Dead Of Winter (The Rift Book II) (25 page)

“You don’t remember?” asked Horace.

“No.”

“Try.”

“Well, I had this nightmare, I think.” He concentrated. He could see only the blur of an image and nothing more.
“Maybe something about the devil or something.”

“Not a nightmare,” said the old man. “I assure you, it was all quite real.”

Corky groaned. “What’s wrong with me, then?”

“Someone hit you in the face, and hard.
With a shovel, as a matter of fact.”

“How bad is it, Doc?”

“Well, you have a slight concussion, which is why your memory is a bit…hazy. In my opinion, though, you got off lucky. Considering how hard you were hit it could have been much worse. It might have been fatal were you a smaller man.”

Again his fingers ventured to his sore nose. “What else?” he asked.

Horace grunted. “One of your orbits is fractured and your nose is broken. I set it the best I could.”

Corky turned his head and stared at the old man. “Is that bad?”

Horace chuckled and said, “You won’t be winning any beauty contests when it heals, if it’s looks you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t doing that before,” he replied, deadpan.

“Very true.”

Swallowing a huge gulp of air – along with a fistful of pain – Corky forced himself to sit up. The blood again rushed in but this time he felt strong enough to hold back the coming nausea. Horace handed him a glass of water and he drank it down slowly. His tongue felt much too large for his mouth. Another twinge of memory itched.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I bit my tongue.”

“You did? I hadn’t checked that.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m just…I can’t…oh shit fuckers, dude. I’m drawing a blank. This sucks.”

Horace nodded.

“So what do
you
know, Doc?”

“About what?”

“What happened to
me.
”

Horace sat down in the chair beside the bed. “Well,” he said, “it seems there has been a family hiding up in the attic this whole time. The father is the one who hit you. You were upstairs for some reason.”

The itch of memory became a jolt. “Wait…father…family…was there a little girl with them?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“In a room on the second floor.
The others are looking after her and her mother. They were both quite shaken up.”

“How about the dad?”

“He is upstairs, as well. He seems to be a little on the irrational side.
Stanley
tied him up. Doug is watching over him now.”

Corky’s eyes widened. “Can I go see them?”

“Who?
The ladies?”

“No. Yes.
All
of them.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“C’mon, Ho-Bag,” Corky muttered. “I got hit in the fucking face. I ain’t dying.”

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

Allison was a living ball of confusion. The voices of the strange men who surrounded her were so loud and abrasive she could barely hear herself think. She clung tight to Shelly, afraid to let go. In spite of what these men told her she still didn’t believe they were completely harmless. They had dragged Tom away and roped him like a rodeo calf, after all. Lord knew what they planned to do to
her
.

The two Hispanic men were standing on either side of the desk on the other side of the room, yelling at each other in Spanish. A man with glasses and nondescript features paced around the room winding himself into
a frenzy
. His cheeks were red as rouge. Two older men with long hair – one blonde, one silver – sat behind her on the bed. All concerned were focusing on each other as if she and Shelly didn’t exist. This only added to her fear.

The door opened and the old doctor – the only one who asked how she felt in the aftermath of those first hectic moments – entered the room. A beast of a man strode in behind him. He had long red hair and a thick beard. His shoulders were wide as two of her, at least. In the middle of his face was a white bandage that leaked crimson. The form beneath the bandage was distorted, twisted to the side and appearing lumpy in all the wrong places.

Allison withdrew. She tried to shrink into the bed and drag Shelly with her. Her daughter was having none of it, however. The tike squirmed and broke free of her grasp. She dashed across the carpet. Allison was too shocked to react with any sort of quickness.

“Quirky!” Shelly exclaimed. She ran into the large man’s leg and wrapped her slender arms around his thigh.

Allison moved to rise when his massive hands approached her daughter’s head. Her throat clenched. She wanted to scream for him to stop, that she’d do anything he asked if only he didn’t hurt her daughter, but something in the way he stroked Shelly’s hair gave her pause. His touched seemed gentle, almost tentative. When he glanced in her direction there were tears in his eyes. They rolled over his pudgy cheeks and were sopped up by his beard. He gritted his teeth and tried to smile.

Taken aback by his sincerity, Allison nodded.

The mammoth redhead in denim lowered his gaze. Shelly looked up at him, beaming. “Hey there,
darlin
’,” he said.
“Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too, Quirky,” Shelly replied. “My daddy hurt you.”

“Yeah.
But that’s okay. I’ll get over it.”

She smiled even wider. “That’s good. You’re a nice person, Quirky.”

“Thanks,
darlin
’. You’re pretty swell, yourself.”

Shelly released her grip on the man she called Quirky and rejoined her mother’s side. It took Allison a moment to realize she was standing. When Shelly touched her fingers she jumped.

The large man walked up to her and extended his hand.
“
Hiya
, ma’am.
I’m Corky,” he said. His voice shocked her. It had an unusual sweetness to it.

Allison timorously accepted his greeting. His hand engulfed hers like a pitcher plant takes in a fly. “I’m…Allison,” she said. The words came in a staccato.

“Good to meet you,” he said.

“Oh.
Yes, me too.”

With the salutation finished Corky withdrew his hand and turned to the others. “So what’s going on?” he asked.

The invigorated chatter rose anew. The strange collection of individuals took turns explaining the situation. It didn’t die down until the silver fox piped in and told Corky the last part of the tale.

“You
shoulda
’ seen your boy,” he said, pointing at the unspectacular man with glasses. “When we got up them steps and little Shelly was crying and that crazy bugger was hovering over you with that there shovel,
Stanny
-boy lost it.
You
shoulda
’ seen him.
He saw you bleeding and he went fu-” He glanced at Allison and Shelly. “Sorry, he went bonkers. He tackled the guy like a
friggin
’ linebacker and wouldn’t let him back up.
Superfly
would’ve been proud.”

“Damn,” said Corky. He winked at the others. “You go, my man Stan.”

Though it was disconcerting to hear these men speak about the overpowering of her husband with such enthusiasm she appreciated the playfulness of their banter. They
rocketed
comments back and forth, finishing each others’ sentences as if they’d known each other their whole lives. It was the type of repartee she’d missed over the last few months – hell, last few
years
. Tom had sequestered her and Shelly, torn them away from society. While she thanked him for keeping them safe, for keeping them
alive
, she still realized that good old human contact was something that couldn’t be replaced.

She just wished Tom would realize it, too.

*
 
 
*
 
 
*

The kid sat across from him in the dimly lit room with an assault rifle draped over his lap. He appeared slender yet strong and the cold look he gave off screamed of cockiness. He was obviously military but couldn’t have been more than twenty, tops.

Tom grinned. He knew both the type and mindset – spirited, quick to follow orders, less likely to function effectively on his own. Tom understood this just by looking at him, a character insight that might come in handy sometime down the road.

He went to lift his arm and the electrical cable that bound him wound tighter. It clenched his chest and made it hard to breathe. He muttered and lowered it again and the cable loosened. The young soldier, seeing his struggles, sighed and looked away.

“Hey, kid,” Tom said, “come here.”

The soldier leaned forward. “What?”
      

“Cut me loose, okay?” pleaded Tom in his best helpless-puppy voice. “I won’t hurt anyone.
Scout’s honor.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“No, really.
I promise. I really do.”

The kid sat back in his chair. “No,” he said stoically and faced the other direction.

Tom grunted and leaned back in the chair. It was impossible to get comfortable. The cable dug into his skin even over the flannel nightclothes he wore. He snarled and stomped his feet then glanced at the window. He felt like he’d been in that room for hours but the sun was only just then starting to brighten the horizon. It was as if time had stopped moving.

“You have no fucking clue
who
I am, do you?” he growled.

The kid stifled a laugh. “Enlighten me,” he said.

Tom’s voice raised an octave. “Don’t patronize me, you little shit. You don’t realize who you’re dealing with here.”

“Didn’t you just say that?” the kid said with a grin. “Wow, you’re repeating yourself already. Not a good sign, for sanity’s sake.”

“Keep pushing, boy. Keep pushing.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m not the one who can’t control his temper.”

Tom snarled. “Fuck you.”

“See what I mean?”

Again Tom stomped the ground. The chair rocked back and forth but didn’t topple over. The kid never moved. “You know what, you pompous little prick?” Tom yelled. “I’m a very important man. When all of this goes
completely
to shit, I’ll be the one left standing. Not some pathetic lemming like
you!
”

The kid rose suddenly. Tom recoiled as he lifted the rifle from his lap, but he only slung it over his shoulder. He then faced Tom, hands on hips.

“Is that so?” he said.

“You bet your ass it is,” replied Tom. “You best remember that and start showing me some
fucking respect!
”

“You should calm down,” the young soldier said in an even tone. “Your wife and little girl are in the other room. They can probably hear you. Can’t you pull it together for their sake? Oh, and aren’t they a little…young for you?”