by Ilsa J. Bick
“Listen to me! You’re Casey!” Rima was right up against the glass, even as Big Earl was still raging, but—impossibly—it was the arrow of her voice, sharp and true, that pierced his terror. “You are Eric’s brother; you are yourself; you are Casey, and Casey would open the door! Do it, Casey! Please, don’t let me die out here. Open the door, Casey; fight him and do it now, do it now, do it—”
I’m Casey. He grabbed desperately at the thought. I’m Eric’s brother—
No, you are mine, boy. Big Earl was huge in his head. You are my blood, you are—
“Casey, fight this!” Rima shouted through glass. “You are your own person!”
Mine, boy! You’re mine and I’ll make a man of you—
“No one makes me! I’m Casey!” Roaring, he drove his fist forward, hard and fast, throwing all his weight into a blow he aimed not for his face but the window. Through a haze of pain and tears, he saw Rima start back, and then he screamed as a bomb of white-hot pain erupted at the moment of impact, streaming through his bones to ball in his shoulder. He felt the skin over his knuckles tear, and now there was blood smeared on the window, and more dripping from his hand—but, he saw, it was his hand once more, his.
And Rima knew … Somehow she knew, but how? No time to wonder. In a few moments, he thought he might not care, because he could feel that one weird rocket of strength ebbing and Big Earl still there, this hulking presence at the edge of his mind, withdrawing, yes, but only as a grudging wave does from the shore: so far, and no further, because the ocean is remorseless and eternal—and it would be easy, so easy to stop fighting, to let Earl swamp him, drown him. It was only a matter of time anyway, wasn’t it? Big Earl was strong—he always had been—and Casey was nothing but a kid, a runt, another mouth to feed, a miserable excuse for a son who would never amount to—
Do it, Casey. Already, he could feel the silver sliver of himself, a Casey that he recognized, going dark, starting to slide away, being pulled under full fathom five. Do it, Casey! Do it now, open the door, save her while you still can and before he comes back, before …
“Do it.” The words were clumsy in his torn mouth. Swallowing back blood, he pawed at the locks, his bloody fingers awkward, but the pain kept him focused a few seconds more. There was a thunk as the locks disengaged. In the next second, Rima was scrambling inside on a wash of frigid air, another scream from Tony, and the stink of gasoline.
“Something’s coming.” Her voice was thin and tight. She wrestled with the handle, her hands in their wool gloves slipping over bare metal as she muscled the door shut. “Something’s out there!”
“What? How close?” Still panting, Casey brought his good fist down on the master lock, then felt around for the flashlight. Thumbing it on, he worked his aching jaw, grimacing at a lancet of pain. His cheek was already swelling, going to be a hell of a bruise, and someone tell him just why had he risked his neck for this girl; why had he been hitting himself? You’re going as crazy as she is. Sucking blood from his torn knuckles, he spat out copper and a gasoline fug. “Did you get a look at it?”
“No. But I heard it. It’s … big, and Tony …” Her back was rigid, and she seemed to be quite careful to keep some distance between them. She flicked him a quick glance, her eyes raking his face, lingering on his jaw. “Listen, Casey, what just happened to you, I—”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sudden movement, and then something flew into the car, smacking the metal shell with a meaty thud. Startled, Casey jerked his flashlight to the window—and screamed.
“Tony!” Rima shrieked. “Tony!”
ERIC
A Night Coming On Fast
ON THE PORCH, as that horrible scream went on and on, they all stared at the handset he held in a death grip. Before the shriek had even fully died, Eric was shouting into the unit: “What’s happening, what’s happening? Tony? Casey? Casey?”
“Jesus,” said Bode.
All the reply he got was the scream again, louder and so full of terror, Eric felt the sound working its way inside to ice his blood. Beside him, he heard Emma gasp.
“Eric,” she said. “Oh my God, that sounds like Tony.”
“Yeah, I know.” Heart pounding, he clicked off the handset’s volume and jammed the unit back into his parka. Whirling on his heel, he plunged down the porch steps. God, Casey, Casey! “Stay here, Emma, just stay here!”
“No! No, Eric, wait, wait!” Emma stumbled, the deep snow on the porch snagging her boots and dragging at Tony’s space blanket. Staggering, she clutched the railing before she could take a header. “Eric, you can’t go alone!”
“Emma.” He snatched up his helmet. “They’re in trouble, and I’m not staying here. My brother is out there!”
“And no one is saying you shouldn’t go.” Flinging off Tony’s space blanket, she floundered down the steps and grabbed his arm. “Of course you should. They need help, but so do you. It’s crazy for you to go alone. Let me come with you.”
“No way, Emma.” Tightening his helmet’s chin strap, he drilled her with a ferocious glare. “You’re already hurt.”
“But I can help. I’m fine. It’s just a hit to the head. Please, let me come with you.”
And here was the hell of it: he didn’t want to leave her. How can this be? We just met. Eric could feel the tug-of-war in his chest, the need to go a claw, the desire to stay a knife ripping at his heart. “Emma,” he said, exasperated. He grabbed his hand back before he could touch her, afraid that he’d give in to this new and raw emotion because what he wanted … what he needed … Swallowing around a sudden lump, he pushed back on the impulse to hold her close, crush his mouth to hers. What is this? Why do I feel this? What is this? It was the sort of thing you read in bad teen novels; he didn’t believe in this crap. The only person he’d loved in this world—ever—was Casey. But now there was this strange girl that he could imagine knowing better, wanted to be with … and he had no more time to wonder about this.
“Please,” he ground out, “please stay here. I need to know that you’re safe, and you won’t be if you come. I can’t help my brother if I have to worry about you, too.”
“I’m not a doll,” she said. “It’s not like I’m going to break.”
“But you’re not real fit to fight either.” It was the big kid in the olive drab BDUs, Bode. “It’s not a girlie thing. You look ready to chew nails, but you’re already kind of banged up.”
Eric saw her jaw set. “So you going with him?” Emma fired back. “Or are you just hassling me and going to let him walk into this on his own?”
“Emma, no,” Eric said, although he thought Bode was one kid he’d like to have with him in a fight. “It’s one thing to ask for help with a stuck car. Whatever’s going on out there, it’s not their fault, or their problem.”
“Yeah, what he said.” It was the twitchy, narrow-nosed guy, Chad, on the steps. “We don’t know what we’d be walking into.”
“And that’s a reason to do nothing?” Emma flung back. “You guys are soldiers, for God’s sake!”
“Gee, thanks for that intel. I was kind of wondering where I got these funky clothes. Now tell me something I don’t know,” Chad said. “Anyway, I’m on leave.”
“Yeah, but”—a swift sparrow of uncertainty flitted through the sky blue of Bode’s eyes—“come on, Chad. You really going to let this guy walk into God knows what by himself?”
“You know, guys, I don’t have time for this. I’m going,” Eric said, stabbing the sled’s ignition. He looked up as Emma stepped to block his way. “Emma!” he shouted over the engine’s throaty roar. He cranked the throttle, blasting out a loud vroom-vroom, but she wouldn’t budge. “Get out of the way. Move!”
“Not unless you take me with you!” she said.
Don’t you think I want to? Please listen to me; please let me protect you from whatever is out there. “You can’t help!”
“I know you’re trying to protect me,” she said, her words an eerie echo o
f his own. She covered his hand with hers. Her eyes were intent and so strange, with that one tiny golden flaw in her right eye and the rest such an alien cobalt blue it was as if he were staring into a night coming on fast. If you didn’t know better, you might think eyes like that existed only in dreams. “But I don’t want anything to happen to you either,” she said. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Man, she’s right.” Bode had come to stand next to her. “Never go into the field without someone to watch your back. Me and Chad will come.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Eric said, but with less force. Honestly, he didn’t want to walk into this alone; he only wanted Emma safe.
“Aw, Bode,” Chad said. “I don’t know.”
“Shut up, Chad, we’re going.” Bode dragged on a watch cap, then tugged a pair of gloves from his jacket. “Leave the sled, Devil Dog. We got chains for the Dodge, and we’re less exposed that way—more protection. You got a weapon?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, but then he remembered. Eric cut the engine. As the sled died with a grumble, he reached under his parka to tug Big Earl’s pistol from the small of his back. “Just this.”
“Whoa.” Bode’s forehead crinkled. “Nice gun, but … they issuing Glocks these days?”
“No.” He saw that Emma was very still, but her eyes were wide, the question on her face practically a shout. He dodged his gaze back to Bode. “It was my dad’s,” he said.
“How many rounds?”
One less than it started the day with. Back at the cabin, everything had happened so fast, he hadn’t bothered to check. Knowing Big Earl, the clip would be full. Shucking the round in the chamber, he popped out the magazine. “Been fired once today already,” he said, wanting to kick himself for mentioning that and not looking at Emma at all but busying himself with thumbing in the bullet he’d shucked from the chamber into the clip. Butting the magazine back into place, he jacked the slide. “So, fourteen plus one.”
“Holy shit.” Chad’s eyebrows shot for his hairline. “That many?”
“Whoa.” This seemed to be Bode’s go-to. “That legal, Devil Dog?”
“Um … sure, my dad had …” He caught himself. “He bought it at some gun show.”
“That’s a lot of bullets,” Chad said.
Puzzled, Eric felt his eyebrows draw together. “It’s a Glock nineteen, standard fifteen-round mag. You can buy them all over. I’ve even seen them with that huge thirty-three-round clip.”
“Thirty-three?” Bode said.
“That’s it, man,” Chad said. “I got to get me one of those. Hell with that measly eight-shot Colt.”
“Huh.” Bode shook his head. “Well, nice as that is, best you leave that here with her. It’s only good close in anyway. More distance between us and the bad guys, the better.”
“Wait a minute.” Emma put her hands up in a warding-off gesture. “Get that thing away from me.”
“No, he’s right, Emma. You’ll be all alone here.” He proffered the weapon. “Come on, take the gun.”
“But I don’t know anything about guns. I mean, yeah, I’ve read about them …”
“What’s to know?” Bode said. “Only pick it up if you’re gonna use it. Glocks don’t got a safety, so just point and squeeze the trigger. Oh, and make sure you don’t shoot one of us.”
“Ha-ha,” Emma said. “No one’s shooting anybody.”
“Not yet,” Chad said, sourly.
“Some gook comes busting in,” Bode said, “you’ll have to.”
“What?” She shot Eric a mystified look. “What are you talking about?”
“The enemy, of course,” Chad said.
“Listen, if I’m leaving this behind, do you guys have weapons?” Eric said.
“In the house.” Bode hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Bolt-action rifle, shotgun. I think there’s something we can dig up for you, too. Give us two minutes to get our shit together, Devil Dog.” Wading back up the steps, Bode jerked his head at Chad. “Let’s go.”
Chad opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
When they were gone, Emma said, “Why can’t we all stay together?”
“I’m not having this discussion. Please, Emma, take the gun. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for me. You don’t want anything to happen to me?” He extended the weapon, grip first. “Feeling’s mutual.”
Some emotion flashed through her pinched, anxious features. She nodded. “All right,” she said, although she looked as if she’d be happier to accept a python instead. “What do I do?”
“Keep the muzzle pointed at the ground. Don’t aim that thing at anyone unless you’re going to shoot. Other than that, there’s not much to it. There’s a round in the chamber. Like Bode said, there’s no safety, so be careful. You probably shouldn’t keep it in your pocket either. If you need it in a hurry, you don’t want it to hang up or snag. I’d carry it behind, tucked in your jeans around back, the way I did, all right?”
“Okay,” she said, awkwardly stiff-arming the weapon down and out to one side. “Just point and shoot, right?”
“That’s the size of it. But you got to loosen up. Here.” Stepping around, he fitted her back into his chest and reached down her arms to cup her hands and seat the gun. “Come on, ease up, you got a death grip on this thing. It’s not going to go off by itself.”
“Right. Sorry.” Working out her shoulders, she blew out in annoyance. “Like this?”
He felt the tension leak from her stance as she relaxed into him. “Yeah, good. But always keep your trigger finger outside the guard until you’re ready to shoot. Bend your knees a little, too, like this.” She wasn’t a small girl, but at six-two, he thought he had a good five inches on her. Stooping a little, he butted the points of his knees into the back of hers. “Bend … that’s good. And spread your feet … Excellent. See? Just like the movies.”
She exhaled a shaky laugh, then half-turned until he felt her cheek on his chin. “Wonder which one we’re in.”
Not one with a happily ever after, he thought, grimly. Not for me. When this was over, he’d have to turn himself in. It had been crazy to run, a panicked and brainless move, and that was no kind of life for Casey. But before that, he could save his brother, and keep Emma safe. Of course, when everything came out about Big Earl, she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him. But I can do a few things right before then.
“This is important,” he said. If she turned her head just a little more … Idiot; stay sharp. He forced himself to pull his head back a little. “In the movies, they pump out those bullets really fast because they’re firing blanks. No kick, no climb; they never have to draw down again. But you’ll have to, okay? So aim for center mass. You have a much better chance of actually hitting someone that way. But that means you’ll have to wait until whoever’s coming is close. I know that’s scary, but …” His eyes scoured her face, and he knew that he really should let her go; she seemed to have figured out how to hold the weapon. But this moment may never come again. “You’ll have to bide your time, Emma, pick your shot. Okay?”
“I can do that.” She paused. “This is going to sound stupid, like one of those bad movies? But Eric … please be careful.”
“Yeah.” The voice came from the porch, and Eric looked up to see Chad, shotgun in hand, scuffing down the steps, with Bode just behind. “We will,” Chad said. “Thanks for your concern.”
In the wash of light spilling from the house, Eric saw Emma’s cheeks color as she stepped out of his arms and turned. “Eric, I mean it—”
There came a rolling boom, distant but unmistakable, and Eric knew: that was not thunder. He looked over at Bode and Chad. “We have to go, now.”
“Got that right.” Bode shot the bolt of his rifle. “Playing our song, man.”
Emma looked at Eric. “What was that?”
But it was Chad who answered. “Nothing real good.”
CASEY
Where’s His Tongue?
“TONY!” RIMA CRIED. “Oh my God!”
Jesus. Casey felt all the air wick out of his throat. Tony was pressed against the glass, palms flat, fingers splayed, like a little kid peering into a toy store window. Tony’s face—what was left of it—was a macerated, staring mask of blood and skin, bone and muscle, grinning teeth with no lips and bulging eyes with very little flesh. When the boy opened his savaged mouth, more blood gushed, slick and steaming, to splash the glass.
No tongue, Casey thought, crazily. He hasn’t got a tongue. Where’s his tongue?
“EHHH EEE NNNN!” Tony gurgled. His smeary hands swarmed over the glass. “OHHHENNN UHHH, EHHH EEE NNN!”
“Tony! Let him in, Casey!” Rima tried reaching past to jab open the locks. “Hurry! Open up, and let him in, hurry!”
“NO! Don’t open it, don’t open it!” Before he knew what he was doing—no, no, that was a lie; he knew what he was doing, all right—Casey gave her a good one, a stinging backhanded swat. He pulled the slap at the last second; he didn’t want to knock her out, just stop her. The blow caught Rima on the forehead just above her left eye. He heard her gasp, and then she went sprawling, the back of her head thudding against the passenger’s side door. “Rima, damn it! Stop! We can’t help him!”
“What is wrong with you?” Tears were leaking from her eyes, and a thin trickle of blood inched down her jaw from where she’d bitten her lip. She put a trembling hand to her forehead, like a little girl who couldn’t believe that the parent she thought was so wonderful just five minutes ago could turn on a dime. “We would help you.”
“Then you’re stupid,” Casey said, flatly. “You’ve got a death wish. Getting ourselves killed won’t save him.”
“My God, what are you?” Her mouth worked like she wanted to spit. “How can you do this? Why are you letting him do this?”
“Him? What the hell are you—” He broke off at a sudden, wet, squeaking sound that reminded Casey of running his finger over the condensation of a bathroom mirror. He looked back to see Tony’s hands scrabbling over the glass like wet spiders, his bloody fingers trying to dig in but finding nothing to grab. At the sight, Casey’s stomach turned over.
