Part 19 (1/2)

'Don't get up on my account,' the woman with the crew-cut pointed her gun at Gary. 'You! Get the keys to the pick-up.'

The woman's prisoner - Charlene guessed that was what she was - looked like she might be with the Army or something. But she stood perfectly still, head slightly bowed.

Why didn't she help? Charlene wanted to yell at her.

'I said,' the voice broke in harsher than before, and something solid whacked Charlene across the face, 'get the keys to your truck.'

Charlene was in a spin, her legs folding. She threw out a hand to steady herself and the prisoner woman caught her.

She stared into Charlene's eyes as she helped her up.

She sent a message clear as day: do as she says. do as she says.

Charlene nodded, but she saw a motion past her helper's shoulder.

Gary - in his boxers - flew from the bed, diving for the gun in the other woman's hands. Horrified, Charlene fell back, and the hostage let her go. Gary actually had a hold of the gun, or so it seemed to Charlene - for just a second.

But the next thing she knew, all she could hear were these impossibly loud bangs that wouldn't go away, and there was smoke in the room, and there was Gary dropped at the end of the bed like a broken toy.

'Make yourself useful: find the d.a.m.n keys.' The order sounded m.u.f.fled, but the harshness in the voice was unmistakable. Charlene sat there, sobbing hysterically, her world in pieces she didn't even recognise any more.

Mercifully, someone kicked her in the side of the head.

The upstairs hall was like a tunnel, frosty light gliding in from the window over the stairwell. Amber backed her way along, scared to look around while she could hear the faint scratch of paws ascending the bare pine stairs.

Her heel slid on an old rug. She threw out a hand and caught hold of a doorframe.

The coyote loped into view, s.h.i.+ning its eyes into the tunnel.

Amber gasped, but her voice had deserted her. The coyote pounced onto the landing and flew at her, fangs and eyes aimed up at her face. Amber forced a shrill scream and pushed herself sidelong through the doorway. She fell.

The coyote skidded on the rug.

Amber scrambled frantically to flip onto her back. The coyote faced her through the open doorway, head low and slavering rabidly.

Makenzie leaped the fence and pulled out his revolver. The Doctor and Lieutenant Beard weren't far behind, along with a couple of the White Shadow guys. But Makenzie wasn't concerning himself about backup.

The crowd of coy-dogs, milling and sc.r.a.pping outside the Walsh house, had attracted his attention and he'd come trotting up. Earl's Chevy was parked in the drive and he had to wonder, where the h.e.l.l was Earl? where the h.e.l.l was Earl? All he had for an answer was a memory of Laurie and the empty vehicles on the road. All he had for an answer was a memory of Laurie and the empty vehicles on the road.

Jesus - and then the scream that had to be Amber's.

The soldiers spread wide over the white lawn, fingers on triggers, and started hollering and swearing at the dogs.

Makenzie thought, the h.e.l.l with it, and fired two shots into the air.

The pack scattered, some of them stealing bites out of one another as they fought to get clear. The Doctor, meanwhile, strode right up to the door and grabbed the handle.

Plainly, he wasn't much concerned about backup either.

The hotel looked deserted. Martha had the sense the whole town was out searching for her daughter. Well, h.e.l.l, Martha hadn't asked any of them for their help. Amber was in a bad place right now, she needed to hide. She'd come running back soon enough and Martha would be there for her when she did.

Martha didn't get the special urgency this time out. Maybe Mak felt the need to over-compensate, now the girl's real Daddy was out of the picture.

Real Daddy. Sorry excuse, more like. G.o.dd.a.m.n G.o.dd.a.m.n him. him.

'Help you, miss?'

That soldier with the premature wrinkles, Pydych, regarded her uncertainly from the doorway to the restaurant. He was turning over a piece of the aircraft in his hands.

'Where'd they take the body?' she demanded.

'Of the guy?' Pydych nodded hesitantly. 'Across the hall.

But you really shouldn't be-'

Martha murdered his objections with a glance. He retreated back into his sh.e.l.l, murmuring an apology but appearing to lose his voice. Martha swallowed hard, then moved to the door. Only right and proper that Curt should be laid to rest in a hotel bar.

She let the door swing closed behind her, flinching micro-scopically, as her attention became the exclusive property of the dead ma.s.s on the table before her.

Its condition, exposed and sliced open, didn't even penetrate her. What sickened was how she still saw the living Curt: the self-loathing drunk who'd never known where to turn his hate next. The man who'd made marriage feel like breaking rocks on a chain gang: and the man who, when Martha finally slipped those chains, had hounded her from state to state for eight h.e.l.lish years on the pretext pretext that he loved his baby girl. G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Curt Redeker. Why couldn't he have died in some remote hole, and Martha get a letter some day? Even in death, he had to break back into her life and hang around her neck forever. that he loved his baby girl. G.o.dd.a.m.n you, Curt Redeker. Why couldn't he have died in some remote hole, and Martha get a letter some day? Even in death, he had to break back into her life and hang around her neck forever.

Martha backed up to the door, nauseous. She turned herself around and walked slowly out through the hall like she was running on different time to the rest of the world.

Every step, she had to fight back a fresh tear.

Martha paused out front of the hotel, trying to get a hold on her breathing. The cold air was waking her up, but she felt lost.

Snowflakes snagged at her cheeks like barbed confetti.

'Help, oh please, G.o.d, help! I'm up here! In the bathroom!'

The sound of the shots had been a shock to Amber and the coyote alike. Amber was quicker to recover and she kicked out hard. The bathroom door slammed closed.

Then she was on her feet, pressing herself to the door. She heard the door downstairs smashed open and she fumbled at the lock in a panic.

A heavy weight battered the door from the other side.

The inside of the house was surreal. Like the kid crying out from the bathroom must have been having a nightmare and they'd all stepped into it.

Dermot Beard had spent years schooling himself to think fast and react, and file away complex questions for later. This was one of those situations where he went into automatic pilot and he expected every soldier to react with him. 'Spence, stay put,' he ordered, before rus.h.i.+ng to the foot of the stairs.

Then he motioned his other man. Bertelli, ahead of him.

He showed a palm to the Doctor and the Police Chief. He was figuring on coyotes at worst, but after the house on the mountain there was no point in taking chances.

He expected an argument from the Doctor, but instead the guy relented and started toeing at some of the fish and broken gla.s.s. It looked like somebody's fish tank had exploded down here; no big deal as far as Dermot could tell.