Terminal Island (22 page)

“Moxie?” he says, voice trembling. “Moxie-boo?”

Heart palpitating, he leans in, pulling aside the cover.

Oh
shit
…

Underneath is the skinned carcass of a lamb. But it is not dead. It is bleating in agony, its eyes rolling wildly in its naked, bloody skull.

Henry can hardly believe what he is seeing—his brain skips like a bad CD:
Angel’s Trumpet, Angel’s Trumpet
…

Suddenly losing it, he shouts, “Jesus
Christ
!” and jerks upright in horrified rage. It is this abrupt motion that likely saves his life, for a sharp blade suddenly cleaves the air where his throat had been.

Wha—?

There is a dog-faced woman coming at him—the tall, thin woman. She has shed her veil and is wearing a black mask that looks like an actual dog’s dried-and-cured face, frozen in ravenous attack, with long blond hair spilling out the back. She is snarling and swinging a machete.    

“Whoa,” Henry cries, lunging backward. “Get away from me!”

The blade catches him a glancing blow on the shoulder.
What is this? Trick or Treat?
Now the other woman is coming at him with a steel-toothed mallet—an abalone hammer—squealing in delight.

“Stop it, stop!” Henry shouts. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Surrounded, Henry grabs the stroller and swings the whole thing around, crashing it into both women and knocking them back. The lamb falls out onto the ground, screaming. Furious, Henry leaps on the dog-woman, wresting her machete away and chopping the lamb’s head off.

“What the hell’s the matter with you people!” he shouts, flinging the sword into some hedges. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but he intends to find his daughter no matter what.

The abalone hammer whacks him behind the knee, and instantly Henry is in a battle for his life. As he goes down, the dog-woman comes up, all ferret-quick sinew, pulling out a tremendous knife and lunging forward to plant it in his guts.

Using every bit of his rusty hand-to-hand skills, Henry manages to fend off the blade, getting kicked in the balls instead. And now the other woman is on him again, too. They’re both strong and fanatically determined—insanely determined.

“Stop,” he grunts in pain. “Stop or I’ll have to hurt you.”

Tiring, trying to avoid being simultaneously clubbed and stabbed, Henry realizes he has to get out of there. In frustration he elbows the hammer woman in the stomach and punches the dog-woman in the face, knocking her mask off.

It is Lisa.

She grins madly at him through bloodied teeth, laughing through her snarls. Henry slaps her, shouting, “Stop it! Stop that!” and is oblivious at first to the other figures emerging from buildings—other people running out with glinting weapons of their own to block his escape.

What alerts him is the sound of childish giggles and mocking animal sounds. In continuation of the day’s nightmare absurdities, some of the newcomers are wearing hooded sweatshirts and baggy pants along with the hairy faces of goats or wild boars, giving them the look of funky urban animals. It would be funny if it wasn’t becoming so dire. By the time Henry realizes the trouble he’s in, it’s almost too late.

“Come
on
,” he moans.

He breaks clear, running for all he’s worth. Unsure of what he’s going to do, he heads the only way still possible: down towards shore. Two goat-boys with twisting horns converge in his path, one wielding a long pike and the other a nail-studded wooden club. On the fly, Henry grabs the first by his weapon and brutally swings him into the second, knocking them both down as he charges past. He keeps the pike.

Emerging at the beach, he can see that he is trapped, surrounded, and goes the only way he can: out onto the pier.
Maybe steal a boat!
—no, he already knows that all the rentals are in storage, stacked like cups for the season. All right then, he’s a good swimmer; without any other prayer of escape his intention is to leap off the end of the pier and try to swim away, perhaps make it to the nearer cape faster than they can get there on foot. Then run for the hills.

But as he passes the rental concession, Henry sees that even this slim possibility is out:

A horrific and ludicrous vision appears from behind the snack bar, blocking his path—it is an enormously fat man in shorts and flip-flops, built like a sumo wrestler and tattooed from head to foot in skeins of black ivy, his hands gripping a sledgehammer. But what truly checks Henry in his tracks is the man’s wraparound mirrored sun-visor, which gives him the look of having a single long, Cyclopean eye.

No…fucking…way
.

Henry charges, lowering the pike at the man’s belly like a bayonet—it’s a big target. But as he homes in, the giant easily swats the harpoon aside and almost takes off Henry’s head with the sledgehammer. Thrown off balance, Henry slams into the ogre’s legs as if into a tree trunk, rebounding on his ass. Dazed, he looks up to see the huge hammer being raised high for a final killing blow.

All at once, a long-handled boat hook swings into the picture. Its gleaming curved end plants itself in the giant’s neck and he screams, dropping the hammer to clutch at it. Like a bad vaudeville performer being yanked offstage, the monstrous figure is abruptly jerked off his feet, squealing like a pig as he is twisted around and shoved face-first into the deck.

Carol Arbuthnot is holding the gaff.

“How do you like that?” he says, slamming the man’s bloody head into the steel base of the marlin crane. “You say you like it?” He loops a cable around the man’s ankles and hits the button of the electric hoist, leaving it running to slowly raise the massive body upside-down.

“Don’t,”
the bloodied hulk pleads, belly dangling.
“Don’t…”

“Don’t kill him,” Henry says, getting up. He has never been so happy to see anyone in his life.

“Is that all you can say? Just get in the Zodiac.” Arbuthnot gestures at an inflatable boat tied below.

He has a point; the animal-people are coming fast, way too many of them. Henry descends, clambering into the motorboat as Arbuthnot fires a warning shot in the air, then follows him down. The boat wheezes under Arbuthnot’s weight. As Henry casts off, the detective yanks the starter cord. It chugs and dies.

“Try again,” Henry says.

“Oh, really?” Arbuthnot tugs again and the engine putters to life. In a second they are pulling away, watching people line up against the pier railing to look down at them through the eyes of dead animals.

Henry can feel the cold force of their stares. Against his will he shudders: There is something so wrong, so
malignant
about this—it’s a whole culture, going on generation after generation. It’s a disease. Look at them up there: no anger or jeering, just silent contentment to wait, as if the waiting is decreed, an inextricable part of the game.

“I thought you told me not to worry,” Henry says.

“Well, I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I had to be sure you weren’t one of
them
.”

“Jesus.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

EASTER PARADE

C
ircling the end of the pier out on the open water, Henry checks his injuries and finds nothing serious—the knife mainly slashed his coat.
That was my favorite coat
. Suddenly he notices a thick plume of smoke rising from around the coast, way back above the Casino.

“The condos,” Henry says.

“They’re burning the evidence,” says Arbuthnot. He guns the boat up the beach as near as possible to the Formosa Hotel and runs it aground. “This is where you get out.”

“Wait—what about you?”

“I’ve got a quick errand to run. Don’t worry—see to your woman and lock yourselves in. I’m going to call in the cavalry.” He hands Henry a revolver with tape on the handle—a .38 Special. “That’s a spare. Don’t hesitate to use it if you have to, then just get rid of it—it’s untraceable. Give me a push back out, will ya?”

In a few seconds Henry is back at the Formosa Hotel, bounding up the porch steps. Ruby is in the lobby, just hanging up the phone, and Henry is so grateful to find his wife still waiting, unharmed, that he falls to his knees before her and hugs her around the waist, pressing his face into her belly. “Oh thank God, thank God,” he moans.

“What? What is it?” she asks.

“We’re trapped here!” He starts barricading the entrance door. “They’re all crazy!”

“Who is?”

“Bunch of maniacs! They just almost killed me out there!” He breaks down, voice cracking. “Honey, I don’t know what’s happened to Moxie!”

“Nothing’s happened to her—she’s fine.
Who’s
trying to kill you now?”

Henry jumps up and grabs his wife by the shoulders. “
What do you mean she’s fine?
”

“Whoa. She’s still at Janet’s, having a high old time.”

“What?”

“Honey, I just spoke to her.”

“You
what
?”

“Yeah, I just got off the phone. They still haven’t left Janet’s house, but everything’s
fine
—the tram ran down and they had to recharge the batteries, that’s all. It takes a few hours. They apologized, but Moxie’s terrific—she’s having a great time. It sounds like a regular garden party over there.”

Henry feels like he’s cracking up. “Wh…are you
sure
?”

“Of course I’m sure. You had me worried out of my mind—I even called the police.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I spoke to that woman deputy you told me about—she sounded a little busy, but friendly enough. She said they were understaffed because everybody’s at some local festival, but that they’re going to send a car around as soon as they can.”

Henry listens to this, incredulous. “What fucking
festival
?”

“I don’t know. Some kind of wine expo outside of town—a big fall festival.”

“That’s
bull
shit! It’s
bull
shit!” Henry stamps around, ranting, “I’ve just been out there and it’s a Goddamn nuthouse. There’s a bunch of psychos running around in masks like it’s Halloween—I barely got away with my life! This is all some kind of fucking game, the same as it was thirty years ago!”

Frightened by his outburst, Ruby says, “Henry—Henry, slow down, okay? I don’t understand what you’re saying. I know you’re upset, but sit back for a second and tell me what in the world you think is going on. And
why
.”

“Who the hell knows why? For money—for God or something. All I know is they’re doing it! I’m not making it up!”

“I believe you, but you’re going to have to stay calm, all right? For my sake.”

“Yes, okay, I’ll
try
…”

“For my sake.”

“Yeah, but Ruby, if you had just seen—”

“I know—shhh.”

“Yeah, okay, okay, but—”

“Shhh. Take a deep breath.”

“
Hooo
—okay, yup. I got it…”

“Relax…”

“I know…I know…
phew
.”

“We’re gonna get through this.”

“I’m trying, honey, really.” Henry wishes Arbuthnot could be here to back up his story. As it is, he’s afraid to show her the gun, afraid it will only freak her out more. “I think I’ve got it under control,” he says, head pounding.

“Good. You see?
That’s
better.”

“Ruby, just tell me something: When are they planning on bringing our daughter back?”

“Soon—within the next couple of hours.”

“
Hours?
No. You see?—no way. And you said the cops are supposed to be coming?”

“I think so. That’s what they told me. Probably any time now.”

“All right. Then let me ask you this: Have you seen or heard another soul today? Either outside or in the hotel?”

Ruby thinks about it. “No, because of this festival—”

“Stop! Stop it!
Please
!” Henry clutches his head as if to hold it together. “I can’t listen to this—it’s too much. I’m sorry, honey, I know you don’t mean it—you haven’t been out there. You don’t understand. You
can’t
. I didn’t used to believe it either, it seemed so impossible—I thought it was my imagination running wild. I wish I had listened to my gut, but I didn’t, and now it’s too late. But you have to trust me that we are in big trouble,
major
trouble, and—” Henry’s voice splinters “—and so is Moxie.”

Gently, Ruby asks, “What is it I don’t understand?”

Evil, honey. There’s evil, it’s real, and we’re up to our necks in it
. “I’m not gonna—I just…I need us to be careful. If we’re going to wait here, we can’t sit in this lobby any more—we can’t see the street from here. I want us to go up to our room, lock ourselves in, and keep an eye out from up there.”

“An eye out for what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever comes.”

They carry their travel bags back upstairs and Henry barricades them in, shoving the bed against the door. Ruby doesn’t comment on this, watching her husband with worried sympathy. When she tries to turn the lights on, he snaps, “No! Leave it off.”

“Okay, okay—sorry. I just thought it was a little gloomy in here, that’s all.”

It is getting late. With the sun dipping behind the mountains, they can now open the curtains without going blind. Henry sets up a chair by the window and sits down to wait. From here he can see into the building directly across from them, but not all the way to the end of the street as he would prefer. For that he would have to be sitting out on the balcony in plain sight, giving himself away. His sniper training won’t allow him to do that. What he needs is a mirror.

He finds one: There is a large window across the way that is at a perfect angle, reflecting the lower part of the street.
That’ll work
.

“Do you want anything to eat?” Ruby asks, unpacking wine and olives and rolls and feta cheese.

“No.”

“You have to eat something. We haven’t had a bite all day.”

Henry absently accepts a paper plate and plastic cup from her and sets them on the windowsill. He can’t eat—his stomach turns at the thought—but he sips the sour merlot.

“You’re gonna make yourself crazy,” she says.

“S’not me that’s crazy,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing.”