Olen climbed out of his truck and hurried over to them. He wore the typical Olen outfit of stained bib overalls, stained T-shirt, and the world’s filthiest Brewers baseball cap. In the headlights Streng could see Olen’s face clearly but still couldn’t make out where the beard ended and the grime began.
Josh clasped the plumber on the shoulder. “We need to get to a hospital, Olen.”
Streng righted himself and shook his head. “First I need to get to my office outside of town.”
“You need a doctor.”
“I need a gun, a telephone, and a new pair of pants. The doctor can wait.”
“Someone want to tell me what’s going … Jesus H. Christmas, what the hell is that?”
Fifty yards ahead of them Ajax stepped onto the road.
“We have to go,” Streng said. “Now.”
He pulled Olen and Josh back to the Honey Wagon, which was every bit as filthy as Olen. It smelled like the sewage Olen spent his days pumping.
“Who is that guy? What’s going on, Sheriff?”
Streng jerked open the cab door and climbed up.
“Olen, where do you stash that twenty-two Long Rifle you use to hunt white-tail out of season?”
“Sheriff, deer season don’t start until November seventeenth, and—”
“Give me the damn gun, Olen, or we’re all going to die.”
Olen reached behind the driver’s seat and handed Streng a lever-action Marlin.
“Get in,” Streng told Josh and Olen. Then he cranked open the passenger-side window, chambered a round, and aimed at Ajax, who sprinted at them with astonishing speed.
Streng fired five times, fast as he could work the action. Then he checked the rearview. As expected, Santiago was coming up fast.
“Drive! There’s another one behind us!”
Olen didn’t need any more prodding. He stomped on the gas and the Honey Wagon lurched forward. Ajax hadn’t been stopped by Streng’s shots and continued to come at them, a charging rhino. Streng switched his grip on the rifle.
“Pull up to him, on my side!”
Olen complied. Streng leaned out the window, feeling Josh’s hand on his belt. As the truck passed Ajax, he swung the rifle like a baseball bat. The impact sent a shock of pain through Streng’s palms, vibrations traveling up both arms and shaking his shoulders. The walnut stock split in half on Ajax’s head, cracking along the pistol grip. But Streng managed to keep hold of the gun, and Josh yanked him back inside. Olen cruised into second gear and Streng dared to hope that they might actually live for a bit longer.
“Olen, you just saved our bacon.”
“Happy to oblige, Sheriff. Now one of you wanna tell me what just happened?”
“A helicopter crashed near the big lake,” Josh said. “I think it was hauling some kind of military prisoners. They escaped, killed Sal and Maggie Porter, and almost killed us.”
“I’ll be damned. Never saw a man that big before. Your shots hit him in the chest—I was watching. He didn’t even flinch. Think they know about the lottery?”
“Lottery?”
“Mayor called a town meeting, half hour ago. Safe Haven won the Powerball. Everyone is meeting at the junior high, because we all get a share. The phone lines have been burning up with folks sharing the news. I called ten people myself. Didn’t anyone call you?”
Streng remembered the mayor’s phone call earlier. He wondered if this was connected to the soldiers somehow.
“Turn on Harris, Olen.”
“But the junior high is—”
“It can wait. I need to get to my office first.”
Then the horizon lit up, accompanied by the BOOM of a massive explosion.
Santiago watched the truck speed off, then turned to see the mushroom cloud rising in the distance. It blended into the black sky as the fire died down.
The Special Forces have arrived, he thought and reached for a Charge capsule on his utility belt. His pack wasn’t there.
Santiago’s upper lip twitched, and a small jolt of panic worked its way through his central nervous system. He jogged over to Ajax, who seemed unaffected by the long gash spilling blood down the side of his head.
“They took my Charge.”
Ajax felt around his own belt, then wailed like a sick cow. He was out, too.
“Putas,” Santiago said. He touched his wounded ear and snapped his fingers. He didn’t hear it. Ruptured eardrum. Then he pulled the communicator out of his front pocket, slid back the cover, and held it to his mouth. “This is Santiago. The bird has flown. What’s your position?”
The reply came on the text screen, backlit by a faint green glow.
Gymnasium at the junior high. Running the winner’s circle.
“We’ll meet you there.”
Negative. Remain on target.
“We’re …”—the words seemed to stick in Santiago’s throat—“… out of Charge.”
You’re on your own. We’re not sharing. Out.
Santiago clicked off, teeth grinding teeth. The mission remained a top priority, but without Charge how long could they keep on track?
Ajax poked stupidly at the wound in his forehead, making it worse.
“I’ll fix it,” Santiago said, unclipping a propane torch from his belt.
He flicked the flame on. Ajax didn’t flinch, didn’t moan, as Santiago cauterized the gash. The sizzling sounded a lot like bacon frying.
Santiago kept the flame on for several seconds longer than needed, then touched it to the giant’s ripped nostril. He watch, fascinated, as the hairs glowed orange and burned away, and then turned his attention to the new set of headlights coming up the road.
“Hide,” he ordered Ajax.
The giant lumbered into the woods, and Santiago stood in the center of the street, waving his hands above his head. The car, a boxy SUV, slowed down and stopped a few yards in front of him. Santiago fixed a placid smile on his face and approached.
“Help you?” the driver asked.
Santiago reached in through the open window, seizing the driver by the throat.
“Yes, you can. But before I take your vehicle, I have a question. Do you know anyone named Warren Streng?”
• • •
Duncan’s dog glowed green. So did Mrs. Teller. She and Duncan had opened a box of bend-and-shake light sticks and placed them around the room like candles. They weren’t very bright but lit up enough of the basement for Duncan to see around him.
Mrs. Teller had called this room a shelter and said Mr. Teller built it during one of his paranoid delusions. Shelves lined all four walls, each stocked with canned food, bottles of water, and other supplies like batteries, toilet paper, and boxes of foil-wrapped glow sticks. Duncan loved glow sticks on Halloween and at the state fair. But in this little room the lights were creepy. Mrs. Teller had given him a white undershirt that was too big on him, hanging past his knees. It also glowed green.
Pounding, on the door at the top of the stairs. Bernie had gotten in the house. Though the basement door looked very strong and had a big lock on it, Duncan worried that he’d be able to get in.
“We’re safe,” Mrs. Teller said. “That’s a steel door. Mr. Teller bought only the best. It will hold.”
The pounding continued. It sounded like Bernie was hitting the door with something big. Duncan could feel his bones shake with every impact. Woof barked, and Duncan wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, burying his face in his fur.
BAAAAAAAAAM!