bug with the banner on its aerial, not really expecting to spot it, wanting to return home and make sure that Alison was safe but knowing that his duty was to search.
First the streets near the campus, then the Oakwood Inn.
He dreaded the thought of driving out there and entering the dark restaurant. The longer he prowled the streets, however, the more certain he became that the Oakwood was where Roland must’ve gone. The damned creature seemed to have an affinity for the place. And that’s where it had left its eggs.
Jake knew that he was procrastinating.
He turned onto Summer Street, which bordered the campus on the north.
What I’ll do, he thought, is go home and get into my gear before heading out there. I’m not going to the Oakwood without my boots and leathers. Roland might be dead. The thing might be loose.
And that’ll give me a chance to see Alison.
He wondered if she was asleep yet.
He glanced down a side street, spotted a Volkswagen at the curb, and hit the brakes. He checked the rearview. Clear behind him. He backed up, stopped, and gazed at the car.
It was parked beneath a street lamp, but the light above it was dead, leaving it in darkness. Jake couldn’t make out the color of the VW.
But it had a banner on the aerial.
This is it.
Heart thudding, he turned. He drove straight for the car. His headlights pushed toward it, lit it.
Yellow.
Someone was in the driver’s seat.
Jake gazed through the windshield, stunned.
The man in the VW didn’t move. The left side of his face looked black in the glare of the headlights.
This had to be Roland.
Jake opened his door. He crouched behind it, pulled his revolver, and took aim. “Step out of the car!” he yelled.
Roland didn’t move.
Jake repeated the command.
Roland remained motionless. He was dead, unconscious, or faking.
Jake stepped away from the door. Keeping his handgun pointed at Roland, he walked slowly forward. He tried to watch Roland through the windshield, but found his gaze drawn downward to the pavement.
He wished he had his boots on. His ankles felt bare in spite of the socks.
He remembered the machete in the trunk of his car. Halting, he considered going back for it.
The front bumper of the VW was no more than two yards in front of him. He stared at the darkness beneath it.
Glanced at Roland.
The right eye was open. It seemed to be watching him.
This guy is dead.
The fucking snake might be
Like under the car, just waiting for me to get close enough.
The skin prickled on the nape of Jake’s neck.
He backed away, sidestepped at the rear of his car, and dug into his pocket for the keys. He found the trunk key. He fumbled it into the lock and twisted it. The trunk popped open, blocking his view. He snatched out the machete and rushed clear.
Roland hadn’t moved.
Jake saw nothing squirming toward him on the pavement.
With the machete in his right hand, the revolver in his left, he hopped onto the curb and approached the passenger side of the VW. When he could see that the windows were rolled up, he dashed to the middle of the street. The windows on the driver’s side were shut too.
Whether Roland was alive or dead, the snake-thing was still in the car. Probably. Either inside Roland, or writhing around loose, trapped.
Jake stepped close to the driver’s window and peered in. He glimpsed the gaping hole where Roland’s left eye should have been and quickly looked away from it.
Roland was reclined in the seat, the front of his shirt bloody, his head tipped back slightly against the headrest. His position prevented Jake from checking the back of his neck.
The head beams left the lower areas of the car’s interior in darkness. If the creature was on a seat or the floor, Jake couldn’t see it.
There was only one way to find out whether it was still up Roland’s spine: open the door, shove him forward, and look.
No way.
Not a chance.
Jake holstered his pistol. Watching Roland, he walked backward to his car, slid in, and took a pack of matches from the glove compartment. He got out. He back-stepped to the trunk and picked up the can of gasoline.
He poured gas onto the curb beside the VW, onto the pavement behind the car and near its driver’s side, then past the front to the curb again, completing the circle. Then he splashed the car, dousing it with the pungent liquid and running trails out to the surrounding gas. Finally, he crouched and flung gas into the space beneath the undercarriage.
He stopped when the can felt nearly empty. He wanted to save some gasoline, just in case.
He capped the can. Hurrying into the road, he stepped over the wet path of the circle. He set the can down behind him, squatted, struck a match, and touched it to the stained pavement.
A low, bluish flame with flutters of yellow and orange stretched out in both directions. It met intersecting paths and rolled toward the car.
Jake picked up the can and backed away. By the time he reached the far side of the street with it, the car was a blazing pyre. He could feel its heat warming his clothes and face. The fire lit the night, shimmering on the leaves of nearby trees, glowing on the walls and windows of the apartment house beyond it, shining on the hood and windshield of his own car.
A car parked behind the VW seemed to be safely out of range.
He wondered if he should move his own car.
Or himself.
Hissing, popping sounds came from the fire. Then a sharp crack made Jake flinch. He heard glass crash on the pavement.
“Christ,” he muttered.
He rushed forward until the wall of fire stopped him. Shielding his eyes, he squinted through the flames at the wide, wedge-shaped gap in the driver’s window.
Nothing came out.
As he watched, flames enveloped Roland. They crawled up from below, sweeping up his face and igniting his hair. Jake gagged as the face blackened and bubbled. Then dense smoke covered the horror.
Jake heard distant shouts of “Fire!”
He heard more windows burst.
Then he was rushing around the car, brandishing his machete, peering through the blaze at one broken window after another. Smoke poured from the openings. But nothing else came out.
Not yet.
The car’s gas tank went up with a muffled boom. Jake staggered back as heat blasted against him. A spike of glass flew past his cheek. Another stabbed his thigh. He pulled it out. The car was still rocking from the impact.
Now, it was an inferno.
The fucker’s cooked, Jake thought. Cooked. It’s a goner.
For the first time, he noticed a few people watching from the other side of the street. He turned around. More
