King Stephen - Mile 81

He made a circling gesture with his hand. “Walk around it! Walk around and come over here!”

They slipped through the guardrails on the left side of the ramp, giving the station wagon the widest berth possible, then cut across the parking lot. When they got to Pete, the little girl let go of her brother, sat down, and put her face in her hands. She had braids her mom had probably fixed for her. Looking at them and knowing the kid’s mother would never fix them for her again made Pete feel horrible.

The little boy looked up solemnly. “It ate mommy-n- daddy. It ate the horse-lady and Trooper Jimmy, too. It’s going to eat everyone, I guess. It’s going to eat the world .”

If Pete Simmons had been twenty, he might have asked a lot of bullshit questions that didn’t matter. Because he was only half that age, and able to accept what he had just seen, he asked something simpler and more pertinent. “Hey, little girl. Are more police coming? Is that why you were yelling ‘Thirty’?”

She dropped her hands and looked up at him. Her eyes were raw and red. “Yes, but Blakie’s right. It will eat them, too. I told Trooper Jimmy, but he didn’t believe me.”

Pete believed her, because he had seen . But she was right. The police wouldn’t believe. They would eventually, they’d have to, but maybe not before the monster car ate a bunch more of them.

“I think it’s from space,” he said. “Like on Doctor Who .”

“Mommy-n-daddy won’t let us watch that,” the little boy told him. “They say it’s too scary. But this is scarier.”

“It’s alive.” Pete spoke more to himself than to them.

“Duh,” Rachel said, and gave a long, miserable sniffle.

The sun ducked briefly behind one of the unraveling clouds. When it came out again, an idea came with it. Pete had been hoping to show Normie Therriault and the rest of the Rip-Ass Raiders something that would amaze them enough to let him be part of their gang. Then George had given him a big-brother reality check: They’ve all seen that baby trick a thousand times .

Maybe so, but maybe that thing down there hadn’t seen it a thousand times. Or even once. Maybe they didn’t have magnifying glasses where it came from. Or sun, for that matter. He remembered a Doctor Who episode about a planet where it was dark all the time.

He could hear a siren in the distance. A cop was coming. A cop who wouldn’t believe anything little kids said, because as far as grownups were concerned, little kids were all full of shit.

“You guys stay here. I’m going to try something.”

“No!” The little girl grasped his wrist with fingers that felt like claws. “It’ll eat you, too!”

“I don’t think it can move around,” Pete told her, disengaging his hand. She had left a couple of bleeding scratches, but he wasn’t mad and he didn’t blame her. He probably would have done the same, if it had been his parents. “I think it’s stuck in one place.”

“It can reach ,” she said. “It can reach with its tires. They melt.”

“I’ll watch out,” Pete said, “but I have to try this. Because you’re right. Those cops will come, and it will eat them, too. Stay put.”

He walked toward the station wagon. When he was close (but not too close), he unzipped the saddlebag. I have to try this , he had told the kids, but the truth was a little balder: he wanted to try this. It would be like a science experiment. That would probably sound bizarre if he told someone, but he didn’t have to tell. He just had to do it. Very . . . very . . . carefully.

He was sweating. With the sun out, the day had turned warm, but that wasn’t the only reason, and he knew it. He looked up, squinting at the brightness. Don’t you go back behind a cloud. Don’t you dare. I need you .

He took his Richforth magnifying glass out of the saddlebag, and bent to put the saddlebag on the pavement. The joints of his knees cracked, and the station wagon’s door swung open a few inches.

It knows I’m here. I don’t know if it can see me, but it heard me just now. And maybe it smells me .

He took another step. Now he was close enough to touch the side of the station wagon. If he was fool enough to do so, that was.

“ Watch out !” the little girl called. She and her brother were both standing now, their arms around each other. “ Watch out for it !”

Carefully—like a kid reaching into a cage with a lion inside—Pete extended the magnifying glass. A circle of light appeared on the side of the station wagon, but it was too big. Too soft . He moved the glass closer.

“ The tire !” the little boy screamed. “ Watch out for the TII-YIII-IRE !”

Pete looked down and saw one of the tires melting. A tentacle was oozing across the pavement toward his sneaker. He couldn’t back away without giving up his experiment, so he raised his foot and stood stork. The tentacle immediately changed direction and headed for his other foot.

Not much time .

He moved the magnifying glass closer. The circle of light shrank to a brilliant white dot. For a moment nothing happened. Then tendrils of smoke began to drift up. The muddy white surface beneath the dot turned black.

From inside the station wagon there came an inhuman growling sound. Pete had to fight every instinct in his brain and body to keep from running. His lips parted, revealing teeth locked together in a desperate snarl. He held the Richforth steady, counting off seconds in his head. He’d reached seven when the growl rose to a glassy shriek that threatened to split his head. Behind him, Rachel and Blake had let go of each other so they could cover their ears.

At the foot of the rest area entrance ramp, Al Andrews brought Unit 12 to a sliding stop. He got out, wincing at that terrible shrieking sound. It was like an air-raid siren broadcast through a heavy metal band’s amplifiers , he would say later. He saw a kid holding something out so it almost touched the surface of a muddy old Ford or Chevy station wagon. The boy was wincing in pain, determination, or both.

The smoking black spot on the flank of the station wagon began to spread. The white smoke curling up from it began to thicken. It turned gray, then black. What happened next happened fast. Pete saw tiny blue flames pop into being around the black spot. They spread, seeming to dance above the surface of the car-thing. It was the way charcoal briquettes looked in their backyard barbecue after their father doused them with lighter fluid and then tossed in a match.

The gooey tentacle, which had almost reached the sneakered foot still standing on the pavement, snapped back. The car yanked in upon itself again, but this time the spreading blue flames stood out all around it in a corona. It pulled in tighter and still tighter, becoming a fiery ball. Then, as Pete and the Lussier kids and Trooper Andrews watched, it shot up into the blue spring sky. For a moment longer it was there, glowing like a cinder, and then it was gone. Pete found himself thinking of the cold darkness above the envelope of the earth’s atmosphere—those endless leagues where anything might live and lurk.

I didn’t kill it, I just drove it away. It had to go so it could put itself out, like a burning stick in a bucket of water .

Trooper Andrews was staring up into the sky, dumbfounded. One of his brain’s few working circuits was wondering how he was supposed to write up a report on what he had just seen.

There were more approaching sirens in the distance.

Pete walked back to the two little kids with his saddlebag in one hand and his Richforth magnifying glass in the other. He sort of wished George and Normie were here, but so what if they weren’t? He’d had quite an afternoon for himself without those guys, and he didn’t care if he got grounded or not. This made jumping bikes off the edge of a stupid sandpit look tame.