Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t see him. No blood, no nothing.” His pleasant face was drawn with worry. “Couldn’t have walked off.”
“Maybe… maybe I didn’t really hit him,” Ben suggested.
“Oh, no,” Nancy said, “you hit him, bright boy. You ran him down like a dog. Yup, Ben, that was a good idea of yours, this short cut. Good thinking.”
Ben, recovered somewhat now, was about to kick her ass into the culvert, but Sam came between them. “Now’s not the time, Nancy,” he said. “It was an accident and we all know that, so please quit with the recriminations here. I’m not in the mood for it.”
Nancy looked like she’d been slapped. “Well, excuse me all to hell.”
They looked up and down the road, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. If he was out there, then he was surely dead. But it was so damn dark. The only lights were coming from Cut River, less than a mile below in the little valley. But out here… Jesus, nothing but the glow of the headlights, the surreal staccato of the emergency flashers.
“A car should be along pretty soon,” Nancy said. “A truck or something.”
That got Ben to thinking that he hadn’t actually seen a car in some time now.
The old highway swept by Cut River to within maybe three, four miles, the new one farther away yet. So there wouldn’t be a lot of traffic out here and especially not on a Monday night. Yet… there should’ve been something.
A logging truck.
A semi.
Kids out joyriding.
Something.
He tried to remember the last time he’d seen a car and knew it had been before the short cut.
What did that mean exactly?
“Over here,” Sam said. “He’s over here.”
Ben joined him, Nancy dragging at his heels.
The guy had been thrown into the ditch. His head was in the culvert, half under water. He was sprawled in an unnatural position, legs splayed out, arms folded under him.
“We better get him out of there,” Ben said.
As Sam and he got down there, Nancy said, “You’re not supposed to touch an injured man, you idiots. You know that. Never move an injured man.” She shook her head. “Hello.”
They ignored her.
She was right, of course, but leaving him in the cold water wasn’t going to do him any good either. His flesh was clammy, frigid even, as they lifted him up to the shoulder and set him there. Now with the intermittent illumination from the flashers, they could see that the crown of his skull was split open, blood caked in his hair. The water had cleaned the wound thoroughly. Bloodless, they could see his brain in there like some fleshy sponge. His entire left side from armpit to asshole was one huge, livid bruise.
“Oh my God,” Nancy said, turning away.
She began walking in tight little circles, laughing and crying, shaking and gasping. She was hysterical, out of her head now with terror, shock. This was bad for her. But compared to the man with his head split open like a ruptured tire, she was doing all right.
Ben pushed past her, went back to the van.
He popped the hatch, dug a blanket out. It was kept in there for roadside emergencies. This little scenario seemed to fit the bill. He brought the blanket back, spread it over the man.
Nancy was on her hands and knees, vomiting out her dinner into the grass.
“Dead,” Sam said, a statement.
Ben nodded. “We’re gonna have to walk into Cut River, get some help.”
“Nobody on the road tonight.”
“Yeah. Monday night, you know—”
Nancy, finished now, screamed.
“What?”
“He moved,” she said, her voice cracking with panic. “I… I saw him… the blanket moved. He’s alive in there.”
“He’s not alive,” Sam told her.
Ben went to her, put an arm around her shoulders. “He’s dead, honey. You don’t live with a head wound like that. Trust me. When you feel up to it we’re gonna walk into town, get some help.”
Nancy kept shaking her head. She wiped bile from her chin and said, “I’m not freaking out here, Ben. I saw it.”
“Jesus Christ, Nancy,” Sam finally said, sick of this night, sick of his sister, sick of all the bullshit and just wanting it to end. “He’s dead. He’s fucking dead, all right?” He stooped over, clutched the blanket, pulled it back. “See? He’s dead. He can’t move.”
And he did look pretty dead with that nasty gash in his head, the bruising. His face looked pale, discolored… or was that just the flashers bathing him in yellow light? Didn’t matter. Sam started to pull the blanket back over him… and hesitated. There was something about him, something that had changed. He wasn’t sure what.
Then the guy’s eyes snapped open.
They were shining, the eyes of a stag transfixed by headlights.
Nancy made a choking, screaming sound.
“Easy,” Sam said. “Just take it easy. We’ll get you some help.”
But the guy didn’t care.
Run down, head sheared open, he still sat up, one cold hand grabbing Sam by the hair, pulling him forward. Before Sam could do much more than protest, the guy’s mouth was at his throat, teeth digging in through skin, finding the carotid and severing it.
Sam let go with a scream—high, despairing, and hopeless.
There was suddenly blood everywhere, pooling, fountaining, and spraying. Nancy was screaming and maybe Ben was, too. Sam, however, wasn’t doing anything now but bleeding to death.
Ben moved quickly, coming up fast and giving the guy’s head a punt to get him off Sam. He rolled to the side, making gurgling sounds, his face black with fresh blood. Incredible. Impossible. It just couldn’t be, none of it could be.
Sam was curled up on the pavement, his body wracked with awful spasms. Ben went to him, pulled him up, but his brother-in-law was either dead or close to it. He was limp in his arms.
The guy was on his feet now, going for Nancy.
“BEN!” she cried. “JESUS H. CHRIST, BEN! GET HIM OFF ME!”
She was backing away as the crazy bastard came on, grinning and gnashing his teeth, his hands clutching wildly at the air before him. Nancy kicked at him, ducked by him, kept screaming and shouting for Ben to come to her aid.
Ben let Sam slide from his arms, his brain full of alarm bells.
His wife was being attacked, but he was suddenly powerless. Tapped. That man… Jesus… dead, but walking… no, maybe not dead, but surely not alive in the traditional sense. His gait was jerky, more of a shambling than anything else. Like seeing a scarecrow pull itself from its bracket, limbs spindly, face lifeless, straw and rags imbued with ghastly life.
That’s what this was like.
Not a man, but an effigy almost. Jaws snapping open, inhuman gibbers and glottals coming from his throat as slimy, bloody foam bubbled from his lips.
Ben got to his feet, got his hands on the guy’s shoulders, pulled him back.
The guy spat something cold and gelatinous into his face, took hold of Ben by the arm and flung him away. Ben tumbled across the pavement. Nancy helped him up and they began running towards Cut River.
The dead/living man did not follow.
He watched their retreat and turned to Sam’s body. Still making those horrible sounds, he dragged Sam off into the woods and the night went deathly silent again.
5
Some streets were lit, Lou Frawley saw, while others were completely dark.
Parts of Cut River still had no power. He kept away from these areas. He wanted some shadows, enough to conceal himself in, but not enough to drown him in a sea of clutching white hands.