Off Season - Jack Ketchum [64]
He’d expected some sort of house, he guessed, not this long empty stretch of sand and rock. There was only one thing to do now, and that was to wait here where the path through the woods led onto the beach and hope that the man behind him was not too long in giving up his search. If the man passed by, Nick would follow him, and a lot more closely this time. He just hoped the only access route was the one he’d come by. He cursed himself for thinking it would be so much easier to find them than it was, for coming down off the roof so slowly. His little excess of caution may have already cost them their lives.
He tried to shake off the sense of bitterness and frustration, the anxiety that unnerved him. It was calm he needed now, calm and alertness. Anxiety would only screw him up and fog his senses. It was just possible that he’d hear them or see a light somewhere if he was calm and easy enough, and then he wouldn’t have to wait for the man at all. He didn’t like the waiting. He was primed for another fight. Shithead, he thought, you should never have let them out of your sight. Never. And his fears for them rushed him all at once.
But for now he’d have to wait, and it seemed to him that there was probably a better way to do it. He turned over slowly and lay quietly on his back, astonished at the huge bowl of stars that appeared before him. It was a beautiful night and he’d never noticed. The depth and clarity of a night sky like this had never failed to touch him, and even now for a moment, on the worst night of his life, a little of the serene indifference and loss of will that always accompanied his gazing at such a sky sounded in him briefly, and then disappeared.
Great night for terror, he thought, and moved his head back a few inches so he could see the path again. He felt a little better now. His heartbeat and respiration felt regular and even. And though he saw the path upside down now, his field of vision was much greater than before—as wide as possible, actually. He’d only to adjust his glasses. That was pretty good. By moving his head a few inches he could keep an eye on the path and those areas to both right and left of it; and then by moving again slightly he could look down over his body right to the shoreline, making it impossible for anyone to approach him from behind. Much better, he thought. I’m actually doing this right. He wondered if they taught this position in the army. Dan would have known. But Dan was gone.
He parted the grass with his gun again so he’d have an unobstructed view of the path, found himself a comfortable position, and relaxed as best he could. No telling how long this will take, he thought. The air was damp, chilly, filled with a tight salt spray. If the man was too long in coming, he was going to have one hell of a stiff neck. But it was a lot better than getting his throat cut from behind. These guys were pretty good in the dark. He wondered how long they hung around the house, checking the place out before making their move. He’d bet it was a while, and of course nobody’d heard or seen a thing. The dark would be this man’s natural ally. Like most predators. He remembered Jim’s naked body on the couch, the shards of glass glittering along his chest.
He glanced down past his feet in front of him again. His eyes flashed. Suddenly he felt as if he’d been stuck by a cattle prod. His body recoiled and threw him back six inches in the grass. There the man was, framed against the shoreline and the sea, a big dark silhouette in the moonlight, moving slowly past him only two or three yards away. Nick felt damned lucky.
He’d been stupid again. There was a second path through the woods—of course there was. They lived somewhere around here, didn’t they? They were killers.