Al Jr. had been left with Sarah in Homewood Canyon. Camm couldn’t help but wonder if they were having a second honeymoon, in their late eighties. It was a funny, but nice, thought.
A half-moon was rising over the eastern mountains on the far side of the dry lake bed. It offered scant light, but in the darkness down the street, she could make out a few figures and images. Determining what those figures and images were was another matter altogether. Except for stray light from the nearby plant, the night was dark. The mansion was even darker. Camm knew that was not a good sign.
Even though it was dark, it was still warm. The sun had baked the pavement and dirt all day, and now heat radiated back into the air. The heat was dry, sucking moisture from her eyes, nose, and mouth. The desert night sky showed the stars clearly. On a night like tonight, the stars glowed brightly, but still provided very little light to see by.
Now that she was at the mansion, Camm had no idea what she should do. Should she knock on that massive front door and turn herself in? Should she reconnoiter around the mansion, keeping in the shadows? She waved her hand in front of her nose to disperse the sulfuric smell. The smell had gotten stronger and stronger and was now overwhelming. That also was not a good sign.
It moved. She saw it, a deep black shadow, looming large. Something very large on four feet slunk across the street in front of her, moving away from the mansion toward the desert.
Then she felt it. She felt it in her head. She could sense the rat. There was no doubt. She could feel what it was feeling. She could feel the murky depths of its ugly mind.
She also could tell the rat had not reached out to her. It did not know she was there. Because of their previous connections, it seemed Camm could now sense the rat when it was close by and read its primitive, but foreboding, thoughts—not in words, but in pictures and feelings. Its inner being was as foul as the evil odor it exuded externally. Inside, it reeked of hate.
The rat was pleased with itself, as if it had played some clever joke. It was also moving away from danger. Not from the humans in the mansion, it wasn’t afraid of them. It was moving away from some expectation of danger that was coming. Something not yet there, but imminent.
Without thinking it through, without even realizing what she was doing, or what she could do, Camm mentally struck out at the rat. You miserable monster, what are you up to?
As soon as she sent out the thought, Camm knew she had made a mistake. She did not mean to let the rat know she was there, but once the connection was made, the force of her hatred caused the reflexive thought to reach out and touch it.
The hulking shadow stopped in its tracks. The figure slowly turned toward Camm. Then, she saw them, two eyes reflecting the moonlight in a red glow. Camm’s body went cold. Her intestines coiled into a tight knot.
Know you. Hurt me. Hurt you. Eat you.
Every hair on Camm’s body stood up on end. And though her hands and feet felt as if they were in ice water, a film of moist perspiration broke out on her brow. Her hand instinctively went for the ignition. Before she could start the car, she heard something from inside the mansion. She knew that sound.
DONG!
The sound of the chime was so loud, it almost startled Agent Allen out of her skin. Of course, standing in the blackness of that immense hall did not help. Tightening her grip on the Smith and Wesson, she searched the shadows of the room for something. She wasn’t sure what. Did someone scream? Was the clock glowing green?
Mr. S, noticing the glow, commented casually, “This is a new phenomenon.”
DONG!
In spite of herself, Agent Allen jumped again. Why is that chime so loud?
As she prepared herself for the next chime, she noticed the front doors of the mansion were open. They had been closed before the chiming had started. She also noticed a haze or phantasmal appearance in the middle of the hall. Even in the darkness, she could see it was red and large, glowing from within.
DONG!
She could see the image of the two college boys forming near the large, hazy red object.
Mr. C shouted, “The car! They brought the car inside! They are trying to bring that stupid car back with them!”
Mr. S called out calmly, “Everyone stay near the walls. Stay back from the red thing now materializing in the center of the room. We think it’s a car.”
DONG!
As Agent Allen watched, she saw the front doors switching between opened and closed. They weren’t swinging, just jumping back and forth between instantly open, then instantly closed. When the doors were open, the outside seemed to shimmer with a green, reflective shine that was moving and undulating.
The image of the boys became more substantial. One of them, the one with the long hair, was pointing toward the front doors. His mouth was moving, but Agent Allen couldn’t hear what he was saying. She couldn’t hear any sound at all, except the deafening chiming of the clock.
DONG!
Something seemed to move by Agent Allen, but it was more like a sensation or a very slight breeze. Green and white sparkles moved in the same direction, floating through the air in an undulating pattern. As the image became more substantial, it appeared to be a gliding wall, sliding silently by, just feet from her face.
DONG!
The images of the boys were substantial now, but one was waving his arms in an exaggerated fashion. The long-haired boy seemed to run from his position in the middle of the hall toward the front doors. When he did, his image disappeared.
DONG!
With this chime, the image of the car became solid, as did the image of the remaining boy. It was Cal. Cal was back in the right world.
At that moment, Agent Allen saw it. The boy and his car weren’t the only things to come over from the other world. The snake, the giant Mojave Green rattlesnake had come, too. It was in the mansion with them! It was in the great main hall and was now heading for Agent Kline, who was still reclining on the stairs.
In concert with the chiming of the clock, the rat bounded toward Camm. With no time to think, all she could do was scream and lock her door. In two leaps, the rat was on the hood of the car, its dripping, drooling fangs mere inches from the windshield. It clawed at the glass, staring intently at Camm. The windshield seemed to screech in pain as the rat’s nails scratched down its length. The rat’s thoughts and intents were clear. It hungered and it hated. It could resolve both at once if it could only get at Camm.
The clock still gonged, but Camm had lost count. The rat swiveled its head back and forth between the mansion and Camm, trying to look at both at the same time.
With the next gong, its lips curled back, showing long, mossy-green incisors. It growled at the mansion. Camm could sense its fear. Looking back at Camm, fumes wafted from its nostrils with each breath. Its glowing red eyes burned deep into her soul. She could feel its hate.
Finally, the rat focused its attention on the mansion. Camm sensed the tide of fear within the rat was overwhelming the waves of hate that had been directed toward her. It feared to stay. If it ran, it would live to hate another day. Raising its head to the black night sky, it wailed a long, lonely, painful shriek into the hot, dry air. Then it urinated on the hood of the car, splashing thick, noxious yellow-green liquid all over the front of the car, even up onto the windshield.
Finishing its filthy task, the rat jumped off the hood and fled from the mansion. With just a few bounds, it had vanished into the darkness of the night.
Camm sat frozen to the seat of the car. Her hands were clamped around the steering wheel, her knuckles white. With extreme effort, she forced herself to take a breath, and then slowly released her death grip on the steering wheel.
Turning her head toward the mansion, she was startled to see the massive front doors were open. Something was entering the mansion—slithering into the mansion. She saw barrel-sized rattles, and the last few rattles at the end were smashed and broken. As she watched, a giant snake’s tail disappeared into the inky black mansion.
>
As soon as the tail was inside, the doors instantly closed. One moment, the doors were wide open and the snake was passing through them. The next moment, the doors were closed. They didn’t swing close, they were just closed.
What to do? What to do? Camm’s mind was all a jumble.
Did she dare get out of the car? Was the rat still nearby? Was it waiting for her to get out, laying a trap for her? She could no longer sense its thoughts, but was that a trick?
If she did get out, what would she do? Go in the mansion? Call for help?
The fright of the rat’s attack, the surprise of seeing the snake, the futility of not knowing what to do, all combined in one overwhelming ball of emotion.
Camm did the only thing she could at that moment. She leaned her head against the steering wheel and screamed. Then, she raised her head and shouted at the roof of the car.
“What should I do? Why am I so useless?”
It was a quick sprint to the newly appeared red Camaro in the middle of the hall. Agent Allen planned to use it for cover while she fired at the snake. Just as she arrived at the car, all the lights in the main hall, in fact in the whole mansion, came back on simultaneously, bright as ever. Before she had been blinded by darkness, now she was blinded by the many bright lights. Shaking her head and squinting, she tried to see something while her eyes were still adapting.
“Whaooooooo!” Agent Kline was pointing toward the snake, his eyes wide, his head shaking in wonder. He made no effort to get out of the way of the approaching gigantic snake. Instead, he sat up and leaned forward to see more clearly. “Truly mind-blowing! Beautiful!”
Her vision returning, Agent Allen rested her arms on the roof of the car and pointed her hand-held cannon at the snake’s head. She pulled the trigger twice, aiming before each shot. The explosive force of the gun rattled her to the marrow. The boom was deafening. She was glad she had thought to wear the ear plugs.
For all her bravado to Mr. C, when he asked if she could handle the gun, Agent Allen realized now what he was talking about. The weapon was so large, so heavy, so powerful, it was almost beyond her ability. Almost. She would handle it because she had to handle it.
Two puncture wounds burst into the side of the snake where she had hit it at the base of the head. The snake was bleeding red blood, profusely, from both sides of its neck—the bullets had gone all the way through. The snake hissed a loud whistling noise in angry protest and pain. It rose up in a striking pose, its head even with the second floor balcony.
Taking quick aim, Agent Allen fired another shot up through the bottom of the snake’s jaw. Conscious that she only had two shots remaining, she waited for a shot into the snake’s brain. She couldn’t tell if she had seriously hurt the snake yet or not, but she had at least drawn its attention away from Agent Kline.
“No!” Mr. C half limped, half ran toward where she was standing. He still carried the pool cue he had been using as a cane. “Don’t kill it!” He shouted. “Just distract it. It will return to the other side on its own.”
The snake lurched forward. Too late, Mr. S yelled, “Watch out!”
The snake struck at Mr. C, but with amazing speed for a crippled old man, he lurched to one side. The snake missed, but Mr. C fell to the floor on his side. Instantly, the snake struck again, this time clamping its maw around Mr. C’s midsection, fangs piercing him through.
The snake lifted him into the air, high above the heads of everyone else. From below, Agent Allen could see Mr. C’s feet sticking out one side of the snake’s mouth, and his arms, shoulders, and head sticking out the other. Mr. C swore. His face screwed into a tight grimace—the pain he felt was palpable to everyone in the room. He still clenched the pool cue in his fist.
“Shoot it! Shoot it! Shoot it now!” Mr. S was running across the room, his finger pointing up at the snake. “Don’t hit my brother!”
Agent Allen let fly the last two bullets in her weapon, carefully aiming up into the throat at the back of the snake’s head. As deep holes blasted into the neck below, geysers of blood burst out on top of the snake’s neck. Again, the bullets had gone all the way through.
At the same time, J.R. also began firing his .38 up into the snake’s throat. His gun sounded like firecrackers compared to Agent Allen’s cannon. Running underneath the snake’s head, Mr. S was also firing his own .38 into the snake’s throat from below.
The snake swung its head around and fled for the far side of the hall. Mr. C seemed to immediately understand his situation. The snake was trying to carry him away as it escaped the pain being inflicted from below. Lifting the pool cue high in the air, he plunged it down deep into the left eye of the snake.
The reflexive reaction of the snake was to toss Mr. C, slamming him against the second story wall. He slid down the wall, leaving bloody streaks, and crumpled onto the balcony floor.
The giant snake, with blood flying and pool cue still sticking out of its eye, raced for the back wall of the hall. As it slithered across the floor, it began to shimmer, and then to quickly fade. It dissipated into the wall as if passing through an unseen opening, disappearing completely as the broken rattlers, last of all, slipped into the wall, which became solid again.
For a second, no one breathed. Mr. S started at a dead run and bounded, as well as he could, around Agent Kline, who was no longer reclining, but sat on the stairs, staring at the back wall. Noticeably struggling, Mr. S hurried up the stairs to check on the crumpled body of Mr. C.
Agent Allen left the cannon lying on top of the car, and tried to follow Mr. S up the stairs. Agent Kline grabbed her wrist as she passed, jerking her to a sudden stop. “Did you see that? Was there a giant snake in here? Did it eat Mr. C, or was that just me?”
Agent Allen gently released herself from his grip. “No, the snake was really here.”
She quickly followed Mr. S up the stairs to see what aid she could provide Mr. C.
XXXIII
Across the street from the mansion were a couple sorry-looking salt cedars. Climbing out of the besmirched car, Camm hid behind those trees and watched the comings and goings at the mansion. Whatever had happened inside had caused a lot of commotion. A med-flight helicopter had landed, and medics had rushed a body out the mansion’s front doors and flown away in a hurry. Black SUVs had been arriving in turn, and one had been dispatched away at high speed, colored lights flashing.
A second helicopter, black with no markings, had landed in the vacant lot next to the mansion, spraying dust and sand everywhere. It waited with the engine running as if on call. San Bernardino sheriff’s cars had surrounded the mansion, and deputies were spread out across the yard, standing guard, as if to keep the crowds away. But with the town evacuated, there were no crowds, only Camm hiding across the street.
Camm had no idea what was going on, but clearly something big had happened. She watched the large black agent, who had been one of her Swift Creek guards, lumber out of the mansion and sit down. Other than Agent Allen, he had been the only agent friendly to her. She remembered his name, Agent Kline. He was now seated on the front steps, just outside the massive front doors, resting his head in his hands. Nobody paid him any attention, and he didn’t seem to be aware of the commotion around him.
Throughout all the excitement, she had not seen Agent Allen. She hoped Agent Allen wasn’t the one who had been taken away by the medics. After a while, the sheriff’s deputies began leaving, apparently no longer needed.
Eventually, she saw J.R., the agent who had challenged her at the Jimenez house, come out the front doors. He escorted a tall figure, bound in handcuffs, with a law enforcement jacket draped over his head and shoulders.
At the bottom of the stairs, J.R. hesitated and turned his head as if someone had called to him. The tall, old white-haired man came out of the front doors, talking excitedly and pointing at the figure in handcuffs. Because of the noise of the helicopter, Camm couldn’t make out what was being said, but J.R. was waving a hand and nodding his head in agreem
ent.
Finally, the tall man went back inside. As J.R. turned to continue on his way, the jacket fell off the shoulders of the tall figure in handcuffs.
Camm gasped. It was Cal! They were taking Cal away in handcuffs. They were keeping their promise to put them both in prison. Cal had made it back from the other side, only to be arrested and thrown in prison.
J.R. took Cal by the elbow and hustled him over to the helicopter where more federal agents waited.
This was wrong! This could not be happening. Camm could not let this happen. She needed to talk with someone. Agent Kline was still sitting on the stairs. She would talk to him. Stepping out from behind the trees, Camm’s mind raced. What should she say?
Before she could begin her march across the street, a hand from behind grabbed her firmly on the shoulder and pulled her back.
Gasping, she spun around to see who had her.
Raising one eyebrow, Agent Allen said sternly, “And just where do you think you are going, Ms. Smith?”
Camm was both startled and relieved to see Agent Allen. “You’re okay!” She grabbed Agent Allen in a quick hug, but then immediately released her.
“They’re taking Cal! He’s in handcuffs.” The words caught in her throat. They brought him back only to take him away to prison, to who knows where. This is so unfair. I’ll never see him again. I have to go with him!”
Agent Allen shook her head and gripped Camm by both arms, pulling her back behind the trees again. “There is nothing you can do for Cal right now. Maybe later, but not if you go with him. If you really want to help Cal, you must come with me.”
Camm was confused. She didn’t know whether or not she could trust Agent Allen anymore. “Where? Where are we going?”
Mojave Green Page 23
