Conspiracies

He watched the Twins scan the yard, saw them fix on the stranger and start toward him.

This should be interesting ...

7

Still puffing, Jack slumped on the dew-damp grass. The night air was cool against his face, Canfield's van was a shadow to his right. Starlight faintly outlined the sagging roof of the house, while pink-orange flashes strobed through the imploding windows.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his knee. Had to get away from here. Soon as he caught his breath ...

A thunderous boom shook the ground and jerked him forward.

The house—its walls were folding in, the roof buckling in the middle. As Jack watched, the entire structure fell apart and tumbled into its foundation. The pieces—lumber, bricks, siding, wallboard, furniture—whirlpooled down into the Otherness hole, feeding it, expanding it, until nothing, not even the foundation footings, remained.

And the hungry rim expanded farther, flashing its weird-colored light against the trees and vehicles in the yard, still coming for him.

"Aw, cut me a break!" Jack muttered as he fought to his feet.

What was it going to do—chase him all the way back to the city? And then he realized with a shock that was exactly what it was going to do. Just like in his dream—a giant hole swallowing everything in its path.

He turned and started a quick hobble toward his car. He had to get to Gia and Vicky, warn Abe, head for the hills—

But as he neared the big oak he spotted a black sedan parked at the curb ... and two dark figures in suits and hats approaching him. Jack didn't have to see their faces to know who they were.

And here he was, unarmed and in no shape to deal with them.

He broke into his best approximation of a run.

They caught him easily—strong, long-fingered hands gripped each of his upper arms and fairly lifted him off the ground. Jack writhed and twisted but couldn't pull free; he lashed out with his feet, aiming for knees and groins, but he couldn't find the leverage he needed to do any damage—at least not to this pair. He remembered how he'd broken one's finger the other night without fazing him.

They wheeled around and began dragging him back across the lawn toward the flashing pit where the house had been.

Panic spiked through him. He tried to dig his feet in, but his sneakers slipped on the wet grass, barely slowing the two golems who held him. He was utterly helpless.

"Wait!" he shouted. He had no hope that talk would help, but he was desperate enough to try anything. "Let's think about this!"

"It wants you," said Number One on his left.

"No! That's not true! I'm just icing on the cake!"

"You are the only way to close the gateway," said Number Two.

"You want to close it? I thought you were working for them! Hey, look, we're on the same side!"

They didn't seem to care.

Ahead, the growing hole had undermined the lawn. Jack saw Lew's Lexus tilt sideways and do a slow slide into the pit. The backyard swing set followed close behind.

With Jack fighting them every inch of the way, and cursing himself for using all four rounds in the Semmerling, they dragged him ever closer to the edge.

"This thing isn't here for me!" Jack shouted. "It's for Roma—the guy they call The One."

That got them. They glanced at each other and slowed their march.

The entire front yard was sloping toward the pit now, and out of the corner of his eye Jack saw Frayne's van begin to slide their way.

"The One?" said Number One. "He is here?"

"He was a moment ago."

The van was closer now, picking up speed. Gathering his strength, Jack threw all his weight to the right in a desperate lunge, veering the three of them into the van's path. It caught Number Two behind the knees, knocking him down. He released his hold on Jack as his right arm caught on the bumper and he was dragged away.

Jack turned and immediately began pounding on Number One with his free hand, punching at his face, chopping at his neck and shoulder. He might as well have been beating him with a Nerf bat for all the notice he took. He was far more interested in his buddy who was riding the fast track to the Otherness.

Number Two struggled futilely to free his trapped arm as the sliding van pulled him along. He reached out for help.

As Number One dragged Jack toward his partner, Jack searched his pockets for the Semmerling. It wouldn't fire but maybe he could use it as a club. His fingers found Canfield's screwdriver instead.

Yes!

He yanked it out, hauled back, and rammed the shaft into the side of Number One's neck with everything he had. It didn't go in easily, like stabbing into a hunk of pure gristle, but he left three quarters of the shaft buried in the tough flesh.

That got some attention. Number One's knees wobbled and he staggered a step, relaxing his grip enough to allow Jack to tear free. He gave Jack a quick expressionless look as dark fluid flowed from the wound, but made no attempt to remove the screwdriver. He straightened and continued toward his buddy.

Jack backed away, watching in disbelief. The guy shouldn't even be standing, yet there he was, grabbing Number Two's hand as the van began tipping over the edge. Number One gave a hard, two-handed pull, and Jack heard the trapped one's arm give a sickening crack as it came free of the bumper.

But a louder, deeper crunch beneath and behind him seized Jack's attention. He looked around and saw the giant oak leaning his way, tipping toward him like a falling skyscraper. He dove to his right and rolled out of its path as the ground caved in beneath him. The trunk barely missed him as it fell. With a deafening crash that bounced Jack off the ground, it landed across the hole, straddling it like a bridge.

When Jack regained his feet, the van was gone, as were his two nemeses.

8

The One watched the hole in rapt fascination, only vaguely barely aware of the struggle between the stranger and the Twins. This was it. The first of many. This gateway would spawn others, hundreds of them around the globe, all portals for the Otherness, allowing it to flow into this plane, change it, claim it. He would have preferred this first one to have opened in the heart of Manhattan, but this was close enough.

He stepped back with Mauricio when the big oak started to go, and laughed when he saw the Twins tumble over the edge.

Gone! The last vestige of the opposition had been eliminated from this plane! Now nothing stood in his way.

But a howl of dismay from Mauricio meant he thought otherwise.

"Noooo!"

"What is wrong?"

Mauricio leaped from his shoulder and scampered toward the gateway crying, "They mustn't! They mustn't!"

9

Jack crept toward the edge of the hole. He was almost sure the two guys in black were gone but almost wasn't good enough. He had to be positive. Bracing himself against the downdraft, he peeked again into the swirling, flashing depths.

Gone.

No—movement along the near wall, just below him ...

There they hung, clinging to the oak's ropy roots. Or rather, one of them was. Number One—with the screwdriver still jutting from his neck—had a one-handed grip on a thick root while his other hand clutched Number Two's, whose right arm hung uselessly at his side. Number One had lost his glasses in the fall. He stared up at Jack with large black expressionless eyes.

"Gotcha," Jack said.

With only one good arm, Number Two was helpless; and Number One couldn't climb back up without letting go of his buddy. Strangely, he seemed to have no intention of doing that.

Jack sensed a deep loyalty there, all the more striking for its almost casual nature. Despite all that had happened, Jack responded to that.