Thin Air

by Richard Laymon

  "I am," Theresa told him, meeting his worried gaze. "I can't leave Peggy in there."

  "You don't even know her."

  "But I think I know what she's going through. She's cut off from her husband, cut off from everyone she knows or loves."

  "That could happen to us," Clint explained, "if we go in looking for her."

  "It might," Theresa said. "But it might not."

  "If the opening has lasted this long," Malcolm added," I think we can assume it will still be there a while longer. We probably shouldn't dally, though."

  "You wanted to stay inside for days," Clint reminded him.

  "I guess I changed my mind."

  "If we're going to do it," Clint said, "let's do it." He took off his shoulder holster. "You take this," he said to Theresa.

  He helped her into it. Out in the woods on the Bigfoot job, she hadn't needed to fire the weapon. But maybe this time . . .

  Clint took his rifle out of its leather case. He cocked it. "All set?" he asked, glancing from Malcolm to Theresa.

  "Yep," Malcolm said.

  "I'm ready," Theresa said in a steady voice. Oddly, she was no longer as frightened as she had been only a few minutes ago. Her fears had seemed to fade with her understanding of what Peggy Wayne must be suffering. She had a strong desire to bring the woman out. Back to the real world. Back to Dennis and to the life she had known.

  "Hey," Dennis said. "Good luck." Stepping forward, he shook their hands. His eyes were wet. "And thank you."

  Hank gave one end of the rope to Clint. He held the rest of it in his hands and played it out as the three walked in a single file toward the small gray rock.

  Clint vanished from in front of Theresa. Gripping the rope tightly, she took another step. Then another.

  Suddenly, Clint was there again, standing knee-deep in a thick fog. The sky was red. Theresa turned around. The rope looked as if it had been cut off just behind her hand. No one was back there. They were standing on a plain that stretched toward a distant ridge of black jagged mountains.

  In a moment, Malcolm showed up. "Greetings," he said. Then his mouth dropped open. He looked around. "Holy smoke," he whispered.

  Hank's head appeared behind him. It had no body. The fingertips of one hand slipped into sight. "It is like a doorway," he said. The hand moved from side to side. "Seems like it's maybe three feet wide. I'll be right here," he said. "Try to make it quick." His head and hand went away.

  "Let's make it very quick," Clint said. Then he shouted Peggy's name.

  His voice boomed loudly in the silence. When the sound died away, Theresa heard nothing at all, not one other sound.

  She looked out across the low fog. Except for the mountains to the rear, she saw only trees. She guessed they were trees. Their limbs had no leaves, and their bark looked like skin. One stood only a few feet away.

  Letting go of the rope, Theresa stepped over to it. She reached for its trunk.

  "Careful," Malcolm warned. "It may not be what it seems."

  Theresa pressed the trunk gently with one finger. The surface felt like skin.

  Clint came up beside her. He touched the tree. "I was thinking one of us should climb it," he said, "but that might not be such a great idea."

  "I wonder if Peggy climbed it," Malcolm said, "to get a better view."

  "She might have touched it, at least," Clint admitted. He looked at Theresa and raised his eyebrows.

  She knew what he was thinking. "Okay," she said. "It's worth a try." Closing her eyes, she placed her hands against the trunk. It felt smooth and warm. She moved her hands slowly, wanting to let go. But if Peggy had touched it, Theresa's psychic powers might allow her to see what had happened. And Peggy had.

  Theresa was suddenly there, standing beside the dark-haired woman. Peggy Wayne looked no older than twenty-five. She wore a yellow sun dress. She was staring up at the pale limbs as she touched the tree. With a gasp of shock at the feel of the fleshy bark, she pulled her hand away. She made a disgusted face and rubbed her hand on her dress. Theresa kept her hands on the tree.

  Peggy turned around slowly. She was making quiet moaning sounds. Covering her face, she sank to her knees and almost disappeared under the thick mat of fog. After a few seconds, she got up. She started walking.

  Theresa watched for a while and then took her hands from the tree. Though they didn't look dirty, she wiped them hard on the legs of her slacks.

  "You saw her?" Malcolm asked.

  "Yes," She pointed toward a distant forest of the strange tree-things. "Peggy went that way," she said.

  Clint slung the rifle onto his back. Reaching high, he wrapped the end of the rope around the trunk and knotted it. "Give me your coat," he said to Malcolm.

  "My lucky jacket?"

  "It's bright enough to see for a mile. We have to be able to find this tree again, or we won't get out of here."

  Malcolm sighed. "Well, all right." He took off his jacket.

  Clint tied its sleeves to the high rope. It hung motionless. There wasn't the slightest breeze.

  They began to walk. The ground felt soft and mushy under Theresa's shoes. She wished she could see it, but the reddish fog hid everything below her knees. She stayed close behind Clint and tried to walk in his footsteps.

  Every so often, Clint called out Peggy's name. His shouts made Theresa wince. His voice, she thought, must carry a long way in the silence. She wondered what---or who---might be hearing it.

  "Let's fire a couple of shots," Malcolm said.

  "Good idea," Clint replied.

  The answer was hardly out before Malcolm drew his revolver and fired into the air. The blast crashed in Theresa's ears and left them ringing. But through the ringing came a high screech.

  It had come from somewhere far ahead.

  "What was that?" Clint asked.

  "It wasn't Peggy," said Malcolm. "That's for sure."

  Below the fog, something tightened itself around Theresa's ankle.

  With a gasp, she jumped sideways and tried to shake her foot free. The thing didn't let go. It felt like a snake. "Clint!" she cried out. She tugged the revolver out of her shoulder holster as the creature squirmed up her leg.

  Malcolm grabbed her from behind to keep her from falling.

  Clint reached down into the fog. He gripped the thing with both hands and pulled. Theresa's leg came up out of the fog. She screamed when she saw what was wrapped around it.

  It wasn't a snake.

  It had fur.

  And a human face.

  The head twisted around, snapping and snarling at Clint. Theresa put the end of the gun barrel against its forehead. Clint let go and stepped out of the way. Theresa pulled the trigger. As the gun jumped, the top of the creature's head blew apart with a spray of blood.

  Clint took hold of it again. He unwrapped it from Theresa's leg and lifted. A yard of the snake-like thing came up through the fog. There was more below. He pulled hard but couldn't bring up any more of it. Suddenly, it whipped out of his hands.

  "Uh-oh," Malcolm said.

  That's only part of something bigger, Theresa thought. There might be more of them---two or a dozen or a hundred---all part of some horrible beast hidden beneath the fog.

  "Let's go," Clint said. They started to run. Theresa's heart thundered. She blinked sweat out of her eyes. At any moment, she thought, another arm of the thing might grab one of them . . . might bite.

  Glancing back, she could see Malcolm's coat hanging like a flag. It seemed far away.

  Ahead stood a whole forest of the strange fleshy trees. Somewhere in there, she thought, is Peggy.

  If the beast hasn't gotten her.

  They stopped when they reached the edge of the forest.

  "Peggy!" Clint yelled. "Peggy!"

  There was only silence.

  Malcolm drew his revolver and raised it overhead. But he didn't fire. "Maybe I'd better not," he said.

  Clint nodded.

  Theresa was glad to see Malcolm put away th
e gun. Too much had happened after his first shot.

  "Peggy!" Clint shouted again. Then he looked from Malcolm to Theresa. "If she doesn't answer, we may never find her."

  "Maybe she didn't get this far," Malcolm said.

  "Any ideas?" Clint asked Theresa.

  "We might get a lead if we can find something Peggy touched. But I think she would have kept her hands off the trees. Touching one was enough for her. I think it grossed her out."

  "So all we can do," Clint said, "is keep looking and hope for the . . ."

  From far off came a shout. Theresa whirled around and scanned the foggy plain.

  Standing beside the tree marked with Malcolm's jacket was Hank Bishop. From the waist down, he was hidden by fog. He waved his arms and yelled, but she couldn't make out the words.

  "He's trying to tell us something," Clint said.

  Malcolm shook his head.

  They watched Hank flap his arms. They listened to his voice.

  "I can't catch what he's saying," Clint said.

  "Me neither," Malcolm said.

  "He seems disturbed," Theresa added.

  "I think," said Malcolm, "he must be trying to warn us."

  "About what?" Clint asked.

  "I don't know," Malcolm told him. "But I have an idea."

  "What?" Theresa asked.

  "I think he might be trying to warn us that the gap is shrinking."

  "I wish you hadn't said that," Theresa muttered.

  "It's just a guess."

  "Maybe Peggy is out," she said.

  "No," said Clint. "If that's it, he'd have her with him to show us."

  As they watched, Hank waved for them to come back.

  "It has to be the opening," Malcolm said.

  "What'll we do?" Theresa asked.

  Clint shook his head. "Finding Peggy won't do any good if the gap closes up. We'll all be stuck here. We'd better give up and . . ."

  A few yards away, a head rose out of the fog.

  Theresa gasped.

  Malcolm's mouth dropped open.

  Clint swung the rifle off his back.

  It was the hairless head of a man. But his eyes were on the sides of his face. They were set so far apart that he couldn't look at them with both at once. He turned his head quickly, looking with one eye and then the other.

  Five more heads came up out of the fog. All were bald and had the same strange eyes.

  Theresa pulled out her gun.

  "Hold your fire," Clint said.

  Theresa looked past the heads of the six men. She spotted the tree with Malcolm's jacket. Hank was gone.

  "Should we go through them?" Malcolm asked. "If we don't get back . . ."

  Before he could finish, the men began to attack. Their shoulders pushed up through the fog. Yelling, they shook clubs and sharpened sticks over their heads. But they were hunched over and moved slowly.

  Clint squinted at them. He chewed his lower lip. Then he slung the rifle onto his back and raised his hands.

  "Are you nuts?" Malcolm blurted.

  "Put your guns away," Clint said. "We don't want a slaughter."

  Malcolm groaned. He holstered his revolver. Theresa put hers away, too. They both raised their hands.

  "Hello, fellows," Clint said in a voice that sounded almost calm.

  The attackers seemed confused. They looked at each other and jabbered. Their words made no sense to Theresa. A few of them lowered their weapons. They came forward and formed a circle around Theresa, Malcolm, and Clint.

  The one who had first popped up out of the fog seemed to be the leader. He spoke to Clint and pointed toward the forest.

  "Let's go with them," Clint said. "Maybe they've got Peggy."

  "But the gap," Malcolm reminded him.

  "I know, I know," Clint said.

  Two of the men scuttled ahead to lead the way. The others stayed to the rear as guards. At least they didn't take our guns, Theresa thought. They'd probably never seen guns before. Maybe they didn't know that guns were weapons. Or maybe they'd seen her shoot the thing on her leg. The reason doesn't matter, she told herself. It only matters that we can still shoot our way out of this mess if we have to.

  And Clint is right. These same people might have captured Peggy. Going along with them could be the only way to find her.

  But if the opening shuts . . .

  I won't think about it.

  And I can't not think about it.

  At least the three of us are together. But how long can we stay alive in this horrible world?

  Someone jumped on Theresa's back, driving her to her knees. As she went down, she saw one of the savages smash Malcolm's head with a club. Two more leaped onto Clint. Then the fog blinded her.

  Face down on the ground, Theresa fought to get free of her attacker. She twisted and kicked. She grabbed the arm that was around her neck and tried to pull it away. The savage was too strong. His other hand jerked the revolver from its holster. Then he stopped choking her. He climbed off her back. Clutching her hair, he pulled Theresa roughly to her knees.

  She stood up.

  Malcolm was already on his feet. He looked wobbly. One of the savages hung onto his arm to keep him from falling.

  Another was holding Malcolm's revolver close to one eye, turning it and squinting down the barrel.

  Clint was out of sight, and so were the rest of the men. From the nearby sounds of punches and grunts, Theresa knew they were buried beneath the fog, still fighting. She wanted to help Clint. Suddenly, she made a rush for the place where the sounds were coming from. Before she took three steps, she was grabbed by the hair again and yanked back.

  She stood watching. Soon, the noises of the fight stopped.

  Clint came up out of the fog.

  He raised the rifle and fired.

  The savage holding Malcolm's revolver spun around as if he'd been kicked in the shoulder. He fell out of sight.

  Clint swung the barrel toward the one beside Theresa. With a yelp of fear, he threw down the gun, whirled around, and ran away. The last of the three ran after him. Clint fired a shot over their heads.

  The strange high screech came after the shots.

  Malcolm rubbed the back of his head where he had been clubbed. He smiled. "Good going," he told Clint.

  "They thought they could trick us," Clint said angrily. "They shouldn't have tried that. See if you can find your guns."

  Theresa reached down into the fog. She felt along the ground until her fingers touched the metal barrel. She picked up the revolver and stood up straight.

  Clint was bent over. He lifted one of the savages. It was the leader. Blood streamed from his nose, and the eye on the left side of his head was swollen shut. He looked like a losing boxer.

  Clint shook him. "Where's the woman?" he snapped. "Where did you take her?"

  "He can't understand you," Theresa said.

  "He'd better."

  Malcolm stood up, holstering his revolver. "Maybe I can help," he said.

  He and Theresa moved toward Clint and the short husky leader. Clint was holding him by the front of the vest he wore. It looked like bark from the fleshy trees.

  As Theresa stepped to Clint's side, her foot came down on a body. She jumped backward. A moment later, a bald head bulged out of the fog. Then the savage rushed away, keeping low to use the fog for cover.

  "Sorry," Clint said. "I should've warned you. There's another one down here someplace."

  "I think I'm standing on him," Malcolm said.

  He did look taller.

  He stepped down and walked close to the leader. He tapped the man's shoulder, getting the head to turn so that the good right eye was on him.

  He pointed at himself, said, "Malcolm," and raised one finger. "Theresa," he said, pointing at her and raising a second finger. He pointed at Clint, spoke Clint's name, and held up a third. Then he raised his little finger, making four. "Peggy," he said, and shrugged. With his other hand, he pinched his little finger and shook it.

&n
bsp; He closed his other fingers but kept the little one up. The savage stared at it. "Peggy," Malcolm said.

  "Ogga drosh," the man snapped.

  "That means 'drop dead,' " said Clint.

  "Peggy," Malcolm repeated. He waved his little finger in front of the man. He shrugged. He swept his other hand out toward the forest. "Where is she?"

  The man snarled, his parted lips showing stubby green teeth.

  "I think he knows what you're asking," Theresa said.

  "I think so, too," Clint added.

  "Peggy," Malcolm said in a calm voice. He wiggled his little finger. "Peggy," he said again. Silently, he drew his revolver. He gave the leader a long time to stare down its barrel. Then he tipped the gun back and fired. The savage jumped. His eye bulged.

  As the roar of the blast faded from Theresa's ears, she heard again the shrill screech.

  A look of terror twisted the man's face. "Kroggot," he whispered. He threw back his head and tossed it from side to side searching the treetops and sky. "Kroggot," he said again.

  "Peggy," Malcolm said. He aimed the revolver at the man's eye.

  "Nish! Kroggot!" The eye shut. The man stood up straight, ready for the shot.

  "He isn't going to tell," Clint said.

  "Oh, well," said Theresa. "Here we go again." She took hold of the man's arm. His skin felt hot and wet.

  She closed her eyes. In her mind, she was looking up through the high leafless branches of the forest. She heard the loud screech. Then a bat-like creature flapped through the red sky. Its huge wings looked like black leather. It had the head and body of a giant rat. In its claws was one of the savages. It took a bite from him as it flew over the trees.

  Kroggot, she thought. That thing is Kroggot.

  "Peggy," she said, hoping to turn the leader's thoughts to the missing woman.

  The picture in her mind changed. She was in a clearing. The savages had Peggy. They were tying her to a platform raised above the fog.

  It can't be far from here, she thought. It was where the savages had been taking them before they tried to get their guns.

  She pulled back her hands.

  "Did you get anything?" Clint asked.