A Gathering of Crows (8 page)

“That’s far enough,” he said, fighting to keep his tone firm but even. “I’m warning you, freak.”

The man in black ignored him and continued to draw closer.

Stephen decided that, if forced, he’d lead with an elbow to the nose and then follow it up with a quick kick to the outside of his opponent’s knee. That should make the guy think twice about continuing to fuck with him.

And then, before Stephen could do any of these things, the man in black raised one hand and wiggled his fingers. As Stephen watched, the stranger’s fingernails began to stretch and grow, turning into long black talons. Stephen blinked, and the man laughed hoarsely. The sound was like dry leaves rustling in the wind.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” In truth, it had, but Stephen wasn’t about to let the guy know that.

“No,” the man replied. “It’s not supposed to scare you. It’s supposed to distract you.”

“What do you—?”

The man leaned forward and, with his other hand, punched Stephen just below his chest. Stephen grunted, more from surprise at the unexpected blow than from pain. In truth, there wasn’t much pain. Instead, there was just a cold sensation that spread rapidly across his chest and abdomen. His eyes filled up with water.

“Now
that
,” the stranger said, “is supposed to scare you.”

The man’s arm was still extended. Stephen tried to pull away from him and found that he couldn’t.

Startled, he tried again. As he did, Stephen coughed, and tasted blood in the back of his throat. Then the dark man pulled his arm back and held up his hand. There was something gray and pink clutched in the stranger’s fist. His hand glistened wetly.

That looks like . . . raw meat? Where did he get that?

Stephen became aware that something warm and wet was running down the side of his chin. He smacked his lips together. They felt dry all of a sudden, and the coldness was spreading to his arms and legs.

“I’m not sure what this is,” the man in black said, frowning as he glanced at the grisly trophy in his hand. Shrugging, he tossed it to the side of the road. It landed in the grass and gravel with a squelch. “You people have too many useless things inside of you. It’s a wonder you ever made it out of the oceans. As a species, you’re so inferiorly designed. Then again, you were made in His image. And our kind has the unfortunate luck of manifesting in your image, rather than our own. We were once you, you see? Now we are something better. But never mind that.”

He punched Stephen again. Blood flew from Stephen’s mouth, splattering the stranger’s coat. This time, there was pain—a sharp, overpowering agony that seemed to jolt through him as if he’d been shocked. It blazed, and then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain faded again, replaced by the coldness. Stephen choked as the man held up his hand again, revealing a new item.

“This is your heart, of course. A bit easier to recognize than that last piece.”

Stephen toppled backward, barely feeling it as his head cracked on the blacktop. He heard the sound it made, but he couldn’t be bothered to wonder what it was. Dimly, he thought that perhaps someone was cracking eggs on a stove.

“And these are your intestines. I can divine your future just by looking at them. Hmm. Your future does not look bright. Here, hold this.”

The attacker slipped something warm and slimy into Stephen’s hand, but he couldn’t see what it was. The last thing Stephen was aware of was the man in black crouching low and leaning over his face. Then the stranger’s terrible, cruel mouth opened wide, and Stephen Poernik died before he could scream.

FOUR

“You fucking asshole!”

Marsha raised her hand to smack Donny, but he grabbed her wrist and squeezed—light enough not to hurt her, but firm enough to make her stop. Her anger was evident in both her expression and tone, loud enough to be heard over the howling dogs.

“Calm down,” he said calmly, trying to soothe her. Marsha stomped her heel down on the arch of his foot. It hurt, even through the thick leather of his boots. Yelping, Donny let go of her wrist and Marsha pulled away. Before he could react, she punched his chest. Donny shook his head, confused, and seized both of her wrists.

“Stop it, Marsha. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me?” Her tone changed from angry to flustered. “What’s wrong with
you
? Were you really going to just leave again without saying anything? Just like before?”

Donny opened his mouth to respond, but all he could muster was a choked sigh. He released Marsha’s wrists and let his arms hang limp at his sides. Then he stared down at the pavement, unable to meet her wounded, accusatory glare.

“You’re right,” he muttered. “I’m an asshole, and I’m sorry. I just figured that—”

“That what? You’d take off again, just like you did after graduation? That you’d mess with my head some more? Is this how it’s going to be from now on, Donny? Just when I get over you and start to move on, you’ll come waltzing back into town again, play me and then leave?”

“No. I told you, it’s not like that.”

“Well then, explain it to me.”

The dogs quit howling, but neither of them noticed.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you the first time. But this town, Marsha . . . I just couldn’t take it. When we were growing up, I always hated it here. You know that. And you were going away to college, and I couldn’t handle the idea of you going away and leaving me stuck here.”

“So you decided to do it to me first? You ran off and joined the army and I’m the one who got left behind instead.”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen. You wanted to be a veterinarian. You were supposed to be going to Morgantown in the fall.”

“And I was, until you left. And then, instead of college, I got months of therapy and shrinks and drugs. I got Prozac instead of a degree.”

“I didn’t mean for you to—”

“To try to kill myself? You can’t even say it, can you?”

His silence was answer enough.

“Well, that’s what happened, Donny. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not. I tried to kill myself.”

“And I’ve told you before that I’m sorry about that, Marsha.” He raised his head and met her eyes. “You don’t know how sorry I am. I loved you.”

“I loved you too, asshole. And if you’d really fucking loved me, you’d have said good-bye. That’s the worst part. Remember when we were kids, and you and Ricky Gebhart spent all day one summer gathering garter snakes and putting them in a fivegallon bucket?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“And then you assholes dumped the bucket over my head. I was so mad at you, and you followed me around for the rest of the summer, apologizing every single day. Because you cared. But after all those years growing up together—not to mention that we were supposed to be in love—you didn’t care enough to say good-bye when you left.

“I wrote you letters.”

Marsha paused. “When?”

“Once in boot camp. And a couple of times in Iraq. Once while we were on leave in Kuwait. And I tried calling you from Italy, but I wasn’t used to the time-zone change and it was the middle of the night here. I woke your dad up.”

“He never told me.”

“That’s because he didn’t know it was me. When he answered, I couldn’t say anything, so I just hung up.”

“Bullshit. I don’t believe you. And I definitely never got any letters.”

“That’s because I never mailed them.”

“Why not?”

Donny shook his head. “I don’t . . . It’s hard to explain. I know why, but I don’t know how to put it into words. It . . . things were different over there. I mean, we grew up here, and all we knew was Brinkley Springs. That was our whole world.”

“You make it sound like we never went anywhere else. What about Myrtle Beach and the state fair and that class trip we took to New York City when we were juniors?”

“Yeah, but that’s still America. The world is more than just America. You see that when you get out there. We’re just a small part of things, and Brinkley Springs . . . hell, it ain’t even on the map. All the stuff that happens here, all the trivial bullshit and drama and gossip in people’s lives? That doesn’t mean shit out there.” He swept his hand toward the horizon.

“I don’t understand,” Marsha said. “What does any of this have to do with why you never mailed me the letters?”

Donny took a deep breath and leaned back against the side of his truck. “Like I said, it’s hard to explain. I changed. I saw some shit that . . . well, it wasn’t very pretty. I did things that I ain’t proud of. We all did. It was war, you know? Everything was different, and Brinkley Springs just seemed so far away. It was like you were part of another life. You were somebody that another version of me had known— and that other me was dead. He didn’t exist anymore. He was back here in Brinkley Springs, and that was a million miles away.”

“You could have told me.”

“I tried. I told you in every letter. But I never sent them because I figured you’d already moved on, and I didn’t want to make things worse. I didn’t know about the suicide attempt or any of that. Believe me, if I had, things would be different. I just figured you’d gotten over me and gone to college and met somebody and forgotten all about me. It wasn’t until I came back home, after Mom got sick, that I found out the truth.”

“You must have heard from other people. You must have known.”

Donny shook his head. “Not really. Mom sent me e-mails and letters, but she didn’t tell me what was going on with you. She never even mentioned you. I reckon she thought it would have upset me. And she’d have been right about that. And I never heard from anyone else. The church sent me Christmas cards, but that’s about it.”

“And now you’re leaving again.”

“Yeah.”

Marsha wiped her eyes, smudging her mascara.

Donny reached for her, but she pushed him away.

“Leave me alone. You’ve done enough damage already.”

“Marsha . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you. I loved you. Hell, I still love you.”

“Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it! If you love me, then why are you running away again?”

“I’m not running away. It’s just this town. This place. I don’t like it here. I never have. Growing up, I couldn’t wait to leave. The only things that ever tied me to this place were my mom and you. And now Mom is gone.”

“And I’m not enough to keep you here.” Her tone was flat and resigned. “I never was.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course it is.”

“You could come with me.”

“I told you before, Donny. I can’t do that. My family is here.”

“You were gonna leave them for college.”

“That was then. This is now. They’ve been here for me. You haven’t. I can’t just leave them now.”

“Well,” Donny sighed, “then I guess that’s—”

Somebody screamed, a high, warbling shriek that echoed down the street and was then abruptly terminated. Both Donny and Marsha jumped, startled by the sound. They glanced around, peering into the darkness.

“What was that?” Marsha reached out and clutched his hand, squeezing hard. “
Who
was that?”

“I don’t know. Stay here.”

Marsha squeezed his hand tighter. “What? Where are you going?”

“To check it out. Somebody is—”

Another scream ripped through the night. This one came from a different direction. It was joined seconds later by more shrieks. A dog yelped in pain or fright. Then the streets fell silent again. Donny was reminded of the uncanny quiet that often followed a firefight.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “What the hell is going on? The power, the dogs and now this . . .”

“I’ll call 911.” Marsha pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, flipped it open and then frowned. “My battery can’t be dead. I just recharged it.”

Donny reached for his and shook his head. “Mine’s dead, too.”

“What would make that happen? The lights are out, but what would kill our cell phones?”

“An EMP.”

“What’s that?”

“Electromagnetic pulse. I mean, the cell-phone towers could be down, but even then, the phones would still have power. Only thing I know of that would knock them out completely is an EMP. But that’s—”

A woman’s voice interrupted, hollering for someone named Brandon. She sounded distraught and panicked.