The Fourth Trumpet (12 page)

Both carrying a flashlight, they walked in silence up the driveway to the main road. “Doesn’t it seem darker to you?” Andrea murmured. “I think the shadows have deepened—if that’s possible. The trees look taller, too. They’re hugging the road—like-like sentinels, guarding the gates of some evil realm.”

“You should be a writer,” Keith chuckled.

“Right. I think I’ve read, maybe, five books in my entire life.”

“You’re kidding. I love to read. Have to have a book going or I go nuts.”

“Really? What do you read?”

“Well, aside from engineering magazines and whatnot, I read a lot of fiction. Been reading all Tony Hillerman’s stuff.”

“Never heard of him.”

“I’ll have to tell you about some of his stories. You’d like Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee.”

“Native Americans?”

“You got it.” Keith stopped walking and aimed his light toward the fence on their left. “That Kellermann’s pasture? I think you mentioned it before.”

“Yes. They have cattle and grow corn. Used to be a nice place.”

“Andrea, I wish I could wave a magic wand and make all this go away.”

Andrea snickered. “I wish you could, too.” She directed her light up the road; let it pick out individual bushes and tree trunks. “Gosh, everything looks so weird. Let’s get this over with. I feel like bugs are crawling up and down my back.”

“Yeah. Not to mention the encounter Father Joe had. Jeez. I’d probably die of fright if one of the
things
actually jumped on top of me. Didn’t he say he could smell its breath? God, what a thought!”

“Thanks for bringing
that
up. Now I really have the creepy-crawlies.”

“Sorry. Guess we
should
start praying. Seems to work for our two clergy fellows back home.”

“Right.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Andrea’s stomach had begun to roil and she was afraid she was going to be sick again. The Martin’s house still sat, submerged in its pool of darkness, as forlorn as it’d been the previous trips. Their cars hadn’t moved; the windows remained sightless. An obvious void of anything resembling flesh and blood permeated the air. The back door, however, was ajar. Andrea skidded to a stop and groped for Keith’s arm.

Jabbing a forefinger at the open door, she radiated acute apprehension. “Look,” she hissed. “It’s open. We closed it.”

Keith nodded and, without another word, crept up the back steps to the porch and faced the yawning door. Pausing at the threshold for a heartbeat, he peered in. While Andrea stood back a few feet and waited with bated breath, Keith stepped into the black hole of the kitchen. In less than a minute, he was back outside.

“The place has been ransacked,” he whispered. “It’s a mess.”

“Who could’ve done it? One of the
things
?”

“I don’t think so. Looks more methodical than just random destruction.”

“Oh, great. I hope they didn’t take what we need. Unless, of course, they needed it, to.”

“You’re too charitable. We helped ourselves a while back, but we didn’t vandalize the place. C’mon, let’s see if we can find what we need.”

Keith reentered the house with Andrea close on his heels. She led the way to the bathroom by the master bedroom, noting that chairs in the living room had been overturned, table drawers yanked out, and miscellaneous stuff strewn about in wild abandon. It made her angry to think that Donna Martin’s treasured belongings had been treated in this way. But then she remembered that Donna was beyond caring about such trivial things.

They found a box of gauze in one of the bathroom cupboards, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a tube of some ointment good for burns. Keith disappeared into the bedroom and returned with an empty pillowcase. Catching on, Andrea began shoving other much-needed things into its voluminous interior.

“I suppose we can always cut up a sheet to make bandages,” Andrea said, chewing on her lower lip.

“Yes, we could. That’s a good idea. Or you could rip your slip or skirt or some damn thing like the females do in the movies.” His tone, a tad on the sarcastic side, made Andrea raise her eyebrows.

“Yeah?” Andrea forced a laugh. “Sure I could. Just like you can save the day, riding in with the cavalry.”

“I saw a closet out in the hall, filled with bedding, towels and stuff. Should I take a few of their sheets? I mean, with laundering virtually impossible, we need all the clean linens we can get.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Andrea shrugged. “I still feel creepy just taking their stuff. It’s like I’m stealing from our friends.”

“I’m sure your friends would want you to take anything you needed. They’d want you to survive.”

“You’re right.”

She added a few more things to the already-bulging pillowcase then made her way back to the kitchen, stepping over fallen lamps and discarded junk. Keith had hauled out a thick pile of cleans sheets and towels—nicely folded by Donna Martin and still smelling of her softener—and followed Andrea through the ransacked house.

“I wonder what they were looking for,” Keith mused aloud. “The stuff
I
think important, they didn’t take.”

“Yeah, maybe they were frightened away.”

“Hmm. Could be.”

“Look, there’s a big shopping bag beside the stove. Why don’t you put the sheets and stuff in that so you can carry them easier?”

“Good idea.” Keith picked up the thick plastic sack, adorned with a colorful picture of a Thanksgiving turkey, and stuffed it with linens. He hefted the heavy pillowcase in one hand and the bag in the other, comparing their individual weights. “Believe it or not, your pillowcase is heavier. I’ll carry
it.”
He grinned. “What’d you put in here?”

“Just everything I thought we might need. Who knows what’s going to happen tomorrow? Anyway, thanks.”

They left the house and secured the door even though it seemed a bit ridiculous. But Andrea still felt a haunting respect for her dead neighbors and wanted to do her best for what was left of their once gracious home.

With the flashlights’ feeble beams bobbing in front of them, the two trudged down the asphalt road—again in silence. There just wasn’t much to talk about anymore. And then a thought poked its way into Andrea’s mind. “Keith?” she asked, swathed in darkness, not looking at him.

“Yeah?”

Andrea had stopped walking. She shifted the shopping bag to her other hand, holding the flashlight under her chin, and flexed her stiff fingers.

Keith waited patiently until she had the flashlight back in the right hand and the shopping bag in the left. “What were you going to say?” he pressed.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, it was something. What?”

Andrea coughed then looked at her companion. “I-I just wanted to tell you, thank you.” She winced. “I know I said it before, but, well, I want you to know I mean it. Thank you for everything.”

He shook his head. “Please. I haven’t done a blasted thing.”

“Yes. Yes, you have. And I want you to know how much I admire you. Didn’t want to say it back at the house. In front of the others. Sounds so lame…”

“Andrea.” Keith set the pillowcase on the ground. His eyes never leaving her face, he took three steps forward and reached out. Andrea dropped the shopping bag and rushed into his arms. Burying her face in the folds of his sweater, she mumbled, “Oh, Keith.” She lifted her face. “I-I think I’m falling in love with you.” Grimacing, she added, “Isn’t that the silliest thing you ever heard?”

“No.”

“No?” A smile spread across her face. “Why not?”

“Love is never silly.”

“No, I guess not.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be eighteen on April third, and you are—wait a minute. How old
are
you?”

He grinned. “I’m an old man, the south side of twenty-five.”

Andrea’s smile wavered. “Wow, twenty-four. Six years older. I’m nothing but a child and you, you’re a great big guy who’s living on his own, owns his own house, has a good-paying job. Sheesh! I’d say that’s being
really
silly. You’re probably laughing at me. Think I’m a total—”

Keith smothered her words with a kiss. Whether it was her heightened emotions, lack of sleep, or vitamin-D deprivation, Andrea hadn’t a clue. All she knew was what her heart was telling her that moment. Forgetting where they were, ignoring the roiling darkness all around them, Andrea returned his kiss with all the strength left in her.

“Your face is so scratchy,” Andrea murmured when they broke for a much-needed breath.

“Haven’t shaved in an eon,” Keith whispered in her ear then found her lips again.

Finally, after an eternity of heartbeats, Keith pushed her to arms’ length and just looked at her. “Oh, Andy, Andy. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but…”

“I wanted you to do it.”

“And I wanted to do it, too, but, well, this is neither the time nor the place.”

Feeling like he’d just tossed a bucket of ice water on her, Andrea backed away and picked up the shopping bag. “You’re right. Let’s get going. Sorry. Chalk it up to me being a silly, emotional teenager.”

He winced. “No. No, please. You’re not.”

“Yes, I am. Really. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.” Keith took a step closer, but Andrea raised a hand. “Don’t. Let’s get out of here. Okay?”

“Right.” He bent to retrieve the pillowcase. “Right. Time to get this show on the road. We’ve gambled with fate long enough. Those things have to be around,
somewhere
, and we don’t want the folks back home freaking out if we’re ten minutes late. But our conversation isn’t over, Andrea. We have to talk.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it. And six years isn’t all that much. In the grand scheme of things. Right?”

Andrea studied his crooked grin for several heartbeats then smiled. “Right.”

“Okay. Great. Let’s move it.”

They resumed walking at a fast clip. Neither spoke, but it was a congenial silence, not cold and lonely, like before. By the time they reached the driveway, however, Andrea’s hands had just about had it. She didn’t think she could carry the heavy shopping bag with its narrow plastic handles, much farther. It’d felt more like ten miles than just a quarter of one. She was beat.

Keith noticed. “Hey, why don’t put the bag down and go on up to the house. I can make two trips just the length of the driveway. I’ll be okay.”

“Thanks. My hand is killing me. I’ll tell the—”

“Move another inch, and I’ll kill you.” The hoarse voice erupted from the thick blackness.

Andrea froze. Keith dropped the pillowcase and whirled around, looking in all directions. “Who’s there!” he demanded in a guttural voice Andrea didn’t recognize.

Like a phantom, morphing from the netherworld, a human form materialized out of the gloom. It was a young man—a boy, really—dressed in black leather and chains, body pierced in a dozen places. His hair was spiked. It stood straight up like he’d been shocked. He scowled. Ugly. Angry.

“Don’t move!” he screamed at Keith, raising an arm and waving it menacingly over his head. He held something, but Andrea couldn’t make it out. She prayed it wasn’t a gun.

“What do you want?” Keith asked. “We haven’t anything except a few lousy medical supplies. We have someone badly injured up at the house.”

“Yeah? Is that so? I’m crying buckets.” The punk added a string of profanity that made Andrea wince. Aunt Claire would’ve washed his mouth out—or worse. The words made her feel dirty. Apparently, Keith felt the same.

“Watch your language, you punk,” Keith growled. In the next instant, he lay flat on the road, wiping blood from a bludgeoned nose.

Andrea yelped. “Oh, God. Keith.”

“Shut up!”

She glared at the youth. “What’s the matter with you, you Cretin.”

The delinquent swore. “I told you to shut up! Move again or say another word, and you’re both deader than the people back up the road.” He waved the object he was holding closer, and now Andrea could see it was a large rock.

“You killed them? You killed the Martins?” Andrea shrieked. Half-expecting the angry youth to hit her, she cringed in expectation of the hard blow. But he didn’t lift a hand.

“Kill the couple behind the garage? No, I didn’t kill ’em. They was already dead when I practically fell on top of ’em. But don’t get me wrong, baby, ’cause I don’t have no problem with killing when I have to.” He grabbed Keith by the collar. “Get up, ass-hole! You live in the house up this road?”

Keith jerked free of the hoodlum’s grasp and received a knee in the abdomen and a kick in the face for his efforts. Andrea squealed in fear. “Stop it! Don’t hurt him again!”

The punk’s grin was a sneer. “Yeah? And what if I don’t? You going to stop me, honey? That might be a lot of fun. Try it.”

Keith, who was doubled up in agony and trying desperately to draw a breath, protested. “Don’t touch her.” He coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood, and, to Andrea’s horror, a tooth.

That made the thug laugh uproariously. With one sweep of a leather-clad leg, he had Keith sprawled on the highway, facedown for the second time. Andrea made a desperate attempt to kick back at the youth and by sheer luck got him in the groin.

“You bitch. You’re dead, bitch. Dead.” Doubled over, the punk lunged for Andrea. She sidestepped his attack, swung her leg out and tripped him. He stumbled but didn’t fall. Screaming in rage, spittle spraying, he raised a fist. The look in his wild eyes terrified Andrea. Never in her life had she seen a human being so crazed. She knew it was over for her and probably Keith, too. The insane young man would kill them both.

SIXTEEN

The punk lunged for her again. Andrea screamed and kicked out. Keith rolled over and scrambled to get up, but the punk had already grabbed Andrea by the hair and was yanking her to him. Then, leering down into her face, he brought one hand back, ready to slam his fist down on her head. Andrea wriggled and squirmed, but his hold on her tightened. She screamed again.

A deep, throaty bark broke through the scuffling, and the punk let go of Andrea so quickly, she tumbled to the ground. She looked up just in time to see a dark shape fly through the air and land on top of the startled delinquent. Now he was the one screaming in sheer fright and pain.