He knelt beside the scorched body. No, not Jeanette. Someone else—a male, face mostly torn away by the blast, clothes shredded by debris missiles, but still recognizable as Sandy Palmer. Where had he been hiding?
Poor jerk. Looked like he finally was going to get the fame he'd been chasing—HEROIC REPORTER DIES INVESTIGATING MURDER CULT!—but he wasn't going to be around to enjoy it.
"Oh, Jesus!" said a voice behind him. "Is he dead?"
Jack rose and glanced at the middle-aged gawker, but didn't answer him; more were coming up the street. He could hear sirens approaching.
Time to go. He looked around for Kate, saw her wandering on the far side, near a neighboring bungalow half consumed by flames. He started toward her.
"Hey, I wouldn't get too close to those shacks I were you," said another gawker. "Another one of these propane tanks could go any second."
Propane? Is that what they thought? Of course they would. But Jack knew the bungalow's tank had only added to the blast, not caused it.
And then he stiffened as he spotted the rusty four-foot tank on the side of the burning house where Kate stood, the flames licking at its flanks…
"Kate!" Get away from—!"
The blast was a pale shadow of the first—smaller burst of flame, barely a tenth of the noise and impact—and it momentarily staggered Jack. But it engulfed Kate and sent her flying. She slammed against the wall of the neighboring house and tumbled to the ground like a discarded doll.
As the gawkers screamed and ducked and fled, Jack pounded toward the still form huddled on the sand, repeating one word over and over in a moaning whimper, the only word his dread-mired brain could manage.
"No-no-no-no-no-no…"
When he reached her he saw that her hair was singed and her blouse scorched, but her clothes hadn't caught fire. He was about to send up a prayer of thanks when he noticed the blood… and the jagged piece of metal jutting from her upper abdomen.
He dropped to his knees beside his sister—not simply to be closer to her but because his legs refused to support him. His hands instinctively reached toward the bloody metal shard to remove it but paused, hovering, unsure, afraid of touching it, her, doing anything that might make things worse. Finally he grabbed her hand in both of his.
"Kate! Kate! Are you okay?" Dumb-ass thing to say—she was anything but okay.
Her eyes fluttered open. "Jack?" Her voice was a whisper in a shell. "Jack, what—?"
"Propane tank… it…" The words dried up and blew away.
He watched her gaze lower to her body and fix on the protruding scrap of metal.
"Oh, dear."
This helpless kneeling and watching was killing him. Jack needed to do something.
"Should I pull it out?" She's a doctor, he thought. She'll know.
"Better not."
"Okay, then," he told her. "It stays. Help is on the way. Hear the sirens? You're going to be fine."
She was gazing at him now. "I don't… think so." Her fingers squeezed his hand. "Jack, the dark… it's coming and I'm scared."
"You're gonna be—"
"Not for me. For you and Kev and Lizzie and everyone. It's coming, Jack. The virus is still in my brain and it let me see. The dark is waiting but it will be coming soon, and it's going to roll over everything."
"Kate, save your strength."
"No, listen. Only a handful of people are going to stand in its way, and… and you're one of them."
She reminded him of the Russian lady now. Is war and you are warrior.
"Kate…"
"Please look after Kev and Lizzie, Jack. Promise me you won't let it get them."
"I promise. Now hush."
He looked up and saw half a dozen staring gawkers and wanted to shoot them all.
"What are you looking at?" he shouted. "Get outta here! Can't you see she's hurt? Get help!"
He looked back at Kate and his heart stuttered when he noticed her closed eyes. But she was still breathing.
"Kate?"
She didn't open her eyes, didn't move her lips. "Jack." Her voice so tiny, barely there.
He could feel her slipping away. "Kate, don't go. Please, don't go…"
Suddenly flashing red lights everywhere—two cop cars, an ambulance, and a voice shouting, "This way! This way! There's a woman hurt bad over here!"
Jack leaned over his sister, his lips close to her ear. "Help's here now. Listen to me, Kate: I love you, and I'm not going to lose you. Just hang on a little longer and you'll make it."
And then the EMTs, two men and two women sheathed in coveralls and latex gloves, crowded around; Jack watched their expressions change from curious to grim when they saw Kate. He allowed himself to be moved aside as three of them skillfully worked to lift her onto a stretcher while a fourth spoke on a phone to a doctor in the local emergency room, taking instructions and advising him to have a surgeon waiting.
Jack followed close behind as they moved the stretcher—carrying it instead of wheeling it—to the idling ambulance, watched as they slid it into the back of the rig and crawled in after it.
"I'm coming along," he told one of the EMTs. He had this insane feeling that if he stayed nearby, holding Kate's hand, he could keep her alive by pure force of will.
"Sorry, sir. Against the rules."
Jack's hand itched to pull his Glock for emphasis; instead he grabbed the man's arm. "Maybe you didn't hear me: I'm coming along."
"Even if you were allowed, there's no room for you and you'd only get in the way if she crashes."
Jack backed off. The last thing he wanted was to be in the way. He looked past the EMT's shoulder and saw the others starting IVs in both Kate's arms and hooking her up to a heart monitor.
As they slammed the rear door a cop hove into view on Jack's right.
"Did you know that woman?" he asked.
Jack nodded, eyes on the ambulance as it began to move off.
"I'll need to ask you a few questions," the cop said. His shoulder patch read DOVER TWP. POLICE.
Jack began walking, following the ambulance. "I'm going to the hospital."
A hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him a quarter way around.
"Sir," the cop said, "I need some answers before—"
He broke off and stepped back. Jack was ready to kill then and maybe the cop saw that in his eyes. Jack forced a breath and held up an open palm: peace.
"I'm going to the hospital. You want answers, you can find me there."
He turned and hurried through the red-flashing night toward the highway and his car. The cop didn't follow. Maybe he had more pressing matters to attend to, like herding the gawkers away from the site to let the fire crews through, or unspooling yellow barrier tape like the other cop Jack passed.
At a trot now, Jack was maybe a dozen feet behind the ambulance when it reached the highway and turned on its siren. Through the glass side he saw the EMTs go into furious motion, one of them leaning over Kate and beginning rhythmic thrusts against her chest…
"No!" he shouted. "NO!"
His heart was a booted foot, kicking at his chest wall as he leaped into his car and took off after the rig. Jack followed it across the median, then south along the highway, across a bridge to the mainland and down a crowded highway, staying close behind and traveling in its wake as cars pulled aside to let it pass.
"Come on! Come on!" he shouted as they raced mile after mile.
Where was this goddamn hospital? Why was it so far?
And all the while he fought a panicked sense of unreality. This shouldn't be happening to Kate, not after all she's just been through. She's one of the good ones, the best of the good ones. This can't be happening to Kate.