Richard Matheson - Ride the Nightmare

“Keep going inland,” Adam said.

Chris heard Helen draw in a quick breath.

“Is she all right?” she asked in a stiffly controlled voice.

Chris looked at Adam. “She asked you a question,” he said.

“She’s all right.”

“She’d better be,” Chris told him.

Adam had regained his poise by now. He smiled thinly at Chris. “Quite the hero, aren’t we?” he said.

Chris was silent.

“Planning to turn us over to the police?” asked Adam. Chris only looked at him.

Adam smiled. “You, of course, realize what will happen when you do.”

Chris said nothing and the smile faded from Adam’s face.

“You’ll go to prison,” he said, coldly.

“And you’ll go to the gas chamber,” said Chris.

Adam seemed to tense forward and Chris raised the pistol. The sight of it seemed to relax Adam rather than caution. He leaned back, smiling again.

“Don’t worry,” he said, casually, “I won’t give you cause to shoot me. I plan to live for a long time.”

“Good luck.” said Chris.

“The turn is just around this bend ahead,” said Adam.

They all sat quietly until the car had turned off the road onto a narrow, rutted lane.

“Stop,” said Chris. Helen pushed in the brake and the Ford came to a halt.

“How far down is it?” asked Chris.

“A hundred yards or so,” said Adam.

Chris looked at him a moment, then, abruptly, pulled up the door handle and pushed outside.

“We’ll walk.” he said.

Adam shrugged. “Up to you,” he said.

“Come out slowly,” Chris told him.

“Very slowly,” said Adam. He sounded as if he were almost enjoying the situation now. He pushed the seat forward and leaned over to get out of the car.

“Be seeing you,” he said to Helen. He sounded very confident.

Chris held the gun on him and leaned over to speak into the car.

“You stay here,” he said, “I’ll send Connie out to you. Then you go get the police.”

“What are you—?”

“I’ll stay with them,” Chris interrupted. “Just get the police as fast as you can. There’s a station at Malibu.”

“Chris—”

“Do what I say, honey.” Chris straightened up. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

“Chris.”

He glanced at Helen.

“Darling, please be careful,” she begged.

Despite the tension, Chris felt a rush of happiness at the sound in her voice. “I will,” he said.

He and Adam started walking down the road.

“Nice day,” said Adam. “Just remember what I said.”

“Oh, I will, I will,” said Adam.

Their shoes crunched along the hard-packed dirt. Chris glanced ahead but saw nothing. “For your sake, that shack better be there.”

“For your daughter’s sake,” said Adam. There was mockery in his voice now. Chris stiffened.

“She’d better be all right too,” he said.

Adam chuckled. “The trouble with you would-be heroes,” he said, “is you don’t know what you’re up against. Sooner or later, you make a mistake. You’ll make yours.”

“You—”

“There’s the shack,” said Adam.

Chris’s stride faltered as he caught sight of a battered shingle roof rising above the bushes ahead.

”Hold it,” he said.

Adam stopped and looked over at him. “What now, little hero?” he asked.

Chris hesitated. This part had to be right. If Steve knew, for a moment, what was going on, he might kill Connie—of that Chris had no doubt. This part had to be exactly right.

“Well?” asked Adam.

Chris’s grip tightened on the revolver.

“You’re going to call him out,” he said.

“Am I?”

“I’m not fooling, Adam.”

“Shall I call him now?”

“Walk down further,” Chris told him. “I’ll be right behind you. As soon as you’re in front of the shack, call him—and, by God, you’d better make it casual.”

Adam looked at him a moment, a detached smile on his lips. Then he turned. “Watch your step,” he said as if to a casual chess opponent. He started toward the shack.

“Remember—I’ll shoot if I have to.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll remember everything,” said Adam.

Chris walked after him, the gun tightly readied in his hand. He drank in a mouthful of air and exhaled it—then shivered, realizing how cold it was, how heavily still. So still it seemed as if his footsteps must be audible inside the shack.

Up ahead, Adam stopped, glanced back. Chris nodded. He was just out of sight of the cabin doorway, a mass of bushes hiding it from him.

Adam called out. “Steve!”

Chris felt his heartbeat jolt at the loudness of it. Was he wrong to try it like this? he wondered. Was there a better way?

“Hey, Steve!” Adam called again. He sounded very casual.

Chris stiffened as he heard the cabin door squeak open.

“Where the hell have you been?” Steve asked.

Abruptly, Chris lunged out from behind the bushes, gun raised. “Hold it!” he ordered.

Steve twitched in surprise. Then, suddenly, he was grabbing for the gun in his pocket.

“Keep your—!” Chris started before reflexes, quicker than thought, had pulled the trigger and a blast of thunder surrounded him. At the top of the rise, Steve hitched around, one hand clutching at his shoulder. He fell back against the cabin, a gush of blood drenching his fingers.

Chris threw a glance at Adam, who was still standing in the same place. Then he looked toward the cabin again. Steve was writhing n the ground, teeth set in a grimace of agony.

“Don’t try it again,” Chris warned him.

“Sonofabitch,” gasped Steve. Suddenly, he whined, biting at his lower lip.

Chris looked at the doorway.

“Connie!” he called.

The cabin was silent. Chris felt a chilling tremor in his loins. “No,” he murmured.

“Connie!” he shouted again. “It’s Daddy!”

“Daddy!”

Inside the cabin, there was a sound of bare feet running. Abruptly, Connie appeared in the doorway, still wearing her pajamas. When she saw Chris she cried out convulsively and ran out of the cabin. Without looking, she rushed down the steeply sloping ground toward him.

She’d almost reached him when she slipped. Instinctively, Chris jumped forward to grab her. The next instant, flailing down the slope to keep from falling, she crashed into him, knocking him off balance. He struggled to keep his footing but couldn’t. His right foot twisted under him, pitching him sideways onto the road, the impact breaking his grip.

The revolver went sliding away from him.

“Honey, look out! “ he gasped, lunging for it desperately.

Adam got there first. Chris saw him looming overhead, his lips pulled back in a brutal smile. Then everything was blotted out by Adam’s hurtling shoe. For a split second Chris tried to fling up his hands, tried to twist away. There was no time. The shoe tip crashed against his temple, stabbing a wedge of agony into his brain. Chris toppled over backward with a cry. Somewhere Connie screamed. Chris tried to move.

The next kick sent him spinning into blackness.

Helen was standing by the Ford when the explosion of the shot reached her.

For an instant, she stood transfixed, the rocking waves of sound breaking over her. Then, with a gasp, she broke into a hobbling run, her sandals slapping at the dirt. She ran heedlessly, her gaze held straight ahead on the road turn where Chris had disappeared. “No, please,” she kept on murmuring. “Please.” As if she were entreating someone.

Up ahead, Connie screamed.

“No!” Helen tried to run faster and felt a sting of pain on her sole where the sliver of glass had gone in the night before. She winced but kept on running.