Parker felt the world slipping away again, like that hot-wax feeling in his brain that day on the freeway when he’d seen the car accident and its aftermath. “Nap?”
“Yeah?”
“You and I, we’ve been through a lot together. I hear you, loud and clear.”
“Good.”
Then the line went dead.
“Are we ready to go yet?” Janie whined, her lips stained a bluish-red from her Slurpee.
Seth was quietly working his way to the bottom of his bag of Doritos, but Parker was stunned to see that the boy was staring right at Beanie as he chewed.
“We good?” Trudy asked as she looked intently at Parker.
Parker nodded. “We gotta buy some time,” he replied, looking firmly into Trudy’s eyes, “so my partner can get here.”
Her look said that she understood. “Hey kids, let’s go pick out some magazines for the room. Maybe they have coloring books or something.”
“There’s a toy section too!” Seth shouted.
“Yeah. Great honey. Let’s go.”
They killed time as best they could for the next ten minutes until Parker saw him, past the parking lot and across the street, getting out of a cab. It still felt unreal.
“Okay guys, time to hit it.”
Trudy seemed nervous, but she rounded the kids together and walked them out of the store, keeping them slightly behind her as she walked next to Parker. “What’re we waiting for?” she finally whispered as they stepped off the concrete steps in front of the store and onto the black asphalt of the parking lot.
“Listen,” Parker whispered, reaching back to grab the handle of his 9 mm. “Your only job now?”
“Yeah?”
“No matter what happens, get to the car with the kids and get the hell out of here. Got it?”
“What about y—”
“Don’t worry about me. This is all about the kids, you got it?”
Trudy nodded, but seemed pissed, like she was ready to throw down with someone if shit went south and being told that she couldn’t wasn’t sitting well with her.
Once on the parking lot, Beanie immediately left his post and came up behind them as John Deere craned his neck from side to side as they approached. Close enough now to see his face clearly, Parker noticed that he had beady eyes, set close together, and he was chewing on, of all things, a Slim Jim.
Something in Parker’s heart sank. He’d had this feeling before a few times during the war, while on foot patrol. It was a sense that something was wrong, right when things were about to go off. There were just two of them, and he had sixteen shots—fifteen in the clip and one in the chamber. And now help had arrived. How in the hell could this go wrong?
Then he realized how: the enemy had too many target options. Trudy. Each child. Beanie and John Deere had already split up, one in front and one behind them, trapping them in, so that Parker had to be able to defend their front and rear, and if they attacked at the same time…
Parker sighed. They were still at a good distance. He knew how to choose his target order. No human could cover the distance either of them needed to get to the kids.
That’s the problem dumb ass. Just admit it. Because you know they’re not human. You knew it the minute you saw them. Even before Napoleon said what he said.
He felt silly and stupid and crazy all at the same time. But worse than all that? He felt helpless.
This wasn’t going to go well.
And that’s when he looked up to see the man coming across the driveway into the parking lot. He looked like he’d lost weight and hair was disheveled, but there was no mistaking him.
Even until now Parker was afraid to believe, but it really was Napoleon Villa.
In the flesh.
And he was drawing his weapon.
CHAPTER 18
THE CREATURE SWEPT OVER them, casting a shadow so dark that it was like being drenched in ink, a shriek emanating from its underside that rocked Kyle backwards and had The Gray Man covering his ears in agony.
Kyle waited for it to bite at them, or for its legs to grasp them, but no. Nothing. Just the shriek. But when he looked over at The Gray Man it was obvious that the sound was far worse for him; it was going to kill him. Cracks of light were beginning to burn through The Gray Man’s suit, and he was shriveling up, as if his soul were being sucked out of him.
No. His spirit.
Fighting this thing was out of the question. Kyle again called on that moment back in school and the half-dreaming state it induced, and called once more upon the blue, called for a transversion of thought and place: where Tamara was last.
For a second or two nothing happened, and then, in a snap and shudder, the circle formed around him and The Gray Man again. The world around them began to melt away in dripping colors, like crayons over an open flame, and the creature’s sound was muted as they began to whisk across the surface of the meteor, away from it and back out into the solar system. Before long the circle began to move so fast that the stars blurred into white lines and space itself seemed to warp.
Kyle stood in the center of the circle, his arms out in front of him, trying to figure out how to steer them somehow, but he felt like a child clutching at a steering wheel as The Gray Man lay beneath him, barely conscious.
That was close. Real close, Kyle thought. If The Gray Man had died . . . He let the thought end there.
Before long they were surrounded by light blue sky and white clouds. Earth. And then a few seconds later they were over the ocean, then the surface of the desert and then, finally, over a faded highway road with fresh yellow stripes before they finally began to slow.
When they came to a stop the circle around them seemed to fade just as quickly as it had formed and they were set down gently in the dry, rocky soil next to an old rest stop.
Tamara had been here; he could smell her somehow. You love somebody long enough, and even the smell of their sweat becomes distinct enough to remember and even cherish. But she wasn’t here. They were too late. What if she was dead?
Tears filled his eyes. No. Don’t think like that. She’s not dead. You can still find her. There’s still time.
“Yes,” The Gray Man mumbled aloud beneath him. “There is. But we have to hurry.”
“Are you okay?”
The Gray Man nodded gently, but didn’t rise. Instead he rubbed at his forehead with one hand while the other lay limp at his side.
“What was that thing?”
“I have no idea,” The Gray Man said, sounding exhausted. “I’m just relieved that you got us out of there.”
“So what now?”
The Gray Man looked at him with irritation. “Kyle. Just as with the circle a minute ago, you know what to do. Just do it!”
“Okay, okay,” Kyle answered. “Calm down. Shit.”
“I’m going to stay here and keep an eye out… and rest. I must rest. Do you understand?”
“Yeah. I do. I’m gonna… take a look around.”
“Remember your training.”
Kyle nodded and walked to the entrance of the rest stop. The remnant of her presence was stronger here. Kyle took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This was a place that had a name, but more importantly, a place that held within it lingering memories. He had to reach out to those memories… and sift through them. Like flour.
A family of three had been here a few hours earlier. Two adults, one child. One of them had been carsick. The child. A little boy. He’d vomited into the toilet of the ladie’s room for a good half-hour, the mother rubbing his back while the father checked his cell phone for emails from work before they’d resumed their journey.
A half-day before that a loner on his way back home to New Mexico had pulled through, driving drunk on whiskey and still missing the girlfriend who had dumped him years ago.
The moments flashed on the inside of Kyle’s eyelids like tiny, faint movies that held still for a second and then disappeared to the right or left of his eyeballs and out
of sight. It was maddeningly frustrating; he had to focus to keep them still, but if he did so too hard he would actually chase the image away quicker than it would disappear if he left it alone.
So he held his concentration, resisting the urge to force it when the screens of his eyes went black. He waited.
Before long, more moments came. Some from weeks ago, others days ago. Up and down the time scale. Another couple, this time with three children. They’d taken a break to eat lunch out of the back of their SUV before they moved on. A couple, young and in love, stopped to fill their water bottles from the tiny water fountain framed between the bathrooms. A group of four guys on their way to a bachelor party at a nearby Indian reservation, loaded up on beer, stopped here to change a tire and see who could piss the longest. The images faded. Nothing. He wished The Gray Man were the one doing this. He knew what he was doing. This was wasting time and—
When the vision of his wife, beaten, bloody and tied up, flashed into his mind, Kyle was wounded. “No,” he whispered.
The man who had taken her was blurred out, like a water stain. But Tamara had been here. She was tired and scared. Dried blood was on her face, framing her terrified eyes. Dust was on her shirt. The man untied her and she had thought briefly of escape.
The image began to fade as Kyle’s rage began to build. His emotions were like bright lights in the dark room of his mind, ruining all the pictures. He couldn’t help it. This was his wife. Savaged. One eye half swollen. Her hair matted to her forehead. He wanted to kill the smudged man, tear him limb from limb and crush his bones.
The Gray Man was in his mind in an instant. Focus, Kyle. Focus.
Kyle nodded and paced his breathing.
The man had let her wash up a bit. She was so thankful for cool water on her face that it was the strongest memory that lingered. Relief. Blissful coolness. Framed in fear, yes, but it was what it was.
A wind blew over the desert like a hand growing heavier by the moment. The air was metallic. A storm was coming. Maybe an hour or two away. His focus wandered and now he could sense a plane far overhead, up beyond the clouds, loaded with people and all their worries.
He was losing control. He felt The Gray Man right there, ready to speak again, but Kyle pushed him away somehow, with his mind. He wanted to figure this out on his own. Slowly, with great effort, he pulled his mind, literally, out of the clouds and back to the rest stop.
Back to the smell of his wife.
Soft sweat, like when after they made love, when words gave way to sounds and scents. She’d been here and she’d been thinking of something.
Kyle smiled when it came to him.
His wife was a fierce one. Kyle knew that already. But this was an encouraging bit of proof.
Tamara had been planning on how to kill the man. Even as he tied her up and put her back into the trunk of his car.
Then they had driven off and Tamara had been thinking one word.
“East,” Kyle said aloud. “She must be tracking where the sun is rising or setting.”
When he opened his eyes The Gray Man was standing right next to him, still not looking a hundred percent, but at least looking a bit better.
He smiled softly. “Very good, Kyle.”
NAPOLEON LOOKED across the street and saw Parker, a woman and the Fasano kids coming out the double doors of the 7-Eleven.
He gritted his teeth, searching among the cars on the lot for the guys Parker had described. Nothing. He wasn’t going to lie, a part of him was relieved. Maybe they’d left. Hopefully. Because he was exhausted to the bone, and really, even at full strength, John Deere had nearly kicked his ass last time around.
The day was the color of flat, gray paint. No sun. Very little light. It was as if he were in an old black and white TV show. The Rifleman, perhaps, or, more likely The Twilight Zone.
He made his way cautiously across the street, and that’s when he noticed him: the bastard from the rest stop in Gorman who’d attacked him in the bathroom, wearing the same John Deere cap. He was turned sideways, standing near a white CRV, feet shoulder-width apart, thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets as he stared intently at the entrance of the store.
When the doors of the 7-Eleven had swung open and Parker stepped out it was like finding the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle; Napoleon was surprised, but not by much. His partner looked a bit older. Of course he did. Napoleon had missed quite a bit while he was away, most of it stressful it seemed. But he would not miss this.
“They’ll be time for catching up later,” Napoleon said into the wind as he crossed the street in long, deliberate strides, glancing to make sure there was no traffic. His path was clear.
He and Parker barely had time to make eye contact before John Deere reached behind his back for something, and a split second later that something came into view: a gun.
Napoleon steadied his breathing. Reaching for his weapon was like second nature, and felt long overdue.
There were about a half-dozen cars in the parking lot, and at this point no other people—except the punk wearing a black beanie to the left of the door who Parker had also described.
After a second, and as Napoleon hit the slight slope of the 7-Eleven driveway, his knee bending the wrong way for a second, it was obvious that neither of them had seen Napoleon.
Beanie pulled a hunter’s knife from his belt and began advancing towards the kids.
So this was it then. Time to play. Like the old days, on the streets, when he was young and would get giddy with nerves right before a brawl. Napoleon couldn’t help himself. “¡Que onda, vatos!” he screamed.
John Deere partially turned and Beanie glared his way.
Napoleon drew his weapon and walked with purpose straight at John Deere. “Parker!” he yelled. “You got the skinny one!”
There was no head snap of surprise, no shock or delay of action. Parker simply spun and drew down on Beanie.
John Deere, meanwhile, turned to draw on Napoleon.
Good. I was hoping you’d do that, Napoleon thought. I’ve got a score to settle with you, puto. Then he squeezed three shots in a tight grouping right into the center of Deere’s chest. He never had a chance. His eyes, which had already registered Napoleon’s arrival, now filled with rage as he fell against the car and a red blot began to fill his shirt.
You go to hell, you see things. So Napoleon was not impressed when John Deere’s face went slack, then began to flicker in and out with the image of a goat head, front teeth exposed and gnashing at the air.
The creature fell to its knees and then quickly bounced back up, stumbling towards Napoleon as it dropped its gun. Funny thing about guns: they’re hard to fire with claws. Evidently the thing hadn’t thought of this before it morphed into what it really was.
Another gunshot rang out across the lot. Parker had dropped Beanie at a distance of about fifteen feet, with one shot to the head. Napoleon raised his eyebrows; Parker had a good aim. Meanwhile, the woman with him, a red head, was making a beeline to the white CRV with the kids.
But, again, something was off. Napoleon wondered what it was, and then he realized there were no other sounds. Gunfights caused all sorts of shit: panic and chaos to name a few. Yet there were no screams, no shouts or yells, no screeching tires, no people diving for cover inside the 7-Eleven. Nothing.
It was like they’d transitioned from the black and white TV program to a silent movie.
Beanie and John Deere flickered and then just disappeared, dead in whatever way their kind could die. But Napoleon suspected that after failing on their mission like this, they were probably destined to spend eternity as a few new bricks in that wall of flesh at the entrance of hell, where all the crows fed, day and night.
“So?” Parker half-shouted across the lot as he approached Napoleon. “Nice of you to finally come back from vacation.”
Napoleon grinned. “Blow me, smartass.”
CHAPTER 19
THE OLD LADY WAS quite reasonable for a demon who, Tamara c
ould sense, would’ve much rather have just ripped out Tamara’s spinal cord. “No trying to run. It won’t work, you know.”
“Why are you doing this? Why is any of this happening?”
“Things happen, young lady. Lives are taken and given, found and lost. Sacrifices are made. Your world and our world are on a collision course, and until then, well, the game goes on.”
“What if I don’t want to play?” Tamara asked.
The old woman was about to reply but was cut short when the monster grabbed a handful of Tamara’s hair from behind and yanked her back into the room like a caveman.
He spun her around viciously and grabbed her by the throat. “I should kill you now.”
Tamara swallowed hard against his grip and choked out the words, “But you won’t. You can’t. You piece of shit!”
He punched her in the temple, making her woozy, then slapped her across her cheek twice. But his free hand didn’t concern her nearly as much as the one around her throat; it was gripping tighter and tighter.
“Do it,” she said, her voice barely a squeak now. “Just kill me then.”
A grimace cut across his face as he gritted his yellow teeth and his eyes bore a hole into her. It looked like his rage had reached a tipping point.
That’s when the fear hit. The death Tamara had been trying to avoid these past few days was now finally upon her. She was unable to stop the wave of sadness that came over her when visions of all the moments she would never see now flashed before her eyes: Seth’s first little league game, the kids graduating from high school, Janie’s face when she got her first college acceptance letter. They tumbled down on her like boulders, moments out there in the ether that was supposed to be their future. What of wedding days and grandchildren? What of her own marriage and the man she still loved, in spite of what he’d done?
The monster snapped his head towards the mirror, as if he’d been called. “No!” he said, frustration swimming back and forth across his face. “I’m going to do it. She’s mine! I don’t care anymore what you say!”
One Plus One (The Millionth Trilogy Book 3) Page 16
