CHAPTER NINETEEN

ON THE VERGE of cascade, I collided with the opened door and stumbled onto the base of the stairs. “Evie!”

The house had been tossed, hurriedly but violently. All the doors were open. They’d been here, looking for her. That meant they hadn’t found her. Trembling, I clutched the stair rail and forced the mental torrent beneath the surface. Stable for the time being, I bolted for the master bedroom. Snatching my 12 gauge and a vest full of shells, I tore out the back and leapt the fence into the Claxtons’ backyard.

Their back door lay as wide open as the front. Again, no one inside, house tossed, no blood, no signs of confrontation. I levered five shells into the shotgun while scanning the rest of the house.

On returning to the living room, a flicker of movement through the window caught my eye. I ducked behind the couch. Someone was next door, in my house. Heart pounding, I slipped around the couch and into the kitchen. I glimpsed a quick snatch of a bald head, grey suit—the same from the lab. I froze, my mind flickering on a lost memory, impounded somewhere deep inside. Locked up long ago. No key.

I shook it off. There on the kitchen counter lay Evie’s bag, the copy of The Austin Job on top of it. Without thinking, I shoved the book in my belt and sprinted for the front door. No sooner than I crossed the threshold I felt my feet slip, still running, but without touching the ground.

One of the twitchers stared at me from the edge of the front porch. His expression shifted from peace to anger the moment he realized I had pulled the trigger of the shotgun in my right hand.

Holding it one-handed and at the waist, it rebounded viciously, nearly snapping my wrist. Just as quickly, the force holding me off the ground lapsed. Spinning, I landed in the lawn on all fours and rolled.

Fighting the pain, I pumped another shell into the chamber and fired from less than a dozen feet away. This time tiny pinpricks of blood mottled his grey suit as he screeched—a combination of stereo feedback and mewling kitten.

A second twitcher emerged from my house. At a sprint I loaded another round as the sod beneath my feet ripped away, flying off in all directions. Time slowed.

The air around me began to ripple, as if jumping out of the way. I leapt. Turning in mid-air, I shouldered the weapon. Droplets of oil sheared from the barrel’s finish, whipping against my face. Chunks of earth along with moisture from the air ripped past me.

I steadied the aim, gently pulling the trigger. Before the shot could emerge, the light beyond the end of the barrel shifted in color from a steady blue-white to a glowing violet. With a burst and roar I hit the ground rolling. Back on my feet, I finished the distance to the truck.

The moment I reached it, the mailbox smashed into the passenger-side door as the truck itself began sliding sideways. A barrage of debris pelted my back until a heavy object struck me in the head. Collapsing against the truck door, my mind flickered. Above the surface of thought I remained vaguely aware of the glass spider-webbing against one of my cheeks while hot wind scoured the other.

I blinked. When I opened my eyes again, the desert sun shone on dunes and wilderness in every direction—blinding, overexposed, white-hot sun. “Who are you?”

“Little Buck forget Uncle Red-Eyes already?”

I shook my head, an innocent gesture. The long, scraggly hair of my youth clung to my sunburned face, skin peeling away in sheets like old wallpaper.

“Uncle is only one remaining to Little Buck, only reason he is still here.” The red-eyed man smiled. “Is time to come home for visit.”

“No.”

I gripped the door frame with both hands—hot wind on my back, the cab of my truck in front. Shoving off and lifting my feet, I plunged both boots through the glass. Hurling into the cab, I pointed the shotgun toward the house, closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.

The ignition of gunpowder battered the inside of the cab as my boots struck the glass of the passenger-side door and stopped. I dropped across the seats, the console catching me in the back. Rolling onto the floor, I shifted the truck into gear and shoved the accelerator down with one hand while trying to steady the wheel with the other.

I heard honking, felt the tires jump the curb back into the street. I sat up in time to see the third twitcher helping the second one up in my rearview mirror. The next thing I knew, I was hurtling through the windshield, the sounds of crushing metal a symphony in my ears.