Read Online 01 - Goblins by Charles Grant - (ebook by Undead) - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles Grant - (ebook by Undead)
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And
that could be just as bad.
Or, she thought, I could be overreacting because I’m so damn tired.
A truck growled by.
She yawned, and tucked the covers up under her chin.
“Dana?”
This time Licia’s voice sounded very small, very young.
“I’m listening.”
“Do you think I’ll have to use my gun?”
The corner of her mouth pulled back. “Hardly ever, Licia, believe me.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She paused. “The government’s too cheap to buy us all that
ammunition.”
Silence again, while she thought, dear Lord, I’m starting to sound like
Mulder.
Then Andrews giggled, laughed, and said, “I guess I’ve been watching too many
movies.” The rustle of sheets was followed by, “Good night. And thanks.”
“You’re welcome, and good night.”
Another truck drove by, this one in the opposite direction. Scully listened
to the engine until she couldn’t hear it anymore, using the fading grumble to
pull her into sleep.
Her last thought was of Mulder.
She hoped he wasn’t dreaming.
EIGHT
The blue of the previous day turned to thickening overcast shortly after
Friday’s dawn. By the time Mulder and his team were on the road, Webber driving,
a chill easterly wind had begun to coast down the road, sweeping leaves and
brown pine needles in front of the car.
Mulder didn’t like it; it looked too much like late autumn.
Marville itself began a quarter of a mile from the motel, with a handful of
houses squatting in clearings hacked out of the Barrens on either side of the
road. Sandy, pebbled soil served as shoulders, and showed as bare spots on lawns
looking as tired as the houses themselves.
He sensed right away the little town was dying.
The commercial district was five short blocks long, some of the businesses
spilling around the corners. None of the buildings were more than three stories
tall, mostly wood, a few with weather-stained stone or brick facades. He counted
six that were for rent, and far too many whose display windows had been boarded
up with plywood or painted a dead white. A narrow banner sagged over Main
Street, announcing the community’s 150th anniversary, which made him wonder, as
he often did, what had caused this place to attract settlers in the beginning.
There was no river, the trees weren’t lumber quality, and Fort Dix hadn’t been
established until 1917, neighboring McGuire Air Force Base some time later.
Webber snapped his fingers, and jerked a thumb to his left. “Barney’s
Tavern.”
Mulder spotted the corner bar, one of several still operating on the street,
and supposed that, whatever the reason for Marville’s founding, its eventual
life support must have been traffic from the post and Air Force base. And solid
support as well, from the looks of things. He could see, behind the faded paint
and needed repairs, a town that had done quite well for the time that it had
had, especially considering what must have been the fierce competition from
other towns around it.
A stolid granite bank anchored the next corner, on the left. The shops here
were still very much in business, or as much as they were going to get with the
economy the way it was, and the Army post drastically cut back over the past
several years.
“This is depressing,” Andrews said from the back seat. “How could anyone live
here?”
“Cheap housing, for one thing,” Webber supposed, slowing to allow a trio of
old women to make their way across the street. “It’s not near very much. I
remember the map, but I don’t think you can commute all the way to Philadelphia
from here easily. Not and make any money.”
Inertia, Mulder suspected, was the rest of the answer. No place to go when
you can barely afford to live here. Anyone asked would probably give a different
answer, but it no doubt boiled down to, “Why bother?”
“There,” Scully said, the first time she’d spoken since breakfast.
A single-story, long white clapboard building took a
that could be just as bad.
Or, she thought, I could be overreacting because I’m so damn tired.
A truck growled by.
She yawned, and tucked the covers up under her chin.
“Dana?”
This time Licia’s voice sounded very small, very young.
“I’m listening.”
“Do you think I’ll have to use my gun?”
The corner of her mouth pulled back. “Hardly ever, Licia, believe me.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She paused. “The government’s too cheap to buy us all that
ammunition.”
Silence again, while she thought, dear Lord, I’m starting to sound like
Mulder.
Then Andrews giggled, laughed, and said, “I guess I’ve been watching too many
movies.” The rustle of sheets was followed by, “Good night. And thanks.”
“You’re welcome, and good night.”
Another truck drove by, this one in the opposite direction. Scully listened
to the engine until she couldn’t hear it anymore, using the fading grumble to
pull her into sleep.
Her last thought was of Mulder.
She hoped he wasn’t dreaming.
EIGHT
The blue of the previous day turned to thickening overcast shortly after
Friday’s dawn. By the time Mulder and his team were on the road, Webber driving,
a chill easterly wind had begun to coast down the road, sweeping leaves and
brown pine needles in front of the car.
Mulder didn’t like it; it looked too much like late autumn.
Marville itself began a quarter of a mile from the motel, with a handful of
houses squatting in clearings hacked out of the Barrens on either side of the
road. Sandy, pebbled soil served as shoulders, and showed as bare spots on lawns
looking as tired as the houses themselves.
He sensed right away the little town was dying.
The commercial district was five short blocks long, some of the businesses
spilling around the corners. None of the buildings were more than three stories
tall, mostly wood, a few with weather-stained stone or brick facades. He counted
six that were for rent, and far too many whose display windows had been boarded
up with plywood or painted a dead white. A narrow banner sagged over Main
Street, announcing the community’s 150th anniversary, which made him wonder, as
he often did, what had caused this place to attract settlers in the beginning.
There was no river, the trees weren’t lumber quality, and Fort Dix hadn’t been
established until 1917, neighboring McGuire Air Force Base some time later.
Webber snapped his fingers, and jerked a thumb to his left. “Barney’s
Tavern.”
Mulder spotted the corner bar, one of several still operating on the street,
and supposed that, whatever the reason for Marville’s founding, its eventual
life support must have been traffic from the post and Air Force base. And solid
support as well, from the looks of things. He could see, behind the faded paint
and needed repairs, a town that had done quite well for the time that it had
had, especially considering what must have been the fierce competition from
other towns around it.
A stolid granite bank anchored the next corner, on the left. The shops here
were still very much in business, or as much as they were going to get with the
economy the way it was, and the Army post drastically cut back over the past
several years.
“This is depressing,” Andrews said from the back seat. “How could anyone live
here?”
“Cheap housing, for one thing,” Webber supposed, slowing to allow a trio of
old women to make their way across the street. “It’s not near very much. I
remember the map, but I don’t think you can commute all the way to Philadelphia
from here easily. Not and make any money.”
Inertia, Mulder suspected, was the rest of the answer. No place to go when
you can barely afford to live here. Anyone asked would probably give a different
answer, but it no doubt boiled down to, “Why bother?”
“There,” Scully said, the first time she’d spoken since breakfast.
A single-story, long white clapboard building took a
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