So, how best to handle a delicate situation?
After three beers, Pinker had a clever thought. Perhaps it would be a breech of the agreement and therefore economically foolish to take that car back to the premises, but what about a quick drive, heading up the back way, just to feed the livestock? Why, in all likelihood his presence might never be noticed. And he would not have broken the terms of the agreement, since he could come and go without once setting foot in the mortuary.
His fourth beer made the idea seem brilliant.
Pinker figured he'd cut over to Cherry Tree Road, go over the railroad tracks, down the 15 and past the closed mines to the north of Flat Rock. The mining road led to the foot of the mountains to the east of his property. From there on, he could take the hiking trail, which was relatively smooth most of the way. He'd park the scooter where the cliff ledge protruded a bit and walk the last mile, feed the livestock, walk back down the path and sleep at the Sugar Ranch.
Hell, Mr. Jeffrey and his crew would never know he'd been there.
The handyman employed by the Honey Ranch was a slightly retarded black fellow named Horace. Horace was unable to afford an automobile or to get a formal driver's license, so he ran his errands on a small red scooter with a wire basket welded to the front fender. Feeling magnanimous, Pinker spiffed Horace a fifty and borrowed the wheels. He parked the two remaining beers in the basket and set out alone.
The air slapped his face repeatedly, bit into his cheeks and reddened his skin. Pinker was wind-burned within minutes, and wasn't even driving fast. But by the time he'd sobered up enough to reconsider, the scooter was already more than half way home. He drank another beer, turned into the foothills and was pleased to note that the buffered air seemed warmer.
The alcohol kept working magic, but water began to build up in his system. He had to pee.
Pinker slowed down and allowed the bike to wander down into a dry stream bed, where he used the kick stand. He left the tiny engine running and the small headlight on for company.
Damn, Pinker thought, sheepishly, it's kind of spooky out here in the middle of nowhere, .especially in the dark. He'd grown quite used to his television and having four secure walls at night.
Pinker moved a few steps away from the scooter, both hands clenched on his crotch as if such an action would prevent his bladder from releasing. Behind him the tiny, untended engine sputtered a bit as if the timing was set too low. Pinker felt a small flicker of alarm, but unzipped anyway out of sheer necessity. Then, just as he moaned and released a long, steaming stream of urine, the tiny scooter's motor ground to a halt.
The world slowed on its axis, tilted and for a long moment seemed to stop spinning. Pinker was suddenly scared, right down to the marrow of his bones. He could smell his urine, watched it arc into the shadows under the moonlight, outlined by the weak beam of the headlamp. The cold air pricked his exposed flesh with a thousand tiny needles. The surrounding forest seemed too expand in every direction. It was silent, but for the splattering of piss and the beating of his startled heart.
Pinker licked his chapped lips. His mind sang: What if the damned thing won't start again and I'm stuck in the middle of the boonies without transportation? I can't go home, and I'm too far from anything else.
Just then a keening OOoooOooooo floated down from the ridgeline and settled in the stream bed like a blanket of frost.
It's just a coyote, for Chrissakes, come on you live out here Donald and you know that sound, what's the matter, chicken?
He answered himself aloud. "You're damned right."
With the warm, alcoholically inspired glow beginning to fade, Pinker realized that he hadn't planned properly. Was the battery new enough to last the trip? Horace was a retard, after all. Jesus, he hadn't even checked the gas gauge on the scooter.
Okay, so if it starts again, what if I run out of fuel…?
"It will start again, you moron. There will be enough gas in the tank, okay? And if it doesn't you'll hike up the trail and crash in the barn until Mr. Jeffrey is gone. This is no big deal."
OooooooOOooo…Another coyote answered the first one's call. There came another, then another. Soon the night was filled with mournful wailing.
I've never heard them sound like that before. It's almost like they're afraid of something…
Pinker shook himself and zipped up. Just then an animal moved in the brush, perhaps fifty yards up the hill. He froze, heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
It moved again. Something rolling, or maybe running, down the mountainside, headed his way.
Pinker trembled, but could not move. The short hairs on his neck fluttered wildly until they came to parade rest. He had the odd feeling he was on camera, or being watched. His mouth went dry and his bowels loosened. He ordered himself to move, ran back to the red scooter, threw his leg over and tried the engine. Fortunately, it started immediately. With a sigh of relief, Pinker maneuvered up out of the stream bed and back onto the narrow mining road.
He resumed his journey, although not without looking back over his shoulder a few times, just to make sure he wasn't being followed…
…"What have you got for me, Whiz?"
"Not much more, boss. The heat signature is a bit easier to see. The sensors indicate part of it is from some kind of small engine, and judging by the size and shape somebody's driving."
"As in someone who's got warm flesh and blood."
"Well, it looks that way."
Guri: "Anybody else buy the idea of a tourist out here at this time of night?" A few seconds went by. "I didn't think so."
"Pops, where is the drunk?"
"Still sitting in the driveway, boss. The arms move once in a while, like they're trying to get up."
"That's it?"
"One more thing. It might be a woman."
"What makes you say that, Pops?"
"Something about the shape of the body, the figure is slender and not big at all. Also, I thought I saw boobs a second ago."
Guri chuckled. "Guess you wouldn't miss that, now would you?"
"Sandy, we still have picture, right?"
"Not bad at all, now."
"Stay sharp, everybody. I'm going to go have a look-see." Lehane moved away from the wall, went flat on the carpet and crawled through the hall and into the bedroom. Sandy was staring at the monitor, which was now split into four separate screens. The ambient light was insufficient, so Whiz had programmed the computer to read movement and make assumptions based on other factors, such as heat signature and shape.
The first camera was angled out into the mortuary parking lot. Whiz had done everything he could to sharpen the image, but all Lehane could see was a shape huddled half way down the drive. As Pops had described, it was definitely human but the gender was unclear.
"Whiz, I am looking at camera one. Do you have any heat coming from that target, any signature at all?"
"Nope. Take a quick look at four, see that orange dot? That's the engine coming up the mountain. The red around it is what makes me think there's a live rider."
Lehane looked carefully then went back to the first camera. "Give me other reasons the first bogey wouldn't show up as breathing."
"Body armor, maybe? If he's wearing heavy battle armor with enough metal in the infrastructure, we might not get a reading from this far away."
"Any other possible reason?"
"Only that he's dead meat."
Lehane grunted. "Then we assume this is our Bhuta. Pops, don't fire until he's closer to the main building. If a head shot doesn't work, I want us all free to use tracers and a Willie Pete."
"Roger."
Sandy tapped the computer screen. "But who is this other one, Jeff? What the hell is going on?"
"Beats the hell out of me."
Sandy turned and caught Lehane looking at her. She stared back in a soft, open way that made his stomach flutter.
He covered his microphone. "When this is all over…"
"I know," she whispered. "Go
back to work."
Lehane leaned down to kiss her but Whiz made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and said: "Oh, no."
They pulled back. Sandy went directly to the keyboard, quick mind on business. Lehane tore his eyes away from her as he moved his microphone back into its proper position. "Whiz, what have you got?"
"Wait one."
The clatter of keyboards. Whiz perfected the signal and Sandy honed in and sharpened it. "Jeff," she said, urgently. "Look at this."
Another reddish dot was coming up the front highway. Whoever it was had already crossed the outer limits of the sensors and entered the ghost town. Whiz spoke first. "Man, this is getting so fucked up."
"What is it, a car or another truck?"
"A car," Whiz replied. "May be just one passenger in it, can't be certain yet."
"That's great, just great."
"Boss, this is Pops. Our bogey is up and moving again."
"Sandy, you keep an eye on the second one."
"He's stopped boss."
"Where is he?"
"Maybe a mile down the mountain."
"You sure he's stopped?"
"Yeah, the heat signature is getting smaller, too. Maybe he turned off the engine or something."
"Watch him close, because I think the party is about to start. I need to know exactly what's going on every second."
"Will do."
Lehane whispered: "Here we go, Pops. Track that headshot. Guri, suck it up. I'm on my way back to first position."
Lehane crawled quickly across the upstairs hall and into the front bedroom; sat up near the open window with his back against the wood paneling, the compact grenade launcher across his chest.
…And at that moment Donald Pinker turned out the headlight, set the scooter on its kickstand and stretched. He had to pee again. Something about his last experience made him hurry, and he got some on his pant leg. The idea of being followed frightened him. Pinker squatted down to listen. The engine ticked quietly, his breathing rasped in his ears, but he heard nothing out of order. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the pale moonlight, located the footpath and started up the mountain…
…Also at that same second the Bhuta crouches low and moves swiftly through the undergrowth. The life force it has absorbed over the last few weeks has given it tremendous power and an unprecedented level of control over the host body. The spark that is the revenant of Ali Basra relaxes, for he is momentarily content to let unholy appetite control the creature as, with the cunning of a feral animal, it moves to higher ground…
…"Boss."
"Yeah, Pops. Talk to me."
"Bogey one?"
"Yeah?"
"Good news, bad news."
"Quit screwing around."
"Okay, I've got the shot, but this is definitely a woman."
THIRTY-ONE
Being overly bold and confident can be a deadly mistake.
Only the wise use of intuition will keep you alive.
Arrogance is the way to death
Humility is the way to preserve life.
The master does not presume to know everything.
For who can understand the workings of Heaven?
The Tao of the Master's universe
does not compete, yet wins;
does not speak, yet responds;
does not command, yet is inevitably obeyed.
The Master does not act, but is always good at directing.
He respects death, for
the nets of Heaven are cast wide,
and absolutely nothing escapes its grasp…
"Can you describe her, Pops?"
"From here, she looks some honky tonk girl out for a night on the town, who maybe ended up puking in her lap. Light colored hair, all messed up, stumbling around. She's wearing jeans and what looks like some kind of cowboy shirt."
"Is she still coming up the driveway?"
"She's heading right for you, Guri. I think you're gonna like her, she's just your kind of girl."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Can the jokes," Lehane whispered. "We know this thing can change bodies, so we have to assume this is the Bhuta. Pops, Guri, hold your fire and wait for my order. Whiz, got her now?"
"Wait one, I'm closing in a bit. Sandy, she should be on your second screen, can you see her now?"
"I've got her. Can't make out her face, but she looks pretty fucked up."
"How far away?" Lehane was itching to peek out the window to see for himself couldn't risk moving. He fondled the stock of the grenade launcher, wiggled his nervous fingers.
"Twenty yards and closing."
"How do we look on the second bogey, Whiz?"
"We have some heat sig moving up the mountain, but looks like he left his motorcycle behind, if that's what it was. He's on foot now, and moving like a garden slug. He's no threat to us, at least not yet."
"What's going on in the ghost town?"
"The second vehicle stopped there, on the opposite side of the old casino from the first truck. Now someone warm is moving toward the slope at a pretty good clip."
"Not up the driveway, after the girl?"
"Negative, up the slope."
"So he is looking to climb the rock face, when there is a big-assed driveway?"
"Affirmative."
Lehane grunted. "Okay, then we have to assume this one is a player, too, and it's someone who knows how our defenses are set up. Pops, he's your target. Guri, you'll take out the girl when the time comes."
"Roger that," Pops said. "Wait one, I have to see if I can pick him up."
"Guri," Sandy whispered, "the woman is maybe fifteen yards below you, a bit south and west, still moving your way. At her present rate of speed, she'll be passing the gazebo in about four minutes."
"Got it."
"Pops, you got the new guest yet?"
"Still looking, boss. I think he must be coming up the rock face, because I can't find him. He's not on the ledge, that's for sure."
"Whiz, any chance of getting the porch camera on that area?"
"I don't want to leave the girl, boss. She's too close to Guri to risk losing her, even for a second."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Come on, Pops. We need that target acquired and I do mean now."
"Easy, Jeff, if he shows one hair on his ass, I'll have him."
Lehane heard a sharp intake of breath from Sandy. It came in stereo, loud in the earphones and faint from the other room. "Christ almighty, Whiz. Would you take a look at her face?"
"Oh, man. This is some bad voodoo."
"Where is she?" Lehane snapped. "Guri has to know."
"At the top of the driveway, boss—walking straight toward the gazebo. Her head is at a really weird angle, like somebody doing their thing on Halloween."
"Keep it together. Pops, any luck?"
"Not yet, he must still be climbing."
"The woman is not, repeat not approaching the building at this time, she is going straight for the gazebo. Can you reacquire?"
"Wait one."
Before the battle, plans are everything…"Pops?"
"Okay, I've got her."
"Can I get a head shot if I need one?"
"Just give the word. Man, she is butt ugly."
"Guri, listen up. We'll give her another minute or so to turn. If she doesn't head for the steps to the mortuary, Pops will take the head shot. Once he does, you hot foot it out of there and fry her grits."
Guri did not reply, just clicked his microphone gently. The woman was that close to his position.
"Sandy," Lehane whispered, "is she looking up or down right now?"
"Like Whiz said, her head is at a weird angle, Jeff. So her face is turned to the right and down. She's kind of circling or something."
"Can I risk the window?"
"Unless she's got extra eyes, I'd say so."
"Here we go, people." Lehane took a deep breath, released it and took one that was a bit shallower. He slid to the window, raised the grenade launcher
and peeked around the corner.
The woman stood below him, perhaps fifteen yards away and right in the middle of the lot. She was less than ten feet from the gazebo, turning in small circles like a robot gone out of control. Lehane squinted in the dim light and sighted on her. He could not open fire with a grenade because she was still too close to Guri.
Everyone froze and the com channel went out, making it so silent Lehane could hear the figure down below emit a strange, high pitched grunting sound; even catch the scraping sound her boots made in the light sprinkle of gravel that topped all the parking spaces. She turned and turned, mindlessly.
"Come on, come on." Whiz started talking to himself, voicing what they were all feeling. The target needed to move away from Guri and closer to the mortuary before anyone dared open fire, except for Pops. But because he was focused on her, that third bogey, the big one coming rapidly up the rock face at the front of the property, was running free.
There were no good choices.
Lehane thought rapidly. He eased out of sight again, flattened against the wall and whispered an order.
Sandy was surprised. "Are you sure?"
"Do it."
Sandy immediately got to her feet, turned on the bedroom overhead light and started coughing, in part to cover popping a round into her Glock. She moved out into the hallway and onto the stairs, turned on another light and walked down, slowly and methodically, making quite a racket.
Lehane went back to the window. "Sitrep?"
Whiz answered. "Bogey one stopped turning around, boss. She's paying attention to the noises, focusing on the house."
"Good. Clear to look?"
"Not yet."
Sandy waited a couple of seconds before climbing the stairs again. She turned the hallway light out and went back into the bedroom. Lehane watched her shadow pass by as she returned to the computer console.
Daemon: Night of the Daemon Page 23
