His thoughts returned to Stephanie. He studied her silhouette through Sam’s rear window. When this was over, he was going to tell her how he felt. Enough was enough. Life was too short. He’d never really thought about that before. Sure, he’d known people who died—his grandparents, and a friend of his had died of leukemia in the fourth grade. But those deaths were different than tonight. He needed Steph to know how he felt about her, no matter what the consequences. Hopefully, Sam would understand and be okay with it.
Just beyond the garage, they passed a Mazda pickup truck with out-of-state tags parked along the side of the road. In front of the truck was a small pile of ashes that stirred as they sped by. Randy glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the ashes swirling in his wake. He glanced forward again, practicing what he’d say to Steph—
—and then Sam’s car imploded.
It happened so fast that Randy couldn’t be sure of what he saw. One second, they were zooming toward the sign that told folks they were leaving Brinkley Springs. The next, it was as if Sam’s Nissan had slammed into an invisible brick wall. There was a shockingly loud sound of a collision, and then the car crumpled, accompanied by the tortured shrieks of metal and fiberglass—and of Sam and Stephanie. The sounds lasted only a second. By then, the engine block was shoved through the rear bumper.
Randy slammed the brakes and spun the steering wheel. He felt the truck almost tip over as it slid sharply to the side, stopping only inches from the wreckage. He flung the door open and leaped out. The car was no longer recognizable. Neither were his friends. Earlier tonight, they’d sat in his bedroom, listening to music and playing video games and laughing and talking and breathing. They’d had arms and legs and heads and hair. He refused to believe that the scraps of raw, dripping hamburger that were strewn through the wreckage was all that remained of them. He inched forward, screaming Stephanie’s name, and something crunched beneath his heel. Randy lifted his foot and glanced down. He’d stepped on someone’s finger. He couldn’t tell if it was Steph’s or Sam’s.
Randy bent over and wretched. Vomit splashed his shoes and steamed on the road. He took a deep breath, screamed and then threw up again. His stomach cramped and spasms shook his body. He vomited a third time and then gasped, trying to catch his breath. He smelled gasoline and motor oil and blood. He staggered backward, moving away from the wreckage. Wisps of white smoke rose from it… but then he realized that it wasn’t smoke. The shredded metal and fiberglass and rubber wasn’t on fire. These wisps were something else. There were two of them—small, ethereal puffs of white. They reminded him of the way his breath looked when he exhaled on a cold day. They drifted above the accident scene like cigarette smoke, slowly gliding upward. Suddenly, there was a flash of light that made Randy think of the bug-zapper light in his parents’ backyard. The two white clouds flattened out and then disappeared. The entire sky flashed blue, and then the darkness returned.
“What the fuck? What the fuck?”
With his throat raw and his eyes nearly swollen shut, Randy charged forward, wanting only to escape this new horror. He paused after taking a few steps. What if he slammed headfirst into the same unseen barrier that had stopped his friends?
He glanced back at the wreckage. His vision blurred and the world began to spin. Randy’s sobs finally ceased as he toppled backward, hit his head on the ground and lost consciousness.
Donny was thinking about the kiss. About how warm Marsha’s lips had been. How she’d tasted. How her tongue had felt sliding across his. How her breath had caressed his face. He didn’t want to; he’d been trying instead to focus on keeping them both alive, but he just couldn’t help himself. It had brought back all kinds of memories that he’d thought he buried once and for all. He was disappointed and angry with himself. As wonderful as it had been, the kiss would just make things more difficult. Marsha was already having a hard time with him leaving. He still planned on doing so, just as soon as this crisis was over.
Marsha gasped, and squeezed his hand hard.
Donny glanced at her, and then in the direction she was staring.
The first thing he noticed was the dead body lying in the middle of the street. Despite the horrific groin injury, it wasn’t as grisly as some of the corpses they’d seen tonight—but it was certainly the strangest. The body had been positioned like da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man drawing (which one of Donny’s fellow soldiers had sported as a tattoo on his bicep). Some sort of weird circle had been drawn around the corpse with chalk. The circle had four points and was decorated with bizarre symbols. Donny didn’t recognize any of them.
The second thing Donny noticed was the dark-haired man standing over the body. Donny didn’t know him, and he could tell by the look on Marsha’s face that she didn’t know him either. His manner of dress and his long, unruly beard identified him as Amish, which was strange. To the best of Donny’s knowledge, the closest Amish enclave was over near Renick. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties, although Donny couldn’t be sure. His complexion and build seemed youthful, but his eyes were older. Judging by his expression, the stranger was just as startled as they were. Then Donny noticed the blood. It was all over him, smeared on his clothes and face. His hands, especially his right hand, were stained crimson.
“Despite how this may look, I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The accent confirmed what Donny already suspected. The man wasn’t from Brinkley Springs, nor even from West Virginia. He was certainly a Yankee.
Donny detected what sounded like a Pennsylvanian accent.
“I’m inclined to believe you,” Donny said. “But there’s blood all over your hands.”
The Amish man looked at his palms and then back up at them. His expression turned sad.
“Yes, there is. Too much blood, I’m afraid. You have no idea.”
Donny nodded at the corpse. “Looks like that guy had his pecker torn off, roots and all. I don’t reckon you could have done that.”
“No, of course not. But I guess you’ve no reason to believe me.”
“I didn’t say you did it. No offense, but you don’t look strong enough to do something like that. But no, to answer your question. I don’t think you did it. We’ve seen the ones who could.”
The stranger inched. He took a step toward them, and Marsha slid closer to Donny’s side. Her grip on his hand tightened. He slid one arm around her for comfort.
“You saw who did this?” The stranger’s tone was excited.
“I’m guessing it was the same people.”
“Where? How long ago?”
Donny shrugged. “Ten minutes ago, maybe. Back that way. That’s why we’re going this way.”
“Show me.”
“Hell, no. Trust me, mister. The last thing you want to do is tangle with those guys.”
“There’s more than one?” Donny nodded.
“How many?”
“We saw two of them,” Marsha said. “Dressed all in black. They’re wearing old-time clothes, like they’re Pilgrims or something.”
The stranger frowned, as if puzzled. “Why do you care?” Donny asked.
“Because somebody has to. Because it’s my job to care about things like this.”
“What are you, some kind of cop? Because, to be honest, you sure don’t look like one.”
The Amish man smiled. “I’m not a police officer. I guess you could say that I’m more of a private detective. I specialize in what you’d probably call ‘weird’ occurrences.”