walking toward Jud.
“Bastard,” she muttered. “Who do you think you are, bastard? Sneaking in here? Shooting us up? Killing my darlings?”
She kept limping toward him, dragging a leg that looked as if it had been chewed many years ago, and healed badly. Her ancient, swaying breasts were lined with scars and recent cuts, some bleeding. Blood dropped from her scarred shoulders and her neck. Jud knew why she wore a scarf in public.
“Stop,” he said.
“Bastard!”
“Damn it, I’ll drop you!”
“No you won’t.”
Suddenly, he heard snarling on the stairway behind him. He pivoted and fired at the darting shape. It shrieked but didn’t stop. The claws of the beast with Maggie slashed across Jud’s back. He lurched forward, turning, jerking the machete out of his belt. The claws swiped again. This time, he lopped off the creature’s arm. He shot it once in the chest, then turned his gun to the beast leaping from beside the bannister post. His snapping finger blasted three holes into it. It fell.
Maggie dropped to her knees beside it. She hugged the white body, crooning, “Oh Xanadu, Xanadu. Oh Xanadu!”
Her back was a disfigured mass of scar tissue and bleeding cuts.
“Oh Xanadu,” she sobbed, cradling the dead beast’s head.
“Are there more?” Jud asked.
Maggie didn’t answer. She didn’t seem to hear.
Stepping around her and the body of Xanadu, Jud approached the stairway. He saw dim blue light in the upstairs hallway. Silently, he began to climb. 4.
Donna staggered down the front porch stairs. She slumped against the newel post, hugging it to keep from falling. The rifle strap slipped off her shoulder. She heard the walnut stock batter the railing. Probably put a scratch on the stock.
She wondered, vaguely, if the scratch would anger Jud. Men could be funny about that kind of thing.
God, would she ever see Jud again?
Where could he…?
A distant popping noise interrupted her question, and answered it. She raised her head. She heard more of the strange, low popping sounds, and she knew it was gunfire.
Gunfire muffled by the brick walls of the house without windows.
Watching the house, she heard another shot. Then three quick ones.
She started to run. The hanging rifle slapped her leg. Without slowing, she gripped the sling and swung the rifle in front of her. She gripped it solidly with both hands.
She glanced at the Chrysler, far to the right. Sandy’s head was visible. The girl was locked in, safe.
Donna climbed awkwardly over the turnstile. She sprinted across the road. Then up the dirt driveway. She tried to remember if the rifle was cocked. Couldn’t remember. As she ran, she worked the bolt. The ejected cartridge spun up and hit her face, its point jabbing her upper lip. Blinking tears away, she rammed another cartridge into the chamber.
Approaching the front of the dark house, she slowed to a trot. She shifted the rifle to her left hand. Heavy. She propped its butt against her hip and pulled open the screen door. She tried the knob. Locked. The screen door swung back, bumping her shoulder.
Damn!
She aimed at the door crack next to the knob.
It’s getting to be a habit, she thought.
The thought didn’t amuse her. 5.
Cautiously, Jud stepped into the main bedroom. The mirrors exposed every corner. No beast. He looked inside the open closet. Satisfied that nothing would jump out at him, he stepped closer to the bed.
Wick Hapson, naked except for a leather vest, lay facedown on the sheet. Chains anchored his wide-spread arms and legs to the bedposts. His face was turned to the left.
Kneeling, Jud looked into his eyes. They were wide with fear. His lips were trembling. “Don’t kill me,” he said. “Christ, it ain’t my fault. I just gone along. I just
As Jud left the room, he heard the blast of a gunshot downstairs. 6.
Donna drew back the bolt. As the shell spun out, she saw that the ammunition clip was empty. Her mind flashed a memory of the live cartridge stabbing her face and falling to the dirt of the driveway. No chance of finding it.
Okay, nobody had to know the rifle was empty.
She shouldered open the door and lurched back at the sight of two hideous beasts lying sprawled near the foot of the stairway. Their shiny flesh looked pale blue. The severed arm of one lay near the wall.
Stepping around them, she glanced into the living room. Two more.
“Jud?” she called.
“Donna? Get out of here!”
His voice came from upstairs. 7.
Damn it! his mind screamed. What was Donna doing here?
He ran toward the last room, the room where he and Larry had heard strange breathing sounds that afternoon. The door was open slightly. Through the gap, he saw a blue light. He kicked the door, lunged into the room, and aimed at a pale figure crouched in a corner.
He held fire.
In the dim light, he saw dark hair hanging to her shoulders. She cradled something in her arms. An infant. Its snout, clamped on her dug, was sucking loudly.
Groaning, Jud backed toward the doorway. 8.
Donna, reaching the top of the stairs, saw the naked, ravaged form of Maggie Kutch limping toward the far end of the hall.
“Mom!”
Her head snapped to the side. Sandy, in tears, stood in the foyer looking up at her.
Donna looked again down the corridor. Maggie glanced back. Donna saw a butcher knife in the old woman’s right hand. Donna shouldered the empty rifle. “Drop it!” she shouted. 9.
Jud turned, faced Maggie, and started to raise his pistol. The knife plunged.
He was astonished.
He couldn’t believe it.
That shiny, wide blade was actually vanishing into his chest.
She can’t do this, he thought.
He tried to pull the trigger.
His hand didn’t work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
In the cold darkness of the crawl space beneath the last cabin, Joni lay on her side. She hugged her knees close to her chest. She kept her teeth clenched tight to keep them from chattering.
