Nightstruck (20 page)

“I should probably go ahead and cook some dinner now, in case we lose power later,” I said, half under my breath. I had a habit of talking to myself when I was alone in the house, and I hadn't fully grasped that I
wasn't
alone until Luke answered me.

“You don't have to cook for me,” he said. “I can just eat a sandwich or a TV dinner or something like that.” He shook his head. “I should have brought food. I just didn't think of it.”

I waved off his concerns. “I'd be cooking something for myself if you weren't here, so it's no big deal.” Though if it were just myself, I might have gone for another grilled cheese and tomato soup dinner, which is one of my favorite comfort meals. “I haven't been shopping for a while, so I'm going to have to improvise, but I'll put something together.”

Luke offered to help me, but our kitchen was tiny, and it was hard enough to move when Bob was constantly underfoot. It seemed the lower the sun sank, the clingier he got. Although, to be fair, I had defrosted some ground beef and was making a hamburger casserole that would have kept him riveted night or day.

At about four forty, with sunset only minutes away, I stuck the casserole in the oven and went upstairs to get the SIG. Dad had suggested I keep it with me at all times once the sun went down, and he'd even loaded up some extra mags for me, just to make sure I had plenty of firepower.

Luke's eyes widened in surprise when I came back downstairs with the gun in one hand and the extra mags in the other. I guess Dad had never mentioned to him that I'd be packing. I hoped he wouldn't turn out to be the kind of macho dipshit who thought it was his duty as the male to take the gun and guard the helpless girl. But then, if he were that kind of guy, I probably never would have had my little crush problem. There's nothing that turns me off more than a sexist asshole.

Luke got over his surprise quickly and grinned at me. “That is totally hot,” he said, then blushed crimson and shook his head, gaze dropping to the floor. Which meant he couldn't see
me
blushing, which was a good thing. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was totally inappropriate.”

I guess he felt guilty for saying something flattering to a girl when his girlfriend was missing. Or maybe I was so firmly entrenched as his honorary kid sister that it felt kinda gross to describe me as hot.

Not that it was
me
he'd said was hot, at least not per se. I would never register on a guy's hot-o-meter all by myself. It was the chick-with-a-gun image he was reacting to, and I had no cause to feel that little stirring of warmth in my belly.

“No problem,” I assured him. “I really hope we don't need this, but better safe than sorry.”

I sailed past him into the kitchen, trying to act as if his words had had no effect on me whatsoever. I'd only put the casserole in the oven about five minutes ago, but I cracked the door to check on it anyway, just to have something to do and to give the moment of tension time to fade away.

“Smells good,” Luke said. I think that, like me, he was trying to hurry us both past his uncomfortable declaration and steer us into safer waters.

I closed the oven door and shrugged. “It's not exactly a gourmet meal,” I warned him. I was reasonably certain it would be edible, but all I'd done was throw some odds and ends together in a casserole dish.

“Hey, I saw beef and pasta and cheese. You hit all of the major food groups, so I'm happy.”

I knew we were both casting anxious glances at the windows as the light inexorably began to fade. Wondering what the night would bring. And maybe also wondering if, when the sun rose in the morning, we'd be around to see it.

I know, morbid thoughts. But it was true that for a while now, each night had been worse than the one before, and last night had been terrible. That didn't bode well for tonight, and it was hard to put the reins on the dread.

I was pleased that the power stayed on long enough for my casserole to bake, and doubly pleased to discover that my Frankenstein's monster of a meal was actually pretty tasty. Luke certainly seemed to appreciate it, gobbling down seconds and then thirds.

He had almost finished that third serving when Bob, who'd been lying at our feet, staring longingly at each forkful of food that went into our mouths, leaped to his feet, bristling. I grabbed for the gun.

Bob rocketed toward the front door and started barking, seconds before a series of loud raps of the door knocker sounded through the house.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bob was at his snarling, most ferocious best, and I was sure I looked as pale and frightened as Luke did. However, I'd already registered that the sound I'd heard was nothing like the feral battering of last night. This was the sound of the door knocker being used as it was intended, if with a little more force than necessary.

The knock came again, three sound raps, cutting through Bob's barking. Holding the gun with both hands, its barrel pointed toward the floor, I crept toward the door, wondering if it was possible there was just an ordinary person out there. Though I supposed any ordinary person knocking on a stranger's door after dark during this particular crisis was not to be trusted. And although Bob always barked when someone knocked on the door, there was an uncommon level of fury in him right now, just like there had been last night.

Luke was out of his chair, food forgotten as he stepped toward me. He kept behind me and a little to the left, making absolutely sure not to get in the way of my gun.

“You're not going to let whoever that is in, are you?” he asked, and I gave him a look that silently conveyed
Do you think I'm stupid?
“Just checking,” he said, holding his hands up.

I crept a little closer to the door, though I supposed if I wasn't planning to let anyone in, there was no reason to get closer. I debated trying to get a peek through the peephole but decided I was more comfortable keeping some distance between myself and whoever or whatever was outside.

The knock sounded for a third time, the three raps louder and closer together this time and conveying a sense of impatience.

And then a voice shouted above the barking, a voice so startling it almost made me drop my gun.

“Call Cujo off and let me in already, Becks!”

It was Piper.

At least, it
sounded
like Piper. I'd seen more than enough not to take anything for granted. Luke and I shared one long, shocked look before we both started forward.

“Wait!” I said, blocking him with my arm. “Let's make sure it's really her before we open the door.”

“Who else could it be?” he asked, but thankfully he listened to me and didn't rush to throw the door open.

I realized that although Luke had seen some strange things and had heard a bunch of strange stories, he hadn't seen things like the dissolving baby or the trash monster or the biting pothole with his own eyes, and there was a part of him still clinging to the illusion that the world was a normal, rational place. A notion I'd pretty much given up on over the course of the last twenty-four hours.

“Bob isn't acting like it's Piper,” I said, and it was true. He always barked when she—or anyone else, for that matter—knocked on the door, but though he was loud and intimidating by nature, he didn't usually sound like this, like he wanted to rip the throat out of whoever was daring to request entrance into his territory.

I had to practically shove Bob aside so I could get to the peephole, and he continued to bark and carry on uninterrupted.

I don't know exactly what I was expecting to see when I looked out that peephole, but I'd obviously already convinced myself that it wasn't Piper, because when I saw her standing there, arms crossed over her chest, hip jutting to one side as she tapped her foot with impatience, my knees felt almost wobbly.

“Will you hurry up already,” Piper whined. “It's freaking cold out here.”

Feeling almost light-headed with relief, I shoved the gun into the back of my pants. My hands were shaking as I rushed to undo all the locks, my vision blurred with tears. She was okay. Against all odds, she was okay.

I wanted to fling the door open and throw my arms around her. I wanted to tell her how relieved I was to see her—and then spend the rest of the night yelling at her for torturing me and her parents and Luke by disappearing like that.

The problem was Bob. He was still pitching a fit, still very obviously in kill-the-intruder mode. If I opened the door, I feared he would go for Piper's jugular.

Luke obviously shared my concern. He pulled a Milk-Bone from his pocket. “Hey Bob,” he beckoned, then whistled. “Come here, buddy. Look what I've got for you.”

Bob paid no attention.

“What is the
matter
with you?” Piper shouted. “You can't seriously plan to leave me out here in the dark. Not after what happened last night.”

“Hold on a minute!” I shouted, then grabbed Bob's leash and clipped it on. I didn't know why he was freaking out so much. It made me think about how he'd barked at that baby-shaped bundle, how he'd tried to warn me that it was bad news, and I'd ignored him.

But I could see with my own two eyes that it was Piper out there. Surely my own eyes trumped canine instinct.

“Back up,” I told Luke, then dragged Bob away from the door. Luke was happy to make way for us, and I directed him back into his seat at the dining room table. “Hold this,” I ordered him, handing him Bob's leash. Luckily, I kept my own hand on it, because Luke wasn't prepared for Bob's strength and might have gone sprawling. He adjusted his grip more securely, and I let go.

“Hold tight,” I told him unnecessarily. “And be ready to let go if I tell you to.”

“What?” he asked, and almost lost his grip a second time.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants legs, then pulled the gun back out. “I'm worried there might be something
other
than Piper out there,” I explained. “I'm probably being paranoid, but after last night I'd rather be safe than sorry.”

I thought he might argue with me, but instead he frowned at Bob and nodded.

I opened the door cautiously, and although I didn't point the gun, I held it clearly visible in my hand. Piper glanced at that hand and her lips twisted in something vaguely resembling a smile.

“Someone's feeling kinda edgy tonight,” she said as she slipped into the house.

“Aren't
you
?” I asked, keeping an eye on her as I closed and locked the door. If she'd been out on the streets alone at night, she should be a raw bundle of nerves right now. Luke and I had decided not to watch the news, but the frequent wailing of sirens announced that the city had not suddenly gone back to normal.

Piper stepped clear of the entryway and finally saw Luke sitting at the dining room table, holding on to Bob's leash with both hands. Bob tried to lunge forward when he saw her, but instead of looking intimidated, she laughed.

“I've gotta hand it to you, Becks,” she said. “You move quick. I haven't been gone twenty-four hours, and already you're playing house with my boyfriend.”

“I … What?” I shook my head, completely confused. This was not the tearful reunion I'd imagined.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Luke shouted over Bob's barks. “Her dad and my mom didn't want us hanging around our houses alone. Where the hell have you been?”

My brain finally caught up with the conversation, and I understood that Piper was accusing me of stealing her boyfriend. Although she didn't seem even remotely upset about it, which I supposed meant she was kidding. But how could anyone make a joke at a time like this?

Piper laughed, for no reason I could discern. “Here and there. Out and about. You know.”

Luke stared at her with his mouth open, as if he was trying and failing to come up with something to say. I couldn't blame him.

I thought Piper had acted weird yesterday, but that was nothing next to today.

“Are you on drugs?” I asked. Not that I believed any drug known to mankind could explain what was going on with her right now.

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “It's just that I've had a major…” She thought about it a moment. “… attitude adjustment.” She laughed again, the sound strangely grating.

Bob's constant barking was giving me a headache, and I bet Luke's arms and hands weren't feeling so great either, as he struggled to hold the dog back. I really wished Bob would shut up—I'd gotten the hint already—but I knew from a combination of experience and common sense that yelling at him wouldn't help the situation.

“If it's not drugs, then you must be some kind of body snatcher–like thing,” I said. I didn't actually believe that, but I was racking my brain to find some explanation for how much she had changed. “Like a pod person. Or you've got some parasite inside you. Or maybe it's a glamour.”

“Or maybe you've watched too many horror movies,” Piper suggested. “It's really me, Becks. I just have a whole new way at looking at the world now.” She dropped down into my dad's favorite chair, sprawling like she owned the place. “We were being superstitious, frightened little gerbils last night. Running away from the best thing that could ever happen to us because we didn't understand it.”

I gaped at her. “So the best thing that ever happened to Mrs. Pinter next door was to have her head sliced off?” I shuddered and tried to push the memory of last night's horror into a back corner.

Piper snorted. “Not everyone is capable of expanding their horizons.” She looked over her shoulder at Luke. “You might want to stay inside all night, every night, sport. You'd be doomed out there.” She turned back to me and cocked her head. “You, on the other hand, have potential.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What happened to you?”