Some screaming; the panic there so fast.
Jack was tempted to just push people out of the way. To his left, he saw someone stumble to the ground, and get trampled.
He steered Christie and the kids close by the figure on the ground. With one hand he reached down and pulled the woman up.
Her eyes wide. Crazed. She didn’t stop to say thank you, but turned and joined everyone madly streaming away.
The lake was hemmed in the one side by the Great Lodge and the cabins, the thick woods to the rear.
No one would go in the direction of the woods.
Everyone funneled onto one of the paths that would get them off the beach, away from the lake, the crazy alarm horns only making their terror worse.
They moved so fucking fast, Fergus thought. Flying over the top.
He watched the two of them on Kemp. Ripping him apart like kids tearing into a present on Christmas morning.
The others began scattering.
Except for a few who noticed Fergus shooting.
He kept backing up even as he sprayed his gun left and right.
Can Heads could take a lot of hits. Like they felt no fucking pain whatsoever.
They’d be on him soon.
He thought help would have arrived, the other guards.
Where the hell were they?
One of his bullets kicked a hole in the skull of a nearby Can Head with no clothes and a beard that made it look like a deranged lion.
“Fuck it,” Fergus said.
He turned and started running.
There was an army of Can Heads entering the camp, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing Jay Fergus could do alone but find someplace to go, someplace to hide—to stay alive.
As he ran, he became aware that all the sounds he heard before—the bugs, the wind—were now joined by so many others.
The alarm, the screams, and just behind him, so close, the terrible sound of steps chasing, racing after him.
26. 9:11 P.M.
Fergus looked over his shoulder, the sound of the steps as close as mosquitoes buzzing his head on a muggy night.
A quick look back, and then he didn’t see what was in front of him as he ran right into a Can Head that had somehow appeared on the trail in front of him.
His slam sent them both falling forward, rolling on the packed dirt and pine needles.
God, he felt them grabbing him, pulling at him, then bites—one, two, three—until he couldn’t tell where the pain was coming from anymore.
He prayed that someone would see.
One of the other guards. And not hold back, not flinch—but fire as quick as they could.
To stop this.
He screamed out his agony.
A howl that must have filled the woods.
Then a blessed sound as he heard the repetitive coughing of machine-gun fire.
His prayers answered as bullets hit, and one, somehow, somewhere, made everything instantly black.
Jack hurried his family along. The cabin not far now.
Christie guided Simon, holding his hand. Jack had a firm grip on Kate. Now families started breaking away, bolting, tripping, racing for their own cabins, the horns blaring, so loud, deafening.
At one point he felt Kate stumble on something, but his grip was tight enough to hold her up, near dangling, not even pausing in their forward movement until she regained her footing again and started running.
The horns—you almost couldn’t hear the screams with them blaring so loudly.
Or the gunfire.
Jack tried to place the gunfire as he ran.
Where were they fighting?
How the hell did the Can Heads break in?
With goddamned electric fences?
Jack raced up the path to their cabin, Christie right behind. He saw the Blairs get into theirs.
Good, he thought. They’re inside.
He got his family into their cabin.
He released Kate, and went around to the windows, then to the front and back doors, shutting and locking them.
The windows. So damn easy to toss a rock at one and gain entry.
Had Lowe and his Paterville team never expected this?
Ever planned for this fucking situation?
Everything shut tight, he ran into the bedroom. Opened a drawer and took out his gun. He grabbed a box of bullets.
Out to the living room.
At least the horns sounded more distant with everything buttoned up. The kids looked up at him, hiding the gun still in its holster.
But Christie saw it.
“Jack.”
He walked over to the three of them on the couch.
Perhaps it’s the way he held the gun. Not as if he was going to use it. Because he wasn’t.
He passed it to Christie.
“Jack, what—”
Then he passed her the box of bullets.
She knew how to shoot. He had made sure of that.
“Where are you going?”
“It’s loaded, Christie. And you got more bullets in the box. And here, on the couch”—he looked around the small living room—“is where you stay. You understand? You can see all the windows. The doors. Right from here.”
He felt the kids’ eyes moving from the gun to his face.
He forced himself to smile.
“Probably nothing. But best to be safe. Just like we’ve practiced at home.”
The drills. The government urging everyone to practice what they would do. To prepare.
Like what to do in case of fire.
Only in this case, what to do in case of cannibals crawling into your house.
Finally, Christie asked the question: “What are you going to do?”
He stood up. “Make sure things are okay out there.”
She shook her head. “Jack. You stay here. We need you here.”
He took a breath. Yes, true, he thought. If you wanted to wait until some of them came.
Waiting could be just the wrong thing to do.
“I’m going to take a look.” He paused. “Make sure it stays nice and quiet in Paterville.”
“Daddy, stay,” Simon said, picking up on his mother’s worry.
“I’ll be back real soon.”
Kate said nothing.
“But you don’t have a gun now!” Christie said, her voice sounding exasperated, as if she already knew this was an argument she would lose.
He looked right at her. “Yes, I do. Plenty of guns.” A casual shrug of the shoulders. “In the car.”
She shook her head.
“If you get there.”
He wanted to tell her that if there was something bad going on outside, then one small revolver and a box of bullets would be precious little against a bunch of Can Heads.
That he knew.
But he didn’t have to say it.
“We may need those guns.” Another smile. “Or not. But I can get them fast.”
Did she agree? He didn’t know. But he saw her eyes had grown watery. She fought her fear for the kids.
Then another telltale sign. Her right hand closing over the grip of the pistol. She also put the box of bullets down beside her and undid the holster clasp.
“Keep the doors locked. Listen for sounds. And when I come back, I’ll knock—three… two… one.”
Christie nodded.
He looked at his kids. Scared. Quiet.
He went to the door, undid the sliding bolt lock, and walked out, not having a clue what he’d see there.
The first thing Jack noticed: nobody outside.
Gunfire came from three, maybe four different areas, so all the guards must be out there, dealing with the Can Heads that had gotten in.
If the fence had gone down, was it back up yet? Or could the Can Heads keep coming in?
Some of the cabins were dark. Maybe the people thinking that if they looked dark, empty, the Can Heads would skip them.