But it wasn’t jelly.
It was Maggie.
The jelly feeling came from exposed fat and muscle, most of her skin having been peeled off.
Streng wrapped his fingers around her wrist, and for a moment his body stretched between Ajax and his cousin’s wife. Then the giant jerked hard, breaking Streng’s grip, making his face skip across the rug and causing a friction burn on his cheek. He was hauled into the hallway, past the staircase—so close yet so out of reach—and into Sal’s bedroom, where Ajax lifted him by his leg and held him upside down like a little girl’s doll.
Santiago had the flashlight tucked under his arm. Between his thumb and index finger, held at mouth level, was one of those capsules. But rather than eat it, Santiago broke it open and sniffed the contents. Streng watched as the killer vibrated like he’d been plugged into an electric socket, and then a mirthless smile creased his face.
Ajax made an awful sound, an inarticulate vowel jumble that sounded like the cries of the deaf.
“You’ll get some in a moment.” Santiago pointed at Streng. “Bring him here.”
Ajax didn’t move. He moaned again, deep and cowlike. The blood pooling up in Streng’s head made it feel ready to burst.
“Now, Ajax. Then you’ll get some Charge.”
Ajax moved forward, and Streng’s knuckles dragged the floor and bumped something hard and sharp. The Ka-Bar. He latched on to it and almost laughed at his luck.
“No playing around this time, Sheriff,” Santiago said. “You’re going to tell me where your brother is. Ajax, break his knees. He won’t be needing them anymore.”
The Ka-Bar Warthog had a thick, heavy blade, and Streng swung it at Ajax’s knuckles like he was chopping down a sapling—hack hack hack—and the huge fingers released him.
Streng landed on his shoulder, rolled to all fours, and then leapt for the doorway. He took the stairs three at a time, moving faster than he had in more than twenty years. Miraculously, he made it outside without anyone grabbing or killing him.
His Jeep was parked less than fifty yards away. Streng sprinted, pushing past the pain in his legs, his side, his whole body. He dared a quick glance behind him and saw Ajax emerge from the doorway at full speed, fast enough to break through a brick wall.
Streng focused on his vehicle. Fifteen steps away.
Ten.
Eight.
Jesus, they’re almost on me.
Six.
Two.
He hit the driver’s side and reached for the handle, getting out of the door’s way as he yanked it open.
“Charge,” Bernie said from the back seat.
Streng tossed the Ka-Bar on the passenger seat, dug the car keys from his pocket, wasted two seconds trying to find the ignition, and started the vehicle just as Ajax slammed into it.
The impact jolted Streng, cracking his head against the window, bringing out the stars. With one hand he fumbled for the gear shift, and the other sought out and found the electric door lock. Streng manhandled the car into first and hit the gas.
A massive palm struck the front windshield, making a spiderweb mosaic out of the glass. The car lurched forward as Ajax’s hand broke through, reaching for the steering wheel. The giant caught it, holding on and allowing himself to be dragged up the dirt road alongside the Jeep.
Streng sought out, and found, the Ka-Bar. As the Jeep bounced around and Ajax banged on the door, Streng stabbed at the giant’s hand, over and over, the knife tip gouging bone. Little fountains of blood erupted, bathing the sheriff’s lap. Streng stabbed hard, then twisted the blade. The fingers opened and Ajax released the wheel, his arm flailing out and pulling the shattered windshield from its mounting. Streng checked the rearview and watched the monster roll into the underbrush, and then his image disappeared because Bernie stood up from his seat, mouth open, his broken and bleeding teeth biting at Streng’s shoulder.
Streng smashed down the brake pedal. Bernie bounced forward and flopped next to him in the front seat, legs in the air, combat boots kicking like mad. One of them connected with the Ka-Bar, knocking it from Streng’s grasp.
Streng tugged the door handle and fell out of the car before he got his head stoved in. A ways down Gold Star Road, Ajax was getting to his feet, and farther, coming up fast, was Santiago running full tilt.
Streng ran around the front of the Jeep, opened the passenger door, and pulled out Bernie. Then he grabbed the soldier’s hair and drove his forehead once, twice, three times into the oversize steel-belted radial. That took the fight right out of him.
Streng risked another glance behind. Ajax had broken into a jog, and Santiago had taken the lead and would be on him in seconds.
Streng wrestled Bernie into the back, climbed across the passenger seat without bothering to close the door, and hit the accelerator. The Jeep’s tires bit into the road, kicking up sand and gravel, and then they finally found purchase and the vehicle lurched forward—but not before Santiago made it to the passenger door and tried to climb in.
The steering wheel dripped slick blood, but Streng clenched it tight and swerved hard, away from Santiago, ripping the open door from his grip. Then he popped the Jeep into second gear, punched the gas, and left Ajax and Santiago in the dust.
Wind whipped at the sheriff’s face through the empty space where his windshield used to be, irritating the rug burn on his cheek and burning his eyes, and Streng hurt in so many places he couldn’t even take inventory, but for the first time since this hellish ordeal began he managed a small grin.
“Not bad, old man,” he said to himself.
He headed toward Safe Haven.
Jessie Lee opened her eyes and looked around. She was still in the boys’ locker room, surrounded by blood and bodies. The chair she sat in was the same chair that she saw Merv, her boss, die in.
She filled her lungs and let out the loudest scream she could.
But all that came out was a gurgling wheeze, accompanied by the worst sore throat she’d ever had.
“I used this,” said a voice from behind her. A voice that wasn’t Taylor’s. Dangling in front of Jessie Lee’s eyes was a pair of surgical scissors, long and thin, bits of tissue clinging to their blades.
“Yelling brings unwanted attention. And who wants to bother and fuss with gags? Messy, disgusting things. So I snipped your vocal cords.”
Jessie Lee sobbed—a quiet, pitiful sound. She tried to stand up, but firm hands held her down.
“Taylor and I have a question to ask, and we’d like a quick answer. You’ve already taken up a lot of our time, and other people are anxious for their turn. And don’t worry about us hearing you—I can lip-read.”
Taylor stood before her, brushing dust and bits of insulation from his uniform. He cupped her chin, making Jessie Lee look at him.
“Where is Warren Streng?”
Jessie Lee shook her head. Warren was Sheriff Streng’s brother, old and eccentric. He had a shack in the woods somewhere. No one ever saw him.
“I don’t know,” she tried to say. It came out as a wet whisper.
Taylor crouched. His eyes revealed the depths of hell.
“Think hard. Think very hard.”
Jessie Lee wondered if she should make something up, wondered if that would buy her more time. But more time for what? A few extra hours with these psychopaths? Dying here, now, was almost certainly preferable to the worst that could happen. She closed her eyes, paging through her memories to come up with a last thought. Her mind settled on Erwin, the night he proposed. Awkward, stuttering, getting down on one knee during the halftime show at the Packers game, the JumboTron asking, “Jessie Lee, will you marry me?” He put a ring on her finger—a much bigger ring than he could afford—and when she hugged and kissed him, twenty thousand fans cheered.