MOON FALL (51 page)

John had slipped into the school building and downstairs to
the infirmary without being seen, but finding the exam room
containing the entrance to the basement had been far more
difficult.

The infirmary was not deserted; Dashwood's prune-faced
nurse had been sitting in one room with the lights on and the
door ajar. With her were two people-
a woman and a girl
dressed
in white robes. He hesitated long enough to make sure
it wasn't Sara under all the makeup, then whisked past the door
successfully, hoping the basement entry was not in the occupied
room.

There were four more doors, all closed. The first, he knew,
was to Dashwood's office. The next door yielded a restroom,
and he noticed that the window over the toilet was open far
enough for a man to climb through. It was something to keep
in mind, he thought, as he opened the next door. It was an
exam room, but the door inside led only to a linen closet.

One door left. John slipped inside quickly as voices sounded
down the hall. He crossed to a door similar to the one in the
previous room. Opening it, he felt a surge of relief. The closet
was empty, without shelves. He stepped inside and quickly
found a small latch on the back wall. He depressed it and the
door opened.

After closing the outer door, he made his way down into the
darkness, cursing his dead penlight. Halfway down the stairs
or
so he figured-
he halted and listened. ''Mark?" he called.
''Mark? Are you here?''

Only the echo of his own voice answered him. He called
louder, but still there was no reply. The only thing he could
see was the glow of his watch face when he lifted his sleeve:
ten minutes until midnight. Without light, there was no way
John could explore the basement, so he turned and carefully
made his way back up the stairs and into the closet.

He exited the closet and crossed to the door, then paused,
listening. Silence. He slipped into the hall. Light glowed from
the exam room where the woman and the girl were waiting.
The door leading to the front waiting area was shut, just as
he'd left it. He paused, wondering if he should try to get the
women out now; then the waiting room door opened and the
decision was made for him. Before he could move, a half dozen
robed figures came in, led by Dashwood, his cowl thrown back.
The doctor saw him and started running.

John opened the door to the bathroom and ran in, leapt onto
the toilet, and shimmied through the tight window, pulling free
just as Dashwood entered. John crashed through the bushes
and ran across the back of the building, not slowing until he
reached the end.

He
h
ad to make it to the chapel, but it was impossible because
the doors were wide open and robed figures were filing out.
He crouched in the shadows of the bushes and checked his
watch. It was only a few minutes until midnight.

The figures formed into two rows lining either side of the
chapel doors. They began to chant and their voices carried
eerily through the night air.

Something rustled in t
he bushes behind him. Turning, h
e
aimed his gun at the sound. ''Come out or I shoot," he hissed.

"Dad?"

''Mark?" He pushed between the bushes and came face to
face with his son, who was hefting a football-sized rock, the
sharp point aimed right at him.

Mark's eyes opened wide and be set the rock down. "Dad!"

"Shhh.
They'll hear us." As h
e spoke, he stuck the gun in
his waistband and pushed the rest of the way through the bushes,
not caring about the twigs scratching his hands and face. He
grabbed Mark and hugged him. ''Oh, God, I thought you
were
-
"

"Dead," Mark finished, as he returned John's hug with a
near stranglehold. "I almost was. They drugged me. I got away
through the bathroom window."

"So did I," John said. "They'll be looking for us. Minerva's
waiting by the chapel; we have to get to her."

The boy nodded, then tensed as the door at the end of the
school building opened, less than eight feet away.

Dashwood and Mother Lucy came out and turned toward
the door, raising their cowls. "Richard," Lucy hissed, "kill
Lawson on sight. He can't disrupt the ceremony."

"Don't worry, my love," Dashwood said softly, his tone
irritated. ''Nothing can happen now. And I have good news for
you, Lucy. Sara Hawthorne has been located."

''Really? Where?"

"See the faithful waiting for us outside the chapel?"

Lucy nodded.

"She's among them. I'll inject a tranquilizer as soon as I
pass her. Then we can give her to the Beast, or keep her for
ourselves, whatever you desire."

"Richard," she purred. "I'm impressed. Here they come."

John watched as the pair stepped back and two more stepped
out, supporting the white-clad girl between them. They were
followed by another duo, these guiding the woman in white.
Finally, the third pair exited. John shivered, knowing that if
things had gone their way, they would be bringing Mark to the
altar.

Lucy and Dashwood started across the lawn toward
the
chapel, the others following at a stately pace. John knew he
couldn't get to Sara before Dashwood did, but at least the
doctor had said he was only giving her a tranquilizer.

Minerva and Paul entered the chapel from the rear as soon
as the congregation had filed out, and now Minerva saw that
Paul was staring in shock at the inverted cross, the black altar,
and the gargoyles lining the walls. "Come, Paul," she whispered.
"Begin your rites. We don't have much time."

The priest nodded. He now wore a large crucifix around his
neck
-
his own sort of amulet, Minerva thought-
and held an
open vial of holy water. Speaking softly in Latin, he began
sprinkling the water. When some hit a gargoyle mounted near
the chancel, it sizzled.

Minerva began her own ancient rites. The chapel was charged
from the sisters' magic, and as she spoke, she felt as if she
were breathing cold oil into her lungs, not oxygen. Her ears
rang and hurt from the changing air pressure in the room. She
approached the gargoyle that h
ad sizzled and put her hand on
its ugly muzzle. It was ice-cold, but the eyes, dull and reddish,
began to glow crimson. It was stone ... living stone.

Kelly edged nearer the front of the chapel, keeping to the
shadows, careful to make no sound. The nuns and chosen students
stood on either side of the doors, their heads turned toward
the school building. A small procession carne out the door, led
by Dashwood and Lucy, and slowly began walking across the
lawn.

Trying not to worry about Minerva inside the building, she
tried to see some of the faces, soon recognizing several of
the nuns, plus Buffy Bullock and Marcia Crowley. Marybeth
Tingler wore a red robe and a smile. For an instant, she saw a
flash of face from under a cowl, and she jumped, thinking she
recognized Sara Hawthorne. She kept her eyes on the woman,
and finally, she showed her profile for a split second.
It is Sara!

Sara shivered as she stood in the line of Satanists watching
as Dashwood and Lucy approached. She strained to see the
white-clad figures being brought behind them and as they
neared, she nearly sighed with relief. Mark wasn't among them.
He'd escaped.

Or had he? Had he made it home and alerted John? Her eyes
darted as she searched for him in vain
.
Where was he? Where
was Minerva? Maybe the nuns and Dashwood had gotten to
both of them. Maybe they were all dead
.
Don't think like that!

Sara turned her gaze back to Dashwood and Lucy, and her
heart skipped a beat. Lucy was walking slowly down the opposite
line, pushing the cowls back to reveal the faces beneath.

Dashwood was doing the same thing on her line and was
quickly approaching
.
Her mind raced. She had to get away,
and her only choice was to run. She swallowed hard, wondering
if she could make it into the woods. Her chances were small,
but if she didn't run, they were nil.

Suddenly, Dashwood moved straight to her, skipping the two
women before her. He grabbed her cowl and yanked it back
.
''Did you know, my dear Sara, that fear has an odor? I can
smell it on you." He grabbed her arm with one hand and raised
a hypodermic with the other.

''No!"

Sara heard Kelly's cry and saw the girl racing toward her.
Dashwood grunted and slammed into her, the syringe flying
from his band.

"Come on!" Kelly yelled, trying to yank her out from under
Dashwood, but the man shook her off and pinned Sara's wrists.

Sara heard Kelly scream, saw movement behind her, heard
more shrill cries
.
Dashwood pulled Sara up, twisting her arm
behind her, almost breaking it. Then he put a knife to her throat.

Lucy had Kelly in a similar hold, minus the knife. ''It's
time!" she called out. "All of you, line up and enter the chapel.
Now!"

Sara and Kelly struggled in vain while the Satanists filed
into the chapel. Last came the sacrifices; then she and Kelly
were alone with
Dashwood
and Lucy.

"What shall we do with them?" Lucy asked
.

"Bring them in. There's no time."

Minerva had hurried Paul out of sight behind the drapes
framing the inver
ted crucifix as soon as they'd h
eard the
screams. She knew they h
ad Kelly and Sara.

The church bell began to chime, heralding midnight. She
glanced at Paul, wondering
h
ow much good they'd done. He
smiled tightly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the preternaturally
chill air.

She bea
rd the congregation returning, h
eard their feet, their
s
oft chanting. The air began to thicken and electricity lifted the
hairs on her arms and neck as the bell chimed on. The Beast
was on its way.

John cringed at the sound of Kelly Reed's scream; his stomach
clenched when be heard Sara's voice
.
For a moment, be
saw nothing; then the robed figures moved into the chapel,
and he saw Lucy holding Kelly's arm and Dashwood standing
behind Sara.

It was time to strike
.
"Wait here, Mark."

"No way! I'm going with you. You have a gun."

He couldn't argue with that. "Stay behind me."

He drew his gun and dashed out of the bushes, running
straight across the lawn toward the chapel.

"Let them go!" h
e ordered.
Dashwood
and Lucy both stared
at him, Lucy's face a scowl, Dashwood's amused. He pressed
the knife against Sara's neck. and John saw a crimson bead
seep from her throat.

"It seems, my dear Lawson, that we're at a stalemate," the
doctor said smoothly.

Suddenly, Kelly moved, and John saw her foot come down
h
ard on Lucy's. The nun cursed and Kelly was free. She ran
at
Dashwood
. "Let her go!"

"Kelly, no!"
John yelled, and the girl stopped short of tackling
Das
h
wood, paralyzed like a deer caught in headlights.
Lucy lunged at her and John turned his gun on the nun. "Stop,
or I'll shoot!"

"Fuck you!" Lucy screamed, as she wrapped her hands
around Kelly's neck and began to squeeze.

John squeezed the trigger. Blood spurted from Lucy's head
and she went down and lay still. He'd scored a direct bit.

Then something began to happen to her body. Under the
black robe, it moved, the legs drawing up and disappearing
beneath the cloth, followed by the arms and head.

Suddenly, a nightfl
yer shrieked. The black robe flapped and
then was thrown aside to reveal a creature, hideously ugly from
its lizardy tail to its mouthful of sharp teeth. It flapped its wings,
shrieked again, then took off, flying up to the top of the chapel
cross. Awestruck, John watched it, and realized that some of
the gargoyles were missing from the chapel roof. Most of them,
in fact.

Dashwood was laughing, though it was hard to hear above
the frenzied chanting. "Where else would Lucy roost?" He
laughed harder. "Good shot, Lawson, and thank you. I was
tired of her tyranny. And now, if you'll excuse me, Sara and I
are late for a date with the devil."

Dashwood turned, backing toward the church, using Sara as
a shield. John watched helplessly, Mark and Kelly beside him.

"You two,
run.
Get outside the front gate and wait for me."

"But-" Mark said.

''Do it.
If you have to run farther, stay on the road. Whatever
you do, stay on it, all the way to Apple Hill." As he spoke the
words, his heart thundered. He'd said almost the same thing
to his little brother exactly twenty-four years ago.

The kids ran, and John turned his attention back to Sara.
Dashwood was entering the chapel, dragging Sara along with
him. John ran after him.

He stopped short on the threshold, staring in shock at the
spectacle before him. It was almost identical to the dream he'd
h
ad the other night. Only the first four pews on each side were
filled, and
Dashwood
was passing them, still holding onto Sara.
He rounded the altar and John saw the white-clad figures laid
out across it. Glitter-eyed gargoyles lined the edges of the
chapel.

The air was thick and cold, and when
Dashwood
opened his
mouth and began speaking something that sounded vaguely
like Latin, it became thicker and so cold that it
h
urt John's
lungs.

Dashwood, his knife still at Sara's throat, stepped back from
the altar. He came to a halt before the red drapes flanking the
reversed crucifix, still reciting the foreign words. The women
in the pews began to chant in counterpoint to Das
h
wood, and
above the black altar,
the air began to vibrate, like h
eat waves
over desert sand. A sound like roaring wind filled John's ears
and the swirling air above the altar, above the human sacrifices,
began to darken.

Das
h
wood's voice rose, and red sparks appeared within the
swirling blackness. Suddenly, a nightf
l
yer shrieked, and John
looked toward the sound, saw first one, then another gargoyle
stretch its wings. More shrieks followed.

Das
h
wood yelled and jumped forward, and Sara spun away
from him, dropping to the floor, then getting to her knees, ready
to run. Dashwood barely glanced at her, but turned and yanked
the drape.

Minerva and Paul stood there. Minerva moved instantly, the
hunting knife in her hand pointed at Dashwood. Paul went
straight to the altar, a bible in one hand, holy water in the other.
He began chanting in recognizable Latin, and as he did, he
shook the vial of water and threw it at the boiling black mass.

A sound louder than a thousand screams nearly burst John's
eardrums. He ran up the aisle. Seeing him, Minerva turned
from Dashwood and joined Paul at the altar, beginning her own
arcane work.

The robed figures in the pews were in confusion without
their leaders. Ignoring them, John ran at Dashwood, and the
man surprised him by kicking the gun out of his hand. It spun
across the floor and Sara grabbed it.

Dash
wood punched John in the chest, knocking the air out
of him. He dropped to his hands and knees, and before he could
get to his feet, Dashwood struck again, delivering a kick to his
ribs.

Concentrate!
Doggedly, John got to his feet and swung at
Dashwood. He missed the first time, but the second swing
connected squarely with the doctor's jaw and knocked him
backward.

He didn't go down, but came back swinging. John blocked
a punch, then connected his fist with Dashwood's abdomen.
Air w
h
ooshed out of him and Dashwood glared, his eyes fiery
pits.

John kept eye contact as they feinted, but he could hear
chaos behind him, could feel the chill in his lungs. Dashwood
leapt at him, knocked him down. John kneed him in the stomach
and they rolled off the chancel. He heard screaming from the
pews as they rolled to a stop at the feet of the worshipers.

Dashwood's knee slammed into his groin, and John doubled
up on the f
l
oor, vaguely aware that the doctor was on his feet
Groaning, he got up and ran after him, not stopping when Sara
called his name.

Dashwood ran into an anteroom and John followed, his eyes
watering and his stomach roiling from the pain in his groin.
The doctor was gone, but a door to the outside hung open.
John stopped on the threshold for a split second, panting, aware
that the air wasn't as cold now, his ears weren't under pressure,
and the
nightflyers
' screeches had died down. Whatever Paul
and Minerva were doing was working.

He set off after Dashwood. He could barely see the man in
the dark as he fled through the hedges and across the road into
the forest.

Dashwood was fast, but John kept up, chasing his dark silhouette
between the trees more by sound than by sight. They ran
on and on, splashing across the creek, running until the roar
of Witch Falls drowned out the sound of
Dashwood's footsteps.

Moonlight shot through the thinning trees as they approached
the Falls, and John, h
olding his ribs where
Dashwood
h
ad
kicked him, was able to spot the doctor as be moved up an
incline and ran onto the old wooden bridge spanning the top
of the Falls.

With a new burst of energy, John made the bridge. "Dashwood!"
he yelled. "This gets settled now!"

Dashwood, halfway across the bridge, turned to look at him.
"You can't win, Lawson. You're no match for me."

Jo
hn stalked toward him, wishing h
e had his gun.

"You Lawsons are easy. Your ancestors were easy. Your
father was simple. He came nosing around, and we set him up
and blew his brains out. Your grandfather was even easier."

''Go to h
ell," John spat. He was only a yard from Dashwood
now. "You're out of tricks, Doctor. Now it's just you and me,
one on one. No magic, no gargoyles, nothing."

Dashwood cocked his
h
ead, studied him, then laughed.
"Whatever you say."

Dashwood threw himself at him, exactly as John had hoped.
He sidestepped neatly, then whirled, throwing his arm around
Dashwood's neck from behind, pulling him backward, trying
to strangle him.

Dashwood gasped, then kicked John's shin and broke away.
John blocked the first punch, took the second on the shoulder,
then hit the doctor with an uppercut to the jaw. Dashwood
staggered back against the bridge's wooden handrail, and John
plowed into him, his h
ands wrapping around the man's neck.

Suddenly, the bridge creaked and groaned; then they were
falling and falling into the water. It seemed to take forever
before they hi
t, and John, on top of Dashwood,
felt the shock
as the doctor crashed into the sharp rocks at the bottom of the
Falls. They bounced and hit another rock, and despite the thunder
of the water, John heard Dashwood's spine snap, felt the
body bend unnaturally beneath him.

They'd come to a stop, teetering on a rock at the base of
the Falls. John squinted through the spray and the dark, saw
Dashwood's eyes were open and blank. Blood oozed from his
mouth. "Go to hell," he said,
and rolled himself off the body
and into the deep water. He paddled slowly away from the
rocks into the old swimming area, his memories of his last
swim here, when he'd dragged his brother's body from the
water, dominating his thoughts.

Barely aware of the icy water, he swam by memory to the
steep trail that led up to the Mezzanine. He crawled slowly
toward the top, his mind reeling
.
It was over at last, and Mark
was alive, Sara, too. As he made the ridge and dragged his
body onto the flat ground. he realized he was already lapsing
into disbelief, already rationalizing everything that had happened,
the way he would on his police report.

"John?"

Sara's voice, far away. "I'm here," he called.
Sara
, he
thought,
Sara
. She brought new concerns, new feelings, new
problems. And he looked forward to them all.

"John?"

He looked up, saw her silhouette on the bridge. "Down
here," he called. "Get off the bridge. It's broken."

She screamed. H
e staggered to his feet, shouting her
name. Then he heard the ungodly shriek of a nightflyer.

He looked at the Falls and saw a huge black form rise above
the cliff. Batwings, a tail, red eyes. It hovered for an instant,
then flew at him, and he remembered how Lucy had transformed
when she died. The thing flew at him and he curled into a ball
and rolled, hiding his face and stomach. He had no way to fight
it.

Talons ripped into his back and teeth tore at his shoulder.
After all this, I'm going to die.
It was almost funny
.