Behind her, Clay let out a war cry. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him kick a creature hard enough to send it away from his horse, head over heels. By the time she turned around again, another creature was grabbing at her saddle.
Witashnah drew her gun, put the barrel inches away from the creature’s head, and fired off a shot.
The three riders picked up speed as they entered the open desert, using what little ammunition they had left to fend off the manic creatures.
She reached for the very last stick of dynamite, held it steady as she gripped the reins and attempted to light the fuse. She was going too fast, and the flame kept winking out, but after several long seconds she managed to keep it lit and got the fuse going and then she twisted in her saddle, just long enough to see the creatures behind them—maybe a hundred—and she flung the stick of dynamite at the head of the swarm.
At the last moment Clay swerved his horse and looked up and saw the stick coming at his head. He ducked, and the stick passed over him, and a second later there was a massive explosion, even more massive now that they were out in the open, the ground coughing up dirt and sand and bits and pieces of the creatures.
It didn’t stop them all, however. There were still more creatures, but they seemed to be slowed by the explosion, giving up the chase. Witashnah urged her horse forward, as did Clay and George, until they crested the ridge and disappeared onto the other side.
* * *
The sky was clear, the moon bright, and the air chilly by the time they arrived at the cave.
There had been no more encounters with Those That Walk The Night.
“Why are we stopping here?” George asked.
“My grandfather,” Witashnah said.
She headed for the tunnel that would lead to the cave, Clay behind her.
George stayed where he was.
Clay asked, “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I thought you were dead for one thing.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“I can see you’re not. But what—what happened to you?”
Clay exchanged a glance with Witashnah. “What do you mean?”
“You’re different.”
“George—”
“You’re different and I don’t understand what’s going on. Who is this anyway?”
He motioned at Witashnah, who lowered her eyes.
“I am Witashnah, one of the last of the Tachucua tribe.”
“George,” Clay said, patience in his voice, “we’ll explain everything to you as soon as we can. But right now we need to collect Akecheta.”
“Who’s Akecheta?”
“Follow us and you’ll see.”
* * *
The fire was going strong, creating dancing patterns of light and shadow across the stone ceiling. Akecheta sat on the far side of the fire, staring at the flames as if he could see them even in his blindness.
“We must leave,” Witashnah told him in her native tongue.
Akecheta grunted and shook his head.
She was fully aware of how stubborn he could be. Sometimes it was because he was an old man set in his ways. And sometimes it was because he knew something he had chosen not to share with her.
Witashnah repeated her request.
Akecheta shook his head again.
The patterns of light and shadow suddenly changed direction and danced off toward the far end of the cave.
Witashnah felt a chill pass through her body.
“What the hell?” George said from behind her.
She turned and there, standing just inside the cave, was a boy.
27.
Clay had never considered himself a superstitious person. Like many people born in his area of the world, he went to church every Sunday and said his prayers before every meal and before he went to bed, so he believed in God and he believed in the Devil and he knew there was good and evil in the world. And despite everything he had experienced these past two days—first hearing the demons, and then seeing them—he knew there was more in the world than he could ever begin to imagine. But ghosts? No, ghosts were something he had never truly believed in.
Even now, standing in the cave with George and Witashnah and Akecheta, he didn’t believe what he was seeing was real.
The boy—the boy he and George had found only days ago, the boy they had brought into the first town and which had been taken to the second town, the boy who was then sacrificed—that boy was standing here, now, in front of them.
But that couldn’t be possible.
The boy was dead.
Only he wasn’t.
He was standing here, his clothes dirty, his hair a mess.
Grinning at them.
“What the hell?” George said again. “That can’t—that really can’t be him, can it?”
Clay knew George was talking to him but still he said nothing. He hadn’t felt it before when he and George first encountered the boy, but he certainly felt it now.
The boy felt wrong.
“He’s here,” Clay whispered.
“Who’s here?” George asked.
“The god.”
A cord in the fire snapped and hissed, sending a flurry of sparks up toward the ceiling.
Clay stepped back slowly, one foot after another, until he was right beside Akecheta.
“We have to leave,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure why—the boy could clearly hear him regardless of what tone of voice he used, and even if he couldn’t, it didn’t matter. Clay suspected the boy wasn’t planning to let any of them leave this cave.
The boy, still grinning, took a step forward.
Witashnah and George both took a step back.
George looked at Clay, fear in his eyes. Then he scrunched up his face, said, “I’ll take care of this,” and stepped forward.
Clay shouted, “George, no!”
George ignored him and strode forward, picking up speed, meaning to push the boy away.
The boy didn’t even flinch.
He held his ground, and when George reached for him, the boy swung his arm and sent George reeling back against the cave wall. George’s head hit the stone and bounced back, and his entire body slid to the ground.
Witashnah hurried to his side. She crouched down beside him.
“Is he okay?” Clay asked.
She nodded. “He is still breathing.”
From where he stood, Clay could hear George groaning. He watched as his friend slowly started to move on the ground, lifting his head.
The boy, still grinning with his gaze on Akecheta, took another step forward.
“No!” Witashnah screamed.
Clay wasn’t sure what she meant at first, his own gaze stuck on the boy. But then he blinked and saw her rising to her feet, a gun in her hand.
She aimed it right at the boy’s head.
“Don’t!” Clay shouted, understanding what she meant to do and understanding what it would mean.
But it was too late.
Her finger tightened around the trigger, and the hammer clicked, and the bullet struck the boy in the forehead.
He flew back, his head knocking into the cave wall much the same way as George’s head. Only it was very clear the boy would not be getting back up.
Another cord snapped and hissed in the fire, but besides that, the entire cave was silent.
Suddenly a hand grabbed Clay’s wrist.
Clay, startled, looked down.
Akecheta was looking up at him with his blind eyes.
The old man nodded once, slowly.
And like that, the blind spot in Clay’s mind—the only memory of Akecheta’s that was hidden from Clay—opened up, like dark clouds parting to reveal a sky as beautiful and blue as a robin’s egg, and Clay understood that this was what Akecheta had been planning all along, that he had been the one who wanted the god to come here to this cave, a restricted place buried in the earth, and that Clay would be tasked with—
Clay swallowed. Stared hard down at Akecheta. He was faintly aware of a rage beginning to bubble deep inside of him. A rage that displaced the fear and confusion at seeing the dead boy. A rage that reminded him of the night he had accidentally killed the mayor’s son. A rage that acknowledged the fact he had been lied to, manipulated, controlled from the very beginning.
But to what end?
When Clay thought of this, the rage quickly left. A strange calm opened up inside of him. He knew what was at stake, and he knew that it was now his destiny to see it through.
“How?” he asked.
The hand around Clay’s wrist squeezed even tighter, and like before, the old man transferred a memory to Clay. Only this wasn’t an old memory. This memory was new. Very new. A location of something that just may help them. A location of something that had to help them.
“What did he say to you?” Witashnah asked, though obviously she knew her grandfather hadn’t said a word.
“You and George need to leave.”
“But—”
“Now,” Clay said, his voice loud and hoarse, and he glared back at Witashnah, who just stared back at him until, a second later, she nodded.
“What’s happening?” George asked, now on his feet with a hand to his bleeding head.
Without a word Witashnah took his arm and led him toward the cave entrance. George tried to pull back, asking again what was happening, but Witashnah pulled him even harder.
They passed the boy who still lay dead ... and who would forever lay dead.
Because the god had escaped the body, and was now coming for Akecheta.
Clay knew this, because Akecheta knew this.
And Clay could feel it in the air: the sudden drop in temperature, the balance of the two worlds shifting, the entire cave briefly shimmering in and out of focus. The flames of the fire danced even higher. For an instant, Clay thought he saw something in the flames—a face as old as time—but then he blinked and it was gone.
Then, suddenly, Akecheta jerked and the hand gripping Clay’s wrist fell away.
Clay stepped away from the old Indian, away from the fire, toward the corner of the chamber. He kept his focus on Akecheta, who had gone completely still and silent.
In his mind, Clay heard a distant voice, echoing a whisper:
Thank you for bringing us together.
And Akecheta—or rather the god which had now become one with Akecheta—slowly rose to his feet.
28.
George moved as fast as he could, bent over, trying to keep up with Witashnah. His head still pounded from where it had struck the cave wall. Blood or sweat dripped in his eyes and he had to keep wiping it away. Then they arrived at the mouth of the tunnel and George was ready to stand up straight—his back had begun to ache, too—when suddenly Witashnah stopped.
He ran into her, nearly toppling the both of them over.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, wiping more blood or sweat from his eyes, but he saw at once.
They were surrounded.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of demons surrounded them. Most of them were standing completely still, staring back with their sunken faces at the cave. Only a few were in motion, tearing apart what was left of their horses.
“No,” Witashnah murmured. Then, growing louder, “No ... no ... NO!”
Before George could react, she raised the gun and fired at the closest demon. The bullet tore through its head, spraying black blood. The rest of the demons slowly turned to face her.
For an instant, none of them moved.
Then, all at once, they sprang forward.
Witashnah fired again, and again, and again, each bullet taking down a demon, but it was a wasted effort. George knew this, just as Witashnah must have known it. But still she kept pulling the trigger, again and again, even though the hammer kept falling down on empty.
Behind them, inside the cave, George heard screaming.
“Come on!” George shouted, grabbing her arm, and pulled her back toward the mouth of the tunnel.
29.
I was waiting for you and your friend. I knew someone would come along eventually. Someone to take me into that town.
The god moved toward Clay, who backed toward the cave wall, the space between them less than twenty feet.
I knew the blonde woman was a friend of the old man’s granddaughter. I knew she would know where to find him.
The cave wall came up behind Clay, forcing him to stop, as the god continued to move forward.
I could have gone into that town at any time, but I liked playing with them, biding my time as my army grew. I liked smelling their fear night after night. Just as I can smell yours.
Clay kept his focus on the approaching god—now less than ten feet away—as he reached down into the rocks. His fingers grazed what he needed when suddenly the god grabbed him and flung him across the room.
He sailed through the air, through the flames, and slammed into the cave wall. He crumpled to the ground among a few rocks. He reached out, his hand shaking, and gripped one of the rocks and threw it at the god.
The rock bounced limply off the god’s chest as it approached.
A noble effort, but you cannot hurt me. The god placed its foot on Clay’s wrist. Not like I can hurt you.
The god ground its foot into Clay’s wrist, pulverizing the bone.
Clay gritted his teeth, trying everything he could not to cry out. It wasn’t any good. He screamed.
The savage sound of human suffering pleases me. I look forward to hearing more of it soon. I have been waiting centuries for this moment. Once I grow stronger, I will not even need this body anymore.
The god lifted its foot.
Clay opened his eyes just briefly, enough to see the god turning away from him, enough to hear footsteps coming this way through the tunnel.
Yes, the distant voice echoed pleasingly. More humans with which to play.
Despite his useless wrist, despite all the pain screaming through his body, Clay began to crawl. Kicking with his feet, pulling with his uninjured arm, he slowly moved away from the cave wall toward the fire.
“Clay?” echoed a voice through the tunnel—George. “Clay, what’s happening?”
Clay crawled past the flickering flames toward the part of the cave wall he had backed himself up against earlier. He reached it just as George and Witashnah entered the chamber.
Hello, children.
Witashnah screamed.
Clay clamped his eyes shut against the pain as he leaned into the stone wall and pushed himself to his feet. His entire right arm was useless, but his left still worked just fine. He reached down into the rocks where he had reached before and again felt what he had felt before and gripped them and pulled them out and held them behind his back as he turned.
The god had both George and Witashnah by their necks. He was squeezing their windpipes so hard neither of them could breathe, lifting them just enough so their feet barely touched the ground.
“Stop!” Clay shouted.
The god, keeping its back to Clay, cocked its head.
What do you want now?
“Let them go.”
Why should I?
“To prove you’re not pathetic.”
The god cocked its head again, this time back at George and Witashnah. For a moment it didn’t move, just kept strangling them, and then all at once it released its grip on their necks.
They fell to the ground, wheezing and holding their throats.
The god turned away from them to face Clay.
I am not pathetic. The distant echoing whisper gained intensity. It is you humans that are pathetic.
“And yet you waited centuries for this moment. Isn’t that what you said? You waited, because you had no choice. You needed a human to call you forth. Without humans, you’re nothing. And then you waited for your army to grow before you attacked. You—”
In a flash, the god crossed the distance between them, reaching up and placing both hands around Clay�
��s throat.
The grip was like steel, the thumbs digging into Clay’s larynx, crushing his windpipe.
Humans are the bane of this world. I will destroy them all, starting with you.
Everything began to lose focus. Clay tried kicking but without much effort. He heard something foggy in the distance—his name being shouted—but at first he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Then he blinked and saw George and Witashnah on their feet at the entrance to the cave. George was shouting Clay’s name. Clay looked back at him, just looked ... and then with all his strength he lifted his left hand. And in his left hand he held the two sticks of dynamite—the two sticks Akecheta had stashed behind the rocks while Clay and Witashnah dozed, the special location that Akecheta had silently revealed to Clay only minutes ago. He nodded at George and Witashnah, just once, and Witashnah, understanding, grabbed George’s arm and pulled him back down the tunnel. George shouted Clay’s name again, this time even louder, but all Clay could hear was the distant echo in his head shouting—
I AM NOT PATHETIC IT IS YOU HUMANS WHO ARE PATHETIC YOU ARE THE BANE OF THIS WORLD I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL
—and Clay lifted the two sticks of dynamite, closing his eyes and thinking of his daughter and smiling as he tossed those two sticks of dynamite toward the dancing flames, the two sticks sailing through the air tumbling end over end until they, too, joined the dance.
part five
RETRIBUTION
30.
Witashnah tugged at George’s arm to keep him moving through the tunnel. They stumbled forward, George resisting, Witashnah determined not to give in to his desire to go back and help his friend.
“You cannot help him!” Witashnah shouted. “If we go back, we die!”
George paused, weighing her words, and then he nodded and turned back toward the tunnel’s entrance.
Witashnah made the same turn ... only to discover they were trapped.
Walk the Sky Page 11
