Well, after all, weren’t they self-proclaimed evil incarnate? Loyalty to one’s kind would be foreign to them.
Something moved, close up against his face, something cool and damp that squirmed, and he remembered that this thing had been ready to breed.
He raised his head and looked down.
The creature’s hands slapped onto his cheeks, claws extended; he grabbed them and yanked them away and looked at the thing’s open chest.
Where before he had always found a black slug-like mass that throbbed gently, here he found two, one much as always, and nestled against it a smaller one, shining moistly, that writhed like a dying, fresh-caught fish.
The larva.
Smith picked it up with one hand and flung it into the fire behind him.
He hoped that, immature as it was, that would kill it; he wasn’t about to eat the thing.
Even if the fire didn’t kill it, just being without a host body might be enough. The nightmare he had interrogated the week before had said that the larvae were vulnerable until they found hosts.
Claws projecting through the skin of Nora’s fingertips raked down his face again, and he forgot the larva as he struggled to force his target’s hands and arms aside, to get back at its heart before the opening in its chest closed up again.
He bent his head down and pressed with his full weight, and the arms gave. His face sank into the oozing mess, his teeth closed on the black core; he held his breath, closed his eyes, and continued eating.
When it went limp he rolled off it, and realized that one of his shoelaces was on fire and both shoes were smoldering. One leg was obviously badly burned.
The other three nightmare people were gone. The fire was raging out of control.
He staggered to his feet, ignoring the pain of his burns, the pain of the dozens of places that the nightmare thing had clawed him, and made his way out through the shattered glass door into a night of fire and chaos.
There were still plenty of nightmare people around, and A building was still untouched by the conflagration, but Smith was too far gone to care about that. By now, he was unconcerned with anything but escape.
4.
Khalil had lost track of Smith, but although he was worried, he didn’t try to do anything about it. He watched the fire-fighters, the police, the crowds, unsure just what he was doing, and what he should be doing.
He saw some familiar faces here and there in the crowd, but he didn’t seek them out.
Then he noticed two of them together, looking worried – the Newell girls, who had come to the first meeting at Annie McGowan’s house and then walked out. They were standing on the sidewalk, not crossing the police line, but leaning and stretching as they tried to see what was happening.
Then one of them shrieked, “Daddy!,” audible even over the roaring chaos of the fire and the crowds, and ran toward a figure emerging from A Building, and then they were both running toward the figure, and Khalil watched as they embraced it.
He remembered that their parents were divorced, and that their father lived at Bedford Mills.
Their father had lived at Bedford Mills. He was dead now, and the thing they were holding was a nightmare person.
And it was hugging them back, and kissing them, and then it leaned over and squeezed one of the girls and kissed her hard on the mouth, a kiss that lingered far too long.
The girl seemed almost to be choking, rather than kissing back.
Khalil left his position and headed for the happy little threesome.
When the kiss ended, the recipient looked somewhat dazed and unhappy, her mouth twisted as if she had tasted something unpleasant. Her sister eyed her oddly.
Khalil stopped, a pace or two away, unsure how to proceed. He had no doubt of what had just happened, but how could he tell her what had just been done to her? How could he get the girls away from their “father,” and away from this place where the nightmare people lurked in such numbers?
Just then a new outburst of noise swept over him, fresh screams and shouting, and he turned to see that B Building was afire; something had just exploded in one of the ground-floor bedrooms, blowing window-glass out onto the lawn.
And staggering across the lawn between B Building and himself was Ed Smith, his clothes torn and blackened, his head and arms red with blood.
Inspiration struck.
“Miss Newell!” Khalil called, “Miss Newell! Can you help me with my friend? We must get him to a doctor!”
The Newells turned, and saw Khalil, and saw where he was pointing.
They ran to Smith, reaching him before Khalil could, and picked him up, supporting him.
“Where’s an ambulance?” the older girl asked. Khalil didn’t remember their first names.
Khalil shook his head. “We take his car,” he said, pointing. “I can drive.”
He ran ahead and opened the doors, and the Newells loaded the semi-conscious Smith into the back seat, where blood and char and slime from his hands and clothes streaked the upholstery. The stink of smoke and decaying flesh filled the car.
One of the girls got in beside Smith, to support him; the other, at Khalil’s urging, got in the front passenger’s seat.
And the thing that had eaten their father could only watch as the four of them climbed in and drove away; the car only held four, with no room for a fifth. The creature started to protest, but Khalil started the engine and revved it, drowning him out.
And then they were off, away from the fire and out of Diamond Park.
5.
Dr. Henry Frauenthal marvelled at the variety of damage that this person calling himself Ed Smith had sustained. His legs and feet were badly burned, while his head and torso were bruised and abraded and liberally adorned with long, deep scratches.
Not all of them were fresh, either. A particularly interesting set of gouges in his side looked to be roughly a week old.
“I got caught in a burning kitchen,” Smith told the doctor, “And a lot of stuff fell on me, and this dog panicked and scratched me up.”
“Doesn’t look like any dog-bites I ever saw,” the doctor remarked. “Did you bring in the dog, so we can check for rabies?”
“Didn’t bite me,” Smith said, “Just clawed me when I tried to carry it out.” He was getting pretty good at impromptu lying, he thought. He’d had plenty of practice of late, luring the nightmare people out of their den.
Dr. Frauenthal left it at that. He checked over the bandages he had just finished applying, then nodded approval.
“That should do it,” he said. “Now, you just lie here and rest.”
He turned to the others, who stood watching. Khalil had insisted that they be admitted, rather than waiting outside, and Frauenthal hadn’t wanted to waste time arguing when his patient was losing so much blood.
“I think he’ll be fine,” he said.
The girls smiled, but Khalil did not. “Doctor,” he said, “Please, you must look at these girls, too, and I think pump out their stomachs – one of them, anyway.”
The two girls both turned to stare at Khalil.
“What are you talking about?” the older one demanded.
“I am talking,” Khalil said, “about that thing that is not your father. It kissed one of you, there at the fire, and I think it did more than kiss.”
The older girl simply looked more confused, while the younger one’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.
“How did you… I mean, what are you talking about?” she demanded.