The Survivor: A Novel Part 24

Rocketing past the multimillion-dollar houses with their lit front gardens and spit-polished sedans, he saw his situation in stark contrast with his former life. When had everything careened so drastically and suddenly off track? It was as if he'd taken a left turn and dropped into the Grand Canyon.

He asked the driver to let him off around the block. Then he cut through the Rajus' side yard, his left foot dragging through the fallen leaves. He'd been told that ALS symptoms could intensify at night, and so far he'd found that to be true, his body weakening as darkness encroached. His fingers fussed at the gate latch, numb and ineffective, until he knocked it open with an elbow and spilled into his backyard. Empty. No sign of anyone watching. The lights were on upstairs but not down, probably so no one could see Janie and Cielle loading the Jeep. He banged on the rear sliding gla.s.s door, and Janie rushed down the stairs, dropping a duffel bag, and let him in.

He slammed the slider behind him and locked it. Casper scrambled in from the other room, excited, slipping on the tile and ramming his muzzle into Nate's crotch. Nate scratched his ears, guiding him aside. "Where's Cielle?"

"Grabbing a last few things in her room. Go get her. I packed you already." Janie was flushed, breathing hard, tamping down her fear. The Beretta swung heavily in her jacket pocket, its etched grip protruding. The sight of it there, so out of place, did something painful to his heart.

Janie hoisted the duffel and started for the garage.

The phone rang.

Even across the kitchen counter, the illuminated LED screen was visible in the dark room: NEW ODESSA.

Janie stopped. The phone rang again.

Nate lifted it from its base. It shrilled in his hand. He clicked TALK. Moved the trembling receiver to his ear.

Pavlo's voice, rich with age: "Where is my item?"

"I have until midnight."

"No. It is done. Your time is up."

Nate's throat went dry. "We agreed that-"

"Your VIP trip to the bank to get inside box would have happened by now. Do you have what I want?"

Nate breathed through clenched teeth. "Yes. I have it."

"What is it?"

Janie's eyes were on him, wide and wild.

Nate tried to weigh his options, but time was moving too fast for him to keep up.

"Well?" Pavlo asked.

"A list of names," Nate said.

A sigh of pleasure came through the receiver, almost a hiss.

"I'll bring it to you. I'll leave right now." Nate gestured furiously for Janie to finish loading the Jeep, but she didn't move. She just stood there, the weight of the duffel tugging at her arm.

"No," Pavlo said. "Tell me names."

Any name Nate gave carried with it a death sentence. A drop of sweat ran from his hairline, stinging his eye. Casper whimpered at his side and shifted paw to paw.

"Now," Pavlo said.

"Patrice McKenna," Nate blurted. The schoolteacher Danny Urban had already murdered. The one safe name to give-they couldn't kill someone who was already dead.

A pulse of excitement beneath Pavlo's words. "Yes. Now others."

Nate's last thought remained, banging about his head like a bird stuck in a room. You can't kill the dead-his personal theme since he'd come in from the ledge, the source of his fearlessness in the face of bullets, ice blocks, rescue saws, but there was something else, something- "Aiden O'Doherty," he blurted. The last death notification he had served, the teenage boy who'd died in the car crash.

He heard Pavlo breathing through his nose, nothing more.

Nate cast his memory back to the previous six death notifications he'd served, naming the names of the dead.

Paula Jenkins, overdose.

Martin Padilla, drive-by.

Shin Sun-won, knife in the stomach.

Wally Case, suicide dive in front of a bus.

Clarissa and Frederick Frigerio, shot in a convenience-store robbery.

When Nate had finished, Pavlo said, "Fine. Now bring list to me. I want to see with my own eyes."

Nate hung up, and Janie sprang back into motion, hauling the bag to the Jeep. Nate took the steps up three at a time, Casper at his feet, calling Cielle's name as he charged down the hall. She was in her room, clutching an armload of photo alb.u.ms, phone pressed to her ear.

"No, Jason." She tugged at a maroon streak in her hair. "I told you. Do not come over right now."

Nate grabbed her arm. "We gotta go."

"He's almost here, Dad, and-"

Casper's head jerked toward the door, his tags jangling. The patch of hair rose at the base of his ridge. His ears lifted, squaring off at the tops, then flattened back against his skull. He took several slow, stalking steps toward the hall.

Cielle still hadn't moved, but the cell phone bobbed beneath her thumb, giving a barely audible click as it turned off. Nate raised a finger to his lips and flattened a hand: Stay here.

He crept down the stairs, Casper a half step ahead, slinking like a great cat. The door to the garage was closed, and he could not hear Janie beyond. He started for her, but Casper moved swiftly across the kitchen and growled at the sliding gla.s.s door. Nate followed, flipped the lock, and had barely tugged the door open when Casper skimmed through. The dog stopped ten feet away at the near edge of the lawn, snarling down at something.

Nate moved out into the night air, took a few steps across the brief patio, and stared down.

Two oversize footprints crushing the gra.s.s, facing the house.

With mounting dread, Nate turned slowly and looked over his shoulder.

Yuri finished slipping inside and stood in the kitchen, staring out at Nate through the narrow gap in the door.

No gloating. No anger. Just an empty, gray-eyed stare.

A shushing noise as he tugged the sliding gla.s.s door closed.

The gla.s.s threw back only a reflection of the yard, the porch light a scorch mark in the corner of the pane. Before Nate could move, Yuri's chalky hand ghosted into sight behind the double panes and flipped the lock.

Chapter 38.

Casper sprang before Nate did, swiping at the gla.s.s, barking furiously. Nate unlocked his legs and charged, crashing into the sliding door with his shoulder and bouncing back, landing on his a.s.s. In the pane, he saw only a few feet of reflected patio, the uniform black sky, and his own expression of abject terror. Rising, he shoved his face to the gla.s.s to see inside, his breath clouding the view at quick intervals.

Indistinct in his ma.s.sive dark coat, Yuri reached the door to the garage just as Janie pa.s.sed into the house again, gun in hand, nearly colliding with him. Her expression clicked instantly from worry to horror, and then Yuri's ma.s.sive hand palmed her face like a basketball and shoved her out into the garage, the gun spinning from her grip. She tripped, striking the still-opening door, tumbling off the step and out of sight. The door banged wall and wobbled back, slamming shut. Calmly, Yuri reached over and threw the dead bolt.

Crouching to retrieve the fallen gun, he turned and looked across the kitchen, fixing his glinting possum eyes on Nate.

Then he rose and headed up the stairs.

Nate's skin caught fire, every nerve ending, every cell.

Casper's barks elongated into rumbling howls as he jabbed at the sliding door with his front paws, gouging up curls of wood from the frame. Nate spun, grabbing the nearest thing he could lay hands on-a wrought-iron patio chair. He hurled it with all his strength. It struck the pane, rippling the reflection, sending out a warbling sonar cry and bouncing back, narrowly missing his head. A thumbnail-size chip marred the perfect pane. Nothing more.

In a fury Nate swatted aside another chair, then kicked over a table, at last laying eyes on the cast-stone umbrella base waiting patiently for springtime. Squatting, he hoisted it, his compromised left hand useful only as a grappling hook. His back straining, he lifted the base above a shoulder and barreled at the sliding gla.s.s door, rotating to let the cast stone hit first.

The sound was limp, a muted cracking as the safety gla.s.s webbed. He punched through, sprawling onto his back, the umbrella base rocketing dangerously to bite up a chunk of kitchen tile.

From upstairs he heard Cielle's scream, "Dad, help me!"

Her voice, the terrified plea, the word at last-Dad-had him back on his feet as if he'd been yanked up by the collar. Trapped in the garage, Janie slapped and pounded on the door. Hurtling past to the foyer, he leaped at the stairs. In full gallop, trying to make the turn behind him, Casper skidded out, nails scrabbling helplessly across the floorboards. Nate seemed to fall up the stairs, four, five at a time, and then Cielle's door rocked into view, funhouse-tilting back and forth as his legs pounded the carpet. "Dad! Daaad!" He crashed through, catching one frenzied glimpse of Cielle recoiled against her window before Yuri's fist swung into view from nowhere, firmed around the handle of Nate's own gun, reverse bra.s.s knuckles flying at his forehead with dizzying speed.

A blip of blackness.

Then Cielle's ceiling staring down, a blank screen. Somewhere a fuzzy voice. Blood in his eyes. He tried to lift a hand to wipe it away, but his muscles did not respond. Blinking away the blood seemed to be the only movement he could muster. On the far side of the closed door, Casper was at the wood like a vampire, fangs and nails. The unique agony of face pain and the stunned moment of laid-out paralysis transported Nate to that dune, his mouth pressed to the sand, his eardrums thrumming, the heat of the helo explosion roiling across his back.

But no. This was worse.

Even over the snarls, Nate could make out the voice now, across the room, addressing Cielle: "I am bigger. I hold the power. This is way of the world. You will learn."

His head felt filled with concrete, the weight pulling at him. He let it fall to the side. The stepstool carved with his daughter's name had been kicked over, the letter puzzle pieces crowding his field of vision. Across the room Cielle was sobbing, black eyeliner streaking. Her round face lit with disbelief and shock.

Yuri spun her and pushed her brusquely against the window. "Undress."

She tried to look over her shoulder, a crescent of flushed cheek coming visible. A tiny voice. "Dad?"

Nate moved to rise, and daggers of pain shot through his skull. He coughed up a mouthful of vomit.

Yuri pushed the steel gun barrel against Cielle's shoulder blade so the skin dimpled. "Your father not help you now. Undress."

She crossed her arms weakly, gripped the hem of her sweater. Then she stopped, sagging against the wall, her knees giving out. "No," she said. "No."

"Relax." Yuri lowered the pistol's tip, grazing her kidney, menacing her. "I just want to see your insides."

Nate shoved himself up on his elbows, but static blotted his vision, and he knew that if he rose too quickly, he'd black out. He paused on trembling muscles, panting, the scene unfolding right across from him.

"I come right back, pryntsesa."

Yuri's footsteps creaked the floor, and then an enormous boot pressed down on Nate's trachea, pinning his head to the carpet and denting his windpipe closed. A long view up to that expressionless, tilted face. Nate gagged for air, his legs writhing like snakes. Nausea swelled, blotting out sensation, the breath gone from his lungs. His fingers curled around Yuri's boot, but his grasp was weak, his left hand worthless. In seconds he'd lose consciousness. Cielle's sobs kept on, a horrible background murmur.

Helpless, he rolled his head an inch or two toward the door, an arm's length away. The dog hurled himself against the far side, snapping and howling, but there was no way Nate could reach the k.n.o.b to let him in. A rush of white noise hummed in his ears. The static came again, filling his eyes. Through the black and white specks, he noted a band of color running down, kissing the carpet.

Cielle's purple-and-green scarf. Hooked around the doork.n.o.b.

The lever doork.n.o.b.

He strained to reach the scarf. The tips of his fingers brushing the soft wool. Yuri smirked, amused. "You are going to hit me with scarf?"

He shoved down harder, and Nate's throat ignited. He could see nothing now but static, a great wide field of it. With a final burst of strength, he stretched, clinched the ends of the scarf in his weakened left hand. He commanded his fingers to close. They slid uselessly down the fabric, then finally clamped, the grip just firm enough.

Too late, Yuri realized what Nate was doing. The boot lifted, oxygen screeching into Nate's lungs even as he tugged. The scarf pulled the lever k.n.o.b down, releasing the latch bolt. Before Yuri could take his first step, the door blasted open, an explosion of animal.

Chapter 39.

It seemed at first that the dog was flying. His paws didn't touch so much as skim the carpet. There was a single superhero bound, a coiling of flanks and legs, and then 110 pounds of Rhodesian ridgeback went airborne. As Yuri swung the gun around, Casper rocketed directly up into his face.

The Beretta fired into the wall and the floor beside Nate's cheek, before kicking free from the big man's grasp. Casper didn't reestablish contact with the ground. His paws digging into thigh and throat, he stayed in a horror-movie flotation, driving himself continually up into Yuri's face. The big man stumbled, bellowing, swinging blindly, crashing into the bed, the wall. He finally managed to bat the dog away, and he lurched toward the door, his flailing arm throwing an arc of crimson drops against the stark white wall. Casper landed on his side but rotated immediately onto his paws, and then he was gone, shot from a cannon down the hall, clawing up the fleeing man's back.

There came a crashing on the stairs, a tumble of man and dog, then a high-pitched animal yelp. Thunderous footsteps, the front door swinging open. A masculine shout outside and a secondary crash. Nate was on hands and knees, hacking, the air so fresh it burned. He forced himself up, wiping at his face. Cielle was slid down beneath the window, balled up, hugging her knees, her face streaked with tears. He went to her and held her, and she clutched at his arm hard, finally sobbing, letting go. He cradled her head and arm even as he pulled her to her feet, her dark hair sticking in the blood of his forehead.

"Baby, we have to go. We have to go."

She nodded rapidly, like a little kid. On the way out, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the pistol. Her legs were loose beneath her, but he braced her down the hall. Casper waited at the base of the stairs, one leg raised and bent delicately back to protect the injured paw. His snout gleamed darkly with liquid. There was blood on the stairs, the walls.

Not his.

Casper turned to trot beside them. Calling for Janie, Nate rushed to check the garage. It was empty, the Jeep there and loaded, the big door raised. As they spun back for the kitchen, Janie shoved through the jagged mouth in the sliding door, gla.s.s pebbles cascading over her shoulders. She ran to them, grabbing Cielle's face, checking her.

"You're okay," Janie said. "You're okay." Her knuckles glittered white, skinned from hammering at the locked door to the kitchen before she'd thought to open the big garage door.

"The Jeep," Nate said. "Right now. Let's go."

They rushed to pile in, Casper hopping into the backseat with Cielle. Nate reversed, leaving streaks of rubber on the concrete.

As they blasted backward into the driveway, a body came into view in the bed of azaleas, mashing down the magenta blossoms. Yuri? Nate hit the brakes. The body stirred. Rolling her window open, Janie pulled the lever on her seat, dropping back to clear the way. Nate lifted the pistol, taking aim past her face through the open window.

Next to Cielle, Casper licked his paws, a moist lapping. They watched, waiting, Nate aligning the sights, casting his mind back to the shooting range during basic. Slow, steady pressure. Even exhale.