The Rising(25)

The flickering streetlights splayed shadows about the streets and yards. Trees twisting in the breeze coming to life. Rustling bushes blown up to monstrous proportions and sprouting tentacle-like limbs. Cars with dark shapes flashing shiny eyes hidden behind windows misted over with condensation.

An Chin’s message returned to the forefront of Sam’s mind.





GET ALEX RUN


Run from what, from who? And why no police?

It felt like she’d been dropped into some scene from one of the science fiction tales in which she was so fond of losing herself. Heinlen gone to hell, and now she really had become his stranger in a strange land. The night air that had been cool and comfortable suddenly felt hot and steamy. The moonless sky had clouded over and she realized the streetlights illuminating swatches of the dark world around her were buzzing, flickering, while stubbornly pouring out light Sam sought because suddenly she felt like a little girl again, afraid of the dark. She thought of her own parents, terrified something had happened to them as well. She needed to call them, she needed to go home, settle her thoughts, make sure they were safe.

Sam checked her phone, found it was working again, with a signal to boot. Then dialed, breath caught in her throat.

“Dude!” her dad greeted.

Tonight it was the happiest word she could ever hear. “Dad!”

“That’s me.”

“Is everything all right? Are you and Mom okay?”

“I’m trimming, she’s bagging. So, yes, we’re okay.”

“Because—”

Sam stopped when the phone vibrated and beeped to signal another call coming in, from a number she didn’t recognize.

Alex, she thought.

“I have to take this other call,” she told her father.





24

THE CLOSET

ALEX PULLED DR. PAYNE’S closet door open with enough force to rattle the hinges. The red eyes he thought he’d glimpsed a moment before turned out to be an old-fashioned pager, twin red lights flashing to signal a dead battery or something.

Beneath the shelf on which the pager rested hung several changes of clothes on hangers. Plastic covered the shirts and even a pair of jeans he quickly stripped free of the covering, along with a pullover short-sleeve shirt. The shirt was a tight squeeze but the jeans fit him well enough. He realized only in donning them that he had nothing for footwear. Another check of Payne’s closet revealed a pair of sneakers a full size too small for him, but Alex squeezed into them nevertheless and loosened the laces as much as he could. He could feel his toes pressed up flush against the toe box, no room for give. They were all he had, though, and better than nothing.

There was an extra lab coat hanging in the closet as well, and Alex plucked it from its hanger. It was a worse fit than the sneakers, the sleeves climbing well past his wrists and so tight around his chest and shoulders he doubted he could have buttoned it if he had to.

Before leaving he pressed his ear against the door to listen for anyone possibly lying in wait. All he heard was the creaky, squeaking sound of a cart being wheeled along the tile floor. Alex waited for it to pass, eased the door open, and slipped out into the hall.

He was halfway to the stairwell before he realized he was holding his breath and that Dr. Payne’s sneakers were an even worse fit than he’d thought. Forcing himself to breathe normally, Alex never broke stride or looked back, just moved straight through the door into the stairwell. His heart seemed to lurch forward in his chest when the echo of the door sealing behind him seemed to go on forever. But he kept moving, taking the stairs as fast as Dr. Payne’s sneakers would allow.

The stairwell spilled out into the lobby, awash in light and people milling about. Knowing as a kid he must’ve looked ridiculous in a doctor’s lab coat, labeled PAYNE, no less, Alex quickly shed the garment, squeezed it into a ball, and grasped it in a single hand as if it were a football. At that point, the exit felt very much like the goal line, promising at least temporary respite until he could get his parents on the phone.

The same parents who’d forbade him to play football. The same parents who’d secretly researched prep schools for a possible fifth year of high school. He’d been so angry at them over that. Now it seemed so small and petty.

Eighteen years old and all I can think of is calling my parents.…

There was a café called Rigolo just up the street from the hospital he’d eaten at a few times with them. So, pinched by Dr. Payne’s clothes and sneakers, Alex headed there in search of a phone.





25

911

“I’LL CALL YOU BACK,” Sam said to her father.

“Take your time. The trimming waits for no man.”

“But you’re telling me the truth, right? Everything’s really okay?”

“What’s gotten into you?”

Her “call waiting” buzzed in again. “Gotta go. Call you back.” She switched to the new call. “Hello?”

“Sam!” Alex’s voice screeched. “Sam!”

“Alex, what—”

“I need you. I need you to pick me up. Now! Please!”

Thoughts coursed through her mind, so many and so fast she couldn’t keep track.

“At the hospital?” she managed.

“No, not there. I can’t reach my parents!”