Chapter 54

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54 

"There they are," someone yelled. "Lana and the girl." 

"Where's the dog?"  

"Miss Lana," yelled a gravelly voice from the head of the crowd, "it's me, Hank Townsend. I brought some friends to ask you about the miracles and all." 

A few people in the crowd started walking faster, passing Hank at the lead. One broke into a jog, which triggered two or three more to start sprinting. In a few seconds, everyone who was able began running up the hill toward where Lana and Haven stood. 

"Oh no," Lana whispered. "What have you done, old man?" She backed up a couple steps and swept Haven behind her. 

"Lana! It's Mary Castro," a woman in bulging pink sweats called out, huffing, and hurrying up the path. "Is it true? Do you really have legs?" 

Lana shot a glance over her shoulder at the front door of the inn. Would the man inside still be unconscious? She looked toward the Land Rover. No way to get past this mob in the car; they blocked the driveway. Down below, a second pack of people swarmed up from the beach, trailing Hank Townsend's group. She patted the cell phone in her pocket, but she was out of time. Jimi and Cade were too far away to save them. 

She whispered to Haven. "Walk to the car, do not run. Hear me? Do not run. Get inside and lock the doors. Keep low, stay out of sight until I come for you." She gave Haven a quick hug and her niece strolled toward the Land Rover. 

The crowd arrived in twos and threes, but soon Lana found herself herded into the center of a hundred or more people. Faces crowded close. The smell of sweat, cigarettes and beer breath. Elbows and knees jostling. She heard the Land Rover's door close and she prayed that Haven would be safe. 

"Is it true?" Mary Castro asked. "Do you have new legs?" 

Lana tried to think of what to say, how to defuse the situation. The gathering darkness triggered an automatic porch light to switch on. Abruptly, yellow light bathed the crowd, casting eerie shadows. 

Mary Castro pressed closer, her sweaty face contorted with emotion and physical strain. "You know about Ricky, my crippled boy. Is it true what happened to you? A miracle?" 

Lana worked her mouth, but couldn't invent the right response. 

"Tell me," Mary said. 

Lana nodded. "Okay...but...uh, let's just all try to be rational." 

A man in an Evinrude cap and overalls dove to his knees beside Lana and grabbed her lower legs in his hands. He jerked back in shock. "Jesus Christ Almighty! They're real."  

The shouts of the crowd exploded like thunderclaps.  

Lana turned to dash into the house but clutching hands dragged her to the grass. People elbowed each other, jamming in tighter, to paw at her lower legs. Someone grabbed her slacks and yanked them down around her shoes. Then the shoes came off and the socks, and she was lying on the lawn in her underwear, smothering under the weight of hands, groping and prodding her everywhere now.  

"How do we get the virus?" "Can you heal my Ricky?" Some woman was sobbing, another talking in tongues. "Help us!" "Show us how to catch the virus." "Praise Jesus, praise Jesus, praise Jesus." 

The crush of people shoving, pressing inward toward her, caused many to stumble and fall, piling onto her in a heap of bodies. Lana couldn't move, struggled to breathe.  

"Let us have some virus." "Hey, let me in there." "Get off me." "How do you catch it?" "Get up, it's our turn." "It's in her blood." "Out of my way." "Let us touch her, too." "She's got blood on her hand." "Let me touch her blood." "Hey, don't shove." "Lick the blood." 

The mass of flesh pinned Lana to the grass on her back; too heavy to expand her chest to inhale. People twisted and turned her hands while tongues lapped at the blood from Newpod's fur. Her vision turned gray. She knew she was losing consciousness, but she couldn't budge. 

"Hey, look," someone shouted. "On the porch. It's the dog with the new leg." 

"That's how Hank caught the virus." 

"It comes from the dog." 

"Touch the dog!" 

Like a tree trunk being hoisted off her torso, the crushing weight peeled away as people unwound themselves from the pile. Lana gasped and sucked air deep into her lungs. Her bruised ribs ached as she drank in more deep breaths. Several limp bodies sprawled on the ground. Mary Castro lay sideways across Hank Townsend, both of them facedown and unmoving. 

Lana rose onto wobbly knees. The mob chased Newpod around the yard.  

"Don't let it get away." "Circle round it." "It's got the virus." "Drink its blood!" 

The frightened dog sprinted with its tail tucked between its legs, trying to find an opening through the chaos of people running after it. One man lunged and grabbed the dog around its hind legs, but Newpod twisted and nipped his face and he let go. The ring of people widened across the lawn, cutting off escape. Newpod dashed in tighter circles as the crowd closed in. 

The light came on inside the Land Rover as Haven threw open a rear passenger door. "Newpod!" she called. "Here fella. Hurry!" 

Oh, no, no, no. Lana stood up, reaching out. "Stop! Haven! Don't!" 

But the dog reversed course and dodged two captors to leap into the back seat with Haven. Lana saw Haven lock the door and duck down with Newpod before the light went out. 

The crowd paused for an instant, as if to fill its lungs. Then, with a collective voice, it roared in outrage and stormed the car.

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