In Shadows (33 page)

He hadn’t heard a peep out of Jimmy in the past five minutes, but he expected at any moment for a crazed Jimmy to leap out at him, or to come stumbling across Barbara’s mangled corpse. If it was the former he had no intention of trying to take him alive. If he got half a chance he was going to blow the sonofabitch to hell and gone. And he wasn’t going to lose a minute’s sleep over the killing.

Virgil was creeping along, peering nervously into the darkness, when a powerful fist latched onto the barrel of the shotgun, ripping it from his hands. He reached for his pistol, but the butt of the gun swung up under his chin, lifting him off the ground and breaking his jaw with a nasty crunching sound. He hit the ground hard, still fumbling for his pistol, but he had no target as he jerked the gun from the holster. Jimmy had faded away into the pitch-black woods again.

Shit. Now the bastard was armed with a shotgun, and all
he
had was a pistol.

Virgil rose shakily to his feet, quickly scanning three hundred and sixty degrees, ready to shoot anything that moved. To pull the trigger and keep firing until there were no bullets left in the gun. Either he or Jimmy was going to die out here, but he was afraid it wasn’t going to be Jimmy. Still, Virgil was protecting home turf and family, and he thought that gave him just a little more heart than even a crazed killer out for revenge.

Of course he could be wrong.

Jimmy gripped the shotgun tightly in one hand, still packing the butcher knife in the other. He had cuts over every square inch of his body from burrs and brambles, and he was nearly hypothermic from exposure, and
that
had caused his lack of focus. He’d lost sight of the old man when he first slipped into the woods. But when he’d stumbled suddenly onto the sheriff—just as surprised as the bastard was to see him—he’d reacted instantly. Now he had the gun
and
the knife, and the old cop had a pistol. This was going to be fun. He’d kill the sucker slow, get his hands on some clothes that would fit him at last, find a place to dry off, and then plan on how to take out the rest of the group, leaving Jake Crowley till last.

He listened for movement, tried to catch a whiff of the cop’s aftershave or now-familiar body odor, but the rain covered everything and exhaustion was dulling his senses. When a twig snapped he froze, smiling, then edged in that direction in a half-crouch, playing the waiting game.

You move. I move. You move. I move.

A rustling sound told him the cop had just brushed closer, and he caught a glimpse of shifting shadow through the
branches. He stood stock-still, mimicking the trees around him, his finger on the shotgun trigger.

Virgil thought he heard something to his left. He spun in that direction, silently sweeping the forest with the pistol. But nothing moved. No new sound followed, and he breathed in again.

He waited, listening, hoping to hear anything that would give the fucker away. But he knew Jimmy wasn’t likely to do that. He was a pro. There was only one way to beat him. Surprise. Do something unexpected. Maybe something stupid.

Tired of the game, using his rage and frustration like a scourge, Virgil stood full height and strode out through the woods as though it were broad daylight, and he was on a sightseeing excursion. The sound of crashing brush and slapping branches echoed through the trees.

Pierce struggled to get away from his mother, but she gripped him tightly, refusing to let him go. Her hand shook violently in his. Finally he slipped his hand into her other palm and made her look at him.

He signed feverishly.

You have to get Jake to come here. Now!

She shook her head, signing back shakily, almost as though she’d never used the symbols before.
We can’t open the door. That thing will get in.

But she knew as well as he did that no door was going to stop what was happening. The jewel and the stone were broken nearly beyond fixing. And Pierce was afraid that when the power ran out of both of them, the thing that they had sent out in search of a
fixer
would still live on its own, with nothing at all to control it. But he had finally realized that it
was going to take both him and Jake to repair the jewel and stone.

They were of the same blood.

The thing the jewel had sent out searching for a repairman had tested everyone it came across and found them wanting. And when it did, it killed most of them. But not him or Jake. Because he and Jake had something within them that the jewel and the stone recognized. Just maybe, between the two of them, enough to fix both.

He jerked his hands away and slipped past his mother before she could stop him, throwing himself toward the access hole, finding the edge with his fingers and tumbling down inside.

The blinding darkness in the crawl space was nothing new to him, but the icy feeling that hit him like a wall was a shock. It was as though his blood had suddenly turned to glacier water, and an overwhelming fear surged through him. As the last of the power continued draining from the stone, a deep emptiness seemed to surround it that reminded Pierce far too much of the feeling he’d had on that long-ago day when Rich had thrown him down the stairs. Suddenly he wanted to claw his way back out of the dark, run to his mother, and bury his face in her side. He wanted to be away, anywhere away, but he knew there was nowhere left to run.

His fingers followed the contours of the dirt floor like a braille map. Knowing that their only salvation lay in somehow
fixing
what was broken in the gem and the stone was one thing. But this wasn’t some old television where he could feel the circuits and sense his way to a solution, where a twist of a wire, or a tightened connection, could repair the damage. There was a
magic
to the stone and the jewel that still defied his comprehension.

Fix me. You are the fixer.

But he was afraid right down to his bones that he didn’t
have enough power alone. Jake was outside, and his mother wouldn’t get him.

The icy, empty darkness seemed to crush against him the same way the water had pressed against him in the flood, pushing him down, until his face was nearly flat against the floor, and he tasted damp soil on his tongue. He was exhausted from the struggle with his mother, and from fighting to understand the stone and the jewel. But he took a long deep breath, willing away the aching in the muscles of his arms and legs, clawed his way back to his knees, and gripped the jewel tightly in his fists.

Virgil shoved aside a sapling birch, releasing it as he passed. A muffled grunt spun him around, and he jerked the pistol trigger while he was still turning. The first bullet struck the tree beside Jimmy’s head just as he fired off a round from the shotgun. Pellets stung Virgil’s already wounded left arm and twisted him sideways, but he squeezed the trigger again and again. When Jimmy disappeared again he stopped, trying to remember how many shots he’d fired. The trigger was still tight and the slide was forward, so there was at least one more shot in the pistol.

Instinct prompted him to step aside just as the shotgun flashed again less than ten feet away. He fired at the blast, charging through the trees, crashing into Jimmy and driving him back into a tight spot in the brush where he couldn’t bring the shotgun to bear. Virgil shoved the pistol against his torso and pulled the trigger. One shot fired and the slide locked back. Jimmy’s fist slammed against the side of Virgil’s head, and Virgil dropped the empty pistol, fighting for the shotgun.

Virgil tasted blood and smelled it in the air as they rolled through the mud, slithering and gasping. Finally his fingers
found the barrel of the shotgun, but at that moment Jimmy rolled on top of him, knocking the wind from his lungs.

Virgil slugged at the spot where he thought he’d wounded the bastard. Jimmy grunted, and Virgil punched again, and this time Jimmy gasped, cursing, and Virgil was able to shove him aside and roll out from under him. But the shadow of the shotgun caught his eye, aimed at his head.

Suddenly teeth flashed, sinking into the soft flesh of Jimmy’s face. A high-pitched growling noise accompanied the sound of Jimmy cursing as the fat little dog nipped viciously at his exposed throat. Virgil jerked himself to his feet and kicked Jimmy hard, and then again, driving his heel into Jimmy’s chest so hard that bone and cartilage snapped. As Jimmy rolled over onto his back Virgil leaned to rip the gun out of his hands, and turned it on him, keeping a growling Oswald at bay with his foot.

“Where’s Barbara?” he managed to mumble through his aching jaw.

“The old bitch?” gasped Jimmy, clutching both hands over the spreading blood at his belly. “Where do you think?”

Virgil shook his head. “The screams—”

Jimmy laughed. Then he let out a soprano wail. A woman’s shriek of terror and agony. “Fuck you,” he said, rolling to his knees, reaching for the barrel.

Virgil pulled the trigger, blowing the bastard back into the brush. He trudged up alongside the spasming legs, stared down at the body, pumped in another shell, and blew Jimmy’s head off.

Oswald ambled over to sniff the corpse, then kicked up a leg and peed on Jimmy’s arm. The wind stirred the trees as another lightning bolt struck and Virgil jumped, raising the shotgun at what had appeared to be a man, standing amid the trees. When his eyes readjusted he saw that Oswald was staring in the same direction, sniffing the breeze.

But after a few moments, when nothing moved and the specter didn’t reappear, Virgil’s heart slowed, and he shook off the image.

Just imagination. There was no one else out here now that Jimmy was dead.

Certainly not a giant black man with a machete.

“Come on, Oswald,” he said, nudging the dog.

He searched the trees, trying to get his bearings, but it was impossible to spot anything familiar in the darkness and rain. When a gust of breeze brought the smell of wood-smoke and he saw faint rippling firelight ahead, he trudged in that direction.

Pierce’s body rested against the huge stone as he clasped the jewel tightly in his fists. Icy knives seemed to search for his heart. His skin prickled as though a million needles were being pressed against it everywhere, and his breath came in gulping gasps.

You are the fixer.

Why me?

It is in your blood.

What are you?

I am the source.

The source of what?

Power.

Just as he’d thought.

What kind of power?

You would call it magic.

Why my blood? What’s special about me?

Your blood has always been open to the source. Your blood was lost to me for time beyond telling. But now you are here.

But Pierce shook his head.

I don’t know what to do.

But just like inside the stone and the jewel, there were circuits twisted inside Pierce’s head that were starting to make sense to him. He felt as though he could see every synapse in his brain, every bad connection. And he could see the ones where the jewel had jumped them, causing him to begin to hear, to begin to see. But fixing him had made the stone and the jewel worse. It was as though the jewel had passed its good circuits on to him so that he could understand. So that he could fix it. But he understood something else, as well. Something he had feared all along.

I’ll be blind and deaf again. Won’t I?

There seemed to be a hesitation before the whisper replied.
For now.

Was that a promise? How long was
now?
Or was it just a trick to get him to fix the gem and the stone?

But he knew he had no choice. As he listened to the rush of wind overhead, the sound of rain pattering through the broken ceiling onto the floor, he knew he had to fix the jewel and the stone or his mother and Jake and everyone else was going to die.

He heard scrabbling noises on the floor above, like jagged nails being dragged across the old boards. A hand appeared, and then his mother’s fear-filled face, the darkness hanging above her like a shroud. She dropped into the hole and huddled beside him.

He nodded to her as he slammed the jewel into the slot in the stone and closed his eyes.

He had the strangest sensation of being stuck between opposite poles of a battery. A charge surged up his arms and exploded somewhere near his heart. Suddenly not only could he see and hear everything around him, he could see Cramer and Jake outside. He could see into the heart of the storm itself, and he could tell for sure that it was no normal
storm. The power that rushed through his body controlled the wind and the clouds, as well.

He reached up and signed to his mother.

You have to bring Jake here now. I can’t do this alone.

Just then there was the sound of a shot outside. He stared at his mother, and she stared back.

But slowly her eyes began to change.

Jake watched the thin trickle of blood above Cramer’s heart. The big man sat on the idling dozer like a mannequin, his eyes boring straight ahead into the forest beyond the chapel, and Jake was afraid that
this
time his aim had
not
been faulty, that the shot had been fatal. But when Pierce let out a guttural scream, he knew that he didn’t have time to waste finding out.

He shoved his pistol into his pants and kicked at the chapel door until he burst it open.

“Mandi!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

Pierce called again. But this time it was a garbled half-scream, cut off abruptly.

Jake instantly realized that the thing had abandoned Cramer and possessed Mandi. The image of
her
hands around her own son’s throat, around
his
son’s throat, threatened to paralyze him. Cramer’s voice echoed in his head.

It’s your blood.

It
was
his blood. And this was
his
valley, and
his
family. No spirit or shadow was going to destroy them. He wasn’t going to allow it. He clambered through the debris, throwing himself blindly into the hole, falling against Mandi. He was shocked when she lifted him like a toy and slammed him against the stone wall. But he heard Pierce gasping for air. The boy was alive. He shoved himself forward, and Mandi fell on him, wrapping tight fingers around his throat, crushing her
thumbs into his Adam’s apple. He tried to break her grip, but her hands were like vises, and he could feel the deadly pressure increasing on his carotid. He kicked and shoved and tried to roll out from under her, but she forced him back down.