Snow(54)

Holding her breath, she managed to take on two more stairs. She was really moving now. Another step…and her left knee weakened. If it hadn’t been for the handrail, she would have toppled backward, probably smashing her head on the cinder-block wall at the foot of the stairwell.

This was impossible.

No, Shawnie. Nothing’s impossible. Listen up—I’ll make you a promise. You make it to the top of those stairs and the second you swing that basement door open, this’ll all be over. Just like snapping your fingers and waking from a dream, this will all be over. How does that sound? One foot in front of the other and let’s just see how bad you want to wake up from this nightmare, Shawnie. Let’s see how bad you want it, girl.

Bad. She wanted it bad.

Gripping the handrail tighter, Shawna pulled herself up another step…then another…then another. Several more steps ahead of her the basement door was closed. She could make out the faint crack of daylight at the bottom of the door. It would be good to see daylight again. It seemed like centuries since she’d seen daylight.

Somehow she made it to the top. Steadying herself against the wall, she reached down and twisted the doorknob in her sweatsticky hand. Already her mind was wandering through a blessed valley, free of this nightmare. When she swung the door open, she was already wearing a wan smile.

The upstairs hallway was choked full of people.

Townspeople—all of them crowded together in the hallway, their heads slightly bowed, their eyes shut. They were packed together like stowaways in the cargo hold of a steamship. The sound of their joined slumber was like a thousand bees buzzing.

Shawna stumbled and fell backward down the basement stairs. She cracked her head smartly against the wall halfway down, but that was quickly eclipsed by the shock of searing pain she felt race like fire up her leg. The rifle came loose of its shoulder strap and clattered down the stairs on its own where, upon striking the wall, it fired a single round into a section of drywall.

Shawna struck the basement floor at the foot of the stairs, the back of her head up against the cinder-block wall. Her vision briefly blurred…but when her sight returned, all she could see were the countless eyes—the open eyes—of the townspeople standing in the rectangular frame of the basement doorway directly above her.

She managed to turn her head just enough to see Old Blue on the last step. Close…but too far out of reach. Anyway, she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t—

There rose a shrill cry in unison as the townspeople poured through the doorway and fought over one another to get down the stairs. To get at her.

Shawna screamed and somehow managed to launch herself forward. Two of her fingertips actually grazed the hilt of the rifle before the townsfolk were upon her, clawing and tearing and biting and ripping. They got into her leg wound and tore her calf open like a bag of frozen peas.

—make a promise to you make a promise if you make it to the top of those stairs you can wake up wake up wake up you can wake up if you make it to the top to the top of the—

Blessedly, she didn’t live long enough to suffer the worst of it.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN



A man in a gray wool cap with earflaps and a camouflage winter coat rimmed in rabbit fur stepped out of the nearest doorway behind Kate. He was hefting what Todd at first thought was some sort of long-barreled gun, but on closer inspection proved to be a butane torch connected to a hose that ran up under the man’s coat.

Kate turned around and didn’t make a sound. She stepped coolly over to Todd, who still had the gun aimed in at the stranger.

The stranger eyed them through narrow slits beneath a rough, crenellated brow. His chin and neck were heavy with dark stubble and there was a slick of snot drooling from one nostril like an exclamation. His dark eyes fixated on Todd’s handgun.

“You ain’t from Woodson,” said the man. He had the voice of a rumbling old washing machine.

Todd’s hands shook; the gun rattled. “No.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“We were driving out from O’Hare,” Todd said. “Our rental broke—”

“What town’s that?”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Town?”

“O’Hare.” Though Todd would have believed it impossible, the man’s eyes actually grew narrower. “Never heard of the place.”

“It’s an airport,” Todd said. “In Chicago.”

The man lowered his weapon. “I heard of Chicago.”

Unsure whether the man was joking or not, Todd kept the gun trained on him. He did not believe this man to be one of the possessed…but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

“Is this your house?” Kate asked. “We didn’t mean to break in.”

“Ain’t my house. I followed you here.”

Sweat trickled down Todd’s brow. “Followed us?”

The man sauntered into the kitchen and glanced casually into the sink, which was loaded with unwashed dishes. “Saw the smoke from the church this morning so I figured I’d have a look. That’s when I saw the two of you coming out of that amb’lance.”

“Who are you?” Todd asked the man.

“Name’s Tully. Up until a week ago I lived over on Acre Drive. I’m down at the sheriff’s station now, which is across town. It’s been safe so far; they don’t know we’re there.” Tully’s eyes flicked toward Todd’s handgun. “You can put that peashooter down now, son.”