Part 29 (1/2)

Lacey dropped to her knees. She tried to grab the girl's flailing hands. ”Stop!” she cried. Then she clutched a foot and dragged Nancy from the closet. She pulled the girl to her feet, tugged her into the hall.

From there, she saw Dukane slam the bathroom door, shutting himself and Scott inside.

Screams filled her ears as she led Nancy through the living room. ”Wait in the car,” she said.

Then she raced to the hall.

The bathroom door flew open. Dukane staggered backward through it, and fell. The wooden hilt of a butcher knife stood upright in his belly.

As she ran toward him, she heard a whup like the sound of a windflapped canvas. Fire exploded through the doorway.

”Scott!” she shrieked.

The fire lapped her body, forcing her away from the door. She s.h.i.+elded her eyes and gazed into the inferno. Near the floor, she saw a hole in the fire as if a tunnel had been dug in the flames-a writhing tunnel shaped like a man.

A pa.s.sage opened in the blaze. It rushed toward her. Smashed her aside. She tripped over Dukane. As she slammed the far wall, she saw a flaming figure race down the hallway, arms waving, hair ablaze.

Scott? She ran after it. As it lurched across the living room, she realized she could see through it: the fire blazed around a hollow sh.e.l.l. It fell against a window. The curtains caught fire. As it lurched out the front door, it turned and Lacey glimpsed its fire-wrapped face, its b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

She rushed back to the bathroom.

”Scott!” she cried out. ”Scott!”

The wall of fire roared.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

Lacey circled the block twice, watching for strangers, then killed the headlights and steered the Firebird up the narrow driveway to her garage. She put it into the garage, and entered her house by the back door.

The lights were off. She left them that way.

Searching the dark house, she remembered how she and Cliff had gone through it that night so long ago-only a few days ago. They'd found no one then. Lacey found no one now. But she couldn't be certain she was alone: she could never be sure of that again.

Though filthy, she was afraid to use her tub.

Though dazed and weary, she was afraid to use her bed.

She arranged blankets inside her walkin closet, and lay down there. It reminded her of the nest in the hallway that she'd shared with Scott.

Thoughts of Scott swirled through her mind as she tried to sleep. Other thoughts, too. Bad ones that made her shake.

Three times during the night, she heard sounds in the house that made her sweat and hold her breath. Afraid to investigate, she lay there rigid until exhaustion forced her to fall limp and gasp for air.

Once, as she drifted off, the closet door swung silently open. The dark figure of a man knelt over her. She quaked with terror until he spoke.

”It's just me,” he said.

”Scott?”

”I had a hard time finding you. What're you hiding from?”

”Everything.”

”Don't be afraid.”

”Oh Scott, I thought you were dead.”

Then he came down and kissed her, and his charred lips crumbled and filled her mouth with ashes.

She bolted upright, gasping, and found herself alone in the closet. Its door was still shut.

After a moment's hesitation, she pushed open the door. She studied the familiar, night shadows of her bedroom, then crawled over the carpet to the alarm clock. Four thirty.

Time to begin.

Lacey tiptoed through the dark silence of the house. She searched cupboards in the kitchen, found what she wanted, and stepped outside.

She entered her garage through a side door connecting it to the laundry room. A dim light went on inside the Firebird when she opened its door. Kneeling on the pa.s.senger seat, she reached out and drew its keys from the ignition.

The Firebird was one of the four cars she'd found after she ran from the burning house and discovered the keys of the Rolls Royce were gone. She and Nancy had dashed up the long entry road, and come upon the cars of the dead people. She'd insisted Nancy take one of them, and leave her.

Now, keys in hand, Lacey crawled out of the Firebird. She left its door open for light, and walked over the warm concrete to the trunk. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked it. The lid swung up.

As dawn lightened the sky, Lacey twisted off the plastic cap. She raised the bottle to her lips. Its strong fumes made her throat clutch, but she filled her mouth anyway to wash out the other taste-the sour taste of the vomit that had flooded out after the blood.

She spat the brandy onto the loose earth at her feet, then upended the bottle. The amber fluid gurgled out, splas.h.i.+ng onto the dirt.

When it was empty, she tossed it aside. It fell to the gra.s.s beside the cellophane package of beans and the knife.

She put her clothes back on, covering her blood-spattered nakedness.

Then she picked up her shovel. She set it inside the laundry room. Shutting the door, she started for her house.

A man stepped around the corner.