“Dad?” he whispered. He pushed his other hand under his father’s head to lift it. It was warm and wet and sticky. He pulled his hand back, covered in blood.
“Dad!”
His father groaned. Xander heard fast footsteps.
David grabbed the door frame and almost swung through. He stopped himself, yelled, “Dad!”
Xander said, “He’s alive. Mom—”
But David was already gone. He jumped over Dad’s legs and pattered away, bare feet slapping on the floor.
“David, wait.” Xander clutched the bat. He rose, turning away from his father. At the opening in the wall, he looked back, and braked hard. Toria had just come around the corner. He pointed at Dad and told her, “Take care of him. Stay here!” He went through the next threshold and started up the stairs.
David was at the top, hitting the landing. He turned and pushed up the breaker that powered the corridor’s lights.
“Mom!” he yelled and darted into the corridor.
“David, wait!” Xander yelled, almost at the top. He turned into the corridor in time to see the big man rotating around to face David, who was running all-out toward him.
Judging by his proportions in the hall, the man was not merely big, he was massive. He was almost naked, wearing only a tattered pelt like a diaper. He was simultaneously fat and muscular—Arnold Schwarzenegger going to pot. Broad shoulders, barrel chest, Buddha’s belly. It was a body hewn and honed by strenuous and long-lasting labor, but insufficiently nourished by whatever the man could find. His flesh was covered in scars that both furrowed the skin and left ridges of discolored tissue. Dark smudges of dirt obscured even more flesh. And everywhere, sweat glistened. A long beard, seemingly made of rusty wire, burst from his face, hiding his mouth. From the tops of his sideburns, his head was bald as a rock. Fierce, dark eyes looked out from holes under a thick and bony brow.
Their mother was bent over his left shoulder. Her feet kicked in front; Xander could see her arms flailing behind the man.
As David plunged unheedingly toward the man, Xander bellowed, “No—!”
The man’s cantaloupe-size fist shot forward. It hit David’s head with a crack! David’s momentum propelled his legs forward as his head flew back. His arms flung out and he went straight down. He landed on the carpeted runner with a sickening thud.
“David!” Xander yelled, almost to him. “Mom! Mom!”
Her screaming stopped long enough to yell Xander’s name. Her feet kicked and kicked. Her hand kept rising and falling against the man’s shoulder and back. Her efforts appeared to make no difference.
The man watched Xander approach. His face was impassive. Xander’s eyes dropped to his brother, lying unmoving.
Be alive, be alive, was all he could think.
He was mentally dusting off the steps required to administer CPR—compliments of the American Red Cross and Mom’s insistence that her children know the process. Could he revive David before the man stepped in to finish him off or before he carried their mother away? Didn’t matter. Xander had seen the battering ram that had clobbered his brother, and he would not leave him to die on the floor.
His heart danced when David’s arm rose shakily off the carpet. It reached up like a drowning man’s grasp for the surface, then bent at the elbow. David’s fingers found his face. He groaned.
Xander hurtled past his brother. He came down four feet from the brute. Without hesitation, he hiked the bat over his shoulder, stepped in, and swung it into the side of the man’s head.
The head snapped sideways, catching Mom’s hip. She began screaming again. A bright red mark sprang up like a racing stripe across the man’s temple and ear. He showed Xander his teeth. Not pretty. The man’s leg-sized arm shot forward. His hand grasped for Xander’s head. Xander stepped back and brought the bat down on the man’s hand. The man hissed and pulled his fist to his chest. His eyes widened and seemed to sparkle with fury.
If looks could kill, Xander thought, we’d both be dead.
“Let her go!” Xander screamed. He stepped in, feinted another swing, then reversed out of reach. “I said, let her go!
Now!” When the man didn’t move, Xander swung the bat into his side.
The man grunted and heaved forward.
Xander made a grab for Mom’s leg.
The brute was faster than he looked. He seized Xander by the neck with his injured hand. His fingers were like cables, cinching Xander’s throat. Xander gagged, dropped the bat. The man seemed unable to squeeze harder, though his straining face reflected his desire to do so. Xander believed his neck would have already been crushed like a straw had it not been for the strike to the man’s hand he had gotten in.
The man, appearing frustrated now, tossed Xander aside. Xander’s head hit one of the wall lights. He crumbled to the floor. The heavy lamp lost its grip on the wall and fell on Xander’s head. Everything faded. The hallway shrank in Xander’s vision. Ahh . . . he was finally going to get the rest he needed. And why not? he thought. He knew there was a reason, but it kept slipping away.
His mother screamed.
The room swam back.
Xander remembered.
His eyes focused on the man lumbering away with Mom over his shoulder. She was looking back at Xander, her eyes so full of fear. She was pounding and scratching at the man’s back, weakly now. She was giving up.
“Mom,” Xander called. He tried to rise. The world spun around his head. He plopped down again. He ran his fingers over his forehead, through his hair. The same sticky warmth he had felt on the back of Dad’s head. His hand came back coated in red, some of the blood his, some his father’s. He was so tired. He just wanted to . . . he leaned back on his elbow. If he could just close his eyes for a second . . . just a second . . . then he would have the strength to get up and rescue his mother.
His mother! Had to get up now.
“Xander!”
He forced an eyelid up. David was crawling toward him. A big black-blue-yellow bruise almost radiated from his face. His left eye was not quite open, the skin around it swollen and dark blue. Blood drizzled out of his left nostril.
Xander blinked, coming back to the world. He ground his teeth together. Somebody had pounded on his little brother. What was that joke? Nobody beats up my brother except me.
“Dae,” he said.
“Xander, he’s got Mom! He’s got Mom!” Tears rolled over David’s cheeks.
“Mom,” Xander said. It felt like he was just waking up. He rolled over, got on his knees, stood. He could feel his pulse in his head, each beat feeling like a fist pounding on the inside of his skull.
Okay, he thought. Use the pain.
He remembered Arnold Schwarzenegger in Collateral Damage and Sigourney Weaver in Aliens—battered senseless and using their beatings to get mad, to get focused.
He stooped and picked up the bat.
The man was near the end of the hall. Only two or three doors left. He would enter one of them.
Mom’s head had slumped. Xander could not see her face. He bolted for them. Each step tightened a vise around his skull. His brain throbbed.
Self-pity later. Right now: Mom.
Hoping to draw strength from it, hoping to distract the brute, Xander let go with his own piercing, animal-caught-in-a-trap scream.
Mom looked up. She appeared as stunned by Xander’s primal outcry as he hoped the man would be.
The man spun around. Xander was on him again. He ducked low and cracked the bat into a knee. The man grabbed at him, and he pulled his head back—too slowly. The brute seized a fistful of Xander’s hair. The man pulled him closer. Xander lifted his foot and planted it in the man’s stomach. He kicked off. Hair ripping out of his scalp. He landed on his back. The man reached for his ankle, clumps of long, brown hair falling from his fingers. Xander pushed back, pushed back. Beyond the man’s reach, he rose again. Gripping the bat in both hands, he cocked it behind his head.
“You’re going down,” he said bet
ween clenched teeth. He was trying to psych himself up as much as anything.
He stepped in, aimed for the man’s clavicle, and swung the bat over his head. It cracked against the ceiling, bringing down a plume of plaster dust. Xander felt the vibration of the sudden stop in his arms. He stumbled forward. The bat found an overhead light fixture and shattered it. Glass cascaded over Xander’s head and into the man’s face.
The enemy blinked against the falling glass.
Xander stepped closer. From its starting point touching the ceiling, he swung the bat backward, bringing it around like a clock’s hour hand. At the six o’clock position, the tip of it pendulumed across the fuzz of the carpet, gaining speed. He brought it up between the man’s legs. The jarring strike reverberated up the bat into Xander’s hands and arms. The man buckled at the waist. His head came down, almost cracking into Xander’s. Xander backed away; the man stumbled forward. His hand shot up and shoved Xander in the chest. Xander flew backward. The man grabbed the bat and shook it. Xander lost his grip. He crashed into something that gave way behind him—gave way and cried out in pain. He landed on top of David, who had come up behind him to help. Xander put his hand down into David’s stomach and pushed off.
The boy oophed.
“You ’kay?” Xander yelled.
He did not wait for an answer.
“Go!” David wheezed, breathless. “Get Mom, Xander! Get Mom.”
The man had recovered. He must have felt the goal was too near for these children to keep him from it. Instead of attacking while both boys were down, he had continued his trek down the hall. As Xander regained his feet, the man selected a door—second from the last. He bowed his head to clear the threshold. He stepped through.
Mom grabbed the door frame on both sides. Her straining hands made her knuckles, tendons, and veins push out against the skin.
“Mom!” Xander yelled. He reached the door. He punched his fist into the man’s spine. He could have been striking a brick wall for all the good it did. He reached up to seize his mother under her arms. For just a moment, mother and son were face-to-face, inches apart. Staring into Mom’s eyes, he was staring into his own—hazel and wide open with terror. He felt her breath on his face. A tear dropped from her eye and struck his cheek.
She whispered, “I love you. I love all of you.”
It was the proclamation of someone who thought she would see them no more.
“No,” Xander said back at her. “No,” he growled. He closed his eyes and pulled on her.
His efforts and his mother’s grip on the door frame kept the man from progressing farther into the room. The man kicked back. A hammer-blow to Xander’s thigh. Xander yelled but would not let go. Another kick and he had no choice. Pain crumpled him. He fell to his knees, losing his grip. Mom’s hands slipped off the door frame. She moved away from Xander, as the man crossed to the second door.
Xander sprung up, reaching for her. She stretched her hands toward him. Xander’s bruised thigh crippled his effort. He fell without touching her. The portal door clicked open. Daylight filled the room. A frigid breeze carried in swooping coils of snow.
Xander grabbed the man’s right ankle. The brute kicked back at him. Xander ducked his head against the assault. The heel, as solid as a statue’s, beat against him. Once. Twice. Three times. Xander’s grip loosened.
“No,” he groaned. “No.”
The man snapped his leg out of Xander’s hands. He stepped away and out the door.
“Mooooom!” He raised his face to see her. She was smiling back at him. Smiling. Saying it’ll be okay.
But it won’t, he thought. It won’t.
More snow blew in. The door swung past his head. He caught it in both hands. For a moment, he held it there. Then it continued its arc toward the threshold, pulling Xander across the floor on his stomach. He pulled himself forward. He got one leg in front of him. The bottom of his foot came up against the wall next to the door frame. His other leg was bent and canted back painfully. He had no time or leverage to change its position. He clasped onto the edge of the door and strained back. The door kept closing. Stuck in that aching inclination, weakened by the struggle to save his mother, he knew he could not hold on much longer.
This was a battle lost.
The door closed farther. His knee buckled. It slammed up against the wall, twisting his ankle, lifting him off the floor. He had to let go or risk losing his fingers and possibly breaking the bones in his legs.
Something bumped up behind him. David leaned over his shoulder. He stuck the bat between the frame and the edge of the door, above the door handle. Xander let go. The door cracked into the aluminum Louisville Slugger. Pinched by the door, the tortured metal screeched as if in agony. The bat pivoted forcefully to point almost straight back at the first door. It struck David’s arm and spun him around. He fell on the floor next to Xander. As they watched, the door closed on the bat. When the door was one inch from closing, it stopped. The bat quivered, then the door banged shut. The severed bat fell to the floor with a ringing clang.
Xander immediately rose and clasped the handle. His arms strained to turn it. It would not budge.
The snow whipped around his legs. To the sound of a sharply inhaled breath, it disappeared through the gap under the door.
One last time, he found the strength to yell for his mother— not just his mother: his friend, a woman he adored, not only because she gave him life, but because he knew what she was all about. Anyone who knew her so well would have felt the same. She was a good person to know.
David pushed his body into Xander’s side. He hugged him. He started to cry.
They both did.
CHAPTER
thirty - nine
SUNDAY, 4:51 A.M.
For Xander, the tears did not last long. In their place came resolve. He gently pushed David away. The items hanging on the hooks gave him an idea of where they went. A fur-lined parka. Goggles. Gloves. On the bench was a pair of snowshoes. Someplace cold . . . wintry.
He snatched down the parka. He pulled it on. It was heavy and frumpy, floating like a cloud around his body. He tried the door, still locked. He didn’t know how many items were required to unlock the door; only that you did not need all of them. He plucked the goggles from the hook and slipped them onto his head. The door was still locked.
“What are you doing?” David asked.
Xander threw him a glance.
David knew perfectly well what he was doing. What David meant to ask was: have you thought about what you’re doing? So that was the question Xander answered. He said, “If I can get through quick enough, I can get her. I can bring her back.”
“But that guy was unstoppable.”
“I’ll think of something,” Xander said, “once I’m there.” He reached for the gloves. Holding them, he tried the door again. It opened easily and he looked through. Blinding whiteness everywhere. Snow swirled in. A blast of freezing air. Wind—or something—howled in the distance. He told David, “Come find me in twenty minutes.”
David grabbed his arm. His tears were wet on his lids, his cheeks. “I want Mom back too. But, Xander, you can’t—”
Xander jerked his arm away from David’s grasp. “Don’t try to stop me,” he said.
“But you don’t know—”
A muffled scream. Undoubtedly Mom’s.
The brothers looked through the threshold to the unknown world beyond, then at each other. The scream had not come from there.
In the hallway, a door rattled and clicked open. Mom’s scream was loud, clear, and horrified.
Xander and David bolted across the room. The door behind them slammed shut. They pushed each other through the first doorway into the hall. They looked at the last door, then down the hall toward the staircase. Halfway there, a door was open enough to see their mother’s face. Her fingers were clutching, clutching, the edge. Xander yelled for her, ran. She screamed again. Her fingers disappeared. The door slammed. When Xander burst through,
the second door slammed. There was water on the floor, mist in the air. The smell of the sea. He ran to the door, almost slipped. The handle was locked.
David hit the door frame behind him. “The ocean,” he said.
The mist vanished into the gap under the door. The water on the floor turned into rivulets and shot into the gap, leaving not even the slightest moisture where it had been.
Xander’s head pounded. Each pulse brought a new wave of pain and nausea. His eyes stung as though someone had rubbed pepper into them. He was frustrated, sad, and angry. He cast a grim expression at David. He threw the gloves onto the floor and yanked the goggles off his head. He ripped off the parka. He stepped to the bench and surveyed the items as a hunter might consider the perfect weapon.
“Don’t do this!” David yelled. He was stepping up beside him. Xander did not respond. There was a long, curved sword with a big hand guard and a rusty scabbard that might have once been covered in leather. It reminded Xander of a pirate’s sword. I definitely want that. He pulled it down, saw that a thin, long strap ran through an eyelet in the scabbard. He looped it over his head so it hung off his shoulder. There was a three-cornered Jack Sparrow hat. Beside it, a simple scarf for tying around your head. He thought this would be less encumbering than the hat. He snapped it off of its hook.
David grabbed his arm. “You can’t go like this! We don’t even know if she’s still in the world past that door.” When Xander said nothing, David shoved him hard.
Xander sidestepped to keep from falling, and his hip hit the frame of the portal door. He lost his grip on the knot he was trying to make in the scarf. It slipped off his head. He made a grab at it, missed, and watched it settle on the floor.
He snapped his attention to David. The muscles in Xander’s face were tight, his body trembled with emotion and the need to do something. His vision blurred, turning David into indistinct colors. He blinked, sending tears streaming down his face. David came back into focus.
The boy continued his tirade. “You can’t do this!”