Until the creature’s head was far enough away from Christie so Jack could come behind it, close its neck in an arm lock, cutting off air.
’Cause the goddamn things still had to breathe.
Christie, herself nearly choked, staggered away, immediately looking to the kids.
She raised her gun to the Can Head. Jack held tight.
And with Jack not even believing what he was seeing …
She fired. Right at its skull.
And when it fell away—
—when it slipped down from Jack’s hold—
—when it was quiet and there were no more gunshots, no more here at least—
—he stood in the woods and saw his family looking at him.
As if seeing him, really seeing him for the first time.
He saw Simon take Christie’s hand, then Kate’s.
“C’mon,” he said.
Jack and his family started moving again.
Racing, running now … so much that both Simon and Kate took turns tripping, rolling on the brambles.
No matter what stuck them, what pricked them in the thick brush, they were silent.
It took all of his willpower to not cry.
Then—they were there—the parking lot. A sea of cars, far removed from the gunfire, the racing guards, the panic behind them.
Jack didn’t stop as they left the shadows and went down to that sea.
41
The Gate
Jack turned around and looked at the brown blanket that now covered the backseat. Someone looking could see that there was something hidden back there.
If they got close.
The cab light had not gone on, the ceiling switch still thrown.
Now that no one could see him, he reached down under the steering column and felt for the switch. The double-switch he had installed so long ago.
He felt its shape. He could reach it in an instant.
Back to the key in the ignition. A twist, and the Explorer started.
Jack had feared they might have ripped the guts out of the SUV, but the engine sounded fine.
He kept the headlights off, and then, aware that he could be seen, he backed up and eased the Explorer slowly around to the road that led to the center of the camp.
Even with the windows down, he could hear the sporadic sound of distant gunfire. The alarms blaring. Good, they were still dealing with the Can Heads.
Or perhaps what this
As he came to the small rise from the lot, the road that veered near the lodge, he saw a group of people—Paterville residents and guards, those the Can Heads from outside hadn’t gotten.
Standing in a cluster, guns ready, bunched up and looking all around, scared.
A few looked at Jack as he drove past them.
They had guns. They could shoot.
But they simply watched him sail past, one lanky man’s face having a what-the-fuck look, wondering where the hell this guy could be going.
If someone looked in the back, all they would see was the shape, the blanket.
Would word be passed? A different kind of alarm?
Jack picked up speed as he passed the cabin area, and started down the road past the lake and on the way to the main gate.
He wondered if he had made a mistake.
If he could get out this easy, had he made a fucking mistake? His plan all wrong?
He felt like stopping. Going back. Was there time to change his mind?
Instead, he kept driving. The plan. This was the plan, the way to get his family out.
He pressed harder on the accelerator, passing the fifteen-mile speed limit posted along the road. Twenty, twenty-five … thirty.
And more, until the heavy-duty wheels of the SUV began kicking up a steady stream of pebbles and dirt behind it.
A curve, another straight section, then—if his memory was correct—one more curve.
He noticed something. The alarms had ended.
Was the power still out?
Could they have fixed the power to the fence in such a short amount of time?
Another curve, and now a clear straight run to the main gate.
Bright lights ahead, two high beams on the turret at the side of the gate, one at road level.
The turret lights pointed out into the woods, probably hunting for any signs of Can Heads.
Faster. Thinking he was so close.
The two lights on the top of the turret swung around. Almost as if it had been planned.
The guards hadn’t been looking for stray Can Heads at all.
The lights swung around and pointed down at the roadway, at the SUV, at Jack racing to the gate.
A bunch of guards on the road, waiting for Jack.
With Ed Lowe at their head.
He didn’t brake.
But then, despite the blinding glare of the giant lights, he could see above them, the gate … so close.
Faster—and then the group parted.
And Jack saw the trap.
A massive felled tree lay right across the road. The SUV slammed into it.
And backlit, the people waiting there. Guns sticking out like pins in black pincushions, the crowd all shadows.
