THE THING THAT looks like a man in a gas mask steps out of room 6 almost casually, with its hands behind its back. From down here, it looks shorter than it should be, the leather jacket it wears sagging on its frame. It stumbles and pauses, wavering. It looks injured somehow, off-balance. I take the span of a single breath to wonder if Gabe and Charlie succeeded. Maybe they weakened the Bug Man and the anomaly by destroying the antenna, cutting off its signal.
But then the Bug Man is moving along the upper balcony of the Banshee Palace, looking down at me. Or at least, in my direction. It doesn’t seem able to focus. Its head is lolling around, its hands still held behind its back, almost in the same way that Colonel Higgins always has hers.
“Where’s Kimberly?” I ask it, stepping back from the staircase, keeping my eyes on the Bug Man as it hobbles away from room 6. The door is still open, a deep, yawning darkness on the other side.
She’s in there somewhere. I know she is.
“Sonya!” somebody yells behind me. “Get back!”
I turn and see a patrol car pulling into the parking lot. Chief Albright and my dad are in the front seats. My dad is calling to me from the open passenger window. The chief stops the car, opens his door. He pulls his gun from his belt and aims it over my head at the Bug Man.
When I look back at the motel, the Bug Man is still moving for the stairs. But it’s so weak, so tired-looking. It seems small and wounded. A part of me feels triumphant, knowing that my friends must have succeeded. Another part of me feels ill. Cruel, even. The Bug Man was trying to help us. It saved our lives. And now it might be collateral damage in the destruction of the monstrous thing that used our town to feast on the anguish of others. The thing that turned us all into monsters so it could stave off its own hunger.
“Just give me a second, Dad,” I say, raising a hand to Chief Albright, trying to make him lower his gun. He shakes his head at me.
“Sonya, sweetheart,” Dad says. He opens his door, steps out. His eyes are shifting from me to the Bug Man, watching it advance toward the stairs, making sure it keeps its distance. “It’s okay. It’s over. Higgins and the soldiers, they’re gone. Everyone else in town is … waking up, I guess. Deputy Conner is at the video store getting the boys right now.”
I look to Chief Albright, who only nods. He doesn’t even look me right in the eyes. He’s focused on the Bug Man, keeping the gun leveled at it.
What am I supposed to do? We don’t know enough about what the Bug Man is to just let it go. It’s hurt, maybe even dying. And the more I wait, the more Kimberly is inside that motel room suffering.
I turn back to the Banshee Palace, to the Bug Man limping across the balcony, leaning one hip against the railing now. Without even realizing I’m doing it, I lower my arms to my sides, quietly clearing the way for Chief Albright to take his shot.
“Now, Jack,” Dad says. “Do it now.”
The Bug Man takes a few more tiny, pointless steps. Its hands are still behind its back for some reason, almost as if they’re tied there. But why would that be? And why are its clothes so big? The Bug Man I saw in my nightmares seemed so much more immense. I squint at it.
I see the loose cuffs of the jacket, and the bare hands poking out of them. Slender and pale.
I see the bare feet at the bottom of the black jeans, dirty and rough with scabs and dried blood.
I see the gas mask bobbing all around its head, hardly staying in place at all. There’s something that looks like a price tag dangling from it.
I see the stray curls of sandy blond hair poking out from the cap on its head, bouncing like loosely wound springs.
I see one last trap set by the monster on Dagger Hill, still trying to get what it wants.
“Oh god,” I whisper. “Oh my god, Chief, wait. WAIT! NO!”
The gun goes off.
I flail my arms, jumping up and over, hoping to be somewhere in the vicinity of the chief’s sight line. My ears still ring from all the gunfire I’ve heard tonight, but this shot sounds louder than all the others.
Up on the balcony, I watch Kimberly stumble backward. Her hands are bound behind her, and god only knows how weak she is. Her balance was gone already. The bullet brings her all the way down. She falls back against the grimy stucco wall. When she slides down it, she leaves a wide paint stroke of blood.
I’m running. My feet are pounding against the broken pavement. I’m at the stairs, up them, ignoring the way the whole rickety staircase wobbles under me. It shrieks beneath my weight, but I’m at the top in a few seconds. I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life.
I drop to my knees beside her, pull her close to me. The leather jacket feels foreign, slimy. It’s even stranger to feel the gas mask in my hand as I peel it off her. I throw the damn thing over the railing.
When I see her face, I burst into tears.