Scott came running from the house, a pistol in his hand.
The man whipped the curtain aside and Julie, standing at the wall, swung the chair down as he lunged through the archway. The edge of the seat smacked his head. His legs buckled. His knees hammered the floor. He clutched the top of his head, and ducked. Julie raised the chair high and swung it down with all her strength. The wooden legs slammed across his back. Squealing, he fell facedown. He rolled over as she lifted the chair again. His knees were up, his kimono open.
"Pig!" Julie shrieked, and drove the chair down.
He caught two of its legs, wrenched it from her grip, and hurled it away.
Julie leaped for the curtain. As she shouldered through it, a kick pounded her ankle. Her feet tangled. She fell sprawling into the alcove. She scurried over its floor, thrust herself up, and staggered through the curtain to the parlor. Nick was lying motionless in front of the sofa.
She crouched, grabbed the broken television, and hurled it as the man's shape bulged the curtain. It struck him at knee level. He cried out. He tore the curtain down and tumbled into the room. In the lamplight, Julie saw that his bald scalp was bleeding badly. His face was a red, dripping mask. As he got to his hands and knees, she kicked. She'd lost her sandal. A shock of pain streaked up her foot, but the man yelped and grabbed his face. He fell on his side and started to roll away from her. He was on his back, whimpering and holding his face. Julie jumped. She brought her knees up high and shot her legs down, driving both feet into his soft bare belly. His breath whooshed out. She windmilled for a moment, then fell, hitting the floor flat on her back. She lay there stunned, fighting for breath, terrified that the man might recover before she could.
Finally, she pushed herself up. The man was still on his back. His knees were up. He was hugging his stomach and wheezing.
Nick was rolling over.
He's alive!
Julie got to her feet. She flung aside the fallen curtain, and lifted the television. Staggering toward the man, she raised it high. Her arms trembled as she held it above his face. She stared down at him. "No," he gasped. "Don't. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it."
Her arm muscles shuddered with the weight.
He pressed his hands to his bloody face, and started to sob.
Twisting sideways, Julie dropped the television. It crashed to the floor just above his head. "Leave us alone," she muttered, and went to Nick.
"Here it is," Karen said. "Vista Terrace. Go right on Ventura to Avenida del Sol. Then it's a left."
Scott turned a knob, and the ceiling light went off.
Karen held the atlas on her lap. She grabbed the dashboard with her other hand as the car skidded around a corner. "They'll be all right," she said.
"I shouldn't have let them go."
"You couldn't have known."
"Goddamn it!"
"Nick's with her. They'll be all right."
She saw a stop sign ahead. Scott didn't slow down. As he sped toward the intersection, Karen spotted headlights to the right. "Look out!"
He accelerated, the thrust of the car shoving her against the seat. Light glared through her window. A horn blasted. She hugged her head. Then the brightness was gone, the noise of the horn fading behind them.
"Scott!"
He didn't answer. He was hunched over the steering wheel, speeding up the center of the deserted road.
Karen tried to keep her voice calm. "It won't do Julie any good if we get ourselves killed."
"Fucking curse."
''It's on us, too, Scott.''
Julie flung open the front door. Dropping to a crouch, she snatched up the tire iron. She rushed into the parlor and gave it to Nick. The man was lying facedown now, holding his head and crying softly. "If he tries anything, beat the crap out of him."
She left Nick kneeling beside the man, and hurried into the alcove. The phone was beeping loudly. She pushed its plungers, lifted the handset off the desk, and got a tone. Quickly, she dialed.
It rang once. "Hello?" Benny's voice.
"It's me."
"Julie! Are you okay?"
"Is Dad there?"
"No. He's on the way to pick you up. The cops are on the way, too."
"They know where we are?"
"Yeah."
"How long ago did Dad leave?"
"I don't know, five minutes? What happened?"
"Some nut tried to kill us."
"It's the curse."
"Brilliant deduction, Bonzo." She hung up.
They sped west on Ventura Boulevard, Scott weaving through the traffic. He accelerated to make it through a yellow light, but was forced to stop at the next main intersection because the cars ahead of him blocked the way. He pounded a fist on the steering wheel. "Come on, come on, come on," he muttered.
Tilting the atlas to catch the light from the streetlamps, Karen drew a finger along the thick line of Ventura. "Avenida del Sol," she said, "should be two blocks up."
"I make a left," he said.
"Yeah. Then it's a few blocks. We'll come to a Y. You stay to the left. It'll run into Vista Terrace."
"Which way on Vista?"
"Left again. It doesn't go the other way."
The traffic began to move. He stayed in the left-hand lane, hissing through clenched teeth, pounding the wheel and muttering about the slowness of the car ahead.
"The police are probably there by now," Karen said.
"God, I hope so."
The car sprang out as if escaping, and swung across three lanes of oncoming traffic. The force of the turn shoved Karen against her door. Horns blared. Then they were speeding along Avenida del Sol. The residential road was dark except for a few streetlamps. There were no cars approaching. Scott steered up the center line.
"Don't let them see the gun," Karen warned.
"Huh?"
"The cops. If they see you with the gun, they might shoot."
Julie flinched as a clamor resounded through the house. "I'll get it," she said. Pushing against Nick's shoulder, she rose from her knees and rushed out of the parlor.
In the dim foyer, she grabbed the doorknob. She hesitated. "Who is it?" she called.
"Police officers."
She opened the door, and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the two uniformed patrolmen.
"Here's the Y," Karen said. "Veer left. We're almost there."
He slowed down slightly as the road narrowed, and then Karen saw taillights through the thick bushes to the right. Scott hit the brakes and horn before she yelled. He swerved away, but the car speeding down the driveway slammed into them just ahead of Karen with a deafening crunch of metal. The impact threw her against the door.
Their headlights jarred over a hedge across the road. Then they were crashing through the bushes, skidding down a slope. Karen thrust her hands against the ceiling as the car rolled over. The windshield shattered. The roof quavered. She thought it would cave in but it held as the car slid and wobbled to a stop.
She was upside down, the harness cutting into her shoulder and lap.
Just like before.
Only now it was Scott, not Frank, hanging unconscious beside her as smoke started spilling from under the hood.
Chapter Thitry-seven
There were four of them.
They came down the trail from Carver Pass at dusk, walking single file.
Ettie, crouched behind an outcropping near her cave, could see only their vague shapes in the distance. But she knew who they were. She knew why they'd come. They were the survivors. They'd come to kill her. She was pleased there were only four.