"Grrr... "
Bugget heard the sound. Soft. Just above the range of human perception. It tickled his eardrums, made his heart rate quicken. The sound of ancient hunger. The sound of his own mortality.
He was up on his rear end. Scurrying back on palms and soles, he backed against the trunk of a tree. "I ain't kiddin', son," Bugget said. "We're talkin' national exposure. They'll be here any minute. Now, I don't know who you work for, but if you're the people what wants to kill them worms, well, you can be my guest. Kill 'em all for all I care. Shoot, only good worm's the one at the bottom of a tequila bottle anyways."
His words seemed to have an effect. The two men stopped abruptly.
Bobby Bugget was beginning to think he'd survive this massacre. That he would get the exposure the late Jude Weiss had promised before his head came off, that he'd be able to hightail it back to Florida where he could spin this terrible day into TV appearances, songs and record sales.
All of this did Bobby Bugget think in the time it took to draw one terrified breath.
And then one of the two men before him disappeared.
He moved too fast. One moment he was standing three yards away; the next he was landing on Bobby's chest.
Bugget toppled over. He felt a rough tongue lick the side of his throat. He heard that terrible low growl and knew with sick certainty that the end for this old, washed-up pirate would not come at sea, but in a land-locked parking lot in the boondocks of Maine.
The slathering fangs of his attacker were a hair away from shredding Bobby Bugget's throat when the singer, saw a sudden blur from the corner of his eye.
The woman had come out of nowhere. With an open palm, she cuffed the man on top of Bugget on the side of the head.
Although it didn't seem possible, the blow launched the man halfway across the lot.
"Down!" Judith White growled.
Their feast interrupted, the rest froze. Blood dribbled down chins. Shoulders rose in a parody of angry felines.
"Now!" she roared.
Hissing, the pack backed dutifully away.
On the ground, Bobby Bugget blinked. The near fatal assault proved to have an elucidating effect. For the first time in a long time, he almost felt sober. Under the circumstances, it wasn't a pleasant feeling.
Lying flat on his back, he gave Judith White a grateful nod. "This ain't the first time a woman's saved my life," he panted. "'Cept most of the others were whores or cocktail waitresses. Much obliged, ma'am."
When the woman who had been his salvation turned her cold cat's eyes to him, the singer shrank from her gaze.
"What press?" she demanded.
"What?" Bugget asked. "Oh. National and regional. TV and papers. They'll be pouring in here any minute to cover the protest. Oh, the protest..." His voice trailed off as he glanced around the parking lot.
Many of the Green Earth members were dead and dismembered. Those who hadn't been devoured immediately had been knocked unconscious for later. Bugget saw that the boxer, homemaker, actress and several others appeared to still be breathing. They had fared better than those who had scattered into the woods. Pitiful cries were being drowned out by growls and the sounds of feasting.
"We were gonna have a protest," Bobby Bugget offered weakly. "Kind of hard to do with only six people."
"Quiet, human," Judith snarled. "I'm trying to think."
Bugget didn't see the hand that struck him. He only knew that he was suddenly tumbling end over end into a nearby tree, a sharp pain in the side of his head.
As Bugget was shaking pine needles out of what was left of his graying blond hair, Judith White was spinning to her pack. Owen Grude was huddled with the rest.
"I told you not to kill anyone unless I said so."
"We thought there was danger," Owen said.
"You thought with your stomachs," she accused. "Think with your mind. Humans are the greatest hunters in the animal kingdom. They can obliterate entire species and send us scurrying into the trees. The only way they'll be beaten is by superior intellect." She looked around the lot. "Hide the dead around back. Cover the blood with sand. We need this mess cleaned up before the press arrives."
The males began carting bodies toward the plant. Judith stopped Owen Grude. "The ones left alive? Get them a drink of water." She pointed to Bugget. "Start with him."
Owen loped off across the lot and up the stairs. He returned a minute later carrying a Lubec Springs sport six-pack. A bottle was brought to Bobby Bugget, while others began pouring water into the mouths of the unconscious.
"Drink it," Judith White commanded.
Bugget licked his mustache nervously. "You don't have anything stronger?" he asked hopefully.
She moved in very close. Bugget could feel her warm breath on his damp mustache.
"Drink it," she demanded, "or I'll split you open and chew your innards from stomach to spine."
Bugget gulped. "If you put it that way." Gingerly he squeezed his nose between his fingers. It had been a long time since he'd drunk plain old water. He never cared for the taste. Tipping his head sharply, he slugged the contents of the bottle down in a few big gulps.
When the foul-tasting liquid reached his stomach, a strange sensation seemed to come over him. The excruciating pain was more than he could bear. Dropping back to the ground, Bugget clutched his belly.
He was writhing in agony on the pavement as Judith White turned from him.
"I'll be inside," she said.
She prowled a few paces toward the building before stopping. She pointed at one of the bodies that was awaiting disposal.
"Bring that one inside," she commanded. "I think better on a full stomach."
Wheeling, she headed back for the bottling plant.
Chapter 14
Dusk was creeping slowly in by the time Remo and Chiun arrived at Folcroft.
Long Island Sound was visible through the trees, slivered with shimmering streaks of twilight, as the cab steered between the great granite columns with their attendant stone lions. At Remo's instruction, the driver brought them to the sanitarium's main staircase.
"Why are we entering this way?" the Master of Sinanju asked suspiciously. Behind them the yellow taxi was making its crunching way back down the great gravel drive.
"Stairs are stairs," Remo said as they headed up.
"Yes," Chiun replied, padding up beside his pupil. "And the stairs that are the stairs we always use are on the other side of the building."
"I thought you liked front doors."