The King of Clayfield - 01 (24 page)

"Whoa!" Jen said. "She's awake."

"Did you give her enough quilts," I asked. "She's probably cold."

She didn't look around. She just sat there staring out at us, the wind
 
blowing her shoulder-length
 
hair in her face.

"I'm thinking
 
that she ain't cold," Jen said.

I flashed my lights at Somerville. The
 
woman stood.

"Oh shit," Jen said.

I
 
stepped on
 
the gas and
 
got into the passing lane.

The truck swerved a little; Somerville had noticed her.

Then the woman turned and faced front, with her hands on top of the cab, then hit the rear
 
window with her fist. The truck swerved. She lost her balance a little, but recovered. She hit it again, and somehow
 
punched through.

The truck cut
 
hard to the left, dropped off into the median and flipped
 
onto the
 
passenger
 
side door, then over again, slinging mud and grass into the air. It came to rest on the driver's side.

I drove past the wreck and stopped. I could hear Sara screaming and crying. I started toward it. Then, around the back end of Somerville's truck,
 
there was the woman. She was muddy and bloody.
 
A bone
 
stuck out of her left arm. She crouched a little, which sort of spread her out. She
 
snarled, howled,
 
and charged at me like a linebacker.

CHAPTER 24

I wasn't armed at all. All I could do was run, and I did. I ran to my left, out into the road.

Jen fired the .22. If it hit the woman, she didn't act like it. Jen fired again. Then the woman changed direction and came at her instead. The .22 wasn't stopping her,
 
and all of the big guns were in Somerville's truck. Jen shot one more time, and the woman bulldozed over her.

"Jen!"

The woman was on top of her. Jen had her hand around the woman's throat, but that was the best she was able to do. The woman was too heavy for Jen to hold off.

Jen screamed just before I got to them. I kicked the woman in the head. She rolled off, but came back. I kicked her in the face. Her head whipped back, and she fell over, stunned. I grabbed the .22, and with no thought at all, put it to her head and pulled the trigger twice.

Jen got to her feet, holding the side of her neck, stumbled sideways and fell. She started to get up again, and I
 
held her by the elbow so she could get her balance.

"Let me see," I said.

She pulled her hand away. Her palm was bloody, and there was a little chunk of flesh gone from her neck. She pulled off her bandana and pushed it against the wound.

"I think she might have cracked one of my ribs," she said.

I put my hand on her side, and she brushed it
 
away.

"I'm fine," she said.
 

Sara was still crying from inside the truck. I ran around to the back window.

"Are you hurt?"
 

"Help me!" Sara yelled.

"Mr. Somerville? Are you hurt?"

I got my face near the hole in the window that the woman had put her fist through. Somerville was
 
against the driver's door. I didn't see any blood, but all of the guns, the first aid kit, and other smaller
 
items were on top of him. Sara was hanging from her seatbelt.

I still had that pistol in my jeans, so I pulled it out and used it like a hammer to break the glass. When I had beaten out a big enough hole, I removed the guns and other items from off him. Then I took
 
the .30-06 and used the stock to beat out the rest of
 
the glass. I
 
grabbed one of the old quilts out of the mud and put it over the opening to guard against any shards sticking up.
 
Then I crawled
 
halfway into the cab.

I didn't see any injuries at all on Mr. Somerville,
 
yet he was unconscious.
 
He wasn't wearing his seatbelt, so I started trying to pull him out. I couldn't get him to budge.

"Let's try turning the truck over,"
 
Jen said.
 
She was standing behind me, a little wobbly.
 

"Push it with the other truck."

I didn't want to do it, but I
 
didn't see how I would get them out.

"Sara, you hang on," I said. "I'm going to try to turn the truck over on its wheels."

I pulled our truck around so that the front
 
it was perpendicular to the top of Somerville's truck. I eased in slowly, and bumped it. Sara screamed.
 
Slowly, I
 
applied more gas. I could hear my tires spinning. Then
 
Somerville's truck started over.
 
The passenger side tires
 
landed, and the vehicle bounced. It was righted.

Somerville's door was crushed and wouldn't open. Sara's door didn't look any better than the driver's door, but I managed to pull it open halfway. Other than a big knot on her forehead and the beginnings of a black eye, she seemed okay.

When I got in to pull
 
Somerville out, I still couldn't move him. Then I saw that
 
his left forearm and hand were pinned between the
 
door and the seat.

"I can't get him out," I said, crawling out of the truck. "I can't even get to his arm to pry it loose. We'll have to
 
pry the door open from the outside."

"With what?"

"Jen?" Sara said.
 

Jen and I looked at her. She was staring far
 
down the road toward the hospital.

They stretched across the two right lanes of highway and out into the median. It was the biggest group I'd seen so far. There were several hundred at least. The sound of so many arms and legs and bodies moving
 
was like a thousand whispers. Their occasional
 
howls reminded me of the lowing of cattle.

I ran back to Mr. Somerville, grabbed his sleeve and pulled, but his arm wouldn’t pull free. Jen and Sara were on the other side trying to open his door.

Somerville stirred.

"Mr. Somerville!"

He opened his eyes, but his head was lolling.

"You've got to pull your arm out!" I
 
said.

He looked over at me, then past me. His eyes
 
widened.
 
He tried to pull his arm out, wincing in pain.
 
He looked past me again.

"You've got to
 
go," he said, shaking his head. "I can't get it
 
loose."

I looked back over my shoulder. They were too close.

"You've got to go," he said again.

I climbed out and shut the passenger door as well as I could.

"Come on!" I said. "We're leaving. Grab these guns and stuff and get them into the truck."

"Work on it some more, dammit!" Jen said.
 
She picked up
 
the .30-06, braced herself on the side of the truck, and fired into the crowd.

She'd never do any good; we all knew it.

I picked up the shotgun
 
Sara had found in the police car and fed it through the back window to Somerville.
 
He continued to stare out at the approaching horde, but he took the weapon.

"I appreciate it," he said.

I grabbed Jen by the arm. She jerked away. I grabbed her again and
 
yanked her back. She looked over
 
at Somerville, jerked away from me again, and got in the truck. Sara
 
seemed unsure what to do.

"Get in the truck, Sara. We're leaving."

She stared out at the
 
mob for a moment longer, and then
 
joined us in the truck.
 

I put the vehicle in reverse and
 
backed away a good distance, then put it in drive and headed the opposite direction. Sara turned in her seat.

"Don't look," Jen said.

Sara faced front, but I looked back in the mirror.

The black truck
 
was swallowed up in the
 
throng.

CHAPTER 25

I headed back toward Blaine's place. I'd had more than I could take for one day. Jen and Sara both had the thousand-mile stare. Jen still held the bandana to her neck, and Sara's eye was
 
swollen and bruised. My eye had swollen a little, too, where Somerville had hit me earlier in the day. There'd
 
been so much excitement that I hadn't even noticed the pain. I probably would later, but
 
that would be deadened by the alcohol.

I was actually looking forward to a drink.

I barely knew Mr. Somerville. Before that day, I'd met him only once at a museum fundraiser. It was campaign time, and he was there schmoozing. I was okay with it, because when government officials show up to those things it lends credibility, and it helps people feel
 
better about making donations.
 
I don't know why it would, but it does. I'm not sure that he even remembered me when he saw me that morning in the mayor's office.

It didn't matter. Almost everything that was before
 
didn't seem to matter anymore.

I kept thinking about Mrs. Somerville. She'd be waiting for him to come home, and he wouldn't be. After a day or so, she'd probably go out looking for him and wind up dead or sick, too.
 
I couldn't allow that.
 

I
 
was about three
 
miles
 
from Blaine's, and I pulled into the driveway of the first house I saw.

"What are you doing?" Jen said.

"Sorry," I said. "I've got to tell Mrs. Somerville. It wouldn't be right not to. I'm going in here to find a phone book. Maybe it'll have his address. If you want, I can drive you and Sara out to Blaine's, and I can go--"

"No," she said.
 

I got out, grabbed Somerville's shotgun,
 
and went up to the porch of the little yellow brick house. Jen and Sara stayed in the truck.

I knocked on the metal storm door. I didn't get an answer, but I never expected to. There was a little, open
 
shed off to the side of the house. There was a riding mower parked in there and some firewood stacked along the wall.
 
The yard was small for a country house--not more than a quarter acre--and ended abruptly
 
with woods on every side but the street side.

I looked around for a spare key in all of the obvious places a person might keep one--under the mat, on the fixture of the porch light, under flowerpots. I finally found it under one of the planters that flanked the entrance to the porch.

I went in.
 
I was standing in the living room; the dining room and kitchen were off to my left. I didn't take a lot of time to investigate right then. I made a
 
quick sweep of the house to make sure there were no surprises waiting for me. It was empty.

I went back to the porch and waved at Jen to get out.

"What?" she said.

"You and Sara come in and check the place for food and water while I find Somerville's address," I said. I didn't see any reason why we should pass up an opportunity to get supplies. I was getting over my aversion to
 
scavenging,
as Jen called it.

Jen seemed reluctant, and even a little angry, when she came in the door.
 
Sara was quiet.

"Can't we just do this food and water thing later?" Jen said. "I'd like to take care my neck, and my side really hurts."