Lot Lizards (26 page)

"Inside...puh-please," Dad hissed and Doug opened the cab and carried him inside as Jon followed. Doug lifted him into the dark sleeper where he curled into ball and groaned, "The ice...box...in the corner..."
 

Jon was smaller, so he crawled up into the sleeper, squinted in the darkness and found the icebox in the corner at the foot of the bed. He opened it to find several plastic bags stacked in rows. Each was filled with a thick dark red liquid.
 

He winced when he realized what it was and just knelt there staring at the bags for a while.

"Juh-Jonny, please..." Dad groaned.

With twitching fingers, he reached into the icebox and removed one of the bags, holding the corner gingerly between thumb and forefinger as he turned to his father.
 

Dad snatched the bag from Jon's hand and began to tear at the top clumsily with his teeth, holding it in convulsing hands.

"C'mon, Dad, you don't need that," Jon said quietly, pleadingly. "We'll get you a doctor and he can—"

Dad just waved a hand, dismissing him, as the bag ripped open. He tipped it back and opened its mouth, letting the thick blood ooze between his swollen, cracked lips. Some of it dribbled down his chin as he gulped loudly, stopping to cough once and lick his lips.
 

Jon's stomach hitched and he turned away so quickly he almost fell out of the sleeper. He stumbled down into the passenger seat and leaned forward, holding his face in his hands, feeling sick, hoping that someday he would be able to forget what had happened in the last night and, most of all, what he had just seen. Doug patted his back helplessly as...
 

...Bill experienced a faint shadow of the feeling that had once been better than the best sex. He dropped the empty bag and shuddered, his tongue smacking around the corners of his mouth as he laid back and struggled to feel the blood warming him, enriching him, filling the rotting, decaying holes that he cold imagine were opening up deep inside him. But the effect was minimal and short lived. Bill lay in the dark, eyes closed, listening to the muffled whispers of Doug and Jon in the cab.
 

Full daylight would arrive very soon. He could feel it coming in his bones. In fact, the reason he trembled so was because daylight was too close. That and, of course, other reasons.
 

You're dying already...already...already
...
 

The creatures hiding in the darkness of the truck stop would retreat to the basement and huddle in some dark corner until the sun was gone again and they could come out to feed. But they would probably no longer try to hide; now that their queen was gone, they would no doubt abandon all subtlety and attack their victims ravenously as they had been doing since that creature had crumbled to black mud in the restaurant.
 

But until the next night, they would be vulnerable.

Until dusk, they would remain in the truck stop.

Easy targets.

If he waited too long, though, he would be an easy target, too.

"Jon," Bill rasped, his voice a little stronger but not much.

After a moment: "Yeah?"

Sitting up, Bill wiped his bloody face on a blanket. "Come here, please."

Jon was reluctant, but he peered over the edge of the bed, never meeting Bill's eyes.

"Do me a favor," Bill said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Go out there with your mom, okay?"

He said nothing.

"And... guh-give your sisters a... a hug from me. Tell them I love them and I'm sorry I didn't get to see them. Maybe...may be some other time."
 

Jon started to turn away, muttering, "Liar."

Bill grabbed his wrist and held him. "I'm sorry, Jonny. You know I didn't...
want
any of this to happen. It’s just one of those things. Life's full of them. Nobody's at fault. Nothing anybody can do. If you can't stop hating me...at least don't take it out on your mother. And on Doug. Okay?"
 

Still averting his eyes, the boy nodded only slightly.

Bill wanted to ask him for a hug, but he didn't want to do that to the boy. Instead, he just looked at him in the dark, went over Jon's face slowly with his eyes, recording every feature, every flaw. And he saw something he'd never noticed before. It was on Jon's neck, below his jaw. A small patch of skin beneath which something lurked.
 

It was a wonderful thing...

Unless you feed on living humans
...
 

... a beautiful thing...

...
unless you drink warm blood still pumping through human veins and arteries
...
 

...a seductive thing.

...
you will die
.
 

It was a pulse.

You're dying already
.
 

Bill jerked his head away and tried not to think about that pulse, about that fresh, pumping blood, or about the gnawing burning hunger that flared in his gut. He squeezed Jon's wrist and said in a strained voice, "I...love you...son."
 

Jon broke then. His face crumbled into a mask of pain and he quickly sobbed, "Me, too," as he dropped out of sight and hurried out of the truck.
 

Bill took a moment to gather as much strength as he could find and sat up, hanging his legs off the bed. Fat snowflakes still fell from steel-colored clouds, the bottoms of which glowed ever so softly. Daylight was brighter but still very young, yet it fired scalding shards of metal into Bill's eyes and he shielded them with a hand. Doug sat in the passenger seat looking up at him with a mixture of apprehension and helplessness.
 

"Is there anything I can do, Bill?" he asked nervously.

"Yeah. Grab my sunglass out of that pouch on the door." Doug handed him the glasses and he put them on. They helped some, but not much. In a few minutes, they wouldn't help at all and Bill knew he would be useless, a corpse rotting quickly in the dull, clouded sunlight. "Now," Bill said, "go out there and get everybody as far away from the building as possible."
 

"Why?"

He shook his head. "Just do it. And, um...take care of A.J. and the kids. Take good care of them. And tell A.J...."
Tell her what
? he thought.
Why tell her anything
? "...tell her how sorry I am."
 

"Look, Bill, maybe there's something we can do, somebody who can help you take care of this and get bet—"

"Just
go
."

Doug nodded slowly, opened the door and got out. He stood outside for a moment, watching Bill.

"
Hurry
, dammit!"
 

The door slammed and Bill heard Doug's footsteps crunching over the snow. He watched him head back to the crowd in the parking lot. An off-key, muddled rendition of "The Old Rugged Cross" came from one corner of the parking lot, sung by unsteady, frightened voices. To the right of the building, he could see part of the truck lot and, even with bleary eyes, he could see several still bodies sprawled on the snowy ground here and there. Then his eyes turned to the gas island, to the pumps standing like mechanical guards beneath the white steel canopy, lined up with their curved chrome fingers stuck in their ears.
 

It might not work. The power was out, which lessened his chances. But there were three cars still parked by the pumps, cars that had no doubt been there filling up when the power went off and had been left there so the drivers could finish the job when it came back on. If it failed, there was always the diesel island. Whether it worked or not, he had to try. After all...
 

You're dying already
...
 

CHAPTER 20

As Doug neared the crowd in front of the truck stop, he was overcome with exhaustion. He felt as if he'd lived a whole month—a very
bad
one—in just one night, and although she was crying and chewing her lip, her arms around the girls, both of whom were also crying, it was comforting to see Adelle's face. He opened his arms to her and she fell into them, sobbing.
 

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, but...well, he's..." He chuckled without humor, unable to believe what he was saying, "...he's one of them. One of those things. And he's...very sick. I guess. Hell,
I
don't know. Jon says he's been
dead
for a
year
."
 

Adelle closed her eyes and turned away, her lips thinning as she held back more tears.

"Sorry, honey. He's resting right now." He reached out and massaged her shoulders, frowning. It hurt him to see Adelle so moved and upset by Bill's condition. It was immature and petty, he knew; they had, after all, been married and had three children together. But seeing her emotion for her ex-husband— the man of whom she'd said so many bitter things since Doug had been with her—unsettled something in him, made him feel insecure. Shaking his head abruptly, trying to dismiss his feelings, he embraced her again, held her in silence for a moment. He turned to Jon, who stood a few feet away, watching his dad's truck, eyes red and swollen, lips quivering. "You okay, Jon?" He nodded.
 

"We wanna
see
him!" Cece cried.
 

Doug hunched down and stroked her face. "You can't see him, sweetheart. Not right now. He's very sick and he just needs to rest. Maybe later." But he knew that wasn't going to happen. Not if he could help it. He kissed Adelle and moved toward the noisy crowd. They were cold and frightened and still unsure of what they'd been through. He lifted his arms and called, "Um, excuse me, folks. Could I have your attention?"
 

Heads turned to him slowly, a few at a time, and he repeated himself, then said, "Um, we don't think those... those, uh, things will be coming out after sunrise, and it's almost light now. But until then, it's probably a good idea to move away from the building. If we could all just move over here by the street? The freeway should be open soon and maybe we'll get some help in here. I think if we just—"
 

An engine roared to life.

"He's starting his truck!" Jon shouted.

Doug spun around and saw the lights on Bill's Kenworth come on, saw Bill turn to them, just staring through his sunglasses for a while.
 

"What the hell's he doing?" Doug muttered.

The crowd fell silent and everyone watched the blue tractor across the street.

"He can't drive," Jon said. "Not as sick as he is. Mom, somebody's gotta stop him." He started toward the street, but Doug grabbed his arm.
 

"Uh-uh. Just sit tight."

The engine idled for a while.

The sky grew lighter.

The snow continued to fall.

Then the tractor moved. It drove forward slowly then veered left as if to make a U-turn. But it didn't. It kept going straight. The grill clattered as it tore through the hedges surrounding the parking lot and took out part of the truck stops old wooden roadside sign.
 

Voices rose, some in anger, some in fear.

Doug's mouth became dry very suddenly. "Son of a bitch," he breathed.

The Kenworth's horn wailed once, twice, a third time as it picked up speed, nicking the back end of a small pick-up that was sloppily parked; the pick-up spun away from it and the horn didn't stop this time, just kept wailing, screaming.
 

Doug turned to see where the truck was headed and he didn't wait a heartbeat to scream, "Run! Everybody
run
! Into the street! Now!" He swept Cece up under one arm and pushed Adelle ahead of him; she dragged Dara at her side.
 

But Jon just stood and watched, his jaw slack.

"Dammit, Jonny,
come on
!" Doug shouted.
 

The others ran, some fell and crawled until they regained their footing; a few were trampled before they got back up. Screams rose in the quiet snowy dawn as...
 

...Jonny backed up, slowly at first, his eyes following the Kenworth in which his prize triceratops dangled in the window. He kept his eye on his dad's window, watching as his head bobbed while the tractor gained speed. He backed up faster, breaking into an awkward jog as it neared the gas island, heading straight for the first row of pumps. There was a split second, just an instant, when Jon saw his dad's head turn to look out the window; the sunglasses were crooked on his face and his mouth was a gaping black hole framing a silent scream.
 

Then Jon ran, crying and screaming.

And hell came out of the pavement.

The explosion made a deafening gushing sound and its impact carried Jon several feet, throwing him into the shrubs, where he struggled to stand and continue running. He didn't want to look back, didn't want to see his father's fate.
 

But he had to.

On his feet again, he turned around and continued running backward, his feet sliding dangerously over the icy pavement.