Rockinghorse

by William W. Johnstone

  The tapping just faintly reached those on the floor above. No one among them cared to vocalize what they might be hearing.

  In the musty, cobwebbed ground level of the mansion, in long narrow wooden packing crates, the lids nailed shut, strange life began stirring. Long-inactive arms and legs and fingers and feet began to slowly tremble with strange life. Bits and broken pieces of human bodies, carefully preserved over the long years, struggled to once more, come to be and serve the Master.

  On the second level of the mansion, tired eyes looked out, but could only guess at what unknown horror lay waiting in the thick darkness. The fire from the burning body was gone, leaving only a charred lump of what had once been life. The stink of burned flesh and hair and organs formed a thick, almost tangible stench around the mansion, invading the nostrils of those trapped inside.

  Waiting for the dawn that would, they hoped, they prayed, bring some sort of relief.

  Dawn finally extended its gold-and-silvery-gray fingers, hesitantly, shyly, spreading faint light over the land.

  But it brought no relief.

  Jackie was the first of the young people to awaken. Being careful not to step on someone in the mattress-filled crowded room, she dressed and went down the hall to the bathroom. She emerged and walked softly to the kitchen. There, she poured a glass of milk and, leaning against the counter next to the kitchen door, her back to the door, she drank her breakfast.

  She did not hear the whisper of footsteps on the veranda; did not see the shadow fall across the window of the door. She did not see the huge bulk of the man as he stood before the door, peeking in through the slightly parted curtains. She did not hear his breath quicken and become a harsh animal panting. She did not hear the key slide into the lock and gently turn. His big hand covered the door knob and turned it as a grin of triumph parted his thick wet lips. He very slowly and very quietly pushed open the door.

  Jackie felt the coolness of air on her bare legs and felt just a moment of panic as she turned, opening her mouth to scream. It was too late. A big hand clamped over her mouth, shutting off the yell for help. She was lifted off her feet and jerked outside, past the porch, to the shrubbery that squared the mansion on all sides.

  The girl felt revulsion when she looked into the demonic eyes of Burt Simmons.

  Burt Simmons grinned, then whispered. “If you scream, girlie, I’ll kill you,” he panted the warning. “And you’ll die hard. It’ll take days. ’Cause I’ll pass you around to all the men—you understand?”

  Jackie nodded her head. She knew what the man was about to do, and knew it was going to hurt. Better to be hurt than to be dead, the girl thought.

  He took a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and forced the rag into the girl’s mouth, securing it there with a strip torn from his shirttail. His blunt fingers probed and pushed at her. Grunts of pain forced their way past the gag in her mouth as Burt’s long finger brushed her virgin flesh.

  I’m trying to reach you, Jackie! the familiar voice rang in her head. Randolph.

  Please hurry! she flung her thoughts.

  I’m trying, Jackie!

  “You got a funny look in your eyes, baby,” Burt said.

  She closed her eyes.

  More pain than Jackie had ever felt lanced through her as the man began his bulling attack.

  Lucas and Tracy picked precisely that time to glance out the kitchen door. Lucas jerked open the door and stepped out onto the veranda just as Tracy screamed as she saw her daughter’s bare legs widespread in the breaking light.

  All four of them heard the sound of galloping hooves.

  Burt’s head came up as Lucas kicked out, the toe of his boot catching the man on the side of his face.

  Burt’s jaw splintered with a loud pop and the man fell to one side, nearly unconscious.

  The galloping hooves ceased.

  Jackie painfully struggled to her feet and crawled up on the porch. She was bleeding and crying. Tracy pulled the girl into the house.

  “Well, now,” the familiar voice drawled, coming from the side of the house.

  Lucas turned to face Jim Dooley.

  The man had an axe in his hand.

  “Jesus God, Jim!” Lucas blurted. “Man, am I glad to see you. I thought you were dead. Looks like we all got here just in time, huh?”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Jim replied.

  “Hurry, Jim. Come on in the house.”

  Jim laughed at him.

  “Jim . . . Look, I know you want revenge for what they did to Lyda. But . . . God, I’m sorry about that.”

  “I’m not,” Jim replied calmly. “She got what she deserved before we cut out her tongue.”

  Another piece of the complicated puzzle fell into place in Lucas’s mind. “You’re one of them, right?”

  Jim grinned. “You got that right, buddy. Fooled you, didn’t I?”

  The puzzle was nearing completion as Lucas said, “You’re Ira.”

  “That’s right . . . brother. Fooled you about that, too, didn’t I?”

  “I read what you wrote in Grandmother’s journal.”

  “Yeah, I know it.”

  “Who was the man with the stake through his stomach?”

  Ira shrugged. “Some hitchhiker we found. We didn’t ask his name.”

  Lucas watched as Jim shifted the axe in his hand to a two-handed grip. “You’re crazy, Jim. Give this thing up.”

  Jim laughed at him. “Give it up, brother? No way. Crazy? Yeah, maybe. But I’ve learned to control it, though. And I did it without any help from those idiot shrinks.” Again, he grinned. “Just tell them what they want to hear, brother. That’s the trick. Yeah, that’s it. God, you have no idea how much I hate you.”

  Lucas nodded his head. “You must hate me. I’ll agree with that.”

  “I’m going to finish what stupid Burt started, brother.”

  Lucas was attempting to gauge the odds of moving his hand to his holster, jerking out his .45, cocking it, and shooting his brother before Ira could swing the axe.

  He decided the odds against him accomplishing that were very, very long indeed. But he had to buy some time. Somehow.

  Then Ira shortened the odds to his own favor by stepping closer to Lucas. He smiled at his brother. “Guess what, baby brother?”

  “I wouldn’t even try, Ira.”

  “Time’s almost up for you.”

  “You want to explain some things first?”

  Ira smiled. The madness shone in his eyes. “Some things can’t be explained, Lucas.”

  “That’s a cop-out, Ira, and you know it.”

  Ira shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “You, personally, have to kill me, right, Ira?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The house, the horse?”

  But his brother would only smile at that question.

  “Since we both know I’m not going to make it out of this alive,” Lucas stalled. “Tell me this: the Brotherhood is worldwide, isn’t it?”

  “Yep. And gettin’ bigger.”

  “Bradberry set this up for you, didn’t he? Getting me down here, I mean?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Any chance of Tracy and kids getting out? Do what you have to do with me, just let them leave.”

  “No way, brother.”

  “The Rejects turned against you, didn’t they?”

  “No big deal. We’ll just hunt them down and kill them.”

  “Maybe they’ll turn out to be on our side, like the Woods’ Children.”

  That touched a sore spot in Ira, the irritation showing on his face. He pushed it aside. “Don’t make no difference.”

  “All right, Ira. You managed to fool me. But how did you fool the people around here? Those not connected with the Brotherhood, that is.”

  “Boy, you shore like to bump your gums, don’t you? That was the easy part. I met a young hippie on the road out in California. Just by chance. He was from this area. We was the
same age and looked a lot alike. His parents were dead. No close kin nowhere around. I killed him. Took his I.D. and growed me a beard. I come back. I’m marked, brother. On my head. 666, just as plain as day. You was marked, too. But the damn thing faded out when you went to the side of the Light. Traitor, that’s what you are. You and me, Lucas, we could have had it all. Grandmother set it up that way. Equals. And I would have shared it all with you. Money, power, living six hundred and sixty-six years. But you blew it for us both. You son of a bitch!”

  A faint light was glowing near the edge of the woods, catching Lucas’s eyes. It seemed . . . unnatural to him. He shifted his eyes back to his brother. But not before a new, strong resolve filled the man. Something deep within him stirred. It took him several seconds to recognize and pinpoint the sensation.

  Survival. The will to survive and the knowledge that he was going to win filled him. Lucas smiled at his brother.

  “What the hell have you got to smile about, you simple bastard?” Ira said. “Man, you’re the goofy one!”

  “I’m going to beat you, Ira,” Lucas said. “I’m going to win this fight.”

  Ira laughed aloud. “Not a chance, brother. I gonna kill you ’cause that’s what the Master wants.”

  “The Master? Satan?”

  Jim’s eyes turned sly. Spittle oozed from one corner of his mouth. “Maybe. Satan can take many shapes, many forms on this old earth, boy. He’s called many names. The Master has many servants and sub-servants.”

  “And cults?”

  “Oh, my, yes.”

  “Some of them under the guise of organized religions?”

  “Oh, yes, brother. It would surprise you just how many.”

  “I doubt it,” Lucas said. “I’ve always suspected some of those off-the-wall religions.”

  “I can’t hardly wait to get at your friends from the city, brother. We got a special treat in store for them.”

  Lucas could not understand why someone didn’t look out the window and see why he hadn’t entered the house.

  “Blocked out,” his brother told him. “Everyone is frozen in place.”

  “Why haven’t you done that before?”

  A pain look passed Ira’s face. “Can’t,” he said.

  “You mean God won’t let you.” It was not put in question form. That inner resolve was growing stronger within him.

  Ira became outraged at the mention of His name. He cursed Lucas, their mother and father, and God, until he was red-faced.

  He stood glaring at Lucas, panting for breath.

  “Are you really the Watcher?” Lucas asked.

  “We’re related. And now you’re all out of time, brother. Bye, bye.”

  He stepped closer and swung the axe.

  25

  Burt chose that time to stagger to his feet. The blade of the axe caught the big deputy on the shoulder. It bit deep, whacking off his left arm. Burt howled in agony and looked down at the severed arm, lying on the ground. Blood gushed from the hideous wound. The deputy ran off toward the woods, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

  “Stupid jerk!” Ira screamed at the back of the running deputy.

  The spell of the moment was gone. Lucas felt it leave the house. That glowing became stronger near the edge of the woods. The house sighed, but it was not a sigh of victory. More a sigh of resignation. Someone in the house yelled.

  Lucas jerked his pistol from leather and jacked back the hammer. He got off one round, the slug whanging and clanging off the head of the axe. The force of the striking bullet tore the axe from Ira’s hands, numbing them. Ira screamed in pain and rage and frustration.

  “You goddamned God-loving scum!” Ira howled. He jumped back, out of sight, out of the line of fire, jumping into the thick shrubbery that surrounded the mansion. “Get him!” Ira screamed. “Take him alive—but get him!”

  Lucas ran into the house, slamming the kitchen door and locking it. He found his shotgun and ran back into the kitchen. Kyle ran into the room, trying to zip up his pants.

  “Damned zipper’s stuck!” he said. He jerked upward and tore the whole front out of his slacks. “Damn!” he said.

  “We’re going to win!” Lucas yelled. “We are. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do. Stay strong and keep your faith.”

  Lucas ran to the window above the sink, threw it open, and leveled his shotgun at a group of men running toward the house. Over his brother’s insane screaming, Lucas began pulling the trigger, the shotgun pounding his shoulder. Two of the running men went down, kicking and sprawling as their blood stained the green grass. The other men changed directions, running for cover.

  “Goddamn you all!” Ira screamed. “Come back and charge the house.”

  Kyle tried to use his M-16. It would not fire. He jerked his .38 from leather and tried to use the weapon. It would not fire.

  They heard Jan scream. “What the hell’s the matter with this gun? It won’t fire.”

  Then there were no more men from the Brotherhood to be seen. The land grew quiet. Lucas lowered the shotgun and began to reload.

  Jackie came into the kitchen, her face pale. “No more guns,” she said. “On either side. Randolph is telling me that.”

  “Then we’ve had it!” Kyle said.

  “I don’t think so,” Lucas said. “I think the odds have just been shifted to our favor.”

  “Without weapons?” Kyle said. “Man, we’re outnumbered five or six to one!”

  “Try the lights,” Lucas said.

  Kyle flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.

  “Jackie,” Lucas said. “Try your portable radio, please.”

  In half a minute she called, “I can’t even get static on it, Daddy!”

  Lucas smiled. Turning to Kyle, he said, “You were trained in living off the land, making do with what’s at hand, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “You know how to make spears and booby traps and things like that?”

  “God, yes.”

  Lucas looked up as Jackie reentered the kitchen. Despite what she’d been through, the girl had a half smile on her face. “You have an idea what’s happening, don’t you, honey?”

  “Yes, sir. Someone of a . . . well, higher power, has stepped in. I think we, and they,” she pointed toward the outside, “are now pretty much equal. I don’t believe their guns will work, either.”

  Louisa said, “Didn’t we find a boxful, or crateful, of archery sets up in the attic, Tracy?”

  “Yes. That’s right. We sure did. But the . . . whatever you call them, strings, would be all rotted, surely.”

  Kyle smiled. “You just get them, folks. I’ll restring them.”

  “I can shoot a bow,” Paul said. “I was an Eagle Scout. Earned a merit badge for archery.”

  “Now we’re cooking,” Lucas said.

  “Lucas,” Kyle spoke slowly. “You may know what’s going on; you may have everything all worked out in your mind; but I’m totally in the dark. What in the hell is going on around here?”

  Lucas said, “We’re frozen in place, in time. I don’t mean to imply we’ve been hurled back in time, house and all. But just that . . . ” he sighed, “well, like Jackie said. Somebody of a higher power is lending us a hand. I’ll bet the water won’t work, either. Try it.”

  Since the pump was electrically operated, nothing came out of the faucets.

  “The tanks on top of the house,” Lucas said with a smile. “I had Lige clean them out first week we were here. And we’ve had half a dozen good long rains since then.”

  “And there’s one of those old-timey hand pumps back there in the washroom,” Jackie said.

  “Sure is,” Tracy said. “But I couldn’t get it to work.”

  “Did you prime it first?” Kyle asked.

  “Do what with it?”

  He grinned. “I’ll check it. It probably still works.”

  “But couldn’t they set the house on fire?” Harry asked. “Drive us out and kill us?”

  “
No,” Johnny said. “That’s what’s so cool about what He did.” He pointed upward. “He knew the house was important to the Brotherhood. We’re safe in here.”

  “Yeah,” Kyle said quietly. “The house is very important to them.” His grin was nasty.

  “What are you thinking?” Lucas asked him.

  “Cocktails,” the ex-SEAL said. “The exploding kind. We don’t have to worry. They’ll bust their asses to keep this house from burning. I’m going to need a lot of empty whiskey bottles or wine bottles.”

  “ ’Bout ten boxes of them back there,” Johnny pointed to the rear of the house. “Real old ones.”

  “Good, good!” Kyle rubbed his hands together. “I’m gonna need some gas and some flour.”

  “Why flour?” Mark asked.

  “Homemade napalm,” Kyle explained. “The burning flour will stick to them.”

  “What wonderful things they taught you,” Louisa said.

  “I’ll get a hose and siphon the gas,” Harry volunteered.

  “You?” Jan looked at him.

  “I . . . ah, well, I did some probation time as a kid for smoking cars.”

  “How do you smoke a car?” Jackie asked.

  “That’s street slang for stealing one,” Jan told her. She grinned as she looked at her husband. “You were a bad little boy, weren’t you?”

  “Until I got caught,” Harry said, redfaced.

  “Wow, Dad!” Peter said. “Did you outrun the cops and all that stuff?”

  “No,” Harry said stiffly, knowing he had a lot of talking to do with his kids after this was all over.

  “We need spears, too.” Kyle momentarily took Harry off the hook. “I don’t really understand what is happening. But if we have to fight with homemade weapons, I can damn sure make some that’ll give the survivors nightmares.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Get all the big butcher knives you can find. Lucas, you and I will make machetes and cut some poles. I’ll fashion and fasten the blades. We’ve got to keep that old wood-burning stove hot at all times. With containers of water boiling. All the time.”

  “Why?” Tracy asked. “For wounds?”