and he developed a macabre explanation for it. The Chevy had been in a terrible accident; the front end was squashed and twisted; the windshield was gone; both front doors were buckled-one in, one out; the steering wheel was broken in half, a semicircle that ended in jagged points. Perhaps (Colin theorized) the driver had lost a hand in the crash. Perhaps the severed hand had fallen to the floor. Perhaps it had somehow gotten under the seat, into a recess where it could not be reached or even seen. Perhaps the ambulance crew had looked for the amputated member but had been unable to find it. The car had been towed to Hermit Hobson’s place, and the hand had begun to wither and rot. And then… then… Oh God, and then it was just like that 0’Henry story in which a blood-spotted rag had fallen behind a radiator and, due to unique chemical and temperature conditions, had acquired a life of its own. Colin shuddered. That’s what had happened to the hand. He felt it. He knew it. The hand had started to decompose, but then a combination of intense summer heat and the chemical composition of the dirt under the seat had caused an incredible, evil change in the dead flesh. The process of decay had been arrested, though not reversed, and the hand had been infused with an eerie sort of life, a malevolent half life. And now, right this minute, he was in the car, in the dark, alone with the damned thing. It knew he was here. It could not see or hear or smell, but it
No, no, no! I’ve got to stop this, Colin told himself. What the hell’s the matter with me?
Roy was out there, hunting him. He had to listen for Roy and be prepared. He had to concentrate. Roy was the real danger, not some imaginary disembodied hand.
As if to confirm the advice that Colin had given himself, Roy began to make noise again. A car door slammed not far away. A moment later there was the sound of another rusted door being wrenched open; it screeched as the seal that time had put upon it was broken. After a few seconds, that door, too, slammed shut.
Roy was searching the cars.
Colin sat up, cocked his head.
Another corroded door opened with noisy protest.
Colin could not see anything important through the missing windshield.
He felt caged.
Trapped.
The third door slammed.
Panicky, Colin slid to the left, got off the back seat, leaned over the front seat as far as he could, and stuck his head out the front driver’s side window. The fresh air that hit his face was cool and smelled of the sea even this far inland. His eyes had adjusted to the night, and the partial moon cast just enough light for him to see eighty or a hundred feet into the junkyard.
Roy was a shadow among shadows, barely visible, four cars in front of the Chevrolet in which Colin was hiding. Roy opened the door of another junker, leaned into it, came out a moment later, and threw the door shut. He moved toward the next car, closer to the Chevy.
Colin returned to the rear seat and slid quickly over to the door on the right. He had come in on the left side, but that’s where Roy was now.
Another door crashed shut: ka-chunk!
Roy was only two cars away.
Colin took hold of the handle, then realized that he didn’t know if the right-hand door worked. He had used only the one on the left. What if this one was jammed and made a lot of noise but wouldn’t open? Roy would come on the double and trap him in here.
Colin hesitated, licked his lips.
He felt as if he had to pee.
He clamped his legs together.
The sensation was still there, and in fact it was getting worse: a warm pain in his loins.
Please, God, he thought, don’t make me have to pee. Not here. Not now. It’s the wrong damned place for that!
Roy was one car away.
There was no time to worry whether the right-hand door would work or not. He had no choice but to try it and take his chances. He tugged on the handle. It moved. He took a deep breath, nearly choked on the rank air, and pushed the door all the way open with one violent shove. He winced at the loud scraping sound it made but thanked God that it functioned at all.
Frantically, gracelessly, he clambered out of the Chevy, making no effort to be quiet now that the door had betrayed him. He took two steps, tripped over a muffler, dropped to his knees, popped up again as if he were on springs, and bolted into the darkness.
“Hey!” Roy said from the far side of the car. The sudden explosive movement had caught him by surprise. “Hey, wait a minute.”
25
Running at his top speed, Colin saw the tire a split second before it would have tripped him. He jumped over it, side-stepped a pile of fenders, and ran on through the high grass. He turned left and rounded a battered Dodge delivery van that was up on blocks. After a brief hesitation and a quick glance behind him, he sank to the ground and wriggled under the truck.
As Colin slipped out of sight, Roy came around the front of the van and stopped, looked both ways. When he saw that that avenue of the maze was deserted, he spat on the ground. “Damn.”
The night was very dark, but from his hiding place beneath the Dodge, Colin could see Roy’s white sneakers. Colin was lying on his belly, his head turned to the left, right cheek pressed against the earth; and Roy was standing no more than a yard away. He could have grabbed the other boy’s ankle and toppled him. But then what?
After a moment of indecision, Roy opened the door on the driver’s side of the van. When he saw that no one was in there, he slammed the door and stalked to the rear of the Dodge.
Colin drew shallow breaths through his mouth and wished he could soften the pounding beat of his heart. If he made any sound at all that Roy could hear, he would die for it.
At the back of the delivery van, Roy opened one of the double doors. When he peered into the rear compartment, he apparently could not see every corner of it to his satisfaction, for he opened the second door as well, then climbed into the cargo hold.
Colin listened to him poking at the shadows in the metal box overhead. He considered squeezing out from under the truck and creeping swiftly to another shelter, but he didn’t think he would have sufficient time to get away undetected.
Even as Colin was assessing his chances, Roy came out of the truck and closed the doors. The opportunity, if there had ever been one, was lost.
Colin twisted around a bit and looked over his shoulder. He saw the white tennis shoes, and he prayed that Roy wouldn’t think to investigate the narrow space beneath the Dodge.
Incredibly, his prayers were answered. Roy stepped to the front of the truck, paused, seemed to be looking at the junkyard on all sides, and said, “Where the hell …?” He stood there for a while, drumming his fingers on the van, and then he walked northward until Colin could no longer see his shoes or hear his footsteps.
For a long time Colin lay motionless. He found the courage to breathe normally once more, but he still thought it wise to be as silent as possible.
His situation had improved in at least one respect: The air circulating under the van was not as stale and disgusting as that in the Chevrolet had been. He could smell wildflowers, the teasing scent of goldenrod, and the dusty aroma of the parched grass.
His nose itched. Tickled.
To his horror, he realized he was going to sneeze. He clamped one hand to his face, pinched his nose, but
