“Shhh . . . it’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispered. You did good. You did good. You’re still learning.” She collapsed into a heap of sobs against him. He slowly let her sink to the snowy ground, all the fight gone out of her.
Still stroking her back, Jack took aim and put a pellet into the creature that was staked and flailing not two yards away. Then he flopped down next to her, their backs to the van. Beth sucked in two lungs’ worth of the clean night air. Blood bounded over to them. Jack petted the dog’s ear as he nuzzled in between them, anxious to join the huddle. Beth felt a warm tongue lick the tears from her face, a wet nose smear her cheek.
“That was too close.” Jack shook his head as he scanned the lot. He put an arm around her and drew her close.
Beth saw nothing in the shadows, but she was still rattled by how those things had managed to sneak up on them. “How did they know we’d be here? How did they find us?”
“Maybe it’s random.”
“This was not random.”
“I know.” Jack let his head thump against the van’s quarter panel. “Some kind of chemical communication, maybe. They might have tracked my scent when I came out of the vault. They’re smart in their own way. Too smart,” he said, as she burrowed even deeper into his embrace. “I think they know we mean harm to the nest.”
“How can they know that?”
Jack shrugged. A few feet away, Beth saw that Blood had wedged his head into the pizza box and was busy chowing down. “Make sure you save a little for us, boy,” Jack called out. If the dog heard him, he didn’t obey.
The snow swirled around them, turning the New Harbor skyline into a giant snow globe. In the distance, Beth could see a cluster of high-rise office buildings, their windows lit up intermittently like a string of old Christmas lights. Beyond that stood the University’s famed carillon tower. In a few hours, its bells would peal, tolling the midnight hour.
Jack slipped his hand into hers. It was as warm as it was rough. “Beth,” he said softly. “Why did you point the gun at me? What did you see?”
Beth scrambled for words and came up empty.
“What did they look like to you this time?” He kept his eyes on her. She fixed her gaze on the patch of ground just past her splayed-out feet. She couldn’t answer. Not now, not after this. “It was me, wasn’t it?”
She turned to him, too shocked to breathe. “I’m sorry. I don’t want them to. But you said the mind sees what it wants. And you . . . you make me feel safe.”
Something approaching a smile formed at the corner of Jack’s mouth. “Haven’t heard that in a while. I guess I should be flattered. Or maybe mad at you.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“I’m kidding.” But he did break the embrace. He did rise up from the ground and leave her there. “We’ve got less time than I thought. We go in tonight.”
“I thought the plan was to go in during the day. When they were sleeping.”
“Plans change,” was all he had to offer.
Beth scrambled to her feet. “But they’ll be awake!”
“I know. But if we don’t go now, we might not get another chance.”
“I can’t do it, Jack,” she said, finally grasping the magnitude of it all. “I can’t go in there.”
“You have to. I can’t do this alone.”
“But what if it happens again? What if I see them as you? Can’t we come up with some kind of, I don’t know, secret signal?”
Jack shook his head. “It won’t work. The mind sees what it wants to. Even secret signals.”
“What then? How will I know?”
“You might not. But I trust you.” He stood, extending his hand. “All you have to do now is trust yourself.”
Fifty-eight
Jack shook open a black plastic garbage bag. One by one, he took his hand-crafted flour bombs from the van’s cabinet and shoved them inside. He twisted and knotted the neck of the bag and slipped another over it.
“Is that going to be enough to make it through the tunnels?” Beth asked.
“It’s going to have to be,” he answered. “If they get wet, it’s all over.”
Beth looked at the thin layers of plastic, just one more tiny thing that stood between success and death. “What about Blood? What happens with him? Is he coming with us?”
“No. He’ll keep watch with the van. You’d better suit up.” Beth nodded. She shed her civilian clothes without another word. All thoughts about modesty were now lost. This was war.
She’d just gotten zippered up, laced both boots and tied them tight, when she noticed that Blood had bent low. His hackles were raised, his teeth bared. Jack saw it, too. “What is it, boy?”
Blood twisted his head upward and growled at the ceiling. Beth heard a thud coming from above them. A scream formed in her throat, but before it could come out, the side window shattered. Glass rained in on them as a man surged through. He landed on the floor in a crouch, moving too fast for Beth to get a clear look. But she knew all too well whose face it would have when he lifted his head.
Jack stepped in between them, shoving her back. “Keep your focus slack. Do not look it in the eye,” he commanded. “I’ve got this one. Take the dog up front, and drive!”
“Drive? Where?”
“Just drive. Get us the hell out of here! Get us to Axis!”
The thing leaped straight for Jack. For an instant, Beth watched the image of him grappling with himself. The two of them crashed into the lab equipment. Test tubes, vials, flasks, and beakers all tumbled to the ground, all smashed to nothingness.
Beth did her best to keep her vision a hazy blur as she clambered for her tactical belt. “Go!” She yelled, trying to shove Blood through the tiny partition door that separated the back of the van from the cab. Her hands met fur and resistance. “Go! We follow orders, remember?” The dog obeyed with a pitiful whine, and the two of them slipped into the driver’s cabin. She turned around and took one last look at the two Jacks, both locked in their death grip. Only one of them would emerge. If it was the wrong one, she might as well have died back there, too. It would be over for her. It would be over for all of New Harbor. She slammed the door shut and drew the bolt.
Her heart hammered in her chest like an alarm bell clapper. Her gut sat lower than the seat she was on. She sucked in a deep breath. “Axis it is.” Beth twisted the ignition. The engine roared to life. She dropped her belt, loaded with weapons, onto the seat next to Blood. Through the windshield, the field was clear. She looked over to the dog. “I’d say buckle up, but, you know, fuck it.” And with that, she slammed the van into drive. Gravel spit out from the back tires, and they were off.
Beth’s head hit the roof of the cab with an electric thwack as she bounded over a hump. A curb? Or one of those things? She squealed onto the street, accelerator pedal pressed flat to the floorboard. She looked down at the speedometer. The needle was pushing the red, eighty miles per hour; she hoped it would be fast enough. She hauled right and felt two of the van’s wheels lift from the pavement, felt her lunch lifting with them. She righted the van, just in time to clip the side of a parked UPS truck. A line of sparks dragged down the side, but she continued on, barreling down the road. If she’d reacted a second later, she would have hit the truck broadside and it would have all ended there in a mess of twisted metal, shattered glass, and gore.
Blood slipped down off the passenger bucket and crouched between the two seats, pawing at the tiny door as if he was trying to get back to his master. “Not the best time. Daddy’s busy.” She looked down at the woefully inadequate dead bolt that kept that door shut. It rattled in its sheath. She heard a heavy thump and a crash come from the other side and wondered if it would hold.
Beth groped for the comfort of her tactical belt on the seat beside her and felt a hand instead. She looked up to see that Jack had somehow joined her in the cab. He was smiling.
He was relaxed. It was time for her to relax, too. She eased off the gas pedal.
No! Not Jack! Jack was still in the back, battling that thing. And Jack never smiled. Jack was never relaxed. This was one of them. She slackened her focus, just as he’d told her to. She pushed images of him from her mind. Suddenly, she felt that it was something else. Not Jack, just a man. One who could take her far away from Jack and his war . . . if only she would let him.
No! She jerked the wheel to the left, and the thing smacked its head against the side window. The dog leaped up from the floor. He went straight for the creature’s neck. It laid one heavy hand on Blood, sending him to the foot well with a sick whimper. Beth reached for her seat belt, whipping it across her torso and clicking it closed. Then she locked her arms against the steering wheel and stomped on the gas. Both she and the thing were shoved back in their seats so hard it pinned them there. Then, just as quickly, she slammed on the brakes with both boots.
Beth felt the wind go out of her lungs as the belt caught and held her. The thing’s head hit hard against the windshield. A spider web of cracks blossomed from the point of impact. Blood howled from the front of the foot well, but seemed safe. The thing peeled its face from the broken glass. One eye was gone, smashed flat. The lower jaw seemed put on backward. A portrait of Jack done by Picasso. The thing shook its head. It seemed dazed, disoriented. But only for a moment. Then it fixed its attention back on her, twisting its snake-like neck around, mouth open wide. Beth gunned the accelerator again as she fumbled for the first thing she could grab. It was one of the auto-snares. It sprang open at her touch, and before the thing could lunge again, she had it looped over its head.
The creature pulled back. Beth looked away, unable to watch as the thing she knew—she knew—wasn’t Jack scratched and clawed at the tightening wire. She kept her eyes on the road until she felt the hot splash of white blood splatter across her shoulder. The creature slid down in a thick clump, but she was safe.
She reached over and opened the door. She shoved the body out with barely a glance at it. It tumbled from the seat and into the street with a rolling thud. She could feel bruises already beginning to blossom across her chest where she’d hit the belt, and her snatched breath came in a pinched wheeze. She snaked her gun from its holster in case they’d picked up any other hitchhikers. And just then she felt the cold rush of air as the door opened back up. And in crawled another Jack.
“Ah, gimme a break already.” She lifted her pistol and kept her focus slack as she aimed right between the eyes.
Fifty-nine
Jack had barely managed to make it back into the cab. He’d fought the creature to a standstill and had just been able to slip out the side hatch as the van came to a lurching halt. He held on then, and held on again as it started back up and went careening down the road. And he’d almost bought it three times over as he shimmied his way across the running board, all while the van squealed down the thoroughfare, missing parked cars and light poles by inches. Just as he’d put his hand on the door handle it opened, and he’d watched Beth shove a headless corpse into the street. And he’d breathed a sigh of relief—even at seventy miles per hour—as he slid inside. Only to find himself, again, greeted by the business end of one of his own pistols.
He slapped the barrel away. “Put that thing down.” Blood hopped up from the floor to lick his hand. The dog looked surprisingly spry for what he’d gone through.
“Sorry.” Beth dropped the gun into her lap.
“Just keep your eyes on the road.” Jack gave a moment’s thought to the body she’d dumped into the street. Within the hour, it would be nothing but a thick patch of goo staining the sidewalk. But until then, it might draw some attention. He pushed the worry away. The time for precision, for covering tracks, was gone, long gone. This was triage, pure and simple. “How much time till we get there?”
“Five minutes, maybe,” she answered. “You kill it? That thing?”
“No. It’s still back there.” He’d been lucky enough just to trap the creature momentarily under his wrecked console. His lab, his headquarters, his home, they were all destroyed beyond repair. If they made it out of this, it would be a long time before he’d be able to put the pieces back together.
Beth kept her knuckles white on the wheel. Building after building sped past in a blur of brick, glass, and light. “Jack?” she asked, her voice quavering with realization. “Where are the bombs?”
Hot blood flashed across Jack’s eyes and his stomach lurched. He’d left the bombs in the back—with that thing. “Try to drive steady.” His hand landed on the bolt holding fast the small door that led to the rear cabin. He turned to Beth. “After I’m through, you lock this back up. Can’t risk that thing getting in here.”
“Jack, are you crazy?”
Blood barked. For once, it seemed, he and Beth were in total agreement.
“Look,” Jack said. “There’s about ten gallons of highly flammable liquids spread out on the floor back there. All I have to do is light it up, and that thing will be dead. Okay? Then I’ll grab the bombs, I’ll knock three times and you can let me back in.”
“But the van?”
“Collateral damage. Not like it’s alive.” Even as he said those words, Jack felt a pang of regret. This van had been his only home for so very long, and now that home would become yet another sacrifice in his war. He tried not to think about what else might be sacrificed before the sun rose on New Harbor. “Just get us to Axis. I’ll be fine.” He pulled a stake from his belt and held it tightly in one hand. Then he slipped a snap vial out and rapped it against the dash. He flicked off the cap and breathed in deep. His vision twisted. His temples throbbed. Then he popped the bolt and shoved his way back.
The door latched behind him. He spotted the bag of flour bombs sitting on the floor, just out of reach. Between it and him was that thing, crouched and ready. As he made his move, the thing leaped straight for him. The stake in his hand went flying as it slammed him hard against the wall. The creature snapped at his throat. No need to keep his vision slack this time. He saw it for what it was. He saw it in all its sick terror—slime-covered skin, black pitiless eyes, and teeth stretching down the length of its endless throat. His enemy, raw, ready to kill or be killed.
Jack felt its rank breath—copper and dirt—break across his face as it once again tried to strike. He cut loose with a kick, sending the creature flying back against what was left of his lab equipment. His lungs screamed from the chemical paralysis. It felt like a gross of nails had been pounded into his chest. If he didn’t breathe it out soon, he would be as dead as if that thing had claimed him. He grabbed for the bag and was just able to wrap one hand around its neck before the creature rose from the rubberized floor, shards of glass sticking up from its back like spines.
Jack pulled a flare from his belt. He clacked it to life against the buckle. Orange-red sparks spit from the end, and he tossed it to the fluid-drenched floor between them. The flames licked at his boots and crawled up the side of the creature hungrily. Jack choked out the gas. His lungs and throat burned for air. He slapped the door with the palm of his hand three times. The last thing he heard before slipping back into the cab was that scream raking his eardrums. It was louder than any he’d heard before.
“How far?” he asked, slipping into the passenger seat.
“Three blocks.”
He prayed that would be enough before the tank caught fire. Beth pulled a hard left, and through the windshield he could see the façade of the club looming ahead. “Get out now,” he ordered. “Take the dog.”
“Get out? What are you talking about?”
“Out.” He reached past her, opening the door. Outside, flames leaped from both sides of the van. “When you hit the ground, tuck your knees and roll.” He slapped Blood on one haunch, and the dog hopped into her lap.
“But—”
“Now!”
She obeyed. He watched them both disappear into the night. Jack slid into the driver’s seat and took the wheel. He had only one chance to get this right. He pulled an auto-snare from his belt, then reached down and drew one end of the loop around the pad of the gas pedal. The other he hooked to a spar holding the floor mat in place. Then he yanked the trigger ring. The wire grew taut. The pedal hit the floor. The engine whined to the breaking point, and Jack jumped.
And then it was nothing but ice, and pain, and pavement, and prayer, as he rolled and rolled and rolled.
Sixty
Beth heard the explosion just as she was pulling herself up from the pavement. She saw the ball of flame that rose into the night three blocks down the Strip when the van collided with a shuttered and abandoned storefront. She gripped her shoulder, bruised and scraped raw from the impact.
In the distance, she spotted Jack huffing his way toward her. In his arms, he held the big black plastic bag filled with bombs. Blood limped in his master’s direction, and she watched as the two met halfway down the block. Any moment now, the air would resound with police sirens. Lights, red and blue, would fill the night. Beth didn’t care. They had other problems.
What is it?” Jack asked as he drew within earshot.
“Axis is open.”
“What?”
“The club,” she said, swiping away the snow that matted her hair in a clump. “It’s open for business. You can hear the music from here.” The muffled thump of synthetic drumbeats echoed around them.
“I thought you said they’d be closed.”
“They usually are. I don’t know what happened.”
Jack stopped walking. His eyes went blank and dull, staring out at some space that didn’t exist in this world. The bag slipped from his grasp and fell in a heap at his feet. Then he joined it, slumping down onto the curb. He sat silent, head in hands. Blood nuzzled up next to him.
Beth inched close. “Jack?”
As the Worm Turns Page 23
