The Sickle Moon Killer advanced, eyes crazed and locked on Madeline.
She glanced around for a weapon but saw none, only bolted-down seats and other passengers staring on mutely. Her eyes fell on a hard-sided briefcase, and she picked it up, then hurled it at him. It connected with his shoulder, and he winced with pain.
Then the passengers started to panic. Some ran out of the observation car, piling into the dining car and sliding the door closed behind them. Three passengers came forward, two men and a woman in their forties who seemed to know each other. They moved forward as a single mass, shoulder to shoulder, and leapt as one at MacCready, grabbing his hands.
But the Sickle Moon Killer was amazingly strong, and his armed hand came free, flaying knife striking out at them, aiming for faces and arms and soft middles. One of the men screamed, a gash opening in his chest, and the woman crumpled to the floor when the knife tore open a pulsing artery in her arm. MacCready flung the last man to the side, and he clattered down the narrow stairs to the snack bar below, crying out in surprise and pain.
Now George and Madeline stood in the car with MacCready and the two wounded Good Samaritans, who groaned and lay sprawled on the floor. One train cop was performing EMT duties on his partner, who lay prone, the color washed from his face.
The Sickle Moon Killer advanced on Madeline. She backed up, throwing everything she could find at him. A basket of nachos with dripping cheese. A copy of the New York Times, which rattled and fell at his feet. An abandoned backpack with a heavy book inside. The MP3 player. They bounced off him ineffectually.
George moved to the side, keeping out of MacCready’s reach, furtive eyes searching for a way to restrain him. Madeline tried to think of the train’s layout. The only turf she knew for certain was the cars behind them. She glanced over at the two train cops. The uninjured one leaned over his friend, applying pressure to the slice. Both had guns on their belts.
A whoosh admitted a woman in a white coat to the observation lounge. Taking in the situation and wounded people, she rushed first to the fallen cop.
“I got it from here,” Madeline heard her say to the younger officer.
At that, the cop leaped to his feet, pivoting angrily.
As the Sickle Moon Killer steadily advanced on Madeline with the flaying knife, the cop unholstered his gun and aimed. A series of deafening shots rang out in the small confines of the car. Madeline clasped her hands to her ears as blood exploded from MacCready’s chest in four places, raining over the white plastic seats.
A surprised look spread over his face, and he paused, the knife sliding from his hand. It clattered on the floor, and Madeline stepped forward quickly and kicked it away. MacCready swayed, opening his mouth. Blood spilled out, bubbling on his lips as he tried to suck in a breath. Then he crashed forward to his knees, looked up at her angrily, and crumpled face-first onto the floor. He lay there for several long, agonizing moments, trying to draw in breath, the blood seeping across the floor as it spilled from his mouth and chest. His back spasmed, arcing backward at an awkward angle. Then he went still.
Madeline crept forward. Kicked his arm. No reaction.
The surprised eyes still stared, glistening and wet.
The train’s EMT stabilized the cop, then attended to the three Samaritans, the last of whom had just dragged himself up from the snack bar below. The EMT gestured to the wounded officer and the woman with the sliced artery, and said to the young cop, “We’re going to have to get these people to a hospital in Whitefish.” The officer didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the fallen body of MacCready, gun still drawn. Crinkly eyes that looked like he’d known a lot of laughter in his time now looked gaunt and gray. At last he lowered the gun, put it in his holster, and turned back to his partner.
Madeline looked back at MacCready’s body. As she watched, the eyes began to film over. He was dead.
George rushed to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t look away from the body. All the years she’d lived in terror, the never-ending flashbacks. She didn’t think they’d go away now. She thought they’d get worse. Now the killer truly was free to roam anywhere, no longer confined to a body. His ghost would haunt her forever.
George’s fingers squeezed her shoulder.
She jumped and spun around, flinging off his hand.
“It’s okay, Mad. It’s over.”
She looked into his dark brown eyes. “It’s far from over,” she said. “What did you mean, I didn’t say good-bye?”
“You just left. I thought when I didn’t show up at the diner you’d at least stop by.”
Her brow creased in confusion. “Didn’t show up? But you were there. We had a long talk.”
George took a step back. “What? No, I wasn’t. I got jumped on the way.” He pointed to the underside of his chin. “See this bruise? This crazy guy beat me up! Didn’t even take anything. Just beat me up for the hell of it.”
She stared at him in shock, looking again at the fading bruise under his chin. “You really weren’t there?”
She thought of how alluring George had looked that night, when he never had before. How attracted she’d been. She took him in now. It was the same George she’d known for seven months—nothing strangely attractive about him at all now—and it hit her. Pheromones. It was pheromones that night. So Stefan had jumped George and replaced him for one night, in order to learn Madeline’s route through the desolate backcountry. But she had to be sure. “If this is true, then why have you always been so evasive about your past? And don’t give me that crap about being a bookkeeper.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just answer the damn question,” she demanded.
He looked down, ashamed. “I’m afraid you won’t feel the same way about me anymore if you know.”
“Just tell me.”
He exhaled sharply. “I was in prison. Okay? I got involved with these guys who held up a gas station in Billings. But it was a long time ago, and I’ve really changed my life around now. Going to college. Moving to a new town. Meeting you.”
She couldn’t believe it. The answer wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “Let me see your head.”
Dutifully he peeled off one corner of the bandage, and she peered closely. A dark, painful-looking bruise surrounded a tear in the skin. It was a regular, human-looking wound.
She threw her arms around him. “George! You’re you! You’re human!”
He patted her back, trying to keep her at a distance, still distrustful. “Great news. I’m human. What a relief.” Then he pulled back and looked at her in bewilderment.
“I’ll explain everything when we get home,” she said, glancing around the train car. Behind them, the EMT applied a tourniquet to the woman’s arm and helped her and the chest-sliced victim out of the observation car. The last Samaritan remained with the injured cop, holding his hand.
At her feet, the Sickle Moon Killer’s blood spread widely, dripping now into the stairwell leading down to the snack bar. An announcer stated that the train would be arriving in Whitefish in fifteen minutes.
A hand closed around her boot.
With a shriek she looked down, trying to jerk her foot away. The Sickle Moon Killer’s eyes were no longer filmed over but gleamed red, luminescent disks housing no pupils. MacCready lifted his head, mouth opening to reveal rows of hideously pointed teeth.
She tried to kick the hand away, but it held fast, the other hand reaching up to grab her leg. Pale, white skin gave way to inky black sharkskin, graying brown hair vanished into shadow, and the creature rose to his feet, sliding toward her in the blood.
Releasing his grip on her, he tore away the hunting coveralls, emerging like a hideous black insect climbing from a camouflaged cocoon. A sharp gasp issued from the man sitting with the injured cop. Madeline glanced over there. He sat staring with horror at the creature, the same way she had that first night on the mountain.
“Madeline,” George sa
id in alarm.
“George, get the hell out of here.”
“What?”
“Just get the hell out! He’ll kill you!”
“That’s right,” said the creature, nodding at George. The coveralls fell in a heap at Stefan’s feet, and he kicked them away. He extended his left arm, and the black glowed brightly to become gleaming silver, the hand sharpening into a point, fingers vanishing. The spike. She remembered the devastation on the guys in the campground. Turning, she shoved George away violently. He stumbled over the edge of one bank of chairs and fell on his back.
“Get out!” she screamed at him.
Then turning, she tackled the creature.
21
MADELINE didn’t think the creature would risk stabbing her with the spike. Her flesh would bubble and dissolve, be reduced to ashes. Nothing left to eat. Until he tore out her throat or heart, she was safe.
She slammed into him, knocking him off balance. He sprawled on his back in the center aisle, and she landed roughly on top of him, straddling his body. With both hands she grabbed the shimmering spike and aimed it at his stomach. Then with all her weight she jumped up and landed on his upper arm, trying to drive the blade into his own body. But the minute it connected with his abdomen, the spike reduced itself to a hand again, the palm falling flat on the belly.
She grunted in frustration, bringing her fists down hard on his solar plexus. He groaned, deflecting the blows and knocking her to the side.
Behind her, George got to his feet. He rushed forward, grabbing Stefan’s legs. She slid to one side and seized his hands. He tried to twist them free, but sheer rage gave her tremendous power, and she held fast.
Kicking his legs out, he tried to throw George off, but her friend wouldn’t let go, even when he fell to the floor, banging his knee harshly on one of the seats.
Madeline struggled to get to her feet, constantly thrown off balance by Stefan’s thrashing. Finally she managed to stand up and began dragging him toward the nearest door. “Help me carry him!” she yelled to George.
He got to his knees, still gripping the creature’s thrashing legs. “I’ll try!”
Both of Stefan’s hands instantly extended to metal spikes.
Madeline choked up her hold and shifted her position, now gripping him under the arms. She managed to heft him up off the ground. With his spikes now free, Stefan stabbed at George repeatedly, but her friend was too quick, dodging from side to side to evade the blows.
Madeline backed into the door and pushed the button with her back. It slid open, and with a struggle they dragged him into the space between the cars. The noise of the train grew to a loud din as they banged into one wall and then were thrown into the opposite.
The door slid closed behind George. To Madeline’s right stood an emergency exit door, a large red button on it. The train went into a turn and she lurched off balance, then regained it as Stefan once more tried to pierce George. Madeline jerked him back, destroying his reach, the spike falling short.
With her hip she hit the red button. The door slid open, and a ringing alarm erupted throughout the train.
“We need to get him closer to the door!” she urged her friend. But in the tiny area, to get Stefan next to the exit would mean they’d have to fold him up, and he’d be in striking range of George. “Drop him!” she yelled over the din of rushing air and clackity clack of the train’s wheels surging along the tracks.
“Are you crazy?”
“Just do it!”
George dropped the creature’s feet. Stefan immediately planted them and bucked his torso upward. Madeline clung to his back, kicking one wall with her boot. They pivoted violently, and she lunged toward the open door. “Don’t let me fall out!” she shouted to George.
When Stefan stood on the lip of the exit, she let go, held on to the walls on both sides, and kicked her feet up, positioning them firmly in the creature’s back. Then she shoved.
He sailed out of the train into the night, landing harshly in scrub bushes on the side of the tracks, then tumbled out of sight down a steep embankment.
George rushed forward and grabbed her as she regained her balance, pulling her back from the door as it closed.
“Damn!” George yelled happily.
Madeline held up a celebratory fist. “Yes!” She turned and hugged her friend. “We did it!”
“Yeah! We kicked its ass right off the train!” They jumped up and down in the tiny space, shouting and hooting. Then George said, “What the hell was that thing?”
The door opposite the observation car opened, and the young security officer appeared. “Was that you guys who opened the emergency door?”
They nodded exuberantly.
“Is everything okay?”
“For now,” Madeline said.
George looked at her nervously. “For now?”
The cop glanced out of the window. “We’re heading into Whitefish now. Going to unload the people who got injured. Ambulance will come for the guy I … killed.” He worked hard to get out the last word. She got the feeling he’d never even shot a person before, much less had to kill one.
Madeline glanced back toward the observation car. “Don’t feel too bad about shooting that creep,” she said. “You didn’t kill him. He got up. In fact, he just got off the train.”
The officer raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
She pushed the button for the door leading to the observation car. It slid open. “See for yourself,” she said.
The train cop pushed by them and entered the observation lounge. He stood there motionless until the door closed again behind him. She heard his muffled “What the hell?” as the door clicked into place.
“Your arm,” George said, gesturing at her blood-soaked sleeve.
In the excitement, she’d totally forgotten about it.
“We should get you to the train’s EMT. She fixed my head up pretty good.”
Madeline smiled, taking in the small bandage. “She sure did.” After a pause, she added, “I’m really sorry about that. I think when I explain it all, you might find it in your heart to forgive me.”
George shook his head and held up his hands. “If you’ve been dealing with this kind of crap lately, I can see why you’d totally flip out.”
She looked out of the window as the train slowed, heading into Whitefish. Huge log cabin-style resort homes lit by dusk-to-dawn lights streaked by outside the window. “I was going to catch a bus to Mothershead from here. But we should go back and get your car. I’m sorry I ditched you.”
“I’d like to get my car, too. I just left it in a gas station parking lot when I saw you get on the train. I hope it hasn’t gotten towed. But first I want to know what’s going on.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this, but that thing we just threw off the train is practically indestructible, and it’ll be back. We’ve just bought a little time, is all.” She thought a minute. “Maybe we’d be safer getting on the bus. It might be looking for your car.”
“It’s that smart?”
She laughed sardonically. “It’s brilliant.” She brought a tired hand to her forehead. “Let me think a minute. It knows where I live, but taking the bus just might buy us enough time to at least get back to Mothershead and get more help. Maybe we can overpower him again somehow. In a more permanent way.”
“You keep calling it ‘him.’ What is it?”
Madeline looked up at George and almost smiled. She had asked Noah the same question that first night on the mountain. Now she was the one in the know, and her poor friend was trying to understand. She put her arms around him. “It’s so good to see you,” she told him. Then, wondering when exactly the bus left Whitefish, and where she should catch it, she pulled away and reached into the back pocket of Noah’s jeans to pull out the slip of paper the train station clerk had given her.
Her fingers closed around a piece of paper, but it wasn’t the clerk’s note. She fished it out. It was the receipt from the cabin
they’d stayed in.
Immediately powerful visions hit her.
Noah, distraught, devising a plan to get Madeline to leave the park by acting crazy to get her out of danger …
Noah planning to go to the creature’s cabin to lie in wait, believing that if he ingests more blood, he will be able to manifest his own metallic spikes and kill the creature …
A gasp escaped her lips. He didn’t hate her. It had been an act—all those hateful words he spat at her—just an act to get rid of her, to protect her. Relief flooded over her as the hurt she’d felt so deeply was replaced by hope, and then fear as she thought of the danger he was in. He couldn’t face the creature alone and unarmed. Clutching the receipt, she pushed the door button and ran into the observation car. George followed. Dashing between the seats, she grabbed up the camouflage coveralls the creature had been wearing. She let the visions come.
The creature fantasizing about dragging her back to his rented cabin, slowly tearing her apart and eating all the soft parts, splitting open bones to get at the marrow. Later, after digestion, he’d go outside to test out his new psychometric ability …
Then … revenge. Killing Noah, his annoying hunter of so many years, before moving on to the next victim, reveling in the choices …
But first he’d go back to his cabin, get a chance to really recuperate, completely heal the wounds caused by Noah’s special knife …
She dropped the coveralls. “Oh, no …” she breathed, staring blankly out of the window, not seeing anything but her visions.
“What is it?”
Madeline turned to look at her friend, her eyes wide. “My friend Noah. He’s going to get himself killed.”
22
AS soon as the train screeched to a halt at the Whitefish station, Madeline looked out one of the windows. The police had arrived, and an announcement from the conductor told them that no one was allowed to leave the train until questions had been asked.
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