by Anthony Izzo
“That’s how they travel. That’s how they can track us and keep up so fast,” Frank said.
“Frank, let’s go. It might head this way, then what?” Dave said.
Chen leaned forward and put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. Maybe he would listen to her. “We’re outnumbered, Frank. No telling how many in that cloud.”
“Why do you think they’re coming out now?”
“To hunt,” Frank said. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”
The cloud dipped low and twisted, like a serpent. It spread across the hills, fanned out. David turned the truck back around, his tires spinning on the gravel shoulder. He thought for a moment that he couldn’t get traction, but the tires dug in and the truck darted out onto the blacktop, back toward Routersville.
“You think they’re coming now?” Dave said. If that were the case, Routersville would be the scene of a slaughter. They’d had no time to prepare defenses and the town would be overrun.
“No, I have a feeling they’re waiting for something. Just not sure what.”
They reached Jenny’s house. The cloud had loomed in the rearview mirror for a few miles and then spread out to the east and west, among the hills. David pitied anyone living in the vicinity of the mine. He hoped they had the sense to move out, as the residents of the mining town did.
Frank had settled on the couch. He yawned enormously and removed his cap. His hair looked about as neat as a briar patch. Dave stifled a laugh.
Jenny came in with a ginger ale for the Reverend, and a Rolling Rock for herself and Dave. As she took a seat next to Dave on the love seat, she pressed her hand on his thigh, gave a little squeeze, presumably to steady herself.
“How fast can you organize a meeting? I’m thinking come daylight. We don’t have much time,” Frank said.
“We can go door to door. I’ve been stockpiling supplies at the armory, canned food, bottled water, guns, ammo, flashlights, crank radios,” Jenny said.
Frank nodded his approval. “What will we tell them, the non-Guardians? They’re not likely to believe us.”
“Come to the armory or die a horrible death?” Dave asked.
“Subtlety is really not your specialty, is it, Dresser?” Jenny said, and favored him with a smile.
“It’s the truth.”
“I’m afraid he’s right,” Frank said. “We can mention the death of the Little family, imply that the same thing will happen here. It’ll be difficult to persuade them.”
Jenny took a swig of her Rolling Rock. “I can get some. They’ve seen us piling up goods at the armory, just not sure why.”
“And the ones that don’t?” Dave asked.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Frank said. “They’ll perish.”
“So that’s it? Just like the hotel.”
“Dave, think about it. Someone comes to your door and tells you the town is having a meeting. And the meeting’s about a band of demons preparing to lay waste to the town. So just come on up to the armory so the good old Guardians can protect you.”
Dave took a drink of beer. It was cold and good, and he could see himself downing this one in a hurry and then polishing off its brothers. “You’re right. That answer sucks, but you’re right.”
“Most of the town owns guns. They can protect themselves,” Jenny said.
David snorted out a laugh. “Hopeless, then. No one will come with us.”
“You’d be surprised,” Jenny said. “Like I said, they’ve seen the stockpiles at the armory. People are suspicious. If they think maybe the end is coming for some reason, and the prep at the armory fuels that belief, then maybe they’ll join us. Paranoid enough to.”
Frank swigged down the rest of his ginger ale. “So your people can start when, six, seven?”
“Seven. I’ll get Hank Peters, Mickey McGill, and some of those guys to organize phone calls. They’re retired, up with the roosters all of them.”
Frank set his coaster on the end table. He picked up his hat, ran a hand through the tangle of hair, and placed the cap back on his head. “I’m turning in. You two?”
Jenny said, “We’re going to stay up a while. ’Night.”
Frank tipped his cap and walked down the hallway to the spare bedroom.
“I need to leave, first thing,” Dave said. “I have to find Sara.”
“She’s a brave one, setting off on her own. But she’s also smart and capable. I’m sure she got where she’s going.”
That was what frightened Dave. “It’s what she’s going in to that worries me.”
“How bad do you think it will be?” Jenny said, and sipped her beer.
“Judging by the clouds we saw and the way they’ve pursued us, it’ll be an all-out assault.”
“Do you think we’ll survive?”
“We have the other remaining Everlight stone here,” Dave said. “That makes this a strong position.”
“We’ll see,” Jenny said.
“I screwed up. I should have told Sara a long time ago what happened, about her real mother.”
Jenny placed her hand on his. “She wouldn’t have believed you.” She drew little circles on the top of his hand with her finger. It made the hairs on his neck stand at attention.
“I miss her. I let her down.”
Now Jenny set down her beer and took Dave’s hand between both of hers. “You did what was best, what was asked of you. You protected her, gave her a good life.”
“She’ll need me. She’ll have questions.”
Jenny’s hand went to the back of his head, and she stroked his hair. “You’re tense.” She began to massage the back of his neck. It felt wonderful. The muscles in his neck uncoiled.
“This could be one of our last nights,” she said.
“Possibly,” he said. Her strong fingers worked the muscles. Her other hand rested lightly on his chest. He felt himself start to stiffen and hoped she wouldn’t notice. It had been a while since he had been with a woman.
“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time, David.”
He looked at her, the liquid brown eyes, thought of the gorgeous smile. “That’s hard to believe.”
“It’s hard to hide what we are here, that we can’t leave the town. There was one guy. We were serious. He wanted me to move to Seattle with him, help him run a car dealership. He was everything I wanted. Kind, strong, funny. I couldn’t leave. The town needs me. The Guardians need me.”
“He broke your heart?”
“Smashed it. Picked up and moved, said he loved me but he had to chase his dream. I’m not looking for anything long term.”
She stopped massaging his neck and she started tracing the fabric on his chest with her finger. She was so close and he inhaled her perfume and it reminded him of a girl he had been with—what?—five years ago. Jasmine. Her name had been Jasmine, of all things. It had been five years since he’d kissed the soft skin on a woman’s neck, felt the swell of breasts pressed against his bare chest. It could be nice with Chen. No, it would be nice with her. And only one night, a last bit of pleasure for both of them in advance of coming horrors.
“Love me, David, just for tonight.”
“I will.” He leaned in and kissed her, tasting the beer on her lips. He placed his hand on her side and then slid up and felt her breast. She broke off the kiss, buried her face in his chest, and moaned.
“Right here, on the couch. Make it last,” she said.
“I will,” he said, stroking her hair.
She leaned back and he leaned with her, kissing her on the neck, behind the ear, moving across her cheek to her lips. She reached back and clicked off the light, and they joined in the darkness.
Sara awoke in the middle of the night. She felt compelled to rise and go to the window. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the floor. Next to the window was a tall-backed rocker, and she sat in it. Eight floors down, she looked on the U-shaped courtyard, which was bathed in security lighting. She half-expected to see dark shapes converging on the cour
tyard, but since her escape at Joanne’s, there had been no sign of her pursuers.
What were they waiting for?
She briefly considered leaving. Staying here put Laura at risk. But leaving might break Laura to the point where she wasn’t fixable. Instead, Sara kept a silent vigil, rocking in the chair and watching for them.
It was three hours until dawn.
CHAPTER 12
Charles Pennington pulled down Iroquois Alley, now barely lit by the first rays of the sun. Half the brewery lay in a heap of bricks. Twisted metal beams lay in another pile. Dozers and excavators waited for their human masters to start them up and begin the process of destruction again. He saw no one on the site, so he pulled up and parked.
He picked up the folded copy of the Buffalo News that rested on the passenger seat. The article on the right of the front page read:
MURDER BAFFLES POLICE
Buffalo Police made a gruesome discovery on the site of the old Bethlehem Steel. A skinless corpse, impaled on a pole, was left near Gate 4 on Route 5. A passing motorist spotted the corpse and notified police immediately.
Police have not identified the body, and due to its condition, they must wait for the coroner to check dental records. Detective Joe Spignozzi says it’s the worst murder he’s ever seen: “This is bad. I’ve been on the force twenty-two years and never seen one like this. The Medical Examiner tells us the skinning was most likely done while the victim was still alive. Just awful.”
Before arriving, Charles had watched Daybreak on Channel 2 and fortunately the police had taken the body down before the news crews could get to it. Although in today’s digital age, he was certain someone had snapped a picture and would likely post it to the Net.
The article went on to say the police had no suspects. A search of the security office found nothing, only a half-eaten beef snack in the guard shack. There was speculation the guy’s name was Harry something or other, for he was the guard on duty at the time and they couldn’t find him. But that still remained to be confirmed.
Charles knew who did it: Engel and his demons. He had been turned loose, and Charles had come to the Alley to confirm what he already knew: Engel’s grave would be empty.
He got out of the car, taking with him the flashlight he rummaged from the junk drawer. The mud squelched under his boots. He made his way to the main pile, stepping over bricks and lengths of pipe twisted like pipe cleaners. The rear right corner, that’s where they had buried him.
Charles had figured the Iroquois would stand forever. The city had a love affair with its past, and someone was bound to put the brewery on a protected list. In its heyday, it was one of the most popular brands in Buffalo. He remembered drinking it at Molly’s Tavern—the beer can with the Indian chief on the side. The Anheuser-Busches and Millers of the world had left no room for a local brewery.
He followed the jagged brick wall, now higher in some places than in others. The air smelled of dust. He reached the corner and stopped at a loose pile of bricks, some of them lying in a hole. He crouched down and examined the hole. In the clay were tracks about the width of fingers. Charles figured one of the machines had loosened the grave and Engel clawed his way out. He suddenly felt very uneasy here knowing Engel was loose.
The only thing left to do was find the stone, hope it was still on the site.
Milo awoke on the couch, the sun beaming in through a break in the curtains. When he finally fell asleep, it had been two a.m. With each creak of a board or hushed sound of water moving through a pipe, he had jumped. He hadn’t been that scared of nighttime noises since he was nine years old. But he couldn’t shake the irrational fear that every sound was the creep from the alley, and when he opened his eyes the ragged-looking man would be standing over him, butcher knife in hand.
He shook off the blanket, folded it, and fluffed the pillow. Since his wife had died, he could not sleep in their queen-size bed. It was the couch or nothing. In bed, he would roll over at night and go to put his arm around someone who wasn’t there. Then he would lie awake, thinking about Vera. What if they had caught the cancer sooner? Or if they had gone to Sloan-Kettering or the Mayo Clinic? He didn’t think like that on the couch, so that’s where he stayed.
He showered and shaved. Then after a breakfast of grapefruit, bacon, and toast, he drove down to the job site. Low gray clouds had settled over the city, and although it wasn’t the most cheerful of days, at least the night had receded. He parked his truck as close as possible to the pile of rubble. When the last truck had left, he would scoot to the truck and speed out of here. No hanging around and seeing Mr. Big and Ugly, if he were still in the vicinity.
His machine, a Liebherr 952, waited for him. Using the remote, he armed the truck alarm. He started toward the excavator. That was when he noticed the man standing in the rubble. He wore a red parka and blue watch cap. His dress pants were tucked into his boots, causing them to puff out like jodhpurs. Milo approached the man, who was holding a flashlight and was shining it at the base of the building. It was too early for a city inspector to be out here. Who was he?
Milo got within ten feet and recognized the old guy.
“What’re you doing back here?”
The man twitched, almost dropping the flashlight. He looked up at Milo. “You scared the heart out of me.”
“Pennington, right?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Milo Gruber,” Milo said. “You better get going before the foreman gets here. He bitched all day yesterday how you should have been arrested.”
“Some things are more important than him.”
“You put us two hours behind.”
“Good.”
“I was on another job half that day, missed your appearance,” Milo said.
“Your loss.”
Boy, this guy was a doozy. “What’s so special about his place?”
“It held someone prisoner.”
“Foreman shows up and sees you here, you’ll be a prisoner, too.”
“There was someone buried here. Look,” he said, pointing to the ground.
Milo stepped closer. In the center of a ring of bricks was a hole. At its bottom was a small mound of dirt. It was approximately six feet deep with smooth sides. “Give me a break.”
“Your demolishing this building set him free.”
“So this guy’s alive. Who is he, the Mummy or something?”
“Far worse than that. This one is real, and he’s no mummy.”
“So let’s just say there is someone buried here,” Milo said, and folded his arms. “How would you know?”
“I buried him.”
Pennington belonged down at Elmwood and Forest, behind the walls of those nice brick buildings with the bars over the windows. “You killed someone?”
“You’re not listening. He left the grave.”
“Look, I’m going to start up my machine. I want to see you walk down the alley, get in your car, and take off.”
Milo turned and started toward his machine.
“That’s fine,” Pennington said. “I found what I came to find.”
Milo waved him off. “Just go.”
“You haven’t seen anyone suspicious, have you? The man I’m looking for would be about six and a half to seven feet tall. Long hair. Probably dressed in raggedy clothes.”
It couldn’t be. The creep he saw the other night matched that description, and as much as it had scared Milo, he refused to believe some zombie had crawled from the rubble and become one with the night.
“Nope.”
Now he heard the ground crunch behind him—Pennington following him.
“Do you live nearby?”
“I’m not telling you where I live.”
“In the city?”
“Yeah, the city.”
“I suggest you leave,” Pennington said.
“Sure, I’ll be on the next plane to Tahiti.”
Pennington caught up, clapped a hand on his shoulder. Milo stopped and turned. P
ennington’s eyes were wide, blue, and clear. His gaze seemed to go through Milo’s eyes and out the back of his skull. “He’s come back to destroy the city. Leave if you can. Take your family and go.”
“It’s just me and my daughter and we’re not leaving. Especially based on something you said. Now do I have to call the cops?”
“One more thing. Where do you take your debris?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m looking for a stone. It’s black and smooth. It glows from time to time. And if its power hasn’t faded, it will kill the man that stepped from the grave.”
Milo was willing to tell him anything to get the old crackpot to leave. “AMD Recycling, on Seneca. How about getting your hand off me now?”
Pennington released his hand. He put his hands up as if to say “okay, okay.” He backed up, then turned and got into his car and pulled away.
“Old guy is getting senile,” Milo said to himself.
But what about the visitor to the alley? Long, stringy hair, build like a linebacker, raggedy clothes. Probably just a vagrant passing through, maybe thinking about asking Milo for a buck or two. Dug from the grave, what a load.
Still, he hurried to the cab of the Liebherr, wanting to get out of the darkness.
Charles drove from the alley. The brick, on which he had scratched an X, was gone, as was the Everlight. He had been looking for it when the construction worker pulled up. He would return home, have some scrambled eggs, and figure out how to gain access to the recycling center. He had little hope of finding the Everlight. Locating a stone that would fit in your palm at a dumpsite was like looking for a specific grain of sand in the ocean. He wondered how much time he had. Judging from the fact that Engel had already skinned a man alive, time was most likely short.
Twelve o’clock came, and Milo sat in his truck munching on a roast beef sandwich purchased from the food-service truck, otherwise known as the roach coach. He was halfway through the sandwich when his cell phone rang. He answered. It was Debbie.
