Page 149 of The Chain

There are his two beloved grandchildren dead on the floor. The kids he’d rescued all those years ago. The only ones who ever really loved him or understood him. Olly and Ginger in the world of red.

That woman is there, huddled with the two kids under a tarp. Marty and another man are lying on the floor next to them—both, apparently, still alive. Not for long.

Red raises the M16 and puts his finger on the trigger of the underslung grenade launcher. It is loaded with an armor-piercing high-explosive grenade that will kill everyone in the room. Probably including him.

That’s good,he thinks, and he pulls the trigger.

75

People talking from a long way off. Something cold and wet falling on his face.

Where is he?

Oh yeah.

Blacked out for a second there. Marty is talking to him. Trying to lift him up. Rachel is holding Kylie and Stuart.

Pete’s holding his .45. He looks along the line of the floor and sees Daniel at the back entrance of the abattoir at the same time that Daniel sees him. The old man has an M16 with a grenade-launcher attachment.

Rachel’s wrong. Itisdeep stuff. Itismythology. Old versus young, army versus navy, catharsis versus chaos. Clearly the god of war is keeping one of them alive just for his own amusement.

Both of them pull their triggers. The old man pulls his first and he has only the briefest moment of confusion when the metal trigger stays in place. Confusion and then realization: He forgot to flick off the manual safety on the M203 grenade launcher. The M203 is dangerous. You can’t have it going off willy-nilly. It needs to be armed and the safety switched off by hand.

Shit.

He fumbles for the clunky safety catch for a split second before Pete’s gun barrel flares a brilliant white and Daniel’s chest explodes in pain and fire and his soul is cleaved by a slug from a World War II .45.

76

Shapes. Sirens. Snow.

A blanket.

“I’m sorry, Pete, but this place is going up in flames. We gotta get you outside.”

Rachel, Kylie, and Stuart help Marty and Pete across the abattoir floor to the exit.

They stagger away from the burning building and collapse in the snow. Behind them, bottled gas tanks under the kitchen begin exploding.

“Come on!” Rachel says and carries and drags them farther away from the property.

Blue flames.

Snowflakes.

Flashing lights.

A Miskatonic River Valley fire engine is coming up the road. The wordFireis spelled out mirror-backward above a big yellow arrow.

Rachel nods.

Three dead foxes and the yellow arrow at last. Deliverance finally at hand.

Pete beckons Rachel close.

“Yes?”

“If I don’t make it, don’t let them cast some asshole to play me in the movie version of this,” he croaks.

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