CHAPTER
13
Thirteen O’clock

5:30 P.M.

The sky was beginning to darken, but at these high latitudes, the sun set later than it did in Southern California. Light pressed through thin drapes, illuminating tiny dust motes floating in the air. There was one bed, one IV unit, one chair, one television, and one lost little girl. I hadn’t seen her when she reappeared in the middle of town early this morning. As before, as with each new appearance, she seemed younger, smaller, more needy. Looking at her, what was left of my heart shattered to pieces.

Littlefoot lay still as a corpse. Her body was covered in a white sheet that looked too much like a shroud. What was wrong with hospitals? A pink sheet, or a blue one, or just about any other color would be better than the lily-white material that implied death. Maybe that doesn’t make sense. My brain was on fire when I thought it.

I took two steps into the room. I heard Andi gasp behind me. Brenda whispered, “Oh God.” It was the closest I had ever heard her come to praying.

Littlefoot—she would always be Littlefoot to me—didn’t move when we entered. We tried to be as quiet as we could. Her face was lovely and serene. The sight of her all bandaged up brought images of her little frame in the jaws of a monster. I could imagine it thrashing her around as if she were a rag doll. Tears crept down my cheeks and I didn’t care. Brenda held my right arm; Andi my left. I needed their strength. I needed their touch to remind me that there was still good in the world.

My mind was unraveling.

Daniel pushed by and walked to the side of the bed. I started to tell him to stay back, but it didn’t seem right. Had it been any other kid I would have said something, but Daniel was, well, Daniel. He looked at her arms, something no kid should see. He looked at her face as if studying it for signs of life. Again he moved his gaze to her left arm and traced it with his eyes, until he settled on a finger that appeared unharmed.

He touched it. The gesture was so light it wouldn’t have moved a feather. I love that kid.

Littlefoot opened her eyes, eyes the color of unsweetened chocolate, and looked at Daniel. He smiled. She smiled. I had a feeling an entire conversation was carried on in those seconds.

Then she stuck her tongue out. In and out. It was the peanut-butter-in-the-dog’s-mouth-thing again. Seeing that made me feel like things might be all right.

Daniel turned to Brenda. He didn’t speak, but Brenda got the message. “I’m on it, honey.” To me she said, “I’ll see if the cafeteria has milkshakes.”

I managed to nod.

“Tank?”

I didn’t need to turn to know Uncle Bart had shown up.

“The nurses told me you guys were up here.” He stepped to the spot Brenda had occupied. “How’s she doing?”

“I just got here.”

“She looks younger—again.”

I nodded and walked to the right side of the bed. I moved under compulsion. Nothing in the universe could have kept me away. She turned her face to me and I stroked her cheek. Precious. Beautiful. Everything good in the world contained in one little girl’s body.

Like Daniel, I studied her arms and hand. Her arms were swollen like sausages. The sight of them pulled my strength through a paper shredder. Her right hand was completely encased in gauze, but her thumb was unwrapped. Using two fingers, I held her thumb and stroked her hair with my other hand.

A few deep breaths later I gazed into her eyes . . . that were now blue.

I closed my eyes.

The sounds were the first thing to go, then the room, the sense that others were present. All of that was replaced by darkness. It sounds strange to some, but God is often found in the darkness—in the holy dark.

It was warm. It felt safe. I had been here before, good had come out of—

The growl startled me. The scream brought me back. Littlefoot was sitting up in bed, her eyes white as chalk and looking toward the door. I snapped my head around. Andi was seated on the floor doing her best to back away from the doorway. Brenda was slumped next to one of the walls, a milkshake toppled and gushing its contents on the floor. Uncle Bart was struggling to get to his feet. He fumbled for his gun.

It was there. The black thing. The blurry thing I had seen in my dream. The thing with the white fangs—fangs that pierced the skin and muscles of Littlefoot. It looked at me with eyes that blazed like molten steel, then fixed its stare on Littlefoot. It took a slow step, then another. The remembered pain of my dreams was now alive.

Then it sprang.

So did I.

I don’t know who made the most noise, the Beast or me. We both screamed as we met near the foot of the bed. Its front paws passed over the foot of the mattress before I reached it with my right hand. I caught it at the neck and clamped my big mitt shut. It turned on me, just like I wanted it to do. One claw ripped my right arm, the other caught my left shoulder. I didn’t much care.

I pulled it close.

I embraced it, pulling it tight to my chest. If need be, we were going to die together, me and this attacker of little girls. Maybe I was born for this one moment; maybe not, but I did know that only God himself could break my grip.

We hit the floor, me on my back, the IT on top of me. It writhed. It twisted. It lurched. It snapped its jaws. Its breath reeked of rotted meat, a breath it inflicted on Littlefoot. That thought gave me new strength, new power, new purpose.

“Tank.” Uncle Bart came into my vision but I couldn’t pay him any attention. He had his gun drawn. “Tank, let go. I can’t get off a shot with you holding it.”

I don’t know if shooting would have done any good. Besides, to let go was to let it rip out my throat. Instead, I tried to tighten my grip, but it pulled its head away.

The bite was crushing. I felt its teeth make contact with the bones of my arm. Fine. Instead of trying to pull my arm out, I pushed it farther into the Beast’s mouth. If it was going to eat me, then it was going to choke on me.

Uncle Bart moved closer.

“No. Stay back. Stay back.”

I caught sight of Littlefoot. The look of fear on her face hurt more than the thing chewing my arm—

The hospital room vanished. The ceiling became a beautiful green sky. The ground was firm, but somehow different. The light was wrong, but I didn’t know how. And I didn’t have time to think about it. One thing I did notice was the fuzzy, indistinct, hard to see IT had become clearer. I liked it better the other way.

A flash of light. A sense of falling and then I was flying through the air and back in Littlefoot’s room. We hit the wall with the window. I heard the glass rattle—

The hospital disappeared again.

Then I was back.

I wrapped my legs around the creature and continued to hold on. One of us would run out of energy sometime. I just had to make sure it wasn’t me.

“Ta—”

Back in the green sky world, but this time I wasn’t alone. Two people. Two men—I guess they were men. They were taller than me and wider at the shoulders, and they looked very unhappy. I could only hope they were on my side.

The IT clamped down. This time I was certain the thing would bite my arm off. I’d be dead soon after. I fought on. What choice did I have?

One of the men spoke and the IT released its jaws and snapped its head around. Its eyes widened. I felt it tremble. With impossible speed, one of the men ripped the Beast from my arms with one hand. He lifted it high. Said something I didn’t understand and then disappeared.

I glanced around but can’t describe what I saw. Things didn’t make sense to me. The best I could tell, I was flat on my back on some open plain. There was grass beneath me. The horizon seemed to curve up instead of down.

The second man moved closer. He looked sad.

He smiled. It was a weird smile, like someone who wasn’t quite sure how to do it. “Hi, Tank.”

“You’re . . . you’re Daniel’s friend, aren’t you?” He nodded. I rolled to my other side, holding my bleeding arm. The thing had pierced an artery. If I let go, I would be dead in short order.

I looked over at my little friend. “Daniel?”

“Yep.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been here before.” He seemed to be a little older.

“Is this heaven?” I had had a glimpse of heaven in the House some months back, but it didn’t look like this.

He shook his head. “Nope. It’s a different place.”

“Littlefoot?”

“She’s good. This is her world.” He crouched near me. “Time to go home.”

I was on the floor. On my back. Clutching my wounded arm. Blood gushed.

“Dear God, Tank.” Uncle Bart was at my side applying pressure to the wound. “We need a doctor. Now. NOW. We need a doctor. Now!”

I looked at Littlefoot. She looked well. Whole. Healed. Whaddya know? It worked this time.

Outside the window, the sun continued to provide light for the world.

Sunset pulled a thick blanket of black over me.