could see its face.
They hung there, it with its forepaws dug into the icy edge, he hanging by his arms. Its eyes bored into his with a look of hatred more terrible than he had ever seen before. The eyes darted around, calculating, seeking the crucial advantage that would kill Dick Neff, leaving the werewolf alive.
Carefully, not looking at the emptiness beneath his feet, Dick brought an arm down toward the .38 he had in a pocket. This was his one chance, his only chance. He wanted so desperately to live, not to fall! The inches-high concrete lip was the only thing that held him here, and it held him now by only one arm. The creature tried to pull itself up, failed, and hung still. It bared its teeth and made a low, horrible noise. Its eyes followed his movements, its face suddenly registered understanding. Now it began to slide along the ledge toward him, inch by inch closing the gap between them. With only one arm hanging on Dick could do no more than stay where he was. And he was having a hard time doing that. He sobbed aloud. Waves of fatigue poured through the arm on which his life was hanging.
Now the thing was so close he could smell its fetid animal odor, see its savage teeth working in its jaw. He grasped the .38, pulled the gun up, fired, felt an agony in his arm, tried to pull the trigger again. But there was nothing to pull. He looked at the arm— his hand was not there. Blood was pouring out and steaming in the cold. And with horror-struck eyes he saw his hand, still clutching the .38, dangling in the creature’s mouth. Then his death began.
As his fall started he felt fear, then something else, a vast and overwhelming sadness so great that it was a kind of exaltation. His body bounced on the hard ice off the alley and he died instantly. A few moments later his hand slammed into the ground beside him.
Far above the old father was in a death-struggle of his own. He had barely, barely cut the hand off as the gun fired. There was a searing pain in his head, an eye closed. The bullet had passed there, grazing his eye and forehead. His own forelegs were tiring and he could not lift himself back over the ledge without risking a fall. But he didn’t want to lift himself. He had seen the highest of the balconies not far away; he could work his way over there and drop down to it. When he landed he stood dazed, shaking his head. The eye was not going to work, it seemed. Very well, he would complete this task with only one eye. He was going to save his family and save the secret of his race. He knew it now, he was going to win.
He climbed down the balconies carefully and painfully, wounded more seriously than he could know, until he had gotten to the one balcony that mattered. He crouched there inhaling the filthy smell of the two that were left alive, just the other side of the glass.
Chapter 12
« ^ »
“Hey, Becky, I got a problem.” She came over to him. “He’s not picking up on the signal.”
“Interference?”
“Don’t think so.” He pressed the mike button twice. No answer. He went over to voice. “Wake up, Dick. You gotta signal back or I can’t tell if you’re still there.”
Only the whisper of static answered.
“Maybe there is some interference,” he said. “I’ll go out on the balcony, get a better line.”
“We’d better go to the roof. It won’t take a minute.”
“Look, I’ll just go outside and—”
“We’re going up right now. Get your coat on.”
He complied. Now that she was making their command decisions, he seemed to be returning to a more normal equilibrium. This was fine by her; she’d trade her stripes for his bars any time.
Both of them had moved their pistols to their jacket pockets by the time they reached the roof door. Becky felt ice-cold inside, as cold as the night on the other side of the door. “You cover my back,” she said. “Draw your gun. We take no chances.” She pushed the door open and stepped out, her eyes going at once to where Dick should be. But wasn’t.
A pang of fear made her heart start to pound. She suppressed it, took a deep breath, called him.
Nothing answered but the wind. Then she saw an object not far away, a dark bulge on the icy roof. “Christ, here’s the camera!” Slipping and falling she went and retrieved it.
Part of the housing was knocked off. The lens was cracked. She backed into the stairwell, closed the door against the wind. In the quiet she heard her own ragged breathing. Her insides were churning, she wanted to be sick. “Something’s happened to him,” she said. “Let’s get downstairs.”
“To the alley?”
“Hell, no! If they got him that’s where he’ll be— and they’ll be there too, waiting for us to come to him. Remember this morning—the lure? They only get to play that particular trick once a day.” She spoke from reason, but her heart screamed at her to go to the alley, to save her husband. If he was there, though, he was most certainly beyond saving. She wanted to weep, but instead she pressed on. “We’ll go back to the apartment and look out over the balcony. Maybe this damn camera will work enough to let us see what’s on the ground down there.”
They returned to an apartment that was already changing for Becky, ceasing to be a home. Everything was the same except Dick was… gone. If he had fallen, his body must have sailed right past these windows while they were trying to get him on the CB. She put the camera down on the dining room table, wiped tears angrily from her eyes and examined the damage. All you could see through the viewer was a pearl-white blur. “It’s totaled,” she said. “At least the film’s intact.” She tossed Wilson the cassette.
“Six shots. He took six shots.”
Talking made her throat constrict. She stood silent, unable to answer, her mind searching for some way to believe that Dick was still alive. She wished that the camera hadn’t broken. Then they could use it to look out over the balcony into the alley, and at least confirm the worst. She went over the possibilities: he had been attacked by a werewolf on the roof and had fallen—that was number one. A distant number two was that he had somehow escaped this attack by jumping onto the topmost balcony. Highly unlikely. If he had been able to jump down there, so could the werewolf.
Wilson came to her, put his hand on her arm. “He’s had it, baby,” he said gruffly. His eyes were wet. He looked
