Nightwitch Page 17

  John followed Sarah into the kitchen as the carpet caught on fire. Sarah was at the back door. The roar of the beast shook through to her soul. He went to the stove, grabbing onto the hot frying pan, as the wolf came screaming into the kitchen.

  The skillet’s hot handle burned into his right palm, searing his flesh, as he brought it back, wielding it like a club. The bloodied and foaming fangs were headed toward his neck, when he smashed the open face of the pan into the side of the wolf’s jaw, splashing hot grease into its eyes, blinding it.

  The beast wailed and Coffee hit it again as it retreated. Then he threw the pan at it, screaming himself as the hot handle ripped burnt skin from his palm.

  “ Come on, let’s go,” Sarah yelled from the back door.

  “ I have to kill it. We need a few minutes’ head start, before it comes for us again.” He started pulling open drawers, the first one was a junk drawer, nothing useful. The second had dishrags and dish towels, still nothing useful. He crossed over by the sink and opened another drawer. Silverware.

  “ The next one down,” Sarah yelled, figuring out what he was doing.

  He pulled it open and found what he was looking for. He grabbed a meat cleaver in his left hand and a serrated cutting knife in his damaged right, then charged into the dining room after the wolf, with Sarah right behind.

  The wolf retreated blindly into the living room. John Coffee, yelling like a wild man, came after it, catching it as it bumped into the overturned sofa. He drove the long knife into its belly, close to the bloody wound left by the first knife still sticking out of the raging animal. He dodged as the wolf snapped at him, swinging the cleaver, slicing off an ear. The wolf raged and he slammed the cleaver toward its neck hoping to behead it, but it turned and he sliced off its snout.

  This wolf wouldn’t kill him this night, but neither would he kill it. Red and white lightning shot around the room and Coffee backed off as the wolf was covered in flames.

  Sarah started for the back door at a run. He was right behind as she flew through it, seeking the safety of the cool outside.

  “ In the car! Now!” He took her by the hand and ran toward the Corvette parked out front. The top was down and she hopped over the passenger door. He did the same on the driver’s side.

  “ My house!” She looked back and saw flames leap out the broken bay window.

  “ No time.” He started the car.

  “ My life,” she said.

  “ No, things. You’re getting away with your life.” He let off the clutch. The wheels dug into the pavement without spinning. He turned right at the end of the street and headed for Across the Way Road, driving the car flat out.

  He went through town at fifty, dangerously fast for slow Fremont Avenue. When he flew by the police station, she thought Harrison was going to come after them, but the policeman just shook his head. He was off duty and headed for home.

  “ Stop,” she said. “We should get the police. They can help.”

  “ Can’t help,” he said, continuing to look straight ahead, with his eyes slightly squinted as if he was looking for something.

  “ Yes they can. It’s their job.”

  “ She’d kill them.”

  “ Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid? It was just an animal. It burned up in the fire with all my stuff.”

  “ Tough animal,” he said.

  “ But still just an animal,” she was shouting.

  “ Smart animal, found your house.” He swung a right and stepped on the gas. They were doing eighty along Across the Way Road, with the top down. The whistling wind made it impossible to talk.

  She hoped Harrison Harpine was on his way home and not going to the Bar and Grill to tip a few with his buddies. He lived down the street from her. He’d see the fire and call the fire department. Maybe they could save something. Her records, her clothes. All of a sudden she was aware of the fact that she didn’t have anything on.

  “ Oh my God. I’m naked!” She started to cover her breasts, then stopped. He’d seen them already and she could hardly sit there with her legs crossed, covering her breasts till they got wherever they were going.

  “ Shoes,” he shouted.

  “ What?”

  “ Your hiking shoes, behind the seat, put them on.”

  He’s kidding, she thought, she was stark naked, riding with the top down and he wanted her to put shoes on. Still it was cold out and her feet hurt from the short run across the asphalt driveway to the car. She reached behind the seat for the shoes and was glad they were stuffed with warm wool socks.

  He slowed the car when they entered Tampico, obviously not wanting to attract the attention of the local police as they cruised down Kennedy Street toward Solitude River Road.

  “ Where are we going?” she asked, now that she could hear herself think.

  “ Far from here.” He still had his eyes on the road ahead, not looking at her.

  “ And where’s that?”

  “ A long way down Highway 1.”

  “ You’re crazy. It was just a crazy animal and it’s dead.”

  “ Not an animal,” he said.

  “ At least stop and let me out.” All she wanted right now was to get out of the car and get away from him.

  “ No.”

  “ Why not?”

  “ She’d kill you.”

  There he went being paranoid again. She’d have to try something else. Maybe if she could get him to stop, she could make a run for it.

  “ At least stop somewhere so I can get something to wear.”

  “ No.”

  “ But I’m naked and it’s cold.”

  “ Sorry.”

  She saw some people coming out of Dewey’s Tavern. She started to yell, but he whipped his charred right hand over her mouth. She gagged at the smell of the burned flesh, but he wouldn’t remove the hand till they were out of earshot.

  “ Do you know how to shoot?” he asked her as soon as they turned onto the winding road out of town.

  “ Yes.”

  “ Can you handle a forty-five automatic?”

  “ Point and pull the trigger,” she said. “What’s to handle?”

  “ Can you hit anything?”

  “ I was raised in Kenya.” That got a quick glance from him.

  “ Like your Grandmother?”

  “ Yeah.”

  He grabbed another look at her and smiled. The moonlight was shining through her golden hair, shimmering off her breasts. She was naked and his quick look told her she was attractive.

  He hit a straight part of the road and accelerated, holding onto the wheel with his left hand, favoring his right. It must hurt an awful lot, she thought. She winced when she saw that his chest was bleeding through the torn shirt, where the wolf had raked him with its claws, and she winced again, noticing that he had torn open the scabs on his face.

  “ It’s in the glove compartment,” he said.

  She opened it and took out the holstered weapon. The weight of it felt good in her hand. It offered a kind of safety. She held it against her breasts, like a child holding on to a blanket its mother wants to take away.

  “ Is it loaded?” How could she be so stupid, she thought, of course it was loaded.

  “ Eight in the clip, one in the chamber, safety’s off.”

  “ Dangerous,” she said.

  “ Not for me.”

  She unholstered the weapon. For a second, she thought about pointing it at him and ordering him to pull over. But she figured he wouldn’t do it. He’d keep going to wherever it was he was headed, come hell or high water. So she inspected the gun and asked, “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “ Be ready.”

  “ For the wolf?”

  “ For the wolf.”

  He slowed for a curve, downshifting into third, gritting his teeth as his burnt palm gripped the shift knob. She could only imagine what it must feel like.

  “ You should have that looked at as soon as possible.”
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  “ If I’m alive tomorrow, I’ll do that,” he said.

  Paranoid again, she thought, looking over at him as he slowed for still another turn.

  Then he hit the brakes, screeching to a stop.

  She looked forward and gasped.

  It snorted at them. Then it rose up onto great hind legs and roared into the night. The thick matted fur glowed rich brown and the mammoth paws carried five inch claws. Steam rose from its mouth into the cold night and its great head shook as saliva drooled from its cave of a mouth, the giant teeth, razor sharp stalagmites and stalactites of death. It looked like it weighed a thousand pounds, and it took up the whole road. There was no way around the giant bear.

  Its eyes glowed red. It was no ordinary bear.

  “ Back, we have to go back,” she said. The bear was twenty-five or thirty yards ahead of them. Waiting.

  “ Aim for the head.” He gunned the motor. She whipped off her seatbelt and kneeled on the front seat, breasts hanging over the front window, elbows pressed against it for support, both arms forward, right hand wrapped around the gun, the left holding the right for support.

  “ Now!” He popping the clutch. The wheels screeched again as they lay rubber on the road and the car shot forward like a missile of fiberglass death as she started pulling the trigger. The monster head of the bear was too large to miss, even with a forty-five from a moving vehicle.

  Her bullets found home and the bear did a jerking dance with each slug that tore into its huge head. The titanic beast stumbled backwards as the screaming car bore down on it. Sarah was pulling the trigger as fast as possible. The last slug caused the monster bear to jerk to the left, leaving barely enough room for the Corvette to slip by.

  “ Hold on,” he yelled, but she had nothing to hold on to. The left side of the car struck the beast a sharp blow, with John Coffee manhandling it between the tree lined road and the huge bear. She felt pine needles lash her right shoulder and breast and tasted the foul breath of the giant grizzly as they plowed into it.

  And she ducked as one of those huge paws came at her head.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Arty was dripping with sweat as he hustled down the sidewalk. The night was quiet. There was a light breeze on his face as he walked into it. His hands were in his pockets against the cold. His heart was hammering.

  The man would have caught him in the tent, if Brad hadn’t thrown that rock. What would he have done? Would he have shot the man with his own gun? Would he have cowered and begged to be let go? Or would he have explained what he was doing there, and hope the man understood? And who was the man, and why did he have that gun?

  He picked up his pace as his mind wandered through the labyrinth of possibilities, and he slipped on the damp sidewalk as he turned the corner onto Lynda’s street, barely getting his hands out of his pockets in time to break his fall. He grimaced as he skinned the heel of his left palm against the sidewalk.

  He heard it before he saw it. The deep throated bark of a big dog. He picked his head up and clambered onto his hands and knees, shooting his eyes around the neighborhood. The wolf, he thought, fighting panic. He had to get up. He had to run. He tried to scream, but couldn’t get sound past his lips.

  Another bark-to his right, he looked over and saw it as it as it charged across the street. There was no mistaking that happy-to-see-you, dog grin on Binky Bingham’s Doberman Pincer. Arty dropped flat on the sidewalk, his hands covering his head as the animal pounced on him.

  “ Get off, Condor,” but the dog ignored him as it licked the backs of his hands with its long, sloppy tongue. “Come on, let me up.” The dog had him down and was clearly enjoying himself.

  “ Condor,” Arty said, with a snap in his voice. The dog recognized the change of tone. Arty didn’t want to play. It was hard for him to understand, because his friend was on the ground, like he always was when they played, but he wasn’t laughing and giggling as usual, so the dog stopped the licking, stepped off his friend and sat on his haunches.

  “ That’s better.” Arty pushed himself up. “Now come on.” He started back down the sidewalk, but the dog whined and he stopped. “Oh, all right.” Arty reached under the chest of the massive dog and scratched his belly, smiling as Condor wagged his stub of a tail in joy. “Okay, that’s all till tomorrow. Now we gotta go,” he said, after a few scratches. He turned away and started down the block, with the big dog at his heels.

  “ Come on, Condor.” Arty climbed the front porch. He went to the door, but the dog hung back. “Come on,” Arty insisted. The dog slunk up the steps after him and lay at his feet, crossing his front legs and resting his head on them. Arty looked down at him, shook his head, and said, “That bad?”

  The dog didn’t answer and Arty rang the bell.

  “ Coming,” Arty heard Mrs. Bingham’s happy, high voice as it rang through the closed door. Arty stood at a sort of parade rest, stiff legged, feet apart, hands clasped behind his back. He blinked as the porch light came on.

  “ Oh, Arty,” Mrs. Bingham said, throwing open the front door, “I’m so sorry about your father.”

  “ It’s okay,” Arty said.

  “ How’s your mother?

  “ She’s okay.”

  “ It’s so sad,” she said.

  “ Not really,” Arty said, surprising both himself and Mrs. Bingham. “He was a bad man and I think the world is better off, now that he’s gone.”

  “ Arty, you mustn’t talk like that.”

  “ Mom and I talked about it,” Arty said, “and we’re both pretty glad he’s dead. She said she wished he wouldn’t have suffered, but he hurt us so much when he was alive, I guess it’s only fair that he hurt a lot when he died. It’s sorta like God giving him a taste of his own medicine, before sending him to hell.”

  “ I’m sorry, Arty. I didn’t know.”

  “ It’s all right, Miss Bingham. He’ll never hurt anyone again.” Arty was afraid that she was going to hug him and that was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him, but she seemed to sense that.

  “ Is that why you didn’t tell Carolina? She said you two have been close lately.”

  For a second Arty swelled up with pride. Carolina had said they were close. Then he said, “I didn’t want her to know for the same reason I didn’t want anyone else to know. He was a bad man and good people shouldn’t have to spend any time missing him.” He could have added that he was the first one to find the body, but he didn’t.

  For once it looked like Mrs. Bingham was at a loss for words, then she saw the dog, “Oh, look, you brought Condor home.” She shifted her tone and said, “You bad dog. Just look at you, cowering like the big chicken you are. In the house with you.” The dog scooted by Mrs. Bingham, slinking through the living room, till he was out of her sight. Then he shot up the stairs to where the girls were doing their homework and playing.

  “ Where did you find him this time?” Condor was too big for the Bingham’s back fence and routinely jumped it. Arty usually found him halfway through his paper route, much to his satisfaction. He enjoyed riding his bike in the early morning with the dog happily galloping alongside.

  “ As usual, he found me,” Arty said.

  “ You should really let me pay you for bringing him home like you do.”

  “ It wouldn’t be fair,” Arty said, “getting paid for something I like doing so much.”

  “ Sometimes I think he should be your dog.”

  Arty laughed, then asked, “Is Carolina here? I came to walk her home.”

  “ Well, I was going to drive her, but seeing that she has an escort I guess I don’t have to worry about it.” She invited Arty to wait in the living room while she went up to fetch the girls.

  “ Hey Arty,” Carolina said, coming down the stairs, followed by Lynda and her sister, Corey. Corey was seventeen and all the boys in high school were in love with her. “Look at the cool charm bracelet Corey traded me for the rest of that old necklace.” She was hol
ding out her wrist for Arty to inspect.

  “ Neat,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  “ I’m too old for charm bracelets now,” Corey said, “and I just love this necklace. It fits tight like a choker. I don’t think I’ll ever take it off. It makes me look so pretty.” She was looking in a handheld mirror, the kind that women keep in their purses and use to put on makeup. “It makes me feel tingly all over. I just love it.”

  “ I came to walk Carolina home.” He wanted them to hurry them up.

  “ That’s so nice. A lot of the older boys could take lessons from you,” Corey said.

  “ I was in the area,” Arty said, blushing.

  “ Don’t be ashamed,” Corey said. “It’s a good thing that you don’t want her to walk home alone at night.”

  Lynda giggled.

  “ That’s not nice, young lady,” Mrs. Bingham said. “Someday a boy is going to want to walk you home and we’ll see how you laugh then.” Arty had never been so embarrassed.

  “ We should go now.” He wanted to get away from the Bingham women as quickly as possible.

  “ Okay,” Carolina said, as the dog squeezed by her, making for the open door, but Arty, moving surprisingly fast, blocked his exit and looped a hand in the dog’s collar.

  “ Once again you’ve saved the day,” Mrs. Bingham said, and Arty’s ears burned even redder.

  “ You ready?” Arty didn’t think he could take anymore. Why were women like that?

  “ Yeah.” Carolina followed him out the door, like she was used to him picking her up, and the smile she was wearing said she didn’t mind, but before they reached the sidewalk the smile started to slip. “How come you didn’t tell me about your father?”

  He explained how he found his father and the other man, not far from her house.

  “ You should have told me.”

  “ I know, but I didn’t want to scare you.”

  “ You think they were really following you?”

  “ Yeah, and the wolf lady got them.”

  “ We have to tell somebody,” she said.