CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

There was a certain edge of hysteria to their laughter, but the two of them were laughing and it felt good. You know, where it wasn’t causing them pain. Even as he spoke, even as he tried to suppress his laughter, Wade was holding his side where his ribs were tender. “I’m just saying now and then it would be nice if the creepy crawly things would, I don’t know, be slower. Maybe just sort of meander where they’re going instead of coming on like freight trains.”

Carl chuckled and agreed. His right hand was firm on the wheel. His left was there too, but sort of just to have a place to be.

“I’m just glad the rats weren’t all vampires too.”

“That’s not even funny, Carl.” Wade laughed as he said it. And winced.

“No, think about it. All of ’em running around with little capes, or in this case carrying little Bibles.”

“Gotta say, I thought the flamethrower was overkill when you first hauled it out.”

“Well, I thought if there was a lot of vampires left, you know, but I never even got to the damned thing for them. They were all too fast.” He shook his head. “Even the half one.” His eyes were wide and a little shocky, but he started laughing. “That little bastard was trucking! I thought he was gonna take out your kneecaps for sure!”

Wade started laughing again too, and it got bad enough that Carl pulled over while the two of them laughed and shook and tried their best to get past the freak show they’d just survived. They’d been there before, of course. They’d shared a couple of beers after the incident in Crawford’s Hollow and spent most of the time comparing notes and cracking wise about things that simply weren’t funny until you looked at them in the right light.

When Carl could drive again they moved, carefully, back onto the road. Ten minutes of comfortable silence followed as they wound their way back to Carl’s house and the very extensive collection of first aid bandages he had there. It wasn’t that he was overly prepared for taking care of himself, more that he tended to prefer mending his own wounds when he could, to waiting at the hospital’s emergency room.

Besides, bandages were cheap. Also, he had better coffee. He parked the truck just a little after nine in the evening.

There were spots where the faint glow of the sunset could still be seen, but mostly in Wellman the mountains around them had long since hidden the dusk away.

“Got to tell you, I really hope that bastard ran. I don’t want to deal with any more dead things.” Carl wasn’t really sure if he was talking to himself or to Wade. Either way, Wade made a noise of agreement as he reached for the passenger’s side door handle.

Carl looked at his lawn and frowned. Somebody was messing with his property again. The grass was bulged out around the same spot where the bastards had put the grave marker before.

Even as he thought that, the ground exploded. That was the only word for it, really. The lawn and the sod and the fresh soil all exploded outward in a geyser.

And while he was watching chunks of dirt flowing, Lazarus Cotton reached the side of the truck closest to him, grabbed the lower edge of the whole damned thing and flipped the truck with him and Wade still in it.

He came out of the damned ground! He came out of the damned ground where some bastard had dug a grave and I never once thought to double check on who fixed my lawn.

And then the world turned over.

* * *

Griffin sagged against the seatbelt as the truck came to rest on its roof. What the hell had just happened? No time to worry about it. He couldn’t reach the latch for the seatbelt from his current position so he popped open the lock blade knife he kept clipped to his left pocket and cut the belt away. The windshield had collapsed inward, but the safety film manufacturers used on them had kept the glass from shattering. It didn’t do shit for the passenger side window however, which shattered as a hand reached through and grabbed a fistful of Griffin’s shirt. A moment later he was pulled through the window.

Lazarus Cotton held Griffin at arm’s length, keeping Griffin’s feet just off the ground. Folding knife still in hand, he jammed it into Cotton’s forearm. That did no good whatsoever and Cotton smiled at him before pitching him across the yard.

Griffin wasn’t caught off guard this time so he managed to land a bit more gracefully than the last time a vampire had sent him flying, though the impact was still considerable. Griffin got up cursing. He was getting God damned tired of being tossed around. At two hundred and thirty-five pounds he was used to being the one doing the tossing.

He stalked across the yard, pulling the iron spike from its sheath as he went. He went into a crouch, what the Nam vets called ‘short timer’ stance. Knife held low in the rear hand, front hand extended to block or grab. He moved in fast, trying for Cotton’s heart.

With embarrassing ease, the gray haired, chubby preacher slipped out of the way. He caught Griffin’s arm and twisted and Griffin felt the bone break. He stumbled back as a wave of nausea swept across him.

“Thank you, Lord,” Cotton said, “for seeing fit to deliver thine enemies before me.”

“Deliver this,” Griffin heard Carl say and then the air was filled with gunfire. It was a nice tight grouping. Five out of six rounds from Carl’s .357 struck Cotton in the face. It bothered the man not at all. It did, however, distract him from Griffin and he started toward Carl, who was standing in a shooter’s crouch in front of the upturned truck. Griffin tried to remember where the iron sword and the ax were. They had been in the back of the truck, which meant they were probably out of reach. With his right arm useless, Griffin caught up the iron spike with his left hand. He was starting to really feel his broken arm now. Don’t pass out. Don’t go into shock. He kept inwardly repeating this mantra as he stumbled after Lazarus Cotton.