Page 67 of When the Night Comes Knocking

He swims faster, gasping for air that doesn’t seem to be there, but really it is only his heart bursting with too much adrenaline. The body somehow seems farther now, impossibly out of reach as it bobs along the murky surface like the red leaves that have been stripped off the surrounding trees.

He slices through the water with skill-less strokes that only leave behind a wavering blood trail. Ahead, the body floats farther away.

He swims, but he can’t move forward anymore. It’s as though he’s hit an invisible wall.

When he searches the lake ahead, the body is no longer there.

He calls out for him, until his voice turns into a scream, then to a breathless sob. The boy’s name echoes and disappears off the empty lake, like Jackson’s now the very last man on Earth—like he’ll be forced to tread water alone for eternity.

He turns back toward the shore, so much farther away than he remembers. As he tries to kick forward, he feels the clamp of small icy hands wrap around his ankles. They grip tight beneath him, clawing at his skin from below the water’s black surface.

Then they yank him downward with an alarming strength, until the water swallows him whole.

When Jackson gasps awake, the first thing he notices is the cool, dry air all around him. For several seconds, he thinks he’s gone blind. It’s all entirely dark.

He bites down on his lip hard, hoping it will wake the rest of his body from the heavy haze gripping hold. Sluggishly, he manages to crack open one eye. Then the other.

He is not in the lake by his grandparents’ house.

He is not being drowned.

The throbbing in his head matches the heavy thud of his heart, and he winces as he straightens from the awkward angle he had been slumped over in.

You fell unconscious again, he realizes. The first time was when the tip of Jim’s boot connected with his head, so fast that he didn’t even have time to process the blast of pain as it bloomed through his brain and to each of his limbs like a fast-spreading fire.

Now, it feels as though his head has been screwed on backward, shooting out little electric shocks of pain with each breath he takes. He chokes on a whimper as he realizes this is how Liam must have felt after jumping from the cliff—one moment alive, out in the light; the next, drowning in pain and encased in never-ending darkness.

He raises a hand at a zombie pace, moving it from the back to the side of his head. He flinches at the sting as he brushes against something wet and mushy. When he pulls them away, his fingers shine bright with blood.

It’s not quite clear to him how things went wrong as quickly as they did—how one second he was standing in an aisle, simply talking with Jane, and the next he was being tossed out like yesterday’s garbage.

When he awoke on cold concrete outside the store, it took everything in him to drag himself to his Jeep. On the driver’s side, Officer Sheila was sitting up, leaning back against the car door. Her eyes stared forward blankly, blood pooling around her from her leg wound and a single slice made across her throat.

He gagged a few times before weakly slipping inside the driver’s seat as quickly as possible, not knowing how close the Mimic might have been to treating his body the same way. Then it all faded to a numb black, even faster than falling asleep.

Now voices sound from nearby, drawing him further out of his daze as he blearily looks around. In the Jeep’s rearview mirror, a shape appears. It’s blurry at first, going in and out of focus as his skull feels ready to crack open from the headache holding him hostage. He closes his eyes, rubbing them hard. When he looks in the rearview mirror again, he’s relieved to make out Jane’s face.

Standing across from her is himself.

Twenty-six

she carried her heart

Jane pauses behind Jim’s truck as Jackson closes the distance between them.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, eyeing her face with wide eyes.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, trying not to panic over all the blood coming from his head; she knows how dizzy he must be, knows how much bright pain must be ripping through his skull at every small movement. Just then, he stumbles forward slightly.

She reaches out to steady him, pushing against him to support his hunched-over frame.

“Can you make it inside on your own?” she asks, glancing out at the parking lot and the tree line.

“Aren’t you coming?” he says, eyebrows furrowed as he attempts to stand on his own again.

Overhead, Thomas calls out again in a hush, pleading with her to move. She bites down on her trembling lip as she shakes her head. “I have to do this,” she says, pulling back her hands from Jackson’s form. “Go back inside. Go to Winnie.”

“Now wait a minute, Jane—”