CHAPTER 11

“YOU’RE WELCOME, DIPSHIT. ”

Wake got to his feet, head ringing from the gunshot that had saved his life. He stared at the man with the gun, a swaggering local in baggy camouflage pants and a hunting vest, a Redman Snuff ballcap on his head.

“Move. ” The man beckoned with the 9mm automatic. “We’re about to have company. ”

“Who are you? ” Wake had seen the man before…

More Taken emerged from the trees, carrying axes and iron bars, muttering snatches of words he couldn’t make out.

Something flew past Wake, trailing sparks. A smooth stick landed at the feet of the group of Taken and exploded into a blinding light. The Taken were gone, just like that.

“That punkass flashlight of yours is kids’ stuff. ” The man tossed Wake a small canvas bag, started running. “Use the flares. ”

“You… you can see them? ” said Wake. He could hear a river roaring as he raced to keep up, the sound getting louder.

“Of course I see them, ” snarled the man. “Come on, there’s more of them coming. I think you attract the bastards, Wake. ”

“Who are you? ” said Wake.

“The Tooth Fairy. Open wide, Wake. ” The man cackled. “I been dodging those ugly things up and down the mountain for the last hour. Had a few close calls too, I’ll tell you that. This one bastard had a mallet big enough to brain an elephant. Took two flares to stop him. ”

Wake recognized the man now. He was on the ferry when they arrived in Bright Falls. He recognized the man’s voice too, the voice on the phone telling Wake that he had Alice. He grabbed the man’s collar. “Where is she? ”

The man pushed the 9mm gun under Wake’s chin, slowly pushed his head back. “Play nice. ”

As Wake released him and he trotted toward a viewing platform overlooking a small waterfall. A sign read: LOVERS’ PEAK. “Here we are, Wake, our last stand! Keep your back to the falls and they won’t be able to circle behind us. ”

“I need a gun! ” said Wake, stepping onto the platform, feeling the vibration from the rushing river.

“Just do your job and maybe we’ll all get what we need, ” said the man, keeping his eyes on the nearby woods.

The Taken swarmed out of the trees, pouring out of the woods in bright hunter’s vests and wool caps, in new camping gear, all of them waving something, knives and pickaxes and sledgehammers, anything sharp, anything deadly.

They acted as a team, Wake peeling away the Taken’s protective darkness with the flashlight, the other man shooting them, slamming fresh magazines into the 9mm from his vest pockets. When the Taken pressed in too close and threatened to overwhelm them, Wake would twist one of the flares, igniting it, then tossing it among them. They fought from one side of the platform to the other, charging the Taken, then retreating. All the while the river rushed past, and the waterfall roared on without interruption, oblivious to their peril.

But the man had been wrong. Keeping their backs to the falls didn’t guarantee their safety. A sickle whistled past Wake’s head, nicking his cheek. He turned and saw that three of the Taken had scaled the platform from below, and were pulling themselves up over the railing.

“Hey! ” Wake shouted to the man as he turned the flashlight on the Taken.

One of the Taken hurled a hammer and struck the man in the back, knocking him down.

Wake backed up, still training the flashlight on the Taken, reached out and pulled the man to his feet. “Shoot them! ”

A Taken charged Wake.

Wake twisted a flare, the flash of light blinding him. He could hear the gunshots, the man cheering himself on, but it was like being lost in a snowstorm.

“You like that? ” shouted the man. More gunshots. “How’s that? A little off the top? ” More gunshots. “Here you go! ”

Wake saw an enormous Taken lumbering toward them, a big man in a red plaid jacket carrying a steel coal shovel.

“Do something, Wake! ”

Wake reached into the canvas bag. There were only a few flares left.

The man shot the Taken as it stomped onto the platform, the shadows so thick that the bullets had no effect. “Hurry up! ”

Wake set off a flare. He held it in front of him, squinting to see in the bright light, then shoved it right in the Taken’s face.

The Taken lifted the coal shovel as the flare dissolved the shadows protecting it, the hot white light eating away the darkness.

The man shot the Taken three times in rapid succession, three times in the head.

The Taken disappeared.

The only sound on the platform was the rush of water from the falls, and the two men panting for breath.

“That—that was fun, ” gasped the other man, sagging against the railing of the observation platform, soaked in sweat.

“What… what are those things? ” said Wake. “Where do they come from? ”

“You tell me, ” said the man.

“I want to see Alice, ” said Wake.

“I knew you were going to say that, ” said the man, grinning. “Just like I knew we were going to survive the gunfight at the O. K. Corral here. Because I read it all. You’re a hell of a writer, Wake. You’re going to bring about something glorious and terrible, once we get you some… uh… proper editorial control. ”

“What are you talking about? ”

“Just give me the rest of the manuscript, ” demanded the man, one hand outstretched. “Now. ”

“You said you’ve already read it, ” Wake said coolly. “Come on, smart guy, what am I going to do now? ”

The man stopped smiling.

“You have a problem, then. ”

“We all got problems, pal. Alice most of all. ” The man held out his hand. “Give me the rest of the manuscript, and I’ll let her go. The two of you can still have a good vacation. Maybe catch Deerfest. ”

“You said we, ” said Wake. “Once we get you some proper editorial control. Who are you working with? ”

“Smart guy, aren’t you? ” Mist from the waterfall drifted over him. “Just for the record, I knew you were going to be trouble, Wake. ”

“Look, I need more time, ” said Wake, trying to stay calm. “Just another week. ”

The man fingered the 9mm. “I’ll give you two days. After that…” The grin was back, splitting his face into two obscene halves. “Let’s just say, you don’t even want to think about what I’m going to do to wifey. ”

Wake drove his fist into the man’s face, knocked him backwards. He drew back again, but the man pointed the 9mm at him, thumbed back the hammer, so angry the pistol shook.

“I wish, ” the man said softly, blood trickling from his split lip, “I dearly wish we didn’t need you to finish the manuscript. ”

Wake faced him, fists balled.

“Move aside, ” ordered the man, waving the 9mm.

Wake didn’t move.

“Meet me at the old Bright Falls coal mine in two days. Main building. Noon. ”

Wake grabbed for the gun, kneed the man.

The man grunted, punched at Wake with his free hand. “You need to give it up, Wake! ”

Wake tripped him, the two of them rolling around on the ground, still fighting for the 9mm. The man smelled of cigarettes and sour beer.

“I want my wife, ” said Wake, their faces only inches apart. “Give me Alice back. ”

The man head-butted him. Twice. Right where he’d been hurt in the car accident, but Wake held on.

The gun went off, nearly deafening Wake, and the man broke free. He scrambled away and ran limping into the underbrush. “You got two days, Wake! ” he called over his shoulder.

Wake got up slowly, his ears still ringing. He looked himself over, couldn’t find any bullet wounds, but there was a raw spot along one side of his chin. He bent down, picked the 9mm off the ground, checked to see that there were still bullets in the magazine.

He dabbed at his forehead, saw blood on his fingertips. When this nightmare was over, Wake was going to start wearing a football helmet, make it part of his wardrobe.

Wake put fresh batteries in the flashlight, kept the two remaining flares in his other hand. Beside the trail a display had been set up, a slice of an ancient tree at least ten feet in diameter, its growth rings marked by important historical and local events. Pilgrims land at Plymouth Rock was near the middle of the slice. Declaration of Independence signed was further out. He traced them with a forefinger. Lincoln assassinated. World War II ends. Wake stared at the entry toward the edge of the slice. Estimated 7. 1 magnitude earthquake sinks island in Cauldron Lake.

Wake shivered.

No… he wasn’t shivering, the ground was shaking again, the wind roaring through the trees. Wake’s head throbbed, a real skull cracker, the pain burning through his thoughts, leaving nothing behind except darkness. He felt himself falling.

Wake broke the black calm surface of Cauldron Lake, shattering the dead surface, the icy water humming as he fell deeper and deeper. Bird Leg Cabin was down there, and that’s where Wake belonged. He sat in the study now, hunched over the typewriter, tapping away, the sound of the keys like thunder as he typed faster and faster. Two days, two days, two days…

Wake opened his eyes. Nothing but stars above and the sound of wind in the trees. He scrambled to his feet, looked around, half expected to see fresh swarms of Taken emerging from the darkness. He was alone.

Wake ran down the trail, kept running until the pain in his side became unbearable. He slowed, but kept moving as the forest rippled and flowed around him. Every time he was sure he was lost, he came upon a sign that pointed the way back to the Visitor Center.

He was near exhaustion when he heard voices. He approached carefully, rounded a bend, and walked into a camp site. Three tents were pitched beside the trail, equipment laid out around a picnic table. A portable radio on the table was tuned into the local talk show.

“Hello? ” called Wake. No response. “Hello! ”

The tents were empty. Looking around, Wake understood why. A shotgun leaned against a footstool, its walnut stock etched with a hunting scene. The camping gear was nearly new, high-quality sleeping bags, fancy cook stoves, freeze-dried lobster bisque and sirloin tips, a bottle of sixteen-year-old scotch. The hunting party was made up of gentleman tourists out for a leisurely long weekend, uninterested in really hunting, the gear just an excuse to get away from their wives. Three of the Taken had fit that description. At least once upon a time. They had been no less ferocious than the grimy Taken in work boots and denim jackets. No less dead now either. He looked over at the radio.

“Welcome back to the show, folks, this is your host, Pat Maine, but you already know that. As promised, our very own Dr. Nelson has just parked his rear end in the studio. Doc, what’s your Deerfest plan like? ”

“My plan? You make it sound a lot more organized than I ever seem to manage! ”

“Ha ha ha! ”

“Yeah, exactly, Pat. But I’m going to check out the parade, of course, and I’ll be one of the pie contest judges. ”

Wake switched off the radio. He rummaged through the tent, found shotgun shells, and stuck them in his jacket. He slung the shotgun over one shoulder and headed for the cabin. An hour later, Wake’s cell phone rang. He answered it, still walking.

“Al? Finally. ”

“Barry? ”

“I’m flipping out here, Al, ” whispered Barry. “The front porch is all covered with birds. Real pissed-off birds. It’s like I’m Tippi Hedren in a Hitchcock movie. ”

Wake remembered the ravens that had attacked him in the cable car, almost killing him. He was on the edge of the forest now, the trail forking. To the right was the Visitor Center. He took the left trail that led to the cabin. “Stay inside, I’m almost there. ”

“Al, ” said Barry, still whispering, “first you with your disappearing zombies, now me with the birds from Hell. I’m starting to wonder, if craziness is catching, like the flu or mumps or—”

“Why are you whispering? ”

“The birds… I don’t want them to hear me. ”

“I’ll be there soon. Just make sure you keep the lights on! ” Wake broke the connection.

Wake reached the top of the path. From this vantage point he could see the cabin, still shrouded in darkness, but the horizon was aglow, edged with dawn. Ravens clustered in the trees around the cabin, hundreds of them, weighing down the branches. They swooped off the trees and into the air as Wake approached, their wings darker than the night.

Wake covered his face, trying to protect his eyes as the birds attacked, the flock so thick that he couldn’t see the cabin. He swung the flashlight, the beam dissolving some of the ravens, but there were too many of them.

“Al! Al, this way! ”

Wake stumbled, fell to one knee. A dozen ravens shrieked around him, clawing at his face, deafening him with the sound of their beating wings.

“Al! ”

Wake snapped one of the flares, and the birds around him blazed in the flash of light. He staggered toward the porch as another wave of ravens launched themselves at him from the trees, wheeling upward and then abruptly down for maximum effect. Wake twisted the other flare as they dive-bombed, waved it overhead, and swept them into nonexistence. He stood there blinking, half-blinded from the glare.

Wake felt a hand on him, dragging him up onto the porch and into the cabin. The door slammed behind him.

“Jeez, big guy, you had me worried out there, ” puffed Barry, his face scratched and swollen. “Thought those birds were going to make a scarecrow out of you. ”

“Scarecrows… scarecrows are supposed to scare birds away, ” said Wake, so tired he could hardly stand. “Those birds looked scared to you? ”

“What, you think this is the time to correct my metaphors? ” said Barry. “Hey? ” He looked concerned. “What’s with the shotgun? ”

“It’s been a long night, ” said Wake.

“Tell me about it, ” said Barry. “I thought the pigeons back home were like flying rats, but these birds, they’re worse. It’s like they… they want to hurt us. That’s nuts, isn’t it, Al? I mean, that doesn’t make sense, does it? ”

Wake didn’t answer. He slipped the shotgun into the closet, put the boxes of shells on the shelf. He kept the revolver and extra ammo in his jacket.

Barry sat down on the couch. Reached for the beer bottle that rested on the coffee table, almost knocked it over. “I—I don’t like it here, Al. ”

Wake sat heavily beside him. He took the beer from Barry’s hand.

“Sure, go ahead, ” said Barry, watching as Wake finished the rest of it, drained the bottle, and tossed it aside. “I was thinking of cutting back, anyway. ”

Wake belched and closed his eyes.

Stucky spat on the garage floor and tried to shake the cobwebs from his head. Ever since the couple from New York City never showed to pick up the keys, things had been fuzzy. Something—a feeling—caught his attention. Stucky looked up and stared, unable to turn away as his brain tried in vain to process the horror before him. He stumbled back, knocking over a can of oil; a black pool spread across the floor. He struggled for a brief moment, then let go as the unrelenting darkness engulfed him.

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