Crescent Lake

by David Sakmyster

  Lloyd shouted something and kicked the door open.

  Nick caught up to and passed Audrey, following Theresa as she leapt through the open door and onto the cool lawn.

  Audrey bounded through, turned to shut the metal door, heard a deafening gunshot and saw a spark as a bullet glanced off the side. Nick screamed, and his left shoulder exploded in a spray of blood. He was thrown backwards, onto the lawn as the door slammed shut.

  Audrey pulled him to his feet; she scooped up Theresa and together they raced down the hill toward the forest without once looking back. Nick kept up, biting back the pain.

  Another gunshot, and another. But Lloyd was too far away and they were moving too quickly. And then they were past the first trees and rushing headlong into the forest. "He's coming," Audrey gasped when they had slowed, as the trees and foliage became more dense, blotting out the sky.

  Theresa tugged at Audrey's shirt. "We can hide at the lake. I did it before."

  Nick, grimacing through the pain, looked up at her. "We're moving too slow. And with that laser sight we'll never make it."

  Audrey deposited Theresa by Nick's feet. "We have to split up."

  "No, we–"

  "Take her and get to the lake." She looked back the way they had come. "Let's just see how good a tracker our Mr. Stielman is."

  "Audrey I can't–"

  "GO! Damn it, I'm doing my job, Nick." She gave him a swift push.

  He looked back as he started off. "Audrey. I..."

  She nodded. "I'll see you soon." And then she took off in the opposite direction, diving through the thick shadows. Pausing at a group of spruces. Listening. She still heard Nick clumsily making his way through the woods. And then thought she detected other, fainter sounds. Carefully placed steps.

  She felt along the ground and located a few palm-sized stones. Standing behind a tree, she launched two in a direction off to the side of where she thought Lloyd was.

  A red beam flickered from the heart of a human-shaped shadow. Scanning, but didn't fire. Audrey flung another, closer to her own position. The beam shifted again, settling almost perfectly on the moving bush the stone had hit.

  Go, Nick, get out of here. His sounds had almost faded.

  Lloyd's shadow blurred as he started off back after Nick, apparently believing the other sounds to be from scurrying animals.

  Audrey swore. She ducked from behind the tree and ran east, perpendicular to Lloyd's path. She wished she'd only had a pistol, anything. Lloyd would be a corpse by now. She was confident that even in the dark, at this range, she could have taken him.

  But she was on her own, weaponless against the deadliest criminal with the deadliest toy. She tried to make as much noise as possible, purposely snapping branches and dragging her feet. Three more strides and then she ducked around another tree. A gunshot thundered through the forest and the ground ahead of her erupted in a geyser of dirt and twigs.

  She listened intently. Nothing at first, but then she heard it. The soft crunch of approaching feet. A snapped twig. A ninja he wasn't, she thought, and spun around the tree, running in a crouch down a jagged slope to slide under a row of pines.

  A bullet shrieked past her face and buried itself into a tree trunk. On her stomach, she half-rolled, half-crawled to the back of the trees. Glanced behind her. Saw the red beam bouncing in the darkness, heard feet heavily trudging closer. He had given up on stealth for the moment; he knew she was unarmed.

  She launched herself to her feet and ran in a zigzag pattern around trees and bushes, under fallen limbs. Two more gunshots followed, but she ignored them both and kept running, fighting the shooting pain from her thigh. The terrain started to slope upwards at one point ahead, but the land gave way to a steep decline; Audrey looked down the hill and saw twisted trees and moss-coated boulders.

  She'd never make it up the hill in time; he'd pick her off like a deer in an open field. She started down the hill, lost her balance and tumbled headfirst, painfully, rolling and bouncing nearly forty feet before she caught hold of a thick root growing out of the ground. She was jarred to a stop, hanging by one hand. Her face was scratched and bleeding, her shirt torn.

  A soft cry escaped her lips as she tried to look down; the ground leveled out after another short drop and became darker; and suddenly she realized the tree cover here was poor – a window of sky glimmered at her from above. And with a cold shock she realized she was lying under a patch of moonlight, easily visible from the top of the hill.

  The violet light filtered through the trees, weaker than before but radiant enough to serve as a beacon. Nick, carrying Theresa, stumbled as fast as his tired legs allowed, toward the glow and out of the heart of darkness. He trudged forward while the forest remained eerily stagnant. He was standing in water shin-deep before he realized they had cleared the forest and were at the lakeshore. He slipped and almost fell in; regained his balance and held Theresa tight.

  Together they stared out over the placid lake. Nick squinted and Theresa put a hand over her eyes. The water's surface broke infrequently as a curious appendage or feeler sampled the air.

  "Over there," Theresa whispered, her face pressed close against his neck. She pointed to a darker section around the shore. "We can hide in the reeds."

  Slowly, careful to minimize the splashing, he made his way to the rocky beach and then headed for the reeds.

  "You can set me down," she said. "Your arm hurts a lot, doesn't it?"

  Nick gently put her on the land. He knelt and brushed the dirty hair out of her eyes. "You're a brave girl, Theresa. And a special girl."

  A crimson and violet glow danced over her features, and she seemed much older, her eyes reflecting experience that went far beyond maturity. She looked up at him and her eyelids started to tremble.

  Without having to read her mind, Nick said, "Don't worry. I won't leave you. Not now, and not after this." He didn't have to use any other senses, he knew what she wanted, what he wanted. She needed a father, and he…

  She jumped into his arms and latched herself to his neck. They settled in on a soft section of earth in the heart of the reeds. She rested her head on his chest, and started to softly cry.

  When she stopped, it was just for a moment, and only to say, "She's trapped, and the bad man's found her."

  Lloyd was halfway down the slope, cautiously choosing his path. Keeping the woman in his sight. She was lying face down in the shaft of moonlight, motionless and obviously bleeding. Lloyd hoped she was only injured. He would need her to catch the other two.

  Sliding and stepping against the grade he worked his way down, pausing at trees to steady himself. And finally he was there, within five feet. He stepped over a root, lowered the muzzle of the rifle, and tapped it against her head.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  Nothing.

  The moonlight was deceptive and he couldn't quite tell if she was breathing; it seemed there was a discernible movement.

  He kicked her shoulder.

  No response.

  Just to be on the safe side, he decided to shoot her in the leg. He moved the barrel, flicked on the laser sight. Lined it up with her calf.

  Art, he reminded himself. That's what all of life boiled down to. It was all art – not what you did, but how you did it that mattered. He had lived by this code, and had completed many masterpieces. But even art had its limitations; when it was commissioned and paid for it had its place, but when the job was personal...

  Lloyd squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet made a neat entry into the agent's calf–

  And then she was up, screaming and reaching too fast for him to react. One hand caught the rifle barrel while her other hand, the one she had been resting on, slid around and gripped his ankle.

  She had been faking the whole time, he realized, and had a moment's admiration for the agent before she yanked his leg out from under him and tore the rifle from his hands.

  Lloyd tripped and fell, picking up speed as he somer
saulted violently down the hill.

  Fighting the bone-sharp agony, Audrey hauled herself to one knee, using the rifle for support. She swung it around, cocked it and sighted, following the precise laser pointer. She waited until Lloyd had stopped rolling, and then ran the beam in nervous circles over his prone body.

  She held her breath, trying to steady her hand.

  And then he lurched to his knees, reaching for something at his waist. She fired, saw his dark shape jerk around with the impact, then fall back into the deeper shadows.

  She drew huge gulps of air, and prayed she had killed him. Something shifted in the dark, a fiery cough, and the ground at her feet exploded.

  Another gun! She cursed and loosed a round just above where she saw the flash. But he was gone, moving into the woods, squeezing off round after round.

  And then she was limping for cover, keeping her grip on the rifle. Another slug tore into her upper thigh, on the same leg she had been shot before. In absolute anguish, she almost blacked out, but grabbed the side of a young oak tree and hauled herself around it while squeezing off a random shot.

  The shots ceased. Lloyd slammed another cartridge in. Fired two brief shots into the tree, then turned and hobbled away, into the forest, toward a distant violet light.

  Audrey let her fingers relax. The gun slipped out of her grasp, slid a few yards down the hill, then caught on a rock. She turned to look after it, winced with the pain, and felt a wall of blackness surging toward her.

  She said, "Nick..." and then the wall fell with a deafening crash.

  "He's coming," Theresa said quietly, digging her fingers into his neck.

  Nick stiffened and tried to shrink into the darkness. Again he remembered shaking Lloyd's hand a lifetime ago, before Silver Springs, before he knew anything about extraterrestrial crystals or evolutionary surges.

  Before Audrey.

  He's coming. All those gunshots. Did that mean he had killed Audrey? Had she died trying to save him, buying him time? He wanted to get up and greet the murderer and, for the first time in his life, he really wanted to kill. To take Lloyd's life, slowly.

  "Theresa," Nick whispered, almost afraid to ask. "Is Audrey dead?"

  The girl concentrated, looking down at the muddy shore. "I... don't know. She's not moving."

  Nick closed his eyes. There's still hope, then.

  "There he is!" Theresa whispered, pointing through the reeds. On the opposite side of the bank, where the lake was at its thinnest, Lloyd stumbled to the edge and slid several steps into the water. He held a gun loosely in his left hand and his expression was one of pure wonder. He stared out over the water, his gaze sweeping across the lake, his features reflecting the dazzling hues pulsing from the crescent.

  Nick could see that it affected Lloyd. The hitman wanted to go to it, wanted to swim out to the center and bathe in its holy brilliance. The assassin was tempted, but finally he pulled his eyes away. He walked around the shore, holding his gut while searching the bank, looking for tracks. Every few feet he lifted his head and scanned the far shore, settling on the reeds frequently, then moving on.

  Shivering, Nick pried Theresa's hands off his neck. He wanted to be free to charge Lloyd if he came close enough.

  Lloyd made a soft splash as he stepped around a fallen tree limb; he paused and noted several pairs of footprints leading from the lake into the forest. He seemed momentarily confused, for one pair never led into the lake. He glanced again over the water and out to the crescent. Nick saw a longing in his eyes, a tempered attraction.

  And suddenly Nick realized that they should have gone directly into the lake; they could have adjusted and stayed under indefinitely. Maybe it wasn't too late. "Theresa," he whispered softly. "When I give the word, run into the lake, okay? Go under and keep swimming deeper. The bad man can't get you down there."

  Theresa looked at him for a long moment, those wide blue eyes gazing sorrowfully into his. At last, she nodded.

  "You promise to go when I tell you?"

  Her attention was distracted by a distant splash, a lake denizen breaking the surface.

  "Theresa, do you promise?"

  "Promise," she said finally.

  And Lloyd rounded the bank. He was within forty feet and his shadow roamed over the trees, distorted like a claw-fingered nosferatu freed from its coffin.

  Nick tried to quietly rotate, to get his feet under him, ready to move. The bullet in his shoulder retreated to a dull ache, overshadowed by a pounding in his head; even his stomach felt wretched, ready to rebel. It was ironic, he thought, that at the times you most needed it, your body was your own worst enemy.

  Lloyd heard the movement; his head cocked to one side, swiveled; and his eyes, blazing with the violet reflections of the crescent, stared directly into the reeds.

  The darkness pulled back like a blanket withdrawing from her head. Red-hot iron pokers were stabbing into her leg, jarring her awake and speeding the departure of the darkness.

  Nick, a voice said. Get to Nick... at the lake. You're needed.

  Audrey blinked, tried to clear her head. Couldn't see. Oh God, the pain. Bleeding out too, have to hurry.

  Sweating and biting back the agony, she dragged herself forward, toward the grade in the hill. She saw the rifle lying several feet below, caught on the edge of a triangular-shaped lichen-coated stone. The red beam drilled up through the treetops, stabbing at a lofty robin's nest.

  She crawled toward the rock, assisted by gravity. Finally, she wrapped her hands around the rifle and used it for balance as she turned herself around and prepared to go down the hill feet first.

  Fidelity, bravery, integrity. She grinned through the pain and began the all-too-rapid and painful descent.

  "Get ready, Theresa."

  Nick peered through several of the thicker reeds. His toes ached and the circulation in his legs was slowly being cut off. He had a hand on Theresa's shoulder.

  Lloyd took three rapid steps forward, raised the revolver.

  "GO!" Nick yelled, at the same time he leapt up and ran away from the lake, toward the nearest tree. He didn't look back to see if Theresa had made it; he applied a burst of speed and jumped for the tree–

  When the bullet struck him it felt like a train rammed into his side. He hadn't even heard the crack of the shot. He went down hard, his body contorted. He landed on the wounded shoulder and screamed again.

  Looking behind, he saw with horror that Lloyd had apparently been satisfied with that shot and was now scampering toward the lake, heading for the splashing girl.

  "Lloyd, you bastard! Let her go!"

  Theresa's feet sent sprays of water into her eyes and she seemed to be running in place, the water holding her back; she was in up to her waist and preparing to dive when Lloyd caught her. He grabbed her by the collar and hauled her backwards, tossing her through the air where she landed roughly on her rump in a foot of water.

  He leveled the gun at her wet face and held it in a two handed grip.

  "Lloyd!" Nick was crawling now, dragging himself by his fingertips, leaving a bloody trail. His body felt numb, cold. But somehow he felt the blood flow had decreased, and could almost feel the wounded cells regenerating. But none of that mattered now. Not when Theresa huddled in the water before the killer.

  "Shut up!" Lloyd hissed. "This one goes first. Quickly. Then," he said, licking the sweat from his lips, "I take my time with you."

  Nick groaned as his ribs passed over a sharp stone that dug into the wound.

  "Art," Lloyd said in a reverent tone. "What I did to your parents was a mere stick-drawing compared to the masterpiece I'll create with you, Mr. Murphy."

  "No, Lloyd. Listen to me. O'Neil's dead. I saw his body... in the tower. Your job's over–"

  "It's never over. Once started, the artist never leaves the painting half-done or the sculpture incomplete. Never."

  He aimed, and Theresa screamed.

  Nick wanted to cover his eyes, but his attention had been caught by s
omething across the lake, where Lloyd had first appeared: a pinpoint of red in the forest.

  "Lloyd!" Nick yelled in a last-ditch effort to stall him.

  It was enough. Lloyd glanced at him, annoyed, and in that moment the crack of a high-powered rifle erupted. There was a liquid thumph when the shell struck Lloyd under the shoulder blade, and the assassin lurched forward, eyes bulging in disbelief. He staggered two steps toward Theresa, dropped the pistol, then flopped face-first in the water and lay like a neglected marionette in a reddening pool.

  Nick let out a deep breath and rested his chin on the cold ground. With his enhanced vision he saw Audrey clearly; she had fallen on her side, propped up on one elbow while clutching her leg, trying to stop the bleeding. She seemed on the verge of unconsciousness, but managed a weak smile.

  Nick was about to call to Theresa when his voice failed him and his heart threatened to explode.

  Lloyd jerked up onto his knees and lunged for Theresa's ankles. His slipping hands caught hold of one and tried to drag her to him, kicking and squealing. His face leaked mud and slime and his teeth were black as coal.

  "Come here, witch," he said through a mouthful of blood and mire, and grabbed her knees.

  Nick screamed; and Audrey tried to reach for the rifle she had dropped.

  Theresa put her hands over her head and shut her eyes.

  "That's right," Lloyd whispered as blood seeped out over his muck-encrusted lips, "You don't want to watch what I'm going to do to you."

  There was a bubbling sound directly behind him, a flurry of movement, tiny splashes. And something nipped at his leg, tore through the clothing and took a great bite out of his calf. Another nick at the thigh, and another. Something slithered around his feet and tightened.

  The girl took her hands away from her head and grinned at Lloyd.

  He stared back in muted shock.

  She kicked free of his loosened grip and backed away, giving him a little smile. "My friends have come."

  And then Lloyd screamed, louder than he had ever screamed, louder and more chilling than any of his victims' death cries. He was yanked backwards into the deeper water, and at once the bubbly mass of dreadful mutations swarmed over his body. Eel-like shapes wrapped around his neck and chewed on his face while segmented, hard-shelled creatures with red eyes bored through his shirt and into his guts, feeding voraciously. A tentacled, soft-bodied creature, whose insides glowed like the petals of an electric flower, reached into his mouth and forced its way inside, down his throat. His eyes bulged and his neck expanded, and then he was dragged under. Something that might have once been a largemouth bass, but now had sprouted feelers and claws, propelled itself up out of the water and then back under in a graceful arc.