there came an inhuman growling sound. Pete had to fight every instinct in his brain and body to keep from running. His lips parted, revealing teeth locked together in a desperate snarl. He held the Richforth steady, counting off seconds in his head. He’d reached seven when the growl rose to a glassy shriek that threatened to split his head. Behind him, Rachel and Blake had let go of each other so they could cover their ears.
At the foot of the rest area entrance ramp, Al Andrews brought Unit 12 to a sliding stop. He got out, wincing at that terrible shrieking sound. It was like an air-raid siren broadcast through a heavy metal band’s amplifiers , he would say later. He saw a kid holding something out so it almost touched the surface of a muddy old Ford or Chevy station wagon. The boy was wincing in pain, determination, or both.
The smoking black spot on the flank of the station wagon began to spread. The white smoke curling up from it began to thicken. It turned gray, then black. What happened next happened fast. Pete saw tiny blue flames pop into being around the black spot. They spread, seeming to dance above the surface of the car-thing. It was the way charcoal briquettes looked in their backyard barbecue after their father doused them with lighter fluid and then tossed in a match.
The gooey tentacle, which had almost reached the sneakered foot still standing on the pavement, snapped back. The car yanked in upon itself again, but this time the spreading blue flames stood out all around it in a corona. It pulled in tighter and still tighter, becoming a fiery ball. Then, as Pete and the Lussier kids and Trooper Andrews watched, it shot up into the blue spring sky. For a moment longer it was there, glowing like a cinder, and then it was gone. Pete found himself thinking of the cold darkness above the envelope of the earth’s atmosphere—those endless leagues where anything might live and lurk.
I didn’t kill it, I just drove it away. It had to go so it could put itself out, like a burning stick in a bucket of water .
Trooper Andrews was staring up into the sky, dumbfounded. One of his brain’s few working circuits was wondering how he was supposed to write up a report on what he had just seen.
There were more approaching sirens in the distance.
Pete walked back to the two little kids with his saddlebag in one hand and his Richforth magnifying glass in the other. He sort of wished George and Normie were here, but so what if they weren’t? He’d had quite an afternoon for himself without those guys, and he didn’t care if he got grounded or not. This made jumping bikes off the edge of a stupid sandpit look tame.
You know what? I fuckin rock .
He might have laughed if the little kids hadn’t been looking at him. They had just seen their parents eaten by some kind of alien—eaten alive —and showing happiness would be totally wrong.
The little boy held out his chubby arms, and Pete picked him up. He didn’t laugh when the kid kissed his cheek, but he smiled. “Fanks,” Blakie said. “You’re a good kid.”
Pete set him down. The little girl also kissed him, which was sort of nice, although it would have been nicer if she’d been a babe.
The trooper was running toward them now, and that made Pete think of something. He bent to the little girl and huffed into her face.
“Do you smell anything?”
Rachel Lussier looked at him wisely for a moment. “You’ll be okay,” she said, and actually smiled. It was only a small one, but better than no smile at all. “Just don’t breathe on him. And maybe get some mints or something before you go home.”
“I was thinking Teaberry gum,” Pete said.
“Yeah,” Rachel said. “That’ll work.”
For Nye Willden and Doug Allen, who bought my first stories.
Turn the page for a preview of Stephen King’s new novel
11/22/63
Coming from Scribner in November 2011
Lee Harvey Oswald lived on Mercedes Street in Fort Worth, Texas, with his wife, Marina, and
At the foot of the rest area entrance ramp, Al Andrews brought Unit 12 to a sliding stop. He got out, wincing at that terrible shrieking sound. It was like an air-raid siren broadcast through a heavy metal band’s amplifiers , he would say later. He saw a kid holding something out so it almost touched the surface of a muddy old Ford or Chevy station wagon. The boy was wincing in pain, determination, or both.
The smoking black spot on the flank of the station wagon began to spread. The white smoke curling up from it began to thicken. It turned gray, then black. What happened next happened fast. Pete saw tiny blue flames pop into being around the black spot. They spread, seeming to dance above the surface of the car-thing. It was the way charcoal briquettes looked in their backyard barbecue after their father doused them with lighter fluid and then tossed in a match.
The gooey tentacle, which had almost reached the sneakered foot still standing on the pavement, snapped back. The car yanked in upon itself again, but this time the spreading blue flames stood out all around it in a corona. It pulled in tighter and still tighter, becoming a fiery ball. Then, as Pete and the Lussier kids and Trooper Andrews watched, it shot up into the blue spring sky. For a moment longer it was there, glowing like a cinder, and then it was gone. Pete found himself thinking of the cold darkness above the envelope of the earth’s atmosphere—those endless leagues where anything might live and lurk.
I didn’t kill it, I just drove it away. It had to go so it could put itself out, like a burning stick in a bucket of water .
Trooper Andrews was staring up into the sky, dumbfounded. One of his brain’s few working circuits was wondering how he was supposed to write up a report on what he had just seen.
There were more approaching sirens in the distance.
Pete walked back to the two little kids with his saddlebag in one hand and his Richforth magnifying glass in the other. He sort of wished George and Normie were here, but so what if they weren’t? He’d had quite an afternoon for himself without those guys, and he didn’t care if he got grounded or not. This made jumping bikes off the edge of a stupid sandpit look tame.
You know what? I fuckin rock .
He might have laughed if the little kids hadn’t been looking at him. They had just seen their parents eaten by some kind of alien—eaten alive —and showing happiness would be totally wrong.
The little boy held out his chubby arms, and Pete picked him up. He didn’t laugh when the kid kissed his cheek, but he smiled. “Fanks,” Blakie said. “You’re a good kid.”
Pete set him down. The little girl also kissed him, which was sort of nice, although it would have been nicer if she’d been a babe.
The trooper was running toward them now, and that made Pete think of something. He bent to the little girl and huffed into her face.
“Do you smell anything?”
Rachel Lussier looked at him wisely for a moment. “You’ll be okay,” she said, and actually smiled. It was only a small one, but better than no smile at all. “Just don’t breathe on him. And maybe get some mints or something before you go home.”
“I was thinking Teaberry gum,” Pete said.
“Yeah,” Rachel said. “That’ll work.”
For Nye Willden and Doug Allen, who bought my first stories.
Turn the page for a preview of Stephen King’s new novel
11/22/63
Coming from Scribner in November 2011
Lee Harvey Oswald lived on Mercedes Street in Fort Worth, Texas, with his wife, Marina, and
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