Read Online A Gathering of Crows by Brian Keene - Free Book Online

head. Despite his proximity, Stephen still couldn’t get a good look at his face. He did see the man’s eyes, however. They were set deep in his face and glinted in the dark like embers on coal.
    But there’s no light, Stephen thought. That’s weird.
    What am I seeing reflected in them if there’s no light?
    The man smiled, revealing white, even teeth. Stephen couldn’t be sure, but he thought they might be pointed. He took a half step backward.
    “What do you want?”
    “To kill you,” the man said simply.
    “W-what? Hey, what are you . . . ? Shit.”
    Stephen wasn’t much of a survivalist. He’d just lucked out in the lottery drawing for the Vietnam fiasco and had always considered himself fortunate that he didn’t have to face that horror. He’d known people that had served, of course. Guys who’d been less fortunate, and even a few who’d volunteered. Some of them had talked about their experiences in Vietnam. Most hadn’t. While Stephen knew full well that he’d never truly understand what it had been like, he knew himself well enough to understand that if he had gone to Vietnam, he’d have been one of those guys who came home irreparably damaged—if he survived at all. But he was no coward, either. He might not have been a badass, but he could handle himself just fine. He didn’t know any martial arts, but that didn’t matter. In Stephen’s opinion, fights by definition weren’t fair. Plus, he had another advantage. Stephen’s father had been a cop, and as a result, though he wasn’t much of a hunter, he could shoot the shit out of a handgun.
    “Seriously,” Stephen said, “quit fucking around. I’m not in the mood, buddy. Not tonight.”
    The man stepped closer. Stephen caught a whiff of him, and winced at the stench. The smell was bad enough to make his eyes water. The stranger reeked of roadkill, like he’d just rolled around in a five-daydead possum or something.
    “Jesus Christ—”
    “Is not here right now,” the man in black replied.
    “And even if he were, he could not save you.”
    Stephen stopped, setting his feet shoulder width apart and facing his opponent. He held his breath so he wouldn’t get nauseous from the stranger’s awful stench. The man hadn’t displayed a weapon. He didn’t seem to be carrying a knife or a handgun. Still, there was no telling what he might have hidden beneath the folds of that long coat. The man was only an arm’s length away now, and Stephen decided that there was no time to open the bag and pull out the SIG Sauer P225. He had three choices—try to talk the guy down, run away or rely on his fists. Stephen decided to go with the first and follow with the last. Running away wasn’t an option. This stranger was obviously mentally ill, and if he abandoned the truck, the guy might vandalize it instead.
    “That’s far enough,” he said, fighting to keep his tone firm but even. “I’m warning you, freak.”
    The man in black ignored him and continued to draw closer.
    Stephen decided that, if forced, he’d lead with an elbow to the nose and then follow it up with a quick kick to the outside of his opponent’s knee. That should make the guy think twice about continuing to fuck with him.
    And then, before Stephen could do any of these things, the man in black raised one hand and wiggled his fingers. As Stephen watched, the stranger’s fingernails began to stretch and grow, turning into long black talons. Stephen blinked, and the man laughed hoarsely. The sound was like dry leaves rustling in the wind.
    “Is that supposed to scare me?” In truth, it had, but Stephen wasn’t about to let the guy know that.
    “No,” the man replied. “It’s not supposed to scare you. It’s supposed to distract you.”
    “What do you—?”
    The man leaned forward and, with his other hand, punched Stephen just below his chest. Stephen grunted, more from surprise at the unexpected blow than from pain. In truth, there wasn’t much pain. Instead, there