He’d been camping out in the backyard, sleeping in the tree house—or at least that was what his parents had thought. In truth, there had been very little sleeping, as Kirby’s tree house contained a folder full of pictures printed off from a porno site. He kept the folder in the middle of an old Trapper Keeper left over from elementary school, and hid the Trapper Keeper inside a long white box of comic books. His parents had never been inside the tree house—at least, not that he knew of—but Kirby saw no reason not to be cautious at all times.
Like now, for example. He looked up from the book of Psalms, his finger frozen over a random passage. He’d had to squint to read it because his flashlight wasn’t working. The tree-house roof had a hole in it so that he could stick his telescope out of it on clear nights. Each spring, his father trimmed the branches away from the hole, providing an unobstructed view of the stars. Kirby kept a five-gallon bucket beneath the hole to catch rainwater and had a tarp he could pull over the top of it. He realized now that he’d forgotten to pull the tarp closed. The leaves rustled softly as the breeze picked up. Wind gusted down through the hole, ruffling the naked pictures, his comics and the Bible pages. The printouts fluttered across the floor. Naked women stared up at him from a dozen different poses. Kirby felt sick and guilty. The pictures had been provided by Gary Thompson. Kirby had given him ten bucks and his copy of Modern Warfare 2 in exchange for them. Gary’s parents had a color printer and unlimited Internet access. The kid had a nice business as a middle-school pornographer.
Kirby had beat off twice, guiltily wiping himself with paper towels and then tossing the evidence in the corner, and then snuggled into his sleeping bag and read some back issues of Gold Digger, Naruto, Green Lantern and Ultimate Spider-Man . At some point, probably during the issue where Doctor Octopus proposes to Peter Parker’s Aunt May, Kirby had fallen asleep.
His father’s screams were what woke him, although Kirby hadn’t realized it actually was his father at first. The cries were too high-pitched. Too strange. It was only when his father was flung through the bedroom window and landed in the yard, shards of glass sticking out of his face, that Kirby had realized the shrieks belonged to him. His father had lain there, thrashing and quivering and squealing. Then parts of Kirby’s mother had followed him out of the broken window. First had come her head. Then her arm. Then something from inside of her. Then another arm.
Kirby had been too frightened to scream. He’d simply cowered there in the tree-house door, watching in shock and horror as his father bled to death with his mother’s decapitated head and various internal organs lying upon his chest. The ground around him was soaked with blood.
After his father fell quiet and quit moving, Kirby became aware of the screams from elsewhere in town. There were too many of them. He’d sat with his back to the wood-plank wall, pulled his knees up to his chest, grabbed the Bible—and prayed. His mother had insisted he keep the Bible in the tree house; it was her idea of good luck. In hindsight, maybe she’d been right. His parents were dead but Kirby was still alive. He turned his attention back to the book and focused on a random psalm.
“He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry…”
Kirby was unaware that he was reading aloud and equally oblivious that he was crying.
“He delighteth not in the strength of the horse: he taketh not pleasure in the legs of a man. The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear Him, in those that—”
Something warm and wet plopped onto the page and splattered against the crook of skin between Kirby’s thumb and index finger. A raindrop? Frowning, he looked up and saw two eyes staring back at him through the hole. It was a crow, he realized. A big black crow—the biggest he’d ever seen. The bird had shit right through the hole and onto the Bible.
Kirby wiped the offending substance away with his shirttail. Sniffling, he turned his attention upward again, but the bird was gone. In its place was a man, perched on the roof of the tree house and grinning wide enough that his teeth flashed white in the darkness.
Then the darkness flowed through the hole, and whatever good luck Kirby’s Bible had brought him finally ran out.
* * *
“Is that yours?”
Levi glanced up and saw that Donny was pointing at the buggy.
“Yes, it’s mine.”
“Where’s your horse?”
“She is safe. I have her stabled down near the river.”
“How do you know they haven’t fucked with her, too?”
“Dee has certain protections. Similar to mine. No harm will come to her.”
Marsha smiled. “Your horse is named Dee?”
Levi nodded. “Yes. And my dog, who is back home in Pennsylvania, is named Crowley.”
“Those are unusual names. Don’t get me wrong—I like them, but they’re not ones you hear every day. Around here, not too many people even bother to name their horses or dogs.”
“I named them after old friends of my family.” He paused, surveying the street. “It looks okay to cross. We’ll be safe once we get inside Esther’s house.”
“How?” Donny asked. “I mean, no offense, Levi, but I don’t see how we’re any better off inside that old bed-and-breakfast. We ought to get the hell out of town.”
“I don’t think we can leave. I don’t think they’ll let us. And as for the house, I can protect us once we’re inside.”
“The way you protected us back there, you mean?”
Marsha gasped. “Donny!”
“It’s okay.” Levi raised his hand. “He’s right. I did miserably back there. I almost failed. That won’t happen again.”
“But how are you going to protect us? I mean, no offense, Levi, but how can I be sure that Marsha is going to be safe?”
Levi smiled. “You’re a soldier. So am I. The only difference is our methods and the weapons we choose. I give you my word that she’ll be safe inside. Now come on. Let’s go, while the coast is clear.”
They hurried across the street. Marsha and Donny trotted behind Levi, hand in hand. They had just made it to the opposite side when a truck engine shattered the silence. Marsha and Donny jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Levi merely turned in the direction of the disturbance.
“Now that is odd.”
A four-wheel-drive pickup truck rounded the cornerand raced toward them. Levi frowned, staring at the onrushing headlights, and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare.
“That’s Randy,” Marsha yelled. “That’s my little brother!”
Marsha and Donny waved their hands at the approaching truck. As it neared them, Marsha released Donny’s hand and ran toward the curb. The truck skidded, the brake lights flashing red in the darkness, and then slid to a stop. Randy leaped out of the cab, leaving the engine running, and dashed toward his sister. The two embraced fiercely, as Donny and Levi hurried toward them.
“Are you okay?” Marsha gasped. “You’ve got blood all over you.”
Randy nodded. “I’m okay. It’s… it’s not my blood.”
He pulled back from her, and they all glimpsed the tears on his cheeks.
“Come with me,” he said. “I can get us out. The old logging road—”
“That won’t work,” Levi said. “We need to get inside.”
Randy stared at Levi, then glanced at Donny and
Marsha. “Who’s this?”
“You can call him Levi,” Marsha said. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.”
Donny stuck out his hand and Randy shook it. They embraced quickly, and Donny slapped him on the back.
“Good to see you,” Donny said.
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