Dean Koontz - (1989)

by Midnight(Lit)

him as all the others had. He sort of . . .

  drifted into it, deeper, deeper. And the further he went, the more he

  suspected that this time he would not be pulled rudely back from that

  realm of higher consciousness. From now on he Would be a resident of

  both worlds, which was how the great $spirits themselves lived, with

  awareness of both the higher and lower states of existence. He even

  began to think that what he was undergoing now, spiritually, was a

  conversion of his will, a thousand times more profound than that which

  the citizens of Moonlight Cove had undergone.

  in this exalted state, everything was special and wondrous to Shaddack.

  The twinkling lights of the rainswept town seemed like jewels sprinkled

  through the descending darkness. The molten, silvery beauty of the rain

  itself astonished him, as did the swiftly dimming, gorgeously turbulent

  gray sky.

  As he braked at the intersection of Paddock Lane and Sadd back Drive, he

  touched his breast, feeling the tele he wore from a chain around his

  neck, unable to remember what it was, and that seemed mysterious and as

  wonderful, as well. Then he recalled that the device monitor and

  broadcast his heartbeat, which was received by a unit at New Wave. It

  was effective over a distance of five miles, an would work even when he

  was indoors. If the reception of his heartbeat was interrupted for more

  than one minute, Sun was programmed to feed a destruct order, via

  microwave, to the microsphere computers in all of the New People.

  A few minutes later, on Bastenchurry Road, when he touched the device,

  the memory of its purpose again proved elusive.

  He sensed that it was a powerful object, that whoever wore it held lives

  of others in his hands, and the fantasy-tripping child in him decided

  that it must be an amulet, bestowed upon spirits, one more sign that he

  stood astride the two in the ordinary plane of ordinary men and the

  realm of the great spirits, the gods of the cactus candy.

  His slowly phased-in flashback, like time-released medication, had

  carried him back into the condition of his youth at least to those seven

  years when he'd been in the thrall of runningdeer. He was a child. And

  he was a demigod. He was the favored child of the moonhawk, so he could

  do anything he wanted to anyone, with anyone, and as he continued to

  drive, he fantasized about just what he might want to do . . . and to

  whom. Now and then he laughed softly and slightly shrilly, and his eyes

  gleamed like those of a cruel and twisted boy studying d effects of fire

  on captive ants.

  moose padded around them and wagged his tail so hard it seemed in danger

  of flying off, Chrissie waited in the kitchen for Tessa and Sam until

  more light bled out of the dying day.

  At last Sam said, "All right. Stay close. Do what I say every step of

  the way.

  He looked at Chrissie and Tessa for a long moment before suddenly

  opening the door; without any of them speaking a word, they hugged one

  another. Tessa kissed Chrissie on the cheek, and Sam kissed her, and

  Chrissie returned their kisses. She didn't have to be told why they all

  suddenly felt so affectionate. They Were people, real people, and

  expressing their feelings was important, because before the night was

  out they might not be people any more. Maybe they wouldn't ever again

  feel the of things real people felt, so those feelings were more

  precious by the second.

  Who knew what those weird shape-changers felt? Who would Want to know?

  Besides, if they didn't reach Central, it would be because one Of the

  search parties or a couple of the Boogeymen nailed them along the way.

  In that case this might be their last chance to say goodbye to one

  another.

  Finally Sam led them onto the porch.

  Carefully, Chrissie closed the door behind them. Moose didn't try to

  get out. He was too good and noble a dog for such cheap tricks. But he

  did stick his snout in the narrowing crack, sniffing her and trying to

  lick her hand, so she was afraid she was going to pinch his nose. He

  pulled back at the last moment, and the door clicked shut.

  SAM led them down the steps and across the yard toward the house to the

  south of Harry's. No lights were on there. Chrissie hoped no one was

  home, but she figured some monstrous creature was at one of the dark

  windows right now, peering out at them and licking its chops.

  The rain seemed colder than when she'd been on the run last night, but

  that might have been because she had just come out of the warm, dry

  house. Only the palest gray glow still illuminated the sky to the west.

  The icy, slashing droplets seemed to be tearing the last of the light

  out of the clouds and driving it into the earth, pulling down a deep,

  damp darkness. Before they had even reached the fence separating

  Harry's property from the next, Chrissie was grateful for the hooded

  nylon windbreaker even though it was so big on her that it made her feel

  as if she was a little kid playing dress-up in her parents' clothes.

  It was a picket fence, easy to clamber over. They followed San across

  the neighbor's backyard to another fence. Chrissie was over that one,

  too, and into yet another yard, with Tessa close behind her, before she

  realized they had reached the Coltranes' place.

  She looked at the blank windows. No lights on here, either which was a

  good thing, because if there had been lights, to, that would mean

  someone had found what was left of the Coltranes after their battle with

  Sam.

  Crossing the yard toward the next fence, Chrissie was overcome by the

  fear that the Coltranes had somehow reanimated themselves after Sam had

  fired all of those bullets into them that they were standing in the

  kitchen and looking out the south windows right this minute, that they

  had seen their nemesis an two companions, and that they were even now

  opening the door. She expected two robot-things to come clanking out

  with metal arms and working massive metal hands, sort of like versions

  of the walking dead in old zombie movies, miniature radar-dish antennae

  whirling around and around steam hissing from body vents.

  Her fear must have slowed her, because Tessa ran into her from behind

  and gave her a gentle push to hurry her. Chrissie crouched and hurried

  to the south side of the yard.

  Sam helped her over a wrought-iron fence with spear points on the

  staves. She would probably have gored herself if she'd had to scale it

  alone. Chrissie shishkebab.

  People were home at the next house, and Sam took careful -M - 393 and

  some shrubbery to study the lay of things before con g. Chrissie and

  Tessa quickly joined him there.

  While clambering over the last fence, she'd rubbed the abraded her left

  hand, even though it was bandaged. It hurt, but she gritted her teeth

  and made no complaint. through the branches of what appeared to be a

  mulberry bush, He peered at the house, which was only twenty feet away.

  She saw four people through the kitchen windows. They were getting

  dinner together. A middle-aged couple, a gray-haired gran
dfather and a

  teenage girl.

  She wondered if they had been converted yet. She suspected Doll but

  their was no way to be sure. And since the robots and boogeymen

  sometimes hid in clever human disguises, you couldn't trust anyone, not

  even your best friend . . . or your parents. Pretty much the same as

  when aliens were taking over.

  'Even if they look out, they won't see us," Sam said.

  "Come On.

  Chrissie followed him from the cover of the mulberry bush and across the

  open lawn toward the next property line, thanking God for the fog, which

  was getting denser by the minute.

  . Eventually they reached the house at the end of the block.

  The south side of that lawn fronted the cross street, Bergenwood Way,

  which led down to Conquistador.

  When they were two-thirds of the way across the lawn, less than twenty

  feet from the street, a car turned the corner a block and a half uphill

  and started down. Following Sam's lead, Chrissie threw herself flat on

  the soggy lawn because there was no nearby shrubbery behind which to

  take refuge. If they tried to scramble too far, the driver of the

  approaching car might get close enough to spot them while they were

  still scuttling for cover.

  NO streetlamps flanked Bergenwood, which was in their favor.

  The last of the ashen light was gone from the western sky mother boon.

  As the car drew nearer, moving slowly either because of the bad weather

  or because its occupants were part of a patrol, its lights were diffused

  by the fog, which seemed not to be !reflecting that light but glowing

  with a radiance of its own. Oh*it in the night for yards on both sides

  of the car were half lighted and weirdly distorted by those slowly

  churning, groundluminous clouds.

  When the car was less than a block away, someone riding in the back seat

  switched on a hand-held spotlight. He directed out his side window,

  playing it over the front lawns of the houses that faced on Bergenwood

  and the side lawns of houses that faced the cross streets. At the moment

  the beam was pointed in the opposite direction, south, toward the other

  side of Bergenwood But by the time they had driven this far, they might

  decide to spotlight the properties to the north of Bergenwood.

  "Backtrack," Sam said fiercely.

  "But stay down and craw crawl. " The car reached the intersection, half

  a block uphill.

  Chrissie crawled after Sam, not straight back . the way they had come

  but toward the nearby house. She didn't see anywhere he could hide,

  because the back-porch railing was pretty open and there were no large

  shrubs. Maybe he figured to slip around the side of the house until the

  patrol passed, but she didn't think she and Tessa would make it to the

  corner in time.

  When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that the spotlight was still

  sweeping the front lawns and between the houses on the south flank of

  the street. However, there was the side-glow effect of the headlights to

  worry about, and that was going to wash across this lawn in a few

  seconds.

  She was half crawling and half slithering on her belly, moving fast,

  though no doubt squashing lots of snails and earthworms that had come

  out to bask on the wet grass, which didn't bear thinking about. She

  came to a concrete walkway close to t house-and realized that Sam had

  disappeared.

  She halted on her hands and knees, looking left and right.

  Tessa appeared at her side.

  "Cellar steps, honey. Hurry!"

  Scrambling forward, she discovered a set of exterior concrete steps

  leading down to a cellar entrance. Sam was at the bottom, where

  collected rainwater gurgled softly into a drain in front of the closed

  cellar door. Chrissie joind him in that haven, slipping below ground

  level, and Tessa followed. About four seconds later a spotlight swept

  across the back of the house and even played for a moment inches above

  their heads, on the concrete lip of the stairwell.

  They huddled in silence, unmoving, for a minute or so and the spotlight

  swung away from them and the car passed Chrissie was sure that something

  inside the house had heard them, that - 395 the door at Sam's back would

  fly open at any second, that something would leap at them, a creature

  part werewolf and part computer, snarling and beeping, its mouth

  bristling with both teeth and programming keys, saying something like,

  "To be

  eaten press ENTER and proceed."

  She was relieved when at last Sam whispered, "Go."

  They recrossed the lawn toward Bergenwood Way. This time the street

  remained conveniently deserted.

  As Harry promised, a stone-lined drainage channel ran along Bergenwood-

  According to Harry, who had played in it when he was a kid, the channel

  was about three feet wide and five feet deep. Judging by those

  dimensions, a foot or so of runoff surged through it at the moment.

  Those currents were swift, almost black, revealed at the bottom of the

  shadow trench only by an occasional dark glint and chuckle of swirreling

  water.

  The channel offered a considerably less conspicuous route than the open

  street. They moved uphill a few yards until they saw the mortared, iron

  handholds that Harry had promised they'd find every hundred feet along

  the open sections of the channel- Sam climbed down first, Chrissie went

  second, and Tessa brought up the rear.

  ,Sam hunched over to keep his head below street level, and Tessa a bit

  less than he did. But Chrissie didn't have to hunch at all. Being

  eleven had its advantages, especially when you were on the run from

  werewolves or ravenous aliens or robots or Nazis, and or another during

  the past twenty-four hours, she had been On the run from the first

  three, but not from Nazis, e too, thank ."*God, though who knew what

  might happen next.

  The churning water was cold around her feet and calves. She was

  surprised to discover that although it only reached her knees it had

  considerable force. it pushed and tugged relentlessly, as though it

  were a living thing with a mean desire to topple her. She was not in

  any danger of falling as long as she stood in one place feet widely

  planted, but she was not sure how long she could maintain her balance

  while walking. The watercourse sloped steeply downhill. The old stone

  floor, after several rainy seasons, was well polished by runoff. Because

  of a combination of factors, the channel was the next best thing to an

  amusement-park flume ride.

  if she fell, she'd be swept all the way downhill, to within a block of

  the bluff, where the channel widened straight down into the earth. Harry

  had said somethi about safety bars dividing the passage into narrow

  slots just before the downspout, but she figured that if she were swept

  down there and had to rely on those bars, they would prove to be missing

  or rusted out, leaving a straight shot to the bottom. The channel came

  out again at the base of the cliffs, then led part of the way across the

  beach, discharging the runoff onto the sand or, at I tide, into
the sea.

  She had no difficulty picturing herself tumbling and twisting

  helplessly, choking on filthy water, desperately but unsuccessfully

  grabbing at the stone channel for purchase, suddenly plummeting a couple

  of hundred feet straight down, banging against the walls of the shaft

  when it went vertical, breaking bone smashing her head to bits, hitting

  the bottom with . . .

  Well, yes, she could easily picture it, but suddenly she didn't see any

  wisdom in doing so.

  Fortunately Harry had warned them of this problem, so Sam had come

  prepared. From under his jacket and around his waist he unwound a

  length of rope that he had removed from a long unused pulley system in

  Harry's garage. Though the rope was old, Sam said it was still strong,

  and Chrissie hoped he was right. He had tied one end around his waist

  before leaving the house. Now he looped the other end through

  Chrissie's belt and finally tied it around Tessa's waist, leaving

  approximately three feet of play between each of them. If one of them

  fell-and face it, Chrissie was far and away the one most likely to fall

  most likely to be swept

  to a wet and bloody death-the others could stand fast until she had time

  to regain her footing.

  That was the plan, anyway.

  Securely linked, they started down the channel. Sam hunched over so no

  one in a passing car would see his head bobbling above the stone rim of

  the watercourse, Chrissie hunched over a bit, too, keeping her feet wide

  apart, sort of troll-walking as she had done last night in the meadow.

  Per Sam's instructions, she held on to the line with both hands, taking