The Explorer skidded when Mark Pedersen stomped on the brake pedal. Once the vehicle had emerged from the storm just shy of the Shortstop, he had broken just about every moving violation in the last two minutes, from speeding to running a stop. He did not understand his urgency, but the storm itself had driven him to more desperate action. The bluster had simply ceased in the blink of an eye, and he could not be certain the storm hadn’t been in his head. Still, real or not, he held no doubt that the Dark had tried to stop him. And if that were true, then there was something in this park it did not want him to discover … or interfere with.
He got out and closed the door silently. He waited anxiously for an aftershock of the quake that had rocked the road beneath him as he had raced down Main. Skidding sideways, he had nearly struck the lone parked car along the street, and as he had gotten his vehicle under control, wondered, had the Dark caused it?
It seemed impossible, but a few hours ago, a Tree Man seemed just as so.
Could it really have done it?
If it did … what hope did he have of stopping it? What hope did anyone have?
His heart skipped. Cold rippled along his arms and the nape of his neck.
The eyes were here.
The Dark was here.
He glanced along the street searching for any signs of life. His was the only vehicle in sight. The abandoned homes were giant, unburied coffins.
A second chill raced up his back as he turned to the west. Twilight.
He turned and saw the PINE STREET sign. He wondered if he should check on Susan and her son. Although the tremors appeared to have caused no damage, it might be prudent.
Mar scanned the park, considered going in, but instead placed a hand on the door of the Explorer.
Then he heard them.
~
It took a moment for Mark to gain a bearing to where the ruckus was coming from. He moved as fast as he could along a well-packed trail. His leg throbbed, but he sucked it up and double-timed toward the sledding hills. He made twenty yards and stopped, as if struck by a wall of will.
Something burst into his brain and rocked him. It was as if someone had entered his body through his mind. It stood inside him, talking to him. Except the voice wasn’t talking, it was screaming. Screaming that word, over and over like a broken record.
He knew that voice.
Kelan Lisk.
And strange as that was, it wasn’t just Kelan’s voice. Mark was certain there was another. Yes, deep beneath that of the boy’s. As if it were echoing the same chilling chant, yet at a much lower frequency, barely audible to the human ear—but entirely audible to the human mind.
He staggered. He could barely stand. His body ached from the cold that gripped him; the air in his lungs seemed to freeze. His head pounded, the word in his head growing like a tumor, and as he fought its will, it fought harder, sending him reeling to the brink of collapse.