The Influence(119)

“I say we go east,” McDaniels said, “past the driveway, to where the road dips. There’s a dry wash there, which’ll give us some cover if we keep low. I’m not sure where on his ranch it ends up, but if it goes anywhere near the back of the barn, like I think it does, we can prob’ly get close where we need to be.”

The barn. That was a good idea. It offered them a place to hide, and if they could find a way in there—and it was unoccupied—it would also be easily defensible.

Ross slowed the car. Ahead, through the snowflakes, he could see two very tall figures standing in the road before them. From here, they looked like scarecrows, although that didn’t make any sense. “Uh, guys?” he said. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“I seen those before,” Hec told him.

Unsure of what to do, Ross stopped the car, hoping to gain a few minutes. He needed time to think. Did he have time? He’d assumed the figures in the road ahead were stationary, but as he looked through the windshield, he saw that they appeared to be moving closer.

They were walking.

It knew they were here.

So much for the element of surprise.

He felt amazingly calm, considering, and though Ross would not have described himself as even remotely brave, they were in this, it had started, and he was going to see it through to the end, no matter what happened. “So,” he said. “Any ideas? Should we back up and come at this thing from another angle?”

“Let me out,” Kevin said. “I need to get a few things from the trunk.”

“We could try shooting it,” Hec said dubiously, “but I don’t know as it’d do much good. Might just be a waste a ammo.”

Kevin opened the passenger door and hurried outside in the snow. Reaching under the dash, Ross popped the trunk. With one eye on the slowly advancing figures up the road, he, Hec and McDaniels also got out. Kevin had opened two of his boxes and was rifling through them. “I wasn’t sure why I packed some of this stuff, but now I know.”

He withdrew a couple of cheap wine bottles with short lengths of rag stuffed into their uncorked openings. Quickly, smoothly, he withdrew the rags, unscrewed the lid of a plastic gasoline container, pulled out a hose extension and poured gasoline into the bottles without spilling a drop. He shoved the rags back in. “Molotov cocktails. Primitive but effective.” Kevin grinned, and for the first time Ross had reason to believe that their plan might actually work. “I know what to do, Unc. I just need you to do what I say. I need everyone to do what I say.”

“Got it.”

His nephew’s luck had changed, and it was with a sense of relief that Ross took one of the bottles and a Bic lighter.

But if Kevin’s luck had changed…

Ross didn’t even want to go there.

“We’ll wait until they’re close,” Kevin told his uncle. He motioned toward the other two men. “Why don’t you get off to the side there and pick a place where you can fire on them.”

“I don’t think it’ll work,” Hec said. “I don’t think they can be killed.”

“They aren’t made out of Kevlar. Even if they can’t be killed, you can probably knock the heads off their bodies or shoot out their legs. Those are some good rifles you guys have. They can definitely do damage.”

“Good point,” McDaniels said, moving into position.

“Here they come.”

They were, in fact, made out of mud, Ross saw as the figures drew closer. And they were indeed scarecrows, though their lack of uniformity gave each one an alarming individuality. While he knew that mud wouldn’t burn, the clothes the scarecrows were wearing would, and he hoped that would at least distract the figures long enough for McDaniels and Hec to blast the shit out of their legs and bring them down.

“Light your rag,” Kevin said. “Throw on the count of three, and aim for the center of the chest. One…two…three!”

The bottles hit within a second of each other, shattering and engulfing the top half of each scarecrow in a whoosh of flame. The result was better than they could have hoped for. McDaniels and Hec need not have wasted their bullets, because even before their legs shattered in an explosion of dirt, the scarecrows were lurching about confusedly, turning blindly in different directions. Whatever sort of mud made up their forms definitely was flammable, and the mounting flames not only burned off the scarecrows’ clothing but quickly engulfed their entire bodies. The one on the left tumbled into a ditch on the side of the road as bullets tore apart its leg. The one on the right toppled over where it stood, its lumpy form burning on the hardpacked dirt.