until the streets are filled with bodies until there’s no bodies left?
Yeah, that was somehow worse.
That there was a force or influence that could change people into savage, brutal things. Yeah, that was terrifying. There would be no safeguard against it. Whatever it was, it was absolutely fucking dangerous. Equally as lethal, as far as the human race was concerned, as thermonuclear weapons or an unstoppable plague. Hadn’t Einstein said something to the effect that if the Third World War were fought with atomic bombs, that the Fourth would be fought with bow and arrow? Yes, civilization would be utterly destroyed. From the rocket age to the stone age in five minutes, as they said. And wasn’t this like that? Something that could take men and women, strip their civilization away, turn them into primal, violent monsters just as bad?
Louis stopped himself there.
No point getting carried away. Not yet. This all might blow over or maybe it already had and there would be nothing left but a lot of questions when it was done. He didn’t believe it was done with. Maybe he couldn’t believe it. All he knew for sure was that whatever was out there doing this, it was terribly dangerous. But for now all he could think of was getting Michelle home and getting Macy safe. That’s what counted.
“ Macy,” he finally said. “I don’t know what this is about. But it’s not the end of the world.”
“ What if it’s the end of Greenlawn?”
“ Then we find another town.”
“ What if they’re all like this?”
“ Then we build a new one that isn’t.”
Louis was liking his new pragmatic self. He had never been that way before this moment. He had had very little trouble in his life, a minimum of adversity, so like most people, he fell apart when things got rough. But that was no way to be. This would be sorted out and it would be sorted out by people like him one step at a time.
“ Is your mom home?”
Macy just shrugged. “They called her from the school, but there was no answer. She’s probably sleeping one off.”
“ Why did the school call?” he asked, realizing it was probably none of his damn business.
Macy was studying her tennis shoes again. “Um…well, I suppose I should tell you. You’ll hear about it sooner or later anyway.”
She told him briefly about the Chelsea Paris incident. He nodded as she spoke, but did not seem judgmental.
“ And you think that whatever’s getting to these people got to you, too?”
Macy just shrugged. “It had to have, Mr. Shears. God, I wouldn’t do something like that. I don’t even swat flies. I catch them and let them go outside. I don’t like hurting anything or anyone. It’s…it’s just not me.”
Louis didn’t think it was either. But it brought up an interesting idea and that was that maybe it would just go away. This madness. Maybe it was temporary. That gave him some hope, at any rate.
He patted Macy on the wrist. “Let’s go see if your mom’s around.”
As they stood up, a pickup truck passed on the street. It slowed as it came by, a couple tough looking teenage hoods in it. They stared at Louis and Macy and he stared right back. Gave ‘em everything right back in like doses. That wasn’t the way he was, either. He did not indulge in stupid staring contests with other men or play the my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours game. That was strictly for idiots with a total lack of self-esteem and self-worth. Yet, he did it right then. Those kids looked tough, looked mean-Louis was pretty certain they were infected-just out cruising for prey. What bothered him most was how they looked at Macy, like they were sizing her up for their stable.
That pissed Louis off, so he gave them the hard look.
They kept going.
He wondered if the look he gave them was like what Mr. Chalmers had been doing: marking his territory. Maybe they sensed that he was willing to fight for what they thought belonged to him, so they went off in search of easier pickings. They said dogs could smell fear on you and maybe these people could, too. Like the old adage went, if you don’t want to be a victim, then don’t act like one.
“ Come on,” Macy said.
They went up to the door and paused there, Macy reaching out and taking hold of his hand. He clenched it, liking the feel of another sane person nearby.
“ What if she’s…what if she’s crazy, too?” Macy said.
“ Then we’ll deal with it,” Louis told her.
He went to the door and threw it open. The house was silent inside. No TV or radio going, not so much as a toilet running. Just that immense dead silence that in its own way told him that there was no one there, no one alive at any rate.
“ Let’s go,” Louis said, pulling her across the threshold with him.
And soon as he crossed and stood inside on the worn shag carpeting, something inside him plummeted very low and he waited for whatever was coming. Because it was coming and it was going to be bad. Real bad…
17
There had been a foul wind blowing through Greenlawn all day and it was only a matter of time before it reached the door of Kathleen Soames, settled there in a ghastly miasma of rot. She had been expecting it.
She had felt it inside herself more than once that afternoon, something boiling, something simmering, something making her think things and want to do others.
Alien things, awful things.
Things she was not capable of.
But it had been there, scratching away in her brain, a darkness and a dankness and an awfulness. A shadow that had fallen over the town was trying to fill her head with shades and unthinkable impulses. Sometimes she was sure it was her imagination and at other times she was sure it was not. For sometimes it was as palpable as cold hands ringing her throat or moldy breath in her face, a hot voice whispering in her ear.
She had told Steve about it twice now, but Steve was not interested.
Steve said it was her nerves. That she was just tired. She needed a good rest. Her nerves and the muggy heat of late August were brewing up a storm in her mind. She’d been working too hard again, trying to keep house and do her gardening and taking care of the kids and waiting hand and foot on Mother Soames upstairs. Christ, that crazy old woman was enough in herself to wear you to the bone. What she needed was a drink and nap. He’d take care of supper. When Ryan got home from his paper route, the two of them would make a nice supper while she slept.
And it was nice, really nice of Steve to offer.
During the whole of that long, listless, and somewhat upsetting day, it was the first thing that had made her smile. Maybe Steve was right. She’d been nervous all day…stomach upset, rolling in waves more often than not; hands shaking; face sweating. She kept screwing up the most simple tasks. Dropping things, knocking things off shelves. She’d tripped on the stairs twice that afternoon when she went up to look in on Mother Soames. She’d cut her fingers with a knife making the old lady’s lunch and bumped her head on the same cupboard door three times. Nothing was right. The town, the neighborhood, the house, and, yes, even Kathleen herself. Off kilter. Askew. Something.
Like a door, she was either open too wide or not wide enough.
And when she tried to sort it out, to make sense of it, all she got was confused. She’d tried to settle in with her soaps that afternoon while Ryan was still in school and Mother Soames was napping, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate. Couldn’t sit still. The TV was too loud or too soft and the pictures were too bright, too hard on her eyes. She looked, but none of it made sense. The storylines were as incomprehensible as hieroglyphics.
It was a hot day, but not so hot that even in the cool of the living room she should have sweated, felt dizzy, felt the need to vomit, been on her knees before the toilet some four times in one hour. Not that anything came of it: just wracking dry heaves that left her breathless and frightened, her head spinning and her temples pounding, her throat tight as braided rope and feeling as if it was coated in a fine, scratchy fuzz.
