Phantoms

would become Joanna’s property. And if Joanna died, all of her estate went to her husband; that’s what her will said. So if he got rid of both of them, the proceeds of the trust fund—plus a twenty-thousand-dollar bonus in the form of Joanna’s life insurance policy—wound up in his hands.
    The bitch had left him no choice.
    It wasn’t his fault she was dead.
    She had done it to herself, really. She had arranged things so that there wasn’t any other way out for him.
    He smiled, remembering her expression when she had seen the boy’s body—and when she’d seen him point the gun at her.
    Now, sitting at Jake Johnson’s kitchen table, Kale looked at all the money, and his smile grew even broader.
    $63,440.
    A few hours ago, he had been in jail, virtually penniless, facing a trial that could result in a death penalty. Most men would have been immobilized by despair. But Fletcher Kale had not been beaten. He knew he was destined for great things. And here was proof. In an incredibly short time, he had gone from jail to freedom, from penury to $63,440. He now had money, guns, transportation, and a safe hideout in the nearby mountains.
    It had begun at last.
    His special destiny had begun to unfold.
     

Chapter 33
    Phantoms
     
    Bryce said, “We’d better get back to the inn.”
    Within the next quarter of an hour, night would take possession of the town.
    Shadows were growing with cancerous speed, oozing out of hiding places, where they had slept the day away. They spread toward one another, forming pools of darkness.
    The sky was painted in carnival colors—orange, red, yellow, purple—but it cast only meager light upon Snowfield.
    They turned away from the field lab, where they’d recently had a conversation with it , by way of computer, and they headed toward the corner as the streetlamps came on.
    At the same moment, Bryce heard something. A whimper. A mewling. And then a bark.
    The whole group turned as one and looked back.
    Behind them, a dog was limping along the sidewalk, past the field lab, trying hard to catch up with them. It was an Airedale. Its left foreleg appeared to be broken. Its tongue was lolling. Its hair was lank and knotted; it looked disheveled, whipped. It took another lurching step, paused to lick its wounded leg, and whined pitifully.
    Bryce was riveted by the sudden appearance of the dog. This was the first survivor they had found, not in very good shape, but alive .
    But why was it alive? What was different about him that had saved him when everything else had perished?
    If they could discover the answer, it might help them save themselves.
     
    Gordy was the first to act.
    The sight of the injured Airedale affected him more strongly than it affected any of the others. He couldn’t bear to see an animal in pain. He would rather suffer himself. His heart started beating faster. This time, the reaction was even stronger than usual, for he knew that this was no ordinary dog needing help and comfort. This Airedale was a sign from God. Yes. A sign that God was giving Gordon Brogan one more chance to accept His gift. He had the same way with animals that St. Francis of Assisi had, and he must not spurn it or take it lightly. If he turned his back on God’s gift, as he had done before, he would be damned for sure this time. But if he chose to help this dog… Tears burned in the corners of Gordy’s eyes; they trickled down his cheeks. Tears of relief and happiness. He was overwhelmed by the mercy of God. There was no doubt what he must do. He hurried toward the Airedale, which was about twenty feet away.
     
    At first, Jenny was dumbstruck by the dog. She gaped at it. And then a fierce joy began to swell within her. Life had somehow triumphed over death. It hadn’t gotten every living thing in Snowfield, after all. This dog (which sat down wearily when Gordy started toward it) had survived, which meant maybe they, themselves, would manage to leave this town alive—
    —and then she thought of the moth.
    The moth had been a living thing. But it hadn’t been friendly.
    And Stu Wargle’s reanimated corpse.
    Back there on the sidewalk, at the edge of shadows, the dog put its head down on the pavement and whimpered, begging to be comforted.
    Gordy approached it, crouching, speaking in encouraging, loving tones: “Don’t be afraid, boy. Easy, boy. Easy now. What a nice dog you are. Everything’ll be okay. Everything’ll be all right, boy. Easy…”
    Horror rose in Jenny. She