The creepy black cloaks had traded in their futuristic beam weapons for even more elaborate guns that fired handfuls of that hellish burning metal—she could smell the sulfur.
They had gone right after the school bus.
The remaining members of the biker gang, who were not big believers in passive resistance during the best of times, had responded with shotguns. With each shot that was fired, the children inside the bus shrieked in terror. At the moment Amy crested the hill, one of the bikers pounded on the side of the bus with his palm and screamed for the driver to go, just go.
NON had blocked the road with two of their trucks, but only in one direction—the bus went in reverse and backed up past the church, continuing on the looping road, going backward all the way while the cloaks peppered the front of the vehicle with brimstone. The bikers started hurling buckshot at the cloaks’ backs and in the pitched battle that ensued, the bus slipped off into the night.
The boys came up behind her. Amy was about to say, “Thank god, they got away!” when David said, “SHIT! The larvae are loose!”
John said, “I do think it’s time to admit that containment is not our strong suit.”
The cloaks were retreating to their vehicles and, a moment later, a NON truck rumbled past, in pursuit of the school bus, soon followed by a second, and a third. There were shouts and the noise of Harley-Davidson exhaust coughing to life, then a chrome line of bikes went snaking down the road after the trucks. Detective Bowman’s SUV was next, followed by a squad car, sirens blaring into the night. It was quite the parade.
Amy watched the herd of noisy lights disappear into the darkness, and in that moment the downpour chose to resume. She’d lost her raincoat at some point, and couldn’t remember when. Cold water ran down her back.
David said, “Get to the Jeep! Let’s go!” but no one was answering his call.
Amy looked to see where everyone had gone and found John, Marconi, and Joy all huddled together in the rain nearby, all muttering urgent commands to each other. Standing over something. Amy went over to them.
Ted Knoll was kneeling in the grass.
Lying there in front of him, was his daughter.
Maggie was trying to stifle a cry, taking rapid breaths, her little chest heaving. Ted, in a calm, controlled voice told her he was going to lift her shirt to get a look. The moment he did so, Maggie started wailing.
She had a cluster of smoldering dime-sized holes in her belly. The projectiles were still burning inside her, tendrils of smoke drifting out. Amy moved closer and could both hear and smell sizzling meat.
David walked up and said, “Ooooooh, fuck.”
Loretta emerged from the RV, saw her daughter, and came apart. “Oh god. Oh god, no. Oh please god…”
Marconi said, “We have to move her. Get her in the RV! Now! I have medical equipment!”
David clearly seemed to think this was a horrible idea, but still helped haul the girl inside, through the RV’s kitchenette, and into that cramped little lounge area near the back. They laid Maggie gently onto the narrow fold-out sofa. Her shirt was a crimson rag.
John said to Ted, “Don’t worry, this guy’s a doctor.”
Ted said, “He looked right at her. Fucker had a mask like a little baby. Looked her right in the eyes and pulled the trigger.”
“I know, man, they—”
“They’ll keep coming,” Ted said. “If I don’t stop them, they’ll keep coming. Keep her safe. You hear me? You keep her safe, or it’s on you.”
“What? What are you—”
Ted turned and ran out of the RV, John yelling after him.
Amy sprinted to the door of the RV just as the camouflage pickup pulled up, Ted’s army buddy at the wheel. Ted leaped into the bed of the truck and they tore off after the convoy. Behind Amy, little Maggie was howling while her father became a shrinking pair of taillights that were quickly swallowed by the night.
Amy said, “We have to get her to a hosp—”
She was interrupted by a gunshot, the glass in the open door exploding right next to her face.
30. MOBILE SURGERY
John
A bang and the sound of shattered glass. Everyone hit the floor. Maggie screamed.
Dave yelled for Amy and ran to her, pulling her away from the door, telling her to get down.
John risked a look through a side window. NON agent Josaline Pussnado’s black sedan was parked behind them, engine running, headlights illuminating twin horizontal shafts of glistening raindrops. She was standing behind the open driver’s side door, wet shirt plastered against her bosom, aiming a pistol. She fired again, then moved toward the open door of the RV, shooting all the way like the goddamned Terminator, rain steaming off the gun. John ducked. Windows shattered along the length of the RV as her bullets whistled through.
From behind John, a female voice said, “HERE!” and there was Joy, running out from Marconi’s office in the back. She had in her hand the obsidian spear that had been leaning in the corner. She tossed it to him.
John hefted it, felt its weight, then sprinted up toward the door. He leaped over Dave, who was still on the floor, shielding Amy with his enormous body. John was far from proficient when it came to spears, but you go to war with the weapons you have.
He leaned out of the door. Agent Pussnado hadn’t so much as changed her clothes since Ted put an assault rifle round through her sternum—her white shirt looked like she’d had a mishap carrying a punchbowl. John found the scorched hole in her shirt, just off-center from the row of buttons between her perfect breasts. That would be his target.
He flung the spear with all his might, the shaft whizzing through the rain. The obsidian blade plunged itself into Pussnado’s chest, right into what John was sure was her still-healing wound.
She stumbled back and stopped shooting, but did not die. The agent looked down, let out a groan of annoyance like she was having just the worst day, and tugged the spear out of her chest. She tossed it aside, reloaded her gun, and started walking toward the RV again.
John pulled the door closed and yelled, “Get us out of here!” to no one in particular.
Joy shoved past him. She threw herself into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Hold on!”
They rumbled out onto the main road, Pussnado’s bullets clanking off the rear of the RV. When the shots stopped, John got a look in one of the side mirrors and saw the agent hobbling back into her sedan, intending to continue the pursuit. If nothing else, John hoped NON remembered her at bonus time.
Amy
The sound of Maggie wailing in the back was the worst thing Amy had ever heard. Pain and terror and helplessness, a plaintive wail that was absolutely raw and absolutely real. Amy and David clumsily climbed to their feet. David—who looked anxious but clearly was not hearing what Amy heard, glanced back that direction, then looked nervously at Joy, who was pushing the RV to its limits down dark, submerged streets.
Amy uttered a question that, considering the context, sounded ridiculously casual. “So, uh, where are you from?”
Joy, who was hunched over the steering wheel as if she could make the sluggish RV go faster with body language, smiled.
“You’re sweet. Phrasing the question that way. I can tell you’re cool.”
John stepped toward them, with that look on his face like he was beginning to puzzle something out. Without a word, he held out his hand. Joy knew what he was doing; she took her right hand off the wheel and held it out to him. John examined it like he was admiring an engagement ring.
Four of Joy’s fingers came off in his hand. While John held them, they transformed back into one of those worker bug things, which sat calmly on his palm.
David let out a long breath that carried with it the word, “Ooooookay.”
Joy, trying to steer with her partial hand, said, “I do kind of need that back.”