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Val wandered around the hospital for an hour, too nervous to just sit and watch Weinstock sleep. She went down to the cafeteria for a plate of eggs but ate less than half of them. Morning sickness wasn’t a severe problem for her, but it was there. Newton called on her cell. “Hey…how are you?” she asked.
“We spent the night throwing up,” the reporter said with a bitter laugh. “How about you?”
“Pretty much the same,” Val said, though she noted Newton’s use of “we. ” “How’s Jonatha? I imagine she’s heading back to Philly after what happened. ”
“Actually,” Newton said, “she’s not. She wants to stay and help me document this. Which is reporter geek-speak for saying that we both want to help, but not in any storming the castle sort of way. We can do research, help with intel, as they say in the military. ”
“Were you in the military?” Val asked hopefully.
“No…I watch 24 and The Unit. Heading over to the hospital now. Jonatha’s getting dressed and we should be there in a few. ”
“I don’t know what to say except…thanks. I know this must be terribly hard for you both. It’s not your fight—”
“We talked about that, Val, and we both pretty much agreed that it is our fight. It’s everyone’s fight. ”
“Thanks, Newt. I’m sorry I was so hard on you before. ”
“As it turns out, you had every right to be. See you soon. ”
She bought a paper and a big decaf in a go-cup and carried it back up to Weinstock’s room and frowned when she saw that the door was ajar; she’d definitely closed it when she left and the nurse wasn’t due for her rounds until seven. Val hurried over and opened the door quietly to see a small, mud-splattered and disheveled figure standing over the sleeping doctor. Even though his back was to her, Val recognized him at once.
“Mike…?” she said.
3
Crow crouched above the seat as the ATV slammed into unseen potholes and jerked over unavoidable rocks. Far behind him he could hear Ferro cursing and yelping as his body thumped painfully over and over again onto the saddle.
At the base of the long hill Crow braked to a stop to let the others catch up. LaMastra was right behind him the whole way, but it took Ferro an additional couple of minutes to pick his way laboriously down the hill toward them. He looked exhausted and miserable and his crotch and tailbone hurt like hell from the bumpy ride. Crow suggested that he try standing up off the seat next time and Ferro told him what he could do with his belated suggestions.
Crow pointed. “See that path there, where the trees form a kind of archway? That’s where we’re going. Be prepared, because when Newt and I were here we got a really bad feeling as soon as we entered it. ”
“Can’t be as bad as the way I felt when we crossed over from sunlight to shadows on that hill,” LaMastra said.
“He’s right,” Ferro agreed, “if I wasn’t already a believer that would have done it. It was stepping out of who I am and into being a frightened five-year-old kid. Very…basic emotions, a primitive fear. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, that says it. ” Crow nodded along the path. “Down there…it gets worse. ” He gunned his engine and took off.
LaMastra looked gloomily at Ferro. “Great pep talk. ”
They followed, and as each of them motored down the path an identical feeling of unease and claustrophobia clutched at their hearts. Ferro found himself reaching back to touch his slung shotgun over and over again; LaMastra kept murmuring prayers to the Virgin Mary that he learned in Sunday school. The path was so narrow that dry branches whipped at them and plucked at their sleeves with skeletal fingers, but this eventually emptied out into a wide clearing and Crow stopped again. The others drew alongside, flanking him as he examined the terrain ahead.
“Holy Jesus,” gasped LaMastra, staring at the expanse of twisted and diseased trees and hairy vines that hung like loops of intestine from every branch. Leprous toadstools were littered across the mossy floor of the swamp, and the whole place smelled like rotten eggs and spoiled meat. The stench was overpowering. Gagging, Crow opened up his second vial of garlic extract and rubbed some on his upper lip. He passed the vial to Ferro and LaMastra, who copied this trick.
“What’s wrong with this place?” LaMastra asked, unknowingly repeating the question that Newton had asked two weeks before. Crow shook his head.
“Everything,” he said.
They rode on through the twisted woods for another half an hour and then suddenly the side of the old farmhouse loomed up before them, rising out of the shadows in tangles of diseased ivy. Crow felt his gut tighten at the sight of it. They all slowed as they emerged from the forest into the overgrown side yard and then stopped in a patch of sunlight in the front yard about eighty feet from the porch. They turned off their engines and the silence was immediate and enormous.
“Doesn’t look like much,” said LaMastra, examining the house through narrowed eyes.
Crow snorted, “It grows on you. ”
The pile of debris on the porch made the house look deceptively frail and shabby, but Crow knew that the place was a near fortress of sturdy stones and seasoned timbers.
Ferro nodded. “I expected something a lot more rustic, you know? Older, deader, more like a haunted house from a scary movie. ”
“You think this place doesn’t look haunted?” Crow asked, surprised.
