“Wow,” Gary said. He had no idea what a Fifty Caliber was, exactly. But if she owned one, great.

“He wants to get an old Army surplus Quad Four, but they won’t let him have that,” she added.

Quentin pulled up into Eileen Alexander’s driveway. They had heard the same story at the junior high that he’d heard at the high school earlier, only this story was even more bizarre. Kids hadn’t shown up for class, or had left the school grounds. Ronny Alexander had attacked a teacher, they’d been told. When a math teacher tried to stop him from leaving the room, he’d hit the teacher and run away.

“Quentin, will you come in? If he’s here, I want you to take him back to the school and find out what happened. I want you to get the teacher to stop pressing charges. Please. You know Ronny. He wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Eileen said.

The sheriff looked into his friend’s face. She was pale. He needed her to come back to the office, but he was afraid to ask. What he’d heard had scared him because he did know Ronny Alexander. He was a bookish kid, who rarely spoke above a whisper. The principal had said he’d attacked his math teacher. They’d had to call an ambulance for the teacher, whom Ronny had beaten horribly and left unconscious. The principal told Quentin that Ronny had fought off another two teachers and run away. And he wasn’t the only kid who had acted violently that morning. Several teachers had been attacked. The principal had closed the school for the day and sent everyone home.

“None of this makes any sense,” Quentin said. He looked at the front yard buried in snow. He wondered where his daughter was. He heard the car door open and knew he had to go inside with Eileen. But he didn’t want to. He wanted only to find Sharon. Nothing else seemed important.

I’m not going to panic, he told himself. Don’t panic. He remembered the look that young father had when Quentin was forced to tell him they hadn’t found his daughter.

Oh God, that can’t happen to us, Marie.

“Is Dad home?” Sharon asked. Lacy had picked up the ringing landline on the way out of the house. She’d almost decided to not answer. She and Robin had had a terrible fight. She’d said the word “abortion” and Robin Wood had gone ballistic. He hadn’t heard anything else she’d said.

“Where are you?” Lacy asked.

“I’m in town. At someone’s house,” Sharon said.

“What do you mean, at someone’s house? Why aren’t you at school?”

“What difference does it make? Just tell me where Dad is,” Sharon said.

“I don’t know. He left here and went into town. He wants to talk to you. What happened between you two?”

“He won’t leave me alone about stuff.”

“What stuff?” Lacy said.

“Never mind.”

“Sharon, are you sleeping with that dirt bag who picked you up this morning?”

“None of your business.”

“Are you being careful? Are you using a condom?” She tried to imagine her little sister now. In some biker’s crash-pad, feeling grown up.

“Are you?” Sharon said. “Tell Dad I’m okay. All right? I’ve decided. I am not coming home for a while. Okay? Tell him I’m okay. I’m going to school. But I’m not coming home for a while. I just can’t take it right now. I need some space.”

“Sharon … ” The line went dead. Lacy put down the phone and called her father, but the call went to voice mail. Then she went outside and loaded her VW bug and left for town to buy a new cell phone before leaving for the Bay Area.

CHAPTER 11

They were driving Bell to the Army’s regional stockade in Sacramento, as ordered by the colonel. Two young MPs had put Bell in leg irons and loaded him into a white government van that would take him to jail. It was still snowing softly, the way it had been earlier that morning when he and his sergeant had landed their chopper. It was difficult for Bell to believe that all that had happened only a few hours ago. He’d tried to explain to the colonel, but he hadn’t listened. Instead he’d assumed that Bell was crazy.

Riding in the MPs’ van Bell decided he would have to tell another story. No one was going to believe the truth; he understood that now. And for the first time, he was scared.

Why didn’t they send another helicopter up there? Why didn’t they look at the tracks in the snow? They would still be there if they hurried. He hadn’t killed Sergeant Whitney—that was absurd.

Bell listened to the conversation between the two young MPs. They were talking about their upcoming plans for the weekend as if everything were normal. The young soldiers’ scalps were gleaming white under their very short military-style haircuts. Just as the snow had gleamed around us, Bell remembered. He heard Sergeant Whitney yelling at the things again as the two of them fought for their lives by the creek.

*   *   *

They saw more of the creatures dropping off the snow bank down into the creek, half a dozen more. Others were already in the water, too many to fight. Bell and the sergeant helped each other out of the shallow water. The sergeant began to move up the bank. The lieutenant followed him out of the creek, pistol in hand.

“There’s too many, sir!”

“I’ve got an extra clip,” Bell said. His breath appeared as fog in the cold air.

“No good, Ken.” It was the first time the sergeant hadn’t called him sir. “Look at them. There’s twenty or more in the river.”

Bell watched more of the things drop into the river and start to swim-float toward them. They all wore the same dull and strange expression, man or woman. “We have to get to the chopper. They’ll have to run through the snow, too.” Bell said. “Let’s wait until they all drop in.”

“I’m fucking scared, sir.”

“Bill.” The lieutenant looked at the sergeant.

“Yes, sir.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m just as scared. I want to shit my pants.”

“Yes, sir!” They watched the horde of human-like things drop into the fast-moving creek, some sliding down the bank on their butts and into the water. One of them started to howl, then another.

“They look just like people,” the sergeant said.

“Well, they aren’t people,” Bell said. The first one was twenty yards and coming, floating down the creek, his chest up out of the water. Bell raised his pistol and fired, hitting the thing in the mouth. Hurrying, he and Whitney helped each other up the snowy bank and started to run toward their chopper through the deep snow.

*   *   *

The MPs’ van stopped at a traffic light. Everything seemed so normal, hours later. Not like out there in the snow running toward the helicopter that looked close but wasn’t. It must have been about nine in the morning, Bell thought, when they ran toward the chopper. If running was the word for it. The sun had come out without them noticing. They crawled, helping each other up the steep snow-covered creek bank, standing in four feet of snow now. The lieutenant heard the sergeant’s labored breathing. He could hear it now, again, the sound of Bill Whitney’s breathing and the look of terror in the older man’s eyes.