silver eyes left no doubt that they were kin to the murderous things
that had come out of the heating ducts. If Rebecca had opened the door
without looking inside, if she hadn’t noticed that the beasts were
waiting in there, she might have been attacked and overwhelmed. Her
throat could have been torn open, her eyes gouged out, her life taken
before Jack was even aware of the danger, before he had a chance to go
to her assistance.
“Back off,” he said.
The four of them moved away from the car, huddled together on the
sidewalk, wary of the night around them.
They were the only people on the wintry street, now.
Faye and Keith were out of sight. There were no plows, no cars, no
pedestrians. Even the doorman was no longer watching them.
It’s strange, Jack thought, to feel this isolated and this alone in the
heart of Manhattan.
“What now?” Rebecca asked urgently, her eyes fixed on the car, one hand
on Davey, one hand inside her coat where she was probably gripping her
revolver.
“We keep moving,” Jack said, dissatisfied with his answer, but too
surprised and too scared to think of anything better.
Don’t panic.
“Where?” Rebecca asked.
“Toward the avenue,” he said.
Calm. Easy. Panic willfinish us.
“The way Keith went?” Rebecca asked.
“No. The other avenue. Third Avenue. It’s closer.”
“I hope there’s people out there,” she said.
“Maybe even a patrol car.”
And Penny said, “I think we’re a whole lot safer around people, out in
the open.”
“I think so, too, sweetheart,” Jack said. “So let’s go now. And stay
close together.”
Penny took hold of Davey’s hand.
The attack came suddenly. The thing rushed out from beneath their car.
Squealing. Hissing. Eyes beaming silvery light. Dark against the
snow. Swift and sinuous.
Too damned swift. Lizardlike. Jack saw that much in the storm-diluted
glow of the streetlamps, reached for his revolver, remembered that
bullets couldn’t kill these things, also realized that they were in too
close quarters to risk using a gun anyway, and by then the thing was
among them, snarling and spitting-all of this in but a single second,
one tick of time, perhaps even less. Davey shouted. And tried to get
out of the thing’s way. He couldn’t avoid it. The beast pounced on the
boy’s boot.
Davey kicked. It clung to him. Jack lifted-pushed Penny out of the
way. Put her against the wall of the apartment building. She crouched
there. Gasping. Meanwhile, the lizard had started climbing Davey’s
legs. The boy flailed at it. Stumbled. Staggered backwards. Shrieking
for help. Slipped. Fell. All of this in only one more second, maybe
two-tick, tick-and Jack felt as if he were in a fever dream, with time
distorted as it could be only in a dream. He went after the boy, but he
seemed to be moving through air as thick as syrup. The lizard was on
the front of Davey’s chest now, its tail whipping back and forth, its
clawed feet digging at the heavy coat, trying to tear the coat to shreds
so that it could then rip open the boy’s belly, and its mouth was wide,
its muzzle almost at the boy’s face-no!-and Rebecca got there ahead of
Jack. Tick. She tore the disgusting thing off Davey’s chest. It
wailed. It bit her hand. She cried out in pain. Threw the lizard
down. Penny was screaming: “Davey, Davey, Davey!” Tick. Davey had
regained his feet. The lizard went after him again. This time, Jack
got hold of the thing. In his bare hands. On the way up to the
Jamisons’ apartment, he’d removed his gloves in order to be able to use
his gun more easily. Now, shuddering at the feel of the thing, he
ripped it off the boy.
Heard the coat shredding in its claws. Held it at arm’s length. Tick.
The creature felt repulsively cold and oily in Jack’s hands, although
for some reason he had expected it to be hot, maybe because of the fire
inside its skull, the silvery blaze that now flickered at him through
the gaping sockets where the demons eyes should have been. The beast