Nightrunners (18 page)

"Those pumps might go," Larry said in an offhand way.

"Is he dead?" Ted asked Moses.

"He moved his finger when I said his name."

Larry went over to Pop, squatted down in front of him. "Wheee, burnt to a cracker," he said.

"For heaven's sake," Ted said. "Shut up, will you?"

"Say, just take a look at him."

A dog came over to sniff at Pop. Larry slapped him with the back of his hand. The dog yelped once and slunk off.

Ted knelt down by the man-thing's charred head, asked, "Can you hear me?"

One finger lifted, tapped the drive.

"We're going to move you. Too close to the pumps. Got me?"

The finger lifted again, fell.

"Larry, get his feet." Ted swung Moses' rifle onto his shoulder.

"Move him, he'll come apart," Larry said.

"Don't move him, and he gets blown apart maybe. Us too."

Larry took hold of Pop's feet. He could feel the heat through the charred shoes, socks and flesh. A bit of all three came loose and stuck greasily to his hands.

They carried him off the drive and out into the dirt. They were about a hundred feet from the pumps now. Nothing great, but better.

Moses came over to stand by them, said, "God, Jesus, God."

Ted and Larry picked the fragments of cloth and flesh from their hands.

"Shit stinks," Larry said.

Ted looked at him and shook his head.

Ted knelt at Pop's head. "We're going to pull the car around here and load you in. I wanted you away from the pumps so we could take our time getting you comfortable. I feel a bit safer out here. I think we better haul you to the doctor, on account of... Well, you're pretty bad off and an ambulance would have to get here first—"

The old man tried to speak. It was a harsh, painful sound.

"Just take it easy," Ted said.

"Kids," Pop said.

"What's that?"

"Kids," Pop managed again.

"Listen, just take it easy, I'm going to bring the car around."

Ted went to the car. Larry squatted down, bent, looked into the black, ruined face.

"Who did it, nigger kids?"

Pop moved his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Try again," Larry said.

"Black Chevy," Pop said quickly, harshly.

"Kids in a black Chevy?"

Pop tapped his finger in the dirt.

"All right, got you."

The finger tapped in the dirt again.

"What is it?"

"Trying to kill . . . couple." The words were coming harder now, were more difficult to understand.

"The kids?"

The finger tapped.

"Got you."

"Beaumont. . . cabin," Pop said, and the words were like rasps on cold steel.

"What's that?"

"The Beaumonts, that's what he means," Moses said. "I've met them a few times."

"How's that?"

"Lake cabin, they've got one. That's what he's talking about."

"You know where this cabin is?" Moses nodded.

Ted drove the car around, got out. "Look here," Larry said to Ted, "this guy said some more stuff."

"And?" Ted said.

"About some kids, and a cabin. How they're going to try and kill a couple there, something like that. I couldn't hear him too good." "Maybe he's delirious." "I don't think so."

Larry, who had stood while talking to Ted, squatted back down. "Hey," he said to Pop.

"Hey, you still with us?" No movement.

Larry reached over, touched the burned flesh around the neck, felt for a pulse.

There was none. "Cashed in," Larry said, and stood up.

"With those burns, it was probably best," Ted said.

"God, Jesus, God," Moses said.

"This guy," Larry said, "Nimrod the hunter. Says he knows where this Beaumont cabin is."

"Beaumont cabin?" Ted asked.

"That's what the guy said. Something about the Beaumont cabin. He says," he pointed at Moses, "he knows where it is."

"That right?" Ted asked.

Moses nodded.

"Get in the car," Larry said to Moses, "we're going after them."

"We can't do that," Ted said, "he's a citizen."

"I am," Moses said. "Always have been a citizen."

"You want the guys that done this or not?" Larry asked.

"Sure . . . We can just get directions from . . . What's your name again?"

"Moses."

"Uh-uh," Larry said. "I want to be sure I get there. We'll let Moses out before we get there."

"I don't like it," Ted said.

"Me either," Moses said.

"Look at this poor fucker," Larry said, pointing at Pop. "We can't just let kids get away with french frying folks."

"Suddenly you're sentimental, Larry."

"We're the good guys, they're the bad guys. I say we blow their black hats to hell."

Ted looked at the burning building, the flames had licked the wooden flesh from its wooden bones. He looked down at the charcoaled mess that had been a man.

"All right," Ted said to Moses. "Get in the car, and take that stupid light helmet off."

"I don't like this," Moses said. "What about my dogs?"

"To hell with your dogs. Get in the fucking car," Larry said. Then looking at Ted:

"Why don't you give him his rifle back, for insurance."

Ted nodded wearily, handed it to Moses.

Ted opened the back door. Moses climbed in, tossed the light helmet in the seat and put the rifle across his knees. Ted closed the door.

"You get to take credit for this, anything happens," Ted said.

"Gladly. Come on, I'm driving. You call in the fire department and a meat wagon...There's still the pumps that might go."

They got in the car, Larry behind the wheel. He cranked the engine, looked out the window at Pop's body. "We'll get 'em for you, fella."

Moses said, "You got to take this road a bit, then we'll do some turning later."

They pulled away from the flames and onto the road. Ted picked up the radio mike, called in the location of the fire and the body.

"Sound the trumpets," Larry said. "Here comes the goddamn cavalry. Look to your asses, black hats."

THIRTEEN

"Oh, Monty, don't move. I've just about got it."

Becky had used wire cutters from the shed to cut the tip off the hook, and she was working the rusted thing out now. She tossed the hook fragment into the bar ashtray, poured alcohol on the wound.

"Just like the dream," Monty said. "And the TV . . . what I saw was part of the dream you told me."

"Couldn't be. On the TV?"

"I'm the one talking the loony talk now and you're telling me I'm crazy. We've got our roles changed around. I tell you though, I saw this car you told me about on TV. Did you see it or not?"

"I was just sitting here, watching
Lucy,
and suddenly I felt this thing in my head, like something wiggling, and then the next thing I know I'm looking at your bloody hand—"

"There's some sense to it," Monty said, interrupting. "If you're some kind of receiver . . .

and there's something sending out there, whatever sends these messages to you . . .

Maybe the TV picked them up, just like you picked them up—"

"Bounced through my head and into the TV?" Becky said without humor. "Old Beck, the satellite receiver."

"And maybe I was imagining it. The hand part had come true, so vivid, like the way you told me in your dream . . . You were in a trance when I came in, I glanced at the TV . . . maybe the channel had some kind of difficulty and another show was sticking in, that's why it was so fuzzy."

"Makes sense," Becky said. Then she laughed. "This is nuts. Now I'm the straight man, trying to make you realize you're hallucinating. I said if I were in your shoes I wouldn't do that." She paused for a long moment. "Monty, the dreams are real. Maybe you did see something on the set. Whatever, you did hurt your hand, like I said. Clyde hanged himself just as I dreamed. If those things came true, then the others will come true. The woman I saw—"

"Now hold on—"

"—was me, Monty. She was dead and hung up by her feet and it was me, I know it for sure."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. The goblins—"

"There are no such things as goblins."

Becky smiled. "Back and forth," she said, "we change roles back and forth. There was no such thing as a person who could dream the future either, remember?"

Monty was silent for a moment, then; "Maybe these are warnings. If I had understood your dream was about a hook in the hand, and if I had believed your dream, I probably could have avoided the hook by not going fishing."

"And maybe you can't change the future. Maybe you wouldn't have known it was a hook even if you had believed. I couldn't tell it was. All I saw was the hand, the blood."

"Listen here. We're not going to submit to this, whatever it is."

"I'm going to die," she said softly. Her eyes seemed to glaze over.

He could see that she was on the edge of hysteria. In fact, he was on the edge of hysteria.

Calmly, he said: "If you lose your head, you just might. But if we keep calm, we can whip this. It may be nothing more than our imagination and we can laugh about it later."

"The dreams are not my imagination." Pushed the wrong button, he thought.

"We're going to keep calm. Now, from the way you described the dream to me, there was the car, and there were trees and a lake. Whatever is supposed to happen will happen here—if there's anything to this. So, simple. We leave. Right now. Don't get anything, just come on and let's go."

"Monty . . ."

"Now. Let's go, come on. Try to recall everything you can about the dreams, as vividly as you can. Tell me as we drive. The more you can warn us against, the better chance we have avoiding it."

He took her arm, and as he led her out, he began to feel silly. It had crept up on him suddenly. The stuff he'd been rattling was crazy. Christ! He was going off his bean, going the way of Becky.

For a moment he thought of changing his mind, but he remembered the TV, the car.

Silly, goddamned silly. How could it be on TV? That's the dumbest idea ever.

But the more he thought about that car, Becky's other dreams, the less he thought of going back to the cabin. In fact, they left so hurriedly they forgot to lock the door and they left the lights on.

FOURTEEN

Dark now. The moon riding high in a cold, clear sky. The wind playing music in the tops of the pines. The '66 Chevy pushing shadows to flight with its bright headlights.

........

Monty cranked the Rabbit, backed it around, drove out to the road, headed for Minnanette.

The Highway Patrol car was blowing fast. Larry was grinning. Ted was gripping the seat.

Moses had his head down between his knees, saying, "God, Jesus, God."

........

Monty drove fast while Becky detailed the dream to him again. And then she stopped in midsentence, said: "That's it. That's it, Monty."

"What?" He glanced at her. She was pointing at the headlights coming toward them.

And suddenly Monty knew what she meant. In fact, it was the TV image: a dark car with lights zooming toward them.

........

"Hey!" Brian said as the Rabbit passed them. "That's the cunt's car." He yanked the wheel.

Clay became dust and puffed up in a dark cloud, and the Chevy rolled out of the cloud and was in pursuit of the Rabbit before the dust began to settle.

Monty could see the lights in the rearview mirror, closing fast. He pushed so hard on the accelerator that needles of pain traveled up his leg. The Rabbit was rocking, knocking.

The Chevy was closing.

"I'm the one that cuts her heart out," Brian said.

........

The Highway Patrol car was closing, and soon they would be near the Rabbit.

Or would have.

But Larry didn't see the broken beer bottle fragments in the road. The car rolled over the glass and a tire blew. The car was doing seventy. It fishtailed and spun and the clay dust flew and the car made a complete circle, fishtailed again and went halfway off in a bar ditch.

Larry opened the door, stepped out into the dust, said, "Damn."

The Chevy was alongside the Rabbit, seeming to coast. Monty glanced to his left, saw the wild, moon-eyed Loony Tunes looking at him.

"Why?" Monty said aloud. "Why us?"

........

The Chevy eased over to them, bumped the Rabbit ever so lightly. Monty could hear Loony laughing; the chuckles bounced along in the wind like living things.

Monty glanced at his dash lights. Something was going wild—the heat light was blinking like an airstrip landing lamp.

He glanced at the Chevy again. The guy on the passenger side had a gun—a shotgun, he was leveling it.

Monty slammed on the brakes, the car skidded. The Chevy shot past them like a bullet.

Becky went forward, hit the windshield. When she tumbled back from the blow there was blood on the glass. Monty glanced at her face. Her nose and lip were bleeding.

No time to worry now.

He jerked the Rabbit into reverse, backed in a short, sharp circle, floorboarded it back the way they had come.

Already the Chevy had turned around and its lights were filling the rearview mirror.

........

The patrol car had blown the left front tire. It was off in the ditch in such a way that the front tires were dangling, not quite touching ground.

Moses, who was bleeding from the nose and holding a handkerchief to the wound, said,

"Now what?"

Ted stood with his hands on his hips, thinking.

"Jack it out?" Larry said.

"I don't think so ... What might work is to go ahead and change the tire, then push it off in the ditch."

"In the ditch?"

"Push it off until the wheels touch, then try driving it forward—"

"Into the ditch?"

"Sure as hell aren't going to drive it backward, no traction. Might pull into the ditch and hard right along the edge. It gets narrow down there, -could possibly pull back on the road."

"Going to have to make an awful sharp turn before the trees ... if it comes out of the ditch."

"Got any better ideas? If so, I'm ready to listen."