Prey (10 page)

When Chelsea was absolutely certain that Koko and his former owner had reached the first floor, she tried to slide down from the heavy sculpture, quiet as a mouse. Briefly, she snagged the pocket of her blue jeans on the crocodile god's stone crown. The sudden cold pressure made her think of what Koko's snout might feel like against her, made her imagine what it would be like to have those sharp jaws clamp around her thigh and twist and tear, filling the wound with poison.

When she reached the floor she felt an urge to rub her hands in the little swirls of snow that rushed in from the broken window, as if washing them, and she didn't bother to fight it. Twelve times she rubbed,
pretending the air from the winter storm was water, until her hands were numb from the cold and she realized that all she was doing, really, was wasting time.

She had to focus on what could really help her. Had to. And what was that? What could help her? What had helped her? The heavy lamp and the cold.

Where was the lamp, anyway? She looked down and saw it was useless. Aside from the fact it was covered in thick reddish gore that was probably soaked with venom, the lamp, full of teeth marks, had twisted free of its base. She could no longer use it to batter the window bars. Just as well. She didn't want to touch it anyway.

Slowly she crept over to the bed, pushed aside a suitcase, and sat down. Her heart was still beating fast, but not as fast as it had been, and her breathing had slowed. What should she do? What
could
she do? What was it Dr. Gambinetti had always said? Separate the fear from the reality.

So what was she afraid of?

That she was trapped in a house and a ten-foot Komodo dragon might come back up those stairs at any moment, attack, kill, and eat her.

What was the reality?

That she was trapped in a house and a ten-foot
Komodo dragon might come back up those stairs at any moment, attack, kill, and eat her.

Seemed funny. If her stomach wasn't hurting so much and her body wasn't shivering from the cold, she might laugh. Her teeth were chattering as she absently pulled at the blanket on the bed.

It occurred to her then that if it had been the cold that drove Koko away, maybe Chelsea could make things even colder. She wrapped herself in the heavy cover and then opened the remaining windows as wide as they'd go. Snow swirled inside the room in earnest now and when she exhaled into the wind, she could see her breath.

KUNK!

She turned toward the sudden sound, but realized it was the pipes clanking with heat. The old iron radiator was warm to the touch. Hadn't she seen a thermostat in the hall?

She walked up to the door, the one with the hole in it the size of a big lizard, and gently tugged it open so it wouldn't make too much noise. A few splinters of wood tumbled off and Chelsea noticed that the rough edge of the wound had a thick liquid on it that looked black in the dim light. Blood? Had Koko hurt himself climbing through?

Good.

It wasn't until she stepped out into the hall and looked down the stairs into the living-room lights that she remembered Derek was still down there somewhere. Or was he? Maybe he hadn't come to her rescue because he'd gotten out somehow. Maybe help would be coming any second. Or maybe he'd succumbed to the wound in his hand.

Count all the posts in the banister, or he'll be dead.

“Don't be stupid,” she hissed under her breath. But as she walked along the second-floor hallway, opening all the windows wide, she counted the thin white slats on the painted paneling of the walls just the same.

There were three windows in the upstairs hall, now, all blowing snow inside.

CUNK!

She gasped and whirled in spite of herself. Just another steam-filled radiator, battling it out with the cold. To the right, though, on the wall above it, was the thermostat, looking oddly new in the midst of the old house. She walked up to the small plastic square with the digital readout. There was a switch on top with three settings—heat, off, and cool. She moved it to
OFF
then wondered about
COOL
. The house couldn't possibly have central air conditioning,
could it? Eve Mandisa never could have afforded such a thing. Could the shut-in, trapped in here 24/7, have decided to make her prison more comfortable on hot summer days?

She flicked the switch to
COOL
and lowered the temperature down to zero degrees. Within seconds, she heard a steady rush of air from somewhere above. She stuck her hand up toward the sound. Though she couldn't see any vent on the high ceiling, a breeze hit her fingers. It could just be the wind, but she preferred to think it was air conditioning.

Eat cold, Komodo!

Excited now, she opened every door she could find on the second floor, opened every new window she came upon, inviting in as much of the stormy night as she could. As she worked, she scanned the two additional rooms she had found for anything she might use, but discovered mostly files and unopened boxes. There was another floor lamp, but it wasn't nearly as heavy as the one that'd saved her. There was also a dull pair of scissors and a metal yardstick. One closet was empty, except for an old curtain rod leaning against a bare wall.

She took it, and tossed it into a growing pile of pathetic, last-ditch “weapons.” After all, maybe she
could use one to poke out Koko's eyes. The image rose, only it wasn't a lizard's eye, it was hers, then Dr. Gambinetti's, then Derek's.

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

Only if you count.

She compromised, to keep her inner reptile at bay, recounting all the windows she'd opened. By the time she was done, Chelsea could hear the steam in the pipes gurgling back down, hear the wood creak as the house grew colder. The whole place would be freezing soon. Maybe Koko would go dormant or, better yet, maybe the damn thing would crawl into a corner and die.

She found herself a spot at the end of the hallway, where the stairs were still visible, sat down and wrapped the blanket tightly around her, as if she were sitting on a nest. The wind blew. Snow gathered in the dark. No way. No way would a cold-blooded lizard that needed heat and light want to come back up here. She felt proud of herself, if only for a few seconds.

Because her eyes were still glued to the stairs, watching, just to be sure.

Just in case Koko knew where the thermostat was.

KRUNK!

She lifted her head. That wasn't radiator pipes. The
heavier sound from below was followed by a thrashing noise and things falling. Koko was on the move. Chelsea craned her neck but saw no shadows from below.

What's he up to, then?

Cautiously she rose to her feet and stepped closer to the staircase. She'd left all the doors to the rooms open so she could run to any one of them and slam the door if he came back.

She heard the claws scraping against what sounded like hollow wood. The sound was steady but slow, as if Koko was tired. Was he at the kitchen door again? Why?

Of course. The cold was getting to him, making him more desperate for the only spot in the house he thought would still be warm: his nest. But that meant going through the kitchen. Crap. How could she be so stupid? What if Derek was still in there? What if he was unconscious?

Frantically, she pulled out her cell and hit his number on the speed dial. The battery was low, but after a few frightening seconds, punctuated by the sound of loud claws testing wood, he answered.

“Chelsea?” Derek said. His voice was really weak.

“Derek! Where are you?” she whispered into the phone, surprised at how hoarse her own voice
sounded, how much it hurt to talk.

“Looks like the kitchen,” he said.

“Are you okay? Are you still bleeding?”

“No. I mean, there's some blood, yeah, but it doesn't hurt anymore. I can still move some of my fingers. I think. Smells like hell in here with all the gas. Getting cold, too.”

He sounded awful, maybe delusional. And the gas. He'd never turned it off!

“Derek, you've got to get out of there! Koko's at the door.”

“I know. You think I can't hear him? L. C., I'm so tired. I think I'm going to fall asleep. It'll be okay. Something I gotta…something I gotta…”

It sounded like the door was about to give.

“No, Derek! No! Don't fall asleep! Please! I can distract him. I can throw something down the stairs. Can you get out of the kitchen? There's a closet in the hallway. Just get out of the kitchen, get into the closet. He'll just head downstairs to the basement. He needs the heat.”

“But…won't he come…upstairs?”

Yes! Yes he will, and then you'll be his! He'll turn you into a lizard too, and you'll both eat Derek!

“No, he won't! It's too cold up here now. There's a
vase I can throw down the steps. When it lands, when he comes away from the door, you run into the closet, okay?”

“Hmmm…okay. I'm on my feet, kind of. I think.”

Through the phone, she heard the door thudding, cracking.

Heedless of how much noise she was making, holding the cell phone between her teeth, she raced for one of the potted plants that lined the hall and brought it to the top of the steps.

“Ready?”

There was silence on the other end, except for the insistent banging.

“Derek!” she screamed.

“Huh? Yes! Ready!”

She put the cell back in her mouth, lifted the vase and hurled it down the steps. It cleared the last step and smashed against the floor by the front door, with a resounding, satisfying, wonderfully loud crash.

All at once, the sound at the door stopped. She could hear Koko turn his huge body away from the kitchen, clamber down the hall. The second she saw his shadow at the bottom of the stairs, she shouted into the cell phone.

“Now, Derek! Run into the closet, now!”

Koko's nose poked around the base of the stairs. He looked at the broken pile of dirt and pottery, then up the stairs.

All of a sudden, Chelsea realized he could see her. She backed away a step. Would he come up again? His tongue flicked out of his mouth. He looked as if he was deciding.

But then there was another sound, the creaking of the kitchen door opening, followed by a series of leaden steps. It was Derek, moving slow.

Koko turned back toward the sound. Chelsea hissed at him. He looked toward her, but slowly turned again toward the hallway.

The steps ceased. A door closed. Derek had made it! He was in the closet. He must be. But she had to make sure.

As Koko stared at her, she put the cell phone to her ear again.

“Derek?”

“Yeah…I'm in…It's…it's dark inside a closet. Kind of warmer, though. I think there's a bunch of coats.”

“Try to wrap something around your hand,” Chelsea said.

Koko twisted his head, watched Chelsea speak, then turned back to the hall.

“Derek, I think he's heading back to the kitchen now. Just try to stay quiet. If he doesn't know you're there, he'll just head downstairs.”

“It's okay, L. C…. Don't worry…”

Koko's tail flicked out behind him as he vanished into the living room.

“Shhhh, Derek. Please, just be quiet.”

He lowered his voice. “I just…want you to know…I reached your parents.”

Chelsea felt her very soul exhale at his words.

“You did?”

Derek was panting. She wasn't sure he was trying to whisper. The low voice may be all he could manage. “Yeah…they're bringing…the whole cavalry…”

“I could kiss you!”

“You'd betterrrrr…crhhkkkkk.” His words trailed off into a funny gurgling noise.

“Derek?”

She heard a light thud, as if the cell phone had fallen from his hand.

“Derek? Are you okay? Derek?”

She heard a strange noise, like a saw moving steadily back and forth. It could be the draft whistling
in and out of the closet. It could be Derek trying to breathe.

It didn't matter, she told herself. He'd reached her parents. They would bring the police, the fire department, the army. They'd be saved. Derek would be fine. She only hoped he'd been able to tell them exactly how huge the lizard was, so they didn't come with small nets.

But then she heard another sound, loud and clear, both through the cell phone and from down below. It was a sound she'd heard too often tonight. Scratching.

Koko hadn't gone into the basement at all.

He was clawing at the closet.

It didn't make any sense. With the temperature down, Koko should be racing for warmth and security.

Without quite realizing what she was doing, Chelsea put her foot down on the first of the fourteen steps. Fearing for Derek, wanting to get to him, she even went down to the thirteenth. On the twelfth, she froze, realizing that every step she took made her more visible from the living room.

And what would she do anyway? Whistle for the lizard? Let Koko chase her back upstairs and hope help would arrive in time? She liked Derek an awful lot, more now than ever, but did she really, really and truly, want to risk being killed for him?

You'll be eaten, now and forever. You'll die, alone and terrified.

Even so, she couldn't leave Derek to Koko and live with herself—if she lived.

Oh, crap, here I go…

She put the cell phone in her pocket, then crouched down on the twelfth step. As it took her weight, it creaked, even more as she lowered her head and surveyed the view through the short slats.

It was probably a trick of fear and memory, but the living room looked different from when she'd fled it. What? Less than half an hour ago? It was almost like a theater set, deliberately arranged to tell its backstory, the setup for the scene to come. The lamp lay on the floor, its burning white bulb pressing against the crushed yellow shade, throwing a wide oval of light across the room and onto the tall windows half covered with frost. The couch had been shoved into a ruffled throw rug, probably when Chelsea and Derek fled for the door. The broken key was even still visible in the lock where she'd snapped it off. The heavy lounge chair Koko had crept up behind and knocked over when he attacked was rolled onto its side. Thankfully, it blocked her view of Dr. Gambinetti, leaving only his legs and feet sticking out.

As she stared sadly at his familiar brown corduroy pants, she thought she saw his black-shoed foot
twitch, as if it were tapping in time to Koko's beating at the closet door. Could he still be alive, or was Koko just rattling the house?

She crept down a few more steps, the eleventh, the tenth, the ninth, until she could actually stick her head ever so slightly over the banister and peer toward the kitchen.

Koko was there, his thick, massive body wedged at an angle in the hallway, his back legs braced against the wall behind him, his front legs halfway up the closet door, scratching away. He looked like a big clay dog, trapped in a house built for midgets. A pile of wood scraps gathered at the floor beneath him, looking almost like the wood shavings in the rabbit pens at work.

Why was he there and not downstairs? Why did he want Derek so badly?

Koko's head bobbed back and forth as his claws worked. He looked as if he was either tired or engaged in some ritual lizard behavior. Chelsea took some small comfort in the fact that his efforts didn't seem as steady or ferocious as they had at the door to the bedroom, but really, she couldn't be sure. She scanned his body for a wound that might have left the blood upstairs, but saw nothing other than muscle and
wobbly clay-gray flaps of empty stomach.

Maybe in all the excitement, he hadn't eaten enough.

On the floor below his hanging gut, though, mixed in with the closet door's detritus, there was a trail of wet, dark red splotches that led from the base of the closet door all the way back to the kitchen floor. If it wasn't Koko's blood, it was Derek's. His wound must be pretty bad. No wonder he'd passed out.

Maybe that was why Koko hadn't raced for the basement. The sight of blood meant another wounded victim was waiting. Or maybe his own brain had been fried by all the excitement, and he was choosing aggression over survival.

Chelsea wished she'd read more about the dragons, but the OCD had stopped her, as always. And now, today, in the real world, for all the OCD's claims about making her safe, if it made her hesitate again at the wrong moment, it might even kill her.

Not that she had a plan of her own, other than the stupid whistle and run idea. She took a final step down, to the eighth stair and just waited. Koko wasn't through the door yet. Maybe the police would get here before he broke through and Chelsea wouldn't have to do anything. At least now she could clearly see
when the time was right. That would be the smart thing to do. If Koko breached the door she could scream. She probably
would
scream and Koko would come after her.

It was a decent plan, except for one small detail.

Koko turned and saw her.

They both froze, like ex-lovers embarrassed to run into each other at the same party. He focused on her face and they locked eyes.

His tongue flicked out twice, three times. Did he know? Did his reptile brain realize it was her fault the house had gotten so cold?

Leaning against the door like that, with his head at least five feet in the air, he looked almost human. But then his front legs slid off the door, one at a time, thudding on the hall's flower-patterned linoleum floor. Down on all fours he looked anything but human. He didn't look animal, either. He didn't look like anything that had any right to be alive. He looked like a dinosaur, a dragon, a primal force of nature. Something you had to make a statue to, or else.

His first steps toward her were slow, as if he were tired, or wounded, or freezing, or all of those. His head pivoted to remain fixed on her as he moved in
inches. But then, without any pause, without any tensing of muscle, he darted across the floor toward the stairs with a sudden, startling burst of speed.

I've got to run! I've got to run now!
Chelsea thought as she stared at the ten-foot blur.
Up the stairs! Into a room, any room!

She would have made it too, had not the voice of the OCD rode the pulse of panic into her brain.

Count the tiles in the ceiling!

And, caught off guard, for a precious second, she obeyed.

2, 4, 6, 8.

She'd reached ten before she wrested control of her body back. By then Koko was at the base of the stairs and still moving fast. In seconds, he'd be upon her. She'd never make it up the stairs before he scrambled his 150 pounds on top of her 120, and brought her down. She'd be carrion.

She put both hands on the banister and leaped over it. By the time Koko had reached the spot where she'd stood, she was landing with a crash on the hallway floor.

Koko flung his body against the railing. It cracked and splintered. She looked up in time to see his snout and neck burst through as if the posts were toothpicks.

Now she ran. She ran full tilt down the hallway, nearly slipping on Derek's blood, into the kitchen where the air was thick with the heavy smell of gas. Not knowing where Koko was, not knowing how close he was behind her, she spun herself in the only direction available, toward the basement door. She threw it open. The moist, hot air from below slapped her in the face. She pulled her head back and then half fell, half ran down the stairs.

She looked around. Screaming her frustration into the moist air, she turned the dials for the heat and the humidity down to zero. The misting machine coughed once before falling silent. As she heard Koko coming down the stairs, she grabbed the only weapon available, the mechanical claw, and ran for her last hiding place, Koko's cage. Without really stopping to consider how Koko could have gotten out, she unbolted the door and dove in among the dirt and plants.

As the lizard curved itself around the base of the stairs, Chelsea reached through the wire above the Plexiglas and slid the bolt back into place, locking herself inside.

Koko ambled into the center of the ten-by-twelve area, taking up much of it. He raised his head and
twisted it curiously, regarding her. It was almost as if he were admiring the irony: he outside in the human world, she stuck in there.

“Get out! Go away!” she screamed at him from behind the protective wall. She shook the claw at him threateningly. “I'll kill you!”

He hissed at her.
You and what army?

He stepped forward, craning his neck into the glow from the three heat lamps. Great, now he'd be all warm and cozy.

Not if Chelsea had anything to say about it. Swinging the metal claw like a club, she smashed the heat lamp closest to her. There was a flash as a shower of glass hit his water dish.

Koko hissed.

“Didn't like that, eh? How about this then?”

She swung at the second. “Screw you, Koko! You hear me? Screw you!”

Koko hissed and reared at the second flash and breaking glass. When Chelsea smashed the third light, he slammed both front claws into the Plexiglas door. He stood there, propped up on his back legs, looking totally pissed in spite of his Kermit grin, as she destroyed the orange bulb.

Now the only lights in the basement were the
recessed fluorescents that covered the part of the room Koko was in. They made his gray skin look a little green. Chelsea was in semidarkness, panting, waiting, stretching her ears to see if there were sirens coming.

Where were they?

She stepped back and felt something hard under her foot. Looking down, she saw the frayed remains of the dog collar and remembered how Aristotle had snuck in. Maybe she could squeeze out? She looked up at the small window, at the piece of wood Derek had shoved there. The window she could manage, but what about the bars?

No. It was hopeless. She just wasn't as small as a little dog.

Where was Koko, anyway? She'd taken her eyes off him while she was looking at the window, and now he was nowhere to be seen. Had he gone back upstairs? Was he sitting in some shadow?

A quiet rustling made her turn to look behind her. The only thing there was the big nest made of sticks and straw and leaves that Koko traditionally sat on. She looked in horror as the whole nest shook.

It was only then she realized, eyes widening, exactly how Koko had gotten out. The big lizard hadn't been
sitting on top of the habitat's dirt all that time, he was covering a hole he'd dug. There, out of sight, at some point, he scratched at the Plexiglas until he was able to slip into the small space between the Plexiglas and the cinderblock, and now could come and go as he pleased.

As the living hill rose, Chelsea scrambled across the dirt and twigs and headed for the locked door, each frantic move she made slowed by the moist earth and plants. Reaching her goal, she stood on tiptoes and jammed her arm through the wire, letting its sharp ends cut her skin as she reached for the bolt. She threw the door open with her weight and spilled out onto the floor.

At her back, she saw Koko following. She kicked the door shut, stood and slammed the bolt into place just as he hit the thick Plexiglas with all 150 pounds. The wall shook and creaked. White dust fell from the recessed ceiling. Koko stared at her a second as she raced for the stairs. A few steps up, she saw his tail again vanish under his nest.

As she reached the kitchen, she heard him on the steps. Now she knew just how sophisticated he was. An animal would back off, stay in the nest, but Koko, Koko was just pissed now and out for revenge. Worse,
rejuvenated by what heat he'd enjoyed down there, he was moving faster. It was all she could do to barrel into the kitchen table, knocking it over and falling in the process.

As his great form swept into the kitchen, she dove behind the table for cover. Koko slammed into it, pushing it and Chelsea up against the locked rear door of the house, slamming her head against the wood. He clawed, bit and pushed against the Formica table top, trying to gain purchase on its slick surface. All he really had to do was grab the side of the table and pull. How long would it take for him to figure that out?

Sobbing, she surveyed the little triangle her world had become, how tiny it was, how limited, exactly as Dr. Gambinetti had warned if she kept listening to her OCD. It was just this little space now, shared with some of the junk on the table that had been spilled to the floor and been pushed here along with her. Some mail, paper clips, overturned salt and pepper shakers…

…and matches.

The air was cooler near the drafty door, the gas was not as thick as it had been in the rest of the room, but she still smelled it. All of a sudden, Derek's plan to blow his way out didn't seem so stupid. Maybe
because now it was the
only
idea.

The table slammed her again as Koko pounded it. She scooped the matches up in her hand and tore one off.

As she did, the OCD screamed at her.

No, don't! You'll die! Count the scratches on the floor! Wash your hands until they're raw! Count all the dust motes in the house, but don't ever light that match! You'll die! You'll burn, and burning is the worst way, the worst way to go.

But then Koko's claws and Kermit head came over the top of the table and looked down at her in what she imagined was an expression of triumph. So she did it, she flicked the match in the book, saw the spark catch and burst into flame, saw the flame grow faster and hotter than she could have imagined.

As the growing white flame hit the rest of the matches, she tossed the whole book up and over Koko's head. He twisted his head up. For a moment she was afraid he was going to bite it and put it out, but he didn't. He just watched.

Maybe he was just a dumb, hungry lizard after all.

As the kitchen erupted in a blinding ball of white light, she figured that if she died, at least it would be better than listening to that damn voice in her head
every day, at the very least, dying in this white heat would be faster and more merciful than even the jaws of the lizard.

At least Koko should be happy. It was warm again. Hot, really. Hot enough for a monster from hell.