The Walking

by Bentley Little

  The night wore on, the wind eventually dying down, but he could not seem to fall asleep naturally, so William wove a spell about himself, inducing sleep and guaranteeing that he would awaken just before dawn.

  He set out immediately after a quick breakfast of steak and eggs.

  Isabella warned him once again that he had better get rid of the interlopers, and he assured her once more that he would do so.

  It was a half-day's journey to the head of the canyon, and he followed the path of the river, passing through narrow marshy stretches where ferns grew high above his head in the cracks of the rock wails, tiding over wide sections of sand and boulders as the canyon expanded outward, the trees and plants remaining close to the cliffs, the open middle area arid and dry save for the banks immediately flanking the flowing water.

  It was nearly noon when he reached his destination. There was indeed a family camped at the head of the canyon. They were living out of their wagon, but foundation space for a cabin had been cleared next to a small stand

  of cottonwoods, and it seemed obvious that they were planning to settle here.

  A woman was kneading dough on a flattened board stretched between two rocks, while a young boy watched her from his perch atop another ock. A heavy, bearded man was standing shiftless and shoeless next to the river, attempting to push a large wood-and-metal contraption into the water.

  "Hello!" William called, dismounting from his horse. All three looked up, and the bearded man scowled, abandoning his device and picking up a rifle from behind a small bush. William made his way straight toward the woman, stood, dusting off her hands on her dress. The man hurried over as the boy quickly jumped off his rock and ran next to his mother.

  "What do you want?" the man demanded, brandishing the rifle.

  William removed his hat, bowed to the woman. "I merel'

  I stopped off for a friendly visit. My name is William. I live farther down the canyon, in town."

  'Town?" "Yes. The town of Wolf Canyon. I am the mayor. In fac that is the reason I have come to see you. if you would like to camp here for a few days--"

  "Camp here? We're settling. This is going to be our home. "If you would like to camp here for a few days," Willia continued, "you are welcome to do so. But you cannot live here." "Who says so?"

  William looked at the man. "What is your name, sir?" "I don't have to tell you my name."

  He was starting to become annoyed, but William tried remain calm and reasonable. "You must leave," he said gentley. this is not free land.

  It belongs to us."

  "Who is us the man asked belligerently.

  The town of Wolf Canyon."

  "Yeah?"

  William smiled. "We are witches."

  The man and woman exchanged a frightened glance. The boy grabbed the edge of his mother's petticoat. It was the reaction he'd expected, and William could not help feeling a twinge of satisfaction as he saw fear overcome the bluster in the man's face.

  "You're--"

  "We're all witches. Everyone in Wolf Canyon."

  The man took a step forward. "You are the ones who must be gone from here," he said bravely, brandishing his rifle, The woman grabbed his coat, tried to pull him back. "The Bible says, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." I suggest you leave here now before I shoot you as you stand."

  "We have been deeded this land by the United States government,"

  William said.

  "And it will be taken from you by--"

  The man's oratory was cut off by the rifle flying out of his hand and sailing through the air to land against the wagon. William looked at the man, met his eyes levelly so he would know that he was the cause, then let his gaze wander over to the river. There was a sound of thunder, and the mining equipment that had been so carefully set up in the sand burst apart, the pieces falling into the water.

  William said in a low ominous voice.

  "Begone,"

  He was tempted to add an explicit threat, to tell the man that if he did not hurry, his wife and son would be next. That was what Isabella would do.

  But that was exactly why he had come himself. He would not make threats he was unwilling to carry out. He would not kill the woman or the boy--and would only kill the man if forced to do so in self-defense. His goal was merely to frig ten the family away.

  You have until dawn," he said. 20They were frightened, and he swung back atop his horse, heading slowly back the way he'd come. Before disappearing around the bend, he stopped, turned the horse, and for several moments watched as the family started to gather up their belongings and hurriedly pack the wagon. Satisfied that they really were leaving, he pushed the horse into a trot and headed back through the canyon toward home.

  He heard Kate's screams even before he reached the corral outside of town. He willed the horse forward and held on as the animal galloped over the dusty road between the buildings.

  Outside Kate's cottage, a small crowd had gathered. The young woman's face was a splotchy angry red, streaked with bloody scratches. Her enormous mane of hair was tangled and flying out in all directions and looked almost as wild as her eyes. "I wanted that baby!" she screamed. She threw herself at Isabella.

  Isabella smiled. In her hand she clutched a bloody lifeless infant.

  Even from here he could see that the blood was not from the birth but from long slices which ran along the length of its small body.

  She stepped easily aside, and Kate went sprawling into the dirt.

  Grabbing the other woman by the hair, Isabella lifted her up and threw her back toward her husband, Randolph. Her grip on the baby tightened, and William saw blood streaming down Isabella's arm as she squeezed the dead child.

  A chill passed through him, and he jumped off the horse and hurried over. "What's going on here?" he demanded. "She killed my baby!"

  "One hundred," Isabella said quietly, "is a magic number."

  "What?"

  "We have one hundred people in town. Until one of us

  dies or moves on, no new members will be brought in, no babies will be born."

  "I would have moved!" Kate screamed.

  'Then we would have been ninety-nine."

  "Damn you!" Kate tried once again to attack, but her husband held her back. He and the rest of the onlookers seemed frightened.

  "Isabella," William said sternly.

  "One hundred is our number," Isabella repeated, giving him a look that brooked no argument. She hugged the dead baby to her chest, blood soaking into the white fabric of her dress.

  They disappeared in the night, Kate and her husband. Isabella wanted to go after them, hunt them like animals, but this time William put his foot down. There would be no chase, no punishment, no retaliation.

  He made sure the others in town knew of their differences, made sure they knew that he had prevailed, that he was still in charge.

  It was too late, however. WhateveFreputation he had had among the people of Wolf Canyon was gone now, and if he was still their leader it was because he had installed himself in that position and not because they wanted him there. He was a tyrant........ He and Isabella.

  This was not what he'd wanted, and if he had known it would come to this, he would not have approached the government with his petition in the first place. His dream had been to provide a home for their kind, not to establish a fief dora of his own. He'd wanted to liberate his people, not enslave them.

  But it was too late to turn back. Whether he liked it or not, the wheels had been set in motion, and he could not backtrack now.

  He wished Jeb were here. He'd be able to talk this over with Jeb. His friend had always been the most effective sounding board when it came to matters of gqvemance... and matters of the heart.

  Right now he needed advice on both.

  For he no longer wanted to lead the people of Wolf Canyon, but he would. And he no longer wanted to love Isabella--but he did.

  He did not even know what Isabella had done with the new born body. He was not
sure that he wanted to know.

  What if, he thought, by some miracle, she finally found herself with child? Would she kill their baby too?

  It was a disturbing question, and like too many questions these days, it was one for which he had no answer.

  Mary left in the middle of the night. Joseph a few weeks later in the middle of the day, when everyone was busy. Olivia died of a mysterious blood aliment that even magic- i was unable to cure. Martin fell down a well.

  It took awhile for William to realize that all of the original settlers were gone. The men and women who remained in Wolf Canyon were those who had come later.

  He knew why Mary and the others had left. They hadn't told him, but they hadn't had to.

  Isabella.

  They did not like what Wolf Canyon was becoming. He understood completely. He himself had grave misgivings about what was happening here. This was not what he had envisioned, and he held no resentment toward those who had left.

  And the others, the deaths?

  Accidents, he told himself, and he made himself believe it.

  William sat on his horse and surveyed Wolf Canyon from the top of the upper trail. From up here everything looked the way it always had, but the truth was that the whole tenor of the town had changed. Isabella was not alone in her feelings of anger and hatred toward those who were not witches. Many of the other townspeople, particularly the newer ones, felt the same way and were not shy about expressing their opinions in public. He understood that there'd even been some sort of meeting in the schoolhouse, a sort of strategy session to decide what to do should the "normals," as people had taken to calling them, discover Wolf Canyon. He had not been invited to the meeting, but he assumed Isabella had gone.

  He had not asked her. He had not wanted to know.

  If this had been a democracy, and if Isabella had been a man and allowed to run for office, he had serious doubts as to whether he would be able to beat her in a fair election.

  He willed the horse onward, toward the town, hoping that Isabella was at home, in the kitchen, cooking his midday dinner.

  But he had the feeling she wasn't.

  They killed the first rancher on All Hallow's Eve.

  The man had done nothing wrong. He was not even aware of the fact that they were witches. But Clete, returning home from a sojourn east, saw the settler's crude hut and makeshift corral on his return trip and promptly informed Isabella.

  Not him. :

  Isabella.

  The raiding party went out the next night, dressed in black garb and armed only with magic. Isabella said nothing to him, was not there when he arrived home after a long day of overseeing operations at the new tunnel over at the mine, but William knew where she'd gone, knew what she was doing, and he was filled with an anger so pure and strong

  it made his hands shake. He strode through the darkened streets of Wolf Canyon, his rage growing as he saw how quiet the town was, how deserted the bar. A lot of them had accompanied her, and he resolved that when she returned home he would lay down the law. This was his town, damn it, and wife or no wife, she had to abide by his will like the others. They all did.

  His resolve fled when she arrived, however, covered with blood and singed by fire. What was left of her clothes was torn and blackened.

  She leaped from her horse, victorious, and grinned at him. "We did it!"

  William's mouth was dry, the words he'd intended to say, the lecture he'd intended to give, forgotten.

  "It was glorious," she said rapturously. "We came out of the night like demons, and he obviously thought we were such, for he started shooting even before we had arrived." Her smile broadened, and William could see the blood on her teeth. "We took his animals first, making the cow wither in front of his eyes, roasting the pig alive, turning his chickens into statues of dung. He continued shooting, and we burned his corral, set fire to his cabin.

  "Then we went in."

  She touched his face, showed him, and William saw the scene through her eyes, saw the bullets reflected back at the shooter, saw Isabella cause the rancher's Bible to explode as he fell to his knees, praying, waiting for the end. He cursed her, cursed all of them, and they took tunas with their spells, Isabella going first, popping off his fingers one by one. Daniel followed, clouding over one eye. Thomas turned the man's teeth to plant flesh

  And on and on.

  She let go, and William stepped back, flushed. Against his will, he felt some of the same satisfaction she had, the same righteous sense of justice, but he didn't know if these were his own feelings or if she had imparted hers to him.

  She bathed in the river, and afterward they made love outside, like in the old days. What she prompted him to do would have made a normal woman sob with shame and humiliation, but Isabella loved it, and he loved it, too. The surrounding world disappeared for him as their bodies intertwined in ways unspeakable, and as wrong as it was, he realized that he would not oppose his wife in anything she did so long as this passion continued.

  She read him, she knew this.

  And that was the start of the purges.

  Now

  Miles sat in his cubicle, slumped in his swivel chair, staring at the unfunny Dilbert cartoon one of the agency's computer nerds had tacked up on the cloth wall of the room divider for his amusement.

  The case was over.

  Marina Lewis had had what was left of her father's body transferred to Arizona for burial as soon as the coroner had finished with the autopsy and the police had completed their paperwork, and she and her husband had gone back as well. Miles told her she didn't owe anything and let her off without bill, although he wasn't sure how he was going to justify that to Perkins. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. He'd failed to protect her father, and while, strictly speaking, that wasn't his mandate, it was what he had expected of himself, and he felt as though he'd let Marina down.

  He spun slowly around in his chair. He was at a loss because he didn't want to let the case go. There were other jobs he should be working on, a whole host of new clients from which to choose, but he wanted to stick with this. Because it involved his dad.

  That's what it came down to. Yes, he was concerned for the safety of Hec Tibbert and the other men on Liam's list. Yes, he desperately wanted to know what was behind these deaths, wanted to put a stop to this before it went any

  further--if that was at all possible. But it was his father's involvement that gave everything an added emotional dimension, that personalized it for him and made it so pressing and immediate.

  The police had promised to investigate further--after halving been warned of the danger Liam Connor was in, having been given the list, and having watched as Liam became another casualty, as predicted, under their very noses. But he had his doubts that they would follow through. There were too many other, more immediate crimes. Los Angeles was a perpetual wellspring of wrongdoing, with new murders, rapes, and robberies popping up every day. It was all the police could do to keep up with new crimes, let alone get started on the backlog, i

  But he could do it. He wanted to continue this investigation. It was his moral and ethical responsibility. What kind of detective would he be, what kind of human being would he be, if he did not follow through and act on what he knew, what he'd learned?

  Except he'd be fired if he used the agency's time and resources to continue working on the unfunded case of a client who had not paid in the first place.

  It was a lose-lose situation.

  Miles felt a pencil nub hit his shoulder, and he glanced over to see Hal leaning forward in his chair, attempting to snap him out of his gloom. "What would you rather do," his friend asked, "perform analingus on an incontinent Ronald Reagan or eat out your sister.

  Miles had to smile. It was a game they'd invented several years ago when the recession had cut into the private investigation business and they were stuck in the office for long periods of time without any work to do. It had started out simply, asking each other which of their
female coworkers they would most or least like to have sex with, and had gotten more outrageous over time, graduating to gross-out

  proportions as they expanded one another's tolerance for in suits and honesty. It was based on the premise that, faced with two heinous choices, there was always one option that was less intolerable than the other. They'd never had a name for the game until one time Hal had tried to squirm out of answering--Miles had asked whether he would rather fellate Clint Eastwood or be corn holed by Tom Cruisewand the other detective had replied, "Neither. I'd rather die." "Death is not an option," Miles told him. Hal's face lit up. 'that's it!" he exclaimed. 'that's what?"

  'that's the name. "Death Is Not an Option.""

  They'd discussed, only half jokingly, pitching Death Is Not an Option as a game show idea to HBO or one of the cable channels where there were no restrictions on language. "We could even add nudity," Hal said, "for higher ratings."

  Since then they'd ritualized the game, and though they'd often mentioned bringing in others, letting Tran play, for instance, it had remained their own private entertainment.

  Miles looked over at his friend, smiling. "I guess I'd have to eat out my sister."

  Hal cackled with delight, as he always did, tickled, even after all this time, at hearing such an admission. He walked over to Miles' cubicle. "You okay?" "I'm fine." "You sure"

  "I said I'm fine."

  Hal held up his hands in surrender. "I'm just asking." Hal's attempts at cheering him up were as disjointed and disorganized as ever, but in a strange way, he found that comforting. He did feel a little better after talking to his friend. Maybe there was a way to keep the investigation going. After everything that had happened to him the past two months, Perkins would probably be willing to give him a leave of absence if he asked, some time off without pay.