“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
The group stared at each other in silence for a moment.
Then Myrtle tiptoed over to the window and cautiously looked outside.
“Is he gone?” Esther asked.
“I think so,” she whispered. “I don’t see him, at least.”
“Well, good riddance then.”
Myrtle let the blinds fall closed and spun around.
“Esther! There’s no call for that. He’s your boarder.”
“And he can leave here come sunup. I won’t have him under my roof another night.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Marsha bristled at this. “He’s fighting for you. For all of us. How can you say that about him?”
“Because he’s not doing this for us. You get to be as old as me, Marsha, and you’ll see. I know how people are. I see through them. That man may think he’s fighting for us, but if you really look at him, you’ll see he’s fighting for himself—and the way he’s doing it is simply un-Christian. I won’t have it here. Better to end up dead than in concert with the Devil. I know that you’ve been through a lot tonight, but trust me. Levi would sacrifice every single one of us if it meant defeating the enemy. I can see it in him.”
“Listen to you,” Myrtle said. “Do you hear yourself? This is a far cry from what you were saying about him earlier.”
“Earlier, I didn’t know. He’s not what he seems.”
Myrtle shook her head. “But he was praying, right before he left. I heard him whispering a prayer to God—the same God you believe in.”
“Not my God.”
“Fuck this shit.” Donny started for the foyer. “I don’t need to hear this crap.”
“What are you doing?” Marsha grabbed for him again, not caring if she hurt him or not, but Donny shrugged her off. When he responded, he didn’t look at her.
“I’m going with him. Somebody needs to watch his back.”
Marsha put her hands to her face and stared at him, the realization sinking in.
“He was right, wasn’t he? Levi was right. You’re afraid to be left here with me.”
Without a word, Donny strode toward the foyer. Seconds later, they heard the door open and close.
“It doesn’t matter,” Randy said. His tone was sullen. “None of us are gonna escape anyway. Nobody ever gets out of this town. Not before, and especially not now.”
With Donny’s silent departure confirming her question, Marsha collapsed onto the couch and put her arm around Randy. They comforted one another as best they could and waited to see who would return— Levi, Donny… or the crows.
NINE
The darkness deepened. The moonlight dimmed. Thick, sluggish clouds crawled across the sky, blocking the feeble stars. Gone were the gunshots and screams. Gone, too, were people fleeing down the streets or across yards and vacant fields. All across Brinkley Springs, the dwindling number of survivors huddled in their homes and basements, tool sheds and root cellars, storefronts and barns, cars and trucks, praying for help and waiting for the inevitable.
And one by one, the inevitable found them. The shadows arrived… hungry.
Stu Roseman was pulled, kicking and screaming, from beneath his queen-size bed before being disemboweled. Mara Dobbs was yanked from her closet, where she’d hidden beneath a pile of blankets and towels, and was then drowned in her own toilet. Don and Jamie Mahan cowered inside their Ford Explorer, desperately trying every few minutes to start the unresponsive vehicle until both it and them were torn apart. Jerrod Hintz and Scott Balzer were discovered hiding in the butcher shop’s walk-in freezer and were clubbed to death with half-frozen slabs of meat. Candy Winters ended up with her head sticking out of her vagina. Toby Paulson was suffocated with his own severed penis. Bob Parker was strangled with his own intestines. Rocky Quesada and Joy Oliva had their heads repeatedly bashed together until both were nothing but paste. Aaron Milano was impaled on a flagpole. His two cats were impaled above him. Jeremy Garner, Peggy Stanfield and Michelle Broadhurst were discovered cowering in a far, dark corner of Herb Swafford’s hayloft. They were stabbed, cut, chopped and impaled by a variety of Herb’s farm tools—pitchforks, axes, shovels and rakes. Herb’s head and entrails lay in the mud outside the barn. His pigs would probably have eaten the scraps if the pigs hadn’t been killed, too. So were his cows, sheep and one lone horse.
No matter where they hid, no one was missed. No matter how desperately they tried to escape or how valiantly they fought to save their lives, the end result was the same. Everyone had their turn. Everyone died. The shadows were as methodical and precise as they were ravenous and cruel. Human candles were snuffed in the night, never to shine again, and after their souls were devoured, the shadows moved on, leaving corpses in their wake.
A small few died of natural causes. Keith David, Rebecca Copeland and Bobbi Russo all died of heart attacks brought on by fear and stress. Tim Draper and Perry Wayne suffered massive strokes that left them paralyzed and unconscious, and ultimately breathless. Don Hammerton tripped while running down the street and cracked his head open on the curb. Robin Clark suffered a seizure, bit through her tongue and bled to death. In each of their cases, their souls drifted slowly upward, flaring brightly but briefly as they were absorbed by the invisible barrier.
Regardless of how they had died—murder or something more natural—the corpses didn’t last long. There was no slow progression of decay and decomposition. Shortly after their death, the people of Brinkley Springs returned to the ashes and dust from which they had originally sprung.
And then, eventually, even the dust disappeared.
Donny stood beneath the tree in Esther’s front yard and looked both ways down the dark street, trying to figure out which direction Levi had gone in. Nothing moved. Even the wind had stopped. He listened for footsteps, or any other sound that would give away Levi’s presence, but there was nothing. The silence made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He’d been scared and nervous many times in Iraq. Hell, he’d been scared every day. But those fears were nothing like what he felt tonight.
And not all of it had to do with what was happening in the town.
He glanced back at the bed-and-breakfast, hoping to see Marsha peeking out the window at him, but the curtains remained closed. His heart sank, but what had he expected? He wished he could tell her how he felt, wished desperately that he could find the words to explain his revulsion from Brinkley Springs and his steadfast refusal to linger here any longer than he had to—even if it meant never seeing her again. But every time he tried to tell her, all it did was lead to miscommunications and further hurt feelings. It would be better for her if he just left again. She was stronger now. It wouldn’t affect her the way it had the last time he’d left. She’d get through it. She was older now, and she had Randy and her—
Well, she didn’t have her parents anymore, did she? After tonight, she didn’t have anybody left at all, other than her little brother… and him.
Something twisted in Donny’s gut. He felt a hot flush of anger and resentment that his decision to leave had now been made even more difficult. How could he abandon her now, in the aftermath of all this? He hated himself for feeling that way and would never have admitted it out loud to anyone, but the emotions were there all the same. What the hell was wrong with him? Had the last few years fucked him that goddamned bad? Was he so self-fucking centered that when his ex-girlfriend’s parents were murdered, the only thing he could think of was how inconvenient it was for him?