God… maybe if I’d stayed asleep a second more. But I ran again, and I left those people dead in that motel.”
“You’re gonna come with me.” Dennis started pulling his gun from the holster. Price’s head snapped toward him. “I don’t know what kinda fool game you’re--”
He stopped, staring at the gun he held.
It wasn’t a gun anymore. It was an oozing mass of hot rubber. Dennis cried out and slung the thing from his hand. The molten mess hit the floor with a pulpy splat.
“I’m leaving now.” Price’s voice was calm. “Thank you for the coffee.” He walked past Dennis, toward the door.
Dennis grasped a bottle of ketchup from the counter. Cheryl cried out,
“Don’t!”
but it was too late. Dennis was already swinging the bottle. It hit the back of Price’s skull and burst open, spewing ketchup everywhere. Price staggered forward, his knees buckling. When he went down, his skull hit the floor with a noise like a watermelon being dropped. His body began jerking involuntarily.
“Got him!” Dennis shouted triumphantly. “Got that crazy bastard, didn’t I?”
Lindy was holding the little girl in her arms. The boy craned his neck to see. Ray said nervously, “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“He’s not dead,” I told him. I looked over at the gun; it was solid again. Dennis scooped it up and aimed it at Price, whose body continued to jerk. Just like Howdy Doody, I thought. Then Price stopped moving.
“He’s dead!” Cheryl’s voice was near-frantic. “Oh God, you killed him, Dennis!”
Dennis prodded the body with the toe of his boot, then bent down. “Naw. His eyes are movin‘ back and forth behind the lids.” Dennis touched his wrist to check the pulse, then abruptly pulled his own hand away. “Jesus Christ! He’s as cold as a meat locker!” He took Price’s pulse and whistled. “Goin’ like a racehorse at the Derby.”
I touched the place on the counter where the mirage steak had been. My fingers came away slightly greasy, and I could smell the cooked meat on them. At that instant Price twitched. Dennis scuttled away from him like a crab. Price made a gasping, choking noise.
“What’d he say?” Cheryl asked. “He said something!”
“No he didn’t.” Dennis stuck him in the ribs with his pistol. “Come on. Get up.”
“Get him out of here,” I said. “I don’t want him--”
Cheryl shushed me. “Listen. Can you hear that?”
I heard only the roar and crash of the storm.
“Don’t you hear it?” she asked me. Her eyes were getting scared and glassy.
“Yes!” Ray said. “Yes! Listen!”
Then I did hear something, over the noise of the keening wind. It was a distant chuk-chuk-chuk, steadily growing louder and closer. The wind covered the noise for a minute, then it came back: CHUK-CHUK-CHUK, almost overhead.
“It’s a helicopter!” Ray peered through the window. “Somebody’s got a helicopter out there!”
“Ain’t nobody can fly a chopper in a storm!” Dennis told him. The noise of rotors swelled and faded, swelled and faded… and stopped.
On the floor, Price shivered and began to contort into a fetal position. His mouth opened; his face twisted in what appeared to be agony.
Thunder spoke. A red fireball rose up from the woods across the road and hung lazily in the sky for a few seconds before it descended toward the diner. As it fell, the fireball exploded soundlessly into a white, glaring eye of light that almost blinded me.
Price said something in a garbled, panicked voice. His eyes were tightly closed, and he had squeezed up with his arms around his knees.
Dennis rose to his feet; he squinted as the eye of light fell toward the parking lot and winked out in a puddle of water. Another fireball floated up from the woods, and again blossomed into painful glare.
Dennis turned toward me. “I heard him.” His voice was raspy. “He said… ‘Charlie’s in the light.’”
As the second flare fell to the ground and illuminated
“You’re gonna come with me.” Dennis started pulling his gun from the holster. Price’s head snapped toward him. “I don’t know what kinda fool game you’re--”
He stopped, staring at the gun he held.
It wasn’t a gun anymore. It was an oozing mass of hot rubber. Dennis cried out and slung the thing from his hand. The molten mess hit the floor with a pulpy splat.
“I’m leaving now.” Price’s voice was calm. “Thank you for the coffee.” He walked past Dennis, toward the door.
Dennis grasped a bottle of ketchup from the counter. Cheryl cried out,
“Don’t!”
but it was too late. Dennis was already swinging the bottle. It hit the back of Price’s skull and burst open, spewing ketchup everywhere. Price staggered forward, his knees buckling. When he went down, his skull hit the floor with a noise like a watermelon being dropped. His body began jerking involuntarily.
“Got him!” Dennis shouted triumphantly. “Got that crazy bastard, didn’t I?”
Lindy was holding the little girl in her arms. The boy craned his neck to see. Ray said nervously, “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“He’s not dead,” I told him. I looked over at the gun; it was solid again. Dennis scooped it up and aimed it at Price, whose body continued to jerk. Just like Howdy Doody, I thought. Then Price stopped moving.
“He’s dead!” Cheryl’s voice was near-frantic. “Oh God, you killed him, Dennis!”
Dennis prodded the body with the toe of his boot, then bent down. “Naw. His eyes are movin‘ back and forth behind the lids.” Dennis touched his wrist to check the pulse, then abruptly pulled his own hand away. “Jesus Christ! He’s as cold as a meat locker!” He took Price’s pulse and whistled. “Goin’ like a racehorse at the Derby.”
I touched the place on the counter where the mirage steak had been. My fingers came away slightly greasy, and I could smell the cooked meat on them. At that instant Price twitched. Dennis scuttled away from him like a crab. Price made a gasping, choking noise.
“What’d he say?” Cheryl asked. “He said something!”
“No he didn’t.” Dennis stuck him in the ribs with his pistol. “Come on. Get up.”
“Get him out of here,” I said. “I don’t want him--”
Cheryl shushed me. “Listen. Can you hear that?”
I heard only the roar and crash of the storm.
“Don’t you hear it?” she asked me. Her eyes were getting scared and glassy.
“Yes!” Ray said. “Yes! Listen!”
Then I did hear something, over the noise of the keening wind. It was a distant chuk-chuk-chuk, steadily growing louder and closer. The wind covered the noise for a minute, then it came back: CHUK-CHUK-CHUK, almost overhead.
“It’s a helicopter!” Ray peered through the window. “Somebody’s got a helicopter out there!”
“Ain’t nobody can fly a chopper in a storm!” Dennis told him. The noise of rotors swelled and faded, swelled and faded… and stopped.
On the floor, Price shivered and began to contort into a fetal position. His mouth opened; his face twisted in what appeared to be agony.
Thunder spoke. A red fireball rose up from the woods across the road and hung lazily in the sky for a few seconds before it descended toward the diner. As it fell, the fireball exploded soundlessly into a white, glaring eye of light that almost blinded me.
Price said something in a garbled, panicked voice. His eyes were tightly closed, and he had squeezed up with his arms around his knees.
Dennis rose to his feet; he squinted as the eye of light fell toward the parking lot and winked out in a puddle of water. Another fireball floated up from the woods, and again blossomed into painful glare.
Dennis turned toward me. “I heard him.” His voice was raspy. “He said… ‘Charlie’s in the light.’”
As the second flare fell to the ground and illuminated
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