Flesh

“Ready?”

Jake eased his forefinger over the trigger. “No, but go ahead.”

Steve pressed the blade of the scalpel to the nape of the neck, pushed it in, and slid it downward.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered, watching the crust of skin crumple at the edges of the incision.

Nothing came bursting out.

Steve brought the blade again to the back of the neck. He inserted its point into the slit and poked around. “I think we may be all right,” he said. He grinned at Jake. “Just watch it don’t come popping out his arse.”

“Thanks.”

Setting the scalpel aside, Steve used both hands to spread open the incision. The outer layer of black cracked and flaked off with a sound like dry leaves being crushed. Steve dug in with all the fingers of his right hand. After probing inside the wound for a few moments, he said, “The thing was here, all right. I can feel a definite separation of the lower epidermal layer from the muscle fascia.”

Picking up the scalpel again, Steve ran the blade the rest of the way down the spine. He did more exploring with his hands.

“Yep,” he said.

“So it was in him, and now it’s gone,” Jake said.

“That’s how it looks. Took a powder through the stomach hole. That’s my professional opinion. Of course, the thing might still be inside him…lying low, so to speak. Won’t know that, for sure, until I’ve done a full autopsy. I’ll get the boys to bag him up again. We’ll keep him in cold storage and I’ll call you over so you can ride shotgun when it’s time for the big event. Though, as I said, I’m almost sure it’s not in him at this point.”

“If it’s not,” Jake said, “the thing is either ashes inside his car or else…it’s not.”

“And looking for a new home,” Steve said.

“Or already found one,” added Jake.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The ringing of a bell woke Alison up. She raised her face off the pillow and turned her head. After a moment of confusion, she realized that she was lying on the sofa in Jake’s living room. The lamps were on. No light came through the curtains, so it wasn’t yet morning.

The bell rang again.

She threw back the sheet and sat up. A strap of her negligee hung off her shoulder. She brushed it back into place.

The front door was open a few inches, the guard pulled taut.

Jake, she remembered, had warned her to barricade herself in the bedroom. Not wanting to take his bed from him, she had chosen to sleep on the sofa. She had heeded his warning enough, however, to fasten the door chain to prevent him from entering while she slept.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Jake.” A belt with a holstered revolver swung through the opening and dropped to the floor. “I’ll step away. Bring the shotgun, unchain the door, then back off and keep me covered.”

“Just a minute.” She lifted the sweater off the coffee table and slipped into it. She fastened the middle button to keep it shut across her breasts. The shotgun was propped against the table. She picked it up and went to the door.

She pushed the door shut. She glanced down at herself.

The negligee was awfully short.

Her face heated.

He’s seen me in it before, she told herself. Hell, he’s seen me in nothing else.

She slid the guard chain to the end of its runner, let it drop, and opened the door.

Jake was standing on the lawn. He shook his head. “That’s no way to cover me.”

Shrugging, Alison lifted the butt of the shotgun off the floor. She clutched the weapon in both hands. But she didn’t aim at him. She backed away.

Jake entered the house and shut the door. A miasma of unpleasant odors came in with him. Though more than two yards in front of him, Alison smelled gasoline, cigar smoke, sweat, and a disgusting, sweetish stench that she couldn’t recognize.

Jake’s face and clothes were smeared with soot. One leg of his tan trousers was torn at the thigh and matted with dry blood.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Flying glass. No big deal.” He untucked his shirt, opened the buttons, and took it off. Then he turned around.

Alison stepped closer. The odors got worse, but his back looked fine. She reached out with her left hand and ran fingers down his spine. She felt no bulges. His skin was cool and damp. “Except for the stink,” she told him, “you’re fine. What happened?”

Jake turned to face her. “I found Roland. He’s dead. He was already dead by the time I found him.”

Alison nodded. She suddenly felt sick, and didn’t know whether it was the godawful odors from Jake or learning that Roland had died. I killed him, she thought.

It’s good that he’s dead.

I killed him.

It was self-defense. He deserved to die after what he did to Helen…what he did, maybe, to Celia.

“Gouging his eye?” she muttered.

“He had a bad stomach wound when we found him. I suspect that was the finishing touch.”

“A stomach wound? So it wasn’t me who killed him?”

“Wasn’t you.”

“Thank God.”

“I’d better take a shower before you pass out on me. You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

She nodded. “What is that odor?”

“I found Roland in his car parked on a side street near the campus. I didn’t want to take a chance of the… remember that snake-thing I told you about?”

“I don’t think I’m likely to forget that.”

“Well, I doused Roland’s car with gasoline and torched it. With him in it.”

“Christ.”

“The idea was to burn the snake-thing. Afterward, I had the coroner cut Roland open to see if we could find it.” Jake shook his head. “Wasn’t in him. We think it left from his stomach. That’s what made the wound that probably polished him off. It knew that Roland was on his last legs, wouldn’t be any more use.”

“It broke out of him…like that monster in Alien?”

“Something like that. We’re hoping Roland was inside the car when it happened. All the windows were rolled up. So if the thing was trapped in the car, it almost has to be dead. I searched the rubble afterward. Couldn’t find any trace of the thing, but that doesn’t mean much. Might’ve been nothing left but a heap of ashes.”

“It might be dead, then, or it might not?”

“We’re going to assume it’s alive until we know otherwise.”

“And if it is alive?”

“Then it’ll try to find someone else to get in, and we’re pretty much back where we started. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you the whole mess is over.”

“But maybe it is.”

“I’d bet a month’s salary that the damned thing is dead. But I won’t bet your life on it.” He rubbed the shirt across his face, smearing sweat and soot. “I’d better take that shower, now.” He stepped past Alison and headed for the hallway.

When she noticed the sound of the water running, she realized that she hadn’t moved since Jake left. She