pulled her near me and whispered.
'Douse the light.'
She understood immediately. We stood silent in the darkness waiting
for our eyes to adjust to the dim light. The dog and Mary Crouch would
be ahead of us. In moonlight. When we faced them there would be a
moment when we'd see them better than they'd see us. And that was our
moment.
'Take her,' I said.
She turned her head and nodded. We rounded the corner.
The room was small, maybe fifteen feet in diameter, with low ceilings.
Once the tides had come through here. The floor was covered with round
stones polished smooth. Directly ahead of us was an opening four feet
wide by six feet high. There were three browse-beds arranged
perpendicular to the opening. I could picture
them lying there on warm summer nights like this one, the dog's keen
nose facing the opening. Outside we could see the blue-black of night
and the stars. A clean sudden peace.
Before us, the dog. The nightmare.
Feeding.
A glance at Steven was all I could handle and all I could spare. It
could freeze you, slide you into madness. And the dog was busy now,
its muzzle ferreting through blood and bone, its senses not quite so
alert.
I heard the crack of bone. The muzzle rose in profile and I saw the
froth and drool, the mad stare in one blind eye. It dipped back down
into the kill.
And there was Mary too.
An old gaunt woman in rags, her thin wiry back hunched and studded with
backbone like scars on the trunk of a tree. Her hair a fright wig of
dirty matted gray and white. The long musculature of her arms taut as
cables.
I heard her voice crooning to the dog as she knelt beside it and
stroked the black expanse of its body from neck to haunches, a soft,
high, even tone of pleasure and serenity tossed in the gentle wind that
brushed through the entrance to the cave, while the dog tore and broke
and violated the empty ruins of my friend.
Her hand moved like a claw over its body. Lovingly. And wordlessly
she sang to him, urging him on, like a mother to a baby. Like a
lover.
I felt my face contorting, my stomach heave. I wrenched my eyes away
from her.
I looked at the dog.
And realized there was no clear line of attack.
For targets the pitchfork had only its back and hindquarters. I could
do him no real damage there. I needed the breast or muzzle. I felt a
moment of frustrated panic. Soon one of them would sense us behind
them, and then I'd have my shot. But the dog would be moving. Fast
and deadly.
I fought for control.
I felt Casey stiffen beside me. The fear was coming back to her now,
rising off me, infecting her. I had only seconds before we'd both be
useless for anything but a blind run, and there was no running from
that monster. From the woman maybe. But not from him.
To my left was a large round stone. One long step away.
I handed her the pitchfork. I saw a moment of confusion on her face
and then I saw she trusted me. She winced as she tucked the axe handle
under her wounded arm. We were too close to them to let it fall. She
hefted the pitchfork and braced the handle under her shoulder, pointing
it toward him, holding it like a lance. I listened for the sounds its
jaws made, the scrape of teeth against bone. I remembered counting in
the dark, how hard it was to hear over the internal sounds. It would
be the same for them. That would cover me.
I heard what I wanted to hear and took the step.
The stone was heavy, wet and slimy on the bottom. My leg tore
painfully as I bent to lift it. But the weight felt good in my
hands.
I was lucky. The rock was standing free of other stones and lifting it
hadn't made a sound. The animal feasted on, oblivious to everything
but the blood smell and the eating sounds, nearly sated with pleasure.
The woman crooned and stroked, smoothing the short thick hair that
gleamed in the light of the moon.
I guess I'd pictured leaning over him and crushing his skull. But that
was impossible. I couldn't risk another step toward him. There were
too many stones between me and him to warn him. He was four-and-a-half
feet long. I wasn't even sure I could throw the rock that far, much
less hope to hit his skull with any accuracy.
He stood straight legged on all fours, legs splayed slightly, neck and
head down, back arched. I studied him. The back was vulnerable. Not
to pitchforks, but to weight.
So I knew what I had to do.
I didn't even breathe.
I was a million years old. A caveman in the moonlight.
I raised it. It must have weighed thirty-five pounds. I pulled
together every inch of muscle. I arched my back and bent my arms at
the elbow and then snapped forward- the rock and me with it.
The rock arced down.
It looked right.
I wondered if I'd catch Mary's hand in there.
I hit the bad leg much too hard. I stumbled, fell.
There was a snapping sound like rock against rock and I felt a sudden
rush of despair. I heard Casey call my name. I hit solidly with both
hands in front of me. Something roared beside me. I felt the heat of
its body terribly near my face and head, smelled its raw moist
