HL 04-The Final Hour (16 page)

I ran. My speed was gone now. My energy had at last given out. My legs were weak and wobbly beneath me. My lungs were burning. My wet, muddy clothes were so heavy I felt like I was wearing a suit of lead, dragging it through the storm. Only my will was still strong. I was determined not to surrender, determined to make them run me down, make them overtake me. The idea of being taken back to that prison was a living nightmare.

I stumbled on, my arms wheeling, my hands grasping as if to find purchase in the driving rain. The lightning snapped and flashed across the black sky. The Jeep’s engine strained as the car tried to make its way up the slope behind me.

I looked back over my shoulder just in time to see the dark rain go bright as those huge headlights crested the ridge. In the next second, the Jeep leapt into sight and plunged down into the mud, splattering dirt everywhere as it charged relentlessly after me.

I poured everything I had left into the next few seconds. But it was no good, no use. I was exhausted. I was done. The Jeep’s horn screamed at my back like the cry of a hungry animal. The engine roared louder as the big machine overtook my failing footsteps.

The next time I looked, the headlights were enormous, filling my vision. The Jeep was right on top of me, seconds from plowing over me.

I leapt to the side and, as I did, I lost my footing and fell. I went down into the mud, clawing at it, rolling, trying to stand. I heard the Jeep’s brakes shriek as its wheels locked. Scrabbling over the shifting, muddy ground, I saw the big vehicle go skidding past me through the mud, turning so that its headlights seemed to search for me in the night. The rain was so heavy the headlights blurred. The Jeep was almost invisible though it was only a few yards away from me.

Now, unable to stand, I started crawling. It was the best I could do. I clawed my way across the earth, my face inches from the mud, my hands and knees and feet sinking deep into the mess of it.

The Jeep had stopped moving. Behind me, I heard its door open and shut. The thunder rolled and the lightning flashed. When the noise subsided, I heard the wet footsteps of my pursuer. I saw his tall figure moving toward me in the glow of the headlights. I didn’t know whether he was coming to arrest or to kill me dead.

Finally, out of breath, out of strength, I collapsed into the mud. The footsteps came nearer and stopped. The Jeep’s driver was standing over me.

I lay where I was, panting into the earth. I couldn’t go any farther. I just managed to roll onto my back and peer up through the rain at the figure above me.

“Come on, chucklehead, get in the stupid car,” he said.

It was Mike.

PART III

CHAPTER NINETEEN
Flashes

Mike grabbed me under the arms and hauled me up. My legs felt like spaghetti, my lungs like fire. Mike half dragged me to the Jeep as I struggled to get my feet under me. When we reached the side of the vehicle, he pulled the door open and dropped me onto the passenger seat. He left me there to struggle the rest of the way in.

By the time I got the door shut, he was in the driver’s seat beside me. He didn’t say another word, just hit the gas. The tires spun and mud spat up around us. Then the rubber gripped the ground and the Jeep started moving through the rain.

I was curled up on my side, my cheek pressed into the seat back. My mouth hung open as I wheezed for air. The mud and rain were dripping off me.

My head was spinning with exhaustion. I wasn’t even sure this was really happening, that it was really real.

“Mike . . . ?” I tried to say through my gasps. My voice was barely audible over the engine noise, even to me.

“There’s fresh clothes in back,” Mike said, working the wheel, staring hard through the windshield. “Get into them. There’s some food back there too.”

“Water . . .”

“Yeah, a couple of bottles.”

Desperate for a drink, I managed to find the strength to twist around and reach into the backseat. I found a water bottle. Sucked hard on the nozzle, swallowing gulp after gulp. Then I fell back weakly against the seat back again.

“What’re you . . . ?” It took me two tries to finish the sentence. “What’re you doing here, Mike? How did you . . . ?”

“Long story, chucklehead,” said Mike. “And right now, I’m busy trying not to drive into a ditch or get caught by the police. Take a break, change, eat, get some rest. I’ll get us out of here.”

So we were silent for a while. The Jeep bounced and skidded and juddered over the mud through the rain. The thunder crashed. The lightning split the sky. But it all seemed far away now, farther and farther away . . .

I wanted to change out of my wet, muddy clothes. I wanted to eat. But I couldn’t move. I was just too tired. My eyes sank shut. I felt the world sinking away from me . . .

A flash. Not lightning this time. This time, it was inside my brain. A flash of light—and I was there again, in the past again. In the Homelanders’ forest compound. Crouched in the night outside the lighted barracks, listening through the window to the voices of the people inside. Prince, Waylon, Sherman. Discussing their plans to assassinate the new head of Homeland Security. And then . . .

Even if I have to do it on my own, the Great Death will
not be stopped. The basic elements are already in place. Come what may, it will ring in the devil’s New Year. I will
make sure of it personally if I have to
.

“Not yet, chucklehead.”

My eyes snapped open at the rough bark of Mike’s voice.

“What?” I murmured. “Where am I?”

“You fall asleep in those clothes, you’ll wake up with pneumonia. Plus, if a cop does stop us, he’ll see your prison gear. You gotta change first. Then you can sleep.”

The past—that moment outside the barracks—was tantalizingly close. I could almost see it, almost remember what had happened next. The scene continued to flicker in my mind. Pieces of it like images appearing on a broken TV, then fizzling back into darkness . . .

Someone—the guard?—grabbed me by the shoulder .
. .

But Mike was right. I was already shivering. My fingers felt stiff and my lips unsteady. The mud was crusting on me. I had to change.

I tried to remember that night in the Homelander compound as I forced my limbs to move. Forced myself to lift up and half climb over, half slither between the front seats into the narrow seat in back. My mouth hung open with exhaustion as I lifted a gray sweat suit with an Army logo.

I turned in the dark, knowing they would kill me if they found me. It was the guard . . . he’d caught me . . . his
bright eyes stared at me, full of rage .
. .

Then the scene was gone again, like the name of a song you can’t quite remember.

I twisted around in the small space, working out of my muddy clothes. It felt good to get the dry sweat suit on me. Its fabric was warm from being inside the car. Then I found a heavy Yankees baseball jacket. I slipped into that too.

The guard is about to shout. Prince will hear him. Waylon will hear him. They’ll discover me. Kill me .
. .

The Jeep bounced and bounded, nearly throwing me onto the floor. I braced myself in the tight space. When the ride smoothed out, I drank more water. I wanted to eat more food, but I was just too tired. Even as I sucked at the bottle, my eyes were falling shut again. And every time, they did, there it was . . .

The compound. The barracks. The hand on my shoulder.
The face of the guard. His angry eyes. His mouth
opening to shout .
. .

I climbed wearily back into the front seat. I didn’t say anything to Mike. I didn’t have the energy. He was silent, too, completely focused on pushing the Jeep through the mud that gripped the tires and the rain that lashed the windshield.

I turned onto my side again, resting my head against the seat back. The rain pounded on the roof of the Jeep. The thunder growled like an angry dog, farther away than before. We were getting past the storm, I thought.

I let my eyes close as the Jeep strained forward and slid . . .

The compound. The barracks. The hand on my shoulder
.
. .

Just before I fell asleep again, there was a jolt under me. I heard Mike let out a grunt of triumph. Suddenly, the ride smoothed out. Dimly I realized: We must have gotten out of the wilderness. We must have made it back onto the pavement, back onto the road.

But I was too exhausted to look and find out for sure. I just wanted sleep, needed sleep.

And I needed to find my way back into the past again. To find out what finally happened . . .

CHAPTER TWENTY
A Very Bad Dream

I heard a footstep behind me. I turned. The guard had
completed his patrol and reached the fence. He now
started walking back across the compound. He was
headed my way
.

I was in the past again, in the darkness outside the lighted barracks. Part of me knew I was still, in fact, in the Jeep, dreaming. But as the moments passed, that part of me started to dissolve. The past enveloped me. I was there completely . . .

I turned away from the guard again, back to the barracks. Prince’s voice drifted out to me from inside.

“ . . . the Great Death will not be stopped. The basic elements are already in place. Come what may, it will ring in the devil’s New Year. I will make sure of it personally if I have to.”

I glanced over my shoulder. The guard kept coming toward me.