Streng called for Olen, who stopped spraying the burning house with sewage and set upon rolling up his hose. Josh, Fran, and young Duncan came around the side of the house, huddling close together. They were followed by a surprisingly fat dog, possibly a beagle. Streng approached Josh.
“Head to the ER in Shell Lake. Take the Roadmaster. And tell as many people as you can about what’s happening here. The staties should be here soon, but I wouldn’t mind if the whole army showed up.”
He handed Josh the keys.
“How about you, Sheriff? You need a doctor.”
“First I need to drop off this one.” He jerked his thumb at the cab. “I’m going to have Olen take me to Sal’s to get my Jeep and find my gun. Then our friend will go into the Safe Haven lockup.”
Safe Haven didn’t have an official police station, but Streng kept an office in the Water Department building, and it had a small cell, mostly used for the occasional drunk and disorderly.
“Could they still be at Sal’s?”
“Don’t see why they would be. They’ve got other fish to fry.”
Josh nodded, then extended a hand. “Be careful.”
“You, too.”
Streng shook it. The boy also held out his hand. Streng shook that, as well.
“Thanks for coming to get us, Sheriff,” Duncan said. There were tear streaks on his dirty face, but his eyes shone clear and blue.
“It’s my job, Duncan. You take care of Josh and your mother, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Streng didn’t know Fran well—he’d eaten at the diner only once and the meatloaf had given him fierce indigestion, making a return visit unlikely. But he knew what had happened to her and her husband. The whole county knew. The fact that she was able to get on with her life spoke volumes.
Standing next to her, Streng sensed that inner strength, though he didn’t know how long it would last. Both Fran and her boy were black with soot, but she looked like she’d been shoveling coal in hell. As pressed for time as they all were, a quick debriefing still seemed necessary.
“Fran, this might not be an appropriate question considering all that’s just happened, but are you okay?”
“The man, the one who attacked Duncan, he dresses like a man who attacked me at the diner. His name is Taylor. He … killed Al and then tried to kill me. Over an hour ago.”
“You came from the diner?” Streng asked. “Is your car around here?”
“I didn’t drive here. I … swam. The river. That’s where Erwin found me. I had to get to my son.”
Streng raised an eyebrow. The river was over a mile away, and the diner was several miles farther.
“How did you know Duncan was in danger?”
“Taylor told me.” She narrowed her ice blue eyes. “He wanted to know where your brother Warren was.”
Streng flinched. More people hurt, because of Wiley. But why were these commandos going after Fran and her son?
The sheriff stared at Fran, then at Duncan, and he made the connection. A connection that Fran obviously wasn’t aware of. Suddenly some things made sense.
“And you’ve never seen either of these men before? You don’t know why they’re looking for Warren?”
Fran shook her head.
“Or why they went after you?”
“I only met your brother once, Sheriff. At my wedding. He crashed it, got drunk, and started a fight with my stepfather.”
Streng frowned. One more reason to hold a grudge against Wiley.
“You’re safe now. Josh will take you to the hospital. I’m … sorry this happened to you.”
Fran hugged Duncan closer.
“We’re survivors,” she said.
Streng had no doubt of it.
“When you get out of town the cell reception should improve. I’ll call you from a land line. I need to take your statement, Fran. Yours, too, Duncan.”
“And Woof’s?” Duncan asked.
At hearing his name, the dog cocked his head to the side.
Streng bent down to pat the dog on the head, and the motion brought blinding pain. He still managed to say, “And Woof’s.”
Josh herded them toward the car, but Fran stopped and turned back.
“Sheriff, do you know what happened to the mayor?”
Streng shook his head.
“I saw him in the fire truck. He was naked and tied up.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see who was driving?”
“No. I thought it was Josh at first, but obviously …” Her voice trailed off.
“Get to the ER,” Streng said. “I’ll call later.”
They have the mayor, too? Streng said to himself. What’s his link to Wiley?
Streng had no idea, but he sure as hell was going to find out. Right after he took care of Bernie, he was going to have a long-overdue talk with brother Warren.
But first, he needed a gun.
It wouldn’t be wise to visit Wiley unarmed.
When Jessie Lee Sloan was six years old, there was a boy in her first-grade class named Lester Paks. Lester was a textbook full of emotional and mental problems. He laughed and cried for no reason at all. He poked himself with tacks and bit at his fingernails until they bled. He ate markers, and crayons, and glue, and even whole schoolbooks, tearing out a page at a time and wadding it into his mouth while their teacher wasn’t looking.
Jessie Lee sat next to him in class. She used to watch him, equally fascinated and repulsed, as he did these odd things. And she always left him alone, until the day Lester reached into his desk and took out Mr. Smiley, the classroom hamster. He put half of Mr. Smiley in his mouth and had already begun to chew when Jessie Lee screamed for the teacher.
Lester got in trouble. Big trouble. They took him out of school, and rumors were he went to a hospital for crazy people. But he came back after a few weeks, and when he sat down at his desk and stared at Jessie Lee he looked meaner than anyone she’d ever seen.
It happened at recess. Jessie Lee was playing four-square with her friends and Lester ran over, dropped to his knees, and bit her on the leg. Bit her and wouldn’t let go.
She kicked. She yelled. Her friends, two teachers, and the principal all tried to pull Lester off. But he clamped down like a pit bull, grinding her calf between his teeth, his cheeks puffing out with her blood.
They finally got him off by holding his nose until he passed out.
He never came back to school.
Jessie Lee needed one surgery to stop the bleeding, and two more to fix the scarring. She still retained the mark, a dimpled patch that never tanned.
She didn’t have any deep psychological problems after the attack, other than not being able to watch vampire movies. There were occasional nightmares, and a heightened sense of caution around strange dogs, but overall she recovered well. After that experience, Jessie Lee felt like she could handle anything. After all, what could be worse?
Now, hanging upside down by her knees over a stack of corpses in the boys’ locker room, she realized that there were things worse. That point hit home when she felt Taylor’s teeth on her knee.
Jessie Lee hadn’t been able to scream because of hyperventilating. Now she couldn’t get in any air at all. The psycho’s hands kneaded her bare thighs, and she felt his lips and tongue suck hard on her flesh, making hickies. Jessie Lee struggled to shake free, but her foot remained caught by her gold Omega anklet.
Hot breath, on her calf.
Then a nip; something a lover might do.
Every synapse in her brain seemed to fire at once, and Jessie Lee felt as if she would actually go insane with panic.
It got worse. The mouth moved higher, teeth and stubble brushing against her skin. Settling on the knee, opening wide to engulf the entire kneecap.