CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The bullet had smashed a bone in Dukane’s forearm. Scott broke the stock off a rifle, and made ungainly splints from it. He used strips of Dukane’s shirt to bandage the wound and lash the splints into place.“We’d better get you to a hospital,” he said. “Both of you, and Nancy.”“All in good time. See if the car works.”Scott helped Lacey inside.“Right with you,” Dukane said.As Scott climbed into the driver’s seat, Dukane wandered from body to body, crouching over several of the women for a closer inspection.Scott turned the ignition key. The car came to life, blowing cool, welcome air onto Lacey.“What’s he looking for?” she asked.Scott shook his head.Finally, Dukane climbed into the backseat. In each hand, he held a large gold band, the bands Lacey had seen on the arms of the woman who’d whipped her. “I know I hit the bitch,” he said. “Saw her go down.”“Who?”“Laveda. But she’s not here now. Just her damn jewelry. Did you see anyone run off?”“No,” Scott said. “I thought we got them all.”“Okay. Let’s pick up Hoffman and Nancy, and get the hell out of here.”The car sped forward, bumping over the rough earth, down a gradual slope, and up a rise to the flat area in front of the house. Scott turned off the engine. “You can wait here if you want,” he told Lacey.She didn’t want to be left alone. “I’ll go in,” she said.Scott pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out. Lacey opened her door. Stifling heat wrapped her like a blanket as she climbed out. She glimpsed the body of the man under the broken window, hammer still clutched in his outflung hand.She entered the house behind Scott. Dukane followed and shut the door. The house was silent.“Nancy?” Dukane called.No answer.He suddenly broke into a run, vanishing down the hall. Scott and Lacey rushed after him.The bedroom was empty.“Nancy?”From the closet came a muffled sob.Dukane jerked its door open.Nancy sat crouched in a corner, half-hidden behind hanging dresses. Her black hair clung to her face with sweat. Though the room was hot and she wore jeans and a wool shirt, Lacey could see her shivering.“It’s all right,” Dukane told her. “It’s over. Everything’s fine.”“No,” she gasped, batting away his hands as he reached for her. Her wide eyes blinked. “Not over. Wanta hide.”From behind them came a scream that washed over Lacey like a vile, chilling flood. It was the scream of a man.“Get Nancy out of here,” Scott snapped, and ran after Dukane.Lacey dropped to her knees. She tried to grab the girl’s flailing hands. “Stop!” she cried. Then she clutched a foot and dragged Nancy from the closet. She pulled the girl to her feet, tugged her into the hall.From there, she saw Dukane slam the bathroom door, shutting himself and Scott inside.Screams filled her ears as she led Nancy through the living room. “Wait in the car,” she said.Then she raced to the hall.The bathroom door flew open. Dukane staggered backward through it, and fell. The wooden hilt of a butcher knife stood upright in his belly.As she ran toward him, she heard a whup like the sound of a windflapped canvas. Fire exploded through the doorway.“Scott!” she shrieked.The fire lapped her body, forcing her away from the door. She shielded her eyes and gazed into the inferno. Near the floor, she saw a hole in the fire as if a tunnel had been dug in the flames—a writhing tunnel shaped like a man.A passage opened in the blaze. It rushed toward her. Smashed her aside. She tripped over Dukane. As she slammed the far wall, she saw a flaming figure race down the hallway, arms waving, hair ablaze.Scott? She ran after it. As it lurched across the living room, she realized she could see through it: the fire blazed around a hollow shell. It fell against a window. The curtains caught fire. As it lurched out the front door, it turned and Lacey glimpsed its fire-wrapped face, its breasts.She rushed back to the bathroom.“Scott!” she cried out. “Scott!”The wall of fire roared.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Lacey circled the block twice, watching for strangers, then killed the headlights and steered the Firebird up the narrow driveway to her garage. She put it into the garage, and entered her house by the back door.The lights were off. She left them that way.Searching the dark house, she remembered how she and Cliff had gone through it that night so long ago—only a few days ago. They’d found no one then. Lacey found no one now. But she couldn’t be certain she was alone: she could never be sure of that again.Though filthy, she was afraid to use her tub.Though dazed and weary, she was afraid to use her bed.She arranged blankets inside her walkin closet, and lay down there. It reminded her of the nest in the hallway that she’d shared with Scott.Thoughts of Scott swirled through her mind as she tried to sleep. Other thoughts, too. Bad ones that made her shake.Three times during the night, she heard sounds in the house that made her sweat and hold her breath. Afraid to investigate, she lay there rigid until exhaustion forced her to fall limp and gasp for air.Once, as she drifted off, the closet door swung silently open. The dark figure of a man knelt over her. She quaked with terror until he spoke.“It’s just me,” he said.“Scott?”“I had a hard time finding you. What’re you hiding from?”“Everything.”“Don’t be afraid.”“Oh Scott, I thought you were dead.”Then he came down and kissed her, and his charred lips crumbled and filled her mouth with ashes.She bolted upright, gasping, and found herself alone in the closet. Its door was still shut.After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed open the door. She studied the familiar, night shadows of her bedroom, then crawled over the carpet to the alarm clock. Four thirty.Time to begin.Lacey tiptoed through the dark silence of the house. She searched cupboards in the kitchen, found what she wanted, and stepped outside.She entered her garage through a side door connecting it to the laundry room. A dim light went on inside the Firebird when she opened its door. Kneeling on the passenger seat, she reached out and drew its keys from the ignition.The Firebird was one of the four cars she’d found after she ran from the burning house and discovered the keys of the Rolls Royce were gone. She and Nancy had dashed up the long entry road, and come upon the cars of the dead people. She’d insisted Nancy take one of them, and leave her.Now, keys in hand, Lacey crawled out of the Firebird. She left its door open for light, and walked over the warm concrete to the trunk. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked it. The lid swung up.As dawn lightened the sky, Lacey twisted off the plastic cap. She raised the bottle to her lips. Its strong fumes made her throat clutch, but she filled her mouth anyway to wash out the other taste—the sour taste of the vomit that had flooded out after the blood.She spat the brandy onto the loose earth at her feet, then upended the bottle. The amber fluid gurgled out, splashing onto the dirt.When it was empty, she tossed it aside. It fell to the grass beside the cellophane package of beans and the knife.She put her clothes back on, covering her blood-spattered nakedness.Then she picked up her shovel. She set it inside the laundry room. Shutting the door, she started for her house.A man stepped around the corner.Numb with fear, she staggered back.The man didn’t move.She gazed at him, at his blackened face and torso, his hairless scalp, his scorched and tattered pants—and recognized the phantom from her nightmares. She pressed trembling hands to her eyes. At the sound of footsteps, she lowered them.He was walking toward her, his sooty hands reaching out.“Thought you’d be glad to see me,” he said. “I know I look like a wreck, but…”“Scott,” she muttered.He clutched her shoulders and drew her against his body. His cracked, dry lips pressed her mouth. She felt the wetness of his tongue. His hands stroked her hair, the sides of her face.“It is you?” she whispered. Scott’s grimy, grinning face blurred as tears filled Lacey’s eyes.