Night Of The Beast (34 page)

"Lord of Flies," Jason cried, "I consecrate this ground unto thee! They are prepared for thy coming. I have made thee welcome!"

Thunder rumbled.

He looked down. The dim street lamps showed pulsating jets of water and whirling dust devils, tiny tornadoes skipping down the street. Sage crackled with electricity and smacked into houses. Tall trees bent, groaning under pressure.

A snap, like ribs breaking. Lightning flashed and left a huge, ragged scar on God's belly. Two Trees blinked black, then white. The town went patchy amber: Sticks in a dying fire. Lights flickered and power returned. Jason crowed like a bantam rooster.
So I'm mad, am I? Well, look and see what madness has achieved!

"Lord of Flies," he called. "Come to the feast. Walk among your children! The pattern is nearly complete!"

The assassin drove a block with the lights off, then parked and got out of his car. He felt eager, excited. He wondered if he'd be able to restrain his lust when it came time to take her. Naturally it was a privilege just to be of service, to perform any task for The Beast, but this assignment was special. He'd been promised a reward for his efforts.

"When your work is through," Jason had said, "then you shall own the girl, Maggie Moore. You may do whatever you like with her. To her."

It had only been a few days, yet it seemed like an eternity since Vargas had been permitted to please himself. He had howled when Jason first revealed that lush young body — showed him the taut curves, pink flesh and strong legs; exposed every detail of her most sensitive and private places. The sight had driven Vargas wild, maddened him with a desire to do sexual violence. Maggie set his loins ablaze with twisted fantasy. He'd wanted her for a long time, and now he would have her. He would take things easy, too. Go slower than he'd ever gone before. Make it last.

Vargas walked down the dark, empty street, gravel crunching beneath his shoes. There were only a handful of functional street lamps; he easily avoided them. The storm was approaching rapidly. Right above us pretty soon, he thought. Lots of noise, lots of cover. Good: In and out, clean as a whistle, with no hassle. Wham, bam.

And after the fucking songwriter and his buddy…Maggie, the woman.

He stopped by the darkened casino. A disquieting feeling swept over him. This town was weird. There were so few lights on. Empty houses, no people on the sidewalks, and it wasn't even all that late.

Vargas shook his head. He tried to clear his mind. He had to do exactly as he'd been instructed, and make no mistakes. Jason had demanded flawless execution. Execution. Funny choice of words.

He slipped on the pavement. There was a large crack in the cement, possibly decades old, that no one had bothered to repair.

A ghost town...
[the thing]
This was like that time, years ago, when he had trailed the stunning teenage girl through a crowded amusement park. Vargas smiled. He had been so inexperienced, so clumsy. He'd killed only once before that day, taken his first sweet princess. This girl would be the second. He'd been so tense and nervous he'd nearly lost her in the teeming throng of tourists. But churning need and red urges had directed him somehow, and he had finally managed to isolate her.

There, in the ghost town.

It had been a mother of an orgasm, perfectly built, arriving just as he'd yanked hard on the wire around her dainty neck. The body had remained undiscovered for more than a week, until the park finally investigated numerous complaints of a stench coming from somewhere in the saloon.

Vargas felt his hair stiffen with static. The downpour would most likely begin within minutes. He walked on, choosing the stability of the street over the crumbling sidewalk. He was searching for the hotel, for Chalmers.

There.

The lobby was deserted, with only one desk lamp burning. Vargas crossed the threadbare carpet, avoided a huge potted cactus and moved gracefully up the stairs. He found the right number and knocked.

The door opened. Inside, Chalmers lowered his pistol with a stoned, lazy smile. Vargas entered the room. He motioned for Chalmers to leave the lights low.

"He still here?"

Chalmers nodded and replaced the gun in his belt. "We got him, Tony. You say the word, he's dead meat."

Vargas closed the door. "Don't be an idiot," he snarled. "We haven't got him until he's buried. This is important, Chalmers. Very. Whatever you do, don't get cocky."

They walked over to the window and looked out. A reading lamp was glowing in the Sheriff's office, burning slim laser yardsticks through the slats of his closed wooden blinds. But that building stood alone, off in a long row of dark, abandoned houses. Only a few other lights were on, and those more than halfway down the block and to the south. The town seemed deserted.

Chalmers grinned. "The fucking town is a morgue," he said. "It's all perfect."

Vargas grunted and studied the terrain.

"Well, ain't it?"

"Sure. Perfect."

Vargas spun and grabbed Chalmers by the neck. He twisted the collar of the bigger man's shirt. His grip was powerful. "Damn it," he whispered, "I got to get this through to you. We don't know a thing about these dudes, man. They might be good, maybe even real good. So don't underestimate them. If you do you'll make me nervous, and I'll end up all pissed off."

He let go. Chalmers, face white with fear, backed away.

"Sure, I get you, Tony. You made your point."

"Fine."

Vargas stared outside, at the night, as if he had nothing but time on his hands. He considered the options. Chalmers cleared his throat, spoke gently. "How long you wanna wait?"

"I already know all about the house," Vargas replied. "I've been inside. Let me fill you in, and then we'll put our ears back and go get him."

The lights went out. Gladys gasped and clutched her immense chest. The gloom made her feel trapped. She would have sworn in court that the walls were starting to move closer together.

"Oh, damn!" Edith spat.

They sat in the darkness, waiting.

Gladys found it difficult to speak. Her mouth was dry, her body damp. "I'm awful scared," she said. She wheezed and swallowed: Taste, and points of pain, like thumbtacks.

"There's nothing to be frightened of, dear," ventured Edith. The tremor in her voice gave her away. She could feel it too, dense and sticky — something unholy, penetrating and sniffing the air.

The lights returned to normal. Gladys didn't. "I don't want to do this anymore," she said. "Let's just watch the movie."

Edith's face darkened. "We can't stop now! We haven't learned what's going to happen yet. How about a compromise. We'll have more tea, first."

"That's not a compromise," Gladys whispered. "That's you getting your way. Listen, I mean it. I don't think I can go on."

Edith got up. She lurched off into the kitchen to boil water. "That's nonsense, Gladys. Have courage. Why, I even heard a spirit speaking to me."

Gladys sat back on the couch.

Everything seemed so distorted. She began to lecture herself: Gladys, you're just losing track of what's real, that's all. Calm down. Stop taking this seriously. It's just power lines blowing in the wind. There's no sense in losing your head over a simple thing like that, now, is there? Certainly not.

Edith brought more tea.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"We'll go on in a few minutes. This is going to be fun. We're very close, you know."

"I know."

Gladys sipped. "Well," she said, "I guess as long as we can still watch the movie."

The far horizon rumbled and groaned.

Julie still hadn't shaken the flu, but Paula Baxter now suspected that the problem was a lot more complicated than sunburn and a common virus. Julie, curtains drawn and blankets piled high despite the heat, had been sleeping almost around the clock. She'd barely set foot outside the RV, and then only after sundown. Meanwhile, Timmy was having bad dreams again. The poor boy had dark circles under his eyes. Finally, as if that weren't enough, there was something going on between the two kids. They kept glaring at each other like a couple of Samurai, psyching up for a fight to the death.

Face the truth, Paula, she told herself. This vacation has been an unmitigated disaster from the start. I should have known that nothing would heal itself just because we went on a trip. The real problems always hitch a ride, like it or not. And now the children have picked up on my vibes.

Especially Julie.

Paula sighed. She closed the book she'd been pretending to read and switched off the lamp. No more excuses, she thought. You can't keep ignoring what's right in front of you. There's no denying it, woman. Something is wrong with your daughter.

Well, maybe it is only psychosomatic. But that sure as hell doesn't mean it isn't serious. After all, she's gone through a tremendous amount of emotional upheaval. Separation and divorce are pretty foreign words to a child. Julie has sunk into a flat, lethargic depression, Paula.

That does it, she grimaced. I'll give us one more day to get our shit together. If we're all still behaving like this, it's off to the nearest doctor. Screw the damn vacation. Doctor, hell. Why not a shrink? Sure, I'll find a good shrink, too. Maybe we all need help. And some sleep.

A few moments later, when the vampers returned for a second try, they found Timmy Baxter ready and waiting. The boy had used his pocketknife to sharpen two croquet stakes. He had them under his pillow.

Come out and play, hissed the voices. We're waiting for you.

It would be so easy, Timmy. There is no pain, just a blank spot. You won't remember. And then you will be just like us, Timmy. A child of the black hours, forever young. Think of it, boy. Forever young!

Don't listen, dummy. That's how a vamper gets you, by telling lies. They take over if you let them. Just steal a guy away by talking him numb. You gotta be strong, real strong, like Mr. Rourke. Sure of yourself and everything.

Timmy wondered if heroes ever got scared, ever felt half as afraid as he did right now.

Go away,
his mind said.
Before I get mad.

Hollow chuckles, smacking lips. Thirst.

Timmy, look at me.

It was the female vamper, the one who sounded so much like his sister. Heck, she'd almost fooled him the first time. But vampers were shape-changers, he'd checked on that; read through all the back issues of Horror Magazine. They could make themselves look almost any way they wanted to. Be loose as a fog, turn rock solid. It was a sneaky trick they had, another way to get at you.

Timmy, it's me. Look.

Don't look, he told himself. Don't.

But he did. He swallowed and raised his head slowly, like a puppet on a string. She was right outside his window, sort of swaying back and forth like a circus balloon. Real, yet not-real.

It was Julie. He felt his blood thicken to cough syrup and clog his veins. Blood they wanted, she wanted.

Timmy smelled the foulness of her breath, the reek of the other one's clothing. He looked at his sister, his heart full of sorrow.

Come on, she hissed. This is strange and wonderful and I feel great. Honest.

He choked and shook his head. No, Julie.

You're my kid brother. Okay, I pick on you but I love you lots. I wouldn't lie. It's super.

No, I won't do it. Won't.

Silly, she said, it doesn't hurt. You just start being... different. Days feel all stuffy and hot and the sun is a drag. But at night, oh at night, you hear and see and feel like you can't imagine. I wouldn't fib, not about something like this. Open the window and let me in.

He grabbed the croquet stakes and lifted them. Julie growled low and mean, from the back of her throat.

You're stupid, she said. You don't know what you're missing.

Timmy placed one stake on its side and formed a crude cross. Julie immediately covered her eyes. As she moved back, a silent howl echoed through his mind. Her body seemed to bulge, distort and ripple. It broke apart, like a reflection in a pond that gets shattered by a series of small waves. For a split second he saw a different Julie, and this one was far less fearsome. She looked mad as heck, but like his sister and not some devil girl.

Timmy wondered how much had actually happened and how much had been forced into his head. What vampers could actually do, or only fool you by pretending to do.

What's the difference, he thought. Either way, they scare the heck out of me.

The other vamper was watching from off in the trees. He seemed to say something. Julie raised her right arm. She held a butcher knife, stolen from the kitchen, in her fist. She spoke to Timmy from within, her tone cold and menacing.

Put the cross down, Timmy.

No.

Then I'll have to hurt you — Mommy, too.

I'll still have the stakes, he reasoned, terror washing over him. I can put them back together in no time. Why not stall?

He separated the pieces.

Good, she said. Peace pipe?

Timmy nodded quickly.

All right, then. But don't you dare try and tell on me.

Huh?

I mean it, punk. You keep your damn mouth shut around Mom, hear me? I'm not sure I want to leave yet.

A distant bell, a tiny click: Wait a second, how come she's worried? Mom would never believe me, not about this. Heck, last time Julie made it back to bed before I worked up the guts to check on her. So why does she care? Why?