Part 7 (1/2)

Then why can't I shake this feeling?

He reached the Mustang, unlocked the door, and slid inside. The interior was freezing-even without the wind, it was like sitting in a meat locker. His breath fogged the windows into an opaque translucence as he fumbled with his key, fingers numb and tingling as he jammed it into the ignition. The engine cranked and shuddered. The dash lights winked and glowed; the defrosters erupted with more cold. Syd pressed the gas a few times, coaxed it to roaring life.

As the car idled his hands came up to grip the wheel, seesawing it back and forth as he weighed his options. This woman was trouble; he'd seen it already, could feel more coming. More than that, even: this woman was dangerous. Her voice came pinwheeling back. I don't f.u.c.k domesticated animals.

I eat them.

Yeah, right. He could use a little of her kind of danger right about now. She was also, he reminded himself, the most real, vital, utterly alive thing he had felt in years. Maybe ever. It felt as though his whole life was leading up to this, his fate riding on it like a high-stakes gambler, betting the house on a single roll of the dice.

The engine idled down, ready to roll. The air from the vents began to warm, blowing off the condensation that clung to the windows. Chameleon's lay directly before him. To one side, the safe road beckoned. To the other.

Syd reached down, put the car into gear.

And started to move.

Vic skirted the perimeter of the parking lot, tracking the slow-moving car. His prey was oblivious, as usual. Animals were different; they never questioned their instincts. It was nature's way of compensating them for their lack of reasoning power, and it made sneaking up on them a real challenge.

People, on the other hand, reasoned instinct away, and almost always chalked it up to superst.i.tion until it was too late to do anything about it but scream.

It was what made them so easy to hunt: they simply couldn't believe that it was happening. In the heat of the moment they invariably disa.s.sociated, thinking wow, just like on TV! As if life were a cop show, or a movie they once saw. And before there were movies, a book they'd once read. Or a story, told round the campfire. Or anything that served to lift experience into the province of legend. Render it larger than life, and thus beyond them. It was ironic; their power to imagine was their greatest source of strength, as well as their most fatal flaw. It made anything possible for them, even as it kept them forever out of the moment.

Vic knew, from experience, that the moment was all there ever was.

The human side of his mind flashed suddenly on an old Gary Larson cartoon: two leopards up in a tree, about to pounce on an unsuspecting explorer as one of them whispers to the other, ”Watch this! These things make the greatest expressions!”

Vic's man-mind laughed and laughed; the sound that came out was a b.e.s.t.i.a.l grunt. His eyes sparkled gleefully, feeling the bloodl.u.s.t start to flow as his body moved through the underbrush. His limbs were well-muscled, powerful: they worked in perfect harmony, covering distance in virtual silence. The car's brake lights came on, as the big metal box slowed and rolled around the side of the bar.

Around the back! Vic smiled; his flat tongue lapped over razored teeth in antic.i.p.ation.

This was more than perfect.

This was gonna be fun. . . .

The alley was dark and foreboding, maybe fifteen feet from the cinderblock backside of the building to the ditch that marked the property line beyond. A big metal dumpster hunkered by the side wall just before the turn, further obstructing his view and pinching his access until there was barely enough s.p.a.ce on either side to squeeze through.

The woods behind the bar were thick and oppressive: overhanging branches from some of the smaller trees towered above him like big bony hands, waiting to s.n.a.t.c.h the unwary patron who occasionally ambled back to smoke a joint, take a leak, or hurl. It was a great place for an ambush, but until tonight it had never occurred to Syd exactly how creepy it was.

Syd's side windows were still fogged; he rolled them down, the better to see as he angled his car into the alley and slowed to a crawl, trying not to sc.r.a.pe the paint job or go into the ditch. Just past the ravine the ground rose, putting it almost level with the pa.s.senger side window; as he turned his high beams raked it like searchlights, casting harsh shadows in their pa.s.sing.

Something moved: scuttling through the bushes, just outside the periphery of his vision. Syd tensed, thought he caught a flat glowing flash of nocturnal eyes. He looked again, but his headlights were pointed the wrong way now, restoring the woods to shadow. He peered through the pa.s.senger window, searching . . .

. . . and that was when the door boomed: swinging out toward his car, blasting him with light and the dull rhythmic roar of the band.

Syd gasped, jolting in his seat.

Jules stood in the crack of light from the kitchen, a paper bag in his hand.

”Took you long enough,” Jules said. ”I was beginning to think da boogeyman got ya.” He saw Syd's obvious palpitations, and one eyebrow went up. ”You okay?”

”Yeah.” Syd lit a cigarette, took a calming drag. Jules watched him, then leaned in surrept.i.tiously.

”Here,” he said, slipping him the bottle. ”You never got this here. Don't drink it all in one place.”

”Thanks,” Syd replied, taking the bag and stas.h.i.+ng it. ”And, um, sorry about the scene in there.” He gestured toward the bar, and Nora.

”S'okay,” Jules patted his arm. He paused for a moment, looked off. ”Janey says she got a bad vibe off her.” Then back to Syd. ”You sure you're okay to drive? You were slammin' 'em down pretty hard in there.”

”Yeah, I'm cool. Thanks, man.”

Jules looked at him a moment, then nodded. There was a pregnant pause, as he weighed his next words carefully. ”So,” he said, ”you sure you know what you're doing?”

Syd met the gaze, laughed nervously. ”No,” he said, shaking his head.

”But I'm doing it anyway.”

”Yeah, well.” Jules nodded, leaned in the window. ”Just remember, man: dogs that show their teeth are usually the ones that bite.”

Syd took that bit of wisdom with an uneasy grin. ”I'll be okay,” he said. ”Really.”

Jules shrugged. ”Well, I'm freezin' my nuts off,” he said. ”Take care of yourself.”

Syd nodded. ”Later.”

Jules leaned back into the kitchen, let the big metal door hiss home. As it clicked shut, it took the light with it; the darkness that remained seemed even deeper for its absence. Syd felt an anxious tremor rumble through him, as he eased off the brake. . .

. . . And Vic hovered: body crouched and twitching at the edge of the trees. He had held off, bargaining with the beast inside: not taking the man as he made the first corner, waiting to see his purpose.

He was glad he had the moment the back door opened and the cook stepped out to make their little clandestine transaction. He watched them talk, saw the bag change hands. Numbers didn't frighten Vic, but witnesses could be troublesome where time was a concern. So many victims, so little time . . .

But now the s.h.i.+thead was alone again, and that was very good. The car was nearing its prime kill point, where the driver had to negotiate the second turn. As he angled out the driver's attention would be on the forward motion; as the car pulled away it would leave Vic in a picture-perfect blind spot.

The moment was at hand. Vic stood, giving himself over to it entirely. His man-mind rolled back like a shark's eye in the seconds before it bites, giving the beast inside him full sway . . .

. . . and the creature began to trot, then run, body building momentum as its blood raced and its wild heart sang the song of the kill . . .

. . . And in the moment before he pulled away, Syd thought he saw something in the rearview mirror. Something dark. Something moving. That was all that it took. It put the lead in his boot as he tromped on the gas; and by the time he looked back through the dust, it was gone.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming. Its pull was strong, deep, inexorable as a river moving under the earth. It felt like destiny: waiting to blindside him as he rounded the next bend.

So when he pulled around front to find Nora waiting just inside the door, part of him was not entirely surprised. She stepped out and stiffened, as the wind s.h.i.+fted into her. Then she was moving toward the car with surprising speed: throwing open the pa.s.senger door and jumping in before he even had time to stop.