Snow(57)

“Nope,” said Tully, pointing out over the hill at a distant ridge. The sky over the ridge was a circle of midnight in which multicolored lights strobed. “It just moved.”

Kate staggered and came to a standstill. She stared out across the valley with her mouth hanging open in disbelief. Todd thumped her back as he passed, waking her from her daze.

“We’re starting to learn something about these things,” Tully said as he walked. “They’re mostly air, just thin air. Can’t hurt you, can’t do a damn thing except maybe blow your skirt up. But at certain times it seems they’re able to concentrate and focus their energy just long enough to make those two sword-shaped arms of theirs grow solid. You can tell when they’re getting ready to do it because that thread of light floating in their middles gets brighter.”

“Yes,” Todd said, “I’ve seen it.”

“They can’t stay solid for very long. That’s where the skin-suits come in. They grab some poor soul, jab ’em in the shoulders, and slide into ’em like a diver climbin’ into a wetsuit.”

Todd was thinking of what had happened to Chris, the crazed zealot, back at the church—the way that thing had broken through the ceiling and swooped down, to crawl inside the boy’s body to attack them.

“They do it so they can feed,” Tully was saying. “And they feed off us.” He paused, looking out over the town he’d probably grown up in—a town he’d never feel the same about. There was a melancholic twinkle to his eye. “If you shoot one of the skin-suits, they come flying right out. They’re not killed but it makes ’em real weak. You’ll see—they just spout off into the sky, probably to tend to their wounds. Or their hurt feelings or whatever.” Chuckling, Tully shook his head and continued walking.

“We’ve seen it,” Kate said. “Our friend shot one down in the square. The man died but the thing flew right out of him.”

“If you can set ’em on fire just as they’re vacating a skin-suit, you’re in good shape. That’s the best way to do it.”

“I saw a little girl,” Todd said. He felt Kate look at him. “She had no face.”

Still walking, Tully turned his head so that Todd could make out the man’s sharp profile. He had a nose like a bathtub faucet. “Something about mixin’ them with little kids doesn’t take. Like the kids’ bodies can’t handle it or something. They lose their features. Most of the little kids around Woodson who changed ran off into the woods. They’re all mad now. Down by the fire hall and the sheriff’s station you can hear them rustling around in the trees. They ain’t got no mouths so they can’t make a sound, but you can hear ’em movin’ around, sure as the day is long.”

“Stop it,” Kate said. Her eyes were on her shoes now. “Please. No more about this.”

Tully shrugged, the bottles jangling in the Superman backpack, and lit a cigarette. He didn’t offer one to either of them.





CHAPTER NINETEEN



Todd had glimpsed the sheriff’s station from the church bell tower last night: it was a squat, square building made of brick, with very few windows, at the end of a winding, icy road. It sat between the fire hall and a run-down gas station that had probably looked just as run-down before any of this madness had come to the town of Woodson. Partially concealed by black firs, the station was hidden from the main road on three of its four sides, making it a good place to set up camp.

Tully led them to the large double doors—the kind of doors one would find on a gymnasium—that stood beneath an alcove of slatted wood. Metal trash cans stood like guards on either side of the doors; they were empty but reeked of kerosene. There was a shield fixed to the bricks, which read WOODSON SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT. Tully paused just before the doors and consulted the collection of keys dangling like gypsy charms from his belt. He quickly found the one he was looking for and shoved it in the lock, turned it. Then he looked over his shoulder at Todd and Kate while one hand unzipped his camouflage coat.

“They’re gonna want your shirts off,” he told them. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Inside, the place was as dark and as quiet as the surface of the moon. A tiled hallway stretched off into the distance, the tiles alternately black and white like a checkerboard. There was a bulletin board on the wall in the entranceway, crammed with papers that fluttered in the wind. Tully shut the doors and wove a heavy chain around the handles. He clamped it shut with a padlock, then pulled off his wool cap. Tight black curls sprouted from his head.

A light came on farther down the hall, from one of the offices. Tully made a whippoorwill noise and the silhouette of a head appeared out of the lighted doorway.

“That’s Brendan,” Tully grumbled, pulling his coat off. The tone of his voice suggested a distasteful attitude toward Brendan.

The man called Brendan exited the room and hustled quickly down the hallway toward them. He carried the light with him in the form of a halogen lantern. Halfway down the hall, Brendan called, “Who you got there, Tully?”

“Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck,” Tully retorted.

“Don’t f*ck with me,” said Brendan. “I want to see your shoulders.”

Tully removed his bandolier and unbuttoned his shirt. The grim look he gave Todd and Kate suggested they follow his lead. Todd immediately began tugging off his shirt, while Kate moved a bit more reluctantly.