The Walking

by Bentley Little

  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 loo
ked 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.

  With a scream of rage and agony, Isabella's features melted, devolving into separate elements, as though they were unrelated objects that had been held together by glue into a coherent whole What remained resembled nothing so much as sliced fruit: cherries and pears and peaches.

  Miles felt drained. He didn't know what type of witchcraft he had performed, where it had come from, or how it had worked. All he knew was that whatever he had done, it had succeeded. Isabella was no more.

  And, hopefully, she was the last of her kind.

  This entire odyssey had been a series of vague impulses and half-understood events, things that made no logical sense but fit together on some subliminal level and were granted meaning. He thought of May.

  "Sometimes there just isn't an explanation."

  He stared up into the dark sky, breathing deeply, his muscles shaking.

  He had changed, he realized. This experience had altered him in a very profound and fundamental way. His entire outlook and approach was different than it had been. No longer was he a captive to logic, a head-over-heart guy. He was more like his father, and he wished Bob were here so he could tell the old man that he was happy to be like him, that he was proud.

  Hal still seemed somewhat jittery as he stared at the closed jar. "What now? Do we dump it in the hole?"

  "No," Miles said. "Just leave it here."

  "What if?"

  "Nothing will happen. 20"How do you know?" Claire asked.

  He looked into her eyes, took her hands in his. He didn't.

  It just felt right.

  And for him that was enough.

  " EPILOGUE

  They were still in the canyons when the rescue helicopter found them.

  Janet had gone for help, and from the town of Rio Verde, the sheriff had contacted the FBI office in Phoenix, which had immediately marshaled the manpower to assist one of its own.

  Night had finally fallen, and the strange storm clouds had, if not disappeared, at least reverted to something resembling an ordinary weather phenomenon.

  Base camp for the rescue effort was the Rio Verde sheriff's office.

  Rossiter, still alive but condition unchanged, had been flown back to a Phoenix hospital. The rest of them were questioned in separate rooms in the local lockup about what exactly had happened, and though Miles was tempted to lie and say he knew nothing, they had not gone over a plan in advance and he did not want to contradict anything

  Hal, Claire, or Janet might say.

  So he told the truth

  He had no idea how much of his story would be given credence, but the man talking to him nodded solemnly at the appropriate places and showed no outward sign of amusement. Miles wanted to believe that his story would be routinely filed away and attributed to the effects of heatstroke, but he knew from overheard conversations in the hallway that the half-buffed bodies of the Walkers had been found, as had May's. Their stories would be harder to dismiss with corroboration.

  And a part of him could not help thinking that someone, somewhere in the government, already knew about Isabella and that weird land beyond Wolf Canyon.

  By the time it was all finished and they had each provided their phone numbers and addresses for follow-up interviews, dawn had nearly arrived. The FBI offered to put them up for a day in a local motel, and Janet took them up on that, saying that she was too fired to do anything but sleep. The rest of them decided to get out of Arizona as quickly as possible. Janet promised Miles that she would return the rental car to Cedar City the next day and sign off on it.

  "You'd better," he told her. "I know where you live." She laughed, thanked him, gave him a quick awkward hug. They had explained to her what had gone on after they'd followed May, and though she still seemed disturbed by Garden's disappearance and the fact that he had not yet been found, she seemed less troubled than at any time since Miles had met her, and he had the feeling that she would be okay. He promised to call as soon as he got back to California.

  Hal intended to drive Miles and Claire back to Los Angeles, but the FBI offered to pay for a rental car, and Miles decided to take advantage of that. The three of them ate at a Denny's, compliments of the Bureau, and when the local Avis opened, an Agent Madison accompanied Miles, filled out the paperwork, and told Miles that he could drop the car off at any Avis in Southern California.

  The agent shook his hand. "We'll be in touch."

  Before they parted ways, when Claire was out of earshot, Hal took Miles aside. "Would you rather meet up with Isabella again or have a broom handle shoved up your ass?" he asked. "And death is not an option."

  "Broom handle up the ass," Miles replied without hesitation.

  Hal patted his shoulder. "Me, too, bud. Me, too."

  Miles thought of his father, thought of Bob. The FBI and the other law enforcement agencies involved were going to autopsy the bodies, then, using dental and fingerprint identification, attempt to contact the decedents' families. Miles had already specified his father's approximate location in the lineup and had described the ragged clothes Bob had been wearing. He'd also given them the name of Ralph Barger at the L.A. County Coroner's office, and they'd promised to ship over the body.

  His dad would finally get a proper burial.

  He didn't want to think about his father right now, didn't want to get caught up in those sorts of considerations. He would do that later, when he was alone when he had time to think things over and grieve.

  Rio Verde was located at the juncture of two state highways, and Miles consulted a road map before choosing to take the route that led northeast across the state. Hal was heading the other way, through Phoenix, and they said their good-byes in the parking lot.

  "I'm going in tomorrow," Hal said. "I'll tell everyone you're taking a few days."

  Miles hadn't yet decided whether he would take any more days off work, but he thanked his friend. "I appreciate it." "And I'm telling Tran.

  Everything." Miles smiled. "Go right ahead."

  Claire gave Hal a hug. 'thank you," she said. "For believing me, for coming with me, for all of it. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't been here."

  "Or you, either," he told her.

  Miles put an arm around her. "Thanks both of you." "What are friends for?"

  They got into their respective cars, and Miles and Claire waved to Hal as he started off in the opposite direction.

  They hit the highway themselves. It seemed suddenly silent, with just him and Claire---it was amazing how quickly


  one got used to being part of a group---and Miles turned on the radio as they headed over the bridge that traversed the [ river and headed into the desert. The radio dial was white [. noise save for a Mexican station, a right-wing talk program out of Albuquerque, and an all-news station from Las Vegas.

  Miles kept it on the Las Vegas station. According to the weather report, a storm system was covering most of the four corners states and heading west, toward Nevada and

  California. Whether that was from the same dark cloud cover [ that had started over Wolf Canyon, he did not know, but it would not surprise him.

  He glanced over at Claire. He remembered when they'd gotten married.

  Or when they were supposed to have gotten married. For the wedding had been postponed a day. There'd been a huge thunderstorm, a freakishly out-of season El Nifio downpour, that triggered a mud slide which engulfed the -p, ark where the ceremony was to take place. Although they d been able to laugh about it later, it had been hell at the time and they'd rushed around all morning phoning friends and relatives, telling them about the postponement, while desperately searching for some inside location to host the wedding.

  Miles cleared his throat. "How about we get married?" She looked at him. "What?" "Will you marry me?" "No."

  "No?" : "Are you crazy?" "I'm dead serious."

  "This isn't a movie, where two people fall in love just because they're thrown together under extreme circumstances. It's us. Me. You.

  We're together again, yes, but we still have to give this thing time.

  Who knows where this is -going to lead?"

  "I do."

  'there still a lot of water under the bridge, a lot of things we haven't talked about, and and it's just too soon, Miles." She put a light hand on his arm.

  "What do you say we go to Las Vegas and just play it from there?"

  "Why not?"

  "I'm not into those quicky chapel things, if that's your scheme. It's not cute or kitschy or any of that stuff to me."