by Lee Goldberg
But at the back of his mind lurked another thought. That altar was uncovered now, and its evil had already begun to spread. How far would it go? And if Hammond and the others who were affected by it were left to venture out into the world, what damage would they do?
Matt didn't know the answers to those questions, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't be good. He wanted to save Ronnie and the unaffected students, but ultimately the most important thing he could do here was stop the others and somehow destroy that altar, which might, just might, reverse the effect and keep him from having to kill them.
Yeah, he thought. That was all he had to do.
CHAPTER NINE
Matt switched on the truck's headlights and leaned on the horn, sending a long, strident blare over the top of the mesa.
That would help the crazed ones track them, but it couldn't be helped. He wanted to draw the unaffected students to the truck. It would be better for all of them to be together.
He had to come up with a plan, and he thought it would be a good idea, too, to get Ronnie's brain working, to distract her from all the confusion and horror she had to be feeling. Besides, she was a highly intelligent woman. He could use her help.
"Listen to me," he said as he sent the truck bucking and bouncing through the ruins. "It's too long a story to tell you how I know this, but believe me, it's true. The reason this is happening is because Dr. Varley and his group uncovered a sacrifical altar in their excavation."
"A sacrificial— What are you talking about? The Anasazi didn't practice human sacrifice."
"April said the same thing . . . just before she started trying to kill me. They changed right before my eyes, Ronnie. I swear it."
He didn't tell her that Hammond had been evil all along. That detail would just complicate things unnecessarily. Let her think Hammond had been affected along with the others. In the end, it didn't matter.
"You're saying this is some sort of supernatural thing? That they've been . . . possessed, for want of a better word?"
"Corrupted might actually be a better word. They've been changed."
"And they can't be changed back?"
"If there's a way to do that, I don't know it," Matt said. "And I've tried."
She looked over at him sharply. "This isn't the first time you've seen something like this?"
"No. I know it sounds nuts, but it's true."
"You aren't here by accident, are you?"
Even under these circumstances, he couldn't hold back a laugh. "No. I'm not."
"You sound like one of those people who wear aluminum foil on their heads to keep the government or the aliens from controlling their thoughts."
"I know. But ask yourself this: how long have you known Dr. Varley?"
"Seven years," Ronnie replied, her voice catching a little.
"In all that time, he never tried to kill you or hurt anybody else, did he? He never danced around with a dead girl's head in his hand."
Ronnie gave a little moan and choked out, "Of course not."
"Then it's obvious something changed."
Silence from Ronnie for a moment, then, "You're right, Matt, something changed. But I can't believe that story about the altar. It's . . . it's a virus or some sort of toxin. It has to be."
If she wanted to believe that, fine, he told himself. It didn't change what they had to do.
Before Matt could say anything else, a shape darted toward them from the right. Matt took his foot off the gas as he recognized Ginger Li. She screamed, "Help! Help me!"
Matt hit the brake. The truck skidded and screeched to a halt. Ronnie started to open her door, then stopped and looked at Matt. He nodded to her. Ginger's face was still clear of sores.
Ronnie swung the door open and said, "Get in here." Ginger crowded in beside her as Ronnie slid closer to Matt. They might be able to get one of the other young women into the cab.
"Close the door," he told them. "We need to keep moving." Ginger slammed the door. "And lock it," Matt added unnecessarily. Ginger was already pushing the button down.
Once that was done, she collapsed in a shuddering heap against Ronnie, who put her arms around her. "I . . . I saw what they did to Astrid," Ginger said. "What's wrong with them?
"Something bad has happened to some of the others," Ronnie told her, which seemed like the understatement of the year to Matt. "We don't know exactly what it is, but we have to stay away from them until we find everybody who's all right; then we're getting out of here."
"I want to go home!" Ginger wailed.
"Soon," Matt told her. "Soon, I hope."
Ronnie comforted Ginger while Matt continued searching for the other grad students who had scattered through the ruins. After a few minutes, Ronnie looked over at him and said, "I've been thinking. If you're right about that altar—and I'm not saying you are—would destroying it put a stop to this madness?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
Matt didn't hold out much hope that destroying the altar would save those who were already affected, but at least that might stop the evil it contained from spreading. Whether that evil was caused by Mr. Dark—or had created Mr. Dark—he didn't know. That image of the snake eating its tail, what was it called? Ouroboros. The name leapt into his head, recalled from some otherwise forgotten book.
It was a symbol of something endlessly dying and being reborn. In this case, something that had haunted the dreams and lives of humanity all the way back into antiquity.
"Then we should blow it up," Ronnie said.
"Blow it up? How do we do that?"
"With some of the dynamite we brought with us."
"Dynamite!" Matt repeated. "Nobody said anything to me about having dynamite around!"
"Just one small crate of it, in case we needed to do any blasting in the excavations. It's in Andrew's—Dr. Hammond's—tent. He's handled dynamite before, so he brought it with him."
Matt took a hand off the wheel and scrubbed it over his face. If he had known that Hammond, with the evil already in firm control of him, had brought dynamite along, he would have been even more worried. Of course, things had already gone pretty bad anyway, almost as bad as they could—
Dusk had started its rapid descent on the landscape, and from the corner of his eye Matt saw the sudden spurt of fire in the gray gloom. At the same time, he heard the roar of an explosion. He braked again and looked across the mesa toward the spot where a cloud of smoke and dust billowed into the air.
"Oh my God!" Ronnie said.
It was too much to hope that one of the other grad students had gotten hold of the dynamite and blasted the altar into a million pieces. The others didn't even know about it yet. Someone else had used the explosives.
And Ronnie had just said that Hammond had experience handling dynamite.
"Shit!" Matt said. He goosed the accelerator and cranked the wheel as he swung the truck toward the site of the explosion.
The headlight beams lanced across the mesa and lit up the cloud of dust as it drifted apart. Matt knew what he should be seeing now, but it wasn't there anymore.
"The Indian's Head," Ronnie said. "It's gone."
"The Indian's Head?" Matt repeated. "That big rock?"
She nodded. "The one that sat just above the trail up here. If it's not there anymore, that means Hammond used the dynamite to blast it apart. The pieces must have fallen on the trail and blocked it."
"If that's true, we can't get down. We're trapped up here," Matt said.
That made Ginger let out another frightened wail.
"Hammond may be crazy, but that doesn't mean he's not smart," Matt said. "Yeah, we're stuck."
Ronnie swallowed. "On top of a mesa with seven lunatics who want to kill us, and it's going to be dark in another few minutes. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
Before Matt could answer, a shape hurtled from the top of a partially collapsed wall and smacked into the hood of the truck. Brad Kern grabbed hold of the truck and pressed his leering face against the glass of the windshield.<
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CHAPTER TEN
Ronnie and Ginger both screamed. Matt whipped the steering wheel back and forth, swerving the truck from side to side in an attempt to make Brad lose his grip and fall off.
But he hung on, and with his long arms and legs he resembled a giant insect attached to the windshield.
Matt wasn't sure what Brad intended to do. He didn't appear to be armed, and he couldn't get into the cab as long as Matt kept the truck moving.
A second later, Matt got his answer. Brad drew his head back on his neck as far as he could and then slammed his forehead against the glass.
The windshield was too thick for Brad to shatter it, but that didn't stop him from smashing his head against it again and again. Blood began to smear the glass. Matt sensed that Brad would continue to ram his head against the windshield until his skull fractured and he bashed his brains out. He was that desperate to get at them and kill them.
Ronnie and Ginger both screamed as Brad butted the glass again. Matt tried a different tack and stood on the brake. The truck jerked to a sudden stop.
That was enough to dislodge Brad. He flew off the hood and landed on his back. His face was already a bloody ruin, but whatever was in control of him now kept him from feeling any pain. He started to climb to his feet.
Brad appeared not to see the bulky figure that loomed up behind him. All his attention was focused on the truck and its occupants.
So it must have taken him by surprise when Jerry Schultz slammed the big chunk of rock against the back of his head. The impact drove Brad to his knees. Moving with frantic speed, Jerry hit him again. Brad fell on his face. Jerry dropped on top of him, digging both knees into Brad's back to pin him on the ground.
Then Jerry hit him again and again until Brad's head was just a gory lump of misshapen flesh and bone.
Jerry dropped the bloody rock and reeled to his feet. He stared at the truck, so Matt got a good look at his face in the headlights.
Not a single sore. Jerry had killed Brad to defend himself and the others, not because Mr. Dark had made him crazy.
Matt cranked down his window and called, "Jerry, get in here!"
With relief washing over his face, Jerry ran toward the truck. Ginger opened her door for him.
Jerry paused just outside the vehicle. "Are you guys all right?" he asked.
"We're not crazy, if that's what you mean," Ronnie said. "Get in, Jerry."
He shook his head. "No, it'd be too crowded in there. I'll ride in the back. We're getting out of here, right?"
"We can't," Matt told him. "That explosion a few minutes ago blocked the trail down from the mesa. We're just trying to stay away from the others."
"What's wrong with them? What happened to them?"
"Explanations later," Matt snapped. "Climb in the back and let me know when you're ready."
Jerry nodded. He hurried away from the cab, and a moment later Matt heard him call, "Okay, I'm in!"
"Hang on!"
Matt started driving again. He glanced at the gas gauge. The tank was a little more than half full, enough for him to keep driving for a while.
But where was he going to go? He needed to do something besides run. That wouldn't stop the evil emanating from the altar.
The interstate was only about three miles away. Was it possible the effect could reach that far? Would everyone driving by on the highway go insane? A nightmare scenario played out in Matt's head in which the altar's effect spread across the entire Southwest. And if that happened, where would it stop?
Would it stop?
He shook those thoughts away. Concentrate on the here and now, he told himself. Deal with the danger close at hand.
Stay alive.
"I see somebody!" Jerry yelled from the back of the truck. "It's Rich and Maggie!"
"Where are they?" Matt shouted.
"Behind us! Trying to catch up! Slow down and they— Shit!"
"What is it?"
"The others are after them! We gotta help 'em, Mr. Cahill!"
The smartest thing might be to speed up and let Rich Rankin and Maggie Flynn fend for themselves. Matt knew that.
But he couldn't do it. He braked again, bringing the truck to a shuddering halt.
Ronnie grabbed his right arm as he used his left to swing the door open.
"Where are you going?"
"To help them. Get behind the wheel."
"I can't drive a truck like this!"
He pointed to the clutch and the gear shift lever sticking up from the floorboard. "Push that down, push that over there like that, and hit the gas. You'll figure it out."
"Matt!"
But he pulled away from her and dropped to the ground. He ran to the back of the truck. The flaps of the canvas cover were tied back, and the tailgate was down.
"Jerry, toss me my duffel bag."
Jerry threw the bag onto the tailgate. Matt reached inside it. As he did so, his eyes cut toward the figures running toward the truck. Rich and Maggie were in the lead, but Scott and Chuck were close behind them, followed by April, Noel, and Hammond.
Matt pulled his ax from the duffel bag.
"Shit!" Jerry said. "What're you gonna—"
Matt strode out to meet them. He was damned sick and tired of the killing, tired of being forced to take lives in order to save lives. But once again, he was in a position where he had no choice. He lifted the ax and held it in both hands.
"Get in the back of the truck," he told Rich and Maggie as they sprinted past him.
Then he stepped forward and swung the ax.
Fixated on Rich and Maggie, Chuck didn't even try to avoid it. The keen edge of the blade caught him cleanly in the throat. Matt felt it shear easily through flesh. The blade caught a little on the bone, but only for a second before cleaving right on through it.
Chuck ran out from under his head as it popped in the air.
The body, geysering blood from the suddenly empty neck, ran several more steps before it collapsed. Chuck's head thudded to the ground at about the same time.
Matt was already pivoting, trying to continue the same swing and take Scott down with it. Scott's reflexes were too fast, though. He blocked the ax with the shovel he still carried. The collision almost knocked the weapon out of Matt's hands. He hung on, twisted away, and tried a backhanded slash. Scott avoided it.
That brought Scott's guard down enough for Matt to kick him in the stomach. As Scott doubled over, Noel charged past him. Matt clipped the young man on the side of the head with the ax handle. Noel lost his balance and went down.
Hammond and April, unable to run quite as fast as the athletic young men, had fallen behind. Hammond stopped and motioned for April to stay back. He wore a backpack now, and Matt wondered if it had more of the dynamite in it.
"Give it up, Cahill," Hammond said. More of the rotten flesh sloughed off his face as he grinned. "You can't get away. I took care of that. All you and the others have to do is join us, and you'll be fine."
Matt backed away as he gripped the ax. "I don't think so, Doctor," he said.
He didn't take his eyes off Hammond and the man's remaining allies. He couldn't look behind him, but he knew he was closer to the truck, which was still idling. The engine's growling rumble was the only small shred of comfort available to Matt right now.
"You're going to die screaming," Hammond promised. "Just the way she did."
Matt knew he shouldn't say it, but he couldn't stop himself.
"She?"
Hammond slipped the backpack off. It was already open, so all he had to do was plunge his hand into it and pull out Astrid Tompkins' battered head. It was barely recognizable.
No one would ever see the young woman's beautiful smile again.
It was all Matt could do not to launch himself forward like a berserker, to lay into them, hacking right and left with the ax. But they still outnumbered him four to one, and if he fell now, that would leave Ronnie and the others on their own. Matt knew that without him around to help
them, Hammond's group would hunt them down, one by one if necessary, and slaughter them.
And probably eat them, he thought, remembering the "garbage dump" Ronnie had uncovered.
The truck's engine suddenly revved. Matt had to glance back. He saw it rumbling toward him in reverse.
"Stop him!" Hammond yelled.
Matt turned. The truck was close enough now that he was able to leap forward and land on the tailgate. Jerry was there to reach down and grab his shirt, making sure Matt didn't tumble out of the vehicle.
"Got him!" Jerry shouted.
With a grinding of gears, the truck lurched forward again, leaving Hammond, Scott, April, and Noel behind. Matt scooted deeper into the bed.
"Who's driving?" he asked.
"Rich thought he could handle it," Jerry explained.
The cab was pretty full by now, with Rich and Maggie added to Ronnie and Ginger. Rich seemed to be doing all right driving the truck.
"Was . . . was that Astrid's . . ." Jerry couldn't bring himself to say it. "Was that Astrid?"
"Yeah," Matt said. "I'm sorry."
"This is crazy."
"That's the word for it," Matt agreed. He couldn't see Hammond and the others behind them anymore. Night cloaked the mesa. The cones of light from the truck's headlights provided the only illumination other than the stars.
He went to the front of the truck bed and called, "Rich, stop!"
When Rich had brought the truck to a halt, Matt dropped off the tailgate and hurried up to the cab.
"I'm driving again," Matt said. "Rich, stay up here in case I need you to take the wheel. The rest of you, get in the back with Jerry."
"What are you going to do?" Ronnie asked.
"We'll head back to the camp," Matt explained. "There are picks and shovels there we can use as weapons, and I want to see if maybe Hammond left some dynamite in his tent. I'd like to see what blowing up that altar would do."
Ronnie must have explained to the others about the altar, because they seemed to know what Matt was talking about. She said, "So we're going on the attack?"
"That's right. We outnumber them now, six to five."
Ginger spoke up, saying, "Where's Stephanie?"
In a quivering voice, Maggie said, "The last time I saw her, she was with Astrid."
