Witch's Canyon (29 page)

Back to the room from which she had watched How-Witch’s

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ard’s death. She looked out past the red Jeep, combing the distance, then focusing lower, covering the ground. Nothing.

At last her gaze crossed over the Jeep.

Howard stood in front of it, looking at the house.

He was alive! She started to throw open the window, to call to him.

Caution stayed her hand. She couldn’t see the wolf, so it might be on the roof, just waiting for her to open a window or stick her head out.

And as she watched Howard, she realized something else.

His chest had been torn open, his viscera tugged out. Bits of intestine dangled like rope from above his belt. Could he possibly be alive, in that condition?

Besides, she could still see his corpse, on the ground beside the Jeep. Behind where the other one stood.

There couldn’t be two Howards. Two dead Howards.

She thought she would begin to weep again, expected to feel tears filling her eyes.

They didn’t come.

She was beyond crying, she guessed. Beyond even more than mild shock at seeing Howard upright and lying down dead at the same time. Numb.

The idea crossed her mind that she ought to just open the window and climb out. If the wolf got her, fine. If it didn’t, she could make a beautiful swan dive—she had loved high board diving, ever since 272 SUPERNATURAL

high school—off the roof. That might not kill her, but it would incapacitate her long enough to let the wolf finish the job.

What was the point of going on without emotional response to the world outside? Wasn’t she already dead? Dead where it counted?

Her hand was actually on the window, ready to push it up, when she saw Stu, also on his feet, his own wounds red and gaping. And Stu behind him, a mess in the melted snow.

Howard was closer now, trudging toward the house with apparent purpose. His head leaned toward his right shoulder, his mouth hung open, and his steps were unsteady, faltering.

But he came.

Stu came, too.

The wolf, it seemed, had reinforcements.

THIRT Y-TWO

Covering the short distance to the mall, Sam saw evidence of carnage on a scale he wouldn’t have imagined even a day ago. He passed a minivan that had gone off the road, fresh black tire marks giving evidence of sudden braking, with corpses strewn around it like beer cans after a beach party. Another quarter mile up the road he spotted what looked like a backpacker, or a backpacker’s clothing and gear, although the person inside them appeared to have been beaten badly enough to break every bone in his body, so that the clothes might have contained a bag of water rather than an actual person. A cabin a hundred feet from the highway was on fire, but nobody moved to do anything about it.

Apparently, the sheriff’s officers weren’t even bothering to respond to murder reports anymore. Or else there were so many, they couldn’t get to all of them.

He didn’t like either option.

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That’s why they were here, though. Why he and Dean traveled the country, investigating the bad stuff and defeating it where they could. So far they hadn’t managed to save many lives in Cedar Wells.

Maybe they still could. There was no telling when the murders would end. But if Dean and Harmon Baird could destroy the witch’s bones and break the spell, and he could prevent mass slaughter at the mall, then the trip here would have been worthwhile.

If they couldn’t do those things, it would be a spectacular failure. One he didn’t think he could get over. He wasn’t sure Dean could even survive it.

He pressed down harder on the gas, and Dean’s car responded immediately. The trees blurred together and then the mall loomed ahead, its vast parking lots already fi lling up.

Sam pulled into a slot, grabbed a zippered duffel bag containing his weapons and spare ammo, and ran for the structure.

Even though it was not quite noon, the crowd had already been let inside. A few stragglers wandered through the parking lot, but he had expected to see hundreds milling around outside, given all the vehicles parked there. He didn’t think they would have moved up the opening ceremonies, so maybe they were being held inside because of the threatening skies.

As soon as he pushed through the heavy glass doors, he discovered where they were. The center court was thronged with people. Others window-shopped, since the stores weren’t open yet but every display window was decorated with merchandise.

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Holiday decorations seemed to cover almost every visible surface—huge ribbons and bows, snowmen and candy canes, Santas and menorahs. Live Christmas trees stood everywhere, in planters and along walkways, as if the decorators had just gone outside and moved the forest in.

The crowd’s mood seemed cheerful. Clearly, no general announcement had been made that they were all in grave danger. Sam tucked the zippered bag under his arm, hoping he didn’t look too much like one of those disaffected youths who occasionally opened fire in shopping centers or schools. He saw some of Sheriff Beckett’s deputies mixing with the crowd. As he pushed his way into the center court, he saw Beckett himself, standing near an empty dais, locked in conversation with the mayor; Carla Krug, the shopping center manager; and Lynnette from Security.

Lynnette wore a holstered gun on her hip. He noticed other mall security guards who were also armed.

He worked his way forward until he caught Beckett’s eye. The sheriff gave him a barely perceptible nod and a glance that could only mean
Wait there
.

Sam waited.

A couple of minutes later, Beckett stepped away from the others and walked toward him. Mayor Milner spotted him, too, and his face blanched. Sam wasn’t a good enough lip reader to see what the man said about him to Carla and Lynnette, but it didn’t look like a compliment.

“You hold up your end?” Beckett asked as he approached.

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“Trying,” Sam said. With everything else that had happened, he’d nearly forgotten the bargain they cut with the sheriff. “Dean is on his way to end this thing, but something like that is always trickier than you hope. In the meantime, I thought I might be needed here.”

“We have things under control, I think.” Sam kept his voice low, not wanting to stir up panic if anyone overheard. There were at least thirty people in close range, and several hundred in the court. “How much control will you have if things go bad?”

Beckett scanned the crowd. “It could get ugly,” he admitted.

“There’s no guarantee that Dean will succeed before we get some . . . unexpected shoppers,” Sam said. He was pretty sure the sheriff would catch his drift. “If that happens . . .”

“My people are loaded up with rock salt,” Beckett said. “And I’ve got more posted in the woods on the edge of the parking lot. Hopefully they’ll be able to intercept before any of ’em make it here. You’re right, random gunfire could shake this crowd up, and I’d hate to see a panicked mob on the mall’s opening day.”

“You might have been better off keeping them outside.”

“Ms. Krug wanted them to be able to look at the store windows until the opening ceremonies. Then they’ll be able to get right to spending. I went along with it, because I figured in a pinch we could lock the doors.”

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“How are all these people supposed to get home?” Sam asked. “Are the roads open again?”

“Not so’s I know. We’re just hoping they will be by the time people start to leave.”

“There’s a lot of wishful thinking going on around here,” Sam observed.

“You don’t know Mayor Milner like I do,” Beckett said. “He’s the king of wishful thinking. It’s gotten him this far—mayor of a little mountain town—so he thinks it’s the most powerful force on Earth. I don’t think he’s ever had a real setback. I recognize that he could have one today, if we end up with a few thousand people stuck in Cedar Wells because paranormal murderers don’t want them to leave.” His face broke into a wry smile that vanished just as fast.

“And I know how nuts that sounds. But it’s what you believe, right?”

“I don’t just believe it,” Sam said. “I know it. I even know why. That’s why we think maybe we can end it.”

“If wishful thinking has any power at all, I’m wishing you fellows can.”

“If not . . .” Sam shook his bag so the sheriff could hear the contents clanking together. “If not, then we’re going to have a real mess on our hands.”
Kid’s right
, Jim Beckett thought. If there was an attack on the mall—even by a single one of those ghost killers or whatever they were—the ensuing panic would do a lot more damage than the ghosts. He had covered this with his deputies, and they were all 278 SUPERNATURAL

ready to do whatever they could to keep order, but the fact was that a crowd of even a thousand or two could be plenty destructive.

The plan was to isolate the ghost and divide the shoppers into manageable chunks by closing off sec-tions of the mall. It was arranged in great hallways off the center court, so it could easily be chopped into three parts. Smaller groups could be reasoned with more easily than big ones.

That was the hope, at any rate. How it would work in reality, Beckett wasn’t sure. During his years as sheriff, he’d never had to deal with such a large group of people. He doubted if any law offi cer had ever dealt with this precise situation.

One thing he knew for sure: When this was all over, if he walked away from it, he wouldn’t be writing it up for any law enforcement publications or talking about it at conventions. Not only would it be unbelievable to anyone who hadn’t lived through it, but he wasn’t particularly proud of his performance.

He had let the politicians—Mayor Milner, to be precise—walk all over him. He, not the mayor, was responsible for securing the public’s safety, and he had let the mayor handcuff him.

Just a couple of minutes ago, before the kid had interrupted, it was happening again. He’d found himself agreeing to keep a low profi le and to do everything possible to allow the mall opening to go ahead as planned. Milner and Carla Krug were still locked in intense conversation—the mayor no doubt arguing for a greater role in the festivities than had Witch’s

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been agreed on, now that he saw a fair-sized crowd had gathered.

Maybe Beckett could reclaim some of his self-esteem after all. He stalked back to the pair of them, bureaucrats from public and private sectors, with determination settling in his gut like a hearty breakfast. They broke off, mid-sentence, at his approach.

“I want to make one thing clear,” he said, not waiting for an invitation to speak. “If there’s one sign—I mean, a single solitary shred of likelihood that one of those things is on the way—this whole place is mine.”

“Meaning what, Jim?” Carla asked.

“Meaning it’s a crime scene and I control it. Not you or Mayor Milner or your security people. Me. Is that clear?”

“Now, Jim,” Milner said, in that conciliatory tone he took that made it sound as if he was trying to calm a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. Beckett had to resist the impulse to smack him one. Maybe before the day was out, he’d get a chance. “Let’s get down off that high horse, okay? We’re all together on this thing.”

“I don’t think we are, Donald. In spite of everything that’s happened, bodies piled up like cordwood around town, I don’t think you have quite grasped what we’re dealing with here. This isn’t something you can make go away by spreading some favors around. And if there’s a chance of a panic that might cost lives, I’m taking over. No argument, end of story.”

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“Believe me, Jim,” Carla said. “The last thing I want is a panic. I just want to know that if the worst doesn’t happen, that your people won’t be out there stirring things up.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about my people,” Beckett said. “How many of the store employees here live in Cedar Wells? Probably most of them. The ones who don’t, who we had to keep here in town last night, will be complaining about that, and the ones who do will be talking about the murders. All it’ll take is for a few customers to hear the wrong thing. You remember the game of telephone? Someone whispers something in the fi rst person’s ear, and by the time it makes the whole circle it’s transformed into something else entirely? With all the people in this building, you’re going to have one hell of a telephone game going on, and it might not even take an attack to set off a panic. So this is how it’s going to be, and if you don’t like it, I don’t particularly care. In the event of any sort of incident, your security people will look to me and my people for guid-ance. I’d like to meet with Lynnette again and make sure she understands this. I want to know that she has transmitted the instructions to her crew. What I don’t want is for even one of those security guards to do the wrong thing when I’m trying to restore order.

Is that all clear?”

Mayor Milner looked like he wanted to complain, to throw his weight around. But he clamped his lips together so tightly they almost disappeared and nodded his head gravely.