his head over the bike's handlebars. How stupid could you get?
He didn't know. I suppose I got a good chance of finding out . What he needed now was to get some sleep, maybe think about all this stuff in the morning. He could call up Anne and talk to her, tell her what was going on-she could keep a secret. He'd told her all kinds of things that nobody else knew. Maybe she'd be able to figure out what he should do now.
Underneath the cold pinpricks of light, he rolled on the bike's accelerator, heading for home.
***
Mike listened to the rasp of the kid's motorbike fading away-a million miles, then more, down the straight road that ran through the night. If there had been any other sound, it would have blotted out the tiny engine's sputter.
He worked at his breathing, each pull into his lungs forced by his will. He'd tried opening his eyes-that had taken an effort as well-but he wasn't going to try again. The sensation of darkness spinning-of not even being able to see anything, yet sensing that the dark was twisting and blurring around him, as though he were falling down an endless, unlit mine shaft-had frightened him. A small calm voice in his head had announced, as though speaking of some stranger anesthetized on the table: So this is what it feels like to die . The fingers of his good hand had dug into the kid's arm as he'd been carried into the building.
If he just kept quiet, just stayed submerged under the wash of the pain and the dizziness… if he could just make it to the morning, and then the bright hours after that… however long it took for Lindy to get here…
If he could take another breath, and then one after that…
Easy , he told himself. It's the easiest thing in the world . He didn't have a single other thing to do now. The whole world had shrunk down to this, a dark, empty, dust-smelling room in some shabby old building falling down around him.
I should've asked -his thoughts wandered, his breathing going on by itself; that was a good sign, he knew. I should've asked him where the fuck am I . What this place was; some kind of hospital, he figured, if the things he'd seen upstairs were really there, and not just part of the dreaming. And that would be funny-he could feel the skin of his face tightening in a rictuslike smile. What he needed was to be in a hospital, and here he was in one, only it looked as though he were about a hundred years too late.
You missed your appointment, doctor … A snippy little receptionist's voice. Perhaps we can reschedule you … perhaps you can come back tomorrow …
A laugh scraped out of his throat. It died, and he had to roll onto his shoulder to spit out a sour wad of blood and phlegm. In the silence that flowed back over him, as he let his shoulders fall back onto the blankets, he heard something moving outside, nearly silent itself-a motion that touched the air, parted it like a weightless curtain, and left it in place, unchanged. The easing of weight onto powdery dust, the step of a tracking animal, leaving nothing but the marks of its passage.
Mike's eyes opened, involuntarily. Adrenaline seeped around his spine, pointing his senses. He could hear the creature outside, the slow investigation of its muzzle around the building's walls. And the others, the rest of them-all that had come down out of the hills, toward the scent of blood.
He could see the walls and ceiling in the faint blue light seeping inside; the adrenal rush had brought things into focus. He turned on his side and pulled himself toward the window. Levering himself up with his elbow on the sill, he peered through the largest crack between the boards.
Outside, the red eyes prowled back and forth, pacing the limits of their night territory.
He brought his gaze up, toward the crest of the hills. Another creature was there, gazing down at the building. Upright,
He didn't know. I suppose I got a good chance of finding out . What he needed now was to get some sleep, maybe think about all this stuff in the morning. He could call up Anne and talk to her, tell her what was going on-she could keep a secret. He'd told her all kinds of things that nobody else knew. Maybe she'd be able to figure out what he should do now.
Underneath the cold pinpricks of light, he rolled on the bike's accelerator, heading for home.
***
Mike listened to the rasp of the kid's motorbike fading away-a million miles, then more, down the straight road that ran through the night. If there had been any other sound, it would have blotted out the tiny engine's sputter.
He worked at his breathing, each pull into his lungs forced by his will. He'd tried opening his eyes-that had taken an effort as well-but he wasn't going to try again. The sensation of darkness spinning-of not even being able to see anything, yet sensing that the dark was twisting and blurring around him, as though he were falling down an endless, unlit mine shaft-had frightened him. A small calm voice in his head had announced, as though speaking of some stranger anesthetized on the table: So this is what it feels like to die . The fingers of his good hand had dug into the kid's arm as he'd been carried into the building.
If he just kept quiet, just stayed submerged under the wash of the pain and the dizziness… if he could just make it to the morning, and then the bright hours after that… however long it took for Lindy to get here…
If he could take another breath, and then one after that…
Easy , he told himself. It's the easiest thing in the world . He didn't have a single other thing to do now. The whole world had shrunk down to this, a dark, empty, dust-smelling room in some shabby old building falling down around him.
I should've asked -his thoughts wandered, his breathing going on by itself; that was a good sign, he knew. I should've asked him where the fuck am I . What this place was; some kind of hospital, he figured, if the things he'd seen upstairs were really there, and not just part of the dreaming. And that would be funny-he could feel the skin of his face tightening in a rictuslike smile. What he needed was to be in a hospital, and here he was in one, only it looked as though he were about a hundred years too late.
You missed your appointment, doctor … A snippy little receptionist's voice. Perhaps we can reschedule you … perhaps you can come back tomorrow …
A laugh scraped out of his throat. It died, and he had to roll onto his shoulder to spit out a sour wad of blood and phlegm. In the silence that flowed back over him, as he let his shoulders fall back onto the blankets, he heard something moving outside, nearly silent itself-a motion that touched the air, parted it like a weightless curtain, and left it in place, unchanged. The easing of weight onto powdery dust, the step of a tracking animal, leaving nothing but the marks of its passage.
Mike's eyes opened, involuntarily. Adrenaline seeped around his spine, pointing his senses. He could hear the creature outside, the slow investigation of its muzzle around the building's walls. And the others, the rest of them-all that had come down out of the hills, toward the scent of blood.
He could see the walls and ceiling in the faint blue light seeping inside; the adrenal rush had brought things into focus. He turned on his side and pulled himself toward the window. Levering himself up with his elbow on the sill, he peered through the largest crack between the boards.
Outside, the red eyes prowled back and forth, pacing the limits of their night territory.
He brought his gaze up, toward the crest of the hills. Another creature was there, gazing down at the building. Upright,
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