Shadowfires

slithering now on his belly over warm wet earth, drawing
himself up onto a spongy rotting log, clawing at it with long-toed
feet, shredding the bark and mushy wood to reveal a huge nest of
squirming maggots, into which he hungrily thrust his face…
    Transported by a dark savage thrill, he drummed his feet against
the sidewall of the trunk, an action that briefly roused him from the
tenebrous images and thoughts that filled his mind. He realized that
his drumming feet would alert Rachael, and he stopped after-he hoped-
only a few hard kicks.
    The car slowed, and he fumbled in the dark for the screwdriver in
case he had to pop the latch and get out fast. But then the car
accelerated again-Rachael had not understood what she had heard-and
he fell back into the ooze of primordial memories and desires.
    Now, mentally drifting in some far place, he continued to change
physically. The dark trunk was like a womb in which an unimaginable
mutant child formed and reformed and re-formed again. It was both
something old and something new in the world. Its time had passed-and
yet its time was still coming.
Ben figured they would expect him to remember
the line of parked cars along the western shoulder of the state route
and would be waiting for him to steal one. Furthermore, they would
probably count on him making his way north on the road itself, using
the ditch along the eastern berm for cover when he heard traffic
coming. Or they might think he'd stay on the eastern slope, on the highland side of the road, cautiously following the blacktop north but using the trees and brush for cover. However, he did not think they would expect him to cross the road, enter the woods on the western side of it-the lake side-and then head north under the cover of those trees, eventually coming up on the parked cars from behind.
    He figured correctly. When he had gone north some distance with
the highway on his right and the lake on his left, he cut up the
slope to the state route, cautiously crawled up the final embankment,
peered over the top, and looked south toward the parked cars. He saw
two men slumped in the front seat of the dark green Chevy sedan. They
were tucked behind a Dodge station wagon, so he would not have been
able to see them if he'd approached from the south instead of circling behind. They were looking the other way, watching geometrically framed slices of the two-lane highway through the windows of the cars parked in front of theirs.
    Easing down from the top of the embankment, Ben lay on the slope
for a minute, flat on his back. His mattress was composed of old pine
needles, withered rye grass, and unfamiliar plants with variegated
caladiumlike leaves that bruised under him and pressed their cool
juice into the cloth of his shirt and jeans. He was so dirty and
stained from the frantic descent of the mountainside below Eric's cabin that he had no concern about what additional mess these plants might make of him.
    The Combat Magnum, tucked under his waistline, pressed painfully
against the small of his back, so he shifted slightly onto one side
to relieve that pressure. Uncomfortable though it was, the Magnum was
also reassuring.
    As he considered the two men waiting for him on the road above, he
was tempted to head farther north until he found untended cars
elsewhere. He might be able to steal a vehicle from another place and
leave the area before they decided he was gone.
    On the other hand, he might walk a mile or two or three without
discovering other cars parked beyond the view of their owners.
    And it was unlikely that Sharp and his fellow agent would wait
here very long. If Ben did not show up soon, they would wonder if
they had misjudged him. They would start cruising, perhaps stopping
now and then to get out and scan the woods on both sides of the road,
and though he was better at these games than they were, he could not
be sure that they would not surprise him somewhere along the way.
    Right now, he had the advantage of surprise, for he knew where
they were, while they had no idea where he was. He decided to make
good use of that advantage.
    First, he looked around for a smooth fist-sized rock, located one,
and tested its weight in his hand. It felt right-substantial. He
unbuttoned his shirt part of the way, slipped the rock inside against
his belly, and rebuttoned.
    With the semiautomatic Remington twelve-gauge in his right hand,
he stealthily traversed the embankment,