bellowed, and charged at the door as Emma dashed forward to stop her. “Get out! I’ll press charges, I swear!”
“Mom! Stop!”
Before Emma could stop her, her mother had completely lost her temper and was raining blows on Russell’s face. Her punches were solid, launched with unrestrained fury, but she might as well have been pounding a brick wall.
Russell clawed at her flailing fists and managed to grab hold of one.
“Mom! Get back! Come on!” Emma grabbed her around the waist and gave a desperate tug, trying to pull her free. But her mother kept swinging her free fist wildly, and her manic momentum dislodged Emma’s grip.
Emma lost her balance and fell.
Russell bit her mother’s arm. Her squeal of pain told Emma the fight was over. “Mom!” she cried hopelessly, but her mother was merely enraged.
“Bite me, you rotten freak?” she shrieked. Grabbing a dollar store vase from a nearby shelf she smashed it into Russell’s face. Pieces of cheap ceramic lodged in what was left of his cheeks, but he grabbed her and bit her again, harder and deeper, tearing a vein in her arm.
In a flash of lightning Emma saw the look of disbelief on her mother’s face, and the dark blood spurting from her wound. “oh my God, no, mom! Not you!”
Russell grabbed her mother with both arms and pulled her close, biting into her neck.
Emma saw her mother’s eyes roll up and her body spazzing uncontrollably. Half mad with fear she turned and ran through the house into the laundry shed beyond the kitchen.
The back door was locked. She tugged at the doorknob fruitlessly, her mind clouded with terror. Emma heard a brief scuffle then her mother screamed a final scream, an ear-piercing cry that died in a garbled moan. It was followed by horrendous thumping as first her mother then Russell tumbled to the floor.
My God he’s in the house!
In a moment of clarity she finally turned the back door lock and yanked the door open. The commotion in the house grew louder and closer as Russell rampaged through the dark living room, knocking over lamps and pieces of furniture.
Emma grabbed her mother’s raincoat from a peg on the wall and ran out into the pouring rain. The icy downpour had a halting effect. She paused for a moment to think, then dashed into the woods behind the house.
21
Ryan scanned the road carefully as he drove. The nor’easter had arrived earlier than predicted and thick drops of rain were hammering down by the bucketload, flooding the Chevy’s windshield and taxing the little car’s wipers. The windows didn’t quite seal properly—ice cold droplets flicked in through the top of the frame, tapping Ryan’s neck like tiny phantom fingers.
The few homes and businesses he passed looked completely deserted. Not so much as a flickering candle inside. Ryan remembered the call to evacuate the area. Most of the residents on this side of Route 9 would have fled. No one took storms for granted anymore, not since the devasta tion of Superstorm Sandy. Only families like Ryan’s, who lived outside the coastal flood plain, felt secure enough to stay. And of course the hardcore kooks in the beach towns.
He fumbled with the car radio and found a station. Intermittent static cut into the broadcast.
“State police… port abnormally large… of criminal activ… Cape May and… berland Counties… tributed to the heavy fog… vestigation is underway… urge all residents… haven’t already evacuated… homes… lock themselves in unti... has been alerted but… there is no reason to sus… terrorist activit… state police are handling… Again… urged to stay off the… lock all doors… pending furth... tuned to this statio—”
The broadcast died in a hiss of loudening static.
Ryan switched off the annoying noise, breathing a bit easier as he spotted the sign marking the entrance to the Parkway. He slowed to a halt at the entrance then turned up the on-ramp. But as
“Mom! Stop!”
Before Emma could stop her, her mother had completely lost her temper and was raining blows on Russell’s face. Her punches were solid, launched with unrestrained fury, but she might as well have been pounding a brick wall.
Russell clawed at her flailing fists and managed to grab hold of one.
“Mom! Get back! Come on!” Emma grabbed her around the waist and gave a desperate tug, trying to pull her free. But her mother kept swinging her free fist wildly, and her manic momentum dislodged Emma’s grip.
Emma lost her balance and fell.
Russell bit her mother’s arm. Her squeal of pain told Emma the fight was over. “Mom!” she cried hopelessly, but her mother was merely enraged.
“Bite me, you rotten freak?” she shrieked. Grabbing a dollar store vase from a nearby shelf she smashed it into Russell’s face. Pieces of cheap ceramic lodged in what was left of his cheeks, but he grabbed her and bit her again, harder and deeper, tearing a vein in her arm.
In a flash of lightning Emma saw the look of disbelief on her mother’s face, and the dark blood spurting from her wound. “oh my God, no, mom! Not you!”
Russell grabbed her mother with both arms and pulled her close, biting into her neck.
Emma saw her mother’s eyes roll up and her body spazzing uncontrollably. Half mad with fear she turned and ran through the house into the laundry shed beyond the kitchen.
The back door was locked. She tugged at the doorknob fruitlessly, her mind clouded with terror. Emma heard a brief scuffle then her mother screamed a final scream, an ear-piercing cry that died in a garbled moan. It was followed by horrendous thumping as first her mother then Russell tumbled to the floor.
My God he’s in the house!
In a moment of clarity she finally turned the back door lock and yanked the door open. The commotion in the house grew louder and closer as Russell rampaged through the dark living room, knocking over lamps and pieces of furniture.
Emma grabbed her mother’s raincoat from a peg on the wall and ran out into the pouring rain. The icy downpour had a halting effect. She paused for a moment to think, then dashed into the woods behind the house.
21
Ryan scanned the road carefully as he drove. The nor’easter had arrived earlier than predicted and thick drops of rain were hammering down by the bucketload, flooding the Chevy’s windshield and taxing the little car’s wipers. The windows didn’t quite seal properly—ice cold droplets flicked in through the top of the frame, tapping Ryan’s neck like tiny phantom fingers.
The few homes and businesses he passed looked completely deserted. Not so much as a flickering candle inside. Ryan remembered the call to evacuate the area. Most of the residents on this side of Route 9 would have fled. No one took storms for granted anymore, not since the devasta tion of Superstorm Sandy. Only families like Ryan’s, who lived outside the coastal flood plain, felt secure enough to stay. And of course the hardcore kooks in the beach towns.
He fumbled with the car radio and found a station. Intermittent static cut into the broadcast.
“State police… port abnormally large… of criminal activ… Cape May and… berland Counties… tributed to the heavy fog… vestigation is underway… urge all residents… haven’t already evacuated… homes… lock themselves in unti... has been alerted but… there is no reason to sus… terrorist activit… state police are handling… Again… urged to stay off the… lock all doors… pending furth... tuned to this statio—”
The broadcast died in a hiss of loudening static.
Ryan switched off the annoying noise, breathing a bit easier as he spotted the sign marking the entrance to the Parkway. He slowed to a halt at the entrance then turned up the on-ramp. But as
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