Michael Marshall - The Straw Men

I walked slowly down the steps toward them. My hands were held up, and I was talking in a low, calm voice.

'I did not abduct her,' I said. 'I was not in Santa Monica at the time. I was in Santa Barbara. I can

prove it. I have hotel receipts.'

'It's a half-hour drive.'

'I know, John. I know that. So if I was lying, why would I tell the truth about that part? I could have told you I was in fucking Florida. John, what the hell is going on in your head? You think I'd come up here with you, you think I'd be tracking down these people, if I was one of them?'

Zandt reached the bottom of the stairs. Still supporting Sarah, who was still trying to hide behind him, he backed across the wide corridor and toward the front reception room. This time they were going out the front door.

'There's no telling what people will do,' Zandt said. 'Including me. Make a move and I'll blow your head off.'

'It's not me.'

'She says it is. She says you were there in Santa Monica.'

I stopped walking. 'Okay,' I said. 'Okay. Here's what we'll do. I'll stay here. You leave. You get her out, and then you come back for me, and we'll talk.'

'I'll come back for you,' Zandt said. 'But we won't talk.'

Sarah felt herself falling, but the good man held her up again. Nokkon Wud was receding now. He was staying at the foot of the staircase. He was tricking them, she knew. He was making them think they could get away, and then he'd come for them. He didn't have to walk. He could leap up through the roof and into the sky. He could fly over people's houses, he could dive in and kill them from above. He wasn't normal. He wasn't like anyone else.

She tried to say this to the good man, but it was too hard. She tried to tell him to shoot Nokkon now, but she couldn't and he didn't. He just kept carrying her, into the room at the front of the house. Sarah didn't have any choice about where she went. Her legs weren't working. She just had to go where she was taken.

Nina believed he wasn't going to be there. All the time she stumbled across the lot, as she pushed open the door to the lobby, as she navigated through the marooned hulks of oversized armchairs and settees, Nina had half-believed that Davids would have disappeared, that all she would find was an empty space on the floor. It didn't make any difference. She could not start the car without the keys. Either Bobby had taken them or Davids had. She didn't know where Bobby was. She had to find Davids, and she had to start from where he'd fallen.

And that's where he was. Hardly believing it, Nina reached down to go through his pockets. It would be easier to kneel, but she feared that if she did that she'd never get up again. She'd been able to get across the lot and back into the building, but she didn't know how much she had left. She slipped her hand into his jacket.

His hand lashed out and grabbed hers. His mouth opened.

'Mary,' he said.

She stared, terrified, at his face. He pulled her and she fell.

Her knee crashed straight into his face. The neck twisted with a crunch, but she was barely aware of

this as her own head smacked into the floor. She scrabbled at the slippery floor, got no purchase, then realized nothing was pulling at her. She

twisted round. Put her hand back in his jacket. He didn't move.

She still had to find the keys. If that was the last thing she ever did, then so be it.

She found them in his right trouser pocket. Found three sets. Took them all. Slid along the floor, keeping as far away from him as possible, until she was by a chair. Maybe the chair she'd been lying in, she thought, though she wasn't sure. That seemed quite a while ago.

Triumphant with possession, it only took her thirty seconds to get to her feet. And then she went back across the lobby, over the body of the dead policeman, through the door, and back out into the lot. Her second wind was ebbing, and she knew it — not because she was hurting more, but because the pain was being occluded from her. Blood loss and shock. Her body was pulling up the draw-bridge. It needed its energy, and she was wasting it.

She got to the car, grateful she hadn't shut the door. Pulled herself across onto a seat that was now soaked with rain.

The second set of keys went into the ignition. She closed the door only then, knowing she wouldn't have to go find Bobby.

The engine caught on the first turn, and she blessed Ford and their wily little car makers. It wasn't like when she was young. Then you had to coax them into life, and as a result you loved them and gave them names. Come rain, come shine, these days the things always started. You didn't have to name them to make them work. All you had to do was know where you were going.

She rested her head on the wheel, just for a second, and felt herself blacking out. Jerked back up, put the car in reverse and kangarooed back ten yards.

Then shoved it into Drive, put her foot right down, and drove straight at the fence.

I kept my word, though I was afraid and confused and didn't want to be left alone in the house. I stayed at the bottom of the stairs, staring at a thick cable running up it, until I heard Zandt's voice from the front room.

'Oh Jesus Christ,' he said, and the girl managed another scream. There was a clunking sound. I ran.

In the front room a single lamp was now on, casting a sallow glow by the window. The girl was scrunched up in the corner, making mewling sounds. Zandt was on his back on the floor, his gun lying

yards away. The cop had a very bizarre expression on his face.

Standing over him was a man with a gun. The gun was pointing right at Zandt's head.

'Get away from him,' I shouted, arms straight and my own gun ready. 'Get the fuck away.'

'Or what?' said the man, without even looking. 'Or what?'

'Or I'll blow your fucking head off.'

'You think?' The man finally turned to me. 'Hey, Ward,' he said. 'Long time no see.'

I saw my own face. The world tilted, flipped away.

His hair was longer, and a slightly different colour, dyed a brighter blond. There was something shifted about his features, but nothing more than the impact of being enlivened by a different mind. If you'd seen my face on some days, in some situations, it would have looked the same. Other than that there was no difference. Even our build was exactly similar. I blinked.

'Right,' The Upright Man nodded affably. 'So — you think you can do it now? Kill the only blood relative you ever had?' His finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. 'I'm genuinely interested to know, and don't let the fact you'll be killing John, too, influence your decision in any way.'

He turned his attention back to Zandt. 'Said I'd give her back, sooner or later.' He swung a kick at Zandt's face.

The impact jerked Zandt's head back so viciously that for a moment I thought his neck would be broken. I tried to pull the trigger. But I couldn't.

'You killed one of my co-workers, fuckhead,' The Upright Man continued. 'You put away men better than you. Just so you know, I tried to change Karen. For a long time. It didn't work. So I boiled her. But now I give her back. Did you like the 'delivery' outside?'

Zandt rolled his neck, sniffed against the pain. 'I don't care what you call yourself,' he said. His voice was flat. 'I never have. Shoot the fucker, Ward.'

My mouth was open, and the insides were dry. My arms were not trembling, but locked like stone. It was impossible to move my fingers. I felt like I was missing the back of my head, as if I only lived in my eyes.

The Upright Man saw me staring, grinned. 'Weird, huh? We got a lot to talk about,' he said. 'But I know you're going to be a little wigged out, and actually we need to be leaving. As a gesture of good faith to you I'm going to leave one of these two pieces of shit alive. You get to choose one, and whack the other. You done nowhere near enough killing yet, my man. We need to get you up to speed.'