Watchers in the Woods

by William W. Johnstone

  They fanned out, the seven of them expertly placing themselves in the shadows and effectively covering the inside of the U-shaped motel. They all carried silenced handguns, ranging from the .22-caliber Colt Woodsman to the Beretta 9mm.

  Matt felt sure there was more than one cell of the Unseen operating in and around LA, but he was also certain that each cell knew about the other. It was therefore imperative that he take the desk clerk alive. This could be the first good chance to break the cells in this area wide open and put an end to the killings.

  The Unseen had people in the sheriff’s department, so it was a sure bet they also had people in the LAPD as well. But that wasn’t going to be the case long in any department, since the government, Matt had been told, had ordered massive and sudden blood testing of police and sheriff’s deputies all over the country, as well as officials in local, county, state, and federal governmental bodies.

  The doctors and the medics drawing the blood, as well as the technicians doing the work-up, had all either been cleared or placed under arrest or observation if found to have traces of the tribe in their blood. It was not especially fair, for only a small percentage of those on the outside felt the urge to kill, but it was the only effective method anyone could come up with to handle the situation at the moment. And Matt knew the killings were sure to become much more widespread before they began to show any signs of tapering off.

  A car pulled in and four men got out, first walking to the office and then stepping back outside, to lounge by the pool. Matt recognized one of them as part of the group he’d seen talking to the desk clerk.

  Two more cars pulled in, each carrying four people. If that was it, that made thirteen in all. The clerk left the office and locked the door after turning on the No Vacancy sign.

  The Unseen began to spread out, moving silently around the motel.

  As one of the killers moved up to a spook’s position, he went down silently, the leather sap making only a small thump as it impacted with the back of his head. He was lowered to the concrete walkway and handcuffed and gagged.

  Twelve to go.

  Stay in your rooms, people, Matt silently implored.

  One big hulk went down to his knees after being slugged but managed to call out before passing out. Matt shot the desk clerk in the knee and the man went down with a scream. Lights began flashing on in the rooms.

  “Los Angeles Police!” Matt yelled. “Stay in your rooms and stay down low.”

  The huffing and whapping of silenced pistols echoed around the U-shaped motel. A man leaped out of the darkness and charged Matt, the primitive urges within him changing his face into that of a wild beast. Matt shot him in the chest, and the second round stopped the enraged man.

  “Finish it!” Matt yelled. “Get those prisoners out of here!”

  He dropped to one knee and assumed a two-handed grip on his Beretta, squeezing the trigger twice. Another night-stalker went down, falling in that boneless way that signaled a quick kill or a soon-to-be-mortal wound.

  One of the agents began screaming as a woman leaped onto his back and rode him down to the concrete, her strong teeth tearing at his neck and throat. Another agent ran out of the shadows and slammed her pistol against the head of the bloodthirsty urge-follower. But it was too late. The agent fell to the walkway with his attacker, his throat torn open.

  Two of the cannibals got away, running silently and swiftly into the night. None of the agents could shoot for fear of the bullet hitting one of the many innocents who had gathered on the street in front of the motel.

  Matt quickly handcuffed the night clerk, gagged him so he could not bite, and dragged him to a waiting car, shoving him into the back seat. An agent jumped in the back seat with him and began putting a pressure bandage on the man’s leg wound. The other wounded cannibals were dragged and shoved into other vehicles, including some of their own cars.

  Matt was conscious of the many eyes on them from the people watching from behind draped motel room windows, all of them by now surely aware that Matt and the others were not LAPD cops.

  “Get going,” Matt told the other agents. “I’ll catch up with you along the way.”

  “You familiar with our clinic out here?” a woman asked.

  “Yeah. Richard told me. I’ll find it.”

  “What about the paying guests?” another asked.

  “They’ll get a night’s free lodging.”

  “Where are you going, Husky?”

  “I’ve got to see a man about some rather unfair comments he’s been making. And to show him it’s not nice to fool with Mother Nature.”

  5

  He was too late.

  Long before he reached the walled and guarded mansion of Emmett Trumball and drove slowly to the scene, he saw the flashing lights of the police. He parked on a side street and walked up to join the people standing on the sidewalk in the ritzy neighborhood. He could see the covered bodies of the two guards who had once patrolled the entrance to the mansion.

  He took from his wallet a card that identified him as a member of the press—it didn’t say what press, but people never asked—and showed it to a woman who stood holding a poodle in her arms.

  “Turner. CBS. What happened here?”

  And as Matt knew they would, everybody started talking at once.

  They had all heard faint screaming. A man had seen fast-running shapes moving around the grounds.

  Another had seen the guards, sprawling in near death, their throats torn out.

  “How did you know they were near death and not dead?” Matt asked.

  “’Cause they were still kicking and jerking around.”

  Another had seen a woman kneeling down, lapping at their blood like a wild animal. “It was awful,” she said. “I barfed.”

  None of them had been able to hear anything coming from the mansion because it was set well back from the road. No, they couldn’t see anything either, the trees obscured the mansion.

  Matt thanked them and walked off a distance, watching as ambulances began arriving and leaving, carrying their grisly cargo. He walked across the road, showing the cop his ID from the Treasury Department.

  “No interest in this except curiosity,” Matt told him. “Anybody alive in there?”

  “Only us boys and girls in blue,” the cop told him. “Those damned tribe members did it, we figure. I haven’t been up there, but I’m told it’s a slaughterhouse. Trumball was gutted alive, they say. Nailed to a wall like Jesus Christ and his guts pulled out. Hell of a way to die.”

  “That would be unpleasant,” Matt said dryly. “Thanks. See you around.” He walked back to his Bronco and drove off, thinking that Emmett Trumball had got exactly what he so richly deserved.

  He wondered when the news of the motel shootout would hit the streets.

  He pulled into a shopping center and called Richard at his house, giving him the news about Emmett Trumball.

  “Mere words cannot begin to express my sorrow over the demise of Emmett Trumball, Matt,” the acting DCI said. “The LAPD and the county sheriff’s office personnel will undergo testing beginning in the morning. Since you’re in the vicinity and you’ve surprisingly and suddenly developed a human trait—called love—why don’t you take twenty-four hours off and go see your, ah, main squeeze?”

  “Main squeeze, Rich? Main squeeze?”

  “Keep in touch, Lothario.” Richard was chuckling as he hung up the phone.

  Matt laughed as he was punching out Dennis’s number.

  * * *

  Matt was sitting in the spacious and lovely den of the Feldman house when the news of the motel shootout broke on television. Matt sipped his drink and kept his face impassive until the newsperson said, “The police are looking for a late model, full-sized Ford Bronco, driven by a man wearing a neatly trimmed beard, about six feet tall and weighing about a hundred and eighty pounds.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Matt said.

  “Relax,” Dennis said. “Take my Mercedes and par
k your Bronco in the garage until you can have some of your people pick it up. Were those tribe members out there, Matt?”

  “Yes. It’s all coming to a head, and the boil will explode any day now. Have the people in your firm tested, Dennis. It’s the only way you’re going to be sure.”

  Dennis smiled. “I started having that done yesterday. I also insisted that all our private security people here be tested. They all agreed without a bobble. Everybody at the office and here came back clean.”

  “Good. Susan, you and Milli get ahold of the gang—what’s left of it,” he added with a grimace, “and tell them to do the same with their employees and suggest it to their friends. That’ll be another load off my mind. Any friend or employee who refuses, however, is not necessarily a tribe member. You all have read about the indignation concerning drug testing. The same might apply here. Tell your friends that this involves a much higher risk factor. Get yourselves tested and show them the results. Tell them that many of those urge-feelers might not have been aware of their . . . affliction until full adulthood or even middle years. If an employee still refuses, I’d suggest firing him and dropping the others off my Christmas list.”

  “You have a place to stay, Matt?” Milli asked.

  He sighed, the weariness in him surfacing. “No, I don’t. ”

  “Yes, you do, ol’ buddy,” Dennis said with a smile. “And no arguments, huh?”

  “None from me, friend. None at all.”

  * * *

  Matt slept late. Dennis had been driven to work by one of the security people, and another had escorted Milli and Traci shopping. Walter and Tommy were outside by the pool. After a long and hot shower, Matt sat in the breakfast nook and watched as Susan insisted on fixing him breakfast.

  “When will it be over, Matt?” she asked, not looking up from the eggs.

  “I’d guess the worst’ll be over in a couple of weeks. But until then it’s going to be bloody. I’ve told you that before, but it bears repeating.”

  She nodded her understanding. “I tried to get Dennis to allow me to share in the security expenses. He wouldn’t hear of it. Said it was all tax deductible, and since this wasn’t my house, he wasn’t sure I could take any of it off. I just want this over so we can pick up our lives. You and I. Matt?”

  He looked up, meeting her eyes.

  “Are you going to be clear of the CIA?”

  “No,” he told her truthfully. “I’ll take jobs from time to time. I’m far too young and in too good a physical condition for them not to use me.”

  “Will these jobs be dangerous?”

  “Some. One thing you’ll have to learn, Susan, is never to ask me questions about where I’m going, what I’m going to do, where I’ve been, or what I did there. That way I won’t have to lie to you.”

  She smiled. “Will we have all sorts of elaborate security devices around the yard?”

  “Probably. I’m on a lot of hit lists. I’ll have to change my name, so be thinking about a name you like.”

  “It’s that . . . complicated?”

  “For a lot of us, yes.”

  “Then why do men like you do it?”

  “Because all the other countries do it. It doesn’t say much for the world, but that’s the way it is.”

  He ate his breakfast while she bathed. The phone rang and he answered it. It was Dennis. “Matt, they hit a block away last night. They massacred a family named Feldman. Husband, wife, two kids. I don’t think that was a coincidence.”

  “Neither do I. I think they got the wrong family. You call Wade, Dennis. I’ll call Norm. Do they have security?”

  “Yes—all of them. But we’d best call. How about you?”

  “I’ll tell my boss I’m staying put for a few days. You may have to move out, go in hiding until this is over. You know a lot of cops; some of them surely have links with the tribe. Think about it.”

  “And as soon as the testing starts, they’ll be after blood.”

  “It started this morning here in LA. You’d better get home, Dennis.”

  Susan walked into the kitchen just as Matt was hanging up the phone. “Who was that?”

  “Dennis. A family name of Feldman was slaughtered last night. They lived a block away. I suspect they’ll be coming here tonight. Pack up, Susan—we’ll pull out just as soon as Dennis gets here. Dennis is calling Wade; I’ll call Norm. Find out from security where Milli went shopping and have them bump the guard on the radio. Get the kids inside. Move, honey!”

  He called Norm and advised him to gather up his family and get ready to pull out. They would decide on a place and call him as soon as Dennis got home. He was replacing the receiver when Susan appeared by his side. “Matt? The guards are gone. I can’t find them anywhere.”

  He ran to his room and screwed the silencer on his 9mm. Susan had grouped the kids in the den. “Does Dennis have a phone in his car?”

  Susan nodded.

  “Call him. Tell him to approach the house with caution. Don’t get out of his car unless I’m in the drive. Have his guard contact Milli’s security. Advise them of the situation.”

  She picked up the phone. The line was dead. She looked at Matt, real fear in her eyes. She tried to speak. Her voice broke.

  “The phone dead?”

  She nodded.

  “Take it easy. All of you.”

  A man suddenly appeared in the doorway leading from the hall to the den. He smiled faintly at Matt, but no humor lit up his strange-colored eyes.

  “That’s not one of our guards!” Tommy blurted.

  The man stopped smiling when Matt shot him twice in the chest, the silenced 9mm making only a huffing sound.

  Matt turned as he caught movement out of the corner of his eyes. He fired as the man jumped into the den. The first slug struck the urge-follower in the chest, the second slug took him in the throat. Susan screamed, spinning Matt around. A woman was struggling with her, trying to drag her from the room. Walter grabbed up a poker from the fireplace set and smashed it across the woman’s back. She screamed in pain and released Susan. Walter swung the poker again, the hook driving into the woman’s neck. The woman fell to the carpet and jerked her way into death. The boy worked the hook out, his face pale. He turned his head and vomited, and then nodded his head at Matt, a signal that he was all right and ready to do more battle.

  “Good boy,” Matt told him. “Watch my back.”

  The boy nodded, gripping the poker with both hands.

  But the tribe-related urge-followers had pulled back. They had lost the element of surprise and had no desire to lose more people. Matt checked out the house and then cautiously walked outside.

  The big house was surrounded on both sides and in the rear by a five-foot-high wooden security fence. Shrubs and trees blocked most of the view from the front. He made his way around one side of the house and found the body of a guard; the man’s throat had been ripped out. He found a second guard in the rear of the house, by the security fence, a knife was sticking out of his back. Matt went back into the house.

  “Hurry up and pack,” he told the group, just as he heard the sound of a car pulling into the drive. He walked back outside. Milli and Traci and the guard. Matt shooed the women inside to pack and laid it out for the security guard.

  “I’ll call in,” the guard said. “For sure we can’t notify the police until the testing is complete—twenty-four hours minimum.”

  - “I own a lodge up in the mountains,” Dennis said as soon as he and Matt were alone. “It’s a hard half a day’s drive from here.” He found a map and pointed it out. “Right there. It’s big enough for us all.”

  “We’ll call the others once we get on the road,” Matt said. “We’ve got to get clear of this place.”

  “The police are looking for your Bronco,” Dennis reminded him.

  “For their sake, I hope they don’t find it,” Matt’s reply was grimly spoken.

  * * *

  They bought supplies on the road, stopping at
several stores so as not to attract too much attention, since they were buying food for a lot more than were in their small party.

  Norm and Wade had been notified and they had gathered up their families and were on the way.

  Matt had several antsy moments when cops had cruised by him as they left the city. But the rash of killings had all their attention and no one pulled him over to check out the Bronco or its driver.

  Daylight was fading when they pulled into the lodge in the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Matt was certain they had not been followed, but there was no way he could be sure about Norm and Wade.

  “Do you want me to send in a team?” Richard had asked when Matt finally contacted with him.

  “How thin are you stretched?”

  “Very thin,” the acting DCI replied honestly.

  “Then keep the boys and girls in the field,” Matt said. “I think Norm and I can handle it.”

  “The death count is rising,” Richard informed him. “Nationwide. It’s pure revenge now. They know they can’t win and are going for an all-out bloodbath.”

  “We both anticipated that. How about Ty and the tribe?”

  “They’re safe. Congress has found their backbone and will officially give that area federal reservation status. That means tribal law will prevail. Anyone who goes in there will lose all protection from the government.”

  “That won’t keep the assholes out, Rich. You know that.”

  “It’s a start, Husky.”

  “Finish it, Rich.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The army rangers are being pulled out, aren’t they?”

  “Forest service personnel will take over,” Richard admitted.

  “That’s just fucking wonderful. How many will be assigned to guard the perimeters, four?”

  “Certain members of the press are screaming about the cost of keeping troops in there.”