by John Inman
A tiny rivulet of tears slid through the dirt on the girl’s cheek, and Jonas carefully wiped it away with a fingertip. She grabbed his hand and held on, her tiny fist clutching his thumb.
Terry and Jonas stood silently with Jilly in their arms. Together they watched the flames billow and roil in the distance.
Overhead, the skies were empty. No swarms of beasts closing in. No deadly shadows soaring high. Jonas closed his eyes and breathed in the day, enjoying the sense of peace that suddenly hovered over the little town.
Cupping the back of Jilly’s head to hold her securely, he slipped his arm through Terry’s, and together they walked slowly toward the Jeep.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“STOP WORRYING. Jilly is fine,” Terry said. “She’s being well taken care of.”
He and Jonas were sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace in Terry’s cabin. Logs crackled on the grate, warming the room. Bruce was on his doggie bed, snoring away like a power saw, haughtily unconcerned that his two masters had spent the day saving their little corner of the world from creatures that best belonged in a horror movie, not real life.
The front door was slung wide to let the honeysuckle-laden night air waft over them. Night birds chortled in the pines, and a moth had slipped inside to flutter about the room, scoping things out. Terry figured it was only a matter of time before the moth discovered the fireplace and lit itself up like a roman candle.
Outside, a spray of early moonlight bathed the front steps in a pretty silver glow. Up above, the moon was fat and round, climbing lazily in the star-studded sky, taking its sweet time. The air was alive with the promise of rain. Wisps of fog were gathering in the ravines.
Not that Terry cared about the weather. For one thing, he didn’t have a muscle that didn’t ache. He suspected Jonas didn’t either. It had been a long and most remarkable day.
The saddest moment for Terry had been watching Jonas hand Jilly over to the soldiers and the EMTs. It was sad because he knew it was breaking Jonas’s heart. By the time they exited the Jeep at the quarantine line, a connection had been made between Jonas and the girl, and now Jonas wasn’t wanting to let her go. Jilly didn’t want to be let go either. There were tears in Jonas’s eyes when he gently peeled the crying girl’s arms from around his neck and relinquished her to the paramedics. This all took place at the same spot on the desert highway where, earlier that day (although it seemed a week ago), they had come face-to-face with Colonel Briggs for the very first time.
Briggs was there this evening too. Clapping them on the back and thanking them for their bravery. The colonel seemed truly touched that they had found a child inside the building and risked their lives to rescue her before the missile struck. As the EMTs hovered over Jilly, taking vital signs and coaxing her to silence with gentle words, Briggs had slipped in and brushed a paternal hand over the child’s forehead, softly welcoming her back to the world.
Jonas had leaned sideways at that moment and whispered to Terry, “He’s an old softy. Look at him. Sure glad I’m not that way.”
Terry shot him an amused glance, not mentioning the fact that Jonas still had tears in his eyes and a shiver in his chin. “Oh no. You’re not that way at all.”
Briggs had insisted they get checked out by the EMTs as well, but Terry and Jonas declined.
“We’re going home now, Colonel, and nothing short of another missile is going to stop us.”
Briggs merely nodded as if he understood. He made little shooing motions with his fingertips as if to say “Fine, then. Go,” and Jonas and Terry took off before he changed his mind.
At the Jeep, Jonas turned back and called out, “Take care of the girl.”
Briggs gave him a thumbs-up and bellowed back, “We will, son. Don’t worry!”
Now here they were, Terry and Jonas, back in the cabin together. The evening was peaceful and soft around them but for the night noises, Bruce’s snoring, and the occasional roar of a helicopter passing overhead. Apparently Briggs was tidying up the ravages of his napalm attack on the heart of a small American town. The Army guys, and probably every fire brigade in San Diego County, were still fighting the raging fire and trying to prevent it from spreading and burning every square inch of Spangle to the ground. Soon the citizens who had fled the area when the trouble started would begin returning. Reclaiming their homes, rebuilding their lives. The ones who had died—what was left of them—would be laid to rest in some fashion or other, supplying closure to the survivors. Before you knew it, Spangle would be just another tiny Southwestern town once more. Strangers would look at it and think nothing exciting had ever happened there and never would.
A few people, of course, would know better.
Terry trusted Briggs now. He didn’t doubt the colonel would succeed in doing what he needed to do. He also knew that Jonas had reluctantly accepted Brigg’s promise to see that the girl was taken care of. And God help him if he didn’t follow through on that.
Terry gave his head a shake. Enough about Briggs and monsters and conflagrations. His eyes lit up as he turned his attention to Jonas instead.
They had showered, so the muck of their adventures was washed away. Still there was a weariness in Jonas’s cognac-colored eyes that Terry suspected was duplicated in his own.
Jonas had been staring into the fireplace, watching the orange flames nibble at a log. The firewood was pine, and the cabin reeked of it. It was a nice reek, Terry thought. Smelling Jonas beside him, fresh from the shower, was nice too. Really nice.
Terry stretched out his long legs and dangled them over the end of the couch. He lay back with his head in Jonas’s lap and gazed at the echo of flames from the fire dancing across the cabin’s ceiling.
Jonas grinned down at him and brushed his red mop of hair back out of his eyes. Jonas’s hair, as black as night, was still damp from the shower, hanging straight down over his forehead. There was a scratch on Jonas’s cheek. Another on the back of his hand. Terry wasn’t surprised. He had tiny wounds everywhere too. It really had been a most unusual day.
As Terry watched, Jonas’s face grew somber. Jonas glanced at the flames again, fumbling for the right words. “Do you really think she has family somewhere that will take her in? Jilly, I mean. After everything she’s been through, I can’t bear to think of her ending up in foster care with a bunch of strangers. Tell me she has family somewhere.”
Terry smiled up into Jonas’s fretful eyes. “I’m sure she must. And if she doesn’t, we’ll do what we can to take care of her ourselves.”
Jonas blinked down at him, and Terry knew immediately that was what Jonas had been hoping to hear all along. “You’d do that?” he asked gently, his eyes bright and childlike.
“Of course,” Terry answered.
Relief washed over Jonas’s face. His gaze settled on Terry where his head rested snugly in Jonas’s lap. He slipped a hand under the collar of Terry’s shirt and caressed the red pelt of hair covering his chest. He licked his lips as one of Terry’s two dimples tweaked a hole in his cheek. Jonas’s fingers moved slowly over Terry’s chest, a prelude to exploration.
“Careful,” Terry muttered. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”
Jonas’s eyebrows crawled together into a single line, punching downward in the middle. “What makes you think I can’t finish what I start? I’m tired, but I’m not that tired.” A wicked grin twisted his mouth, and he bent low to press the very same grin to Terry’s lips. They kissed for a long time while the flames in the fireplace crackled and snapped and the night birds out in the trees sang a syncopated aria to the night closing in.
Jonas finally had to break the kiss because of a yawn. “Well, maybe I am a little tired.”
Suddenly too weary to tease, Jonas settled back, his fingers still nestled in the hair on Terry’s chest. Terry lay there, his head remaining in Jonas’s lap, fighting sleep, as comfortable and as weary as he had ever been in his life.
“We’ve saved our home,
” Terry said and sighed. “And a lot of other people’s homes too. I guess that makes us heroes.”
“I guess it does.” Jonas shyly grinned, gazing around the cabin. His eyebrows beetled again.
Terry frowned. “What’s wrong now? Why are you looking like that?”
Jonas waved a hand at the walls and the ceiling. “It’s all these metal fence posts you’ve nailed over everything. One lightning strike will cook us.”
Terry laughed. “You’re right! I never thought of that.” It was his turn to grimace at the metal posts he had nailed everywhere. His heart sank, thinking of the work it would take to remove them. Then he shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to help me take them down. We’ll start tomorrow.”
Jonas rolled his eyes so far up into his head that he looked like a zombie. “On second thought, I think I’ll move back to the city. Living with a mountain man who teaches school and plays at being a notary public was never high on my bucket list of things to accomplish anyway. Plus I hate hammers. They cause blisters and they’re just so damned… butch.”
“I’ll show you butch,” Terry said. He twisted his head around, lifted Jonas’s shirttail, and blew a raspberry on Jonas’s bare belly. Jonas jumped and howled and tried to squirm away. That didn’t work, so he doubled over and stuck his tongue in Terry’s ear. Then it was Terry’s turn to howl.
Laughing like fools, they threw themselves into each other’s arms and wrestled around on the couch for a while. When they came to rest, Terry had Jonas trapped beneath him, Jonas’s face cradled between his hands, and their crotches smashed enticingly together. He planted a kiss on Jonas’s mouth. In response, Jonas closed his eyes and gave the perfect imitation of a melting ice-cream cone, softening luxuriously in Terry’s arms. Well, most of him was softening.
When Terry spoke, their lips were still touching. “I don’t care how tired you are. It’s time to get naked.”
Jonas’s hand slid down and found a perfect handle to hold on to. It was hot and hard and throbbing. Just the right size for his fist, apparently, considering the look of satisfaction that suddenly lit Terry’s face. “I almost forgot,” he said, leering up into Terry’s eyes. “You still owe me a f—”
Jonas’s mouth fell open as the words died in his throat. Wide-eyed, he snapped his head around and stared across the cabin. Terry followed suit, turning to see what Jonas was gaping at. It was Bruce. He had left his bed and now stood in front of the fire, his eyes trained upward, straight at the ceiling. A snarl had formed on his face, and every tooth in his head was on full display. His tiny back legs were trembling, his curly tail quivering. The hair on the scruff of his neck had gone bristly, sticking straight up into the air. A growl welled up from the depths of his throat.
Terry snorted back a laugh. “What in the world is the matter with him?”
He was about to tell the dog to shut up when the cabin gave a massive jolt around them. The entire structure shuddered on its foundations. One of the cabin windows shattered, and shards of glass rained inward, exploding through the fence posts nailed across the panes and spilling out across the floor. A set of canisters tumbled off the counter in the kitchen, spilling flour and sugar everywhere. A floor lamp toppled over, its knock-off Tiffany lampshade shattering into a rainbow of colored pebbles. Terry threw his attention skyward when something heavy dragged itself across the roof. He heard shingles being ripped away. They slid and scraped along the slanted roof to topple off the eaves and land in the dirt at the edge of the cabin with dull, fluttering thumps. The cabin bucked again, and this time it got Terry and Jonas moving.
They flew off the couch and stood in the middle of the room, staring up. Confused, his mouth hanging open in shock, Terry couldn’t imagine what the hell was going on.
His eyes met Jonas’s, and a terrible understanding suddenly flowed between them.
Jonas shot a terrified glance at the door. “Close it!” he cried. “Close the front door!”
Terry didn’t need to be told twice. He vaulted over the couch and slammed the door shut with a bang, dropping both metal crosspieces into place to seal it closed.
Bruce went crazy, howling and barking. Jonas scooped him into his arms. Bruce struggled, but Jonas held on tight.
A tremendous crash jarred the roof above their heads. The light fixture in the ceiling swayed, and dust sprinkled down on top of them. Terry raced back to Jonas and wrapped his arms around both him and the little dog. Jonas was shaking like a leaf and Bruce was still baying and squirming and yowling like a rabid hyena. The wash of moonlight visible through the slats over one of the cabin windows blinked out as something large passed by behind it. A loud thump hit the ground outside, shaking the cabin again. The familiar squeak of the front steps made Terry take a step back toward the kitchen, dragging Jonas and Bruce with him. At that very moment, the front door shuddered and rattled and banged as if a battering ram had struck it.
Whatever had been on the roof, was now standing on the front porch. It was seeking a way in. And both Terry and Jonas knew exactly what it was that was out there.
“IT’S THE fucking queen!” Terry breathed. “How the hell did she escape the fire?”
“She was smelling us back in town,” Jonas whispered. “Memorizing our scent. She must have followed us here.”
Jonas stood shivering, his eyes wide. He spun and clutched at Terry’s arm, almost spilling Bruce onto the floor. He gave Terry a shake to get his full attention.
“Light her up!” Jonas cried, pointing to the metal fence posts covering the walls. “Throw the switch! Electrocute her ass!”
Terry gaped at Jonas like he had suddenly forgotten the English language. Then Jonas’s words started sinking in. Of course! The generator! The metal posts were hooked to the generator! That was the whole idea of the fucking things! To electrocute whatever was trying to get inside!
Jonas held on to Bruce while Terry raced toward the generator against the back wall. Before he got there, the queen once again battered her great body against the cabin. This time she hit it with such force, the entire cabin shifted. With a lurch and a groan, the structure slid completely off its foundation. Windows exploded everywhere. Terry stumbled and crashed into the kitchen table when the floor suddenly tilted.
The power went out and the cabin was thrust into darkness.
Terry wrestled around in the dark, untangling himself from the chair legs. “The blood room!” he yelled, finally freeing his legs and clambering to his feet. “Get inside the blood room!”
Jonas was all but weeping in frustration. Terry could hear it in his voice. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself!”
“I’ll be right behind you!” Terry bellowed. “Now go!”
Jonas’s shadow moved quickly through the darkness. Still clamping Bruce to his chest, he raced across the cabin and flung open the trapdoor leading into the cellar. Terry heard him clattering down the steps with Bruce still yipping in his arms. Outside, the queen crashed into the front door again. This time one of the hinges popped off the doorframe and shot across the room like a bullet. The television exploded. A sliver of moonlight slipped into the room where the door separated from the wall. Terry stared at that little wedge of light, his heart racing, his breath ragged with fear. One more hit and the damn door would come down altogether!
Terry shot a glance at the generator against the back wall. With the power out, it was their last line of defense.
He threw himself at the generator, groping for the rope pull. He had started the thing enough times in the past to know he could do it in the dark. It was simply a matter of pulling the rope hard enough to crank up the engine. There wasn’t time to light one of the propane lanterns anyway. He could see what he was doing by the light of the fire on the grate.
He found the rope and took a firm grip on it, bracing his knee against the generator for leverage. He yanked on the rope as hard as he could. Other than almost tearing his shoulder from its socket, nothing happened. The generator gave a feeble, mocking gr
unt and went dead silent. Shit! Then Terry remembered he had to prime the damn thing. He smacked himself in the head and with trembling fingers, pumped the little red primer button a few times to send fuel surging through the fuel line.
“Don’t touch the metal fence posts!” Jonas yelled from down below. “Stand in the middle of the room away from the walls!”
“I know, goddammit!” Terry bellowed back. “Just stay where you are.”
“Where else am I going?” Jonas shot back. “Vegas?”
Terry spit on his hands and this time when he yanked the rope pull, he did it with every ounce of strength he possessed. The generator sputtered and wheezed and finally coughed to life like a recalcitrant lawn mower. Terry screamed in jubilation. He stood there for a second, his heart in his throat, listening as the motor settled into a sustainable hum. When he was sure it wouldn’t peter out, he all but fainted with relief. The exhaust pipe he had rigged to carry the exhaust fumes outside did its job, and the air inside the cabin stayed clear. The generator was so loud he could barely hear himself think, but at least he could breathe.
The queen roared through the broken front window as if infuriated by the noise. Terry could hear the creature’s breathing and the snap of her jaws as she tried to peer through the slats and get at him. The carnivorous stench of her fangs filled the cabin and Terry almost barfed. The stink of her filthy body drifted through the posts, carried by the night wind behind her. And here he had thought he would never have to smell the bitch again!
“Fuck you!” he screamed at the uglyass face in the window. It was childish, he knew, but by now he didn’t much care. As if mortally offended, the beast reared up to her full height and roared again. She battered at the door, and the cabin shook and rattled. The light fixture on the ceiling tore loose and crashed to the floor, barely missing Terry’s head.
“Hunker down!” Terry cried. “I’m gonna throw the switch.”
