The creature was halfway inside Fred Wilkinson. It dematerialized into a shadow, an apparition, and melded with Fred’s body like a soul reclaiming its corpse. Fred’s eyes blinked and some bastardization of life resurfaced in his face. Like a marionette, his head swung woodenly toward Nan. The grin on his face was that of a Halloween pumpkin.
Nan cried out and tried to make herself smaller in the corner of the store.
Shawna leveled the gun at Fred and fired a single round. The bullet missed, striking one of the plate-glass windows instead, where it webbed the glass with fissures.
The Fred-thing pivoted in Shawna’s direction. For a millisecond, Shawna could see the creature riding Fred’s back, working him like a puppet, engineering the man’s movements and expressions.
“Don’t shoot him!” Nan screamed from the other end of the store. “Please!”
Shawna focused her concentration and fired a second shot. This one struck Fred in the lower abdomen, sending a fountain of blackish goop spouting out from his back. The grin never faltered from Fred’s face. He took a step toward her, his leg a bit unsteady, his body wobbly.
It’s a new body, Shawna had time to think. It’s still getting used to working it.
She attempted to fire a third shot but the rifle just offered a hollow click.
Empty.
Motherfucker!
She drove one fist into the carton of ammunition and hastily loaded one round into the rifle. Fred was closing the distance more steadily now. Black strips of foam slavered from his mouth and each footstep left behind bloody prints on the linoleum.
Shawna charged the weapon, swung it against one shoulder, and pulled the trigger one last time.
Fred Wilkinson’s head was replaced by a cloud of red mist.
Shawna wasted no time—she grabbed another fistful of rounds, then hopped over the checkout counter, the rifle slung over one shoulder. As Fred’s body began to buck and tremble on the floor, Shawna slammed against Nan and shoved her toward the front door.
“Fred! Fred!” Nan wouldn’t stop screaming.
Shawna shoved her aside and flipped the deadbolt on the door. As she kicked the door open, freezing air washed into the Pack-N-Go like a tidal wave. It whipped her hair into her face, temporarily blinding her. She groped for Nan, caught a fistful of the woman’s coat, and yanked her through the doorway.
The town square was deserted. Still dragging Nan behind her, Shawna hurried across the square toward the opposite end of the street. She knew all the shops were locked up and, in some cases, barricaded. They would get no reprieve there. Instead, she dragged Nan toward the nearest vehicle—a Volkswagen Beetle with its driver’s side door standing open.
Nan collapsed to the snow, sobbing. Shawna staggered, considered leaving the old woman right there on the ground…then thought better of it.
“Come on!” she shouted at Nan. “We have to go!”
“Oh, Fred,” Nan sobbed. “Oh…”
Shawna dropped down beside her. “Please, Nan. We have to go. Please, okay? I don’t want to die out here. Please.”
Nan nodded. She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, then stood up without any assistance.
Across the square, the windows of the Pack-N-Go exploded.
“Get in!” Shawna screamed, shoving Nan forward into the open door of the Volkswagen. The older woman lost her balance and went sprawling over the seat, her frail legs kicking. Shawna didn’t wait for Nan to climb into the passenger seat; she jumped in on top of her and slammed the driver’s side door shut.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Slowly, Todd’s eyes unstuck. And his first thought was, I’m blind. He couldn’t see a damn thing. He was lying down on something hard and uncomfortable, and although he was without sight, he got the sense that the darkness was expansive. Like waking up in a giant cave.
He groaned and rolled over onto his side. He heard movement in the darkness close by, which sent him into self-preservation mode. He recalled having had a gun at one point; he patted himself down but could not locate the weapon. Also, his head throbbed and he thought he tasted blood at the back of his throat.
“Who’s there?” he asked the darkness.
“Shhhh,” came a voice. Female. “You’ll be all right.”
“Where am I?”
“St. John’s. A church. You’re safe here.”
He swallowed what felt like a chunk of obsidian. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Meg.”
He felt the girl slide closer to him in the darkness. A moment later, he felt the fabric of her clothing brush against his bare hand. She sat beside him and he could smell the staleness of her flesh. Panic raced through him. He imagined the faceless little girl sitting beside him in the blinding dark, taking to him with a mouth she did not have.
A scrape of a match, the stink of sulfur, and a candle was lit. Above the flame, the girl’s face was a quilt of candlelight and shadows. She looked like a teenager, possibly younger.
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
“I think so.” He looked around and realized he was sitting up on one of the church pews. Deep in the shadows, the altar loomed atop the pulpit like a Stonehenge pillar. “Where’s Kate?”
“That lady you were with?”
“Yes. Where is she?”
“She’s getting cleaned up in the back. You can get cleaned up, too, if you like.”
“Who are you?” he asked again.
“I told you. I’m Meg.”
“I meant, where did you come from? How did you get here?”
“Our folks brought us here when it started. They said it would be safe.”
“So you’re from town? From here in Woodson?”
“Yes.” She looked him up and down. Her grimy clothes were in tatters. Her dark hair hung in unkempt coils at either side of her face. “But you’re not,” she said.
“No,” he said. “My friends and I were driving through. Our car broke down back on the highway. We came here for help.”
The girl giggled, covering her mouth with one hand. Then she quickly apologized. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It just sounds funny, saying you came here for help. Of all places.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, running his hands through his hair. He sniffed and smelled blood in the air. “How many of you are hiding in this church?”
“It’s just me and my brother. His name’s Chris.”
“What happened to your parents?”
The girl looked away. Her profile made her appear more adult than Todd guessed she was.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not waiting for an answer. Anyway, he didn’t think one would come. “Do you have access to a car?”
“I can’t drive.”
“But is there a car here at the church? Something we can drive away in?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. We didn’t come in a car. We ran here.” She blew out the candle, dousing them both in darkness once again. “Chris says not to leave the candles burning for too long.”
“Where is Chris now?”
“In the tower. He can see the whole town from up there.”
“What happened to my gun?”
The girl didn’t answer.
“I had a gun,” he said. “What happened to it?”
“Chris took it.”
“Why?”
“For protection. He said we needed weapons and God provided one for us.”
“God?”
“God sent you to us for protection. That’s what Chris says.”
“Terrific. How old is Chris?”
“Twenty.”
“And how old are you?”
“Fourteen.”