Wolf Flow (29 page)

    Mike rose to his feet and stepped back. Doot looked down at himself in growing wonder. He spread his arms wide, his damp palms upturned.

    He had never felt like this before.

    

    

    She'd managed to twist about in its grasp, shoving her hands against the exposed breastbone. A push, and her head broke the water's surface; she gulped air into her burning lungs.

    The skull's mouth opened wide as the thing forced its arms tighter around her arched spine. Her hand slipped from the chest and caught against the curve of its jaw; a layer of skin tore like sodden paper under her palm.

    With a brittle noise, the jaw's hinge broke loose, the bottom row of teeth slewing to one side. A tendon stretched, then snapped, and the U-shaped bone came away in her hand, shreds of flesh drifting between her fingers in the water.

    The open hole into the thing's throat bubbled, gargling a muted cry of pain. Its arms spasmed, releasing her; her shoulders fell back onto the layer of floating debris. The jawbone splashed into the water, bobbing up like a sea creature with dangling tendrils.

    Anne clawed past the tangled rubble, her hand finally striking the tiled rim of the pool. She clambered onto her elbows, the rim digging into the stomach. Before she could kick her legs to thrust herself the rest of the way, she felt the thing's hands clamp onto her shins. Her breasts dragged across the pool's edge as the skeletal thing pulled her back into the water. Her fingers dug in but found no hold.

    A spoked circle of metal, a foot away-she grabbed for it, her fingers hooking around the bottom curve. She tightened her grip, squeezing the iron into her fist. With a kick against the thing behind her, she got her other hand onto the wheel.

    The thing didn't let go. She looked over her shoulder and saw the skull's face, the bottom half torn away, straining toward her. Panting in fear and exhaustion, she held the wheel with one hand, grabbing a spoke with the other, pulling herself another inch out of the water.

    The wheel creaked, metal moving through rust. Her weight, and the strength of the thing holding onto her, turned the wheel a few degrees; the spoke slanted downward now. She gasped, feeling it slide through her fingers, the corrosion flaking away in her grip. Her waist slipped back over the pool's rim. She grabbed for the next spoke, getting both hands onto it, edges of pitted metal biting her palms.

    With a higher-pitched scraping noise, the wheel spun free, rotating a quarter turn. Anne caught herself on the bottom, pulling herself far enough that she could hook her arm through, pressing her face against the wheel's hub. Her legs were still caught in the water. A surge of fear and revulsion shook her, and a burst of tears flooded the dark water away from her eyes.

    The thing in the pool drew itself up her legs, the bone points of its fingers clawing across the small of her back.

    Somewhere-she could hear it but didn't know what it meant-there was the sound of water gushing, a surge splashing onto dry ground and rocks. She clung to the iron wheel, the last of her strength ebbing.

    

    

    Mike's smile floated closer to him.

    "You've tasted it now-haven't you, Doot?" The gaze fastened onto his, as Mike stepped closer. "There, in the pool. You've drunk it. You know what I'm talking about. You can feel it."

    He did feel it. Now he knew-he closed his eyes, leaning the back of his head against the wall. The muscles of his arms and chest burned, the heat intoxicating him. The taste in his mouth was of something alive, sweet and empowering.

    His hands curled into fists. He looked at them, as if he'd never seen them before. Not like this-the intricate net of veins spread through the flesh, the cords tightening. The stain of the dark water twined into the crooks of his elbows.

    Mike leaned over him, savoring the glow seeping from his skin.

    "It's good, isn't it, Doot?"

    He clenched his jaw, a shiver spreading up from his groin into the muscles of his neck.

    "Yeah…" His whisper slid from between his teeth.

    Mike's smile widened, as he watched the transformation.

    "We can do it… anything we want…" The voice curled around his ear, sliding into his brain. "Just the two of us, Doot… the two of us… and the water…"

    He drew back, pointing to something a few feet away in the room.

    "Things like that…" Mike's finger trembled. "They don't mean anything to us now. They're nothing… They don't matter, Doot… we do."

    Doot pushed himself up from the floor. He stepped toward the examining table.

    There was something beautiful on it.

    A thing of blood, and tissue that wept blood. The concealing skin had been peeled away-the thing lay on it as if it were a red sheet that draped toward the floor-and the soft, joyful intricacies had been exposed. The great muscles of the thighs, the nest of coiled intestines, the fist of the heart, clenching and releasing…

    The face, its real face, the red secret known at last…

    Golden hair, streaked and stiffened with blood, tumbled from the top edge of the table.

    Doot gazed at it, his head filling with delight and a leaping certainty, then beyond, as though the limits of his skull were no more, a new world turning in his grasp.

    One of its wet hands strained against the leather strap, reaching for him. It grasped hold of his forearm, the red fingers tightening.

    He looked down at the hand, the world shrinking to it and nothing else. Somewhere beyond, the flayed lips moved.

    It said his name.

    The world exploded, his gut heaving in a sudden contraction of nausea and anger. He jerked his arm away from its grasp.

    "No!"

    The arm continued in a slashing backhand arc, the blow landing across Mike's chest and sending him sprawling backwards.

    

    

    It let go of her. Anne felt the sudden release of her legs and heard the splash as the thing flailed backwards in the water.

    She clung to the iron wheel and looked behind her at the pool. The water's level had gone down nearly a foot from the tiled rim; the layer of burned timbers and other debris shifted, scraping against the sides.

    The thing of bone and torn flesh had paddled back, into the center of the pool's open space. Its jawless skull turned from side to side, the empty sockets staring at what was happening. A hissing noise came from the open hole of its throat, and the skeletal hands struck the black surface in fury.

    Now she could pull herself all the way out of the pool. She scrambled upright, using the wheel and the metal housing behind it to steady herself. Her shirt clung to her, the night air chilling her skin. The water dripped from her clothes, spreading in a puddle around her feet.

    The sound of gurgling and splashing came louder to her.
The drain
-she turned and ran her hands over the curve of the iron wheel. She grabbed it, pushing against the spokes until it had gone all the way around and come to a solid stop. The noise of water gushing onto the ground, somewhere nearby, grew to a torrent. In the pool, the debris took a sudden lurch downward. The thing's hiss rose to a shrill wail.

    

    

    Mike fell back against the examining room counter. His arm swept across the ancient surgical instruments, sending them clattering to the floor. He caught himself against the counter's edge with both hands. His face contorted with rage when he raised his head and looked at Doot.

    He reached down to the floor and came up with a rust-bladed scalpel in his grip. The point of it came straight at Doot's throat as Mike lunged across the room.

    Doot caught Mike's arm in both his hands. For a moment, they were locked against each other, Mike's face straining close to his. Mike's eyes turned wet and red, then tears of blood trickled from the corners.

    They fell against the examining table, toppling it over. The thing strapped to it screamed in pain, fingers clawing toward her own ravaged flesh.

    The scalpel flew out of Mike's grip, skittering across the floor. He forced both hands around Doot's neck, bearing him down.

    Doot fought for breath, pushing up against Mike's chest. Suddenly, the face above him, teeth clamped together in its frenzy, blurred with red. He felt his own tears, thick and warm, coursing over his cheeks. He blinked, clearing his sight for a second, and saw in the dark mirrors at the centers of Mike's eyes his own face, the eyes leaking blood.

    A wave of anger swept out from his heart, and his arms straightened, tossing Mike back, breaking the hold on his throat. His hands caught on Mike's face, thumbs pressing against the ridges of the cheekbones.

    The skin tore.

    He felt his hands slide into wet, trembling flesh, as Mike's skin peeled back from his mouth and red eyes, wadding into folds at his ears. Mike tilted his head back, the raw face pulling the tendons of the neck through their splitting cover.

    Doot grabbed the other's arms and pushed. Mike's shoulders arched backward, breaking open his chest. The wet skin tore down the center, the muscles beneath breaking to reveal the ribs, the lungs and heart at the core.

    Mike screamed, fury mixed with agony.

    The flesh of the arms parted in Doot's grip, skin shredding into tatters over the muscle and sinew.

    Mike curled into a ball, red hands clutching at his own flesh, as though trying to hold it in, to stop the process of disintegration.

    Doot wiped his face with his arm as he staggered to his feet. He looked down at the thing writhing in front of him.

    It couldn't stand; the ragged split that had burst open its chest now ran all the way down its abdomen, spilling out the loops of intestine. Inside the blood-soaked jeans, the pelvic bones cracked, jerking the legs apart, a puppet with cut strings. Blood trickled across the ankles as it scrabbled at the floor.

    The exposed lungs labored, as the hands pushed the chest, organs sagging against the ribs, up from the puddle beneath it. The red eyes, insane in their wounded mask, fastened their gaze on Doot. The raw facial muscles constricted as it reached a hand toward him. An obscene mewling came from the red mouth, the sound mixing with the pain-filled whimpering of the thing strapped to the overturned examining table.

    Doot backed toward the door. His hands found it, and he turned and staggered into the hallway. Mike, the thing his torn flesh had become, crawled after him, the protruding bones of one hand scraping across Doot's leg.

    He kicked the groping fingers away and ran for the stairs.

    On the landing, stopping to catch his breath-he heard the howling then, another animal sound mingling with the ones coming from above. Through the broken-out window, he saw the red, watching eyes, like points of fire. The dark wolf shapes ran at the crest of the hills, or stood still and raised their throats to the night sky, the wild notes of their voices overlapping into one cry of exultation.

    He stumbled from the last step of the grand staircase, into the lobby. He looked up at the carved beams of the ceiling. He could hear, from above, Lindy's whimpering, the sound leaking out of her like the blood oozing from her flesh. And closer, the mewling-hate and desire beyond words-of the other thing, crawling toward the head of the stairs.

    Doot stepped back, hands outstretched, the sounds of pain and madness swirling about him. He turned and ran toward the door.

    The motorbike-it stood only a few yards away from the verandah steps. He picked the small machine up in his arms and staggered back with it toward the building.

    Inside, he screwed open the gas cap and tossed it away. He tilted the bike upside down, holding it by the wheels to keep it in position. The gasoline gurgled, pouring out of the tank; it spread in a widening pool around his feet.

    The last drops spilled out, the fumes rising to his nostrils. He let the bike drop onto its side.

    "
Doot
…"

    A voice, no longer human, screamed his name. He looked up and saw Mike, the thing of tattered flesh and red bone, at the staircase landing. The wet, red eyes glimmered with an avid frenzy. It flopped its broken-jointed hips over the next steps down, pushing itself forward with its crippled legs. A hand lifted, straining toward Doot, the skin of the palm dangling in shreds. It held something, a piece of bright metal. The scalpel.

    There were matches in the brown paper sack, ones he'd brought with all the other stuff. Doot ripped the sack open and found the box, spilling half of them on the floor as he tore off the wrapper.

    He backed away to the door, leaving a trail of gasoline footprints. With his spine against the boards, he lit one match and held it to the book until the others had burst into flame. He tossed it to the wet slick shining in the sliver of moonlight from the windows.

    A wave of heat brushed across his face as the gasoline turned to flame. At the sides of the lobby, the dry rotten curtains caught, the fire leaping through them up to the ceiling. The splintered panels between the beams smoldered for only a second before bursting alight.

    Doot raised his hand against the heat, fiercer now. A curtain of flame and black, roiling smoke filled the space. He fumbled behind himself, squeezing past the boards over the door. The cool night air rushed over him as he staggered out onto the verandah.

    He fell to his knees in the dirt beyond the steps. He managed to crawl a few more yards, his shadow lengthening in the growing orange light, a flickering radiance from the burning building. Then he collapsed onto his shoulder in the dust.