go find Bobby.

  The engine caught on the first turn, and she blessed Ford and their wily little car makers. It wasn't like when she was young. Then you had to coax them into life, and as a result you loved them and gave them names. Come rain, come shine, these days the things always started. You didn't have to name them to make them work. All you had to do was know where you were going.

  She rested her head on the wheel, just for a second, and felt herself blacking out. Jerked back up, put the car in reverse and kangarooed back ten yards.

  Then shoved it into Drive, put her foot right down, and drove straight at the fence.

  * * *

  I kept my word, though I was afraid and confused and didn't want to be left alone in the house. I stayed at the bottom of the stairs, staring at a thick cable running up it, until I heard Zandt's voice from the front room.

  'Oh Jesus Christ,' he said, and the girl managed another scream. There was a clunking sound. I ran.

  In the front room a single lamp was now on, casting a sallow glow by the window. The girl was scrunched up in the corner, making mewling sounds. Zandt was on his back on the floor, his gun lying

  yards away. The cop had a very bizarre expression on his face.

  Standing over him was a man with a gun. The gun was pointing right at Zandt's head.

  'Get away from him,' I shouted, arms straight and my own gun ready. 'Get the fuck away.'

  'Or what?' said the man, without even looking. 'Or what?'

  'Or I'll blow your fucking head off.'

  'You think?' The man finally turned to me. 'Hey, Ward,' he said. 'Long time no see.'

  I saw my own face. The world tilted, flipped away.

  His hair was longer, and a slightly different colour, dyed a brighter blond. There was something shifted about his features, but nothing more than the impact of being enlivened by a different mind. If you'd seen my face on some days, in some situations, it would have looked the same. Other than that there was no difference. Even our build was exactly similar. I blinked.

  'Right,' The Upright Man nodded affably. 'So — you think you can do it now? Kill the only blood relative you ever had?' His finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. 'I'm genuinely interested to know, and don't let the fact you'll be killing John, too, influence your decision in any way.'

  He turned his attention back to Zandt. 'Said I'd give her back, sooner or later.' He swung a kick at Zandt's face.

  The impact jerked Zandt's head back so viciously that for a moment I thought his neck would be broken. I tried to pull the trigger. But I couldn't.

  'You killed one of my co-workers, fuckhead,' The Upright Man continued. 'You put away men better than you. Just so you know, I tried to change Karen. For a long time. It didn't work. So I boiled her. But now I give her back. Did you like the 'delivery' outside?'

  Zandt rolled his neck, sniffed against the pain. 'I don't care what you call yourself,' he said. His voice was flat. 'I n
ever have. Shoot the fucker, Ward.'

  My mouth was open, and the insides were dry. My arms were not trembling, but locked like stone. It was impossible to move my fingers. I felt like I was missing the back of my head, as if I only lived in my eyes.

  The Upright Man saw me staring, grinned. 'Weird, huh? We got a lot to talk about,' he said. 'But I know you're going to be a little wigged out, and actually we need to be leaving. As a gesture of good faith to you I'm going to leave one of these two pieces of shit alive. You get to choose one, and whack the other. You done nowhere near enough killing yet, my man. We need to get you up to speed.'

  'The FBI is on the way,' I said. My voice sounded vague and quiet and hollow, even to myself.

  'Don't think so,' The Upright Man said, confidently. 'They were coming, they'd be with you.'

  'Why did you do it? Why did you kill my parents?'

  'They weren't your parents, fuckhead. 'You know that. They killed our father and screwed up our lives. We should have been together, right from the start. Think what we could have done by now. The Straw Men got the money, bro, but we got the blood. We're pure. We're the heart of everything. We're what is true.'

  * * *

  Lying in the corner, Sarah's hands were over her ears and her eyes were screwed shut. She could still hear the man's voice. His hateful, hateful voice, the voice she had heard going on and on, saying thing after thing after thing until she thought it was that which would kill her in the end, not the hunger; that sooner or later he would say something and her head would just split rather than hear any more.

  'My advice is you kill John here,' Nokkon was saying. 'He's got nothing left to live for anyhow. And that way you get to keep the girl. She's kind of scuffed up, but hey — we could have some fun.'

  Sarah opened her eyes.

  'Shoot him, Ward,' the man on the floor said. 'Just shoot him.'

  'You're beginning to piss me off, John,' Nokkon said, kicking him again. 'You too, Ward. It's time to move on. My work on this mountain is done. It's time to fly.'

  Sarah was confused. The man she'd thought might be her father wasn't, and he was lying on the floor. The other man… she didn't know who he was. A mirror man.

  Nokkon talked to the mirror man, who wasn't moving. 'Come on, man, let's get this done. Whack the fuck. You know you want to. You've killed before. That's not an accident.'

  Nokkon pointed his gun at the head of the man on the floor. He was going to kill him and fly. He'd said as much. And if the man on the floor wasn't her father, then her father might be at home with her mother and sister. But the thing was, their home had a roof. And if the house had a roof then Nokkon could fly through it, and if he'd do all this to her then there was no telling what he'd do to them.

  Sarah slid her hands off her ears. They weren't blocking anything anyway.

  'It's in your blood,' Nokkon was saying. 'I know you read the Manifesto. You've read it, and you'll know it's true.'

  'It's bullshit,' the man called John said. Nokkon's foot lashed out immediately, stomping down on his hand.

  'Ward, I'm rescinding my offer,' the devil said, his voice for the first time less than steady. 'You want

  to kill anyone, it's going to have to be her. This guy's been mine for a long while.'

  He lined the gun straight at Zandt's face.

  But then his head jerked upright. As if hearing something outside the house.

  Sarah didn't even think. She leaped out of the corner.

  * * *

  I saw the girl shoot up from nowhere. Her Body wasn't up to it, and the forward thrust was compromised before she was even fully on her feet. But the momentum drove her over Zandt's feet and barrelling straight into The Upright Man. He toppled over backwards, swatting at the girl's bony head, at teeth that were trying to fasten on his face.

  One good crack across the eyes and she was falling backward, but the spell on me had been broken.

  I fired once, missing him, but then Zandt was on top of him and I couldn't shoot again.

  The two men rolled across the floor, kicking, punching. I stood ready to one side, waiting for a clear shot I believed I would take, which I knew I must take at any cost. Then I heard the noise from outside, the sound of a thrashed motor, of a horn being hit again and again. Bobby, thank Christ.

  I saw the girl, lying still on the floor, blood flowing out of her nose. I ran to her, knowing this would have been Zandt's choice of priority. I pulled her upright with an arm round her stomach, stumbled toward the front door.

  Yanked it open to be bathed in light. I couldn't work out what the fuck and then realized it was the headlights of the car I'd rented from the airport the day before.

  I pulled the girl down the steps beside me, wondering what the hell Bobby was playing at but blessing his very soul. Then I realized there was only one person in the car and it wasn't him but the FBI agent and that she looked like death.

  I ran round to her window. 'Where's Bobby?'

  'Get in,' was all she said. 'Is that her?'

  'Yes. Where's Bobby?'

  'Where's Zandt?'

  'He's inside. Will you tell me where the fuck Bobby is?'

  'Bobby's dead,' she screamed. 'Davids killed him. I'm sorry, Ward, but get John, please, we've got to

  go. The whole compound is wired and we have to go.'

  Cables. All over the place.

  I yanked open the back door and pushed the girl in as gently as I could. Left the door open and

  sprinted back to the front of the house, shouting out Zandt's name.

  Thinking: Bobby's dead.

  In the front room there was no one. Zandt's gun wasn't lying on the floor any more. I ran through the house, still shouting, gun out in front, enough of my head still stuck in the world of two minutes ago to be running hot with shame. I hadn't done it, hadn't shot my brother. But I could do it now. I knew I could. I could do it now.

  I heard the sound of running from behind and to the side and swerved to pelt into the back reception area. Zandt came hurtling across the room at me. I remembered at the last minute and shouted, 'It's me, John, it's not him, it's me.'

  Zandt's face was running with blood. He stopped, gun an inch from my head, trigger already half-pulled.

  'Look at the clothes, John, look at my fucking clothes.'

  A beat, and then Zandt shoved me aside and tried to run past. I grabbed him round the neck.

  'Nina's outside. Bobby's dead. We've got to go.'

  Zandt elbowed me in the stomach, knocking me backward. I grabbed him again, yanked his head in tight, screamed at him.

  'The whole place is wired. We don't go, he's going to get us all. He's going to get Sarah.'

  Zandt's rigidity flexed for a split second, and I hauled him into the front room. Pulled him backward across it to the front door, back into the light flooding through it.

  Outside Nina was revving the engine, but still Zandt tried to resist, fighting like a bear against the arm looped round his neck. For a second I thought I might have seen a shadow flit across one of the doorways back inside the house, but it was soon gone.

  When we were outside Zandt seemed to realize there were other people in the world, seemed for a moment to see a window through which there was something other than the man he had to kill. I shoved him at the car, stooping to pick something up off the ground.

  Zandt climbed unwilling into the back, shouting and swearing, banging the back of the seat in front of him with his fists. Nina had slumped sideways, half into the passenger seat. I got in the driver's door and pushed her across, strapped her in.

  I found the gas pedal, jammed my foot down as if trying to stand up. The car fishtailed backward on the wet grass and I pulled it round. Nina was banged into her door, and started moaning, rhythmically but quietly.

  'Brace Sarah,' I yelled back to Zandt, pulling my seatbelt on, and then we were hurtling back down through The Halls, flashing past all the quiet houses with their treasures.

  I thought I could hear bo
nes crunching under the tyres, but that must have been in my mind and I hoped Zandt did not hear it, too. I hoped also that I did not see what I thought I saw, for an instant: the silhouettes of a small group of people standing up on the ridge of the hill surrounding the pasture, looking down on us.

  We were going too fast. I couldn't really have seen it. When I glanced back, they were gone.

  I aimed at the hole Nina had made on the way in, and almost made it. Boards flew past the windshield. Worse was a bad tearing noise from where the chassis took a hit from one of the posts on the other side, but the car kept on going. It nearly rolled in the left turn out of the lot and I thought everything had been in vain, but I got the wheels down again and took off down the drive, under the gate, and then right into the road out of the mountains. I nearly totalled the vehicle again immediately just around the turn, where Harold Davids had stashed his car, but managed to skid around it. A series of hairpins, picking up speed, until a final long straight run down toward the stand of trees that shielded the road. I didn't even try to make this turn, knew in advance it wasn't going to happen, and steered instead through the trees, finding gaps large enough to get the car through, aiming us bumping and shuddering out the other side onto the grass. Somewhere between there and the road a flint took out one of the back tyres, and all I could do was try to stop the car rolling as it bounced and skidded down the final slope to smash through the low barricade with a scream of shearing metal.

  The car skated across the icy road and clear off the other side into the Gallatin River, running shallow and fast and cold. There was a moment of stillness, in which we realized we were still alive, and then the entire world seemed to explode.

  Slumped as I was, bent over and twisted round, all I could see was a new sun of light, bursting out of the mountains like the dawn.

  Houma, Louisiana

  This is a small motel, and has no room service. I have a small room, out on the end of an arm of equally small rooms stretching out from a dusty office, which is small. The television is old and shit. There is water in the swimming pool, but no one is swimming in it. Least of all me.