XXIV
Granny dropped his useless flashlight next to the flare, which still glowed red, a tiny point of light in the dark basement. All but blind in the blackness, he backed away instinctively in a martial arts position. He had black belts in three different disciplines. Instantly, though, he concluded hand to claw combat was not the way to go with this creature—it had both a weight and muscle advantage. Besides, it healed fast. Granny would certainly lose.
Considering his options, he unslung the 30.06 with his left hand and the shotgun with his right. He needed to see to fire accurately, and he required light to see.
He needed a light right now. The rat would be on him any moment.
Was there a light source the rat could not extinguish?
It occurred to him that he was holding two light sources. He fired the shotgun. The immense muzzle blast from the over-sized barrel lit up the room for a fraction of a second. The acrid smell of black powder filled the air. A fraction of a second was all Granny needed.
He spied the rat, a little to his right, crouched, ready to pounce.
The shotgun blast missed, but the 30.06 did not. He fired three shots in less than two seconds at the location where he knew the rat was crouching. From the sound of the bullets impacting, he could tell all three had hit their target. The rat screamed in pain and anger.
In the glare of the final rifle blast, he saw the rat leap at him. Seamlessly, he moved to his left, out of the way. Spinning one hundred and eighty degrees, Granny fired the shotgun again. Not many people could fire an eight-gauge shotgun with one hand, but Granny had trained long hours with his favorite weapons and was comfortable using multiple weapons simultaneously. He knew what he was doing. The shotgun shells were custom made, and he loaded his own 30.06 cartridges.
The shotgun missed again, but gave off enough light for Granny to locate the rat and fire at it with the 30.06. Three more strikes hit the mark. Another screech of pain pierced the air. Granny now stood between the rat and the stairs. The tables had turned, giving Granny the upper hand.
Another shotgun blast lit up the room. This one hit the rat full in the face, and the flare’s glowing remnant on the floor reignited. The brilliant light briefly blinded both combatants. The gunfire had not killed the rat, and perhaps had not seriously wounded it, but did cause the rat to lose its concentration on the flare. The searing magnesium flame burned again at full force.
Granny had only three more shells in the shotgun. Stepping forward, he fired all three, hitting the rat in the head each time at close range. The rat had endured twelve-gauge fire previously from Camm and Cal, but taking a twelve-gauge hit and a magnum eight-gauge hit were two different things.
Not prepared to withstand this extreme degree of abuse, the rat searched for a way out. Only one option was open to it. As Granny continued firing the 30.06, the rat twisted and leaped through one of the basement windows. Sticks and sagebrush collapsed out of the way as the four-pane window shattered under the rat’s weight.
The window was barely large enough for the hulking frame of the rat to squeeze through. Granny continued to blast away at the rat until it was through the opening and out of the line of fire. Outside, the rat filled the air with sharp, shrill screeches of pain and anger before falling silent.
Granny turned and raced up the stairs. He imagined the rat running away down the deserted streets of Trona, but at the front door, he stopped short in mid-step. That fog of fear was still present and as heavy as ever. Granny felt it surge through him in waves.
The rat had not run away, but was still close. Sliding back from the door, Granny had no doubt it waited outside to ambush him the moment he stepped out the door.
The beast had not given up. Neither had Granny.
“Are the front doors open? Do we have an agent outside watching for the snake?” Agent Allen called breathlessly from the top of the stairs. She had left Mr. C alone in his room, but he had ordered her out here to help kill the snake.
“Done, and done!” Mr. S waved an arm at the two front doors wide open to a hot desert wind. “But something unusual is happening. Even though the two clocks are not communicating and are not syncing, our clock has started a transitional cycle of some kind. This wasn’t expected.”
“I hope that freakin’ snake hears the clock gonging and takes the bait,” Cal muttered.
He stood with Camm, Martha, and Lenny near the dining room door. On orders from both Mr. S and Agent Allen, they were to stay out of the way once the shooting started.
“It’s not the noise that draws the snake to the mansion.” Camm clarified. “Look at your breath. The deep cold tells us a transition is building. Even when that snake is too far away to feel the cold, it feels something looming. When that monster shows up here looking for easy prey, it’ll become our prey, and I’ll help you eat it.”
“I wish this were over.” Martha shifted nervously as she hugged herself to keep warm.
Lenny hung his head. “Dude, this is a sad day for . . .” He never finished.
Across the wide hall, the wall next to the grandfather clock seemed to stretch and grimace before vomiting out the giant Mojave Green. Agent Allen watched in total surprise from above.
“What the heck!” Agent Kline yelled from his place by the clock as the snake glided by.
The colossal snake slithered into the hall, throwing all preparations into confusion. Nobody had expected the snake to come in through a transitional opening. Behind the snake, the wall closed.
“Everybody against the wall,” Mr. S yelled. “Stand with your back against the wall.”
Standing against the wall prevented the snake from striking at them without causing damage to its own mouth. Both literally and figuratively, they had their backs against the wall.
Cal, Lenny, Martha, and Camm stood close together in a line, their backs to the wall. “How’d it do that?” Cal asked. “Just come in through a wall like that?”
Wide eyed, Lenny responded, “Dude!” For now, that answer would have to do.
In a beautiful, yet creepy way, the snake was magnificent. The green and black diamond designs on the white and grey scales were striking. Towards the end of the tail, the designs narrowed into concentric black rings that ended in large rattles. At the very end, some of the smaller rattles had been broken. The shiny scales shimmered as it undulated across the hall, holding its head five or six feet above the floor. The snake was so huge that if fitted with saddles, it would have served as a one-of-a-kind ride in an amusement park, had it not been inclined to eat the patrons.
Its head was daunting, the most unnerving part of the snake. The head never stopped darting back and forth. The one good eye was a black, soulless circle. The other eye socket, where Mr. C had implanted the pool cue, was a dark red void. The angles of the head were precise and square, as if chiseled. Its tongue continually tasted the air, flicking in and out. Its two needle sharp, sword-sized fangs glistened in the light.
Turning to Camm and Martha, Cal instructed, “Get into the dining room!”
Martha moved as if to follow Cal’s instructions, but Camm firmly planted both feet, folded her arms and glared at Cal. “I’m staying with you.”
Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Cal wished Camm would not be so stubborn. Cal was armed, while neither girl had asked for or been given a weapon. And nobody, least of all Cal, trusted Lenny with a gun.
With an urgent glance at the snake, Cal pulled Lenny in close and whispered quiet instructions. Without hesitation, Lenny awkwardly embraced both girls, pulling them through the dining room door to block it with his body in spite of any death threats from Camm.
Mr. S stood near the large fireplace with his back pressed to the wall. He pointed at Agent Kline. “Get upstairs. Shoot it from the balcony!”
Knowing the strategic advantage of taking the high ground, Agent Kline ran upstairs to the balcony. Pulling out the Smith and Wesson 500, he stepped to the railing’s edge, looking for a good opportunity to blast the snake. Without warning, he wobbled, suddenly off balance.
The snake had slithered to one end of the hall and was on its way back to the other. For the moment, it ignored a possible exit through the wide-open front doors.
Cal tracked his target with the assault rifle. When it was closest to him, with nobody in the line of fire, he pulled the trigger for several quick shots. Even though his quarry was only feet away, he missed with every shot. He heard them strike the wall on the other side of the hall.
Cal knew he was a good shot. He also knew it was impossible for him to miss any of those shots, let alone all of them. Yet, the snake had not been hit by a single shot.
Peering in disbelief over the second floor balcony, Agent Kline stared bug-eyed at the floor below. “Snakes!” he wailed. “Snakes everywhere! We’re all dead!”
Not only did he see the mammoth snake, but to him, the main hall floor now crawled with thousands of snakes. The floor moved and writhed with snakes, like a scene out of an Indiana Jones movie. Stumbling backwards away from the banister, he covered his eyes.
“Linda! Linda, get up here. I need you now!” There was sheer panic in his voice.
Agent Allen had placed herself on the stairway, about halfway down, but upon hearing the plea for help ran back up to see what Agent Kline was yelling about. She found him seated on the floor of the balcony, his back against the wall, the Smith and Wesson lying on the floor next to him.
He looked up at her with watering eyes, alarm etched across his features. “I’m having a flashback,” he cried. His whole body was shaking.
Hiding his face in his hands, he tried to block out the unwanted visual stimuli. “I still see it!”
Agent Allen picked up the gun and stepped away from the big, black man. There was no telling how he would respond to the hallucination. There was nothing she could do to help him now.
Mr. S shouted from downstairs, “What’s happening? Why aren’t you shooting the snake?”
Agent Allen looked over the balcony and caught Mr. S’s attention. Calmly, but loud enough to be heard, she explained, “Agent Kline is incapacitated. He’s having an LSD flashback.”
“Do you have the gun?” Mr. S yelled back.
“Then you shoot the snake. Shoot it now! We may not get another chance.”
A few moments earlier, Agent Allen had wished she had a .50 caliber weapon. Now, she had one. It was up to her to take the shot, make it count, and finally end the giant snake’s life.