CHAPTER 30

Bill Eppers had nightmares. His whole childhood it was bats, wolves, and a long-armed man who flicked knives at him and chased him through the park. When he turned fourteen, a girl showed up in his dreams. Slit-eyed, strawberry blonde. Ass like a rollercoaster he had to ride. She wore shimmery pink bikini bottoms and a Motley Criie tour shirt—a skull buried in roses. Her nipples bugged out like a pair of superballs. She grabbed the front of his jeans, slipped him some tongue. Her mouth tasted like a raspberry snow cone. She was that cold, too. Hairs started sprouting from her skin. Before he could do anything, she knocked him to the ground and sat on him, squeezing the air out of his lungs with her thighs. Stinking teeth pushed into his face. She had two tusks, like a boar’s. She ripped him. Blood filled his eyes. She moved down his chest and stomach. He heard her chewing. He touched himself and felt a gummy hole between his legs.

Jesus, he’d wake up drenched with the sweats.

This was worse. A human head—plopped down on the barcode scanner like a bag of circus peanuts.

He was going to be sick.

It just didn’t look like something you should ever have to see.

Open fishy eyes . ..

The decapitated body oozing into the aisle ...

Blood stinks. The smell gets into your throat. But he was a cop.

He didn’t want the rest of the American Rapids cops laughing at him. They were all here, milling around the murder scene. He swallowed a mouthful of frothy bile. He hung tape across the doors of the Fuel ’N Snacks.

Down the highway, a truck horn blared.

His captain tapped him on the shoulder.

“You’re looking green, Bill.”

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should step out for a minute.”

“I said I’m okay.”

“Check around the perimeter. See if you spot any evidence.”

“Oh, right. Good idea.”

Eppers zipped up his winter jacket. They didn’t want anyone touching the door. There might be prints on the glass. The door was propped open with a rubber wedge. He ducked under the tape into a gusting wind.

Four patrols blocked the two driveways. Eppers’ was the fifth car. He had been the earliest on the scene. His patrol was the only one in a parking spot. The others kept their distance. Supposedly to preserve any tire tracks under the pump canopy. But didn’t it make him look like a dumb-ass for pulling right up to the entrance? Who were they kidding?

The snow was knee-deep. There weren’t any tracks.

The guy who called it in came on foot. Said he was thirsty. He wanted to buy a can of Monster to perk up. Unlucky bastard was wide awake now. Eppers glanced through the storefront at him. He was young, a gamey doper smell to him. Saggy pants and no jacket, only a hoodie with a Batman insignia stitched on the back. He didn’t do this. Forever stupefied was what he was. Still they weren’t finished talking to him yet. Bet he’d never buy another Monster in his life.

The horn again.

Closer. The driver laying into it. Toot—toot—tOOOOOOt.

Coming this way.

Eppers picked out the light: a yellow brassiness visible through the snow.

Growing.

Splitting into two distinct headlamps.

Stampeding horses. That’s what it sounded like. The rumble of shredded rubber thumped like hoof beats. A snowplow. The blade mangled.

What the hell?

Eppers wandered out between the pumps.

Even in the cold, he could smell the gasoline fumes.

His shoes slipping, sliding ... he had to be careful and not land on his ass.

TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT...

Was the driver drunk? Wouldn’t be the first time ...

Eppers took his Maglite off his belt. Switched it on as he hurried to the curb. He waved the light over his head.

How could the driver not be slowing down?

It looked like a damn roadblock with all their light bars—red, white, and blue—a regular Fourth of July. The plow was gaining speed. He was going to blow right past.

Dammit. Unbelievable.

All the cops inside pressed themselves up to the glass to see.

Well, Eppers wasn’t about to step into the road and get killed.

But he did plan on spotting the plow’s city number.

He stood there with his hands on his hips.

Unbelievable.

Eppers turned back to the Fuel ’N Snacks to see if the other guys knew what was coming. Crazy fucking day. The weird business at the Totem in the morning, now this. The captain stormed out. He was running toward Eppers. Shouting, but Eppers couldn’t hear. Cap hit a patch of ice and skidded into the pumps. Fell to his knees. He looked like he might’ve dropped a loaf in his drawers. If he didn’t watch out he’d have a heart attack. Eppers might end up captain yet. He shouldn’t laugh. Cap was practically purple from

yelling his head off, but it was like his volume went kaput. The stampede drowned out everything. The scraping blade and ... how many tires had the plow lost?

Eppers shook his head.

Looked back at the highway.

The plow veered toward the Fuel ’N Snacks. The driver’s door opened and something black and flapping fell onto the pavement. The plow kept coming.

“Oh fuck!”

Eppers dropped his Maglite and started running.