The Walking (43 page)

Hal nodded, whispering himself. "She's right, Miles. This is out of our league."

"Stay there," Miles told them.

He pulled away from Claire and, holding the lamp in front of him for additional light, walked slowly forward, careful not to step on any of the dolls. Glass eyes stared blankly up at him as he passed. The flickering flame of

This close, he could see that a vine had wound around the dwarf's feet and disappeared up the faded, rotted mated al that had once been clothes. The vine emerged once again on the underside of the arm and ended in the dried, outstretched hand. The vine was mint, he saw now, though mint did not ordinarily grow in a vine, and the way it came to an end just beyond the tip of the mummified fingers made it appear as though the small dead man was offering him a branch of newly picked mint leaves.

He remembered his dream last night, the old man with the mint spoon.

"A dwarf gave it to me."

Not knowing if it was the right thing or not, Miles picked the end of the vine, the branch of mint leaves, from the dead dry hand, and put it in the pocket of his shirt. "It keeps the head fresh."

Cool, clean air beckoned him from the dark doorway in the corner, and Miles turned back toward Claire and Hal. "Come on," he said, and his voice had no echo but died dully. "We're going out that way. Make sure you don't step on any of the dolls."

He needed to say no more. Claire came first, and she stepped gingerly between the figurines, following almost the same path he himself had taken. Hal gave her a moment's head start before doing the same. Miles waited for both of them to reach him then, single-file, they crossed the rest of the room to the doorway.

Once past the massive candle, darkness closed in again. They entered another rock tunnel, only this time the wails were rounded, as if bored by machine. There were no alcoves or side passages, just this one straight tunnel. Holding his lamp high, Miles led them forward. The ground began to slope upward almost immediately, and soon he

was being forced to take smaller steps just to maintain his balance.

The passageway continued upward, as steep as stairs. They were all breathing heavily, and Miles was about to suggest that they stop and take a break when he saw the sky up ahead.

Storm clouds.

He hurried forward, coming finally to the end of the rock.

They were out.

Logically, they had to be at the top of the canyon, but when they emerged from between two boulders embedded in a hillside, he saw no trace of any canyon, only those strangely formed buttes, jutting upward not from a flat sandy desert but from a huge marsh filled with water weeds and cattails. It was an incongruous sight, like modern buildings positioned next to the pyramids or a luxury resort in the middle of the rain forest, and that only served to heighten the sense of surrealism.

There was a strange shapeless glow above the marsh, not green like the phosphorescence of their talismans but red, like blood, and it winked on and off several times, as though trying to attract their attention.

Then it coalesced into something resembling a ball and began floating slowly away, toward the nearest, tallest butte. Beneath the glowing orb, he saw, was a stone walkway, slightly raised, that bisected the swampy overgrown ground. "Let's go," Miles said. Hal groaned. "Not again."

But Claire was already moving, and Hal followed behind. Isabella was leading them someplace, purposefully luring thatthemweret sOme not yet! cati nc lear of her own choosing, for purposes

When she had emerged from the lake, when he'd shared her visions, when he'd seen the destruction of New York and Los Angeles and dries all across the nation, Miles had believed her to be at peak power. He hadn't understood why she had not immediately embarked upon her mission but had instead waited around for them. He knew now, though. She needed them.

Or, rather, she needed him.

It didn't make any sense, but he guessed it had something to do with his father, with his heritage. Maybe she needed to absorb the power of all of the witches in order to carry out her plan.." and he was the last. Whatever the reason, she was provoking a confrontation, and there was nothing he could do but see this through to the end.

They moved into the shadow of the butte, and what little sunlight had been filtering through the dark heavy clouds was cut off completely.

Around them in the marsh they could hear the rustling, slithering noises of unseen creature so The red glow faded into nothingness and only the lamp lit their way, but the marsh was not as large as it looked and the butte was not as tall as it looked, and ten minutes later they were there.

She was waiting for them.

It was a vision of hell. The marsh ended and the ground was smoldering rock. A fence made of burned stakes surrounded a patch of brown tufted weeds and the decomposing corpse of what looked like a deformed elephant. There was a massive hole in the ground' That where I put her body."

--so black it seemed to suck up all available light, and hideous stone carvings lay tipped over and broken all the way to the foot of the butte.

Isabella stood upon a pile of ill-formed bones. Smiling at them. Hal shot at her.

He didn't wait for Miles' okay but simply drew his weapon and fired. As Miles expected, the bullets had no impact. They

cent rock. You couldn't kill what was already dead.

She floated toward them, her eyes locked on Miles'. They were the coldest eyes he'd ever seen, embedded in a face that was.." beautiful.

Yes, she was beautiful. He'd noticed it'at the lake, but it seemed more pronounced now. She was in her element. This environment flattered her, brought out her best features. She was dead, but he had never seen anyone look more alive. Her beauty was of a type he had never beheld before, a strange exquisite wildness. The only thing that marred the illusifias that odd tilt of the head, the weird angle at which her neck seemed permanently cocked.

Her eyes were working on him, trying to seduce him perhaps but either the necklace protected him, or his own feelings were so true and solid that nothing could dislodge them.

He hated her.

She stopped, stood before him, flat on the ground. "Miles," she said. "Miles Huerdeen. I knew you would come." Her voice was soft, musical, but had an edge to it, too. He had the feeling that, like her eyes, her voice was trying to work on him.

"What did you do to my father?" he demanded.

"I was helping your father," she said. "I want to help you, too. We must stick together, our kind. They all want us dead..."

She didn't know he was aware of her plans. She didn't know that he knew what she was.

He still had that advantage, at least, and Miles watched her while she spoke, trying to figure out what he should do.

He was not sure what he'd expected. A magic sword to appear? A spell?

May had provided them with fetishes of protection, he'd been given visions. Up until now he'd been

supplied with whatever he needed, and he'd expected that to continue..

But there was no sword, no magic spell, nothing. He wak alone with Isabella, and it appeared now as though he would have to physically attack her if he hoped to stop her an put an end to her plans of mass destruction. ;

He dropped the lantern and punched her hard in the gut. Isabella was caught unawares, but she was not hurt. How could she be ? She was dead. Her astonishment lasted only a few seconds. She spun away from him, out of his reach, causing him to stumble on his follow-up. His chance to use the element of surprise to his advantage had failed. Now they both knew where the other stood.

"You wanted to know about your father, she said softly. "Bob's in hell. I put him there. He was evil, one of the devil's disciples, and I sent him where he belonged." Her gaze held him. "Do you know why your parents split up, Miles? Do you know the real reason? Do you know why your sister never comes around?"

"Don't listen to her," Claire ordered, grabbing his arm. "Do what you have to do." What he had to do? He didn't even know what that was.

Isabella smiled. "How many guys do you think Claire fucked while you two were apart? How many huge dripping cocks do you think she sucked and sat on? More than five? More than ten? More than twenty?"

Images accompanied the words: his father taking his mother an ally against her will, sticking his huge hairy hands up Bonnie's nightdress when she was still a child; Claire bobbing up and down between a mustached man's legs, stopping suddenly, her eyes widening as the man ejaculated what was clearly an unexpectedly large amount of semen into her willing mouth.

The scenes cut straight through to his gut, but he could not let himself be swayed or lose focus. He rushed her, hands

out, pushing her hard onto the ground and falling on top of her, punching her midsection.

She was wiry. And much stronger than he would have even thought! not been used to enhance simple physical prowess. She withstood his blows and with one knee to the stomach sent him off her, falling sideways, trying desperately to draw breath.

Their positions were suddenly reversed. In one fluid motion she was on top of him. She kneed him again, this time in the crotch, then reached for his necklace, clearly not believing that she would be able to even touch it. But apparently the necklace's power was restricted to witchcraft, and though it could repel spells and conjurings, it could not fend off a direct assault. Her fingers curled around it, and the string yanked free of his neck, coming apart in her hands, the green glow winking out of existence as individual teeth clattered onto the rocky ground.

He saw a look of triumph in her eyes, felt the crackle of power in the air.

Then she was knocked sideways, off him.

And Hal and Claire were upon her.

Both were still protected, Claire's bracelet shining brightly, a glow emerging from the top of Hal's pocket, where he kept his talisman, and they were attacking wildly, like a team of predatory animals, not giving her an opportunity to right back. Once again, she was not being hurt She was dead

---but, not being able to use her powers, she was forced to fend them off. A harsh growl escaped from her lips, a tremendously deep noise that sounded as though it had come from a much larger creature.

Hal held down her arms, head-butted her in the chest.

Claire had grabbed a rock and was sitting on Isabella's legs, bashing in her knees.

Mile still felt the crackle of energy about him, and he had no doubt that she was about to finish him off, to kill him and absorb his life force or whatever the hell it was that ii she did; but before that happened, he leaped up, ran over, and grabbed her head with both hands.

She screamed, began thrashing wildly.

And he pulled off her head.

The break was clean, and he realized her head had not been reattached properly to begin with. That was why it had been held at such an odd angle. :::

He dropped the head, feeling dirty and disgusted by the sensation of it in his hands: the sliminess of the skin, the coldness of the flesh. Her body had stopped moving instantly, going limp, the thrashing ceasing upon disconnection with the head.

He helped Claire up, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet, though she would have had no trouble getting up on her own, and gave her a warm hard hug, kissing her full on the lips, grateful that she was alive, grateful to be alive himself.

Jesus, Al breathed, standing and rubbing an obviously hurt knee.

Miles glanced back toward the black hole in the ground.

He thought of his dream, the old cowboy.

"That's where I put her body."

Whatever useful knowledge he possessed had come from that dream, and he quickly grabbed Isabella's slack arms.

"Pick her up," he told Hal. "We'll throw her in the hole."

There was no argument, no hesitation. Hal grabbed her legs, and the two of them lifted the unnaturally heavy form and staggered over to the edge of the massive pit.

"On three," Hal said.

They began swinging the body back and forth to gain momentum.

"One... Two... Three!"

They let go, and Isabella's body fell into the hole, disappearing instantly, swallowed by the deep lightless black. They looked down, waited, but there was no flash of light as she was consumed, no sound of thump or splash as she reached the bottom.

She was simply gone.

Or rather her body was

The head was sOil there, lying on the smoking ground at Claire's feet.

Miles and Hal walked back to where she was standing. Hal motioned toward the jar Claire had placed on the ground. "What about that? I guess we don't need it any more, huh? ..... Miles looked over at the shattered glass of the lantern he had tossed and was about to say no, they didn't need it, when a high keening sound issued from between the lips of Isabella's head. Claire jumped back, crowded next to Miles.

Hal's eyes widened.

The head lay on the smoldering rock, and there were no bones or veins or blood in the neck. There was not even an open wound. There was only a smooth bright green gelatinous substance that looked like liquid plant flesh encased in a roll of skin.

Still, the features were moving, eyes blinking, eyebrows raising, lips parting. The keening sound grew lower, separated into words. Isabella began speaking, cursing them, spewing forth a litany of foul promises and invectives that made Miles' skin crawl. He moved forward. He suddenly knew what he had to do. Reaching down distastefully, he picked the head up by the green algae hair, holding it at arm's length.

"Your children will be born deformed," Isabella said, and her voice was neither male nor female, was not even human. 'hey will be burned and dismembered by tribes of unbelievers, their entrails scattered to the four winds..."

"Open the jar," Miles said. 'he lid."

Hal hurried over, pulled off the jar's top.

Miles lowered the head, placed it in the jar. Hal quickly replaced the lid, and Miles took the rested spoon from his pants pocket, the mint vine from his shirt. He took a deep breath, gathered his strength, then pulled open the lid and used the spoon to sprinkle mint leaves on top of Isabella's upward tilted face. He closed the top again.