“Good guy. An old pro.” A slug of the beer. “Not in the best of shape but I guess that’s why they paired us up.”
A pause as she studied him. Christie was smart, one of the things he really liked about her. Intuitive. She was studying him, still with a smile on her face.
Then: “You think you’re going to like it?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Being a cop? Yeah. Seems to, y’know, to make sense.”
“Hm?”
“Being out there. Trying to help people. Protect them. Makes sense.”
Christie’s smile faded a bit. Perhaps some concern creeping into her mind.
Then she said: “I hear your Dad in that answer.”
A nod. Jack made no apologies for believing – like his father – that you had to do something to help people. Cop. Fireman. Soldier.
No doctors in the family yet. Maybe Kate someday. Maybe Simon.
And when they went to bed, Jack sensed that Christie wanted to make love. Her choice of nightgown. The way she moved.
It had been awhile.
Since Simon arrived…. her body recovering, the fatigue.
Tonight was different.
He showered. And then slipped under the cool sheets as Christie turned to him immediately, without waiting.
And for a few moments, the day did indeed vanish.
But not later.
He had drifted off, the fatigue of his running, the tension of the day, the almost rough way he had made love to Christie – and he fell into sleep as if leaping off a cliff.
But he woke up.
At first, thinking it was just his nerves on edge.
What he had seen that day, what he had done, and – he admitted to himself – what Schiller had said.
That’s what he thought woke him up.
But then he heard a noise.
Something outside.
His eyes wide open now. A glance at the clock: 3:15. Not too many hours before he’d have to get up.
But he heard something.
Then a new sound. The small cry of a baby.
He got up, and slid out of the bed as quietly as he could.
He went into Simon’s room. In their new house, everyone had their own room.
He went to the crib. Simon’s eyes wide open. Not really crying but making noises.
Bottles of breast milk were in the refrigerator.
“What’s up little fella?” Jack whispered.
Simon looked at Jack, studying him, the baby’s face still neutral…but then that lower lip bending down, the howl about to begin.
A cry coming.
And before that infant tidal wave hit, Jack reached down and scooped up the baby, holding Simon close, his little head resting on Jack’s left shoulder.
He walked downstairs with his new son.
Now cradling Simon, he watched as the baby sucked at the bottle. Always hungry. Babies. Hungry, or with dirty diapers.
Then, when Simon stopped feeding, he let the plastic nipple slip from his mouth. But his eyes hadn’t closed. In the darkness of the kitchen, the baby’s eyes glistened, locked on Jack.
“You don’t look tired,” Jack whispered.
And he walked out to the living room, the first floor of the split-level ranch house dark, quiet.
Then the sound again.
Outside.
Jack’s eyes darted right and left as if he could see through the walls of the house.
He walked to the front door and looked out one of the three small glass panes.
The street outside – all quiet.
A glance down. The front door locked.
Then the sound again, now coming from the right. He walked over to the living room window that faced the driveway and the other house next to theirs.
Jack pulled aside the curtain.
Seemed empty and quiet there, too.
Until he noticed the lid of the neighbor’s garbage plastic bin pop up. Once. Twice.
A small head popped out. Too dark to really see more than the outline, but the shape was clear.
A raccoon. The neighbor had left the bin’s top unlatched. Or the clever raccoon had just figured a way to open it because, when you’re hungry, that’s what you do—
And then…
And then…
Holding his baby, it came back to him like a lightning flash.
When you’re hungry, you figure a way in.
Like that crazed guy who got into that hoarder’s house, and –
Yeah, go on.
It’s what happened.
Go the fuck on.
And ate him.
Another thwack as the raccoon came out of the bin, and leaped to the driveway.
Things must be tough for the raccoons as well.
The raccoon started waddling its way out to the street, a hungry nighttime Santa, paying a visit to everyone’s garbage cans.
Jack looked down at Simon.
His son was asleep.
And he walked him back to his bed.
But Jack didn’t go back to bed himself.
No, he went downstairs and still, with the lights off, he walked around. He looked at the glass panels of the front door. So easy to kick them in, and get at the lock.
And one lock? Jack could get through that himself in seconds.
The windows.
The building in Red Hook had bars. No bars here.
That would look strange wouldn’t it? thought Jack.
Bars on the window.
He could hear Christie’s voice.
What would the neighbors say? What are you scared of?
And in Red Hook, the killer…. the eater…the…
(What? The cannibal? What the hell was he?)
…got in through the basement. Need to check that too. All the windows, all the doors, the basement, everywhere – everywhere, because—
Well, he knew what he felt.
Not that he understood it.
But what he saw today – what Schiller said – scared him.
Like there was something secret happening, and maybe only those cops on the beat saw it.
Things changing, people changing.
The world changing
Jack stood there now, in his silent living room, the house, and the neighborhood totally quiet.
Nothing he could do now.
And in a few hours, he’d have to drive to the Red Hook precinct for Day Two. To be followed by a Day Three.
Four. Five.
But he knew – as sure as he knew anything – that there were things to be done here, right here in his own house.
Because when you see something.
(He felt gooseflesh rise on his arms.)
When you know something that others don’t.
You better take advantage of that knowledge while you can.
Before it’s too late.
Only then, with that resolve, with that promise, did he turn and start back up the stairs.
No more sleep came, though it felt good for his body to simply lie quiet and still on the bed.
In a few hours, the hot sun would rise, the city would again begin to cook, and Jack would again be back on its streets. Day Two, only now he’d be looking for more clues, more signs of what the future would bring.
End
Copyright (C) 2011 by Matthew Costello
Art copyright (C) 2011 by Jason Ramirez
Books by
Matthew Costello
Novels
Sleep Tight (Zebra Books, 1987)
Revolt on Majipoor (Tor Books, 1987)
Fate’s Trick: In the World of Robert Heinlein’s Glory Road (Tor Books, 1988)
Beneath Still Waters (Berkley Books, 1989)
Wizard of Tizare (Bantam Books, 1989)
Midsummer (Berkley Books, 1990)
Child’s Play 2 (Pocket Books, 1990)
Time of the Fox (New American Library, 1991)
Wurm (Berkley Books, 1991)
Child’s Play 3 (Pocket Books, 1991
)
Hour of the Scorpion (New American Library, 1991)
Darkborn (Berkley Books, 1992)
Homecoming (Berkley Books, 1992)
Caught in Time (New American Library, 1992)
Day of the Snake (New American Library, 1992)
Garden (Twilight Publishing, 1993)
See How She Runs (Berkley Books, 1994)
SeaQuest DSV: Fire Below (Berkley Books, 1994)
The 7th Guest (with Craig Shaw Gardner; Prima Publishing, 1995)
Mirage (with F. Paul Wilson; Warner Books, 1996)
Masque (with F. Paul Wilson; Warner Books, 1998)
Maelstrom (Berkley Books, 2000)
Unidentified (Berkley Books, 2002)
Artifact (Tor Books, 2003)
Missing Monday (Berkley Books, 2004)
The Kids of Einstein Elementary: The Last Dinosaur (with Len Mlodinow; Scholastic Books, 2004)
King Kong: The Island of the Skull (Pocket Books, 2005)
Drowned Night (writing as Chris Blaine; Berkley Books, 2005)
The Kids of Einstein Elementary: The Titanic Cat (with Len Mlodinow; Scholastic Books, 2005)
In Dreams (writing as Shane Christopher; Berkley Books, 2006)
Nowhere (writing as Shane Christopher; Berkley Books, 2007)
Doom 3: Worlds on Fire (Pocket Books, 2008)
Doom 3: Maelstrom (Pocket Books, 2009)
Rage (Random House, 2011)
Vacation (St. Martin’s Press, 2011)
Jack Murphy and his family need a vacation.
This one might just kill them
After a global crisis causes crops to fail and species to disappear, something Masses around the world suddenly become predators, feeding off their own kind. And after one attack leaves NYPD cop Jack Murphy wounded, he takes his wife and kids on a vacation to the Paterville Family Camp–a fortress-like compound in the mountains, where families can still swim and take boats out on a lake.
At first, it’s idyllic, until Jack makes a gruesome discovery….
“Matt Costello’s work has always been impressive, but VACATION is just flat-out amazing.”
—Bentley Little, Stoker Award-winning author
Jack Murphy_Prequel_Day One Page 3
