Night Songs (41 page)

    "And you?" Peg said. Her voice was cold.

    "The first chance I get I'm going to get as close as I can and throw the cans against the shack. Someone, I don't give a damn who, shoot the hell out of them. The shack burns, Gran goes up in smoke, and…"He looked down, looked up. "And then we bury our friends."

    Cart Naughton and Rose Adams began to walk.

    "How do you know Gran's even in there?" Hugh said. "God, he could be anywhere!"

    "My… Lord… how…" Colin could say nothing more. The goddamned fool had more questions than a seance, and he wished the idiot would either shut up or take off. But Hugh repeated the question, and he damned himself for not having an answer-because there was none. He didn't know. And realized he would have to be sure.

    "No," Peg said, the cold gone for a moment, the mourning rage temporarily in abeyance. "No, I won't let you."

    Frankie Adams picked up a rock, handed it to his father and picked up another.

    "No time," he said. He gave the gun to Peg and hefted up the cans. "No time."

    Thankfully, no one looked at him as though he were a hero. He didn't think he could stand that, not after having let Matthew down at the end. Besides, he was terrified. Standing here in the wind, listening to the surf dig itself a new coastline, watching animated corpses shuffling toward him, he was terrified; if someone didn't do something soon he knew he was going to run away. It was as simple as that-he was going to break and run.

    "Lee," Garve said. He took her elbow and began moving. She shrugged him off, picked up a handful of stones and began heaving them toward Hattie Mills and Amy Fox. Immediately, several of them turned to follow. Peg pushed Hugh ahead of her, pushed again until his hands held rocks and he was following Lee's example.

    Silently.

    Not even the virtue of ragged, heavy breathing.

    The rocks landed on the ground, landed on a chest, and there was no sound at all except the scream of the dying wind.

    Colin eased along behind Hugh and Peg, watching, feeling the heavy cans pull at his throbbing shoulders, but not caring because it was going to work. A gap was opening, and as long as Peg and Hugh kept on drawing them to the right, it wouldn't be long before he could-

    Lee shrieked, mournful, enraged, and he whirled to see her sprawled on the ground while Garve wrestled with Cart Naughton. He shouted, dropped the fuel cans and started to run, but Hugh put a foot into the back of one knee and drove him to the ground. Helplessly, then, sprawled not thirty feet from his friend, he watched as Garve lifted the dead boy off the sand, turned sharply and had the body dangling over his head. Lee shouted from her position on the ground, and Garve yelled as he tossed Cart into the sea.

    Then, breathing heavily, he turned to help Lee, and Graham Otter fell onto Tabor's back and buckled him to the ground. He screamed as the minister's hands tore at his throat, screamed while he tried to kick himself over onto his back. Lee scrambled out of the way, shrieking, crying, picking up her fallen weapon and slamming the stock into Otter's forehead once, and once again, screaming obscenities when nothing happened, sobbing as she turned the weapon around to fire point blank into the dead man's skull.

    Otter flew to one side, and Lee was on her knees, cradling Tabor's head in her lap.

    Colin had no idea how much time had passed, certainly not more than a few seconds, before Garve opened his eyes with a slow fluttering. Even before Lee staggered back, shaking her head in denial, he knew what color they would be when Tabor looked up.

    Peg took Colin's arm and pulled him to his feet.

    Hugh flapped his arms in helpless rage. "Ah, Garve," he said again and again. "Ah, Garve, goddamn it."

    Lee backed to the water's edge before she looked down at the shotgun still in one hand. Garve didn't move once he'd gotten to his feet. She braced the stock against her hip and aimed the barrel at his chest.

    Colin despaired, looked around and saw Hattie Mills making for their position. With a vague gesture and a wordless moan, he picked up the cans again, to wait for his chance.

    He refused to look over to see what Garve was doing.

    And when a lane was finally opened, when Frankie broke into a quick shambling that made Hugh fire once, he ran.

    Half crouching because of the weight he carried, he dodged an awkward swinging turn by Denise, veered clumsily around a pile of stones, and winced when someone else pulled a trigger, the flash like lightning that illuminated the shack's dingy wall. Another blast, and a fourth, and he was at the front door, his shoulder to it, and over the threshold before he could stop.

    Garve. Shit, Garve, I'm sorry.

    The stench surged and surrounded him.

    He gagged and dropped the cans.

    The stench-a fog of rotting flesh and defecation- brought him instantly to his knees. He opened his mouth to breathe while he forced his arms to stop their trembling. Then he saw the shimmering light oddly confined to the back room.

    
Jesus damn, Colin, Jesus damn.

    Matthew, he thought, Matthew-God, I love you.

    He lurched against the wall and staggered forward until he fell against the door frame.

    
Hello, Colin.

    The headboard of Gran's bed was shoved against the rear wall, blocked on three sides by candles of varying sizes almost burned down to the floor. At least a hundred, he estimated-white, red, black here and there, all of them glowing an unearthly shade of orange that made him think suddenly of a pumpkin glowing at Halloween. Near his feet on the floor were the littered bodies of at least two dozen gulls and squirrels, and the head of the Doberman with its fangs exposed and its eyes winking green.

    None of the light reached the ceiling; all of it was directed at the bed, and Gran D'Grou-he sat with his back to the wall, his legs crossed, his hands folded in his lap. He was naked.

    
Colin, you be in a hurry to die?

    He thought he heard footsteps behind him, heard a shotgun explode in the dark.

    Gran was facing him, and Colin had no doubt at all that the old man was dead. His body was shriveled, and there was sand and seaweed clinging to his skin. His mouth was closed.

    
Jesus, Colin, you are stupid tonight.
And his eyes were wide open.
Look around, Colin, and see what my Lilla give me tonight.

    He heard the steps clearly now, and despite a silent command he looked over his shoulder.

    A small boy in the doorway, with a huge rock in his hand.

    The shotgun.

    Peg shouting, Lee screaming. The boy.
My favorite.

    Colin felt it all leave-the hope, the rage, the compulsion to fight back. It slipped out of him and stained the floor; it burned his stomach and loosened his bowels; it made his fingers stiff, and he dropped the can at his feet.

    The boy raised his arm.

    
I think, Colin, he wants you to stay here with me. I told you I had tricks. You never listen. Too bad.

    "Matthew?" Colin whispered, unable to move. "Matt?"

    The rock struck his shoulder and spun him around, spiraled him to the floor.

    The boy lifted his other arm.

    "Pal," Colin said.

    
Jesus damn, Colin. Jesus damn.

    Peg called his name, and the wind fluttered the candles.

    The boy aimed.

    Colin blinked and the can came into focus.

    And the rage returned; the artist, the teacher, the would-be father, the lover, gone. He grabbed the can and fumbled off the cap, whirled around and held it over his head.

    
Colin!

    The rock struck him sharply between the shoulders, he grunted, and tossed the can as he pitched forward. It arched over the bed and landed against the wall above Gran's head. It bounced into the dead man's lap, the kerosene spilled onto the nearest candle and flared. Before Colin was able to get back to his knees, the bed and the body and the room were a torch.

    He screamed as the flames caught at his jeans; he whirled and ran, grabbing the boy by one arm and dragging him out of the shack as the walls caught, the roof caught, and there was light on the water rippling and rising; he ran, burning, screaming, toward the pines until he looked down at his burden and saw Tommy Fox.

    He shoved the boy away, pushed Hugh aside when the doctor tried to stop him, and fell-stumbled-dove into the tide.

    The second can exploded, and he saw Pegeen weeping.

    

    

    There were hands on his arms, dragging him out of the water, pulling off his pants. Hugh nodded when Peg asked if he would be all right. Lee stood over him, and when he grinned they hauled him to his feet so he could give Peg a hug, a quick kiss, and hold her hand. There was no celebration. The joy he felt was dashed when he saw Garve lying with his head in the shadows. When they finally began to stagger from the burning shack, the sprawled bodies of the rest of their friends lay on the sand, mangled, torn, faces up to the night sky, their eyes finally closed.

    He had little sense of time left. They were on the flat, on the dune, then on the street and heading back for the cruiser. Someone, he thought it might be Hugh, was talking about salvaging one of the boats at the marina and using it to get back to the mainland. The sea was too high, Lee (he thought) argued, and Montgomery hushed her with an uncharacteristic curse.

    Garve found a boat, he thought, but couldn't say it. Garve found a boat.

    He was tired. He knew he shouldn't be leaning on Peg so heavily, but he was so God-almighty tired that if anything that looked like a bed came within a mile of him he was going to use it and sleep without dreams for the rest of his life.

    The fire cast their shadows.

    At the patrol car Peg balked at getting in.

    Colin knew what she was thinking.

    When none of the others moved to help, he took Hugh's long flashlight and walked with her around the deadfall, turning the beam on the path their car had taken into the yard. They spent an hour searching through the rubble, through the rooms, this time opening closets and poking under tables. They spent an hour, and they found nothing. And when they came outside again, Peg had lost the armor she'd forged from her revenge.

    At the sidewalk she stopped.

    "I… we can't go until we find him," she said.

    "In the morning," he said. "We'll never find him tonight."

    "I won't go."

    "You don't have to."

    "Hugh said-"

    "Hugh says a lot of things. And if he insists, well, there's more than one boat, you know." He put an arm around her waist, held her close. "We'll find him. I promise."

    She seemed ready to agree, then shook herself and stared at him. "No. You go if you want. I can't. I just can't."

    He touched a hand to her shoulder, nodded
it's all right,
and they walked toward the edge of the woods, toward the path to the cliffs. The trees still whipsawed in the dying storm, the flashlight's beam was coated with spray that had it glittering, fogging, picking out things moving where nothing moved at all.

    They stopped at the edge of the path, and he licked at his lips. The way ahead was dark, filled with the growl of the sea climbing the rocks. Peg took his arm; they left the road behind.

    "Peg," he whispered, wanting to tell her how fruitless this was. But she tightened her grip to silence him, and he stared ahead, trying to see beyond the reach of the light, swinging it side to side, hunting for a telltale break in the undergrowth.

    Five minutes and he was freezing.

    Five more and she stumbled, nearly knocking them both down.

    He sensed her resolve weakening, yet she pulled him on gently until they reached a widening of the path and saw the body ahead.

    "Oh my God," she murmured.

    The flashlight poked closer, and the body elongated.

    "It's El," he said flatly.

    Peg looked away, a cheek against his shoulder, and he had a hand out when he felt her stiffen and clutch him fiercely. He turned quickly, and saw the figure in the middle of the road, the shadow waiting for them in the middle of the path.

    It was then he realized he hadn't brought a weapon.

    Like a man with a torch fending off a jungle beast, he thrust the flashlight ahead of him, jabbing at the figure as it staggered toward them. Peg whimpered, was ready to bolt and run, when suddenly the light caught the figure's face.

    "Matthew!" Peg screamed, and ran to take him in her arms.

    His hair was matted in cords over his face, his clothes torn and drenched, but as far as Colin could tell, the boy wasn't injured.

    A brief pain in his chest then when Peg cradled and lifted Matt, rocking him while she held him and tried to clean him off at the same time; another draining when he realized.that finally it was over. He waited until the boy noticed him as well, and in a three-way joyous spate of talking, yelling, laughing, explaining, he heard something that made him hush them all with a sharp wave.

    "What?" he said, taking the boy by the shoulder.

    "I said," Matt told him as if he should have known, "I went to find Lilla and make her give you and Mom back. And she did! She really and truly did!"

    "Lilla," Peg said dully.

    Matt's eyes widened in excitement, in relief. "Yes, honest, Mom! She was in the cave. I went there and she was there. I was real scared at first because she was acting all funny, but then I told her what I wanted and she said okay, and then… then…" The boy's face darkened, and suddenly he was crying.