Snow(83)

When she turned around, she was startled by Molly, who stood just a few feet ahead of her but cloaked in shadows. She had both hands resting on the swell of her belly, her feet clad in fluffy pink socks. “Did they come back?” Her voice sounded like someone had her around the neck. “Where’s Brendan?”

Kate pointed down the hall. “Todd took him down there. Molly!”

But Molly was off running. Kate shouldered the shotgun and went after her, suddenly conscious of all the blood that had slapped across her face and chest after shooting the thing on the front steps.

Todd had placed Brendan down on the floor in the computer room, one of Todd’s shirts wrapped as a loose bandage against the man’s throat. Blood pumped steadily from the wound and spread out in a growing puddle on the floor. Brendan bucked and kicked his legs and blinked his eyes in rapid succession. He was struggling to keep focus and stay alive.

Molly stood in the doorway, gaping down at him, the only light coming from the bluish hue radiating from the laptop’s screen. Kate rushed up behind her and nearly crashed right into her.

“Oh.” Molly’s voice was small—the voice of a dormouse. “Oh. Bren…”

Todd was tearing strips of cloth from a T-shirt, his bare chest smeared with Brendan’s blood. He caught Kate’s eyes and thrust the T-shirt at her. “Tighten the bandage on his neck,” he told her, then spun back around to the computer.

Kate bent before Brendan, ripping strips of fabric from the shirt. One knee went right into the spreading pool of blood. Brendan offered her a wan smile. His eyes looked as though they were rapidly losing focus.

“Get away from him,” Molly said from the doorway.

“He needs help,” Kate said, ignoring her. She began to tie one of the loose strips of cloth around Brendan’s neck. He winced as Kate slid it beneath his head, soaking her hands and sleeves in his blood.

“Leave him alone,” Molly continued. “You people have done enough.” Her voice softened. “Bren, honey, are you okay? Brendan?”

Brendan made a gurgling sound deep down in his throat.

“I think,” Kate stammered. “Todd, I think he’s choking on his blood!”

Todd dropped to her side and wrapped two hands around Brendan’s right forearm. He gave Brendan a tug, propping him up on his side. Brendan shuddered and a steady stream of thick lifeblood oozed from his lips and puddled at Todd’s knees.

“I said leave him alone!” Molly screamed. She looked instantly like a spoiled child, balled fists and all. “You’re killing him!”

“We’re trying to save him,” Todd said. He tightened the bandage around Brendan’s neck, and that seemed to slow the flow of blood. Some semblance of normalcy returned to Brendan’s eyes.

“They…cut me,” Brendan managed. His voice still sounded wet, gurgling.

“We just need to stop the bleeding,” Todd told him. He kept looking from Brendan to the laptop. A message box was in the center of the screen. Looking back to Brendan, Todd asked about Bruce.

“He was…right behind me…setting fires,” Brendan wheezed. “Whole town…burning.”

“I want to take him downstairs,” Molly said. There was a pleading quality to her voice now that sounded very unlike her. “It’s not safe to be up here, and he should have never gone out with you two.” She glared at Todd. “Help me take him down. He should rest.”

Todd nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” He looked at Kate. “Help me lift him, will you?”

They stood and each slung one of Brendan’s arms over their shoulders. As Molly looked on, Kate and Todd carried Brendan back out into the hall and down the basement steps. Going down the stairs elicited soft little cries from Brendan as he struggled to combat the pain. In the backroom, they set him down on the cot beside Molly’s, and Todd rechecked the bandage at Brendan’s neck. Blood was still seeping through and the bandage was coming loose from jostling him down the stairs.

“Goddamn it,” Todd said. He unwound the bandage while Kate brought the halogen lamp closer. The wound was a gaping black maw in the left side of Brendan’s neck. To Kate, it looked grotesquely vaginal, and she fought hard not to lose it and throw up all over the place again. “One of those hooked claws?” Todd asked Brendan, curling two fingers in a pantomime of the creatures’ scythe-blades.

Weakly, Brendan said, “Yeah…”

Todd spun around and snatched a bottle of whiskey off the desk behind him. He unscrewed the cap and hovered over Brendan again like a guardian angel. “This is probably gonna sting like hell.”

“Already stings like hell,” Brendan offered, and there was a second appearance of that wan smile. His lips frothed blood.

Todd doused the wound in whiskey and Brendan screamed at the ceiling. Thick cords stood out on the poor man’s neck. Todd used up a third of the bottle cleaning the wound, soaking the cot and the nearby blankets in the process, then redressed it with the torn-away sleeves of a fresh shirt.

Eyes wide as Ping-Pong balls, Molly stepped across the room and eased herself down on her own cot. She looked as if she wanted to touch Brendan—either to comfort him or just confirm his existence—but she forced her hands to remain in her lap beneath the push of her pregnant stomach. Her fuzzy pink socks were black with blood; she’d left footprints on the floor.