Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) (24 page)

Sylvia started toward the backyard. She never let Jeffy out alone by the water. Nightmares of dragging the Long Island Sound for his body …

“Maybe he’s—”

“No, Missus. I watched him run around house to front.”

“Maybe he’s inside, then.”

“He is not, Missus.”

The long shadows seemed to be reaching for her. The sun had become a red glow behind the willows along the west wall. The fingers of unease at her throat stretched, reaching toward panic, encircling and squeezing.

Rudy came toward her across the lawn. “We’re done!” he said, grinning.

“Have you seen Jeffy?” she asked. “My little boy?”

“The blond-haired kid? Not for a while. Not for a few hours. But we’ve been kinda occupied with getting those shutters up on time. Now, about that bonus—”

“I’ll pay you everything later—tomorrow. Right now we’ve got to find Jeffy!”

Alan said, “I’ll check the waterfront. Ba, you beat the bushes along the wall. Sylvia, why don’t you check the road?”

As Alan and Ba went their separate ways, Sylvia hurried down the driveway toward the front gate. When she reached the street she stopped, looking both ways, straining to see in the waning light.

Which way?

Shore Drive followed the curve of the sound, running east toward the center of town and west toward Lattingtown and Glen Cove. Instinctively, she started east, toward the pale moon rising full and translucent in the fading light. Jeffy loved the toy shops and video arcades along the harbor front. If he was traveling Shore Drive, that was the way he’d go. She took a few steps, then stopped, suddenly unsure.

If I were Jeffy, she thought, which way would I go?

Slowly she turned and faced the other way, where the sun perched on the horizon, sinking behind Manhattan.

Manhattan
 … where Glaeken was … where Jeffy and the power within him wanted to be …

She began running west. Her heart was a claustrophobic prisoner, trapped in her chest, pounding frantically on the bars of her ribs. Her eyes roved left and right, scanning the yards along the road. All oversize lots here, with as much frontage along the street as the shoreline. Unlike Toad Hall, most of the other yards were open, their manicured grounds studded with trees and shrubs and free-form plantings. Jeffy could have followed a squirrel or a bird into any one of them.

He might be anywhere.

She slowed but kept moving. She didn’t want to miss him. To her left a battered red pickup truck squealed to a halt on the street. Rudy leaned out the window as the rest of his work crew sped by him in their own cars and trucks.

“Any sign of your boy?”

Sylvia shook her head. “No. Look, we call him Jeffy. If you see him on your way—”

“I’ll send him back. Good luck.”

He sped off and Sylvia, with increasingly frequent glances at the disappearing sun, resumed her search. Before she’d traveled a block—the blocks were long out here—the sun was gone.

My God, my God, she thought, the sun’s down and those horrible insects are probably rising out of that new hole and heading this way right now.

If she didn’t get Jeffy back to the house soon those things would rip him to pieces. And if she stayed out here much longer,
she
would be ripped to pieces.

What am I going to do?

WFPW-FM

FREDDY: All right, everybody. It’s official—the sun’s gone down early again. It sank outta sight at 6:44. One hour and thirty-nine minutes early. If I were you I’d get off the streets.
Now
. Get indoors and keep it tuned here. We’ll keep you updated between the greatest songs ever recorded.

Hank thumbed the DOWN button on the remote and watched his steel hurricane shutters slide down their steel tracks outside his two windows. Then he stepped to his steel door and locked it.

Safe.

The Lodge was built like a fortress with an exterior of thick granite block and stone walls within. Steel and stone—what could be safer?

He owed much of that to the Kicker Man—or rather his more recent Kicker Man dreams. These had come to him months ago, showing the Kicker Man being attacked by birds—or at least what he’d assumed at the time to be birds. Now he knew they were big bugs from hell. Same difference. The dreams had inspired the shutters and the steel door, and they’d keep him safe from any goddamn bugs.

The good old Kicker Man. He’d inspired the book and he’d returned whenever anything heavy was going down. Hadn’t let Hank down yet.

But the food … that was all Hank’s idea.

He sat on his bed and looked around the room. One hell of a busy day. Running in and out with five-gallon jugs of spring water, boxes of batteries, a propane stove, and food, food, food. Cartons of canned goods—
stacks
of cartons leaned against the walls. It looked more like a warehouse than a bedroom.

After he’d sent his guys out to the grocery stores, he had a better idea. Why think small? Why not go to the source? So he rented a van, looked up a distributor, and really stocked up. Drove it around back of the Lodge and had some of the hangers-on bring it all up here.

Tomorrow he’d send the guys out in an army of trucks and they’d fill the Lodge’s cellar.

But he’d had a second coup today.

He reached under his bed and dragged out a pair of canvas bags. Heavy suckers—almost fifty pounds each. They clinked as they settled on the floor. He pulled one open, reached inside, and pulled out a fistful of quarters.

Yeah. Two whole bags of pre-1964 quarters. Four thousand of them, all solid silver. He’d bought them from a coin dealer on Fifty-sixth. And
charged
them. He couldn’t believe it. The clueless jerk took Visa for them!

Didn’t anyone get it? If daylight shrank to nothing and things really started falling apart, these coins were going to be like gold, like diamonds. Each of these quarters could be worth fifty dollars apiece in buying power. Precious metals would be what mattered. Gold, silver, gems would replace government paper.

He looked up at the cases of food around him. But food would be more valuable than any metal. Can’t eat gold or silver. In a world without sunlight, where nothing but mushrooms can grow, nothing was going to be more valuable than food. The man with the full larder would be king.

Nightwings

“There they are!”

Bill Ryan focused the binoculars on the hole in the Sheep Meadow. They brought the people below into sharp focus, seemingly within reach, but the people weren’t what interested him.

“Right on time,” Glaeken said from behind his right shoulder.

Bill watched the fluttering things begin to collect under the barrier stretched over the hole, watched them straining upward against the steel mesh. Arrayed against them under the banks of lights was an army of exterminators sheathed in heavy protective gear and masks, wielding hoses attached to tank trucks equipped with high-pressure pumps. At a signal from somewhere, all the nozzles came to life, spewing golden fluid.

“What are they spraying?” Glaeken said.

“Looks like some sort of insecticide.”

Glaeken grunted and turned away. “No toxins are going to hurt those things. They’d do far better with gasoline and a match.” He turned on the TV. “Here. It’s being broadcast. You’ll get a better angle here.”

Bill stepped to his side and watched the scene below in living color. Apparently Glaeken was right: In the telephoto close-up on the screen, the insecticide was having no effect on the steadily increasing number of creatures massed under the mesh, wetting them down and little else. He looked at Nick, sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall, then turned back to Glaeken.

“Think the net will hold through the night?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Glaeken said with his predictable pessimism.

Bill shook his head. Perhaps being pessimistic was being realistic, but he couldn’t suppress the thrill of hope that shot through him when he saw all those monstrosities trapped under the steel mesh.

“Why not? It shows we can contain them.”

“Even as we speak, the holes in Queens, on Staten Island, and out on Long Island are spewing out the very creatures they think they’ve defeated here.”

“Then we’ll cap those too.”

“Bigger things are coming. The speedy little flying things arrive first because they’re the quickest. Then come the slower flying things. Then come the crawlers.”

Crawlers
 … the very word made Bill’s skin ripple with revulsion.

“Then we’ve bought only a little time here,” Bill said, his spirits palpably sagging.

“They haven’t bought even that. For somewhere along the way … the leviathans will come.”

Bill was about to ask for some elaboration on that when he heard a whining howl from the park, loud enough to be audible through the locked and sealed windows. On the screen he noticed the exterminators and observers start to back away from the hole. The streams from the hoses seemed to be blowing back in their faces.

“Something’s happening.”

He returned to the window with the binocs. Down in the Sheep Meadow, a gale-force wind was roaring from the hole, bulging the heavy steel mesh upward as it crushed the insects against it.

“Looks like the hole is trying to blow the lid off!”

Glaeken came up beside him. “No,” he said softly. “Something’s coming. Something big.”

Bill squinted through the binoculars as the wind howl grew louder. The exterminators had turned off their hoses and were still backing away. As he watched, a number of the steel girders anchoring the mesh at the south side tore from the ground. That end of the mesh began to flap free, releasing a horde of the killer insects. Panic took charge of the Sheep Meadow.

“Big?” Bill said. “How—?”

And then it happened. Something burst from the hole. Something beyond big. Something gargantuan, filling the two-hundred-foot diameter, something dark as the deepest cavern at the bottom of the Mariana Trench at midnight. It rammed through the steel mesh like a night train through a spider’s web and kept hurtling upward, a monstrous, glistening, rough-hewn piling thrusting its seemingly endless length into the darkening sky.

Bill tore the glasses from his eyes and watched as it came free of the hole and continued upward. Awed, he pressed his face against the windowpane and followed its course, wondering how far it could go before it lost momentum and fell back to earth, his mind reeling at the thought of the damage from something the size of a small skyscraper crashing down on the city.

Its rate of rise slowed, then stopped. For an instant it paused, a cyclopean column of black hanging vertically in the air. Then it began to tilt and fall. But as it fell it changed. Huge wings unfolded, unfurling like flags, and spread, stretching across the sky, obscuring the emerging stars. The thing leveled itself and began to glide. It swooped over the park, then banked to the east and was gone.

Thoroughly shaken, Bill turned to Glaeken.

“The leviathan you mentioned?”

Glaeken nodded. “One of them. There’ll be more.”