Laws of Nature -2 (24 page)

And they were dying because for her father's pride, for his arrogant insistence upon creating a legacy that would live on after he was gone.

Tina wiped her tears away and started the car. She did a quick U-turn and took off down the road, dirt rising up in clouds again from the road. The hands in the field were still standing around staring expectantly at the dead tractor, though one of them had climbed up on top of the machine and seemed to be taking the engine apart.

She did not see if they waved this time. She was not looking.

Tina would leave Buckton and never return. After this was over, she was going to stay as far away from her father as she could, for the rest of her inhumanly long life. But she would not leave until she had put a stop to these killings, and she realized now that it was within her power to do that. Her father's journal was in Sheriff Tackett's office. She had no idea if Tackett knew that, but she was determined to retrieve it, and end the violence that was tearing her town apart.

Once the journal was in her hands, it would be over, and then she would leave Buckton - the sanctuary - and the pack behind.

It was dusk and the waning sunlight gave way to the stranglehold of darkness without a whimper. Slow, inexorable, the night swept in. The afternoon had gone by painfully slowly. Several times, they had discussed not waiting, simply going after the sheriff right then and there. But wisdom had prevailed - such things were better done under the cover of darkness.

They had eaten lunch at the Jukebox just before two o'clock, then wandered through the few shops in town that were open on Sunday. Molly had been impatient for a shower, and Bill and Jack accompanied her back to the inn before dinner. Their fears had gone unspoken, but they were unwilling to leave her alone, even for an hour.

By the time they had sat down for dinner, they had run out of the energy it required to pretend at being carefree. They had eaten, mostly in silence, and then returned to the inn to await nightfall.

And now it had come.

Molly sat in the back of the Jeep with a pair of 9mm handguns clipped to her belt at the small of her back and the remaining pump shotgun on the floor at her feet.

Crazy,
she thought.
The whole world is crazy.

The window was open, and the night air was hot and sweet. A bit of sweat trickled down her throat and chest and it felt strangely cold to her, as though her every nerve were reaching out, examining each sensation.

This was not the first time she had gone knowingly into danger. In some ways, this was simpler. There was only the one monster to contend with. And yet, this was the first time she had had this much time to prepare for it, to roll it over in her brain as though it were a hard candy in her mouth that had to be worked at to surrender its flavor.

Danger had a flavor all its own. And though it terrified her, Molly would not turn away. She was bolstered by her hatred for the Prowlers. It gave her strength.

Jack shut off the headlights as they rolled into the lot behind the Town Hall. The police station was partially dark, but the light in the front reception area and several at the side windows were still burning. They were counting on the receptionist, Alice, to work only set hours. With Alan Vance dead, that meant that, if Tackett was in there, he was probably there alone.

"Things must be quiet," Bill said. "Looks like he's still here."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "Or he's waiting for us."

Molly swallowed hard. She did not like that idea. Not at all. Jack killed the engine and they got out slowly. Molly reached back into the Jeep for the shotgun.

Given that she had very little experience with weapons, the shotgun was the best weapon for her. Big bang, a lot of damage on a wide radius.

Bill carried a small canvas bag in which he had placed the tiny grenades that had been in the crate in the back of the Jeep. Jack had three nine millimeters, one in each hand and one clipped to his belt at the small of his back. Bill had identified the other gun in the crate as a twelve-year-old assault rifle, but they all thought it wisest to leave it right where it was.

What they were doing was crazy enough without a weapon like that in the hands of someone who had never fired one before. Bill claimed to know how to work it, but then, after all, he hardly needed one.

The wind seemed to die quite suddenly as they slipped along the front of the building, trying to stay out of sight. What breeze there had been dropped away, and Molly felt too warm, as if the air itself was stalking her, the humidity preying upon her.

At the door, Jack moved ahead. Molly and Bill were side by side and she could feel the raw, animal power emanating off him. He was tensed and ready, and suddenly she understood the word
wild
in a way she never had before.

Molly was concerned that the door might be locked, but Bill pulled it open and ushered them in. Jack went first, arms bent up close to himself, guns aimed at the ceiling. Back to one wall, he slid quickly up the corridor to the first junction. Molly breathed a sigh of relief when there was no reaction within. That meant that they had been right about the receptionist; she would hate to have terrorized the woman. After a moment, she followed Jack into the building, shotgun held up straight the way Bill had shown her. She watched as Jack ducked his head around the corner, then turned back to nod wordlessly before continuing along the corridor.

As she was about to pursue him, Molly felt Bill's powerful grip on her shoulder. Alarmed, she spun to stare at him, wide-eyed, now extraordinarily aware of the beat of her own heart in her eardrums, the rise and fall of her chest with each anxious breath. He slipped past her, made it clear to her that she was to take up the rear. Ahead, Jack moved quickly, almost stridently, down the hallway toward the door to the sheriff 's office. It stood open, a soft golden light coming from within, a counterpoint to the harsh overhead illumination in the hall. Bill caught up to him a second before Molly did, and tapped him on the shoulder.

When Jack turned to look at them both, his eyes were wild, and Molly realized exactly how frightened he was, scared for himself, for them, and at the idea that they might not be able to stop the Prowlers. She knew him well enough to realize the latter scared him the most.

After a moment Jack let out a long breath and stepped back just a bit to let Bill go in ahead of him.

Unarmed.

Bill pointed at each of them in turn, the gesture taking in their weapons, maybe emphasizing their importance - or not, Molly could not be sure - and then indicated that Jack should go to the right inside the door and Molly to the left.

They both nodded.

One hand up, Bill ticked off three fingers.

Then he strode into the sheriff 's office. Jack darted in behind him and to the left, both nine millimeters raised.

Molly swept into the room and leveled the shotgun. The sheriff was behind his desk, paperwork all over the place, a cup of soup at the edge with a plastic spoon in it, still steaming from the microwave. The large, potbellied man's eyes were hard and angry, but not afraid. He began to rise, reaching for the gun at his hip.

"Put your hands on the desk,
now!"
Jack shouted.

Incredulous, the sheriff froze, but he did not comply. His hand was only inches from the weapon that rested in its holster.

Molly pumped the shotgun once, directed its barrel toward him.

"Do it, Sheriff," she said. Her voice sounded cold to her, distant. But there was a reason for that.

Something was wrong here. Something just did not feel right about any of this.

With a grunt, the sheriff did as he had been instructed. He bent slightly over the desk, palms out flat. His eyes darted to each of them in turn and then went to Bill, who had not said a word.

"You're interrupting my dinner," he said gruffly. "The paperwork I could do without. But my soup's going to get cold."

"Who eats soup in this weather?" Bill asked, almost as though he were amused by it all.

"Thought I might be coming down with something," the sheriff revealed.

Jack glared at Tackett, then glanced quickly up at Bill in confusion. He dangled the gun in his left hand down at his side, but kept the other aimed directly at the lawman.

"Where's the lair?" Jack demanded.

The sheriff exhaled loudly. "What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped angrily. His furious gaze was on Jack now. "You want to kill me, rip me up like you did the others, not much I can do to stop you. But where does it go from here, boy?"

"Don't try to play with my head!" Jack roared. He took two steps in toward the sheriff and aimed the gun at his head. "I want to know where the lair is. There isn't going to be any more killing."

"I'm relieved to hear it," Sheriff Tackett replied.

A growl began to build in Bill's chest. All the shouting and tension seemed to be rocketing along toward a violent crescendo, but until Molly heard that wild sound from Bill, she had felt almost powerless to stop it.

No more.

"Stop!" she snapped at Jack.

He turned to look at her, confused.

Molly stepped toward the sheriff, her shotgun aimed at a vague place perhaps two feet to his left. If she had fired then, the only thing she would kill was a potted plant or the file cabinet beneath it.

"Change!" she yelled, voice quavering with nerves.

He's got to be,
she thought, almost crying inside.
He's got to be one. If he's not . . .

But even as the thoughts skittered through her mind, Molly could see in the sheriff 's eyes that he had no idea what she was talking about. Everything clicked together in her head. Paperwork? Soup for dinner? And he was mystified and infuriated by their intrusion.

"Oh, God, Jack, he's human," she whispered. The barrel of her shotgun drooped toward the floor.

"He can't be," Jack replied. "I mean . . . he let us go. And who else could have moved those bodies? He was right behind us. It doesn't make sense."

Bill grunted loudly and blinked. Then he moved toward the sheriff, who seemed to shrink away from him slightly. Bill sniffed the air near him, and Molly saw him deflate a bit as he stepped back.

"Molly's right," the big man said without glancing at Jack. "There've been Prowlers in here, but with all the flowers, I couldn't separate out the scent right off. But he's human."

"Oh, hell," Jack groaned. Both guns lowered now, he backed up and leaned against the wall. "What've we done?"

Slowly, the sheriff stood up. "Why don't you put the weapons down, all of you, and we can try to make sense of what you're going on about."

He kept his hands in front of him, making sure they all saw that he was in no rush to reach for a weapon. Molly stared at Bill, hoping for some solution from him.

"Sheriff, listen," Jack began, raising both guns again. He aimed them toward the back of the office, but it was clear to all of them that he was ready for a fight.

"We told you our story before. It's the truth. I know you don't believe it, but think for a second. What else makes sense? If we were the people you're looking for, would you even still be alive?"

But Tackett was angry. His nostrils flared and he studied Jack closely. "Put the weapons down, kid. Then we'll talk."

Jack sighed. "Don't be an idiot."

The sheriff actually cracked a smile at that one.
"I'm
an idiot? Look at the three of you. Illegal possession of firearms. Trespassing. Assault on a police officer.

Give me time, I'll come up with more."

“The Prowlers are real," Molly said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The clock ticked on the wall. Behind her, Molly could hear Jack breathing hard. The sheriff 's chest rumbled, and she thought maybe he really was fighting a cold, as he'd said. The smell of his soup, French onion, filled the room.

“I'm sorry. I just don't believe that," the sheriff said at last. He kept his gaze locked with hers, granting her at least the respect of not looking away. “Frankly, Miss Hatcher, I think you three have seen too many movies. You're all a bit off. Lay the weapons aside now, and I'll be as kind as I can with the charges. But there will be charges."

Molly turned away, heartsick. What were their options now? They could surrender and go to jail, or cuff the guy and become fugitives. Neither was much of a choice. But if they were incarcerated, there would be no one else out there to combat the Prowlers.

Filled with dread and confusion, she walked to Jack and stared at him. “What do we do?"

Jack let his shoulders sag and he stared for a moment at the ground. They were well and truly screwed. What they were doing was difficult enough without having Sheriff Tackett as an enemy. Jack was at a loss. The guns in his hands felt heavy and more than a little silly. With a shake of his head, he lifted his eyes and met Molly's expectant gaze.

After a moment Jack chuckled softly. “This is stupid."

“Won't get an argument from me," Sheriff Tackett declared, an impatient expression on his face.

“What?" Molly asked. “What've you got?"

Jack shrugged. He couldn't believe he'd been so foolish. “Proof. We've got proof, Molly."

Then he glanced over at Bill, no longer amused. “Show him," Jack said gravely.

Bill twitched and stared at him in astonishment. Jack understood. He knew he was asking something terrible of his friend. One of the fundamental survival instincts of a Prowler insisted that he never reveal his true nature to a human who was not prey. Even Jack and Courtney and Molly only knew because Bill had saved their lives. It was even more important for someone who was attempting to live in the human world, to live, essentially, as a human being.

But Jack could see any no other way out of the situation they were in. They needed Tackett as an ally now.

“We don't have any choice," he said, hoping Bill heard the apology in his voice.

The burly man nodded grimly, took in a long breath, then stepped up to the sheriff; he towered over the man. “Sheriff Tackett, you don't have a weak heart, do you?" Bill looked angry, and he looked mean.