Moonheart (60 page)

You are mine!
Mal'ek'a cried.

The entire side of the room blew outward. Flaming debris rained on the field, burning and crushing the nearest tragg'a. The House rocked. A voiceless wail pierced Tom's mind. The House! He'd wounded the House and left a breach for his enemy to enter. He pressed his face against the floor. Where now his vaunted wisdom? Where his powers and strengths? Where now his humanity? Gone. All gone.

He fled as the first tragg'a came clawing up through the hole in the House's side. Feeble flickers of blue light ran along the edges of the hole, but the gap was too big for the House to defend.

The tragg'a were inside. And with them came their master.

Gannon drew back his arm to hit Jamie again.

"Talk, damn you!"

Jamie looked up through swollen eyes. Feebly he tried to shake his head, but Chevier held him by the hair and he couldn't move. Blood dripped from cuts above his eye, blinding him. A broken tooth was stuck in his throat, choking him.

"Hit him again, Phil," Chevier said in his whispery voice.

Gannon nodded. But then the House shook to its very foundations. The stones seemed to grind against each other and Jamie screamed.

Christ! Gannon thought. I never even—

Jamie lunged out of the chair, leaving a handful of hair in Chevier's fist. He bowled Gannon over and thundered up the stairs, moaning. It was not his own pain he felt at the moment, but a deeper pain. Now he knew what this bond was that existed between the House and himself, and the knowledge shook him to the depths of his soul. There was a sharp stab in his abdomen, like a knife wound piercing him. He had to pause at the top of the stairs to lean against the wall.

Gannon appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"You can't get away," he said. "I've got the key to the door. Now get down here and—"

"Fools!" Jamie shouted through bloodied lips. His voice echoed and re-echoed in the confined place. "They've broken in. We're all dead now!"

As Gannon lifted his gun, Jamie turned and hit the door with his shoulder. It should have held. It was locked. It was made of stout oakwood and heavily hinged. Instead, it gave way. As Gannon fired, Jamie was already through the door and off down the hall. He ran to the right and had disappeared around the corner by the time Gannon topped the stairs.

The big man paused, listening. He heard sounds coming down the corridor to his left and ran that way, Chevier following close behind. When they rounded the corner, they came face to face with the first wave of tragg'a.

Sam rubbed at his eyes, stretched his neck, then returned to the journal. Anthony Tamson's handwriting was crabbed and difficult to read after a time, but he thought he'd found what they were looking for. It just didn't make any sense. He reread the passage again, shaking his head.

There was nothing in the pages before that passage to give any indication as to what had led up to it. By comparing the dates of the entries, the only inconsistency Sam could find was a two-week gap between the last entry and this one. Checking the binding, he didn't think any pages had been torn out. He bent over the old journal, meaning to read on, when he heard the blast and felt the House shake under him.

God! Not again.

He glanced at the book, then at the door. Better get this up to Jamie, he thought. Maybe he can make some sense out of it.

Blue helped Sara to her feet.

"Jesus!" Tucker said. "What was that?"

They heard the blast from upstairs, followed by the rocking of the House.

"It's alive," Sara said. "The House is alive and something's just... just..." She couldn't go on. The House's pain touched her like the thrust of something sharp under her ribs.

"What did she say?" Tucker asked.

"They're in," Blue said. "The tragg'a have broken in."

He knew it. This was what he'd been feeling all night. The monsters had broken in. So now what did they do?

"Maggie!" Tucker cried.

He headed for the door only to collide with her.

"Tucker," she began. "Upstairs..."

He nodded. "Where do we go?" he asked, turning to Blue.

"It's no good," Blue said. "They're already in this time. You heard them. They must've blown off half the House."

"We're not giving up now. Maggie, give Sara a hand. Sally, do you know how to use that gun?"

"Yes, but—"

"Blue. Blue! For Christ's sake. Pull yourself together!"

"Okay. All right."

Blue tried to think. He'd been gone there for a moment. They'd put too much faith in the House holding the tragg'a back. Hadn't really thought through what they'd do once the suckers actually broke in.

"We've got to get everybody together and hole up somewhere," he said. "In one of the towers."

"Okay." Tucker herded them out of the room. "Let's
go!
"

"But Jamie..."

"Let's just get moving."

Jesus, Tucker thought. What he wouldn't give for his squad right now.

Sally went out first, followed by Maggie and Sara. Tucker looked at Blue. Don't go to pieces on me now, he thought.

"I'm okay now," Blue said, reading the look on Tucker's face.

He went out the door with Tucker bringing up the rear. Ahead of them, Sally gave a startled yelp. Blue pushed ahead, his rifle leveled, and saw it was Jamie. He took one look at Jamie's face and the last vestiges of shock drained from him. Somebody was going to burn tonight! "What happened to you?" he asked Jamie.

"Gannon and... the other guy. They... it doesn't matter. The creatures are in. They're..."

"We know, Jamie."

For the first time, Jamie saw who Maggie was supporting.

"Sara!"

He started for her when Tucker bellowed: "Let's
move!
"

Blue led them down the hall. Glancing over his shoulder, Tucker caught a glimpse of motion at the other end of the hall. Jesus H. Christ! It was Hengwr. He took a step in the old man's direction, then saw the tragg'a swarming behind the wizard. Blue and the others were turning a corner ahead of Tucker. The Inspector hesitated, then headed after them. He didn't want to risk a shot down the hall for fear of hitting Hengwr. But he wasn't going to hang about waiting for him either. Sucker got them into this mess in the first place.

They picked up Sam as they rounded a second corner and made the safety of Sara's tower without running into the tragg'a. When everyone was in— thank God the towers only had one entrance each, Tucker thought— he took up a stand by the door. Inventory time. Who was missing? Gannon and Chevier. Well, fuck them. Traupman. Jesus! And the gardener— what the hell was his name? Fred.

Tucker stared at the corner they'd just come around, but Hengwr never showed. What came first was the smell of the creatures, rolling down the hallway ahead of them. Then the first tragg'a shuffled into view.

"Give me some room," Blue said in the Inspector's ear.

Tucker moved to one side. The big Weatherby boomed once and the first tragg'a was thrown against the wall behind it when the bullet hit it. Blue worked the bolt again and shot the second creature. When a third and fourth rounded the corner, Tucker opened up. He emptied his gun, then pushed Blue back inside and slammed the big oak door shut. "The dresser," he said.

With Maggie and Blue's help, he manhandled it in front of the door, added a chest on top of it and a table in front of the dresser. While Blue stood in front of the makeshift barricade, Tucker turned to face the room, reloading his .38. Jamie was slumped on a couch, all strength drained out of him. His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, dried blood caked in his beard. Sara sat beside him, holding his hand. Sally stood facing the window, the handgun Blue had given her large in her trembling hands.

Lastly he looked at Maggie. She was holding up well, but there was a grim look in her eyes that Tucker wished he'd never had to see.

"I'm sorry it had to be like this," he began, but she shook her head.

"It's not your fault I'm here, Tucker."

"Never could talk you out of anything anyway," he said.

Her lips shaped a smile that never touched her eyes. Her knuckles were white around the handle of the Margolin, but her hand was firm.

The tragg'a reached the door. They clawed at its wood and filled the hall with the terrible din of their homing. It might hold them for awhile, Blue thought. But what about when the big cheese showed up? What the hell were they going to do then?

"I thought we'd make it," Blue said without turning. "Through all the shit, I really thought we'd pull through."

"We're not dead yet," Tucker said.

"No," Blue agreed. "Not yet."

He felt like firing a couple of rounds through the door, just to discourage the creatures a bit, but didn't want to, waste the shells. When they broke through he wanted to take as many of them as he could before they took him down. He especially wanted a shot left for this Dread-whatever-the-hell-it-was that Sara had spoken of.

He glanced at where she was sitting beside Jamie. She was looking better, head lifted, a fierce look in her eyes. She looked different— all duded up in her Indian gear. Looked good.

"Listen," Sara said.

"I can hear them," he said.

"No.
Listen.
"

But he didn't know what she meant. He didn't know that it was her taw reaching out that let her hear... beyond the cacophony of the tragg'a, beyond the weird moaning of the House, beyond the railings of Mal'ek'a as he stalked the corridors that were empty of life save for his own creatures. Beyond all that, Sara heard the sound of drumming.

11:15, Friday morning
.

Madison left his car in the parking lot at the Riverside Hospital and, after checking in at the information desk, found his way to the room where Dan Collins was. The antiseptic smell of the hospital followed him up the elevator and down the corridor, making him nervous.

Collins was smoking a cigarette and staring up at the ceiling when Madison came through the door. His hand was wrapped in white gauze and lay stiffly at his side. Madison took the chair near the head of the bed, laid his cane on the floor and massaged his thigh.

"Good morning, Dan," he said. "How are you feeling today?"

"Rotten." Collins grinned and butted out his cigarette. "This place is driving me batty. Think you can pull a few strings and get me out of here? Christ! It was only a burn."

"That's why I'm here. The doctor's signing you out at noon."

"Did you talk to Williams?" Collins asked. "Has he decided to reconsider closing down the operation?"

"I didn't ask him to."

"But..."

"Whatever's going down," Madison said, "the Solicitor General's in the thick of it. He's got to be. So I'm not going back to him without something hard I can show— something that he doesn't dare ignore. Until then, I'm playing it like he wants it. The PRB's shut down. Transfers are in effect as of Monday morning. And the files are all boxed in my office, waiting to be sent down to Archives."

"So what are we going to do?"

"We? You're going home. You're out of this, Dan. I'm—"

"No way I'm out of it," Collins said firmly. "You got anybody to lend you a hand?"

"No. But—"

"Shit, Wally. You haven't been on the street in years. You can't just waltz around out there expecting everything to fall neatly into place. When was the last time you fired that .38 of yours?"

Madison glanced down at the bulge under his left armpit. "It shows that bad, eh?"

"It shows if you're looking for it," Collins said. "When was the last time you used it?"

Madison shrugged. "I don't know. Out in the practice range, I suppose. Last spring, maybe."

Collins shook his head. He took out a cigarette one-handedly, tossed the package onto the table beside his bed and picked up his lighter. "So what's
our
plan, Wally?" he asked.

Madison sighed. "Okay. I want to stake out Tamson House tonight. All weekend if necessary. I dropped in on a friend of mine this morning who runs a video store and picked up a camera. Then I borrowed a couple of battery-operated spots from another friend who owns a photo supply shop. Told him I was filming something kinky in my garden tonight."

Collins laughed. "And he believed you?"

"Said he wanted a print of the film when it was done."

"Figures. So what are you going to do with all that stuff?."

"Break another window."

"Break... I get it." Collins thought about it for a moment. "They'll just think it was faked. Have you seen what they can do with special effects these days?"

"But this is different. This is real."

"Yeah. Only how do we prove it to them?"

Madison shook his head. "It's a start, Dan. Maybe we'll be lucky for once and something will break. The way the project's gone so far, something's got to give."

"Okay." Collins butted out his new cigarette and sat up. "So get me out of here already."

"Call for you, Mr. Williams. On line two."

Michael Williams pushed aside the report he was reading and picked up the phone.

"Williams here."

"Glad I caught you, Mike. Do you have a minute?"

Williams frowned as he recognized the voice. J. Hugh Walters. Respected businessman and political advisor. Patron of the arts. He was also the headhunter who had Williams by the balls.

It had been his first and only time— one slip that would never have been picked up if it hadn't been for the accident... He didn't know how Walters had known about it. But knowing what he knew now of the magnate, it didn't take a lot of guesswork to realize that the whole incident had probably been a set-up. But of course it was far too late to do anything about it by that time. Everything. What kept Williams from throwing away his entire career was the fact that Walters never asked for much. Nothing that jeopardized national security. All Walters required was a word here, a favor there.