“I . . .” In her confusion—distracted by the sudden, heavy welter of odors—Alex almost blurted something stupid that would’ve given her away. But then Acne stiffened from his slouch so abruptly that the others also realized something was very wrong.
“What?” Sharon demanded again as Acne stood and aimed the business end of his rifle at them. She looked at Ray and Ruby. “Jesus, maybe they got someone.”
“I hope so,” Ray said. “I got to have something to eat.”
That must be how it works. Mind still reeling, Alex followed the others as Acne herded them toward the door at gunpoint. That’s what Ruby meant that very first day about sharing. Whoever gets sent out also brings a little food. Not much, but enough so the Changed can build up a herd and move on.
She watched as Acne made Ray open the door. The fire cringed as a gale of frigid air and thick snow swept in. Thirty yards away, Slash had turned from the sputtering bonfire to the woods.
She smells them, too, just like Acne. Just like me, and I did it from behind a closed door. Okay, this wasn’t good. Her spidey-sense was definitely getting stronger, and because of that, she knew what Acne and Slash did.
And for her money? If what she smelled was true?
They’d all just drawn that short straw.
26
If not for the flashlight, Jed might have spotted what was wrong before he and Tom were well up the hill and only fifty yards from running out of woods. But he was focused on the shine of snow at his feet and only just happened to glance up at the cabin—and that’s when he noticed, immediately, what wasn’t right.
With the day gone, the west window was a pulsing orange sliver with light thrown by Grace’s cook fire. On any other night, Grace might have lit a candle or the Coleman, but she’d wanted the cabin as dark as possible for the surprise. Still, he saw Grace’s silhouette quite clearly, as well as the letters taped to an exposed beam above the table: we love you, tom. So all that was fine.
But then he spotted how those shimmering words danced and fluttered and the tinsel winked—and that, he reasoned, was because there must be a draft, which would only happen if someone were shutting the front door.
So Jed knew, instantly: something was very, very wrong. If he’d had any doubts, that stupid bombardier hat was a dead giveaway. Fine-tuning his hawk-eye until its owner’s face jumped into stark relief was only a formality.
Abel. Jed watched his neighbor move deeper into the room. What the hell . . .
Then he saw that Abel wasn’t alone. His companion, also male, was blunt and jowly. A hair past seventy, Jed thought, but that rifle looked pretty perky.
“Well, shoot,” Jed said, and pulled up so suddenly that Tom nearly piled into him. “I forgot that darned Phillips. Grace was complaining about one of the chair legs wobbling.”
“I’ll get it.” Tom shrugged the pack a bit higher on his shoulders. “I can always use the exercise.”
“Mind if I keep the flashlight?”
“No problem. I’ve been up and down in these woods so much I could find my way blindfolded. Come on, Raleigh, let’s go for a jog.”
“I’ll wait right here,” Jed lied. He stayed put until the boy’s footfalls faded back into the woods before flicking off the flashlight. It might already be too late. That light was as good as a flare, but the woods might have shielded him.
Unhooking the carry strap of his rifle from his shoulder, Jed moved up the trail in a low crouch, his good eye angled to keep the cabin in view. Abel would not have come with just one bounty hunter. Jed was unlikely to cooperate. If Tom ran, they’d have to chase him. Abel was a worthless piece of trash, so that meant one old man guarding Jed and Grace while another old man went after Tom. That would be risky. Tom was young and strong and, evenwith a gimp leg, plenty fast now. So there had to be at least two other old men, maybe even three.
He winced as a whippy tangle of brush grabbed at his parka. The sound was thunderous in the dead cold, and he held his breath, every nerve quivering as he listened. Nothing. No shush of snow or crackle of a branch. He was alone.
He saw that Grace had moved farther back into the room now and closer to the window. Abel and the hunter followed, drawn along on an invisible tether. His heart fired with pride. Yes, that was his girl. She’d figured how to play them—get the fools into position—because, of all the people in the universe, she would understand how gravity tugged at even the fastest bullet. But if she gave him a clear shot—
His Bravo 51 was chambered, ready to go, the detents already adjusted for his height. Working fast, he clicked out the legs, seated the bipod into the snow, and then stretched out full length. Snugging the butt to his right shoulder, he put his very good eye to the scope—and almost laughed. He didn’t need a scope now, did he? But habits died hard. The hunter’s head bloomed in the sight, the magnification so great that Jed saw that the man’s eyes were brown.
One shot. That’ll do the trick. Abel’ll freeze and then I’ll pop him, too. He only hoped Grace had the sense to stay put until both men were down. Then, do it the way they’d already planned in case of emergency: lock herself first in the bedroom and then the bathroom. There would surely be other hunters, but the shots would draw them into the house. While they were busy breaking down doors, she would have time to get out through the bathroom window. By then, he would be close enough to grab her. If he wasn’t, she knew to go around to the root cellar and padlock the doors after her. Those doors were solid, with good iron hinges. Take too many bullets to punch through that, and the hunters wouldn’t want to waste them on her anyway.
Tom was the only wild card, a way this all might go south in a hurry. The boy would hear that first shot. Lord, Jed hoped the boy realized that blundering toward gunfire would be a mistake.
Use your noodle, son. Circle around and—
A hard knob of metal pressed against the crown of his head. “I wouldn’t,” the hunter said.
Jed froze but thought: Be fast, be quick. There was simply no time to figure another way, and surrender was not an option. Grace would understand. Even better, she would know exactly what to do next. God, he hoped Tom would, too.
Be smart, son. Think about what you hear, and get clear.
“Then I guess it’s good,” he said to this man whose face he did not and would never know, “that you’re not me.”
27
Beretta crashed out of the woods first. He was breathing hard, panting like a dog. His jacket was ripped, and a patchwork of cuts and deep scratches crisscrossed his face. He’d lost a glove along the way, too. Acne got to him just as Beretta’s knees wobbled, and then Acne was half carrying, half dragging the other boy toward the fire as more Changed shot out of the woods—on skis.