The Hungry Dead (3 page)

Sheriff Harkness was sitting behind his desk, and Jeff Sanders, looking haggard and sad, was slumped in a chair facing the sheriff. It was a Tuesday, a duty day, and both men were in full uniform.

The sheriff tipped back his hat and said, “Your wife phoned me and told me what happened last night. She doesn't want to press charges.”

Shaking his head, Jeff said, “She's too good to me. I don't deserve her.”

“Certainly you don't. Not in the condition you're in now. She did say she's been thinking about a divorce.”

“Yeah, and I guess I can't blame her.”

“Well, I believe I talked her into letting it slide for a while. Amy's a good gal, and she wants to stick by you, but you've been making it too damn tough on her. I think you should put some distance between you and her. It might help a lot if you do that.”

“You're saying I ought to move out?”

“I'd like to put you on a little special assignment,” the sheriff said. “It might do you some good . . . give you a chance to confront your old demons.”

“What are you driving at, Sheriff? You have me stumped. My demons are in my mind. No place else, right?”

Instead of answering right away, Sheriff Harkness pulled out a pipe and started filling it. “Fucking pipe,” he said. “Wish I could go back to cigars, but the doctor said I'm addicted to them, and fussing with a pipe and the rigamarole that goes with it might make me give up tobacco all together. But I'm not sure I buy the logic in that. Do you?”

“He's trying to use psychology on you,” Jeff said. “Reminds me of my shrink. A hundred bucks an hour, and I'm still a mess.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” the sheriff said. “Speaking of docs, do you remember Dr. Melrose?”

“Sure. He's the nutty guy who got bitten in the throat.”

“Right. And if you ask me, that was worse than what happened to you out in that pond. At least you didn't get bit.”

“Well, I wanted to believe that I came through without a scrape. But I guess I was wrong. I'm a danger to my own wife. I'm a mental case, just like those soldiers who saw so much and suffered so much in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

The sheriff finished filling his pipe and lighting it, then he said tentatively, “The special assignment I'm talking about involves Doc Melrose. He lives way out of town, back in the sticks, you see . . .”

“He's the only one I ever heard of who pulled through after being bitten by those dead things. I don't know how he did it. Some folks swear he made a serum out of the thing's blood.”

“He won't tell anyone what kind of medicine he took,” said the sheriff. “Lots of other scientists sure would like to know. Just in case there's another outbreak like that sometime.”

“What does Melrose have to do with this special assignment you're talking about?”

“We had another disappearance last night,” the sheriff said. “A young woman named Janice Fazio. She works for a dentist here in Willard, Dr. Patterson.”

Surprised, Jeff said, “I know Janice! She's my dental hygienist. Amy's too. Janice is cute . . . and smart. She was hooked up with a boyfriend who didn't treat her right, didn't deserve her, and finally she wised up and ditched him. Could he be behind her disappearance?”

“Well, she's gone and so is her car—a red Mazda. The boyfriend has a solid alibi, so it can't be him. But the past year or so, there's been a spate of rumors about strange goings-on around the Melrose Medical Center. And a couple of shady characters who work there were spotted in town late last night.”

“Who?”

“Blake Parsons and Spaz Bentley. They both have rap sheets. And they were seen getting out of a van in the same lot where Janice's Mazda was parked. The van had a sign on it that said Olsen's Grocery Mart. I've never heard of it, have you?”

“No.”

“Well, no such place seems to exist around here. Anyhow, I can't picture those two mopes bagging groceries. And if they were up to no good, somebody else was probably behind it, because they aren't heavy thinkers.”

Jeff said, “Is there any evidence pointing to the doctor?”

“At this point I have to say no. The doc and his kids, they keep to themselves out there in the middle of nowhere. But I have a gut feeling that he ought to be looked at pretty close. I'd like you to nose around.”

“Nose around how?”

The sheriff puffed on his pipe a couple of times. Then he said, “I'm talking about sending you in undercover. You maybe could get yourself hired out there, get in tight with Parsons and Bentley, and get the real dope on them. Maybe they'll even start blabbing, if they had anything to do with Janice's disappearance. You might be able to gain their trust if you get in there and play your cards right.”

Mulling it over, Jeff said, “We almost shot Doc Melrose sixteen years ago. Looks like maybe we should have.”

“Now don't go off at half cock, Jeff. You've got to be clever but careful. If you can get inside of whatever's going down out there, play it cool so they don't catch on to you. Don't try to be a hero. Be a fly on the wall. Just listen and observe. This kind of thing is outside the box, and it could have a beneficial effect on you. It might even turn your whole life around. You've got to get your act together somehow. Otherwise you're gonna lose Amy.”

Three days later, Jeff was standing by the side of a rural road with his thumb out, but so far he hadn't seen many cars or trucks, and the few he had seen passed him by without even slowing down.

He had to admit he looked like a pretty rough character, and that was his intention. He was wearing faded jeans, a rumpled flannel shirt, hiking boots, and a backpack. He had a stubble of beard, and all in all appeared hard-bitten and rugged. If he ever got to Doc Melrose's place, he wanted to seem like a drifter looking for any kind of menial work, just so he could get his foot in the door. Somebody without much money or family. Somebody who could easily be taken for granted, and not a person bright or nosy enough to cause trouble.

If he hadn't been on a mission that had him totally preoccupied, he could have appreciated the dazzling fall foliage. With the sun shining through the reds and purples of the changing leaves, it was definitely the kind of day that served as a tourist attraction here in Pennsylvania.

In fact, three such tourists were on their way toward Jeff, and they would soon be plunged into circumstances that would turn out to be momentous for them, even though they had no way to anticipate this.

Albert Mathews was driving slowly on the lonely, twisting, and climbing blacktop road, allowing himself and his wife and son to take in the full effect of the fall foliage. His late-model black Ford had a rooftop luggage rack laden with suitcases and camping gear covered with a blue tarp. Albert and his wife Meg were in their early forties. Their son Stevie was sixteen and always had his MP3 player hooked into his ear, drowning out his parents.

Albert said, “George Washington roamed these hills two hundred years ago, Stevie.”

Stevie said, “Huh?”

So Albert yelled louder. “The father of our country fought some big battles right around here!”

“Cripes, you don't need to yell, Dad,” Stevie said. He had pulled the sound plug out of his ear for once.

“Well, I'm sorry,” said Albert. “I'm so used to talking over that stuff you call music.”

“I heard what you said,” said Stevie. “You were talkin' about the Revolutionary War.”

Turning toward Meg, who was riding in the front passenger seat, Albert said good-naturedly, “I told you these kids don't learn anything in school anymore.”

Meg turned and spoke over her shoulder to her son. “Your father was referring to the French and Indian War, not the revolution. French troops were closing in on Washington's troops, and he ordered them to hastily build a fort to try to defend themselves. That's why they named it Fort Necessity. Right, Albert?”

“Right. That's where we're headed, son. It's about eighty miles from here.”

Albert, who was a college history teacher, also had written three books on various aspects of the Colonial Period, and his publisher had bought his proposal for yet another book dealing with the defeat of General Braddock, which had taken place near Uniontown, Pennsylvania, not far from Fort Necessity. Albert loved visiting the sites where historical events had actually taken place, and Meg always went along with him with considerable enthusiasm, while to his chagrin, his sixteen-year-old son took little interest.

“An old fort!” Stevie said with teenage disgust. “A pile of sticks! I'd rather be back home hitting the beach.”

“Well, the beach and the ocean will still be there when we get home,” Meg told him. “So please try to enjoy yourself and learn something about how our country got—Albert, please don't slow down for that man!”

She was referring to the hitchhiker she had just spotted standing at the side of the road a short piece ahead. But in spite of her words of warning, Albert was slowing down to have a closer look at the fellow. “Surely,” she said, “you're not going to stop for him. He looks scary.”

Albert said, “Well, it crossed my mind, Meg. He might be in some kind of trouble. But I suppose I shouldn't risk it with you and Stevie in the car.”

“I should say not!”

All Stevie had to say about it was, “I wish you two would call me Steve or Steven, not Stevie.”

But the boy's words went unnoticed as the sedan cruised slowly past Jeff Sanders, who finally lowered his thumb when he realized that yet another car was not going to give him a lift. He stared at the disappearing car as it climbed the next hill. Then he began hoofing it again, glancing over his shoulder now and then, ready to stick his thumb out if he spotted any more approaching vehicles.

Meanwhile, a few miles farther along, the Mathews family pulled off the road into a roadside rest stop with picnic benches. They picked out a place in the shade and set out a Coleman cooler filled with lemonade and started munching on sandwiches and potato chips, and Albert said, “Beautiful out here, isn't it? Unspoiled, that's what I call it. This is Pennsylvania, the Keystone State. It was known as the keystone of the thirteen colonies. The Constitutional Convention was held in Philadelphia, and that's where they have the Liberty Bell.”

Stevie said, “Dad, do you ever stop spouting history?”

Meg said, “But that's what your father is, a historian.”

“He doesn't have to keep cramming it down my throat.”

“Don't talk to me or your father that way! When we get back to New Jersey you are going—”

Her reprimand was interrupted by the approach of a scuffed and banged-up white van. As it slowed down to pull off the asphalt and onto the grassy area close to the picnic bench, the driver poked his head out, eyeing the Mathews family. He was dirty and scraggly, and his ragged beard and greasy shoulder-length hair made his age hard to determine—probably somewhere between twenty to thirty, Meg imagined. The rear side windows of the van were wound up and were so grimy she could not see into them, but she glimpsed movement behind the dirty glass that indicated that the backseat must be occupied. She got more rattled when the van pulled up bumper to bumper behind the car, as if blocking any escape.

The front passenger window wound down, and the driver leaned back, and now Meg could see that there was a strikingly pretty teenage girl in there. This girl was so gorgeous and angelic looking, with perfectly golden hair and such a beautiful face, that she didn't seem to belong on the same planet as the van driver. But she exhaled smoke and handed the van driver a joint, saying, “Here, Hawk.” He stuck it between his thick lips and inhaled deeply, his eyes glazed and staring. Then he handed the joint back to the girl as he held in his lungful of smoke.

Apprehensively, Albert, Meg, and Stevie kept their eyes on the van's occupants, wondering how much danger the family might be in. Finally Albert piped up, trying to sound gutsy. “What can we do for you folks?”

Hawk laughed, and an avalanche of smoke gushed out of him. The girl spoke up with a mocking smile on her face. “My name's Tiffany, and this is my new boyfriend, Hawk. Anything we can do for
you,
mister?”

“Back your van away from our bumper so we can get out of here when we're ready,” Albert said, summoning courage.

Hawk barked out another laugh.

Tiffany said, “We just wanted to check on you, make sure you aren't broken down or something. Is everything okay here?”

“Sure, everything's fine,” said Albert.

Hawk said, “Us'ns thought maybe you could use some help. County cops don't patrol much hereabouts. Nearest town's Willard, about thirty miles over the mountain.”

“I know,” said Albert. “I've got my road map and GPS. We're just having our lunch break.”

Tiffany giggled all of a sudden as a hard-to-see face moved closer to the van's grimy side window. Albert, Meg, and Stevie jumped back with alarm. The “face” was a human skull, pressed against the grimy window, bobbing and leering while the people in the van laughed uproariously.

Giggling, Hawk said, “Sorry if we scared ya. That there skull ain't nothin'. Just Nutso playin' games. He ain't right in his head, but he don't mean no harm to nobody.”

The side window wound down, and the skull floated out on the end of a long, hairy, tattooed arm—and two thick fingers were wiggling out of the skull's eye sockets like feelers on an insect.

Hawk said, “It's just an old Injun skull, close to two hundred years old, I reckon. We been excavatin' and dug it up. Nutso likes to play with it.”

Appalled by this stupidly callous treatment of a genuine relic, Albert said, “You ought to turn it over to a museum and let the authorities know where you found it so they can explore for more artifacts.”

Stevie whispered, “Dad, they're not going to listen to you.”

And Meg added, “Just let them be on their way, honey. Please.”

The skull floated back in through the window, eye-fingers still wiggling. Sunlight streamed partially into the backseat area, revealing a glimpse of Nutso—a big, moronic oaf with a vacant look in his eyes. Albert, Meg, and Stevie couldn't help staring at him—and also at a second backseat passenger they could suddenly make out in the dim patch of sunshine. It was the hitchhiker that they didn't pick up when they had seen him a few miles back with his thumb out. Now they were more scared of him than ever because of the company he was keeping.

They were relieved when Hawk wound the side window shut, and the van backed out and headed down the road.

Albert said, “Maybe you two should've locked yourselves in the car till they left.”

“Oh, sure,” said Meg. “Then we just drive off while they beat you to a pulp.”

“They gave me the creeps,” Albert admitted. “I wonder what that beautiful young girl was doing with them.”

Stevie said, “Dad, you're so naive sometimes! Some babes'll go with anybody who can score them some dope.”