Part 19 (2/2)

Janice stood frozen in the middle of the street, unable to decide whether to continue down this road. What else lay in store? More Clickers hiding out, waiting for their escape, much like she was? Would they attack her? It didn't seem likely. The one that just scurried down the beach had been eight feet away from her when it suddenly broke cover and ran for the beach. She imagined that the only thing on their tiny crustacean brains now was survival. Escaping into the ocean.

Janice started back on the path she'd retreated from, more boldly now. She meandered her way past bodies, over severed limbs and b.l.o.o.d.y pools of viscera. She kept her gaze straight ahead, all senses tuned in around her to catch the slightest noise, the slightest change in the atmosphere. She was surrounded by bodies, some stacked one on top of the other, some stuck to utility poles like grotesque trophies. Her main goal grew closer with each step she took. Recognition filtered through her brain as what she had thought to be Sheriff Conklin revealed to be the local lawman.

She stopped, breathing heavily. Conklin's eyes were open. He was lying on his back, his face b.l.o.o.d.y. His chest was mangled, his s.h.i.+rt ripped and horribly bloodstained. He was lying on top of a bank of newspaper machines. His right hand dangled over the side limply. Conklin looked deader than a door nail.

Janice's eyes locked on the belt around his waist. It contained an empty clasp that would normally contain his flashlight, but his handcuffs were still in place. His service revolver was missing, and Janice surmised it could have been knocked out of his hands by strong claws swiping the air to knock the lawman on his a.s.s. Besides, she wasn't interested in the gun. What interested her were the keys, which were dangling on his belt from a thick key ring clasped to his belt loop.

Janice reached forward and grasped the key ring. It was b.l.o.o.d.y, the garment the ring was attached to even bloodier, but she had to get it. She moved her thumb up to the clasp, pushed it, and wriggled it through the belt loops and off the dead man's pants. The keys jangled in her hands as she grasped them. She took a step back, her fingers tingling from the brief contact with the bloodied husk of what remained of Sheriff Conklin, and now she turned and threaded her way back to the station. Her gorge began rising again. It was just half a block up which had seemed miles on her trip out, but now it seemed much closer, more close to normal and it was, she was getting closer to the station, pa.s.sing bodies, fighting the nausea that threatened to overtake her, jumping over them as she ran back to the station and then she was inside, shutting the door behind her and racing to the rear of the building where the jail was, jangling the keys in her hand, barely able to contain her sickness as she fumbled with them in her hands, trying to find the right one to fit into the lock. Rick stood in the cell behind the bars, his voice soothing and low. ”Take it easy, Janice, take it easy...”

She took a deep breath and forced herself to go slower. She closed her eyes. Black spots danced in her vision. She felt sick, but she could fight it. She'd get him out. She had the keys now, and she'd get him out and they'd be out of this mess. She took several deep breaths, and once she felt the sickness subside she opened her eyes and looked at Rick through the bars. He looked concerned. ”Feel better?”

She nodded. ”I will once you're out of there.” She began inserting keys in the lock, taking her time so she wouldn't drop them or, worse yet, break one in the lock when a thought occurred to her: suppose this wasn't the right set of keys? Suppose they weren't the right set of keys and none of them fit? Suppose that- But then her fears were eliminated as the key she was currently trying slipped in the lock effortlessly. She turned the key, heard the familiar tumble of locks disengaging and then the door was open. Rick was in her arms, hugging her close. She wrapped her arms around him and as fast as he was in her arms, he was out, moving down to the end of the hall to where Bobby lay sleeping. ”Let's get going. We need to get out of here and fast.”

Janice took his lead and knelt down over her son to wake him up.

Rick moved into the Sheriff's office and checked the status outside. Still dead. It was getting light outside, the sky overhead dark and sullen. He turned to the cache of weapons Janice had pilfered the night before and began taking stock. There was a stockpile, everything from high-powered rifles to semi-automatic pistols. Boxes of sh.e.l.ls were stacked neatly on shelves in the storage area. He stuffed four boxes in his jacket pockets, found a holster and also equipped himself with a Remington .30-06. Janice was outfitting herself as well. ”Make sure the sh.e.l.ls you get match the guns you're taking.”

”Right,” Rick said. He actually hadn't thought of that before. He checked, saw that the sh.e.l.ls he had were for .22s, and put them back. He was still hunting around for the right ammunition when something caught his eye in the corner.

It looked like a rocket launcher. The barrel was huge and heavy. Rick picked it up, noting the body of the weapon, marveling at its weight. He saw a box near it and bent down to examine it closer. He noticed with amazement that the box contained ammunition for the rocket launcher. What the h.e.l.l is a small town police force doing with something like this? he thought. But then he realized the obvious. Sheriff Conklin had seemed like the type to have a weapon like this around. Why not?

A few moments later, he had everything he needed. He also took the rocket launcher and some ammunition for it. Janice's eyes grew wide when she saw it. ”Jesus, where did you find that?”

”In the back,” Rick said. ”We may need it.” Janice already had Bobby in tow. The boy was still sleepy-eyed and cranky, but at least he was walking. ”Hi sport,” Rick said. ”Sleep good?”

”Yeah,” Bobby said. He looked up at his mother. ”Are we going home now?”

”Real soon, babe,” Janice answered. Rick set the rocket launcher down and handed her a semi-automatic pistol and a holster. She put the holster on her hip and stuck the gun inside it. Rick was already made up. Janice took some sh.e.l.ls and put them in her inside jacket pocket. She picked up a rifle she had taken down the night before and an extra box of sh.e.l.ls. Bobby watched all this with slow dawning wonder.

”Are...things still weird?” he asked.

”Don't know yet,” Rick answered him. He was ready and he darted to the door and checked out the vicinity outside. All was clear. He picked up the rocket launcher and turned back to Janice and Bobby. He reached into his pocket, took out a black hair tie and pulled his hair back into a pony tail. ”I'm gonna go try and get a car. I want you to stay here with Bobby.”

Janice opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. It was the only wise thing to do. As it was, Bobby had no knowledge of the carnage outside. If Rick could find a vehicle that would start-preferably with keys in the ignition-and wheel it around, he could pull it directly in front of the station and she could usher Bobby in without him seeing most of the carnage.

She leaned forward and planted a kiss on Rick's cheek. Rick smiled and kissed her back. He ruffled Bobby's hair. ”I'll be right back.”

”Be careful,” Janice said.

Rick exited the station.

The first car Rick saw was a battered Plymouth parked in front of the post office next door. He went around to the driver's side and stopped. The door was ripped off its hinges and lay hanging by a strip of metal on the street. The front seat was empty, but the seat was slick with blood. Whoever the Dark Ones had dragged out of this vehicle, it would be safe to a.s.sume they were dead now.

”Next one,” Rick said. He moved up the street to the next vehicle, which was empty and seemingly intact. Rick hoisted his rifle up and was about to ram the b.u.t.t through the window when a low moan rose from the deserted street.

He looked back down the street toward the beach. That moan sent a s.h.i.+ver of fear through Rick's spine. His first thought was that it was a Dark One lumbering down the street toward him. But there wasn't anything coming down the street at all. Just a bunch of bodies lying helter skelter all over the road.

The moan rose again. Distinctly human.

All the color ran out of Rick's face. ”Oh, Jesus!” The tone of that voice sounded familiar.

He walked down the street toward the sound of the moan, which was rising more reverently now. The sound of the moan carried him over to the mangled figure lying on top of a bank of newspaper vending machines, the same man that Janice was convinced was Sheriff Conklin, the same body where she'd retrieved the keys from.

Rick stopped in front of the mangled remains of Sheriff Roy Conklin. The lawman's eyes were open, his bloodied face staring upwards, mouth open. His eyes were blinking, and Rick realized the lawman was still alive before Conklin let out another bloodcurdling moan.

G.o.d, how could he still be alive? Rick thought. He looked at the battered lawman's body. His chest had been ripped open; he thought he could see a portion of his b.l.o.o.d.y ribcage. His clothes were shredded. There was a gaping wound in his right leg that looked like a huge chunk of flesh had been taken from it. His face was shredded. Sheriff Conklin was horribly mangled, but he still lived. He must have been pa.s.sed out when Janice retrieved the jail keys from his body; in her fright she probably paid no attention whether he was alive or dead.

Roy's eyes crawled over Rick, their light gray showing slight fear, but now they held the realization of what had really happened to him. He looked like he'd been through h.e.l.l and back. The Sheriff's mouth moved. Rick leaned forward to catch what the lawman might say. Another low moan escaped his lips. He was trying to say something, but it was hard to make out. ”Cccccc...”

Rick leaned forward. ”Take it easy, guy.”

Roy clung stubbornly to that ”Cccc” sound. He lengthened the vowel so that it became a drawn out ”aaaaa”, then added a ”eeerrrr”. Rick picked up on it immediately.

”Car?” Rick asked. ”Where?”

”Blue,” Roy spit this word out almost effortlessly. He p.r.o.nounced it ”blphew”, but Rick guessed the significance to color almost as immediately as he had deciphered the lawman's first word. Rick stood over Sheriff Conklin, encouraging him.

”A blue car.”

Roy slowly nodded. Sweat rose on his face in rivulets. ”Kkkk...eeeee...sssss...in...in...”

”The keys are still in the ignition?”

Conklin closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

That was all Rick needed to know. He took a hesitant step back then stopped. Sheriff Conklin had opened his eyes again and was looking at Rick. His breath was coming in harsh and fast. Rick could see the rise and fall of his ruined chest. His face was simultaneously riddled with fear, and expectant of what was coming to him; to Rick he seemed like a man coming to hard grips with the approaching reality of his own death. Rick couldn't just leave him like this, much as he didn't like the man. Sheriff Conklin himself seemed to have metamorphosed from a man with such personal demons that he'd been the most disliked man in town, to a man who had come to grips with the sins of his life and his existence as a human being. It radiated from his blood streaked face, which was wide-eyed, almost apologetic. Now was a bad time to be making amends to yourself and your maker for your faults, but- Roy Conklin's breathing became more labored, his mouth gasping as he struggled for breath. Rick moved forward, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder. Roy grasped Rick's hand and squeezed it as his breathing grew more labored, painful sounding, then slowing... slowing...slowing. The rise and fall of his chest slowed with it, and Roy's eyes moved from Rick to stare at the ceiling of the awning above him. His breathing grew fainter, fainter...fainter...

Then stopped.

Rick stood over the sheriff's body for perhaps two full minutes, waiting for a reprieve, another go-round as the lawman began another round in the fight for life. But there was no movement. Sheriff Conklin was dead.

Rick pried Conklin's fingers from his wrist and placed the hand back at his side. The limb fell over the side of the vending machine, then hung there, limp. Sheriff Conklin's mouth was still open as if straining for that last gasp of breath, his eyes still open and gazing at the ceiling. Staring at nothing.

Rick turned away from the sheriff and began looking for a blue car. As he searched, he felt a small burst of pride at his reaction to Sheriff Conklin's death; he thought he would have turned away from the man who had caused him so much trouble upon arriving in town. But he was better than Sheriff Conklin-he'd offered some measure of sympathy for the man as he lay there dying. He felt better as a human being, and he hoped Roy Conklin had felt some measure of peace before he pa.s.sed on.

Rick traveled fifty yards down Main Street, heading toward the beach when he saw it. A little blue Datsun, late eighties model. He ran toward it, being careful to jump over the bodies sprawled in the street. He got to the car and flung the door open. It was empty-and the keys were dangling in the ignition.

”Hot dog!” Rick exclaimed. He climbed in, slammed the door, keyed the ignition. The engine cranked to life and Rick felt a huge weight drop off his shoulders as he put the car in gear and made a U-turn, headed back toward the sheriff station. He tried slaloming around the bodies in the street, but that wasn't always possible; a few times he ended up having to drive over them. Rick's stomach turned queasily in his abdomen as he felt the cars' tires thump over the bodies, imagining their slickness becoming further mangled by the tread and weight of the car. After the third one he didn't think he could continue for this long without being sick, and then he was at the station.

He pulled up to it, driver's side against the curb. He could see Janice and Bobby hovering behind the plate gla.s.s window, watching him as he made his way down the street. When he pulled up to the curb the door opened, and Janice ushered Bobby out. Rick reached over and opened the pa.s.senger side door for her. She herded Bobby in the back seat and closed the door. Rick stepped out and together they transferred the weapons they had gathered into the car, then slid inside, slamming the doors behind them. ”Drive,” she said.

Rick drove. They pulled away from the curb and Janice cradled Bobby to her bosom, s.h.i.+elding the boy's face from the carnage outside. Rick could tell that the boy wasn't sleepy anymore, that more than anything he would want to lift his head from his mother's protective s.h.i.+eld and look outside, but he wouldn't. Janice had probably told him not to look as she herded him outside and into the car. He surely was making no attempt to do so now. Smart kid.

”Where to?” Rick asked. They had just reached the intersection of Main Street and Elm. The carnage here appeared to have thinned out, but bodies still dotted the streets and sidewalks.

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