The path grew so narrow that trees scraped their legs, but still they climbed, up and up, seeking that flash of red.
Far off up the ridge ahead, she saw bobbing lights. She took out after them, cursing the ATV because it wouldn't go faster. They bounced across boulders and cracks and the great, gnarled roots of pitch pines. She shouted and Father Palmer hissed and made deep, popping noises in his throat.
The lights went out.
She didn't even slow down.
A moment later the nearest ATV appeared in her headlight. Chris was there, waving. She took her hand off the gas and the Suzuki stopped so fast that she was almost thrown across the handlebars.
"Shut it down," the boy whispered, his voice urgent.
"I have no idea how to do that!" She got off, followed by the priest. He clambered down, his breath a busy whistle. She tried not to look at the black, misshapen hulk of his head.
Chris turned off the ATV by pulling a wire.
They were received back into the group, now haphazardly armed with two shotguns, a rifle and three pistols. "I thought I'd never see you guys again," she said.
Silently, Loi touched her on the shoulder. Nancy came up and pressed a small pistol into her hand. "The safety's in the butt," she whispered.
"Why are we stopping?"
"We're shaking the humvees," Brian murmured.
"But—"
"Whisper," Nancy hissed. "You're louder than I was, Ellen."
"They are looking for movement and light," Loi added softly. "Sound."
"Where are we?"
"About a mile and a half south of town, by my reckoning," Bob murmured.
The night wind blew steadily. To the north, the horizon was now bright purple.
Father Palmer, who had moved off into the dark, groaned. Loi came up to Ellen. She whispered low, barely breathing. "What's his condition?"
Ellen shook her head.
Loi went over to him, draped her arm around his shoulder. There was a murmur of conversation. After a moment she jumped back, uttering a small cry. She returned to the group. "He's not good." She was rubbing the back of her hand. "He says he feels the same as always, but he's beginning to hear a voice in his head. He hears a voice shouting instructions at him. It's telling him to keep us here, not to let us move."
"I've started hearing it, too," Bob said.
Turning away to hide the movement, Loi took out her pistol.
"But it doesn't affect me," Bob continued. He knelt and put his arms around his nearest boy. "This affects me."
Chris threw his arms around his father's neck.
Loi looked down at him, now with both of his sons beside him. She thrust her pistol back into her belt.
Ellen, who had seen the stealthy movement of the weapon, realized that Loi would have killed Bob if he'd said the wrong thing. She could kill—even up close, even a person she'd known for years. Ellen found herself feeling a little worshipful toward her, and shook it off angrily.
"How about you, Father?" Loi asked softly, going over to the priest. "Can you resist the one who calls to you?"
"It's angels," he said faintly, his own voice barely understandable, "angels singing the glory of heaven." He raised his tortured face, and in the starlight its mosaic surface looked like a dry, cracked riverbed. His eyes were heavily filmed, his mouth full of what looked like wet modeling clay filled with pumping veins. Then he gobbled out some words. "I'm about done. I want to— want to..." His voice sank away.
Loi went back to the others. "He's dangerous." Again her pistol was in her hand.
"Oh, no," Nancy said. "He baptized my babies."
"He baptized all of us," Brian added.
"Whisper! Please!"
Ellen stepped up. "He didn't baptize me."
"I'll do it," Loi breathed.
"I can do it. Give me the pistol." Ellen held out her hand. They all saw how it was shaking.
"Jesus Christ, I'll do it," Brian said, snatching the weapon.
"Go in at the base of the skull, buddy. He'll drop like a bag of flour."
"That's professional advice, Bob?"
"Hell yes it is!"
"Here we go again," Joey said, putting his hands over his ears.
"Wait. We must do it silently." Loi gestured toward the night.
There followed another hushed discussion. They could have hit him with a stone while he knelt praying, but nobody would.
He had begun pulling at his face and making small sounds of chagrin.
Brian was gazing out into the night. "The thing is, I remember we used to come up here and look at the lights of Ludlum."
"So?"
He gestured toward the southern horizon.
There were no lights.
Nancy stifled a sob. Welling up from deep inside Loi was a sensation of obliterating sorrow. If there were no lights in Ludlum, maybe there were none in Albany or New York City or anywhere.
They heard a noise, all of them at the same moment: the rumble of an engine.
"It's a humvee," Loi said in a quiet voice. She pointed along the spine of the mountain. "There." She sighed. "We were too noisy."
Three of the shapes came quickly and quietly along. They were not half a mile away, coming down from the north.
"Let's move out," Loi said.
"Which way?"
"South, always. If not Ludlum, then maybe some other place."
"We can't go that way," Brian said, "it's a cuff! I've climbed it, I know what it's like."
Now the grinding of the humvees' gears came clear, and the rising growl of their engines.
Loi got on their Suzuki. "Come on, Brian."
"I'm telling you, it can't be done!"
Loi flared at him. "Then why did you even stop here?"
"How was I to know they'd get around behind us like that? How could they, in those things?"
"So where can we go?" She wasn't whispering now. Her voice was shrill.
"We could go down the way we came," Bob said.
"Back to town?"
"We skirt the town, cross the Cuyamora where it's shallow up near the Pratt place. Then we go south through the fields. We'll sure as hell make better time than we will in these damn mountains."
It sounded to Brian like a reasonable enough plan. The humvees were now only minutes away. They had no time to consider whether or not it was a mistake.
The instant the first Suzuki started, huge lights flooded the whole ridge with beams brighter than the brightest sun. The ungainly vehicles leaped ahead, rumbling down on the little band of survivors like a herd of maddened rhino.
The ATVs bounced off into the dense woods. They had been expertly turned back in the direction they had come.
Sixteen
1.
Brian's ATV bounced and lurched, its engine screaming. Every jerk went right through him. He worried that Loi was going to start bleeding again, and they were so helpless now.
To the north and west the sky glowed purple, and he thought of the forbidden zone, the region of no escape. Was it already too late?
He had conceived of an idea, a long chance. If he was right and his facility had been moved to this area, he might be able to get inside and do some sort of damage that would stop this.
Loi pressed her cheek against his back. "We must turn, Brian. Turn north here."
"Toward Towayda? Is that wise?"
"We've got to go where we aren't expected. We can get around town that way, cross Towayda Road, then go out into that apple orchard the other side of Mound."
"That'll take us right into the center of this, Loi!"
"Where we're least expected."
"I've got to stop. The others'll have to agree." He turned in his seat, trying to see them. In the near distance he glimpsed movement. Farther back, the forest was radiant with light from the humvees.
Loi clutched him tightly. "They'll stay with us."
It was her they trusted. He was no leader. "They'll stay with you."
"Yeah, so let's g
o."
He made the turn, and the purple glow now lit the glimpses of sky ahead of him. The woods grew thicker, and he had to slow down.
"Go, Brian!"
"Jesus Christ, in this morass?"
"Go, break through it! There is no time!"
The ATV slid and protested, the branches and leaves slapped his face, the bumps came again and again. "Loi, stand up in the seat, you can't risk the shock!"
"Just go!"
Suddenly a yard appeared ahead of them. Then they were crossing grass. Brian recognized the Huygenses' place, now dark and silent. So often he'd sat with Pat under these very trees, discussing town affairs deep into the night.
There were the four green Adirondack chairs Pat had built ten years ago.
"Faster, Brian! This is the most dangerous part."
He crossed the patio, tore through the vine-covered wire fence that gave them privacy from the road—and saw a group of people just ahead. He jammed on the brakes and the vehicle slid to a halt.
A flashlight blazed into his eyes. "State police!"
Loi's pistol came out.
Ellen roared up beside them, the dark lump of Father Palmer huddled on the seat behind her. She gunned her engine, stood over the handlebars, ready to try to blast through the crowd.
The Wests stopped a short distance back.
Behind the light Brian could see state police uniforms, and then familiar faces, friends he had known since he was a child. Among the troopers he noticed Nate Harris.
Bob also saw Nate, his oldest friend in the troopers, his mentor. With them, though, were more of the heavily equipped soldiers with the hidden faces.
The street was blocked. "Loi," Brian said, "we've got to deal with this." He took his hand off the gas.
"All right. Dismount, everybody." They complied immediately, moving now with the speed of a well-trained unit.
The group facing them stirred. "State police," the voice squawked again, "come forward with your hands on your heads!"
Father Palmer wheezed, seemed about to keel over.
Ellen went to Loi. "We're losing him."
"Does he seem dangerous?"
"He was quiet. He groaned a little."
Loi surveyed their predicament. The only alternatives open now were to go down into Oscola or double back the way they'd come. But the humvees were back there, somehow negotiating the woods despite their ungainly shape.
If she could leave a rear guard, they might be able to make the run down through Oscola. She crept over to the priest. "Father Palmer, can you keep watch here for us? Do you trust yourself?"
A rumbling groan.
"Do your best. You're what we have."
He hissed, then his voice guttered low. "I love you all," he said. He may have gasped the word "Jesus," uttered a part of a prayer.
"I'll stay," Chris said. He looked toward the humped shape that had been the old priest. "He ain't gonna make it." Chris carried a 30-30 almost as large as he was.
Loi gave him a fond glance. She remembered so well what it was like to be a child at war. "We need you with us."
"Come forward with your hands up!" Nate Harris called.
"We're on your side," another trooper said.
"Come on, Bob. You'll all be treated well."
Bob took a halting step.
"Tell Mrs. Kelly to put her pistol down on the ground, Lieutenant. And is that an AK-47 tied to your vehicle?"
Bob took another step. "They've got a lot of firepower, Loi." Then, more softly, "I'm playing for time. Get ready to move."
One of the troopers began walking toward them. "I wanta see everybody's hands," he said as he approached.
There was a slapping sound, the clink of metal. "Stop," Chris shouted. He was aiming his rifle directly at the trooper.
The trooper dropped. The others took positions behind cars. There was a general clicking as guns were cocked. "Unless you throw in your weapons by the count of three, we'll take all of you down," Nate shouted. "One... two—"
"I'm bringing a gun in," Father Palmer burred. There was a sloshing sound in his throat. "Somebody give me a shotgun."
Nobody moved. They looked to Loi for a decision. "Yes," she said. Nancy handed him one.
He dragged himself into the middle of the road.
Nate spoke. "Put it down now, Father."
Closer Father Palmer went, moving to within range. "I can't hear you."
"Father, don't take another step."
The priest stopped, his breath gurgling and wheezing.
Nate yelled at him. "Put it down!"
Instead Father Palmer raised it to his shoulder and fired a round of twelve-gauge buckshot directly into Nate's body. There was a blast and a dry smack of sound and Nate flew into pieces—which at once began to jerk spasmodically, the hands clutching, the face working. Black liquid sprayed out of the torso and the neck, and dribbled from the severed arms and head.
Bob was astonished to find that he himself had been following Father Palmer, even starting to raise his hands. Now he reared back in horror, the thrall broken.
Father Palmer's gun roared again and more of them fell. As he fired, appendages grew from his torso and wrapped around the barrel of the gun, attempting to wrest it from him. "By the love of my Lord Jesus," the priest bellowed, his voice suddenly clear and hard and strong, "begone!" Again he fired, and again, and the shotgun's roar rocked the night.
Crowds of black serpentine arms unfolded from him, ripping out through his skin, tugging the gun, snaking around his neck. They squeezed. "Lord," he croaked.
Shots were returned, and the stink of cordite filled the air. For Loi and Bob it was an odor from long ago. Her blood began to run high, his eyes to well.
Yet again, the priest's gun thundered and more of the crowd of false people was rent into pieces. Father Palmer gargled and grunted and struggled against himself, but he kept firing, again and again.
Loi and Brian and Chris fired. Joey hid behind his mother, his little voice cutting the air with its terrified cries.
Quite suddenly there was silence. As the ringing faded, they all heard the same awful noise in the dark. Pieces of soldiers and troopers and townsfolk lay about scuffling and flopping, their motion chaotic. Hands vibrated, legs kicked like landed fish, lips burbled, torsos wheezed and spilled blood.
Father Palmer ceased firing and began to dance a kind of horrible jig, his hands batting at the great coils that now swarmed from his belly.
"Shoot him," Ellen shouted. "Don't leave him like that!" She fired her own gun, but he didn't react. She was no marksman, and the dark only made it worse.
Bob raised his pistol, but it wouldn't be effective in this light against that gyrating hulk, not from a hundred-foot range. He gunned his ATV, went closer, began to take down the AK-47.
"Bobby, come back," Nancy moaned.
"Daddy!" Joey bellowed.
Chris trotted up beside the ATV. "I've got a few rounds left," he said.
They got to within thirty feet of the priest. This close, the man was a struggling, heaving mountain of fleshy complications.
Now Bob fired, and as usual he didn't miss. The priest staggered, lurched, then toppled. His fluid-filled skin creaked, it was so taut. Liquid spurted from around his knees like water from a burst pipe. Then the head came to muttering life, the eyes opening wide, bulging until they imparted an appearance of extreme surprise.
Chris fired three shots right into the center of the face.
With a series of wet plopping sounds the priest became entirely transformed, his head, his body, changing into a furiously active tangle of worm-like feelers that probed and pulsated, all seeking the same thing: control of the shotgun that lay before him.
Almost without his realizing it, Bob dropped his gun to the ground.
"No, Dad," came Chris's shout. "Pick it up!"
He looked at it, looked at his boy, who calmly fired two more shots into the bubbling, spitting remains of the priest.
"Goodbye,
Father," Bob said, and quietly added a prayer for him. He took the AK-47 to his hip and fired again. The priest's chest burst open, his monstrously deformed head lolled.
Chris tugged his shirt. "Let's move, Dad!"
From long range, Loi fired at the remains of the priest three more times, hoping that this would be enough, fearing the worst. Angry, disgusted, she shook away the tears that had started forming in her eyes. She got up behind Brian and they darted through the dismembered, disorganized rabble that was all that remained after Father Palmer's effort.
From behind them there rose a hideous sound, a high-pitched, raging bellow so filled with hate that it made her cling to her husband's back to drown it out.
They went on.
Just as they were about to hop the curb and get back into the woods, the Viper came speeding up from the direction of Oscola. Its lights were off and it was moving at blinding speed, coming straight at them. But Loi was a good shot. She rose behind Brian and fired over his head.
A blue spark flew off the hood of the onrushing car.
She had perhaps three seconds.
Her next shot dissolved the windshield.
The sound of the engine went high, the car swerved.
Another shot missed. "Goddamnit."
Again she fired, this time into the right tire.
The car careened to the right, narrowly missing Bob and Joey West on their ATV, then rolling off into the dark by the side of the road.
A moment later a series of purple flashes exploded up from the ditch where it had crashed. Out of the flickering explosions there raged a mass of flailing, segmented legs, clashing red mandibles, plates of gleaming red chitin.
It hadn't been a vehicle at all, but a—what? A colony of something?
Before anybody could so much as take a breath, crystalline purple eyes had appeared at the ends of the mandibles.
One of them shot forward.
Loi found herself staring straight into its glittering darkness. She saw the mesmerizing image of a beautiful little baby. He was floating, still attached to the umbilical. He kicked, his whole body jerking with the suddenness of a man waking from an unexpected sleep.
Brian grabbed both of her cheeks and turned her face forcibly away.
Then she was back in this world and they were pulling out, tires wailing protest.