Authors: Patricia Wallace
NINETY-SIX
They waited until the sun had set and then Jon left, disappearing into the dark.
Rachel sat, smoothing the loose soil with the blade of a knife, over and over until she was satisfied with the evenness of the dirt.
She took a small white candle and lit it, dripping wax on a flat stone until there was enough to make a bond, and she held the candle while the wax cooled.
She had gathered a small bundle of dried grass and now she separated it into piles, taking the first and first wrapping a single length of it around the rest midway along the bundle. Her hands moved quickly, shaping legs, arms, weaving strands of it until she had the body. Then she placed it on the ground and began a second one. A piece of grass sliced into the tender skin beneath her thumbnail, drawing blood and she sucked it briefly before finishing the body.
Now she took the knife and began to draw the triangle, cutting deep into the soil, making it as straight as she could. Then the circle, carefully encompassing the points of the triangle.
She could hear the song in her mind, the lilt of the flute and she made the sound in her throat. The darkness deepened.
She reached into the bag which was at her side and drew out a small bag of salt, sprinkling it three times around the circle, and in the triangle as well.
The candle flickered and she stuck the tip of the knife into the dirt, beginning the first symbol. Her movements were precise and sure and she made them according to the order.
Now the clay figures.
First the snake, coiled and treacherous.
The lizard opposite, the monster’s jaw.
The hyena, eater of carrion and coward.
Foam dripped from the wolf’s fangs.
Mindless rage pulsed from the bear’s red eyes.
Now, at the corners of the triangle:
The raven, the omen of evil and flight from retribution.
The lynx, keen shining eyes keeping watch.
And the beast, blood dripping down its face from each eye, horned and terrible.
Now it was done. She leaned forward and blew out the candle, sitting in the dark, waiting for him to come.
NINETY-SEVEN
Jon waited until he saw Hudson come out of the cave and head for the flickering candlelight before he moved.
He couldn’t see the face as Hudson passed by him but he thought he saw a glistening in the eyes.
The man walked lightly, sure-footed even in the dark.
When he was gone, Jon went into the caves, working quickly, feeling the need to finish and get back down to where Rachel was.
He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone but they had agreed that they had to draw Hudson out to them, to meet him on their terms, and not to be taken by surprise.
He was unable to clear his mind of the image of Randy Cruz letting the man hack him to death.
Now he stood at the entrance of the cave, looking out, trying to determine if Hudson had turned back and might be lurking outside.
David Burroughs had been killed first, leaving his wife to Hudson. His stomach twisted.
Nothing was moving so he left the cave, keeping low to the ground, half-running as he headed toward the light.
Then he stopped, dropping to his knees.
Hudson was just ahead, standing only twenty feet to the right of the candlelight, which suddenly was gone.
NINETY-EIGHT
She sensed him and her heart began to pound. She could not let him see her fear and she swallowed hard before getting to her feet and turning to face him.
He was in the shadows.
“I know who you are,” she said, surprised that her voice was steady.
He did not move.
“I know what you’ve done.”
Her words hung in the air between them, unanswered. He was still.
She searched her mind for something to draw him in.
“They will find you,” she said then.
He took a single step closer, face still in darkness.
“They will destroy you.”
He laughed then, a wild, unbelieving laugh, and the three-quarter moon peeked over the treetops, bringing his face into view.
She didn’t know what she had expected but except for the eyes and the twisted smile, he looked like anyone else. He was wearing the ranger uniform and until you looked into the eyes, he was . . . normal.
She found that as frightening as anything else.
It meant that he could be anonymous. He could disappear in a crowd.
He took another step and the laughter stopped, his mouth straightening into a determined line. His eyes glinted in the moonglow.
She stared into his eyes, watching as he approached her.
Jon appeared from nowhere.
“Stop,” he commanded.
Hudson hesitated but kept on walking toward her, his eyes seeming to glow red.
Behind them, the caves rocked with an explosion, black smoke billowing from deep inside, fragments of stone hurtling through the air.
Hudson turned and directed his gaze at Jon.
“There are other places,” he said mildly.
Jon held up the metal dynamite case. “That was only part of it. I’m ready to kill us all to keep you from getting away.”
Hudson looked at Rachel and back at Jon.
“I think not.”
Jon knelt, keeping his eyes on Hudson and opened the case, extracting one of the sticks packed inside.
“Try me.” He flicked a cigarette lighter and held it six inches from the fuse. The flame moved with the night breeze.
Hudson took another step toward Rachel and Jon touched the flame to the fuse, which caught, sparking brightly in the silent clearing. Jon held it away from his body.
“It’s only a minute fuse,” he said. And he drew his gun, leveling it on Hudson who now turned toward him.
Rachel reached into her pocket and drew out the thin-bladed scalpel, moving quickly up behind Hudson. She grabbed around him, pulling his head back and exposing his neck, the scalpel slicing cleanly across the jugular vein.
Hudson’s eyes widened and he sank to his knees, watching as Jon tossed the burning stick a short distance away.
Then the phosphorus signal flare began to burn, its smell filling the air.
Hudson closed his bulging eyes and died.
The flare cast brilliant white light across the scene.
They hung him upside down and let the blood drain from his body, spilling into the earth.
Then Rachel shattered the clay figures and kicked the soil, covering the shape and symbols. She tossed the grass to the wind and ripped the pages out of the black book, handing them to Jon who burned them in a pile above the blood-dampened ground.
NINETY-NINE
They did not speak as they walked back through the forest, listening as the night came alive with sound. The crickets’ song filled the air.
He took her hand and brought it to his face and then stopped, pulling her to him and holding her tightly.
She listened to the beat of his heart and cherished the sound of it.
When they got, finally, to where they had parked she got without comment into the truck.
He stood for a moment, looking around the abandoned park and then climbed up into the truck and turned to her.
“It is over, isn’t it?”
“Soon. I may have to take Nathan for treatment, but I think he’s the last one.”
“What about Tyler?”
“It may never be over for him.”
He examined her face. “You took an awful chance out there tonight.”
“I couldn’t be sure whether he could control both of us at once. I didn’t know how long we could resist.”
“But you were right . . . I don’t think I could have pulled the trigger. I was . . . numb?”
She kissed him gently.
“I know,” she said.
He started the engine and turned around, the headlights casting shadows through the trees.
The town was dark, no lights visible anywhere. There were no cars on the roads and no one about.
Behind the locked doors they slept, lightly, ready to wake at the faintest sound, ready to shoot whoever would be so foolish to venture out in a town under siege.
But it was over, for here, for now.
EPILOGUE
(AP) San Francisco—A nineteen year old hemophiliac patient in Mercy General Hospital is being held in connection with the slayings of three nurses and one patient. Kurt Evans was removed to the county jail prison ward following what authorities termed “the worst carnage this city’s seen in twenty years.” A witness who requested anonymity reported that the victims were mutilated beyond recognition. Evans was hospitalized for a routine blood transfusion when the slayings occurred.
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