The Fourth Trumpet (6 page)

Her lower back ached. And so did her head. She needed to relax before this whole thing killed her. Aunt Claire always said nothing came from worrying. She had to force herself to stop worrying. But how? Seemed more than impossible.

She laid her head on arms crossed on the big, wooden table. Closing her eyes, she made herself take in deep, even breaths. The pent-up emotions trickled out like air from a punctured tire.

The thundering in her ears was more alarming than the actual beast itself. The ground shook as the monster’s flying feet ate up the distance between them. She could never out-run it. Never in a million years. Her only hope was that Berry would show up in time and—and do what? Throw a rock at it or something?

Wrapping her arms around her head, Andrea counted the seconds until her death.

“Andrea? Andrea?”

Andrea looked up in bewilderment. Keith stood in the doorway, staring at her, eyebrows in a knot. “Are you okay? You didn’t answer when I called.”

“Oh, yeah, I-I’m okay. Just fell asleep, is all. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Great. Smells awesome. Spaghetti or something with tomato sauce?”

“Yeah, spaghetti. With hamburger and onions and scads of seasoning. Forgot all about the stuff in the freezer. We’re going to have to eat pretty lavishly for a couple days—you know, before it spoils.”

“No problem.” Keith grinned. “Smells wonderful and I’m absolutely ravenous. Thank you so much for all you’re doing for Carrie. And me.”

Andrea smiled faintly. “Ditto the no problem. As I said, I’m just grateful I’m not alone any more. As the saying goes, it’s nice to have a man around the house. Especially now. And poor Carrie. I don’t know how I’d be acting if I were in her shoes. Imagine being close to delivering your first child in this horrible setting.”

“Yes, it is a tragedy.” He pinched a corner of one the cooling cookies and grinned when Andrea slapped at his hand. “Sorry. Too tempting.”

“That’s dessert, mister. Hands off.”

“Yes, ma’am. Boy, you’re a regular drill sergeant.”

“You got that right.” Andrea saluted.

“So, how old are you?”

“Seventeen. Why?”

He shrugged. “Just wondered. Knew you weren’t in junior high, but—”

“Oh, please. I’ll be eighteen in three weeks, if that clarifies anything.”

“It does. Quite nicely.”

She lowered her eyes, felt heat seeping into her cheeks. “You probably think I’m horribly immature.”

“No. I wasn’t thinking that at all. Sorry if I gave that impression.”

“No, it’s okay. Forget it. Like I said, dinner’s just about ready.”

“Thanks, Andrea.” His grin widened. “For the record. I’m glad you’re here, too. Don’t know what I’d do with a distraught pregnant woman all by myself. God, the thought alone gives me hives.”

“Exactly how far along is she? Do you know?”

“Uh, I think eight months. Won’t swear to it, though. I mean, Rob and I became friends almost immediately—having engineering in common—but well, we didn’t exactly dwell on the subject of his wife’s pregnancy. You know?”

“From the looks of her, I’d say you’re probably right on. I was afraid for a while that she’d go into labor, she was so upset. I can’t imagine having to deliver a baby in this mess.”

“Lord, I hope not. I’ll do my best to keep her calm. Rob was—
is
—a good guy. I can do that much for his poor wife.”

“Yeah.” Andrea turned her focus to the bubbling sauce. She bit her tongue to keep from bursting into tears. The depravity of their situation seemed too much to handle.

Keith grunted, patted her back and returned to the living room. Andrea heard the lid on the wood box open and knew he was replenishing the fire. Five minutes later, her nerves under control and dinner done, Andrea called Keith to come help carry in the dinner. They cleared off the coffee table and set plates, forks, and napkins for three. Andrea brought out wineglasses and a bottle of red wine she found in the wine rack.

“I don’t think Uncle Mike’ll mind that we raided his wine cellar.”

“Great. This’ll make it all the more festive.” Keith chuckled and then glanced at Carrie with concern. “Oh, sorry, Carrie. I guess you aren’t supposed to drink alcohol while pregnant. Right?”

Carried waved his apology away. “Don’t worry. I’m going to have half a glass anyway. Maybe it’ll help me sleep.”

“Well, if you’re sure it’s all right.”

“I’ll be fine, Keith. I’m only having a few sips.”

He poured the wine, giving Andrea a half glass and himself a full portion. When Carrie objected to the very small amount he’d poured in her glass, he said with mock severity, “Nope. That’s all you get. Can’t have Rob on my back for intoxicating his wife and baby.”

At the stricken look that washed over Carrie, Keith’s face blanched. Andrea held her breath, expecting the young woman to lose it again. Carrie, after a grimace and a shake of her head, picked up her glass, raised it and smiled. “Here’s to us.” Before either Keith or Andrea could move, she brought the glass to her lips and swallowed its contents in one gulp. She set the glass back on the table and leaned back in the recliner. “More, please.”

“Carrie.”

“Keith! I said, more, please. And fill the glass this time.”

Keith glanced at Andrea, who only shrugged and lowered her eyes. With an audible sigh, he poured wine in the woman’s empty glass. For several minutes, they ate and drank in silence—the crackling fire, their sole accompaniment.

After draining her glass a second time, Carrie’s shoulders slumped. Her face, a rosy sheen, reflected the fire’s glow.

Andrea, too, felt the wine working its magic on her cluttered mind. She cleaned her plate, savoring the taste of garlic in the tomato sauce. “Either I’m just ravenous or this sauce is excellent. I’ll have to make a note. We’ll need to buy some more of this—” She bit her tongue, having realized what she’d just said. Stricken, she glanced at Keith. He didn’t meet her gaze but stared, instead, at the dancing flames. Carrie’s eyes were closed. Her half-eaten spaghetti lay congealing on her plate.

Andrea pushed herself up from the floor, stacked the dishes then carried them to the kitchen. Keith was right on her heels.

“Have to do these before the stuff dries on the plates. Hard to clean if it does. Like glue. Can’t use the dishwasher.” She was rambling. Clamping her mouth shut, Andrea hurried to fill the kettle with water from the bucket and get it on a burner to boil. Keith, after peering over her shoulder, declared it time for another visit to the creek. Andrea’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry. I won’t take any chances. Thor can go with me. We won’t be gone long. Straight to the creek and back. Okay?”

Andrea lifted her shoulders. “Sure. I mean, we need the water. Nothing else we can do. If we want to survive.”

“We will—survive, I mean. You’re a gritty girl, Andrea.”

“You don’t know me very well.”

“I’m beginning to.”

Andrea snorted. “You are? In what? Six hours? Right.”

“I don’t think we’re measuring time the same way anymore. Certainly not in hours and minutes.”

“You got that right. I’m keeping time by counting heartbeats and the ticking of that horrible grandfather clock in the hallway.”

“Yes. Well, hold down the fort. I’ll be back in the blink of an eye.”

“Be careful, Keith.”

Keith’s eyes locked onto hers and held them for several heartbeats. Then he nodded, picked up the bucket and paused. “You have another bucket? Might as well make the most of this trip.”

Andrea went into the pantry and returned with a battered neon-green plastic bucket. “This is it. Not exactly clean, but we’re boiling the water anyway.”

A bucket in each fist, Keith let himself out the back door, then immediately returned. “Man, it’s pitch-black out there. I can’t carry two buckets and a flashlight at the same time.”

Andrea dried her hands on a towel. “Okay. I’ll go with you and carry the light.” Her chin pointed in the direction of the living room. “Should we tell Carrie we’re going?”

Before Keith could answer, a voice shrilled, “Going?
Where
are you going? You can’t go anywhere. You can’t leave me alone.” The pregnant girl had materialized at the doorway, the quilt wrapped around her, its ends dragging behind.

Andrea exhaled. “Carrie, we need water. We’ll be right back. And when we get back, will you tell me about the baby? What names you’ve picked. Okay?”

She nodded. “O-okay. Yes. That’ll be fun.”

Keith lifted the buckets and smiled. “Won’t take but a minute.”

Carrie’s tousled head bobbed again, but her lips trembled. “Okay. But, what about the
thing
? The-the
monster
. What if it’s still
out
there somewhere?”

“Carrie, there’s two of us and we’ve got the dog. If
it
appears, the dog will protect us, or at least give us time to get back to the house. Okay?”

Carrie nodded a third time and sagged against the doorjamb. “Okay.”

Keith winked. “Good girl. Stay put and we’ll be right back.” He nudged Andrea toward the door and together they stepped into an unbelievably dark back yard.

Andrea pointed the light in the general direction of the creek. “That way,” she said at the same time Keith stumbled over the uneven turf. “Careful. Funny, I never noticed before how bumpy our back yard is.”

Keith grunted as he tripped a second time, nearly falling headlong into a dormant rose garden. “Jeez. Give me some light, will you!”

“Sorry! I’m doing my best!”

Keith grunted again. “No, no, I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry I snapped at you.”

“Sure. Sorry I yelled. I know you’re doing everything you can. Like you said, we’re both running on frayed nerves.” Andrea sucked in a deep breath. “God, I hate this evil darkness.”

“Yeah. Amazing what having no light does to one’s perspective. And equilibrium.”

The creek appeared out of nowhere. Both escaped by a hair’s breadth from stumbling into it. Andrea was a little surprised, as she hadn’t been aware of the gurgling sound usually heard this close to the meandering stream. Just another freaky incident in an already impossible list of even more impossible occurrences. She watched as Keith stooped to fill one bucket. Handing her the brimming bucket, he began filling the second. The first was so heavy, she set it on the ground.

A sound like fingernails dragging down a chalkboard startled them. Andrea arched her back to listen, while Keith dropped the bucket he was filling and swore. Andrea jerked the flashlight up in the air and then stabbed it toward the woods to their left.

The high-pitched, ear-grating sound came again—this time, from the right. She swung the beam of light in the direction of the shriek, dismayed to find the light lost in the bowls of cloying darkness. Her hand shook so much that the light bounced up and down like a deranged lightning bug.

“Hurry,” she said through chattering teeth. “Hurry, Keith.”

“I am, damn it. Hold the light steady so I can see. I’m getting more mud than water.”

Another piercing prehistoric tiger-like cry filled the darkness. Andrea could’ve sworn she heard teeth grinding and gnashing. She waved the beam of light across the yard to her right, making trees and shrubbery leap out like wild things.

Then the light caught what appeared to be two glowing embers, across the lawn, next to the small shed where Uncle Mike kept his lawn tools. Two horizontal slits, approximately a foot apart and about as tall as the apple tree beside the fence, glowed an eerie yellow-green. Like cat’s eyes. Like dragon’s eyes. Like a monster’s eyes.

“Keith!” Andrea screamed in terror. “There it is. It’s here. It’s in the back yard.”

Keith whirled around and looked wide-eyed in the direction her flashlight was pointing. He let out an oath, dropped the bucket again, and grabbed her arm. Bending forward like a varsity player eating up yardage, Keith ran toward the house half-dragging Andrea along with him. Thor started barking in fierce, guttural tones, but when Andrea screamed his name, the old dog loped after them.

They reached the back porch, gasping for air, lungs bursting, and dashed inside. Carrie bumped against the counter as Andrea ran past her. Keith slammed the door, locked it, then slid down to a sitting position, his back to the door, gulping in much-needed air.

Andrea was shaking, doubled over with razor-sharp pain slicing her chest. Thor paced the floor in obvious distress. Carrie remained standing, the quilt, a heap at her feet. Both hands covered her face. Her shoulders convulsed. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” she moaned, over and over.

“Shut up!”

Carrie’s moaning was sliced from her throat by the verbal guillotine. She stared at Keith and then at Andrea with large, panic-filled eyes, but went mute.

Thor froze in mid-stride, and Andrea looked over at Keith, startled by his outburst. He met her look with eyes that spoke volumes. She cleared her throat. “K-Keith?” her voice was hoarse. A low rumble started in Thor’s chest. Andrea clutched the fur at the back of his neck. “Keith?”

“Yeah,” Keith whispered back.

“You saw it?”

“No.” he hissed.

“No? You
didn’t
see it?”

“No. I didn’t see
it
, I saw
them
.”

“Them?”

“Yeah,
them
. When-when you waved the light past those trees that last time, I saw about a
dozen
eyes—or
whatever
they were—glowing and staring.”

“A
dozen
? You mean, there’s more than
one
monster out there?”

“Yeah, that’s
exactly
what I mean. There’s not just one
thing
out there. The number of eyes I saw. I-I couldn’t tell, but there’s more than just
one
out there.”

Andrea and Carrie both slumped to the floor beside Keith. No one said another word for several minutes. No one cleared a throat or coughed or sniffed. They sat on the cold linoleum of the kitchen and let their thoughts crawl back into the far recesses of their minds—back to the farthest corners, where memories of loving arms and tender kisses and sunshine and security lay dormant.

EIGHT