“We’re a couple of tough old broads.”
“You said it.”
“In the springtime of our spinsterhood.”
“Yeah, sure. This is the first night you’ve spent alone in a week.”
“Obviously, a bad mistake. Didn’t have any crap-sucking nightmares when there was a guy in here with me. A mistake I’ve got no intention of repeating in the near future.”
“How long does Gorman have the night shift?”
“Jesus, I don’t want to know. Maybe I’ll have to change my schedule, stay up till he gets off.” Ace looked at the clock beside her bed. She groaned. “Get out of here and let me get my beauty sleep.”
“Sure you’re all right? I’ll stay with you.”
“Get. I’m fine.” She waved a hand at Vicki.
Vicki squeezed her hand, then stood up. “Guess I’ll go out for some fesh air.”
She saw concern come into Ace’s eyes. “Do you have to?” “I’ll lock the door.”
“I’m not worried about me, hon.”
“Well, don’t worry about me. I’m fleet of foot and tough as nails.”
“It’s nothing to joke about.”
“I know. But I need to get out and run. I can’t keep putting it off. I need to.”
“Shit. Be careful, huh?”
“Yeah. Sleep tight.” Vicki flicked the light off as she left the room.
She walked down the corridor. In her dark bedroom, she slipped her nightgown over her head. As she dressed for running, she thought about Ace’s concern. Jack’s body had been found where she left it in the house, but Melvin’s body was missing. Patricia, Raines and Woodman had also vanished. Along with two cars.
Maybe Melvin had survived the gunshot. Maybe Patricia had taken him away and nursed him back to health.
But Vicki didn’t believe it.
The bullet had killed him. And while Vicki was left bound at the foot of the basement stairs, unconscious, Patricia had cut on Melvin. Cut one of those weird designs and made him come back. Then, they’d driven off together. Two cars gone, so Raines and Woodman had probably taken off on their own.
Four of them out there. Zombies. Somewhere. Doing God knows what.
Thinking about it, Vicki felt a chill squirm up her back.
But for weeks she’d given up her morning runs, and she could feel the need for the calming exertion, the touch of the morning breeze on her quick body.
She looped the chain with its key and whistle around her neck, and walked to the front of the house. Before opening the door, she told herself it was perfectly safe.
They’re gone.
The cops were still looking for them.
Some of those were very nervous cops—those who’d listened to Vicki and shaken their heads as if they thought she had slipped a gear or two, but who’d later looked at Melvin’s collection of video tapes. They had pretended to think the tapes were faked. But she could see the change in their eyes.
Those cops believed.
She was sure they’d kept it to themselves.
Raines and Woodman were described in the press as missing persons, possible victims of Melvin Dobbs and Patricia Gordon. Dobbs and Gordon were wanted for the abduction of Vicki Chandler and for multiple homicides. They were considered armed and extremely dangerous.
But not zombies.
Vicki had told herself, countless times, that they would’ve been caught by now if they weren’t far away.
She told herself that, again, as she stood at the door, wanting to go out and run, but afraid.
There’s no need to worry.
She left the house. On the sidewalk, she looked up and down the block. She studied shadows cast by the streetlights. Satisfied that nobody lurked nearby, she stretched, twisted, touched her toes. Then she sat on the cool concrete, spread her legs and swiveled, reached to her toes, straining, finally limber enough to grab the soles of her shoes.
She got up and began to run. Twice, she circled the block, unwilling to venture farther from the house. But she felt a longing to break away. Ignoring the small pull of fear in her stomach, she headed for downtown.
Except for a few delivery trucks, the main street was deserted. She dashed past the Riverfront, past Ace Sportswear and the lighted doughnut shop with its delicious aromas, felt her legs begin to weaken as she sprinted past Handiboy, and slowed down in front of the clinic. By the time she reached the park at the north end of town, she was huffing and her legs felt like warm lead.
She slowed to an easy jog. And stopped at the top of the hill. Staring down, she saw the pale strip of beach. The dim shapes of the playground equipment. The slide and swing set.
Empty.
No Jack.
Her eyes grew warm. Her throat tightened.
She walked down the slick dewy grass of the slope, remembering how she’d fallen on her butt the morning she first met him. He had been a stranger, then, watching her from atop the slide.
For just a while, he had filled the empty place in her heart.
Now, he was gone.
Vicki walked on the sand. She climbed the metal rungs of the ladder and sat on top of the slide. The platform was damp. The wetness soaked through the seat of her shorts, but she didn’t mind. She was sitting where Jack had sat, and she felt close to him.
From here, she could see the dark slope. She wondered if he’d been amused by her klutzy fall. After the fall, she had gone down to the shore. He must’ve watched her. She’d been itchy from lying on the grass. She’d stepped into the river and picked up a stick and used it to scratch her back. She’d been thinking about Paul, aching with the memory of the early morning she’d been with him on the diving raft.
The raft, now, was out of sight, hidden beneath a thick fog.
There had been fog that last morning when she was with Paul. A heavy mat of it that covered them as they embraced. Nobody could have seen if they’d made love. But they hadn’t, and she remembered standing in the water, full of longing and regret, wishing she could go back to that time.
All the while, Jack had been watching. From here.
She’d been daydreaming about the only man she had ever loved, and the man she was about to love had been sitting here on the slide, watching and wondering about her.
She closed her eyes and imagined the feel of Jack’s big body against her, his mouth…
Sucking her shoulder, biting as he thrust, ramming her against the bathroom wall.
Her stomach clenched and she whimpered. Snapping her eyes open, she flung herself forward and shot down the wet ramp of the slide. She flew off its end, stumbled through the sand.
Ran, the memory pursuing her.
Paused only long enough to pull off her shoes and socks, then splashed into the river and dove. The chill of the water shocked her mind clear.
She thought, this is crazy. What am I doing?
I have a right to be crazy.
She arched to the surface and swam, swam toward the diving raft. She couldn’t see it through the fog, but she knew right where it was.
It was home, that diving raft. It was where she had been happy and innocent and in love before the bad times came, before the loneliness, before the horror.
Treading water for a moment, Vicki heard it. Soft, familiar slurping sounds of the river’s surface lapping the oil drums that buoyed it up. She swam toward the sound, and the weathered old wood appeared through the gauze of fog.
She climbed the ladder. She stepped onto the platform. It tipped and rolled gently beneath her.
Turning around, she looked toward shore.
There was no shore, only fog, pale in the moonlight.
She was surrounded by fog, alone on her raft, safe.
But shivering. The air, which had seemed so still and warm before she plunged into the river, now felt like an icy breath blowing through her sopping clothes, against her dripping skin.
She sat in the center of the platform. She drew her legs up tight to her body and hugged them.
r /> She sat there, shaking.
The sun will come up in an hour or so, she thought. It’ll burn off the fog. It’ll dry me and warm me.
She could swim ashore now and return to the house and take a long hot bath.
But it was good here.
She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to wait for the sun.
After a while, the chill seemed to fade and her shivering stopped. She lay flat on the raft, her face on her folded arms. The planks grew warm beneath her.
Her eyes drifted shut, but she opened them quickly. With sleep, dreams would come.
The platform moved gently beneath her. The water lapped at the drums. Sometimes, birds cawed and squealed. Far away, a motor sputtered to life and Vicki imagined a man setting out in his boat to begin fishing.
Her eyes slid shut.
She was alone in a canoe. It seemed that Jack should be with her, but she didn’t know where he was. Had he gone in for a swim? The night was clear, moonlight casting a silver path on the water. She turned the boat slowly, scanning the river for him.
And saw, off in the distance, the faint shape of a swimmer.
She called, but no answer came.
The swimmer came closer.
What if it’s not Jack?
Fear made a cold, hard place in her stomach.
Splashing sounds came from the other side. She jerked her head in that direction, spotted another swimmer.
More splashing from behind. She twisted around. Still another pale shape was moving toward her through the water.
A fourth appeared beyond the prow of the canoe.
Another off the starboard side.
Oh Jesus! I’ve gotta get out of here!
She dug her paddle into the water. It lurched and was jerked from her grip. It flew high and hit the water far away.
Hands clutched the gunnel. The canoe tipped. A head bobbed up.
She stared at the broad face, the slicked down hair, the bulging eyes and thick, grinning lips.
“Did you save yourself for us?” Melvin asked.
“No!” she gasped. “Get away!”
The canoe tilted the other way as black hands grabbed the gunnels. The head that burst from the surface was charred and eyeless.
“He wants you, too,” Melvin said. “Charlie’s always wanted you.”
They both began climbing into the canoe. Patricia, naked except for a nurse’s cap, was suddenly perched on the prow.
Vicki backed away. Hands clamped her knees, halting her. The hands of Raines and Woodman, both in the water, leering up at her from the sides of the canoe.
And someone was still swimming toward her. A vague, pale shaped in the water’s blackness.
Jack?
It must be Jack. He’ll save me.
“Jack!” she shouted. “Help! Quick! They’ve got me!”
And Jack’s voice came from the swimmer. “Save some for me, folks.”
Melvin laughed.
All of them came at her. They threw her down. They piled on top of her, clawing, biting, ripping. She twisted beneath them. She writhed. She felt her belly split open. Someone bit her thigh. Her left breast was torn off and she saw it bulging from Patricia’s mouth. Then Jack’s face loomed above her. It came down, loose eye swinging. She felt the slimy eye slide against her cheek, felt his mouth cover hers, his tongue thrust in. She twisted and bucked, trying to push him off. The canoe capsized.
Cold water clutched Vicki, filled her mouth and throat.
Wide awake, she struggled to the surface. She grabbed the ladder of the diving raft, coughing and gasping, shaking from the terror of her nightmare.
When she could breathe again, she climbed the ladder. She staggered onto the platform and rested there on her hands and knees. Something was hanging from her. She lowered her head more. Her T-shirt was ripped down the front. Its dripping edges swayed. Her left breast was bare, the shoulder strap of her bra dangling from the cup bunched beneath it.
Vicki pushed herself up, resting on her haunches, she studied herself in the faint light seeping through the fog. And pressed her lips tight as she gazed at the tangle of scratch marks on the pale skin of her breast and chest and belly.
She could hardly believe that she had done this to herself.
But she remembered tearing her nightgown once, soon after her arrival in Ellsworth. So she must’ve done this.
She had not only torn her clothes and skin, she had put up such a struggle against the demons of her nightmare that she had pitched herself into the river.
The body heals, why not the mind?
Could the mind get worse instead of better? She’d had horrid nightmares before, but nothing that caused her to do anything like this.
With trembling fingertips, she explored the scratches. Only those on her belly were deep. The skin there had been plowed up in furrows.
She pulled at the rumpled fabric of her bra and lifted it over her breast. She tucked the strap down inside.
And heard distant splashing sounds.
Her back jerked rigid. She listened.
The sounds, which seemed to come from behind her, were those of someone swimming.
She felt as if her wind had been punched out.
This can’t be happening. I’m awake.
Am I?
Vicki sprang to her feet and whirled around. The platform dipped. She grabbed the ladder’s uprights and held herself steady and gazed into the fog.
The swimming sounds came closer.
She saw a yard or two of black water beyond the raft before the whiteness closed off her view.
She heard only one swimmer.
Who is it? Melvin? Charlie? Jack? One of the others?
Maybe all of them were coming for her, the rest of them approaching from below the surface. They don’t need air, she thought. They’re dead.
How do they know I’m here?
My shoes, she thought. I left my shoes and socks on the beach.
Oh, Jesus!
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” she cried out.
The sounds of the splashing stopped.
“VICKI?”
A man’s voice. Almost familiar.
“I’m sorry,” it called through the fog. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Who are you?”
“Paul. Paul Harrison. We used to…”
“PAUL?”
He swam out of the fog and reached out with both hands and took hold of the ladder and looked up at Vicki. She stared down at him.
“Permission to board?” he asked.
Vicki nodded and backed away. Her heart slammed. She struggled to breathe.
He climbed the ladder and stood in front of her, slim and dusky in the vague light, bare except for clinging white undershorts.
A body she had seen countless times in cut-offs and swimsuits, a body she had held tight and caressed. So long ago.
So damn long ago.
Vicki shook her head. “This…is impossible.”
“I heard about your problems,” he said. His voice was almost the same as she remembered it. A little deeper, more confident. “I was in Guam until yesterday. I got into San Diego and ran into an old buddy. He told me about it. He didn’t know it was you, but he remembered I used to talk about a girl in Ellsworth, and…” His voice went husky. “Oh God, are you all right?”
Vicki didn’t answer. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him.
He held her. He stroked her hair, her back.
His skin was wet and cold, then warm where it pressed her. There was muscle where he used to feel bony. But his body fit against her the way it used to, as no other body ever had, as if it had been made especially to join with Vicki’s body and complete her.
“You’re really back?” she murmured against his neck.
Paul nodded.
“I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” he whispered.
“How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t easy. I figured Ace would know. I
called her about half an hour ago. She said you’d gone for a run. I remembered you and the river, so I tried the beach.”
“Saw my shoes and socks.”
“I hoped they were yours.”
“You could’ve called out, you know.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You scared the hell out of me. I thought they were coming for me.”
“You don’t have to worry about them anymore. I’m here. Nobody’s ever going to hurt you again.” His hands tightened on Vicki’s back, pressing her hard against him. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she murmured. “God, so much. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I always wanted to come back and look you up. I just didn’t have the guts. I’m a leatherneck with one enormous yellow streak. I figured you’d met someone else, probably got married, had kids. I didn’t want to know. I figured I’d missed out.”
“You didn’t miss out.”
“Ace told me you’re…single.”
“I been saving myself for you, hon.”
He laughed softly, and Vicki tipped back her head and watched his face come slowly down and waited for the feel of his mouth.
ONE YEAR LATER
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Nobody move or yer dead meat!”
Meg Daniels jerked with alarm at the rough shout, and dropped her loaf of bread on the floor. She stared at the two men standing in the 7-Eleven’s doorway. A tall man with a revolver in one hand, a nylon satchel in the other. A shorter, stocky man with a sawed-off shotgun. Though the Bakersfield night was balmy, both men wore long coats. And ski masks.
Side by side, they strode toward the counter.
Meg wanted to back way, but she didn’t dare.
The tall man dropped his satchel onto the counter. “Fill it up,” he told the clerk.
The stocky man turned to Meg. He studied her through the holes of his mask. She trembled as she watched his bloodshot eyes roam down her body.
With the muzzle of the shotgun, he nudged her left breast through the thin fabric of her tank top. “Nice,” he muttered. “Real nice.”
“Don’t…hurt me. Please.”
“Aw, I wouldn’t hurt…”
The blast of a gunshot roared in Meg’s ears. Whipping her head sideways, she saw the back of the tall man’s coat puff out. Blood sprayed from a hole below his shoulders. But he didn’t fall. Instead, he shoved his revolver toward the clerk and fired. His bullet slammed into the clerk’s chest. The clerk staggered backward, dropping his gun. He was still on his feet when the stocky man swung the shotgun and fired. The clerk’s face from the mouth up flew apart in an explosion of red. Then he flopped out of sight behind the counter.