The Gorge

CHAPTER FORTY

“Take Haircut’s gun,” Ace Goodall said to the girl.

“That’s not a good idea,” Castle replied, wondering how fast he could pull his weapon. This wasn’t Quantico, where the quickest draw would win a beer, or a Western where the actors were firing blanks.

The short, unkempt man with the wild eyes had crept from the forest as the group reached the bottom of the falls. Castle, busy scanning the sky, noticed too late. He’d been listening for The Rook and his prey had found him instead. Another balls-up boondoggle.

“I don’t mind killing,” Goodall said. “I done it before.” He eyed each member of the group as if counting them, apparently not noticing Farrengalli’s absence. “Where’s your sidekick? Did my trip wire get him?”

“No, something else. That’s why you’d better let me keep my gun.”

Goodall laughed. “The angels, you mean?”

Total schism, The Rook said in his head. Goodall has lost all touch with reality. Delusions of religious grandeur. It fits the assessment.

The Rook hadn’t spoken in nearly an hour, long enough that Castle had thought it had all been in his head. In your head? Ha, that’s funny. Never figured you for a sense of humor.

“You’ve seen these creatures, too?” Bowie said.

“You the leader of this group?” Goodall asked.

“Looks like you are.”

“Smart-asses all up and down this river, I swear.”

“I don’t know how much you know, but those things have already killed two people.”

“Maybe more,” Castle added, remembering the New Jersey couple he’d sent into the woods.

Castle thought Goodall’s companion looked almost young enough to be his daughter, but her body was mature enough to be on its own. Though her face was etched with misery, she wasn’t being held against her will. If she had wanted, no doubt the night forest had afforded her many opportunities to flee.

Except, where could she go? Maybe she knew about the creatures, too, and figured Ace Goodall could protect her. After all, better the devil you knew.

Jim Castle didn’t blink as she approached him and lifted his Glock from its holster. She held the gun between two fingers as if it were a snake as she carried it back to Goodall, who took it from her with his left hand and stuffed it into the waistband of his dirty camouflage pants.

Goodall waved his gun, a little cocky now. “Who’s going to blow up this raft?”

“You’re the one with the explosives,” Castle said.

“Ha-ha,” Goodall said with a sour grin. “You want to put your lips on the valve, or you got a better way?”

“We have a portable air pump,” Bowie said.

“Fill ‘er up, then. What the hell you waiting for? Judgment Day?”

Raintree, standing beside Dove, hadn’t moved a muscle, as implacable as a stone pillar. Dove stooped for his backpack, but he stopped her, grabbing for it himself. He was unzipping a side pocket when Goodall said, “Easy there, Tonto. Don’t make no sudden moves.”

Castle eyed the distance between him and Goodall. Chances were a lot less than fifty-fifty. Maybe one in a hundred. But without a gun and without a raft, their chances were near zero anyway, assuming more of those creatures came pouring from the sky. At least the rain had let up a little, though the visibility was still poor. And getting worse as darkness set down its tent pegs.

As Raintree inflated the raft, Goodall appeared to consider something. His cold, reptilian eyes narrowed. “Clara, did you count how many there was up at the top of the falls? When the angel flew down and scattered them?”

Clara, arms folded, shivering a little, spoke for the first time. “I don’t remember. It was so foggy-”

“Five,” he said. “They was five, not counting the one that got took down.” He swung the pistol barrel back toward Castle. “You said your partner was dead?”

I’m not dead anymore. I’m UNdead. Castle was disturbed by the distant, alien tone. The Rook should know this wasn’t a time for joking around.

“The vampires got him,” Castle said. “He’s one of them now.”

“Vampires? The fuck you talking about? This ain’t no comic book.”

“The creatures,” Bowie said. “We think they’re vampires.”

Ace laughed so hard, he leaned over with his fists on his knees. “Holy Christ, Clara. Did you hear that? These dickheads must think we’re some kind of gravy-sopping, redneck morons.”

“I heard,” Clara said. “Let’s get out of here, Ace.”

“You, too? I told you ya got to have faith. Have those angels harmed a hair on our heads? Nary a one. And has the Lord provided, every time we needed a lift or a hideout or a bite to eat? Damn right He has.”

Clara didn’t look convinced. With her saturated, stringy hair trailing across her shoulders, she was as miserable as a drowned rat.

“What about you?” Goodall said to Dove. “You and Tonto must be the brains of the bunch, since you ain’t talked much. You think they’re vampires?”

“I think they’re a missing link,” she said. “An undiscovered species. When the world finds out, it’ll make Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster look like something out of the Goosebumps books.”

“Big words,” Goodall said to Clara. “She must have gone to college, too.”

“Angels don’t rip open the necks of humans and drink their blood,” Raintree said.

“What do you think it is, Tonto? Some kind of Evil Spirit?”

“Whatever they are, they’re dangerous, and they could attack any second,” Bowie said.

“Take off your life jacket,” Goodall ordered. Bowie frowned and undid the plastic snaps that held the nylon restraints in place. Goodall shook the pistol at Dove and Raintree. “You, too. Throw them on the ground.”

Clara retrieved them, giving one to Goodall, who slid one arm in, switched the pistol to his left hand, and shrugged into the other armhole. Clara put on the other one, and Ace tossed the other two into the river, where they squirted away. “All right,” he said to Bowie. “Let’s get this love boat heading downstream.”

Castle wondered if Bowie would warn them the water was too treacherous. More likely, he was in a hurry to send them on their way. With nightfall coming on, Goodall and the girl would be lucky to make it a half mile before the raft was swamped or they got pitched out by the rocking rapids.

“What about food?” Clara said.

“Load up all the backpacks, Tonto. We’ll need all of it sooner or later.” Goodall opened one, rummaged, and brought out a magnesium flashlight. He gave it to Dove. “Rig this to your helmet.”

He put another of the Maglites in his pocket.

“You’re going to leave us here, unarmed and without supplies, to face the vampires?” Bowie said. “ Angels, I mean?”

“Not all of you,” Goodall said to him. “You’re coming with us.”

Dove stepped forward. “You’ll need another experienced paddler to make it through the water. It’s risen at least a foot.”

“Sorry, good-looking,” Goodall said. “Might get a little too crowded, and it’s hard to class=Section2› keep a watch on two people.”

“I’m a better paddler than Bowie.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But I got my hands full with Clara here. Be hard for me to keep two women satisfied.”

“Asshole.”

Goodall swung the gun from Castle to Dove. Raintree stepped in front of Dove.

Hmm, Castle thought. He’s sweet on her. Or maybe he has some kind of stupid code of honor. A code of honor like I used have, back when I gave a damn.

Because Castle realized now was the best opportunity to charge Goodall, knock the gun from his hand, throw a right punch into his crooked sneer. But like the quick-draw fantasy, this was the empty, scripted imagery from an action movie. His feet were as heavy as boulders, the rain in his eyes as warm as tears.

So much for the courageous F-uh-bee-eye Man, taunted The Rook. You’re still four years old, pissing in bed because you’re too scared to put your feet on the floor and walk to the bathroom. Scared of what’s under there, down in the dark.

“Nice move, Tonto,” Goodall said. “Now, load those backpacks in the raft and drag it over to the river.”

Raintree didn’t move.

“Get going or I’ll blow a hole right through you and into your squaw.”

“You’d better listen to him,” Castle heard himself saying. “He’s got a half-dozen notches in his gun, and a couple more won’t matter. He’ll face a death sentence anyway.”

“Wrong, G-man,” Goodall said. “I don’t face death. I face eternal life in the bosom of the Lord.”

Raintree gave Dove a look, then collected the four backpacks and dropped them in the swollen raft, along with three of the doubled-headed paddles. Dove helped him pull the raft to the water’s edge.

Castle watched Goodall’s eyes. The bomber was distracted, watching the churning river as if expecting it to calm down, or maybe for the waters to part. The Rook had made a big deal about Goodall’s religious mania, a textbook case of schizophrenia. Except Goodall had shown a rational cunning in planning his bomb attacks and eluding pursuit. This wasn’t the work of a guy who had scrambled eggs in place of brains.

So maybe God is on his side, The Rook chimed in. And the angels really are angels.

“And they carried you off to heaven?” Castle said aloud.

Goodall brought the pistol to bear on Castle. “What did you say, Haircut?”

Castle folded his arms. Maybe he was the textbook case. Voices in his head, the childhood memories of claws tracking the bed frame, an inability to act despite the best law enforcement training on the planet. He was little more than a bag of blood, waiting to be tapped by Ace’s angels. “Nothing.”

“A lot of words to say nothing,” Goodall said. “Come on, babe, it’s bon voyage time. You-what’s your name? Bowie? — get it in the water and hold in place till we’re in. You up front. I’ll be riding shotgun in the back.”

“Have either of you ever done any white-water rafting?” Bowie asked them.

“No, but we took a canoe ride,” Goodall said. “I’d guess the canoe is two miles downstream by now.”

“I need a second paddler, then.”

“No can do, Chief.”

“I need a PFD.”

“A life jacket? No, I don’t want you to get any ideas about jumping ship.”

“It’s suicide to set out on this water. I know this gorge. Lots of tributaries and gullies. A flash food could come tearing down on us like a tidal wave.”

“It won’t be suicide,” Goodall said. “‘Mercy killing’ is more like it. You ought to have a little faith.”

“Faith was great for Noah and his family,” Castle said. “But it sucked for the rest of the world.”

Goodall ignored him. “Get on, big man,” he said to Bowie.

Bowie scooted the raft in the water, holding it by the grab loop. It caught the current immediately and bounced against the rocks along the shore. Bowie, knee-deep in the water, strained against the obvious force of the fast-moving Unegama. The girl, Clara, rolled up her pants legs, though they were already soaked, before she waded to the raft and boarded, nearly tipping it over.

Goodall took a last look around, as if counting again. “Shit fire,” he said. “I lost count of you folks, but I know you had two rafts at the top of the falls. Where’s the other one?”

Raintree, shielding Dove again, said, “We busted it.”

“Thing looks pretty sturdy to me.”

“You want to know the truth?” Castle said. “I shot two holes in it. I didn’t want these people slowing me down.”

“Hey, G-man, don’t be filling me full of bull. We both know it’s not that easy to walk out of here. Take two or three days if you’re lucky, and that’s not counting the rain and my little flying friends. You’d have to be crazy to do something like that.”

“He is crazy,” Raintree said. “He’s been talking to himself.”

Goodall looked around, then checked the sky. The precipitation had eased, but the sky was still a writhing mass of oily rags. Castle figured full dark was a half hour away. He wondered if the creatures, like the monsters that had lived under his bed, would become more active at night.

“What do you think, Clara?” Goodall asked.

“I don’t want to wait around. I’m scared.”

“Jesus, babe. You’re as bad as the rest. I told you the Lord would deliver, and He brought this raft right to us, gave us a bunch of food and other goodies, probably some nice tents in those backpacks. This group is outfitted to beat the band. And He gave us a guide.” Goodall grinned, showing stained and chipped enamel. “The Lord wandered in the wilderness himself, but it was all just a test. Did Jesus give in to the devil even if it would have made His life easier?”

Textbook, The Rook whispered.

“We can’t do anything about the other raft,” Clara said.

“Reckon you’re right for a change.”

Castle waited until Goodall took a precarious step onto a mossy stone. The killer’s gun was held out at shoulder level as he established his balance on the raft. He was swinging his other leg forward when Castle took a running leap. Three quick steps and then he was airborne, he was flying, flying like a goddamned vampire angel, soaring toward his target and The left side of his body burned as if splashed with a bucket of hellfire and he crashed down on the sand, a dead, soggy leaf sticking to his cheek as he sucked in a lungful of broken glass and rusty nails.