Stinger Part 33

"How about the portal the flying thing came out of? Are there other pa.s.sages into the s.h.i.+p?"

"No. Only the tunnels."

The breath hissed from between his teeth like air from a pierced tire, and his hope deflated with it. There was no way on G.o.d's green earth he could go back into those tunnels. Gunniston returned from the corridor, and with him was Zarra Alhambra. "Tell them what you told me," he urged.

"Somethin' came up out of the street over in Bordertown," Zarra said to the colonel. "All of us were in the church. Cody Lockett and Rick saw it, and we cleared everybody out of the church and herded 'em over here. That's all I know, man."

"Where're Cody and Rick now?" Tom asked.

"I don't know. Everythin' was happenin' so fast. I guess they're on the way here."

Daufin felt the seeker beam rotate past, its chill p.r.i.c.kling her skin. Her calculation had been off by four seconds.

The door opened again. It was Bobby Clay Clemmons, who'd been up on the roof keeping watch with Mike Frackner and a couple of other 'Gades. He glanced quickly at the Rattlers; any other time he would have attacked them in a blind rage for intruding on 'Gade territory, but all that was forgotten.

"Hey, Colonel!" he said. "Somethin's movin' around down there!" He strode to the window, and Rhodes went with him.

Two of the cars down in the maze of vehicles still had their headlights on. At first Rhodes couldn't see much through the smoke and dust-and then he caught sight of a shape moving quickly over on the right, and another one on the left. A third shape, running low to the ground, skittered under a car and stayed there. And now more of them were coming along Travis Street. He heard the scuttle and sc.r.a.pe of claws as the things climbed up over the cars. He shuddered; he was reminded of walking into the kitchen of the farmhouse he'd grown up in, switching on the lights, and seeing a dozen roaches scurry off a platter of birthday cake.

Dark, scaly backs darted through the headlight beams. A spiked tail swung, and one of the lights smashed out. Another tail rose up, quivered with tension, and broke out first one headlight and then a second. The fourth and last headlight was smashed. Down in the murk, the things began to swarm toward the apartment building, their tails beating haphazardly at the sides of the cars, but they stopped at the edge of the parking lot.

"Stinger's afraid of the electric light." Daufin was standing beside Rhodes, peering over the windowsill. "It hurts him."

"Maybe it hurts Stinger, but maybe it doesn't hurt all those things."

"All are Stinger," she said. Her eyes followed the twitching of the spiked tails. Their hammering was becoming a regular rhythm now, like a brutal taunt. "He won't get in here while these lights are on."

Tom had already picked up his rifle from the table. Beside it was the tear-gas shotgun that Rhodes had brought in, and Gunniston still had his.45 automatic. Rhodes looked at Bobby Clay Clemmons.

"Have you got any weapons here?"

"a.r.s.enal's this way." Bobby Clay led him into the next room and switched on the battery lamp mounted to the wall. Its light revealed racks where a variety of objects hung: sawed-off baseball bats, a couple of pellet rifles, and two pairs of bra.s.s knuckles. "This all you've got?"

"That's about it." The boy shrugged. "We never... like... wanted to kill anybody, man. Few other things in here." He walked to a green footlocker and opened it. Inside were tools-a hammer, two or three screwdrivers, a.s.sorted jars of nails, and other junk. There were only two items that Rhodes thought might be of use: a battery-powered bull's-eye lantern and a flashlight. He pulled them out and turned them on to check the batteries. The lantern was strong enough, but the flashlight was almost dead. He took the lantern back to the other room, just in case-G.o.d forbid-something should happen to the wall lights.

The cras.h.i.+ng of spikes against metal was steady and insistent. The noise got to Tom; he crossed the room, slid the rifle's barrel through the window, and fired at one of the dark shapes. The slug, if it hit, did not stop the rhythmic pounding.

"Save your bullets!" Rhodes told him. "Stinger's trying to psych us out." He heard more gunshots, from other windows. Bullets scratched sparks off the concrete, but the noises went on. It sounded like the tramping of an army over broken gla.s.s.

Tom was about to pull the rifle barrel back in when he saw something else out there. It was a large shape, coming steadily across the parking lot toward them, but he couldn't make out anything else.

"Rhodes!" he said. "Look at-"

There was the sound of metal crumpling. And in the next second what might have been a car door crashed against the side of the building. Gla.s.s shattered in a window three or four away from the one where Tom stood. A fusillade of gunfire erupted. Rhodes came to the window, could only see the vague outline of something huge out there-and then the mashed bulk of a red Mustang hit the wall about ten feet away and slid down with a shriek of metal. Whatever it was, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was strong enough to hurl a car twenty or thirty feet. "Get down, everybody!" he said, ducking below the window. The others got down too, and before she could think about what she was doing, Jessie grasped her little girl's body and pulled her close.

"Gunny!" Rhodes said. "Go down the hall and keep everybody away from the windows!" The other man hurried out. Rhodes peered up over the sill. The shape was moving closer, but not yet in the wash of the building's lights. Another piece of metal-a hood, he thought it might be-sailed out and bounced off one of the first-floor windows, but the crash and echo sounded like the place was coming to pieces. A tire followed within seconds, shattering the window two apartments to the left. Someone cried out in pain as flying gla.s.s. .h.i.t them, and Daufin broke free from Jessie's grip. She rushed to the window before anyone could stop her, and she grabbed the rifle out of Tom's hands and struggled to balance it on the sill. Even as Rhodes was reaching for her, she lodged two fingers on the trigger and squeezed. The recoil threw her backward, skidding her across the floor, but instantly she was up again and trying to drag the rifle with her. Her eyes were wild, wet with rage and frustration. Tom clutched the rifle before Daufin could get it up on the sill, and as he pulled her away from the window the wall exploded inward over their heads.

Rhodes saw the thing's tail burst through in a shower of rubble and dust. Stones clattered down around Jessie, Zarra, and Bobby Clay, and Tom protected Daufin with his body. The tail darted out again, leaving a hole as big around as a washtub. Rhodes looked out the window, got a nerve-shredding glimpse of the creature's head as it scuttled back from the light's edge. As it retreated, it slashed out with its tail again and the spikes shrieked past the wall.

Daufin squirmed away from Tom, her skin radiating little shocks like an electric eel, and leapt up onto the windowsill. Rhodes thought she was going to jump through, and he dared to grab her arms. A shock coursed through him, rattling his teeth, but he hung on. "No! " he shouted, trying to hold her back as she thrashed like an animal.

Her attention was only on one thing: getting out of this box and leading Stinger away from the humans trapped here. But suddenly she saw the huge shape coming through the smoke; the white light washed onto its head, glinting off the needle teeth in its thick, elongated jaws. Two of the eyes ticked toward her, while two aimed at another window, and for a second she thought she could see her face reflected on the thin black pupils. Whether those eyes knew her or not, she didn't know: they were as cold and impa.s.sive as the icy vaults of deep s.p.a.ce. Stinger kept scurrying forward, the tail rising up behind it like a deadly question mark. The full glare of the electric light fell onto its head. There was a sizzling sound that made Rhodes think of bacon on a grill; he saw the creature's eyes blistering and oozing where the light touched them. The tail whipped forward, and Rhodes yanked Daufin out of the window and to the floor. The spikes crashed into the wall of the apartment next door. There was a cacophony of screams, and the entire second level shook.

Brick dust filled the room. Rhodes sat up, peered out, but the thing had retreated from the light. In the parking lot the tails of the other Stingers kept up their steady, martial drumbeat. Daufin was lying on her side, breathing heavily, knowing that Stinger was trying to smash out the lights. Then something hit her like a physical blow: the seeker beam had been due to pa.s.s twelve seconds ago. Her mental countdown was still progressing. Where was the seeker beam? If it had been turned off...

She didn't want to think about what that might mean.

"Hang on," Rhodes said tersely. "It's coming back." He reached for Tom's rifle.

In the close darkness of the Hammonds' attic, Scooter began growling. Sarge lit another match and held it to the ebony sphere in his hand. Couldn't see anything in it, but when he shook it he thought he could hear the quiet slosh of liquid. Thing was as cool as if it had just come out of a refrigerator. He pressed it against his cheeks and forehead like a piece of ice. Scooter got up off the sleeping bag and gave a nervous yip, and Sarge said, "Don't you fret, now. Ol' Sarge'll take care of-"

The house trembled, and from downstairs came the scream of splitting wood.

"-you," he finished thickly.

There was a crash of furniture either falling or being thrown over, then silence. Scooter whined and pressed against Sarge's side, and Sarge put his arm around his best friend. The match went out, but he didn't try to light another because the sc.r.a.pe on the box would be too loud. The silence stretched. Then came the sound of footsteps, entering the hallway. They stopped just below the attic's hatch.

The hatch was jerked open, and the steps unfolded.

Sarge crawled away from it, his hand clenching the black sphere.

"Come down," a man's voice said. "Bring the pod with you."

Sarge didn't move. Scooter growled softly.

"If you have a light, I want you to throw it down to me." An impatient pause. "You don't want to get me super p.i.s.sed, do you?"

The voice had a Texan accent, but there was something wrong with it. Around the words was a rattling, as if whoever was speaking had a nest of snakes in his throat. And now there was another noise too: a low moan that sounded like a dog in agony.

Sarge tossed the box of matches down the hatch. A hand caught and crumpled it. "Now you and the pod."

He didn't know what the man meant about a "pod," but he whispered shakily to Scooter, "We're gonna have to go down there. Ain't no way around it." He slid toward the hatch, and Scooter followed. A man-sized shape stood in the hallway. As Sarge reached the bottom of the steps, a hand grabbed the sphere away from him so fast it was only seconds later that Sarge felt pain and the welling of blood from his fingers. Fella's got sharp nails, he thought. Scratched the fool out of me. He could see the man lift the sphere up before his face. There was something writhing at the man's chest, where nothing ought to be but skin and s.h.i.+rt.

The man whispered, "I've got you." And the way he said that made the flesh crawl at the back of Sarge's neck.

The hand placed the sphere down in that writhing ma.s.s on his chest. Sarge heard the click of fangs as the sphere was accepted.

And then the man's arm-as damp and slimy as a centipede's belly-hooked around Sarge and lifted him off the floor, squeezing the breath out of him. Sarge was too stunned to fight back, and before he knew what was happening the man was striding toward a gaping hole in the den's floor. Sarge tried to call for Scooter, couldn't summon up his voice, and then the man had walked into the hole and they were falling. Sarge wet his pants.

The man's legs. .h.i.t bottom like shock absorbers, but the impact traveled through Sarge's body and made his head feel like a sack of shattered gla.s.s. Sarge gave a m.u.f.fled groan. The man began running through the winding dark, boots making a shuckshuckshuck noise in the ooze, and carried Sarge away.

52 The Trade

The creature's tail slammed through the wall into the room where Curt Lockett and four other people hugged the floor. Bricks flew, and one of them hit the battery lamp that hung on the wall near the door and broke it to pieces. The light went out. Curt heard the boom of a shotgun from the next room. The tail thrashed over his head and exited in a boil of dust, and Curt crabbed out of the room into the corridor as fast as he could move.

The hall was packed full. Dozens of Inferno and Bordertown people crouched close to each other in the sharp glare of the lights, so tight they looked like they were melded together. Dust was billowing through the corridor, babies were crying and so were a few full-grown men. Curt felt pretty near tears himself. He'd come here hunting Cody, but one of the Renegades had told him that Cody was gone. So Curt had stayed to wait for him, and then all h.e.l.l had broken loose. He crawled away from the door, getting another wall in between himself and that big sonofab.i.t.c.h with the spiked tail. Somebody was babbling in Mexican right next to his ear, but the bodies s.h.i.+fted to give him shelter. The floor heaved. More bricks caved in, and screams swelled. An old woman was sobbing next to him, and suddenly her hands were on his arm, moving along the forearm until they locked with his fingers. He looked into her wrinkled face and saw that her eyes were clouded with cataracts. She kept rocking back and forth, and the man beside her put his arm around her shoulders. Curt and Xavier Mendoza stared at each other. "Where's Cody?" Mendoza asked.

"Still out there somewhere."

The old woman began speaking frantically in Spanish, and Mendoza tried to comfort her as best he could. Paloma Jurado was desperate to find out what had happened to Rick and Miranda, but as far as Mendoza knew they hadn't gotten to the building yet.

Curt saw the fat bulk of Stan Frazier squeezed up against the wall not far away. The man was sweating buckets, and he had a s.h.i.+ny hogleg Colt pistol clamped in his hands. When the building shook again, Curt pulled his hand free and crawled to his neighbor. "Hey, Frazier! You usin' that?"

Frazier made a little gasping noise, his tongue lolling around in a shocked white face. Curt said, "Don't mind if I do," and worked the gun out of the sausagey fingers. Then he crawled back on his belly into the room he'd just vacated, where there were two holes in the walls the size of truck wheels. He crouched at the shattered window, pulled the Colt's hammer back, and waited for that battering ram on legs to come out of the smoke again. He would've given his left nut for one sip of Kentucky Gent, but there was no time to let the craving take him because the smoke parted and there was the creature's shape again, skittering forward. The tail whipped out, hit the wall somewhere to Curt's right, and hurled a storm of bricks. Curt started firing, heard two of the bullets ricochet off body armor but two more made a satisfying splat as if they'd hit softer tissue. The tail swung in his direction, pa.s.sed the window, and crashed into the wall of the room next to him. The floor shuddered as if a bomb had gone off. Curt fired the last two shots and saw gray fluid spray from a foreleg-then the thing had withdrawn into the murk again and there was a crunching noise as it backed over cars.

"Here."

Curt looked around. Mendoza had left Paloma Jurado with his wife and uncle and crawled into the room. He offered his palm, and in it were four more bullets. "He had these in his pocket," Mendoza said.

"I thought you might need them."

"I reckon so." Curt hastily dumped the empty cartridges and reloaded. His hands were shaking.

"b.i.t.c.h of a night, huh?"

Mendoza grunted, allowed himself a grim smile. "Si. You look like somebody stepped on you."

"Feel like it too." A bead of sweat swung from the tip of Curt's nose. "Got in a little sc.r.a.pe up on Highway Sixty-seven awhile back. You don't have a cigarette on you, do you?"

"No, sorry."

"Gotta be some smokes around here somewhere." He clicked the cylinder back in true and lined up a bullet under the hammer. "You seen my boy tonight?"

"He was over in Bordertown about twenty minutes ago. That was the last I saw of him."

"He'll be all right. Cody's tough. Like his old man." Curt laughed harshly. Mendoza began to crawl back to his family, but Curt said, "Hold on. I want to say somethin' to you, and I reckon this is the time to do it. Cody seems to think you're okay. He's a d.a.m.n fool about a lot of things, but judgin' people ain't one of 'em. You must've given him a pretty fair deal. Guess I appreciate that."

"He's a good boy," Mendoza said. He found it hard to look into Curt's watery, sick-dog eyes. "He's going to be a better man."

"Better than me, you mean."

This time Mendoza met Curt's gaze. "Si," he answered. "That's exactly what I mean."

"Ain't no skin off my a.s.s what you think of me. You've been decent to my boy, and I said thanks. That's it." He turned his back on Mendoza.

The other man had a hard knot of anger in his stomach. He didn't know what gave Curt the right to call Cody his "boy." From what he'd seen, Curt only had use for Cody to clean up the house or bring money and cigarettes home to him. Well, a dog couldn't change his smell. Mendoza said, "You're welcome," through gritted teeth and returned to his wife and uncle. One thing that old wetback forgot to say, Curt thought. Cody'll be a better man if he's still alive. No telling what was roaming around out there in the dust and smoke, and where Cody might be. Why that d.a.m.n kid went over to Bordertown I'll never figure out, he told himself. But one thing I know for sure: I'll kick his b.u.t.t till it sings Dix- No. No you won't.

Curt leaned his chin against his gunhand. Those long-tailed b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out there were still playing a tune on metal, like they knew they were taunting everybody in the building. He started to squeeze off a bullet and then figured he'd better save them. It was a d.a.m.ned funny thing: his head was clear, and he felt all right. His raw flesh was still leaking and hurting like h.e.l.l, but he could stand the pain. He wasn't scared-at least, not petrified. Maybe it was because Treasure was with him. If the boy showed up- when he showed up-Curt was going to... well, he didn't exactly know what he would do, but it wouldn't be violent. Maybe he'd tell the boy how nice that tie rack looked on the wall, and how he hoped the boy would do more work like that. Say it and mean it. Maybe try to lay off the juice too; that wouldn't be too hard, considering that for the rest of his life he would hear bones crack when he had a whiff of whiskey. But there was a long way to go, a lot of bad things in between him and Cody. They would have to be shoveled aside, one by one. And that, he figured, was how everything on G.o.d's earth got done.

Someone touched his shoulder, and he spun around and put the pistol's barrel into a young man's face. "What the h.e.l.l you doin', sneakin' up like that?"

"Colonel Rhodes says he wants everybody away from the windows," Gunniston told him, and eased the pistol aside.

"Too late in here, fella. Window's done busted."

"Better clear out and stay in the hallway, though." Gunniston started to crawl out and head for the next room down.

"Hey!" The name had just clicked through to Curt. "Who'd you say? Colonel Rhodes?" When Gunniston nodded, Curt said, "I've got a message for him. Where is he?"

"Six doors up the hall," Gunniston said, and moved on.

Curt crawled out, past Stan Frazier, stood up, and made his way through the corridor without stepping on more than seven or eight people. He counted off five apartments and at the sixth, the door that had HQ and KNOCK FIRST spray-painted on it in red, he went in without knocking. Inside, crouched on the floor, were two boys Curt recognized as friends of Cody's, the lady vet and her husband and little girl, and a man with a black crewcut who was on his knees at the window. The man had a rifle, and he'd swung it up at Curt just as the door had opened. Curt lifted his hands. "You Colonel Rhodes?"

"That's right. Put your gun on the table."

Curt did. Rhodes looked like a man you didn't argue with. His eyes were sunken in dark hollows, and his face was puffy and speckled with gla.s.s cuts. "I'm Curt Lockett. Can I put my hands down?" Rhodes nodded and lowered the rifle, and Curt eased his arms to his sides. "I was up on Highway Sixty-seven, right at the edge of where that purple cage comes down. There's a whole bunch of trooper cars and people on the other side of it. Lot of government bra.s.s too. You know a Colonel Buckner?"

"Yes."

"He's up there with 'em. He was writin' on a pad and showin' it to me, 'cause I could see 'em but I couldn't hear 'em. Anyway, he wanted to make sure you were okay and find out what was goin' on. I was supposed to take you the message."

"Thanks. I guess it's a little late."

"Yeah." Curt looked at the battered wall. "I guess it is." His gaze went to the little girl. She was trembling, and he knelt down beside her. "Don't fret none, little darlin'. We're gonna get out of this, sure as-"

"Thank you for your concern," she said, and her ancient, white-hot eyes went through him like lasers through tissue paper, "but I am not a little darling."

Curt's smile hung by a lip. "Oh," he said-or thought he did-and stood up.

"Colonel, listen!" Tom said. The rhythmic beating of the creatures' tails on metal was slowing. The noise stopped. He peered out the window, could see the smaller shapes moving away amid the cars. The larger one had drawn back into the murk and disappeared. "They're leaving!"

Rhodes looked out, verified that the creatures were indeed retreating. "What's going on?" he asked Daufin. "Is this some kind of trick?"

"I don't know." She came forward to see. The seeker beam still hadn't returned, and that could mean only one thing: her pod had been found. But maybe not; maybe the beam had malfunctioned, or maybe its power drain was too severe. She knew she was, as these humans might say, grasping at cylindrical drinking tubes.

Tom and Rhodes watched the creatures moving away until the haze swallowed them. Fires still burned on Celeste Street, and from off in the distance there was a crash of timbers exploding into the air: maybe the monster's wrecking-ball tail knocking a house to fragments. A silence fell, except for the noise of crying babies and adult sobbing.

"Those sonsofb.i.t.c.hes gonna come back?" Curt asked.

"I'm not sure," Rhodes answered. "Looks like they might be calling it quits."

Daufin strung the meaning of that term together in about three seconds. "Incorrect," she said. "Stinger does not call it quits."

"You sure talk funny for a little girl," Curt told her. "No disrespect meant," he said to Jessie. And then he remembered something he wished he could forget: Laurey Rainey rising out of the Bob Wire Club's floor, and her rattling voice saying Ya'll are gonna tell me about the little girl. The one who's the guardian. Whatever was going on here, he wasn't sure he wanted to know about it. "Anybody got a cigarette and a match?" Bobby Clay Clemmons gave him the last six Luckies in the pack and a little plastic Bic lighter. Curt lit up and inhaled down to the depths of his lungs.

"Daufin? I know you're in there! "

The voice came from the parking lot. The heart hammered in Daufin's chest, and she wavered on her feet: but she knew it had only been a matter of time, and now the time had come.

"Daufin? That's what they call you, isn't it? Come on, answer me!"

Tom and Jessie recognized Mack Cade's voice. Rhodes thought he could make out a figure standing atop a car just beyond the edge of the light, but he wasn't sure. The voice might be coming from anywhere.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be! My time is money!"