“Jack, what’s—”
He listened.
Maybe kids with firecrackers, he thought for a second, taking the most benign thought that his brain offered.
Fireworks. Kids. Leftover firecrackers.
But no. Gunfire had such a distinctive sound.
“C’mon,” he said, to Christie at first. Then, almost roughly, he tapped the heads of the kids. “Kids. We gotta go.”
Another brilliant flash.
“What? Why are we—”
Other people barely noticed Jack herding his family away from the lakeshore.
No one else had noticed the gunfire.
Only seconds for all this, and then suddenly everyone knew why Jack was pulling back, why he was guiding his family away, why he was ignoring the people giving him confused looks as he roughly pushed past them.
A giant horn blast sounded that dwarfed even the explosive sounds booming from the lake. Ear-splitting. One blast, then another, and another.
Then a clipped voice as no new fireworks rocketed into the sky. Saying its short sentence, alternating with horn blasts: “
Jack and his family nearly off the beach.
The voice calm; the horn screaming down at people probably said enough about what was happening.
More blasts, then the voice again. Jack rushed, almost shoving his family back to their cabin as they were suddenly joined by a sea of people, all hurrying.
Some screaming; the panic there so fast.
Jack was tempted to just push people out of the way. To his left, he saw someone stumble to the ground, and get trampled.
He steered Christie and the kids close by the figure on the ground. With one hand he reached down and pulled the woman up.
Her eyes wide. Crazed. She didn’t stop to say thank you, but turned and joined everyone madly streaming away.
The lake was hemmed in the one side by the Great Lodge and the cabins, the thick woods to the rear.
No one would go in the direction of the woods.
Everyone funneled onto one of the paths that would get them off the beach, away from the lake, the crazy alarm horns only making their terror worse.
* * *
They moved so fucking fast, Fergus thought. Flying over the top.
He watched the two of them on Kemp. Ripping him apart like kids tearing into a present on Christmas morning.
The others began scattering.
Except for a few who noticed Fergus shooting.
He kept backing up even as he sprayed his gun left and right.
Can Heads could take a lot of hits. Like they felt no fucking pain whatsoever.
They’d be on him soon.
He thought help would have arrived, the other guards.
Where the hell were they?
One of his bullets kicked a hole in the skull of a nearby Can Head with no clothes and a beard that made it look like a deranged lion.
“Fuck it,” Fergus said.
He turned and started running.
There was an army of Can Heads entering the camp, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing Jay Fergus could do alone but find someplace to go, someplace to hide—to stay alive.
As he ran, he became aware that all the sounds he heard before—the bugs, the wind—were now joined by so many others.
The alarm, the screams, and just behind him, so close, the terrible sound of steps chasing, racing after him.
26
9:11 P.M.
Fergus looked over his shoulder, the sound of the steps as close as mosquitoes buzzing his head on a muggy night.
A quick look back, and then he didn’t see what was in front of him as he ran right into a Can Head that had somehow appeared on the trail in front of him.
His slam sent them both falling forward, rolling on the packed dirt and pine needles.
God, he felt them grabbing him, pulling at him, then bites—one, two, three—until he couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from anymore.
He prayed that someone would see.
One of the other guards. And not hold back, not flinch—but fire as quick as they could.
To stop this.
He screamed out his agony.
A howl that must have filled the woods.
Then a blessed sound as he heard the repetitive coughing of machine-gun fire.
His prayers answered as bullets hit, and one, somehow, somewhere, made everything instantly black.
* * *
Jack hurried his family along. The cabin not far now.
Christie guided Simon, holding his hand. Jack had a firm grip on Kate. Now families started breaking away, bolting, tripping, racing for their own cabins, the horns blaring, so loud, deafening.
At one point he felt Kate stumble on something, but his grip was tight enough to hold her up, near dangling, not even pausing in their forward movement until she regained her footing again and started running.
The horns—you almost couldn’t hear the screams with them blaring so loudly.
Or the gunfire.
Jack tried to place the gunfire as he ran.
Where were they fighting?
How the hell did the Can Heads break in?
With goddamned electric fences?
Jack raced up the path to their cabin, Christie right behind. He saw the Blairs get into theirs.
Good, he thought. They’re inside.
He got his family into their cabin.
