Castle glanced at McKay, whose lips were parted like those of a beached trout. He walked to the water’s edge and examined the high granite cliffs. The darkening sky brought out the striations of the veins, revealing tons of Earth that had been peeled away over millennia by the ceaseless rub of the river.
“Okay,” Castle said, turning back to the group. “I saw one of those things last night. It-” Castle looked at the wet tips of his hiking boots-“It carried off my partner.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Farrengalli said. “Hold on just a doo-dah-fucking-minute. You’re saying there’s more than one? And you didn’t care to mention such a fact?”
“Look,” Castle said. “I thought I was seeing things. The monsters under the bed… ”
“I don’t see no beds around here, do you?”
“Take it easy,” Bowie said, though his blood was probably boiling as hot as the Italian’s. “Tell us what happened.”
“We were closing in on the suspect,” Castle said, his words fast and fluid. “The Bama Bomber was camped upriver on the ridge, just above where I flagged you guys down. He must have set some kind of booby trap around his camp, because one of us triggered an explosion and started a landslide. My partner was trying to help me out of a hole when one of those things swooped down and carried him off.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the same one?” Bowie asked.
“It was bigger than the one we just saw.”
Bowie traded looks with Dove, whose face registered disbelief. She mopped McKay’s forehead with a wet cloth. “Chupacabra,” she said. “First reported recently in Puerto Rico, then all over the Southeast. Doglike creatures that supposedly suck the blood from cows and goats.”
“Urban legends out here in the sticks?” Lane said.
“I think they were in the hole,” Castle said. “Like maybe they were living underground, maybe sealed off for years, maybe even decades or centuries, before the bomb set them free.”
“Then who knows how many of them are flying around up there?” Farrengalli said. “Could be dozens, for all we know.”
“I only saw one,” Raintree said.
“Might be the one that attacked us,” Bowie reasoned. “You saw its eyes. Blind, like it was nocturnal.”
“Looks like a fucked-up bat-creature to me,” Farrengalli said. “Unless it’s what Raintree called it “Raven Mocker.”
“Yeah, and it changes forms.”
“I don’t buy it,” Bowie said. “There has to be some sort of explanation.”
“None that will do him any good,” Dove said, pressing her fingertips to McKay’s jugular. “He’s dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Could be worse,” Pete said.
“Yeah?” Jenny sat on a stump, rubbing one of her bare feet. It was pale and wrinkled, fungal skin flaking. “How could it be worse? Like maybe your mother was with us? And it’s going to rain?”
“Stop with it. If I’m reading this map right, we’re only about four miles from the ranger station.”
“One, you couldn’t read a map unless it was leading you to a strip joint, and two, the ranger station’s only open in the summer, remember?”
“Well, might be a pay phone there. And maybe a shelter we can sleep under.”
Jenny let out an exaggerated, wet sigh. “No pay phones, dummy. No electricity. No plumbing. Nothing. You wanted to get away from it all, and we sure as Christ did.”
“Hey, if we make it out of here, we’ll have this to look back on. We pulled through together when times were tough.”
“Like when you lost your job? Six months of Scotch pulled you through that one. My miscarriage? You were busy banging that slut dental hygienist. We know all about getting through tough times.”
“Do we have to go into all that? You can’t give it a rest, can you?”
“Not when my feet are killing me and my belly’s growling and I’m stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a wannabe Daniel Boone.”
They had walked maybe two miles so far, most of it uphill, and Pete had only the slightest idea where they were. They had passed a couple of trail intersections marked with signposts, so Pete guessed they were going in the right direction, but judging from the scale of the map, the ranger station was at least six miles away, not four. He was trying to keep Jenny’s spirits up, but was struggling to keep from slapping her. He’d only struck her once, when she’d found out about the dental hygienist. He’d never had to hit her again, because she didn’t know about the day-care teacher down the block, the bank teller with the D cups, or her own sister Lillian, who had first seduced Pete at a family reunion and had made it a regular feature of their Thanksgiving holidays thereafter. Not that Pete considered himself a stud or anything. He’d been popping Viagra since it had first arrived on the market, and sex with Jenny happened about as often as the coming of an Ice Age, with about as much warmth.
He’d been hoping the trip to the North Carolina wilderness would awaken her primal instincts, because despite his philandering, he thought of himself as a loyal and supportive husband. When he’d said, “For better or for worse, until death do us part,” he’d meant it, though he occasionally regretted it. This had turned into one of those occasions.
“We can go for days without food,” Pete said. “Water’s our main concern.”
“We just left a bunch of water. Why didn’t you think to drink some of it?”
“Bacteria. You want diarrhea for the next three weeks, go ahead.”
“Looked clean to me. No houses means no toilets. No civilization, remember? That’s what you kept telling me. Like it was a good thing.”
“At least you’ll have a story to tell your bridge club. About how I let us get our canoe stolen at gunpoint. And we how ran into a real-life FBI agent. And we-”
“-and we died on a dirt trail in the land of the hillbillies.”
Jenny was always one for melodrama. Never happy unless things were at their absolute worst. Pete was no Mr. Sunshine, but he’d learned to play devil’s advocate to give their relationship some talking points. “Okay, we make it back, get to the rental car by tomorrow, catch the first flight out of Charlotte, boom, back in Jersey before you know it.”
“Slots in Atlantic City?”
“Whatever you say, babe.”
Funny how surrender was the only path to victory in a marriage. Pete was just about to say the ranger station was maybe only three miles away when he heard a peculiar whining sound. Thinking a mosquito was orbiting his ear, he swatted, but the sound grew louder. He wondered if they had somehow stirred up a nest of bees.
Jenny screamed, bees for sure, she was allergic to them, and if they ever made it out alive, he’d never hear the end of it Her scream blended with the heightening whine, her face was fixed on a point behind him, and her eyes were wide and he noticed the irises were brown, funny how you could live with somebody for fifteen years and not know the color of her eyes.
Pete was about to turn when the sky dropped on him, hammering him into the loam of the forest floor. He tried to stand, but his legs were sodden stumps. Jenny was still screaming, and somehow the noise was out of place in the previously hushed wilderness. His shoulder hurt, and his arms, and a steel band of agony girded his chest. He looked down and saw gray hands gripping his upper torso, long, knotty fingers tapering to sharp talons. The fingernails sank into his flesh, one above the other, exploring the gap that divided his rib cage. The hands tugged and the talons sank deeper, spawning a gush of blood.
Pete, swaying on his hands and knees, could only stare with fascination at his torn skin, struggling to stay upright against the weight on his back. Jenny screamed. He wished she would shut up.
Animal attack. Bear, mountain lion, something. Except he knew better. Those hands and the cruel, sinewy fingers belonged to a creature that had no place on this Earth.
Buzzing in his ear. The papery rattle of a dry tongue. A tug at his neck.
