Catch lowered his shoulder and rammed into the right front fender of the truck. Robert saw the impact coming and tried to decide whether to brace himself or jump. In an instant the decision was made for him as the fender crumpled under the demon and the truck went up on two wheels, then over onto its roof.
Robert lay on the ground trying to get his wind back. He tried to move, and a searing pain shot through his arm. Broken. A thick cloud of dust hung in the air, obscuring his vision. He could hear the demon roaring behind him and the screeching sound of tearing metal.
As the dust settled, he could just make out the shape of the upside-down truck. The demon was pinned under the hood, ripping at the metal with his claws. Augustus Brine hung by his seat belt. Robert could see him moving.
Robert climbed to his feet, using his good arm to push himself up.
“Gus!” he shouted.
“The candlesticks!” came back.
Robert looked around on the ground. There was the bag. He had almost landed on it. He started to reach for it with both hands and nearly passed out when the pain from his broken arm hit him. From his knees he was able to scoop up the bag, heavy with the candlesticks, in his good arm.
“Hurry,” Brine shouted.
Catch had stopped clawing at the metal. With a great roar he shoved the truck up and off of him. Standing before the truck, he threw his head back and roared with such intensity that Robert nearly dropped the candlesticks.
Every bone in Robert’s body said flee, get the hell out of here. He stood frozen.
“Robert, I’m stuck. Bring them to me.” Brine was struggling with the seat belt. At the sound of his voice the demon leapt to the driver’s side of the truck and clawed at the door. Brine heard the skin of the door go with the first slash. He stared at the door in terror, expecting a claw to come through the window at any second. The demon’s claws raked the support beam inside the door.
“Gus, here. Ouch. Shit.” Robert was lying outside the passenger side window, pushing the bag with the candlesticks across the roof of the truck. “The play button, Gus. Push it.”
Brine felt the pocket of his flannel shirt. Mavis’s recorder was still clipped there. He fumbled for the play button, found it, and pushed, just as a daggerlike claw ripped into his shoulder.
A hundred miles south, at Vandenberg Air Force Base, a radar technician reported a UFO entering restricted air space from over the Pacific. When the aircraft refused to respond to radio warning, four jet fighters were scrambled to intercept. Three of the fighter pilots would report no visual contact. The fourth, upon landing, would be given a urinalysis and confined to quarters until he could be debriefed by an officer from the Air Force Department of Stress Management.
The bogey would be officially explained as radar interference caused by unusually high swell conditions offshore.
Of the thirty-six reports, filed in triplicate with various departments of the military complex, not one would mention an enormous white owl with an eighty-foot wingspan.
However, after some consideration, the Pentagon would award seventeen million dollars to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology for a secret study on the feasibility of an owl-shaped aircraft. After two years of computer simulations and wind-tunnel prototype tests, the research team would conclude that an owl-shaped aircraft would, indeed, be an effective weapon, but only if the enemy should ever mobilize a corps of field-mouse-shaped tanks.
Augustus Brine realized that he was going to die. In that same moment he realized that he was not afraid and that it did not matter. The monster clawing to get at him didn’t matter. The chipmunk chatter of his voice playing back double-speed on the recorder didn’t matter. The shouting of Robert, and now Travis, outside the truck didn’t matter. He was acutely aware of it all, he was part of it all, but it did not matter. Even the gunfire didn’t matter. He accepted it and let it go.
Rivera came to when Brine had started the truck. Mavis Sand was standing over the policeman with his revolver, but she and Howard were watching what was going on up the hill. Rivera glanced up the hill to see Catch materializing in his eating form, holding Effrom by the throat.
“Santa Maria! What the hell is that?”
Mavis trained the gun on him. “Stay right there.”
Ignoring her, Rivera stood and ran down the road toward his patrol car. At his car he popped the trunk lid and pulled the riot gun out of its bracket. As he ran back past Howard’s Jag, he paused, then opened the back door and grabbed Robert’s hunting rifle.
By the time he was again in view of the hill, the truck was upside down and the monster was clawing at the door. He threw the riot gun to the ground and shouldered the rifle. He braced the barrel against a tree, threw the bolt to jack a shell into the chamber, sighted through the scope, and brought the cross-hairs down on the monster’s face. Resisting the urge to scream, he squeezed the trigger.
The round hit the demon in his open mouth and knocked him back a foot. Rivera quickly jacked another shell into the chamber and fired. Then another. When the firing pin clicked on an empty chamber, the monster had been knocked back from the truck a few feet but was still coming.
“Santa fucking Maria,” Rivera said.
Gian Hen Gian had reached the top of the hill where Travis knelt by Amanda and Jenny.
“It is done,” the Djinn said.
“Then do something!” Travis said. “Help Gus.”
“Without his orders I may carry out only the command of my last master.” Gian Hen Gian pointed to the sky. Travis looked up to see something white coming out of the clouds, but it was too far away to make out what it was.
Catch recovered from the rifle slugs and went forward. He hooked his huge hand behind the reinforcement beam of the truck’s door, ripped it off, and threw it behind him. Inside the truck, still hanging from the seat belt, Augustus Brine turned calmly and looked at the demon. Catch drew back his hand to deliver a blow that would rip Brine’s head from his shoulders.
Brine smiled at him. The demon paused.
“What are you, some kind of wacko?” Catch said.
Brine didn’t have time to answer. The reverberation of the owl’s screech shattered the windshield of the truck. Catch looked up as the talons locked around his body, and he was swept into the air flailing at the owl’s legs.
The owl climbed into the sky so rapidly that in seconds it was nothing more than a tiny silhouette against the sun, which was making its way toward the horizon.
Augustus Brine continued to smile as Travis released the seat belt. He hit the roof of the truck with his injured shoulder and passed out.
When Brine regained consciousness, they were all standing over him. Jenny was holding Amanda’s head to her shoulder. The old woman was sobbing.
Brine looked from face to face. Someone was missing.
Robert spoke first. “Tell Gian Hen Gian to heal your shoulder, Gus. He can’t do it until you tell him. While you’re at it, tell him to fix my arm.”
“Do it,” Brine said. As he said it, the pain was gone from his shoulder. He sat up.
“Where’s Effrom?”
“He didn’t make it, Gus,” Robert said. “His heart gave out when the demon threw him.”
Brine looked to the Djinn. “Bring him back.”
The Djinn shook his head balefully. “This I cannot do.”
Brine said, “I’m sorry, Amanda.” Then to Gian Hen Gian, “What happened to Catch?”
“He is on his way to Jerusalem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have lied to you, Augustus Brine. I am sorry. I was bound to the last command of my last master. Solomon bade me take the demon back to Jerusalem and chain him to a rock outside the great temple.”