“The police had worked me over pretty good. I was in there for hours. I must have had a face like chopped meat by the end. And my head hurt. It hurt so much from the pounding. The pounding fists. The pounding questions.
“One of the Division’s agents came just as I thought the cop was going to put me in a coma. I never got his name, that agent, but he was kind. He gave me an aspirin. Or what I thought was aspirin.”
“It wasn’t, I take it.”
“No.” Jack sighed. “By the time I saw their black town car parked in the police lot, my head was already swimming and my knees felt like they were about to bend backward. And then it all went black.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know how long I was out, but the room I woke up in had no handle on my side of the door. It wasn’t until years later that I learned they’d faked my suicide. Made it look like I’d hung myself in that jail cell. Made me a ghost. Made me into the monster everyone thought I was. And the worst kind of monster at that, one who cheated the executioner.”
“But what did they want you for? Why were they even there?”
Jack shrugged. “They’d come for the creature, you see. They didn’t get it, but they kept me as some kind of consolation prize, I suppose.” He shook his head. “There are big holes in my memory, especially for the first year or two. Month-sized holes, some of them. But I remember them running a lot of tests.”
“Tests? Like experiments? They were experimenting on you?”
“They weren’t exactly cruel, the scientists, but I knew what I was to them. Just an experiment, like you said. They’d never seen someone who’d lived through an attack. Someone who’d tasted the creatures’ venom and lived to tell about it. They wanted to know how I survived. Why I survived. But it was all just a sideshow. At least at first. What they really wanted was one of the creatures.”
“Why?”
“For what people like that always want. They thought they could turn it into a weapon.”
“A weapon? But that’s crazy.”
“Is it? You’ve seen what those things can do. Imagine some oil sheik who doesn’t want to play ball or a CEO who won’t share proprietary technology finding one of those things slithering around his penthouse. It’d be the perfect assassin if they could learn to control it. Which I think they have.”
Beth felt a cold wave break over her, taking all the air in her lungs with it. “The creature in the vault. That’s why it didn’t attack. They were controlling it?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “They brought it with them. They were only using it to lure me out. They need me.”
“Need you for what?”
“They need me for a few things. But mostly, they need me to find the creatures for them.”
“But you just said they brought the one in the vault with them. So they must have found that one on their own.”
“Yes,” he answered. “One. One in over ten years. And I wouldn’t be surprised if that creature was a survivor from the nest in New Harbor. The Division still needs me. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have gone to such lengths with such an elaborate and dangerous trap.”
“But why? Why you?”
“Because I know where they are,” he said simply. “I just do. That’s how I hunt them. It’s ninety-nine percent research, yes—scanning the Internet, looking for patterns. But there’s that one percent that isn’t. There’s one percent that’s . . .” His voice trailed off into whispered wonder. “That’s a kind of magic.”
Beth felt her world start to slip off its axis. “Jack, there’s no such thing as magic. You told me that.”
“I know. And it isn’t. Not really. I think it’s the venom, the neurotoxin. It’s altered my body chemistry, the same way an opiate would and more. It points me toward them, like a lodestone inside my body.”
“That’s what they want you for? To be some kind of psychic hound dog?”
“Yes . . . and they need my blood.”
The color drained from everything around her, turning the world into a sun-faded photo. “Your blood?”
“They need it for the snap-vial gas. There’s a compound in my blood specifically that’s vital to the gas’s manufacture. I don’t know if it was there before I was attacked or if it’s part of the alteration, but without it, there is no gas.”
A realization dawned on Beth. “That’s why you’ve been telling me not to use it. You can’t make enough for both of us. Not if you have to use your own blood.”
Jack sat silent, his eyes sweeping the carpet of pine needles beneath them. “Yes, that’s it.”
“We need to leave.” She scanned the campsite, mentally tallying what they had left. It wasn’t much. “We’ll need to ditch the car. Find another ride. How much cash do we have?”
Jack shook his head so slightly she could barely see it moving. “You know we can’t do that.” Blood pressed close against him, resting his muzzle on Jack’s thigh.
“Yes, we can. We can run. We can go anywhere you want. There are places in Canada where they would never find us. We could start over. Neither of us asked for this, Jack.”
He squeezed her hand. He looked at her, eyes bright but betraying a sadness that was bottomless. “I did.”
“You have to stop blaming yourself about that. I don’t care what you say, there’s no way you could have known about Sarah—”
He clutched her hand, squeezing her bones to the point where they almost touched. His body stiffened as he sucked in a breath. “No. Not that. I did ask to be a part of this. I did.” Jack’s eyes searched for something, someplace far away. “I asked them to make me part of it. I just wanted to see those things dead so badly. I gave them everything, even myself. I made a deal, and now the deal’s come due.”
“No,” she said. “You are not some piece of property they hold the note on. You are a human being, Jack. And it’s about time you realized that. Now, the way I see it, we have three choices. Give up.”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” Up until this moment she could never have imagined Jack Jackson looking so fragile, so in need. “Run.”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so, either.” Beth let go of his hand. As much as she wanted him to, she knew Jack would never run. She stepped from the table, walking a couple of paces into the clearing. “Or we can find something that might be more valuable to the Division than you are.”
“Like what?”
“Like whatever—or whoever—it was you saw outside that abandoned house. Like whatever it is you think is hunting the creatures, too. Choice is yours, Jack.”
And when she saw the look on his face, she knew the choice had been made.
Nineteen
ASBURY PARK, NEW JERSEY
Audrey wrinkled her nose. The bus smelled bad, like the inside of a state fair Porta-Potty. And it had smelled like that as soon as she and her big sister, Sloane, had gotten on the bus like forever ago. “I thought we were going to get ice cream.”
“We are.” Sloane didn’t look up from her phone. Her long black hair hid the screen. She’d been on that stupid thing the whole ride—probably playing Candy Crush—and didn’t once offer to let Audrey take a single turn.
“Why do we have to go so far to get ice cream?”
“This ice cream is better.”
Audrey wasn’t buying it. There were two ice cream parlors in the center of town that were really good, and they could have walked to those. And there was one a bit farther away that was even better. It had all kinds of crazy flavors, like goat cheese and honey or sweet cream with pieces of saltwater taffy in it. Audrey really liked that place, and they could have gotten to it on their bikes. Why was her sister dragging her so far away?
Audrey crossed her arms, trying not to think about how much better a bike ride would be instead of this stinky bus. The air wasn’t too sticky. The sun looked pretty through the tall trees. Or at least, it did before it went down. And there weren’t any trees where they were now
. Just dirty buildings with metal shutters on the front and lumpy streets with lots of potholes.
The bus came to a halt with a big hiss. Through her window, Audrey spotted a cartoon face on the side of a building. The paint was old and peeling, and the cartoon was kind of goofy and kind of scary, too. It was the face of a smiling man. His hair was smushed down but came up in little pointy wings, the kind of haircut that kids had in movies from a hundred years ago. He had red lips and flat, square teeth, and his nose was tiny, but his eyes were wide and blue and hollow.
“Asbury Park!” yelled the bus driver. “End of the line. Everybody off.”
Sloane hopped up, and Audrey followed her down the aisle, the soles of her Keds making thwick-thwick sounds against the sticky floor. She tugged on her sister’s sleeve. “This doesn’t look like a park.” Parks had swing sets and people playing Frisbee and places for dogs to run around off their leashes and sniff each other’s heinies. “This doesn’t look like a park at all. I want to go home.”
Sloane didn’t even look down at her. “It’s a park, okay? Besides, Mom and Dad left me in charge, and what I say goes.”
Sloane was fifteen, only three years older than Audrey, but those three years seemed to be a big deal to Mom and Dad. Audrey had even seen them give Sloane some money before they left to go to that wedding up in New York City. Audrey crossed her arms and followed Sloane down the bus steps.
The driver was at the bottom. He pulled a few dirty duffel bags from underneath the bus and handed them to other passengers. Sloane stood next to him and waited. The cartoon man loomed above them, smiling, laughing without sound.
Sloane coughed a little to get the driver’s attention. “Excuse me. How do we get to the Stratus?”
“Stratus?” The driver tried to pull his pants up, but his big belly just pushed them down again. “Oh, yeah. That place. Six blocks that way.” He pointed to an alley next to an all-night convenience store. Three tall boys stood out front. They were passing a bottle of something back and forth. It was wrapped in a brown bag, and Audrey would have bet a month’s—no, two months’—allowance that it was beer.
“Thanks,” Sloane said. “What time is the next bus back to Allenwood?”
“Allenwood? Eleven P.M. Next and last, kiddo. Don’t be late. Wouldn’t want to get caught out in a place like this if I were you. Hell, wouldn’t want to get caught out here, period.”
Sloane thanked the man and took Audrey’s hand, gripping it tightly. As they walked away from the cartoon head, Audrey could swear its hollow blue eyes were following them. And when they walked past the tall boys drinking the beer, their eyes followed them, too.
The alley was as dark as a cellar, and it smelled even more like pee than the inside of the bus had. Which Audrey didn’t think was even possible. She struggled to keep up with her sister, but more than once, Sloane had to yank on her arm to make up the difference. “Stop it. That hurts. I can walk by myself.”
“Shush.” Sloane took a quick look over her shoulder. Audrey thought she might have seen some shadows coming around the last corner. Some tall shadows. “Just stay close. We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?”
“You’ll see.”
“We’re not getting any ice cream, are we?”
“I said shush. And no. We’re not getting any stupid ice cream.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. No ice cream, okay? Sue me. But I’ve got a surprise for you. You like surprises, don’t you?”
Audrey liked surprises enough. What she didn’t like was being tricked or being scared. And she could feel those tall shadows creeping up on them, ready to grab her and Sloane by their necks and make them do things that older boys wanted girls to do. “I don’t think I want to be surprised right now.”
“Look. We’re here, okay?” She pointed across the street, to a line of people about Sloane’s age. They were all filing into a squat building that looked kind of like an old movie theater. Sloane pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and started putting it on. “Happy now, baby?”
“Don’t call me baby.” Above the entrance, Audrey saw a neon sign that read, Tonite: Rory’s Ghost Syndrome—All Ages.
“Hey,” Audrey said, suddenly understanding why they’d taken a bus ride that was forever long for ice cream they were never going to get. “That’s that stupid band.”
“They aren’t stupid. They’re the best band ever.”
“They are too stupid.” And as far as Audrey was concerned, that was true. The three boys in Rory’s Ghost Syndrome dressed in girl pants and wore more makeup than Sloane and her friends did. And every one of their songs sounded like every other stupid song of theirs. And her sister was in love with them. Sloane had so many posters hanging up in her room that she didn’t have room for anything else. Not even a mirror. “Even Daddy says they’re stupid.”
“Dad only ever listens to old-man elevator music. Talk about stupid.” Sloane took her place at the end of the line.
“Can we just go home? Please?”
“No. You can either come inside and have a good time with your big sister—who could have left you home, by the way—or you can wait outside here . . . alone.”
Audrey wished Sloane had left her home. She crossed her arms again and this time even stamped her foot. “Fine,” she said. “And when this is over, then you’ll show me the surprise.”
“Audrey. This is the surprise.”
“Ugh.” She stamped her foot even harder. “This isn’t fair. I’m telling Dad when we get back.”
“They won’t be there when we get back. They’re in the city.”
“Then I’ll tell them when they get back!”
“No, you won’t.”
“I sure will.”
“No, you won’t. Because that’s snitching. And nobody likes a snitch. Look at that guy on the news. He snitched on the government, and then the president chased him all the way to Russia.”
Audrey didn’t know what Sloane was talking about. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Ugh. Just come along, and keep your mouth shut.”
Audrey followed her sister. But when they got to the front of the line, a man blocked the front door. He was old and had a bushy mustache and wore sunglasses even though it was night. Sloane looked at her shoes and tried to slip past him, but he shot out his arm. “Where you think you’re going?”
“To the show?”
“Not with that midget in tow.” He looked down at Audrey. “Sorry, short stuff. What are you, like, eleven years old?”
“Twelve,” Audrey answered. “And a half.”
“Yeah. No dice. See you in about four years.”
“But I’ve got tickets.” Sloan dug in her purse for a couple of crumpled sheets of paper.
“I don’t care if you’ve got half an ounce of sour diesel, princess. Sixteen to get into this show.”
“But that sign says ‘all ages.’ ” Sloane pointed to the marquee.
The man hooked his thumb to a smaller sign posted behind him. “And that sign says ‘management reserves the right.’ ”
“Whatever,” Sloane huffed. “I demand to see your boss.”
“Sorry, kid.” The man leaned back on his stool. “The only boss I answer to is Springsteen.”
“Well? What are you waiting for? Get him out here.”
That made the man laugh—a lot—but he still didn’t let them in. And for the next five minutes, all Sloane did was stand a little ways down the block and steam.
“Can’t we just go home now?”
“You heard the bus driver. He said the next bus wasn’t for three more hours. Do you want to stand out here for three hours?”
Audrey didn’t, especially not if those tall shadows, and the tall boys who cast them, decided to show up.
They heard laughing voices behind them that belonged to two men smoking cigarettes. Both had plastic badges hanging from their necks that read Crew: All Access.<
br />
“Fifteen minutes till sound check,” said the taller one. His hair was wispy thin, and he had a devil beard. “Time to pound a brewski or three.”
As they passed, the shorter one lowered his sunglasses toward Sloane. “Hey there, candy pants. Wanna party?”
The other man grabbed him, pulling him away. “Dude, that girl’s, like, fourteen.”
“So what? If they’re gonna twerk, then I’m gonna lurk.”
“Yeah, well, rob the cradle and get a whole new crib . . . in prison. Plenty of legal pussy at the bar.”
“True that!” They both laughed, bumping into each other as they stumbled out into the street.
Sloane turned and narrowed her eyes at the place the men had come from, a tight alley on the other side of the building. “Come on. I’ve got an idea.”
• • •
The smell of garbage and old grease was so strong it made Audrey want to throw up. And there was another smell, too, like the bucket Daddy dumped all his pocket change into. And this alley was even darker than the one they took to get here. It was like it was nothing but shadows. And these shadows weren’t just tall, they were towering. Audrey gripped her sister’s arm, pulling her tight. “Sloane, I’m scared.”
Sloane shook her off. “Stop saying that. It’s not my fault you’re a scared baby.”
“I’m not a baby!” Audrey folded her arms tight and turned away.
She was staring at the wall, staring at the shadows there, when she watched one of them break free of the rest. Audrey rubbed her eyes, not believing it. But no, it was as if the shadow had just peeled itself from the wall and started moving toward them. Audrey felt a scream crawling up her throat.
Sloane clamped a hand down on Audrey’s shoulder so hard it almost knocked her to the ground. “Oh, my God! Oh my GOD! OH, MY GOD!” She was staring straight at the shadow. “It’s Blake! Look, it’s Blake!”
No, it wasn’t. Audrey knew what Blake Browning, bassist for Rory’s Ghost Syndrome, looked like. All of Sloane’s posters had his picture on them, and most had only his picture on them. And what was moving toward them wasn’t Blake Browning. Wasn’t even close. “Sloane, that’s not—”
As the Worm Turns Page 44
