The Final Rule (12 page)

“Hurry, Ellis. You have to hurry.”

He pulled. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You always can, because you’re smart and strong and you keep my clothes from being wrinkled.”

Ellis collapsed against the bed.

“Please, Ellis.”

“Just five more minutes.”

“No. You gotta make the oatmeal.”

Oatmeal. It was always about the damn oatmeal. Ellis pulled. “I’m stuck.” It seemed absurd to be trapped by blankets, but at the same time, normal.

“Just twist your foot to the right.”

He did. “I’m stuck, Rudy, it’s not moving.”

“Try harder. You have to try harder. You’re supposed to take me to buy baseball cards. You promised. You promised I could buy them.”

Had he?

Oatmeal, baseball cards… If only the rest of the world could be so simple.

Ellis pushed against his knee, making his hip pop. Fire exploded in his ankle, searing its way up his tendons and into his leg. Ellis gritted his teeth. He kept pushing.

“Ellis.”

“I’m coming, Rudy. Just hang on.” All this for oatmeal. Stupid oatmeal and baseball cards.

Teeth inside the blanket cut into Ellis’s skin. Warm wet fluid leaked down the inside of his pants all the way to his thigh. It could only be one thing.
The Big and Terrible
. Only it wasn’t in the ground. It had burrowed into the house and now it hid inside Ellis’s blankets, trying to eat him alive.

Rudy would be defenseless.

Ellis stomped at the covers. Something snapped and he fell onto the cold floor. For a moment or two he thought he’d lost his foot, then the tingling march of ants flowed from his toes to his heel. Blinding agony followed, sucking the air right out of Ellis’s lungs.

“Hurry, Ellis.”

“It hurts, oh God, Rudy, it bit me. It bit me.” Ellis rolled to his side. Sour water soaked his clothes.

Where had it come from?

A harsh light leaked from the hallway. He held up a hand.

“Rudy?”

Ellis felt for the end table but it wasn’t there. Had
The Big and Terrible
moved his furniture around? Ludicrous. But something was wrong. Everything was shadowed and hazy.

And the air stank of plastic and gasoline.

Ellis collapsed on his stomach.

“Ellis.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“Rudy, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“But if you don’t, who’s going to keep my clothes from being wrinkled?”

Ellis dug his fingers into the ground. He wondered when the floor had turned to mud. But like the blankets eating his foot, it seemed perfectly normal. His wet clothes drank up the frigid air. Tremors danced through his muscles. He dragged himself to the door. The light in the hallways was so bright. A breeze ruffled his bangs and dried the mud on his face.

“Rudy?”

“I’m out here.”

Where was out here? Ellis looked back over his shoulder. His room was gone, replaced by upside down car seats and piles of clothes. There was a gallon of milk on his left, bleeding out into the dirt.

Ellis tried to remember how he’d gotten here.

“Don’t think about it right now. Just come outside.”

Ellis slid into a pool of water. He turned just in time to keep it from splashing into his eyes.

The flow of air coming through the opening was replaced by a haze of smoke. Ellis coughed against the bitter taste.

He used the metal frame to pull himself through the hole. Glass scratched his shoulders as he slid free. Gravity pulled Ellis down the small incline. He came to a stop next to a box of cereal and a can of soup.

A shoe box lay propped up against a fence post.

“Rudy?”

Ellis looked back. The rear end of the car had been transformed into ribbons of metal, and hard black smoke pumped from around the front tires.

They’d been in a car wreck. Ellis yelled Rudy’s name. Was he inside? Had he been thrown out of the truck? Only the vehicle wasn’t a truck. It was familiar, where had he seen it before?

A rustle from behind Ellis made him look. He squinted against the sky fractured by his tears.

“Rudy?” Ellis struggled to his knees but couldn’t seem to go any farther. “Are you okay?” Of course he wasn’t okay. Ellis tried to figure out why he thought that. He looked back at the car. Jon’s car. Then he remembered Rudy was dead. The world came into focus.

“Just be still, mister, there’s an ambulance coming.” The boy couldn’t have been much past sixteen. A girl wrapped in a fuzzy coat huddled beside the a carp pulled over on the side of the road.

A woof of fire rolled across the undercarriage of Jon’s car.

“Here.” The young man offered Ellis a hand. “Let’s get away from that in case it blows up.”

He helped Ellis to his feet.

Bolts of pain shot through his ankle. The young man held him up.

“Here, lean on me.” He put Ellis’s arm over his shoulder and dragged him to the road.

There was a loud pop, and plumes of fire became spiraling pillars. Tan paint blackened and the acrid scent of plastic overwhelmed the smell of oil and gas. Dry heat washed away the cold, scouring Ellis’s face and arms.

In the distance, sirens echoed from somewhere up the road.

“You’re okay, mister.” The boy lowered Ellis to the ground. “Help is coming.”

“Where’s Jon?”

“Who?”

“Jon.” Ellis scanned the trail of dumped groceries and clothes. Jon’s gun lay in the grass next to a busted carton of eggs.

Ellis knew then
The Big and Terrible
had eaten him.

Never let the perp gain control of your gun.

Jon knew the rules and yet he’d let it happen.

The truck hit a bump, jostling him in the backseat. He tried to find a comfortable position without letting Lenny know he was awake, but with his hands and feet hogtied, it wasn’t easy. There was also the knot on the side of his head, courtesy of a pistol whipping. Jon had been too fatigued and hurt to overpower Lenny, but it hadn’t stopped him from trying.

Lenny was going to have one hell of a shiner by morning.

“You can quit playing possum, Mr. Marshal.” The truck went over a dip in the road. The impact smacked Jon’s head against the seat.

Spikes hammered him behind his eyes and he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

“You puke in my truck and I’ll make you lick it up.”

Lenny adjusted the rearview mirror. Jon met the gaze of his reflection.

“Yeah, I knew you were faking it.” Lenny grinned. “You’re not as smooth as you think you are, Mr. Marshal. Like that stunt back there. If I had my way, you’d be laying in the street with your brains blown out.”

“If you want to kill me so bad, why haven’t you?”

“My pop wants to meet you.”

The truck hit another pothole in the gravel road. Jon winced. “And what am I to him?”

“Not my place to ask.”

“I take it you don’t agree with him.”

The rage in Lenny’s eyes reflected in the mirror. They made a turn and the rough road turned smooth. Treetops and sky blurred past the window. The sun tried to come out, but the clouds swallowed it back up.

“Did you know your friends, Louis and Russell, are dead? I didn’t see Louis, but Russell looked pretty sick.” Lenny’s gaze flicked away. “Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Why should it?”

“You two hung around together. Who’s to say you aren’t infected too?”

“Infected?” Lenny clicked his tongue. “Seriously, Mr. Marshal. After what you’ve seen? You think this is something as simple as the flu?”

Jon shifted his position to take some of the weight off his aching shoulder. “And what have I seen?”

“Something incredible.” Lenny’s eyes crinkled up. “Something few men see and live.”

The truck slowed and made a left. Overhead, the trees closed in, forming a living tunnel. Jon’s chest constricted.

Lenny laughed. “Something wrong, Mr. Marshal? You look pale.” The tires thumped against the pitted ground and loose gravel. “I bet you didn’t think you’d be back here so soon.”

“Is this how you plan on killing me?” Of all the ways to die, being thrown into the Grove was one of the worst Jon could think of.

“I don’t know what pop’s plans are for you. I’m just doing what he says.” The angry tone was back in Lenny’s voice along with the hardness in his eyes.

Clouds replaced the canopy of branches. The winding black limbs of the pecan trees came into view. They passed the first one, then a moment later the last. The truck continued down the road through another thick clump of woods.

“Where are we going?” Jon tried to sit up, but moving his legs pulled the rope around his wrists, which tightened the noose around his neck.

“I told you. Pop wants to meet you.” Lenny slowed and made a right. Even with the truck moving at a snail’s pace it dipped hard enough to make the axle groan.

The dense trees turned the gray sky into night. Lenny pulled to a stop, turned off the truck, and got out.

Jon cocked his knees. This was going to hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t going to let the bastard kill him without a fight.

Lenny opened the door and Jon kicked.

The rope yanked tight. His arms jerked and the noose squeezed his throat. The chain reaction smacked his head against the seat.

Lenny caught the sole of Jon’s shoe. “You mother fucker.”

Jon was yanked from the cab. His head clocked the side step of the truck on his way to the ground. The buzzing in his skull dulled the bite of the rocks grinding into his hip.

Tension on the rope cranked Jon’s head back. He strained to breathe.

“Like I said, if it weren’t for pop, I’d kill you. And I’d make it slow.” Lenny released his grip and Jon fell face first in the dirt. “Get up.” When Jon didn’t, Lenny kicked him in the ass. “I said get up. And if you try any more shit with me, I’m going to put a bullet in your knees and let you drag yourself in on your elbows.”

“I can’t walk hog tied.” The rope slackened. Jon rolled to his side.

Lenny waved a pocketknife at Jon before closing it up and sticking it back into his pocket. “Now stand, Mr. Marshal.”

The muscles in Jon’s legs burned under his body weight.

“This way.” Lenny shoved him hard enough to make him go down again. A blow to Jon’s kidney made him double over. He clenched his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache. Lenny was not going to get the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Jon forced himself to stand. Lenny directed him toward a small farmhouse.

The dilapidated structure was one large square. Most of paint had peeled away, leaving water stains and mold. Termite infested posts held up the sagging porch.

The only sign of life was a steady line of smoke from the chimney.

Jon stopped at the front door. Cold steel pressed against the back of his head. “Open it.”

The doorknob flopped in Jon’s grip. He pushed and door tilted on its hinges. The rough wood clawed a path over the carpet.

Dirty light trickled in from the gaps between thick curtains and cut shadows around the sparse furniture. Inside, the air stank of pinto beans, cornbread, and sour milk.

“Here he is, pop.” Lenny prodded Jon with the gun. “Don’t be shy, Mr. Marshal. Go say hello.” The door shut behind Jon, sealing him in.

He stopped in the middle of the living room.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Jon Foster.” The lead weight of the man’s voice filled the room.

The easy chair turned away from the fire, revealing a shriveled man. His eyes were darker than the deepest shadow. And whatever it was that stared at Jon from the depths of blackness, was not human.

Lenny’s father waved Jon forward. “Come closer so I can get a good look at such a fine specimen.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“I do not make requests, Jon.” His thin lips stretched over his pale gums and rotting teeth. “Closer. Now.”

The hiss of something liquid slid behind the walls.

Jon stepped closer.

Lenny’s father leaned forward into a swatch of light. The veins showing through his sallow skin expanded and contracted with an independent pulse. “Hard to imagine you giving my son so much trouble. But then he never was very smart or very efficient.” The floor creaked behind Jon.

“I—”

“Shut up, boy. You have nothing to say that I want to hear.” The man brought his attention back to Jon. The gleam in his eye was too close to adoration for Jon’s comfort. Lenny’s father said, “So tell me. How do you like living in my town?”

Jon eased his weight off his bad knee. His hip protested against the change in position. “I wasn’t aware it was your town.”

“It is. The people just don’t know it yet.” He flicked a look over Jon’s shoulder. “Bring him a chair from the kitchen so he can sit.”

There was only the slightest hesitation from Lenny. He returned with an ancient wooden chair. Spider webs clung to the spindles.

“Have a seat, Jon. Take a load off.”

The wood groaned under Jon’s weight and some of the fire left his knee. He rubbed it.

“There. Now isn’t that better?”

It was. But hell would freeze over before Jon thanked him. “Why am I here instead of dead in a ditch?”

“You’re here because I command it. Like I command my son and so many others. You live because I allow it.”

The liquid hissing sound behind the walls shifted to the floor. Lumps under carpet moved toward the old man’s chair. Then the ripples rode up the legs of his overalls and spread out under his skin.

This could not be real. But reality forced itself on Jon. He shivered against the internal chill growing inside his chest.

“Something bothering you, Jon Foster?” The man stroked the frayed arm of the recliner. “Because it seems to me you’re nervous about something. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Lenny’s father chuckled. It wasn’t much more than a thick wet sound rattling in his lungs. “I don’t have to think. I know. You’re terrified. Of what you’ve seen. What you see now. But it’s wise to fear me, Jon. Very wise.” The substance sliding under his skin passed through his eyes.

“What are you?”

“I am the shadows under your bed, the darkness beyond your window, the chill that caresses your spine.” He leaned forward. “And sometimes, Jon, sometimes, I am the voice inside your head. The one that whispers the thoughts you’re too afraid to face.”