He’d pressed the backs of his knees against the upper edge of the low, foot-wide parapet that ran along the rim of the roof. As soon as the Mother had appeared he’d knelt atop the parapet. And now as she charged, he straightened up with his knees balanced on the outermost edge of the parapet, his feet poised over the empty alley five stories below, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. The rough concrete dug into his kneecaps but he ignored the pain. Had to concentrate completely on what he was about to do.
The Mother became a black juggernaut, gaining momentum at an astonishing rate as she crossed the final thirty feet separating them. Jack did not move. It strained his will to the limits to kneel there and wait as certain death rushed toward him. Tension gathered in his throat until he thought he would choke. All his instincts screamed for flight. But he had to hold his place until the right instant. Making his move too soon would be as deadly as not moving at all.
And so he waited until the outstretched talons were within five feet of him—then leaned back and allowed his knees to slip off the edge of the parapet. As he fell toward the floor of the alley, he grabbed the edge of the parapet, hoping he hadn’t dropped too soon, praying his grip would hold. .
As the front of his body slammed against the brick sidewall, Jack sensed furious motion above him. The Mother rakosh's claws had sunk into empty air instead of his flesh. The momentum she’d built up was carrying her over the edge and into the beginning of a long fall to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a huge shadow sail over and behind him, saw frantically windmilling arms and legs. Then came a blow to the rear of his left shoulder and a searing, tearing sensation across his back that made him cry out.
The blow jerked Jack's left hand free of the roof edge, leaving him hanging by his right. Gasping with pain and clawing desperately for a new grip on the parapet, he couldn’t resist a quick look down to see the plummeting form of the Mother rakosh impact with the floor of the alley. He found exquisite satisfaction in the faint, dull thud that rose from below. He didn't care how tough she was, that fall broke her neck and most of the rest of the bones in her body.
Fighting the agony that stabbed through his left shoulder blade every time he raised his arm, Jack inched his left hand back up to the top of the parapet, then slowly, painfully, pulled himself back up to the roof.
He lay stretched out atop the parapet, breathing hard, waiting for the fire on his back to go out. In her wild flailings to save herself from falling, one of the Mother's talons—whether on a hand or a foot, Jack couldn't say—must have caught his back. His shirt felt warm and sticky against his back. He gently reached around and touched his rib cage. Wet. He held his hand up before his face—it glistened darkly in the moonlight.
Wearily, he raised himself to a sitting position with his legs straddling the parapet. He took one last look down into the alley, wondering if he could see the Mother. All was dark. He went to swing his outer leg over onto the roof and stopped—
Something moved down there. A darker blot rustled within the shadows of the alley.
He held his breath. Someone heard the thump of the Mother's fall and come to investigate, right? Hoped so. Hoped that was all it was.
More movement...along the wall...moving upward...and a scraping sound, like claws on brick...
Something climbing the wall toward him. Didn't need a flashlight to know what it was.
The Mother was returning.
22
Groaning with disbelief and dismay—not possible…but it was happening!—he swung his legs onto the roof and staggered away from the edge. What was he going to do? No use running-despite the lead he had, the Mother would surely catch up with him.
Fire and iron....fire and iron...
The words burned across his brain as he raced around the roof in search of some sort of weapon. No iron up here. Everything was aluminum, tin, plastic, wood. If only he could find a crowbar or even a piece of rusted iron railing—something, anything to swing at her head as she poked it up over the edge.
Nothing. The only thing that even remotely resembled a weapon was the broken remnant of the flagpole. It wasn't iron and it wasn't fire...but with its sharp, splintered lower end, it might serve as a twelve-foot spear.
He lifted it by its top end—by the ball at the tip—and hefted it. It wobbled like a vaulting pole and the oscillations caused waves of pain in his back.
Heavy, crude, unwieldy…but it was all he had.
Jack put it down and loped over to the edge of the roof. The Mother was no more than a dozen feet below and climbing fast.
Not fair! he thought as he ran back to where the pole lay. He’d as good as killed her twice in ten minutes, yet here he was hurt and bleeding and she was climbing a brick wall as if nothing had happened.
He picked up the pole by the balled end and levered it to a horizontal position. Groaning with the pain, he pointed the splintered end toward the spot where he expected the Mother to appear and began to run. His left arm began to lose strength as he ran. As the point sank toward the roof surface he clenched his teeth and forced it upward.
Have to keep it up...go for the throat...
Again, he knew timing would be criticaclass="underline" if the Mother gained the roof too soon, she’d dodge him; too late and he’d miss her.
He saw one three-fingered hand slip over the edge of the parapet, then another. He adjusted his direction to the area above and between those hands.
"Come on!" he screamed at her as he increased his speed. "Keep coming!"
His voice sounded hysterical but he couldn't let that bother him now. Had to keep that goddamned point up and ram it right through her—
Her head appeared and then she was pulling herself up onto the parapet. Too fast! She was too fast! He couldn't control the wavering point, couldn't lift it high enough! He was going to miss his target!
With a cry of rage and desperation, Jack put every pound of his body and every remaining ounce of strength left to him behind a final thrust against the balled end of the pole. Despite all his effort, the point never reached the level of the Mother's throat. Instead, it rammed into her chest with a force that nearly dislocated Jack's right shoulder. But Jack didn't let up—with his eyes squeezed shut he followed through with barely a break in his stride, keeping all his weight behind the makeshift spear. A moment of resistance to the spear's path, followed by a sensation of breaking free, then it was yanked out of his hands and he fell to his knees.
When he looked up, his eyes were level with the top of the parapet. His heart nearly stopped when he saw the Mother still there—
No...wait....she was on the other side of the parapet. But that couldn't be. She'd have to be standing in mid-air. When Jack forced himself to his feet, he understood.
The miniature flagpole had pierced the Mother rakosh through the center of her chest. The sharpened end of the pole had exited through her back and come to rest on the parapet of the neighboring building across the alley; the balled end lay directly in front of Jack.
He had her. Finally, he had her.
But the Mother wasn't dead. She twisted on her skewer and hissed and slashed her talons at Jack in futile rage as he stood and panted a mere six feet from her. She couldn’t reach him.
After his relief and awe faded, Jack's first impulse was to push his end of the pole off the edge and let her fall to the ground again, but he checked himself. He had the Mother rakosh where he wanted her—neutralized. He could leave her there until he found a way to deal with her. Meanwhile, she was no danger to him or anyone else.
And then she began to move toward him.