Paladin Prophecy 2: Alliance by Mark Frost Page B

that still hadn’t moved. Will flicked open his knife and held it at his side as they neared.
    “Is he dead?” asked Will.
    “Well, I wouldn’t try to order a latte from him at the moment,” said Jericho.
    Coach Jericho knelt down next to the body for a closer look. Will peered over his shoulder. Lyle’s eyes were open in a lifeless stare. He lay on his stomach, his head turned to the side. His face had taken on a canine cast, almost feral, with elongated incisors that extended past his lips and a starburst crack in his fixed open pupil.
    Will’s breath caught in his chest. He’d never liked Lyle—in fact, he had every reason to loathe the kid who’d more than once tried to kill him—but the sight of him like this still filled him with pity and horror.
    “What are you supposed to do to a dead wendigo?” asked Will, taking a step back.
    “You mean to make sure it stays that way?”
    “Yeah, I mean, there have to be rules, right? Hammer a stake through its heart or stuff wads of garlic in its mouth—”
    “You kids and your damn vampires,” said Jericho. “How the hell should I know? I’ve never seen one of these things before either. And what makes you so sure it’s dead?”
    “It sure looks dead,” said Will, pointing to the wet sludgy ground around the body. “With all those … fluids and stuff.”
    “Only one way to find out,” said Jericho.
    Jericho reached down and turned Lyle’s body over, and they realized this wasn’t exactly Lyle. More like what would be left of Lyle if you’d sliced him down the middle with a gigantic can opener. A rough flap or seam in his flesh ran the length of the body from his neck to his waist. With Lyle now lying on his back, his chest cavity and midsection looked deflated, as if he’d been flattened by a steamroller.
    “What the hell happened to him?” asked Will.
    “If I have to guess—which I do—it looks like something that was … growing on the inside is now on the outside. And apparently that leaves a mess.”
    “Wait, so is this Lyle or isn’t it?”
    “I’d say … it used to be.”
    “So you mean this is more like, what, like a—”
    “A snake’s skin,” said Jericho, standing back up. “Although you can take it to the bank that when the cops get here they’ll decide they’ve found who they’re looking for.”
    Will peered deeper into the dark woods, intending to scan the tree line for anything lurking out there that might be staring back at them. The frigid fear that stole over him all but wiped out his ability to call up his Grid.
    “So this is just an empty husk … and Lyle isn’t dead,” said Will.
    “Who he used to be sure is,” said Jericho; then he looked up and peered into the woods himself. “The part that grew inside him, cracked out of his chest, and ran straight down this creek so no one could track it? That part’s alive and kicking. And I don’t think I’d be calling it ‘Lyle’ anymore either.”
    Jericho took out a cell phone and dialed 911.
    “Really glad I didn’t eat a big lunch,” said Will, looking away, seriously queasy.
    “Probably not an outstanding idea to talk up our little theory with the police,” said Jericho, his hand over the phone speaker. “Or anyone else.”
    “I hear that.”
    “We went out for a run, spotted the body from up on the ridge, and called it in. I told you to head back to campus while I came down here to take a look. You never saw any of this. Leave now.”
    “Coach, are you encouraging me to lie?”
    “Let’s call it showing you how to survive.”
    Dad would approve, thought Will.
    “I’m good with that.”
    Will took off running toward school. As he left, he heard Jericho speak to a dispatcher on the other end of the line.
    “I need to report a body,” said Jericho.

THE BARBER SHOP
    The uproar caused by the discovery of Lyle’s body lasted three days. Will and his roommates monitored the official statements and coverage closely, and noted that none of the