Chapter Twelve

When Jenny heard the engine in her driveway, she thought it would be one of the government vehicles. Or maybe her dad, if they were finally letting people back into town.

She stood up, walked to the front door, and grabbed a pair of light cotton gloves from the basket by the door. Seth sat on the couch in front of the TV.

“Where are you going?”

“Out to see who it is.”

“Wait,” Seth said. “Maybe they’re just turning around or something.”

“You can come with me if you want.” Jenny pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the front porch.

It wasn’t a Homeland Security or National Guard vehicle in her driveway, though. It was a Harley-Davidson, painted with a fire-red gargoyle. The man who stepped off it wasn’t in a uniform, either, but a denim jacket and black jeans.

“Hey!” Seth opened the screen door and stepped in front of Jenny. “Who are you?”

The biker was a young man with black hair, maybe a year or two older than them. He didn’t wear a helmet. He took off his sunglasses as he approached.

“Are you Jenny?” he demanded.

“I asked you first,” Seth said.

“Did you?” He glared at Seth. His eyes were a rainy shade of gray, and Jenny had only seen one other person with eyes like that.

“What do you want?” Seth asked.

“I want to find the person who killed Ashleigh Goodling.” He pointed at Jenny. “Was it you?”

“You still haven’t told us who you are.”

The young man kept walking toward the porch, so Seth descended the steps to meet him.

“Seth,” Jenny whispered, but he ignored her.

“You better get out of here right now,” Seth said.

“I’m leaving soon,” the young man said. “After I take care of this.”

He threw the first punch, and Seth dodged out of the way. Seth landed a fist in the young man’s stomach, and he doubled over and backed away.

“Go,” Seth said.

The man sprang up and clapped his hands to either side of Seth’s head. He bared his teeth.

Seth shuddered in his grasp, as if being electrocuted, and then he screamed. The man punched Seth in the face twice, one quick jab with each fist. Then he used one foot to sweep Seth’s ankles out from under him, and Seth crashed to the ground.

The man spun around and stalked up the steps toward Jenny.

Jenny backed up. She took off her gloves and let them fall to the porch floorboards.

“You don’t want to touch me,” Jenny said.

The young man hesitated a moment, as if her comment had thrown him off guard. Then he ascended the final step.

“I’m serious,” Jenny said. The cold shadow was taking over inside her, the ancient and evil thing that had killed so many over the millenia. It seemed particularly strong when Seth was hurt or in danger.

“You killed Ashleigh Goodling?” the gray-eyed young man glared at her.

“You’re right. I killed her.” Jenny folded her arms and glared back. “You want to be next?”

He seized both her hands and squeezed. Jenny pushed the pox into him, willing her infection to burn in deep.

Something lashed out at her from his touch, like a lightning flash of dark, twisted energy.

And then she was terrified. She’d had a recurring dream, the last few nights, of all the diseased people from the town green, all surrounding her, closing in on her, accusing her of murder, and then tearing and slashing at her.

Now she had the sense that they were coming for her. Any moment they would pour out the windows and door onto her porch, or smash up through the floorboards, grabbing and biting at her. They would come boiling out of the woods, screaming her name.

And the attack would be led by the young man squeezing her hands now. Already, he looked like one of her victims, open sores and bloody rashes spreading up his arms, boils and blisters opening on his face—

He screamed and let go of her hands. He stumbled down her porch stairs, lost his balance and fell into the dirt.

Jenny trembled where she stood, still terrified of him.

He pushed up to his feet.

“What the fuck are you?” he screamed. His face was covered in pus and black swellings.

“What the fuck are you?” Jenny whispered.

He ran to his bike, turned a wide circle in Jenny’s front yard, and then roared away.

Jenny stumbled down to Seth, on her shaking legs, and helped him up. He still wore a shocked look on his face.

“Was it my great-grandfather?” Seth whispered. “Was he here?”

“Let’s get inside, Seth,” Jenny whispered. “I want to lock up.”

They went into the house and bolted all the doors and latched all the windows. Without discussing it, they pulled all the window curtains tight, then turned off all the lights so no one could peer in at them.

They huddled together under her blankets, shivering, gripped with their individual fears. Shapeless monsters seemed to threaten them from the dark all night.

Jenny didn’t want to admit it, but she was even feeling a little scared of Seth, too.

Just before sunrise, Tommy rode out of Ashleigh’s driveway. He was covered in mud. He’d left the clay-smeared shovel on the floor of the workshop, which was built onto the garage, and closed the door. Maybe nobody would notice it for a while.

Tommy had found Ashleigh’s remains, wrapped in a Sunday dress, just as Darcy had told him. Along with the skull and broken bones, Darcy had thrown in a gold cross necklace and some kind of silver ring.

Tommy then stuffed Ashleigh’s remains into a backpack he found in Ashleigh’s house—Ashleigh’s, he assumed, from the colorful, girly patches added to it, lots of flowers and animals and hearts.

He’d crammed the backpack into one of the motorcycle’s saddlebags. And now he was leaving town.

He passed a convoy of vehicles going the other way, towards Ashleigh’s neighborhood. There were a couple of the Homeland Security cars, a yellow Caterpillar excavating machine, and some kind of truck full of pipes and hoses.

Tommy kept his head low as he drove past them.

He didn’t fully understand what had happened the night before. He’d put the scare in both those kids, for sure, but they’d given him a little parting gift, hadn’t they? The infection was all over his arms, his torso, his neck and face.

You don’t want to touch me, she’d said. The same thing Tommy had said himself, countless times. It was sometimes a threat, sometimes a warning. Sometimes just a matter-of-fact observation.

And she’d been right. She had a thing inside her as bad as Tommy’s. Worse, even. Tommy didn’t know if he would heal—his sores had run bloody all night as he worked the shovel. But he was pretty sure that if he’d held on to that Jenny girl for another minute, he would have died.