Crescent Lake

by David Sakmyster

  Then she was through and out into the night. A pair of blinding headlights tore around the corner of the brick building, racing towards her.

  Not enough time.

  At twenty yards the car fishtailed and a side door popped open.

  Ten yards.

  She focused on the door. So close, so–

  The library door burst open with a loud clanging that sounded like a funeral bell.

  She was past the trunk. She ducked her head and leaped into the open door just as the shots cut through the air.

  "Get down!" she yelled and threw herself onto the back seat. Nick floored the accelerator while ducking under the wheel.

  The side door, still open, gave a tortured cry as it was struck by several shells. The back windshield exploded. Glass rained down onto Audrey. Several holes ripped through the seats and tore into the front windshield and dashboard.

  Steering from a prone position, Nick spun the wheel at where he hoped the corner was, and gratefully felt the grass give way to smooth pavement. He sat up and drove for the exit, glancing once in the shattered mirror.

  In the spider web crack he saw Lloyd tear around the corner, running with huge strides, the Uzi still spouting fire. Nick ducked again but nothing struck the car. He peered over his shoulder and saw the hitman scream and toss the Uzi after them.

  Nick threw back his head and almost laughed for joy before he caught himself. Nervously he checked on his passengers. Stan was fine, still crouching in the well of the seat; he gave Nick the "thumbs up" sign. Nick fearfully looked in the back seat. Under a blanket of glass, Audrey stirred. Sat up, shaking the shards out of her hair.

  She gave him a warm smile, then examined the extent of the damage to the car.

  "Federal property?" Nick asked as they spun out onto the main stretch.

  "Yes," she responded. "Luckily for you."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  "Where are we going?" Stan asked when he finally crawled back into the seat. They were careening down deserted Main Street, the wind whistling through the holes in the windshield.

  "Back to my house," Nick said. His features glowed in the street lights and took on a menacing nature.

  Audrey leaned forward. "Nick," she said. "We don't have to go through with this anymore. We're low on ammunition. One shotgun and two pistols between us won't last long..."

  "There are more shells at the cabin," he said. "And we have to finish this. Now I'm more certain of that than ever." He looked back at her. "Grant probably died for this. He was counting on us. And Theresa – she needs us. She's out there somewhere."

  Audrey sat back, holding the gun in her lap.

  She and Stan were silent for the rest of the trip through the pitch-black forest. At the fork in the road Nick slowed and gave a passing glance to the stretch of darkness that led to the dead end where, over thirty years ago, something profoundly powerful had happened. As he turned, he felt the goose bumps rise on the back of his arms. He imagined he was Henry Innis, standing with his son on the front porch on a late November evening. Maybe they were gathering firewood for the stove, maybe they had just come back from the store.

  They hear a sound, a rumbling maybe… something coming…

  And then what?

  Nick drove on. The question lingered in his head until they had parked in the driveway.

  "Holy–" Stan sat up, staring at something steaming in the headlights' glare. Two crisped, blackened human bodies lay atop each other on the front walk.

  "Oh my God," Audrey whispered from the back.

  Nick choked on the smell. "Gregory and Allen?"

  "Looks like it."

  Wordlessly, they got out of the car, walked around the grisly pair and into the house.

  After every entrance was locked and bolted, Nick and Audrey went into the den and sat on the couch. Stan, waiting in the kitchen, turned off all the lights except for a dim lamp by which he would finish loading the shotgun. He stood by the counter, in view of the window that overlooked the front yard. He shrugged off a pain in his arm, concentrating on the task.

  Back in the den, sitting in darkness, Audrey breathed deeply, trying to control her emotions. She dug her nails into her palms. "...didn't believe I could do it," she said, almost incoherently. "I–"

  Nick reached for her. "You did the right thing, the only thing you could." He gently lifted her chin and tried to pierce the blackness and see into her teary eyes. "I owe you my life."

  "Killed... him." She closed her eyes and fought a sudden heaving of her chest and something from her imagination – a leering shadow, an accusing figure rising out of a hospital bed. She was drained, terrified, because every time she closed her eyes, Stuart's shocked expression appeared: the bloody circle between his eyes.

  She had seen the life go out of a man...

  Twice.

  And had pulled the trigger.

  Twice.

  That first time – just the same as pulling a trigger.

  "Audrey," Nick said softly. His eyes reflected the glint of the stove lamp beside where Stan worked, inserting the last of the shells. "What is it?"

  She shook her head and gripped his shoulders tighter. "Can't..." she whispered.

  "Why not? I can help."

  "No..." She bit her lip and felt the sobs coming again.

  "It's about your father, isn't it?"

  Audrey looked up at him. Now how did he know that? "Nick," she managed to say. "I can't... not now. Not enough time to tell it right." She touched his face, his chin, his eyes.

  Nick held her close, and whispered in her ear. "If we ever get out of this–"

  "When we get out of this." She pulled back, leaned up to kiss him–

  "Hey!" A shout from the kitchen.

  Stan jumped to the side of the window and stood flat against the wall. He pumped the shotgun.

  "Positions, people. Company's here."

  Nick crouched below the counter under the window. He held Stan's .38. Still six bullets left. Audrey was crouched on one side of the glass doors, scanning the backyard. The forest was eerily visible as a shaft of moonlight cleared the clouds and pierced the trees. She saw a pair of raccoon eyes blinking at her from beyond the creek.

  Stan moved so his back was to the refrigerator; he peeked around it and out the window.

  "One car," he whispered. "Looks like a Mazda."

  "That would be Lloyd's," Nick said. "Can you see who's inside?"

  "Not yet. They're keeping the headlights on. Smart. Glare's pretty rough. There's at least three of 'em though. Headlights off now. Holy–"

  He swung back around the refrigerator as a bullet punctured the window, leaving a neat hole before thudding into a cabinet.

  "How the hell did he see me?"

  "Probably night-vision goggles," Audrey responded quickly.

  Stan was shaking, but wanted to take another look. He didn't know where they were, what they were doing. He saw Audrey against the back wall. She nodded to him.

  And he risked a glance.

  "Someone's coming," he whispered.

  "Do you have a shot?" Nick answered.

  "Yes, but... it's a woman."

  "What?"

  And in a moment Nick heard the familiar voice, followed by a knocking on the door.

  "Nicholas!" said Aunt Evelyn from the other side of the door. "I want to talk to you."

  She rapped on the wood.

  "I have something to say. Something to clear all this up. Please, Nickie."

  Nick looked back in the darkness. The dark shadow that was Audrey was shaking her head.

  "I have a key," said the Senator.

  The lock rattled.

  "We got it off those agents."

  Nick looked back. Took a tighter grip on the revolver.

  "I'm coming in, Nick. Alone. Just to talk."

  The doorknob creaked and the door swung open halfway. Evelyn stepped inside.

  "Shut the door," Nick hissed. "Now. Or I'll shoot."

  Evelyn s
hut the door and put one hand in the air; the other was wrapped protectively in a sling. She was a black shadow against lighter shades.

  "Lock it."

  She did.

  "Okay. Come forward. Slowly."

  "Nicholas," she said. "Please. I told him that you could still be turned. That it wasn't too late." She was talking faster as she approached. Nick backed up, still aiming at his aunt. He directed her into the center of the kitchen, then finally stood up.

  "What do you want?"

  She gave him a thin smile as her bony features shaped themselves into a warm expression. "Haven't I always looked out for you?"

  Nick said nothing.

  "I didn't want this to happen."

  "No. Of course you didn't," Nick sneered. "Just like you didn't want mom and dad to die, either. But you turned your back anyway."

  Her face dropped. "I– I'm sorry, Nick. Please believe me." She reached out to him with her good arm. "Why do you think I came to Silver Springs?"

  "You tell me," Nick said, although deep down, he did know.

  "For you," she said quietly. And stepped towards him, expecting an embrace. Her back was directly in front of the window.

  Nick noticed Stan staring at something in his direction.

  "I came to save you," the Senator said.

  Stan frowned, glanced at the window, then back to Nick's shirt. His mouth moved, in slow motion, it seemed.

  "And," Evelyn said, "to try to make things–"

  "GET DOWN!" Stan shouted, pointing.

  Nick looked down at his shirt, and saw a bright red dot jittering over his heart. Out the window, he saw a thin red beam stretching back to a point just beyond the trees.

  Evelyn saw the dot at the same time. She seemed genuinely startled. Her face turned grave and her eyes met Nick's for a brief moment, a silent exchange. And then she spun around and leaned in front of the beam. Nick tried to push her out of the way–

  The window exploded, spraying glass everywhere. The Senator uttered a stifled cry and was thrown back into Nick who tripped and stumbled on a kitchen chair.

  Evelyn remained standing, gaping at the tiny hole over her heart. She looked out the window. The dot skittered across her body and three more shots cut through the air; three more splotches of scarlet jutted out her body. She was thrown and fell spread-eagled onto the kitchen table.

  "Shit!" Stan yelled, turned and fired out the window, aiming toward the distant flicker of red. Pumped and fired again.

  Audrey stepped around the table, helping Nick to his feet.

  A bullet whizzed past her head and thudded into the back door. She hauled Nick down in front of the cabinets again. In shock, he stared at his aunt's motionless body.

  Stan fired again and ducked behind the window.

  Audrey peered over the counter to get a clear shot. But Nick yanked on her arm and screamed a warning. His eyes bulging with fright, he stared at the glass doors and lifted the revolver.

  The Reverend stood right up against the glass, his palms forward, pressing through the screen. He was smiling, his eyes blazing.

  Nick squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. The window accepted both holes, about chest-height.

  Reverend Zachary was thrown back into the darker shadows beyond the porch.

  Audrey spun and loosed another round, not sure what she was aiming at. Stan turned, ready.

  The moonlight gracefully fell upon the empty deck.

  And in a blurred motion, the Reverend vaulted over the railing, took two heavy strides, tore through the screen and exploded through the glass.

  Audrey and Nick both fired another two shots each into the black-suited body. Each hit seemed barely to slow the man. He lunged and caught Nick around the throat and Audrey by the arm.

  With phenomenal strength he hurled Audrey into the den where she crashed into the fireplace and struck her head on the stone base.

  Nick screamed and dropped the revolver as the skin on his neck seared. He felt the Reverend's hot, pungent breath forcing its way into his nostrils and down his throat.

  Stan stepped up, placed the shotgun's barrels under the Reverend's armpit, and pulled the trigger.

  Zachary jerked sideways, howling in agony. He dropped to his knees, rolled and tossed Nick through the shattered porch door as if he were weightless.

  Stan pumped the shotgun and aimed for Zachary's skull.

  The Reverend writhed on the floor in his own blood that gushed slowly from his mangled side. Stan could see the ribs and thought he saw an internal organ, pumping with a strange fluorescent light. Other things swam in the blood and behind the bones. Sinewy black shapes twisted and swayed in an almost hypnotic fashion.

  Stan grimaced and steadied the shotgun. His arm twitched, the ropy members inside stirring and stretching. And his side ached, the shotgun pellets burning with a fresh pain.

  He fired, and saw the floor explode a moment after Zachary swiftly ducked away.

  A red dot appeared on Stan's hand.

  "No..."

  He turned and aimed, but realized he hadn't pumped it again. The beam shifted and settled on his shoulder, which promptly blew out in a searing burst of pain. Another shot caught him just under the collarbone.

  Stan screamed and fell to the ground, dropped the shotgun and clutched at his shoulder.

  On the floor beside him, the Reverend crawled through the glass and blood, reaching for him.

  Stan was rooted to the floor, paralyzed by fright and drowned by pain.

  He watched helplessly as Zachary crawled closer, caught Stan's arm and dragged him. Under the Reverend, Stan screamed and kicked until Zachary placed his hand over the Sheriff's face.

  It was like someone had poured gasoline over his head and threw a match. He was burning, seared by Zachary's touch.

  The Reverend struggled to his feet, still gripping Stan's head. He lifted his arm and hauled the sheriff up with one hand. Stan jittered like a fish snagged on a three-pronged hook. His hair started to singe, his skin boiled. The Reverend increased the pressure, narrowed his eyes and said something that sounded like, "Burn."

  Stan let out a violent death-scream.

  And his body flared into a human torch, and the roaring blinding flames coughed and spat, spreading across the ceiling and the walls. The smell of burnt flesh blasted the air, and the crackling fire sent sparks whirling into the den. The dark outline in the flames sagged and ceased to move.

  Zachary continued to hold the limp, smoldering body as he stepped through the carnage and slowly strode out the back door.

  Nick pulled himself up, balancing on the rail. Now he saw Zachary step onto the porch, holding a flaming corpse. He took another step towards Nick, then tossed Stan's body over the railing where it flopped and rolled, the flames slowly dying.

  Nick backed away, onto the stairs. One step, then another, keeping his eyes locked on the Reverend. Zachary stopped halfway across the porch. He held his burning hand to his face, apparently amazed at the flame's intensity. The flesh underneath boiled and bubbled. But as Zachary stared, the flames sputtered and died, apparently sucked into the skin. His fingers continued to smoke as they uncurled.

  Something moved in the burning house beyond Zachary's shoulder. A man with a high-powered rifle, Nick saw, just as the beam swung around, cutting through the darkness, seeking.

  Nick jumped back and landed on the grass.

  Zachary held up a hand and the beam disappeared. He turned his head and muttered something to the hitman, then returned his attention to Nick.

  "Come," he shouted, extending the smoking hand. "Accept my touch and let us end this."

  Shaking his head, Nick took another step away. He heard the gentle lapping of the creek, the water splashing over time-worn stones. He was nearing the forest and the safety of the trees. Back on the hill, his house continued to burn, the flames hungrily roaming around upstairs.

  Lloyd appeared on the porch a second later, dragging Audrey's limp figure. He gripped her around the waist,
the barrel of the rifle nuzzled at her temple. Her mouth hung open and her eyelids began to flicker. A trickle of blood seeped from a horizontal cut on her forehead.

  "Come, Mr. Murphy," the Reverend said again, approaching the rail. "Be reasonable." The Reverend was framed in the crimson glow, and Nick could see the gaping wound that Stan had opened in Zachary's side; it had begun to heal. The bleeding had stopped and the muscles were repairing themselves.

  Lloyd offered a sly grin as he jammed the rifle muzzle harder against Audrey's head.

  Nick balled his hands into fists. Oh Audrey, what happened to that divine protection you saw?

  "She'll die," Zachary shouted as Nick moved closer to the trees and deeper into the shadows.

  "She'll die anyway!" Nick shouted back. "I'm not going to trade my life for both of our deaths. Sorry." He turned and ran into the forest.

  Sorry Audrey. But maybe there's another way.

  Someone yelled after him. A bullet struck a tree and another dove into the earth at his feet. He sidestepped and ducked around a thick spruce, trying to catch his breath and clear his mind.

  They wouldn't kill her just yet, he knew that much. Kill her now and there would be no reason for Nick to stay. He'd find his way out of the forest and then be free to alert the officials. And then – goodbye happy community. Goodbye ministry.

  No, Zachary wanted Nick, as the last link to be silenced.

  "Very well!" came the Reverend's harsh voice. "We have a worse fate arranged for your little friend."

  I was afraid of that, Nick said to himself. And he knew exactly what form it would take.

  "Meet us at the House of the Lord," Zachary yelled. "Midnight services!"

  Nick checked his watch: 11:20.

  "Please, don't be late."

  Zachary's laughter was like a sinister breeze that rustled the leaves and branches and brought a chill through Nick's entire body. And he continued to hear it as he plunged deeper into the forest, around trees, fallen branches, and rotting husks of wood.