Reaching the turnaround, Bell had been able to clear a path through ten or more of the thing with the red handled fire-ax, the girls standing behind him. One of the Howlers, a very tall woman, had grabbed the ax and torn it from his hand. He’d thought it was over, but Rebecca had seen a weapon lying only a few feet from them. She’d picked it up and run, screaming at Bell and Patty to hit the ground.
Rebecca had opened up with the short-barreled assault rifle, spraying fire into the gang of Howlers. She killed all but two of the things before the weapon stopped firing, out of ammo. Instead of giving up, Rebecca ran straight at the two remaining creatures: a young Latin man dressed gang-banger style, exposing his underwear, and a young girl. She used the rifle as a club, cold-cocking the girl with the butt of the rifle, hitting her in the face until the thing finally fell over.
The young man had loped up and grabbed Rebecca from behind, spinning her around. As he swung a skateboard at Rebecca’s face, Bell had picked the ax off the ground and sunk it into the top of the thing’s skull, using all his might. The ax head came straight down and split the kid’s head open all the way to its neck. The skateboard board tumbled out of its dead hands. Rebecca had pushed the still-standing thing over.
The two made it to the limousine, Bell jumping into the driver’s seat. They’d both failed to notice that Patty had been in her own hand-to-hand battle and was trapped standing on top of a car, unarmed. She’d been saved only because one of the gunmen, inside the hotel watching her, had decided he couldn’t let her die. He’d stepped outside, firing his weapon at the things surrounding her. Patty turned and looked at him as he walked toward her, firing.
“Get out of here,” the gunman said, changing clips as he spoke. She hopped off the car’s hood and ran toward the limo.
The gunman watched them drive off. “Fuck Prince,” he muttered. He’d seen enough of what the Senator had in mind for America. He walked away from the hotel and slipped into the woods.
On the way to Timberline, Bell spotted the abandoned car that he and Lacy had driven from her boyfriend’s house the day before. It was still parked in the middle of the highway, exactly where they’d left it. He drove on until he saw a driveway in the moonlight to his right and stopped the car. Not one car had passed them on the road since they’d left the hotel. It was a bad sign, Bell thought.
“This might be the place. Ryder and that bitch Sue Ling picked Lacy and me up just back there, where you saw the abandoned car. Ryder said they’d just left the mansion when they found us on the road.”
“Yeah, there’s a mansion up there,” Rebecca said. “A friend of mine worked a party there for Mr. Towler, the caterer. She said the old rich guy who gave the party was showing everyone his personal helicopter.
The pitch-black driveway was barely lit by the moonlight. Snow had started to pile in a small drift at the front of the mansion’s wide-open security gate. Bell doubted he could get the limo up the driveway, which was probably snow-covered and impassable.
“The place could be full of Howlers,” Patty said, looking at the open gate.
“Let’s find out. What’s the worst they can do to us?” Bell said. “Fuck it. We have no choice.”
Bell put the limo in Drive and sped straight toward the snow piled in front of the gate, turning the steering wheel hard as they bent the turn onto the driveway. He heard the bottom of the limo hit the asphalt, bottoming out. He raced through the snowdrift piled in front of the driveway and drove through it.
The limo’s rear power-wheel slipped and slid on the steep driveway, unable to get much traction. Bell punched the accelerator. The power tire spun loudly, then finally caught asphalt. The front of the limo plowed on past the stone portals. At times the big car felt as if it was going to fishtail right off the road, but the lieutenant, fighting the wheel for control, was able to get the huge limo up to the top of the mansion’s driveway. They crested the hill and the driveway opened up onto a huge dark snowless expanse in front of the mansion that was completely dark. To their right was another long driveway that led to a huge barn-like structure.
“Why no snow on the ground?” Patty said, looking at the expanse of pavers in front of the mansion.
“It’s heated, I guess,” Bell said. “The driveway.”
“Jesus,” Patty said taking in the palatial “summer” house. She’d bumped up against the vacationing super-rich at the ranger station. They would send their bodyguards or personal assistants into the office to ask directions, or to make reservations for some of the hiking trails that were controlled. Sometimes, when she was out on patrol on horseback, she would pass them and their little armies: personal assistants, nannies, professional guides. She could tell the super-rich because they had porters and even cooks who would follow them into the back country. A family of four might have ten people in support. Quentin had told her about some of the fabulous places they’d built in the mountains around Timberline. The place in front of her looked as big as a hotel.
“A lot of Fun Hogs have heated roadbeds. They’re solar powered,” Rebecca said. “My uncle Ken puts them in. Maybe we can find some weapons, or whatever in the house. This thing is useless.” Rebecca tapped the ammunition-less weapon resting on her knees.
Bell saw headlights come up the driveway behind him. He looked in the rearview mirror. In a moment Johnny Ryder’s familiar stolen white Land Rover crested the hill going fast and almost rear-ended them.
“Ryder will think that weapon is loaded,” Bell said, turning to Rebecca. He could see she wasn’t afraid. She nodded.
* * *
Gary Summers was standing with the mountain bike he’d found at the bed and breakfast across from the Phelps cabin. Nothing lay in either direction in front of or behind him on the snow-covered, one-lane road. To his left was the road to Emigrant Gap, and beyond that Highway 50, which would take him to Sacramento. To his right was a ten-mile stretch, mostly uphill, that would take him into Timberline. He was so cold that he realized he couldn’t possibly bike to Sacramento—his plan—unless he was able to find some warmer winter clothes.
He wore only jeans and a light windbreaker that Rebecca had given him at her shop. He was cold in a way he’d never experienced before, to the very marrow of his bones. He’d sweated heavily while crawling down the long escape tunnel at the cabin, not sure whether he would be able to get out. He’d heard Dillon talking about the escape tunnel, but he’d not had time to look at the instructions in the control room. He’d been so frightened and ashamed of what he’d done, locking the trap door behind him, that he just wanted to keep moving to get away and save himself.
Looking at the hordes of Howlers running toward the cabin, Summers had realized that there was no way they could kill them all fast enough. When he’d seen them rushing the cabin carrying a battering ram, he’d lost his nerve. He’d stood up and stopped firing his weapon. He’d looked at the others firing theirs, the doctor helping load clips with a terrible expression on his face, and the horrific sound of the gunfire—five FALs firing at once. Terrified, he’d crawled toward the trapdoor on his belly and slid down the steep steps. Before he locked the plate down behind him, he’d hesitated; but he convinced himself they were all doomed upstairs. He wasn’t going to die there, in that cabin, torn apart by those things. He’d rammed the bolt home, locking the trapdoor and sealing his comrades’ fate. He’d crawled down the escape tunnel in the dark while the others were upstairs fighting for their lives against the massive attack. In the darkness, like a rat, he’d crawled toward he didn’t know what.