The Stranger (31 page)

Forty-eight

“Is she dead? Zak . . . is she dead?”

“Just clear back there; let me see.”

On the drive back to the cabins on the mountainside Michaela had shown no sign of life. Where her skin showed through smears of blood it had been the color of milk . . . a deathly gleaming white that chilled me to the bone. I’d carried her into a cabin to lay her on a bed. Immediately the others had gathered ’round, their eyes huge with shock when they’d seen the wound on top of her head. Boy sat on the floor with his back to the wall, his knees hugged to his chest, watching people rushing ’round with bowls of water, towels, surgical dressings. I crouched beside the bed as Zak carefully moved Michaela’s long hair aside so he could inspect the wound.

I repeated the question. “Zak? Is she dead?”

“Ben, pass me that mirror.”

Ben handed Zak the small mirror from the dresser. Zak held it beneath Michaela’s nose. It seemed to take forever before I saw the glass mist.

“Thank God for that.” Zak sighed with relief. “She’s breathing. . . . It’s shallow, but it’s there.”

“What now?” I asked.

“We’ve no medical training. All we can do is patch u p her wound, then wait and see.”

“Jesus.”

Zak gently parted her hair. “But look at the size of the scalp wound. It’s a big one . . . there’s a lot of blood, too.”

He must have seen my sickened expression.

“Greg, that’s a good sign, believe me.”

“Good? You call that good? The bastard nearly tore off her entire scalp.”

“It shows it was a glancing blow. Instead of coming down hard into her skull, the club struck at a shallow angle, tearing her scalp.” Zak peered down at the head wound. It was a three-cornered tear like when you rip clothing on a nail. Through the pool of blood there gleamed the pink curve of the skull. Zak knelt with his hands open, fingers splayed. They barely trembled, yet I noticed they were smeared red from fingertip to knuckle.

“OK, OK. I know I can do this. I can. I can.” He clenched his jaw. He was psyching himself up to do something. “Tony, find me that first aid kit. Not the domestic one. The big one we found in the ambulance.”

“What are you going to do?”

“This is a bad tear in her scalp . . . really bad. I’m going to have to sew it back together.”

I looked at him. “You’ve done this before?”

“No, but trust me.” His eyes were fixed on the bleeding wound. “I know I can do it. One thing, though.” He looked ’round. “Clear the room. I need to be able to concentrate.”

With Zak working on Michaela in the cabin I had to keep myself busy. Dark clouds overlaid the sky like a purple bruise. With Tony’s help I shifted the dynamite to a spare cabin some distance from the others. This stuff should be stable, but I wasn’t going to take any damn-fool chances. For a while we worked without talking. Only when I moved the Jeep to a garage alongside one of the cabins did Tony break the silence.

Wrapping a rag around his hand, he reached into the back of the Jeep to pull out a hunk of what looked like steel rod. As thick as my thumb, it was maybe two feet in length.

I stared at it for a moment.

“The hornet’s weapon of choice,” Tony said at last. “Evil-looking thing, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Do you think that’s what hit her?”

“Could be. But there’s no blood.” He shook his head, sickened. “Maybe one threw it as you passed, or he lost his grip on it when they attacked.” He looked more closely at it. “The problem is, they smear these things with their own shit. Whether it’s a crazy ritual or whether it’s to spread infection I don’t know.”

I found myself glancing back at the cabin where Michaela lay. “What are you saying, Tony?”

“Michaela should really have a shot of antibiotics and a tetanus inoculation.”

“You mean if she recovers from the head wound she still might go down with blood poisoning?”

“It’s happened to us in the past. We’ve lost people.”

“But you’ve got first aid kits and medicines, right?”

“But we haven’t any antibiotics or inoculation shots. They’re long gone.”

“Hell.” I rubbed my jaw. “But I know where there are some.”

“The bunker?”

“First thing tomorrow we’re going back there.” I shot him a grim look. “We’re going to take whatever we need from that place.”

“But you said it was built like a fortress.”

“It is . . . so this is where we start making the impossible possible. It’s a habit we’re going to have to learn; otherwise we won’t survive.”

“Greg . . . Greg!”

I turned to see Boy come running across the grass. His eyes were big as boiled eggs; the whites flashed in a way that sent shivers prickling across my back.

Boy shouted, “Greg . . . Tony! Zak says to come back to the cabin!”

The bedroom where Michaela lay was in near darkness. Zak had drawn the blinds and turned down the kerosene lamp until only a smudge of light burned in the glass tube.

She lay flat on her back, her black hair fanned out across the pillow. Zak nodded for me to go closer. As I crouched beside the bed her eyes opened. For a second they gazed up at the ceiling, as if puzzled by her surroundings; then she turned her head slightly to look at me.

“Michaela,” I whispered, “it’s Greg. You’re going to be all right.”

Her lips moved noiselessly for a second, then she breathed out the words: “Sorry, Greg . . . I messed up . . . should have been sharper . . . a whole lot sharper . . . uh.” She grimaced.

“Don’t apologize.” I moved closer and squeezed her hand.

“Let my guard down . . . that was stupid of me . . .”

“Take it easy. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did, Greg. . . . I should have kept my wits . . . these days you get lazy you’re gonna die . . . oh . . .”

“Sshh . . . Easy, Michaela.”

Swallowing, as if she had something stuck in her throat, she lifted both fists to her temples. She began to press her head so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Michaela, what’s wrong?”

She sighed. “It hurts . . . ssa’ bitch . . . uh.”

Zak ran his hands across his head, angry with himself that he couldn’t do more for her. “I don’t think she’s suffered any brain damage. I did a good job stitching her scalp, but it’s going to be sore for a while.”

“Isn’t there anything we can give her?”

“All we’ve got now is Excedrin.”

“They’re not even going to take the edge off pain like that.”

“I know, Greg. Good God, I wish I could do more for her. She doesn’t deserve this. . . . She pulled us outta more crap than I don’t know what. She kept us together, like . . .” He shrugged as words failed him. “Hell, she doesn’t deserve this, Greg,” was all he could repeat.

She didn’t deserve it. I gritted my own teeth as I watched her shudder as waves of pain ran through her. Her knuckles whitened again as she pushed her hands against the side of her head.

What’s that old saying?
Life’s a bitch and then you die . . .

It came ringing back at me as I crouched there holding her hand. It came like a huge tolling bell that thundered the words ’round my head.
Be a Viking
, I said.
Work miracles
, I said.
Do the impossible
, I said. And, Jesus Christ, all I could do was watch the face of the woman I loved spasm as the agony tore through her like a goddam razor.

Forty-nine

I watched Boy through the binoculars. Disguised in rags, carrying a backpack on his shoulders that reached all the way down to the back of his knees, he limped ’round the fake house that comprised the bunker. I could see that he wore one shoe. His head hung down, exhausted.

“The kid’s acting the part well,” I said.

“He loves Michaela like a sister.” Tony crouched beside me. “He’d give his life to help her.”

Zak crawled through the leaf mold, keeping below the bushes. “Anything happening yet?”

“Nothing.”

“Boy’s been hanging ’round there for two hours now. Are you sure this bunker guy can see him?”

“He can see him, all right,” I whispered. “He can hear, too. My guess is, he’s sitting there watching Boy to make sure this isn’t some kind of stunt. So keep your voices down.” I glanced at Zak. “Is Ben ready?”

“He’s about a mile down the road with the Jeep.”

“Any sign of hornets?”

“None that we’ve found, but that’s a big forest out there. You could hide a whole army; no one’d ever know.”

We crouched there beneath the bushes just inside the forest fringe. I watched Boy sit at the main entrance to the bunker. He’d done as I’d instructed. He’d made an act of finding what you’d suppose was simply a big country house in the forest. He’d examined the fake doors painted on concrete walls, looked at the astroturf grass. Then he’d sat down, his head hanging down as if he was too tired to take another step. Every now and again a squall of rain came from dark skies. Trees groaned and hissed before the coming storm like restless animals. It was as if they sensed something big was breaking.

I kept my eyes fixed to the binoculars, seeing Boy’s dirt-smeared face. In my mind’s eye I was seeing Michaela, too. When I left the cabin that morning her face had a white, unnatural look, as if it were made from the same waxy stuff as candles. She breathed steadily, but she still hadn’t fully regained consciousness from the attack the day before. In fact, she seemed to sleep more deeply now. I found myself asking myself how you know when someone has slipped from natural sleep into a lethal coma. It scared me more than I dared to admit. Zak had done a good job of the suturing, however. After cutting a little of her hair away from the scalp he’d neatly stitched the flap of torn skin back. That had stopped the bleeding. The rest now, as they say, was in the lap of the gods.

Minutes crawled to midday. I began to wonder again about the steel trap door on the annex roof through which Michaela and I had escaped. That would be the easiest way into the bunker, but I was certain Phoenix would have gone across to manually close it. What’s more, it was locked from the inside. If I did risk climbing up onto the annex roof that would alert Phoenix that we were up to something. And that trap door was a substantial piece of metal; I’d never be able to open the thing.

Tony pushed aside a backpack to make himself more comfortable.

Zak fanned himself with the Stetson. “Treat the bag with some respect, bud. We don’t know how stable that stuff is.”

Like he was moving a sack of eggs, Tony gently shifted it farther from him. “Greg, you sure you know how to use it?”

I didn’t take my eyes from the binoculars. “I’ve bundled half a dozen sticks together with a detonator and ten feet of fuse. When I tested it earlier the fuse burned at two seconds per foot.”

“That’ll be enough?”

“Once you light it you’ve got twenty seconds to get clear.”

“Give or take a few seconds,” Tony added. “So make sure you move fast once it’s burning.”

Zak gave a grim smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll move fast enough. They don’t call me Mr. Greased Lightning for nothing, you know.”

Tony chuckled. “When did they ever call you that? We have to hold lighted cigarettes to your toes to get you out of bed in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I knew they were letting off steam to ease the tension. The truth was, all this hung on Boy getting it right the first time. If he fluffed it we got no second chances. And I knew we didn’t have enough dynamite to blow a hole through those three-foot concrete walls.

“Man, you’re so slow you’ve got moss growing on the soles of your boots.”

“You’ve got moss on your dick. The only time you use it is to prick the pastry.”

Both crumbled into snorting laughter. Tension was eating them. They were letting it out the only way they knew how.

Tony flicked Zak’s bald head with his finger. “Yeah, remind me to buy you a brush and comb set for Christmas.”

Zak grinned. “You won’t do that twice.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah . . . I’ve got a cute little kitten in my coat pocket. Try that again and I’ll squeeze its throat until its eyes go
pop.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, and what—”

“Guys,” I breathed. “It’s happening.”

Suddenly they were alert again, staring forward through the bushes. Boy had climbed to his feet. He tilted his head to one side as he hoisted the backpack onto his back.

Zak whispered, “I hope those weld joints hold, Tony.”

“They will.”

I watched Boy. He seemed to be listening to a voice. I angled my head, too, but couldn’t catch anything. Then I saw Boy nod.

“He’s heading toward the annex,” I whispered. “That’s what Phoenix told us to do last time.”

“So it’s working?”

“Pray that it is.” I stared through the binoculars at the annex building that was disguised as a large garage. “There’s a door operated by pneumatics, I guess. Boy will have around twenty seconds to do his thing.”

Boy made a good act of plodding exhaustedly toward the annex. The backpack looked like a dead weight on his back. I guessed he wasn’t playacting that part of it. The bag contained nothing but a welded steel frame that fitted tightly into it like a hand in a glove. Tony had spent half the night making the thing. Now, pray God it was strong enough.

“There it goes,” I whispered. “See the bunker door opening?”

“Hell, it must be a foot thick,” Zak breathed.

“As soon as he wedges the bag in the doorway, move. And for God’s sake keep off the lawn. There are landmines under the grass.” I glanced at Zak. “You happy carrying the dynamite?”

“I’ll do it. Don’t worry about me.”

I nodded. “Once we’re in, Phoenix will do whatever he can to make life hard for us. There’ll be no light, so use the flashlights. He’ll probably hit us with water. Even a lot of noise.”

“If those are his only weapons we’re laughing.”

“Just say a little prayer he’s got nothing else. Wait; Boy’s almost there. Get ready. But keep down until we know the door’s jammed. OK?”

Without rising from the cover of the bushes I pulled the strap of the rifle over my shoulder and checked that the .45 automatic was still strapped to my hip. At either side of me Zak and Tony checked their weapons. Tony sported a submachine gun with spare ammo clips taped together, while Zak carried a pair of sawed-off shotguns. He also hoisted the backpack containing the bundles of dynamite over his shoulders.

Hell, there was so much to check. Flashlights, ammo. I patted my pockets, feeling a rising panic. I’d forgotten the goddam cigarette lighter to ignite the fuses.
Shit, you idiot, Valdiva, you fucking class A idiot, you should
—Thank Christ. I felt hard tube shapes in my shirt pocket. I’d placed a pair of lighters there earlier. But pulling this off was like the plate-spinning trick you see at the circus. You have to make every little element of the plan work. Anything forgotten, anything mistimed, it all went crap.

“Any second now,” Zak whispered.

Still playing the weary refugee, Boy made it to the bunker. I saw him stop to listen again to a voice we couldn’t hear. No doubt Phoenix was giving the same instructions Michaela and I’d received in the same soft, whispering voice. Boy nodded again, then limped to the open doorway. As he entered he slipped the heavy bag from his shoulders. This time lightning-quick he spun ’round and jammed the bag lengthways into the entranceway. A second later the big armored door slid forward, as if to seal the aperture. It made it a third of the way, then stopped. It slid back. Shut again. But it couldn’t slide more than a third of the way across. An alarm began to sound from the bunker.

“He’s done it.” I scrambled to my feet and repeated the earlier warning: “For God’s sake keep off the grass. Touch that and you’ll go fucking sky high.”

The two followed me along the path to the bunker entrance.