In this kind of darkness, the dome light would go on like a bank of night lights at Wrigley Field.
Then he realised he was being ridiculous. He had a Magnum; Dobyns had only a knife. And Dobyns, however murderous he might be, was no superhuman monster. He would pay proper respect to a Magnum.
Still crouching, Andy put his hand on the door handle, then paused, listening for Dobyns.
Outside the hospital's fences, he could hear traffic. Thrum of tyre on pavement; honk of irritated driver.
He eased open the car door.
Wishing he weighed fifty pounds less, he heaved himself up into the seat.
The first thing he did was close the door. The second thing he did was lock the door. The third thing he did was start the engine. Or tried to.
Nothing happened. Not a single fucking thing. Oh, a little clicking noise, if you wanted to get technical. The tiny clicking noise made by the key as it tripped the lock. But other than that-nothing.
Then he vaguely remembered Schmitty, the man who took care of all the hospital vehicles, telling him that some new cars needed batteries and that he was going to take out all the old batteries and trade them in for new ones.
That's why Andy heard nothing except the clicking when he twisted the key.
My God. No battery.
He felt this great urge to cry. To put his head against the steering wheel and just start sobbing. Like a helpless little boy.
But then he realised that he was safe.
He could sit here all night and Dobyns couldn't touch him. The car doors were locked. He had his Magnum. Dobyns couldn't possibly harm him. No way.
Then he saw the headlights come on to his right, the great glowing eyes of an unimaginable monster.
The headlights belonged to the large truck the hospital used to scrape off the drives in winter and carry heavy loads the rest of the year.
Now, the driver of the truck stepped on the gas while the gearshift was in neutral. The truck roared like a beast that wanted to be fed.
The truck roared one more time, and then leapt forward.
Andy, mesmerised, was blinded by the headlights as they shot closer, closer. The driver had thoughtfully set them on high beam so they'd be sure to be dazzling.
The driver? Dobyns, of course.
The first assault caught Andy's car right in the passenger door. There was a great, echoing crash of shattering glass and twisting metal and Andy's screams.
Andy was knocked clear across the front seat, his head slammed into the window on the passenger's side.
The pain came instantly back to his chest. This time it started running up and down his right arm, too. He wanted to move, scramble out of the car, but he felt confusion and panic and could not concentrate enough to-
The second assault caught the front fender on the driver's side and was delivered with such shattering force that Andy's car was spun halfway around and ended up facing the opposite direction.
Smashed glass tinkled to the concrete, echoing, and Andy's screams were now sobs and pleas for help.
The truck pulled back, tyres squealing, gears grinding, for one last assault.
Andy saw this coming. He put both his hands squarely against the dashboard…
The truck backed all the way to the garage door. It was going to come at Andy from behind.
And then Andy looked down at the Magnum on the seat next to him.
He'd been so frightened, so disoriented, so worried about heart attack that he'd completely forgotten his own best defence.
Quickly he unlatched the seat belt, turned around so that he was facing the rear of the car, and set the Magnum on top of the seat.
He aimed directly at the windshield of the truck.
And Dobyns was more than happy to oblige.
This time the truck's tyres created so much smoke, the rear end of the truck appeared to be on fire as it came piling toward Andy.
Andy opened fire.
It was like target practice on the range.
Even above the screaming tyres, you could hear the Magnum explode, each time Andy's hand and arm jerked back with the recoil.
Indeed it was like target practice.
The closer the truck got, its huge yellow eyes searching mercilessly inside Andy's car, the oftener Andy pulled the trigger.
By the time of the great crash, by the time the truck pushed Andy all the way to the back of the garage and smashed him into the rear wall… by that time, Andy was out of ammunition.
Nothing would have helped Andy in this situation. Not even a seat belt.
When the car met the wall, Andy was thrown upward into the skyliner. To him, it felt as if the impact broke his head apart in three ragged pieces. Then the impact hurled him forward against the dashboard, the edge of which came against the centre of his spinal column with the force of'a well-delivered karate blow. Even as he continued to tumble through the air, Andy could feel his legs go dead and he thought of a terrible word: 'paralysed.'
Then he drifted into blessed unconsciousness.
What he saw next gave him a curious peace. From somewhere high overhead-some unimaginable distance, really-he looked down on the scene in the garage. The smashed up car. The roaring truck. Dobyns racing from the truck now, bloody knife in hand.
And then Andy saw himself. He looked terrible. Covered with his own blood, and at least as smashed and broken as the car he was in.
Then Dobyns was in the car, checking out the body named Andy to see if it was still alive. When Dobyns found a pulse, he took his knife and slashed both of Andy's wrists so that blood flowed freely.
Then Dobyns took his knife and cut Andy's throat. He was very good at it by now, Dobyns was quite efficient. Just one downward cutting slash dragged across the Adam's apple, and the job was done.
Andy watched all this with a growing feeling of peace and security. He was glad that the body named Andy was unconscious because otherwise he'd be panic stricken beyond imagining. Gagging, trying to stop his throat from bleeding- No, the body named Andy had no understanding of the peace that awaited it. But the Andy that watched it all knew it well.
When Dobyns had cut Andy's throat, the fat man had sprayed blood all over himself and Dobyns.
Now, withdrawing from the car, Dobyns wiped blood from his eyes and mouth.
He ran back to the elevator again. It would take him to the floor nearest the tower.
11
'Did you notice anything about his stomach, Marie?'
'His stomach?'
'Yes. Anything strange?'
'No, I'm sorry. I guess not.' Marie hesitated. 'But there was a weird smell.'
'Oh?' Emily Lindstrom said. 'Can you describe it?'
Marie shrugged. 'Well, I guess I don't know what to say except that it was-it smelled like rotten meat or something.'
