Max prayed.
“Now here we go,” said Legion.
And handed the matches to Max’s father.
“Dad,” Max said.
Max Sr. lowered his head, took out a match.
“Don’t do it, Dad,” Max said.
His father looked up at him, grinning. There was no trace of compassion in that expression, no sign of inner turmoil. Max Sr. pressed the match against the striking board.
But once again his hand rebelled. It moved no further.
“Now, “ said Legion. “
Max Sr. struck the match.
It didn’t ignite.
Again he rasped it across the board. This time it flared.
His arm whipped out toward his son.
Max saw the burning stick tumbling toward him in surreal slow motion. The vapor around him went blue for an instant, then burst into an orange hell- glare. He felt heat ripple over him, and all at once the gas seemed to turn to acid…
But it was only a trick of the mind. Legion snapped the match from midair, crushed it out between two fingers.
Instantly other corpses began to rip through the wires binding Max. Within moments he was free.
“Get up,” Legion said.
Max stood up trembling, mind racing. Why had he been-?
“Spared?” Legion asked.
Max nodded.
“Because you’re not quite over the edge,” Legion said. “There are rules, you know, even here. I can’t do as I please with you till you’ve damned yourself. But the next time we meet…” His horrific grin spread. “There’ll be hell to pay. I have it on the Highest Authority.”
Max just stared at him, blinking stupidly.
“Go on,” Legion said, pointing off south. “Run.”
Max turned, staggered away, Legion’s followers moving out of his path. He broke into a sprint, plunging out across a vacant lot.
“Next time,” Legion called after him, “you’re
Chapter 20: Together Again
South of Bayside Shores, in Matahawking, Gary’s group found there had been little burning. The lavish summer homes and the downtown were almost completely intact. Gary hazarded a guess that the population had had enough time to escape the dead advancing from the head of the peninsula-and that the corpses, finding so few victims, had given up torching the buildings. The predominant southerly winds would have fanned the scattered blazes northward into already devastated areas.
Whatever the reason, the lack of destruction made stealing from place to place much easier. The peninsula had narrowed, giving the group less space to avoid the patrols, but there was cover at every turn, not only among the houses, but in the scrub pines and thick dune brush that filled many front yards.
There was also Richardson’s Pharmacy, which came in handy after the group blundered into a lone corpse two hours after sunset.
They’d been making for the J and D Diving Store, still intent on finding drysuits, but by the time they finished with the cadaver, Sally, Steve and Gary were injured. They staggered off to the pharmacy as fast as they were able, breaking in through a rear door. The diving store was across the street from Richardson’s in any case, and the drysuits could wait until the bleeding from the stump of Sally’s bitten-off right thumb was stanched, the gashes in Gary’s leg and chest were disinfected and dressed, and Steve’s dislocated shoulder was popped back into place.
Linda had some nursing experience, and did the honors. Searching with a flashlight she’d found in the electrical section, she’d collected bandages, gauze and antibiotics, then set to work with a vengeance, pausing only once as a troop of corpses, apparently drawn by the gunfire, rushed past in the street outside.
There’d been a blood trail for them to follow, but either they hadn’t noticed, or had lost it during one of the intervals of darkness when the streetlamps were out. In any event, they never investigated the pharmacy, and didn’t reappear.
Linda had all the time she needed. When she was done, she told her patients to rest, then set about stocking up on pain killers, first aid supplies, flashlights, batteries, and whatever food was available.
“How are you fixed for ammo?” Gary asked Steve, wincing at a throb of pain in his chest.
“Still have three boxes,” Steve said, “And two full clips. Want some?”
“Yeah. Running low.”
“Hell, you can have it all. I won’t be shooting that rifle for a while.”
Linda came up, shoving candy bars and bags of Planter’s peanuts into their packs. “Wish there was a real food store around here.”
“There is,” Steve said. “About a half mile south of here. It’s probably been picked over, though.”
“Except for candy and peanuts,” Linda said.
“You want to take my rifle? Until my shoulder’s back in shape?”
“Sure.”
“Will you give me your pistol, then, Linda?” Sally asked, holding her maimed hand, voice quavering with pain. The drug Linda had given her hadn’t taken full effect.
“You have to hold it two-handed,” Linda answered. “With your thumb gone…”
“It would make me feel a lot safer,” Sally persisted.
“It would make
“Okay,” Linda said, and laid it beside him together with her two remaining clips. He nodded toward the H &K, which was propped against the counter he had his back to.
“Ammo’s in my pack,” he said.
She began to fish it out.
Gary watched her, remembering her courage during the attack. The fight had been fierce and quick, and she’d kept her head even though the rest of them had been taken completely aback; her Beretta had been decisive. Gary felt proud to be her husband, his anger dormant now-her conversion to MacAleer’s worldview had opened a real rift between them, but he wasn’t going to brood on that. He reminded himself how deeply he loved her, and that she was only trying to help after all.
He also didn’t want to think about the questions she was so insistently raising. No doubt she’d raise them again herself, soon enough.
She went on watch by the front windows.
“You know,” Sally said suddenly. “I’m just as much in danger as any of you.”
“I know, honey,” Steve said.
“‘I know, honey,’” Sally mocked. She spat. “The three of you treat me like I’m a child. And I’m sick and tired of it.”
“You want the gun?” Steve asked. “Do you have the slightest idea how to use it?”
“You could show me,” Sally said.
“But I won’t.,” Steve said. “It’d be a waste of time. If you can’t hold it, there’s no point trying to shoot it.”
“Steve, that son of a bitch got close enough to
“Oh, hell no,” Steve said sarcastically. “You just would’ve blown your foot off.”
