30
The maelstrom crashed around them, the high keening of the wind screaming in the treetops providing an eerie counterpoint to the roar of the surf as the tide came to full flood. The beach had shrunk to a narrow ribbon of sand between the roiling sea and the tangle of driftwood that creaked and shifted in the storm.
“I can’t see anything,” Missy cried out, clinging to her brother’s hand, stumbling blindly along after him as he moved quickly through the night.
If he heard her Robby gave no sign. The excitement of the beach was upon him, and his senses took in the wildness of the elements, absorbing the unleashed energy of the tempest. His body was filling with a strange exultation, exciting him, yet at the same time calming him. It was a feeling he didn’t quite understand, but he accepted it and was grateful for it.
Missy stopped suddenly and Robby nearly lost his footing as she jerked on his hand.
“Something’s here,” Missy whispered, pulling close to Robby and putting her lips to his ear. “I can feel it.”
“Nothing’s here,” Robby said. “Only us.”
“Yes there is,” Missy insisted. “Something’s in the woods looking for us. Let’s go back. Please?”
“We can’t go back,” Robby told her. “Not anymore.”
He started forward again, pulling Missy with him, and she began sobbing, her terror overcoming her. As they moved along the beach she began to see shapes, strange glowing figures, moving along beside her, in front of her, behind her, coming closer, reaching out for her.
She began screaming.
Harney Whalen crouched behind the pile of driftwood that separated the beach from the forest and listened to the sounds in his head. The laughter was getting louder and the screams of his grandmother seemed to be fading away.
There was a flash of lightning and he saw two figures coming toward him across the beach. They were small figures but he knew who they were.
They were strangers.
Strangers had killed his grandparents while he had helplessly watched.
He wanted to run, wanted to go away and hide, as he had done so many years ago.
But he couldn’t. He felt something gripping him, forcing him to stay where he was. He turned and there was someone beside him in the night. His grandmother, her strong, chiseled features gleaming in the night, her dark eyes flashing, was beside him.
While the rain slashed at him and the wind tore through his clothes, chilling him, she whispered to him, her words echoing against the pounding of the surf.
Harney waited behind the log, waited for them to come near.
He crouched lower, huddled in upon himself, and listened to the words of the old Klickashaw at his side. She spoke to him of ancient wrongs.…
On the beach Robby and Missy, the wind whirling around them, hurried along, unaware of the danger waiting for them in the forest.
Far down the beach, Chip Connor, Brad Randall, and Glen Palmer hurried through the storm, their flashlights playing over the sand, nearly useless in the rain.
“We’ll never find them,” Brad called out, raising his voice against the wind. “Not if we stay together. Let’s spread out.”
“You take the surf line,” Chip yelled. “Glen, stay in the middle of the beach. I’ll go up by the forest. And call for them. They might hear and it will let us keep track of each other. I don’t think we should get too far apart.”
They spread out, and the three dots of light scattered themselves across the beach, visible for only a few yards but lighting the way for the searchers. They began calling out the children’s names.
Robby began pulling Missy toward the forest but she hung back, her terrified eyes seeing nothing but the strange figures closing in around her, reaching for her. A faint sound drifted through the night, nearly lost in the storm. Missy pulled Robby to a halt.
“Someone’s calling us. I can hear my name.”
Robby glared at his sister, tugging on her arm. “We have to go into the woods. We’ll be safe there,” he hissed.
Once more the faint sounds echoed through the night:
The children crouched uncertainly in the sand, straining to hear better, but it was useless. The wind increased, howling in from the ocean, carrying the acrid smell of salt water with it.
They began climbing over the pile of driftwood.
Harney Whalen also heard the voices calling. But stronger in his mind was his grandmother’s voice, whispering to him, urging him on, reassuring him.
He stood up, facing the storm, and exultation swept through him. His grandmother cried out to him.
The lightning flashed.
The instant of electric brightness seemed to last an eternity, and the three figures froze, staring at each other across the driftwood.
And Missy knew.
“It’s him,” she screamed. “He’s here, Robby. He’s going to kill us.”
Harney Whalen didn’t hear the words Missy cried out — only the sound. He peered malevolently at the two figures, seeing not two small and frightened children, but two faceless figures from the past, two unidentifiable forms, laughing at him, laughing at what they had done to his grandparents.
He had to destroy them.
He started over the driftwood.
The two children, suddenly coming to life, began running up the beach.
The lightning faded and the roll of thunder began.
“I see them,” Brad cried as the night closed around him once more. “North. They’re north of us, right near the woods.”
On either side of him, the pinpoints of light that were Chip and Glen suddenly began bobbing in the darkness as all three of them broke into a run. Then they began hearing Missy’s frightened cries, leading them through the night.
The children tore through the night, hearing the pounding of feet behind them. Then Robby stumbled and fell, and Missy tumbled on top of him.
Harney Whalen, his breath coming in fitful gasps, caught up with them, towering over them, glowering down upon them like a furious giant.
Missy saw him first and her eyes widened in terror as she screamed out into the night. Then she felt a hand clamp over her mouth and her scream was cut off.
Robby scrambled free from the tangle of limbs, but his mind was confused and nothing was making any sense to him. He moved aside, staring helplessly at his struggling sister, then began to scream.
“My God, he’s got them,” Glen shouted as he heard first Missy’s choked-off scream of terror, then Robby’s mindless howling in the night. The three men were running together now, shining their lights into the darkness, praying that they would get to the children before it was too late.
And then they found them. Chip Connor hurled himself onto Harney Whalen’s back, grabbing the chief by the neck. Whalen let go of Missy and began struggling with Chip, desperately fighting off his unseen assailant.
Glen grabbed Missy and held the sobbing child close to him, stroking her head, patting her, trying to calm
