Backtracker (100 page)

*****

Chapter
63

As Billy Bristol flashed toward the killer, Dave held his breath. He wanted to close his eyes; he
didn
'
t
want to watch...but he knew that
he had
to, that it was all that he
could
do.

Billy
'
s fleet strides whisked him between Dave and the killer, swept him behind Larry
'
s back. The last margin of safety quickly disappeared; Billy bolted to within three feet of Larry Smith, close enough for Larry to easily reach him.

Dave
'
s heart seemed to freeze in mid
-
beat. Everything within and around him seemed to freeze...the wind, the rain, the world...everything but the two figures before him on the shore.

Everything seemed to stop except that which he most wanted to stop.

All that he could do was watch as Billy hurtled behind the killer, shot toward Larry
'
s left side...and the captive child.

*****

Chapter
64

Finally, suddenly, Larry Smith took notice. His head flicked up and swung to the right...but Billy was already gone from that direction. The footsteps, or whatever sound or sensation had alerted the killer, had already passed behind him.

Larry
'
s head swung around to the left; his whole upper body twisted in that direction.

With the screeching child still tucked in the crook of his left arm, Larry spun toward Billy Bristol
'
s angle of attack.

*****

Chapter
65

Billy swooped to within inches of the killer, dove around his left flank.

Billy
'
s arms whipped up; his hands shot toward the child. Larry was spinning toward him, exposing the infant, practically making a gift of it.

Dave felt a surge of hope. He thought that he saw Billy
'
s hands close around the child; he thought that Billy would lift the captive free and dash triumphantly away. He tried to ready himself to shoot down the killer as soon as Billy was clear.

Then, Billy Bristol stumbled.

*****

Chapter
6
6

Larry was turning. He
hadn
'
t
yet had time to react to Billy
'
s raid, other than to turn and catch sight of him.

Billy stumbled. The beach sand was uneven, full of pits and humps; his feet must have struck such an obstacle, caught on a drift or dip in mid
-
stride.

Larry was turning.

Billy
'
s hands snapped away from the child. He twisted and flailed, struggling to regain his footing.

Larry was turning.

Billy
couldn
'
t
stop himself from dropping. He toppled forward, to his left; he fell toward the killer.

Larry was turning.

Billy fell toward the killer
'
s right; he fell toward the killer
'
s right arm.

Larry was turning.

The child was cradled in Larry
'
s left arm. In his right hand...

Billy was falling.

...in his right hand, he held the blade.

*****

Chapter
6
7

Dave knew. Before it happened, Dave knew.

Billy was falling; he was falling toward the killer
'
s right hand.

In his right hand, Larry held the long knife.

Dave knew.

Larry
wasn
'
t
gripping the knife as if he planned to strike at his attacker. He held the blade level with his chest;
he'd
been about to puncture the child.

Dave knew.

Larry
didn
'
t
thrust the knife at Billy; he simply turned, and the blade turned with him.

Before it happened, Dave knew.

Before it happened, Dave screamed his friend
'
s name.

Larry was turning.

Billy fell; the blade passed through his throat, hardly slowing his plunge.

Billy kept falling. A spray of blood traced his descent.

Dave screamed.

*****

Billy Bristol flopped heavily onto the beach sand. He made no effort to catch himself, blunt the impact of his fall.

Dave Heinrich had seen it;
he'd
seen it all.
He'd
watched the nightmarish choreography unfold before him, ten yards in front of him...ten yards away, just ten yards away, but it might as well have been ten thousand miles for all that Dave had been able to do.

He stood now as
he'd
stood through the entire event
-
gun gripped rigidly ahead of him, feet spread apart. His posture
hadn
'
t
changed since the time when there had still been hope, since the instant when Billy
'
s hands had touched the child; his posture
hadn
'
t
changed since the instant when Billy had stumbled, the instant when the whole world had irrevocably altered.

Again, Dave screamed the name of his friend, the name of his best friend.

He screamed the name: Billy...and again, Billy.

*****

Chapter
69

Larry Smith gaped at that which
he'd
wrought.

Billy Bristol writhed in the sand at his feet. Billy lay on his left side, upon which
he'd
fallen; he clutched his torn throat with both hands, as if that might hold shut his wound.

Billy
'
s hands were covered with bright blood, the same blood which streamed and pooled upon the sand...the same blood which had spattered Larry
'
s gnarled right arm, the same blood which streaked his blade.

Larry Smith gaped.

Billy
'
s eyes were wide as he struggled in vain to staunch the crimson flow. He gurgled and choked, gasped spastically; he coughed, and blood sprayed from his mouth.

With each beat of his heart, more blood pulsed between his fingers.

Larry Smith gaped.

With an anguished cry, he dropped to his knees. The knife fell from his hand; the shrieking child tumbled to the sand.

*****

Chapter
70

Reeling with shock and disbelief, Dave began to stagger forward. He
didn
'
t
know what to do,
couldn
'
t
even think; he felt utterly lost and helpless, robbed of even the most minimal faculties.

He'd
seen it.
He'd
seen it all.

His legs seemed to move of their own accord. As he hobbled toward the beach, he was only dimly aware of the halting steps that he took; he felt removed, distanced from everything, as if he were watching from afar.

He'd
seen it.

Everything seemed strange to him now, incomprehensible; it was all wrong, so wrong that it seemed unreal, unfathomable. He saw Billy curled in the sand, Larry kneeling beside him...but they both looked unfamiliar, like strangers. Dave had seen all that had happened, every terrible detail, had known how it would end before it had ended...and yet, as he stared at the awful tableau, he felt as if he
didn
'
t
understand it,
couldn
'
t
grasp its meaning or how it had come to be. He felt as if
he'd
walked in on a late scene in a play, and he
didn
'
t
know the characters or what had led them to this particular moment.

He'd
seen it.

Mindlessly, he continued to stagger toward the shore, toward the bloody, collapsed form which
couldn
'
t
possibly be that of his friend. He heard the sounds, the gagging and hacking, the heaving and rattling...but they
couldn
'
t
possibly be the sounds of his comrade,
couldn
'
t
possibly be.

That
couldn
'
t
possibly be Billy Bristol in the sand.

It
couldn
'
t
possibly have happened.

It was all wrong.

He'd
seen it.

He'd
seen it.

He'd
seen it.

He began to run. He raced toward the shore, hurtled toward the fallen figure which he knew which he knew which he
knew
couldn
'
t
be Billy Bristol.

*****

Chapter
71

As he barreled through the rain, Dave screamed. Words erupted from his mouth, but he hardly realized that they were his own; his voice seemed foreign, seemed to belong to someone else.

Larry Smith
didn
'
t
look up. His eyes were fixed on Billy Bristol.

Larry
'
s face was contorted in an agonized grimace; he clutched his skull with both hands.

He was sobbing.

"
I said get
away
from him
!
"
screamed Dave, scrambling onto the beach, still only barely aware of what he was saying or doing.
"
Get away!
"

Larry
didn
'
t
respond. He continued to stare at his victim and sob; he rocked from the waist, clawed at his scalp.

Kicking up clods of wet sand, Dave careened blindly toward the twitching body and the kneeling, weeping man. Again, he repeated his command.

Larry Smith released a shrill, tortured cry, shook his head from side to side. His mouth gaped wide; his eyes were almost pinched shut.

Dave lurched to a stop within five feet of the killer and his victim. He leveled the gun at Larry, slipped a finger to the trigger.

"
Get away from him
!
"
Dave screamed yet again.
"
Get away from him!
"

Larry moaned, continued to rock and shake his head.

"
I
'
ll blow your fuckin
'
head
off
!
"
screamed Dave.
"
Get away!
"

Larry wailed deliriously.

"
Get away
!
"
blasted Dave, his voice cracking.

Larry stared at Billy Bristol.

Dave
'
s gaze, too, dropped to the body in the sand.

It
wasn
'
t
squirming so much anymore; it was unbelievably bloody, lathered with red and more red from the waist up.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy Bristol.

The eyes were popped wide; both hands were cinched about its throat.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy Bristol.

Blood pumped from between the fingers, rolled from the corner of the mouth. The teeth had gone scarlet; what flesh
hadn
'
t
been bloodied was pale as ivory.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy.

The head flicked spasmodically; one wiry leg kicked, then stilled. The whole body shuddered, then stopped, then shuddered again.

A reddish foam bubbled from between the lips.

Dave was transfixed.

The face lolled toward him, but the eyes
didn
'
t
seek him out; they were directed somewhere above him, though they
didn
'
t
seem to be focused on anything in particular. They looked wide and empty as the eyes of a fish, bereft of human consciousness.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy Bristol.

It
couldn
'
t
possibly be Billy.

"
Get away from him
!
"
Dave screamed hysterically, surging forward a step.
"
I
'
ll blow your fuckin
'
head
off if you don
'
t get away from him!
"

The body stopped twitching. The arms slumped, but the hands remained about the throat.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy Bristol.

"
Get away
!
"
screamed Dave, shaking the gun at the killer.
"
Get away!
"

Sobbing, shivering, oblivious, Larry Smith gaped at the still form before him. One of his hands left his scalp, drifted fluttering toward the body.

A tremendous burst of thunder crashed overhead. The child, discarded in the sand behind the killer, thrashed and shrieked with abandon.

"
No,
"
Larry said feebly, his voice broken. His blackened, shriveled hand descended slowly, then stopped; it hovered a few inches above Billy
'
s face, trembled wildly as if it had been stricken by a sudden, powerful palsy.

"
Don
'
t
to
uch
him
!
"
screamed Dave.
"
Get the fuck
away
from him! Get away!
"

"
My God,
"
whimpered Larry.
"
Oh my God,
"
he squeaked, one hand digging at his scalp, the other quaking over the bloody face of his victim.

The body in the sand lay perfectly still. Its chest
didn
'
t
rise or fall with breath; blood no longer spurted from between its clenched fingers.

It
wasn
'
t
Billy Bristol.

It
wasn
'
t
it
wasn
'
t
it
wasn
'
t
it
wasn
'
t
Billy Bristol.

"
Get away
!
"
howled Dave.
"
Get the fuck
away
!
"

"
No
,
"
sobbed Larry, but the word
didn
'
t
seem to be a response to Dave
'
s furious command. Larry seemed devastated, engulfed in his own misery, too lost in grief to even acknowledge the presence of another.

"
Get away from him
!
"
bellowed Dave, his finger taut against the trigger of the .38.
"
Now
, damnit!
"

"
Not you,
"
whimpered Larry, his hand still quaking above the lifeless face.
"
Not you. Oh God, not you.
"

"
Get...
away
!
"
screamed Dave.

"
Not
you
,
"
wailed Larry, whipping his head violently from side to side.
"
It was never...supposed to be...
you
.
"

"
Get
away
from him, you fucking
bastard
!
"
roared Dave.
"
I
'
ll blow your
head
off, I swear to
God
!
"

Still, Larry
didn
'
t
look up from the one whom
he'd
killed.
"
I didn
'
t...mean to
!
"
he rasped.
"
I didn
'
t
know
!
"

"
Get the fuck
away
!
"
blazed Dave. His finger tightened against the trigger; mindlessly, he bolted two steps closer to the killer.

Dave wanted to shoot. He wanted to shoot immediately.

"
I didn
'
t
know
!
"
blubbered Larry Smith.

Dave wanted to kill him.

The urge was overwhelming, all
-
consuming. Even distanced as he was, deadened and remote, Dave felt the need boiling up from his belly, burning in his heart.

He wanted to kill.

He wanted to kill Larry Smith. Now.

Even though that
wasn
'
t
Billy Bristol in the sand, even though that
couldn
'
t
be Billy and he
couldn
'
t
be dead and Larry
couldn
'
t
possibly have killed him, Dave wanted to watch Larry
'
s head blow apart in a fiery blossom.

He wanted to make it happen. He wanted to make something happen.

"
Not you,
"
sobbed Larry Smith.
"
You were...supposed to...
live
.
"
His face was soaked from the continuous downpour; whatever tears flowed from his eyes, they were indistinguishable from the sheen of rainwater.

"
I
'
m counting to
ten
!
"
announced Dave.
"
If you
'
re not
away
from him by the time I
'
m
done
, that
'
s
it
!
You
'
re fuckin
'
dead
!
"
As he declared the ultimatum, he
didn
'
t
know why
he'd
given it, why he
hadn
'
t
simply fired the gun at that instant. He
didn
'
t
know why
he'd
delayed...but he
didn
'
t
care, either; he knew without a doubt that he would fulfill the promise.

"
One
!
"
he screamed.

Larry ignored him, continued to shiver and weep and rock from the waist.
"
Oh, God,
"
he groaned.
"
Oh, Billy, I
'
m
sorry
.
"

Dave wanted to shoot,
didn
'
t
want to wait.
"
Two
!
"
he barked, gripping the gun steadily before him, not shaking a bit. As he gazed along the barrel, he knew that he
couldn
'
t
miss when he finally fired; Larry
wasn
'
t
even three feet away, and he
didn
'
t
look as if he was in any condition to dodge a bullet.

"
Oh, Billy,
"
Larry sobbed wretchedly, his hand still fluttering above the face in the sand.
"
This can
'
t...be real. This can
'
t be...
real
.
"
Tossing his head, he released a high, trembling cry of absolute despair. His grief seemed enormous; the man who had slaughtered so many so brutally seemed utterly devastated by the latest death.

"
Three
!
"
snapped Dave. Thunder boomed overhead, louder than ever; the storm
'
s bursts were steadily intensifying, just as the urge to kill was magnifying within Dave.