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hair on the stock of the Remington pump also appearing and disappearing. It made him think of how
her ponytail had pendulumed back and forth when she
(Dan where’s the Crow WHERE’S THE CROW???)
ran at Abra’s father. She had told them that Barry was cycling. Now Dan understood what she
meant.
“The one in the fishing shirt is doing it, too,” Dave Stone said. His voice was only slightly shaky,
and Dan guessed he knew where some of his daughter’s steel had come from. But he didn’t have time
to think about that now. Abra was telling him they hadn’t gotten the whole crew.
He sprinted to the Winnebago. The door was still open. He ran up the steps, threw himself on the
carpeted floor, and managed to bang his head hard enough on the post under the eating table to send
bright specks shooting across his field of vision. Never happens that way in the movies, he thought, and
rolled over, expecting to be shot or stomped or injected by the one who had stayed behind to provide
the rearguard. The one Abra called the crow. They weren’t totally stupid and complacent after all, it
seemed.
The Winnebago was empty.
Appeared empty.
Dan got to his feet and hurried through the kitchenette. He passed a foldout bed, rumpled from
frequent occupancy. Part of his mind registered the fact that the RV smelled like the wrath of God in
spite of the air-conditioner that was still running. There was a closet, but the door stood open on its
track and he saw nothing inside but clothes. He bent, looking for feet. No feet. He went on to the rear
of the Winnebago and stood beside the bathroom door.
He thought more movie shit, and pulled it open, crouching as he did it. The Winnebago’s can was
empty, and he wasn’t surprised. If anyone had tried hiding in there, he’d be dead by now. The smell
alone would have killed him.
(maybe someone did die in here maybe this Crow)
Abra came back at once, full of panic, broadcasting so powerfully that she scattered his own
thoughts.
(no Barry’s the one who died WHERE’S THE CROW FIND THE CROW)
Dan left the RV. Both of the men who had come after Abra were gone; only their clothes were left.
The woman—the one who had tried to send him to sleep—was still there, but wouldn’t be for long.
She had crawled to the picnic table with the ruined wicker basket on it and now lay propped against
one of the bench seats, staring at Dan, John, and Dave from her newly crooked face. Blood ran from
her nose and mouth, giving her a red goatee. The front of her blouse was soaked. As Dan approached,
her skin melted from her face and her clothes fell inward against the strutwork of her skeleton. No
longer held in place by her shoulders, the straps of her bra flopped in loops. Of her soft parts, only her
eyes remained, watching Dan. Then her skin reknit itself and her clothes plumped up around her
body. The fallen bra straps bit into her upper arms, the strap on the left gagging the rattlesnake so it
couldn’t bite. The fingerbones clutching her shattered jaw grew a hand.
“You fucked us,” Snakebite Andi said. Her voice was slurred. “Fucked by a bunch of rubes. I don’t
believe it.”
Dan pointed at Dave. “That rube there is the father of the girl you came to kidnap. Just in case
you’re wondering.”
Snake managed a painful grin. Her teeth were rimmed with blood. “You think I give a tin shit? To
me he’s just another swinging dick. Even the Pope of Rome’s got one, and not one of you care where
you put it. Fucking men. Have to win, don’t you? Always have to w—”
“Where’s the other one? Where’s Crow?”