Off Season - Jack Ketchum [52]
“Dan’s dead,” she said.
“I know.”
“I shot him. I don’t think I meant to hit him. I think I only meant to hit the woman.” She felt the tears returning.
“It’s all right. Marjie.”
“They were . . . slaughtering him. Like an animal.”
“It’s all right.”
“Do you think you can stand?”
“I think so. Sure.” She helped him to his feet. “Thank god it was only that little girl on the knife and not one of the others,” he said. He winced trying to walk with her. “Did you see her? Did you see her face when I . . .”
“I saw it,” she said.
“We’ve got to think how to get out of here.” His voice sounded flat, like her own. They had arrived at the same place, then, she thought. It was not a good place, not a place she wished to be, but it might help them to survive. “How many times did you fire?” he asked her.
“Twice.”
“There’s one cartridge left then. I loaded five.” He smiled humorlessly. “Not even enough for us to—”
“I wouldn’t, anyway,” she said.
He nodded. “Neither would I. Is there anything else in the house? Something we can hurt them with?”
“Not much. The shovel by the fireplace. A couple knives—I can’t believe they’d do us much good. An axe in the woodshed, but damned if I’m going out after it.”
“Nothing in the attic?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your legs are better than mine,” he said. “Go look. And leave me the gun just in case.”
She took the stairs two at a time, stood on the landing, and turned on the light. Nothing, she thought. Some milk crates, magazines, an old dresser and an old mattress. Then she saw the scythe. Maybe this, she thought. Then something else occurred to her. She ran back down the stairs to tell Nick. He was watching them through the peephole. His face was white.
“They’re not human,” he said. “Not even close.”
She ignored that. “Listen,” she said. “I think we can barricade ourselves into the attic. The door’s not as strong as this one, but there’s a big heavy dresser up there and a mattress. Suppose we nailed the door shut and put the mattress in front of it, and the dresser in front of that? We might keep them out. At least for a while. Somebody’s bound to see that fire eventually.”
“Show me,” he said.
They went upstairs, Nick leaning heavily on the banister. Ordinarily, the leg wound would have laid him up for a week. Every time he put the foot down it felt like somebody was slapping him with a triphammer. He’d have to keep moving or it would stiffen on him. But he was going to have to keep moving anyway if he was going to stay alive.
They made it to the landing. Nick went to the dresser and gave it a push. Marjie was right. It was some kind of hard, heavy wood. Oak or something. The mattress was double-bed size and it occurred to him that that was why it was up here—there were no double beds down below anymore. The attic door was not too strong but the dresser and mattress together would make a pretty good defense. It could be done.
“Only one thing I don’t like,” he said, “and that’s putting our backs to the wall this way. If they do get in here the only way out is through that window. That’s maybe fifteen feet to the ground and I don’t even know if I fit through. At least down below we’ve got two doors and plenty of windows.”
“Yes, but that’s just the problem, isn’t it. Plenty of ways for them to get in and only two of us to keep them out once they start trying. And they will start trying. We wouldn’t have a prayer.”
“Probably not.”
“This way there’s only one place to fortify.”
He walked to the window and looked outside. “Jesus, I hate that jump,” he said.
“It’s our only alternative. Unless you want to run for it.”
He frowned. “Laura can’t run,” he said.
“To hell with Laura,” she said. Her voice was like a slap in the face. For an instant the change in her astonished him. Was this the same girl who worried about fast cars and needed aisle seats in movie theaters? Carla was always the tough one. Marjie was the one who needed protection. But maybe they both were tough; they were sisters, after all. And maybe