Todd glanced at Casey, gave him a sickly grin. “I kind of like the odds. A couple thousand to one, what the hell.”
The three men slowed as they broke into the open.
They were close enough now that Casey could see the individuals that made up the swarm, glistening as if it had been just washed with a shower; but it was too thick to see the van, the windows, the people inside.
If only they would make a noise, any kind of noise.
This was damn spooky.
Todd leaned toward him. “They’re not moving very fast.”
“Starving,” Farber guessed. “No flowers, nothing, they haven’t eaten properly in God knows how long.”
“Is that right?” Casey asked hopefully.
Mel only shrugged, he was only guessing.
“So ... now what?” Todd said.
Which was when Micah returned with two large jerry cans of kerosene and set them down on the edge of the apron. He muttered and stepped back, unlit cigarette bouncing between his lips. Casey saw the fear, saw him measuring the distance between the van and the cabin.. There was no sense using the boathouse if they had to run; it had no wall on the river side.
“Got an idea,” Todd said, kneeling to uncap the cans.
Casey grunted a get on with it, and grimaced as the stench of kerosene rose into the heat. He felt the cold again.
“What we’ll do,” Todd explained, standing again, handing one can to Farber, “is we’ll work around to the left. Doc, toss yours on that side, I’ll take this one. Casey, you do the matches.”
“Then what?” Micah asked from behind him.
“We run like hell to the cabin.”
“What about the people inside?”
“They stay in there, they’ll die. Once the fire starts, they’ll have a chance. They got the river and the cabin, their choice.”
“Maybe the Rev can preach at them or something,” Micah whispered. “Bore them to death.”
Casey gave him a look, received an apologetic smile and shrug, and looked back at the van.
The cold deepened, and spread.
Something; surely he ought to be able to do something.
Odam and Farber sidled toward their positions, the kerosene sloshing, as Casey braced himself and moved forward, fumbling in his jeans for a book of matches.
The bees crawled, weaving, gleaming, once in a while letting a color show through.
Casey’s lips moved in unconscious prayer, felt Todd looking at him, but he didn’t stop.
Todd nodded. “It sure as hell can’t hurt.”
The cold made Casey’s teeth want to chatter; it stiffened his spine, and for a moment he thought he was going to faint, or die.
“Ready?” Todd whispered to Farber, who nodded shakily. “Okay. On three.”
Farber hefted the can, one hand braced on the bottom. A few drops splattered to the blacktop.
“One.”
Casey took out his matches, tore one from the packet; his fingers shook.
“Two.”
Micah backed away in a hurry.
Suddenly Casey couldn’t stand the cold, the silence, any longer; he inhaled deeply and stepped up to the van, heels crunching softly on the gravel. The cold burned. He was angry. Angry enough to be tempted to reach out and grab those damn bees in his fists, tear them away, tear off the doors and tear the people out.
No one moved.
Todd hissed at him to get the hell away, goddamnit, he was screwing it all up.
Casey’s lungs filled, emptied, the cold wanning suddenly, fire in its place, and a hazelike fog that blurred the swarm to black; floating.
“Leave,” he ordered, his voice deep, singing, carrying over the river even though he wasn’t shouting. “You have no place here. Leave.”
Farber looked at him desperately.
“Leave!” Casey commanded, raised a hand and pointed.
The bees crawled.
A woman begged for help, muffled and weak.
Casey lit a match, held it cupped in a palm, and without warning tossed it into the swarm.
“Leave,” he whispered. “Leave now.”
There was no flare, no explosion, no burst of heavenly flame.
The match landed.
Farber gasped, dropped his can, and backpedaled so fast he nearly stumbled.
“Leave.” Casey nodded. “Now.”
Immediately, the bees rose, in pairs, in dozens, then by scores and hundreds; they swarmed overhead, and took the black cloud back to the tree.
There was no angry buzzing, no sign of attack.
Nothing at all but the ragged sound of their wings.
Nothing at all but the heat as Casey felt his knees buckle.
* * * *
3
There were voices, distant and muted.
There was movement, clumsy and slow.
There was bile in his throat, but he couldn’t spit it out, and a cold that settled in every bone and every muscle. A cold that burned, like fire without a flame.
He felt so damn heavy, like the worst days of his pneumonia when he wanted to leave his bed and couldn’t and so had to vomit into a large bowl someone had set beside the bed. Nothing he tried then or now worked—not his arms, not his legs, and he couldn’t open his eyes.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Lord, what happened?
No one answered.
* * * *
4
Helen stood over the grill and shook her head at the mess she had made of a couple of simple, lousy cheeseburgers. They should have been patties, browned, round, sizzling at the edges. She couldn’t help thinking of mud pies stepped on by a wandering elephant. The spatula didn’t help; it only made the things look more obscene. Her only hope was dressing up the plate and using the fixings to hide what couldn’t possibly be something meant for human consumption.
“Ready?’’ Rina asked from the serving gap.
Helen looked at her sourly. “What do you think?” She pointed.
Rina saw, and grinned.
Helen scowled. “Couple of minutes.”
“Sure.” Rina giggled. “Whatever you say.”
There were six people at the counter, six more in the booths, and Helen hadn’t stopped working since Todd had left, promising to be back within the hour. Two hours ago. Which, she supposed as she set up the plates, shouldn’t have been a surprise. Although he hadn’t said anything, she suspected some kind of meeting, and bet her miserable tips there’d be more beer than talk.
This, she thought, is a hell of a way to run a town.
But it usually worked, she admitted grudgingly, and had worked ever since she had been a little girl, watching her father traipse down to the dock with five or six others, depending on who was in town and who wasn’t in trouble. No one ever talked about what had gone on, but sometimes the police came, sometimes someone left and didn’t return, and once in a while a state or forestry official showed up and streets that needed paving were paved, pipes were replaced, or campers were removed from hidden glens in the woods.
She had thought then, and she thought now, that the Landing was more like a club than a town.
Her hands moved swiftly, surely, assembling sandwiches and the burgers, salads, slices of pickle, scoops of cole slaw. Turn to the deep fryer, lift the basket, shake out the fries. Turn, pour, grab the plates and slap them on the shelf.
“Rina.”
The meals were gone before she had a chance to blink.
That girl is definitely not human, she decided. All arms and legs and hair, she ought to be more awkward, tripping over herself, breaking dishes, whacking her shins. Instead, she moved as though she were dancing, gliding without a single wasted movement.
It made her feel like a lump.
In fact, as she watched Rina refill coffee and take swipes at spills, she figured the only time that kid acted like a kid was when Nate Dane was around. Which at least proved she was human. Maybe.
She smiled, flicked a wave
at Mrs. Racine, sitting at a booth with Mabel and Moss, and turned back to clean the grill.
Now there was a challenge—practicing the music Mabe wanted for the wedding. Although she had been able to talk the woman out of Jefferson Airplane, Mozart and the Beatles wouldn’t be moved. Even if she hadn’t been Trinity’s only organist, she wouldn’t miss this event for the world.
“Hey, Helen!”
She looked up as she scraped the grease into the gutter at the front of the grill. “Now what?’’
Rina jerked a thumb toward the street. “I just saw Dr. Farber’s car stop at the clinic.”
“So?”
“So they just carried Reverend Chisholm inside.”
That’s when she realized the diner had gone silent, and those at the counter had swiveled around to peer through the side window.
Helen didn’t move. “Carried?”
“Well...” Rina twisted a towel around her hands. “He was walking, sort of. Mr. Odam and Mr. Lambert were kind of holding him up.”
Oh, Jesus, she thought.
Figures passed behind the girl as a handful of customers left, gone before Helen could think to ask one of them to bring back some news.
“You want me to go see?”
“I. ..”
“No sweat,” the girl said. “Mrs. Racine wants some pie, Miss Jonsen needs more coffee, and,” she whispered, “Mr. Tully won’t keep his hands off her.” She snickered, dropped the towel, and took off, telling the remaining diners that Helen would take care of them, she’d be back in a second.
Helen couldn’t move.
The grill sizzled.
Someone called her.
She couldn’t move, didn’t dare, because as soon she did, she would start to imagine all the things that could have happened. Her left hand fluttered around her hair, her right remembered it was supposed to be cleaning. Automatic. Scrape and dump. Not feeling the heat. Starting when Moss pushed open the swinging door and asked her if he could fetch the coffee himself.
“Sure,” she said distractedly. “Yes. Whatever.”
A wave to dismiss him.
A deep breath to calm herself, and an order to stop behaving as if she were Rina catching sight of Nate. There was no reason for it. On either side. He was a friend, nothing more, and if she started thinking the way Tessa thought she felt, she’d only land herself in one hell of a lot of trouble.
Still, she yelped when a hand touched her shoulder.
“Gawd, Hel,” Todd said, taking the spatula from her hand. “You okay?”
“Yes. Sure. How’s—”
He shooed her from the kitchen. “Too much beer, too much heat, the jerk almost passed out, that’s all.”
Standing in the doorway, heat on one side from the kitchen and cool on the other from the air-conditioning, she felt a little faint herself. She also knew he was lying, and would have confronted him had not a customer demanded service. Without thinking, she picked up Rina’s towel and walked down to the end booth, glancing up when a van sped by, heading east, doing fifty at least and not slowing down.
“Idiot,” Moss said, stretching his neck to follow the vehicle up the slope. “Think a bear was after him.” He curled his lip. “Stupid tourists.”
The quartet in the booth bridled until Helen told them not to worry, he was getting married in two weeks, didn’t know up from down. They relaxed, she took their dessert orders, and numbed herself by cutting pie, leaning into the ice cream vat, serving, moving down the counter to see that everyone there was satisfied.
When Rina returned, Helen’s legs nearly cramped as she forced them not to run. Instead, she leaned back against the shelf, folding her arms, feeling the warmth of the coffee urn radiate to her spine.
“So?”
Heads cocked, turned, no one stared directly.
Rina fussed with her pony tail, not concerned at all. “A touch of heat stroke.” Automatically she reached for a customer’s empty cup. “No big deal. He has to rest for a little while, then Doc’s sending him home.”
“Big men like that shouldn’t move around so fast on a day like this,” Moss said.
Mabel slapped his arm lightly. “He’s not fat.”
“Didn’t mean that.”
Another slap that turned into a caress, and a suggestion they leave, there were things to be done, plans to be made for a week come Sunday.
Rina turned her back, making a face. “Gross.”
Helen, however, had seen Todd’s reaction to the news. A slight sagging, clear relief.
“Hey, can I pay my bill here?”
Plastic smile as she tended the register; plastic farewell; staring unseeing at the street until she slammed the drawer closed and marched into the kitchen. Todd looked up from the butcher’s block, scowling, then backing away when she rounded it and forced him without touching him to the back door, to the stoop outside.
“Helen, what the hell?”
“Tell me,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Tell me, or I’ll smash that damn guitar over your damn head.”
* * * *
5
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“Until you stop looking like uncooked dough. And until people stop sneaking around out there, trying to figure out what happened.”
“Doc, I’d rather go, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind, Casey. If you collapse on the street, it’s my ass. Not to mention my malpractice insurance.”
“It’s not your insurance I’m concerned about.”
“I know, Case, I know.”
“Man, I feel awful.”
“You should. You haven’t been out of bed a week, you’re clumping all over the place, drinking, smoking—’’
“Chewing, cursing, I know, I know.”
“Case, it isn’t funny. People have died from less. Drink.”
“I have any more water, I’m gonna float.”
“Just drink it. And stop worrying about it.”
“Just like that?”
“Case, it was a fluke. They were ready to leave, and you happened along at the right time. Or the wrong time. You start thinking it was anything else, you’re going to drive yourself, and the rest of us, nuts. Now, if you were one of those TV preachers, or a born-again, I would worry. But you’re not. Sometimes you talk like them, but you’re a whole different breed.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t believe.”
“No, but it means you know the difference between a fluke, a coincidence, and a miracle.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Besides, what would you call it? The driving out of the bees? No offense, Rev, but it doesn’t quite have that ring.”
“Doc, I have to—”
“What you have to do is rest a little. What I have to do is chase Mabel away from the front door. I’ll tell her it was UFOs, getting ready for the wedding.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
* * * *
6
He closed his eyes, waiting for the cold, the burning cold, to return; he reached for the sensation of floating, drifting, as if treading easily through water; he waited for a sign. Nothing happened. He waited anyway.
That was the easy part, the waiting. When he had to, he could be as patient as a rock. This time he had to be. This time it was more important than Doc could possibly know.
please don’t please don’t hurt me please don’t
on the floor you goddamn bastard on the floor
please don’t
on the floor
please
His eyes opened when the cold returned.
But it wasn’t the same.
This cold was something else.
This cold was fear.
* * * *
7
Kay took her time getting back to the Pavilion. The Moonglow had been jammed, practically everybody talking about what had happened to Casey. She had been lucky to find a counter stool, luckier still to catch Rina at a mercif
ully slow moment. The speculation had run to everything from parting the Delaware to falling off the dock in a drunken stupor. Heat stroke, however, was something she could deal with.
Symphony - [Millennium Quartet 01] Page 13
