Overhead, a helicopter with the Fox logo was circling in the air just above a police helicopter.
"News chopper," Jay said, pointing.
It was starting to feel like a block party. In addition to the locals and the police, news vans from the TV stations were arriving, and a snack truck had stopped and was selling drinks and doughnuts and candy.
Jay kicked a rock off the sidewalk into the gutter. "Too bad Devon and Chase and Kirk aren't here. We could push them in."
"Whatever happened to them?" Cameron asked. "Did anybody ever find out?"
"I heard they got sent away for a long, long time. I think they stole a car and then used it in a robbery and beat up some guy."
"No shit?"
"That's what I heard. Mike told me, and he overheard his parents talking about it. His dad's a cop, you know."
Cameron hoped it was true. Not the part about the guy getting beat up, but Devon and his buddies going away for a long time. The neighborhood was so much nicer with those assholes gone, and it was a relief not having to listen for the noise of Devon's motorcycle, to be able to play outside without tensing up at the sound of every starting engine.
Last year Devon and his pals had caught Cameron after school, picking him out of a crowd and shoving his face into a pile of dogshit on the small strip of grass next to the sidewalk. Cameron had puked, and then they'd shoved his face in the puke, while everyone stood around laughing at him. They'd let him go after that, but they'd looked for him each day after school, wanting to do it again, wanting to make him into a show. One weekend Devon had caught him on the sidewalk in front of Stu's house and had punched him in the stomach and then spit on him when he was down. "If you narc on me your ass is grass," he said, and walked away, laughing.
So if Devon and his friends really were in juvy or jail, that was great news.
Suddenly a woman across the street sprang forward, out of the crowd, ducked under the police ribbon, and made a mad dash for the closest ruin: a crumbling L-shaped adobe wall. Two policemen immediately scrambled after her, but she had a head start. She was yelling in triumph, arms in the air like a football player who had just made a touchdown, as she ran up the sloping sidewalk, jumping the low rail that blocked off the path from the ruins.
And disappeared.
Cameron saw it happen. It was quick, but he saw it. The second she left the path, there was a shimmering in the air, like a wall of mercury that had been disturbed, and then the woman was gone, blinked out of existence. At the last second, her shout of triumph sounded like a cry of agony, and it seemed to echo long after she had vanished, its shrillness swallowed up by the low growl/thunder/scream that continued to emanate from the ruins.
Something unseen ran from behind the wall to a partially reconstructed hogan.
The onlookers were stunned. Even Lieutenant Armstrong's bullhorn had temporarily gone mute. Cameron's first reaction was to turn tail and haul ass for home. But then the spell was broken. The lieutenant started barking orders again, the guy running the snack truck kept selling chips, people began talking.
"Holy shit." Jay turned to him. "What do you think it is?"
"You know."
"I know?"
Cameron met his eyes.
"You think this is the Mogollon Monster, too?"
"There's a connection, yeah." He cocked his head, as if listening. "Don't you feel that?"
"What?"
"That . . . heaviness. Like the air is thicker. Here, step back." Cameron retreated from the road onto the lawn of the house behind them, bringing Jay with them. Then he walked forward, stepping off the curb, into the gutter. The air engulfed him, liquid, oppressive.
"Fuck!" Jay said, his eyes widening. "I do feel it. You're right."
"That's what I felt both at the camp and in my room that day when I saw it in the backyard."
"But why is it here? And how can it do this?"
"I don't know."
"It's not just after you, then."
"Doesn't look like it."
"Back!" the lieutenant ordered the crowd through his bullhorn. "Stay back!"
"That's even scarier," Jay said.
Cameron nodded, forcing himself to swallow. "Yeah."
Policemen, at the lieutenant's behest, were fanning out, pushing the barrier forward, forcing people off the sidewalk and into the street.
The crowd was getting ugly. Something in the mood of the assemblage had changed, and it seemed only a matter of time before one or more of them broke through the barricade and followed the woman who had disappeared. They were no longer just onlookers; they wanted in. Even after what they'd seen, especially after what they'd seen, they appeared eager to experience for themselves that awful power.
Why?
The air pressed in on Cameron, dense and viscous, and he knew why.
"Let's get out of here," Cameron said. "Let's go home."
Jay nodded, the bravado of the early morning gone. They were witness to something here much bigger than both of them. As far as Cameron was concerned, they even lived too close to this place, and if he thought he could convince them to do so, he'd tell his parents right now to sell the house, pack their bags, and head to Vermont or Hawaii or someplace far, far away.
They started down the sidewalk and were about to turn left onto their own street when Jay stopped, pointed. "Oh, my God," he said. "Look."
Dozens of animals were coming up Camelback Road, all making their way toward the ruins. They weren't in a pack, although a coyote, two cats, and a squirrel were walking down the center of the asphalt nearly side by side. They were arriving independently, having been summoned or drawn here. Like Stu's cat, like Bear, they were hopping, lurching, moving strangely, their bodies contorted into humped unnatural positions, their faces frozen in crazed wild-eyed grins.
Traffic was backed up behind the animals, horns honking. Cars driving in the opposite direction were forced into the far single lane.
"You think the police are gonna stop 'em?" Jay asked.
"I don't know. Let's just get out of here."
"I want to see if--"
"Watch it on TV," Cameron told him.
Jay looked at the freakish animals, then again at the crowd surging in front of the barricaded ruins, and nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. All right."
They turned their backs on Camelback Road, heading up their own street. The air became lighter and easier to breathe as they moved away from the ruins, but the coldness Cameron felt did not lessen. Behind them, they heard a dog's bark that sounded uncomfortably like human laughter.
2
The crew finished the trail's midsection shortly before noon, and Shumway said they could break. Devon immediately walked uptrail, away from the others, who were already taking out their sack lunches and settling on the stumps and boulders surrounding the work area. Pete Holt, who'd been following him around like a puppy dog all morning for some goddamn reason, grabbed his lunch and hurried after.
Devon found a boulder out of sight of the others, facing a canyon wall, and sat down.
Pete leaned against a cottonwood on the opposite side of the trail, took a squished sandwich out of his bag. "Hey, didn't you bring anything to eat?"
Devon shook his head.
"You want part of my sandwich? It's peanut butter and jelly."
"No."
"I have an apple."
"No."
Pete nodded. "That's cool." He took a bite, chewed quickly. "Like I was saying, the great thing about the YCC is that we get to go into places that the public never gets to see."
Devon shrugged, lit a cigarette. He didn't give a shit. Most of the nerds-in-training who'd signed up for this gig were all gung-ho about the environment and the Indians and fuck knew what all. But he'd been sent here on court order, as part of his "community service," and while he was glad that he'd been sentenced only for the car, that they hadn't found out about the other thing, he sure as hell wasn't going to go all tree hugger just because he was serving his time
in a national park.
And if that dickheaded judge thought that these clowns were going to change him, that peer pressure was going to somehow make him into a happy, smiley do-gooder and accomplish what his parents and the school couldn't . . . well, that fuckwad had another think coming.
"See, there's these new ruins that they just discovered. The archeologists haven't even gotten to them yet, and it's going to be another decade or so before everything's looked over and catalogued and trails are made and the public's allowed in." Pete grinned. "But we can check it out now."
"Groovy," Devon said derisively.
Pete cleared his throat. "I was thinking of going over there after we get off this afternoon. There's not a whole lot to do around here, and instead of just hanging out with those doofuses"--he nodded down the trail--"I thought maybe me and you could go over to the ruins, explore, whatever."
Devon wanted to smile, but it wouldn't have been cool. The idea that this little twerp considered himself his pal, his equal, was pretty damn funny. If anything, Pete was even more of a dexter than most of the other corps workers.
Still, Pete was right. There wasn't a whole lot to do around here except sit around and play cards, attend nature talks, or do whatever chores the rangers wanted to pawn off on them.
And at least if he was out there on his own, he'd be able to smoke.
Devon nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Sounds all right. Just tell me how to get there."
He brought his motorcycle.
It was against the rules and probably against his sentencing agreement. He'd ridden to the park on it, but it was supposed to remain in storage until he left. From what Pete said, though, these ruins were way the hell out in God's country, and there was no way on earth he was going to hike that far.
He pulled up to the end of the service road behind the tourist cabins, their agreed-upon meeting place. Pete was waiting, and his eyes widened as he saw Devon's bike.
"You can't . . ." He shook his head, at a loss for words.
"Can't what?"
"There's no off-roading here," Pete said. "This is a wilderness area. It's protected."
Devon smiled, feeling strangely satisfied. "Yeah? Who's going to stop me?"
"You're supposed to walk. You'll ruin the trail."
"I'm riding the bike. If you're gonna be a pussy, just tell me directions and I'll meet you there. If you want to pretend to be a man, hop on and we'll haul ass."
Pete hesitated only a second. "All right."
He climbed on the back of the motorcycle.
The ride was rough, the trail almost nonexistent. Even with Pete shouting in his ear, he made wrong turns and had to backtrack twice. They went through gullies and over hills, finally ending up on a low escarpment that overlooked a series of interconnected canyons.
Devon shut off the engine, got off the bike.
"There." Pete pointed.
He could see the ruins from the top of the bluff, and he had to admit that they did look pretty cool. Although he wasn't going to give this nimrod the satisfaction of letting him know that. Nestled against a cliff in the nearest canyon, highlighted by the slanted light from the late afternoon sun, the ruins consisted of a two-story adobe structure that appeared to be built into the rock wall, two, low, windowless dwellings that jutted out from the sides of the taller building, and a stone circle that abutted both. Trees and bushes grew wild in the canyon, hiding the ruins until recently. They were now only visible because a crew had cleared the brush.
"There's a narrow trail down the side," Pete said, "but I don't think you want to take your motorcycle there because it might get wrecked. Once we get through this first section, though, there's a rope ladder that goes down into the canyon. The workers left it. We'll be down there in five minutes, ten tops."
The boy was right. Ten minutes later they were standing in the stone circle, looking up at the buildings. The ruins looked a lot bigger from this vantage point, and Devon felt the same sort of thrill that all the other YCCers probably felt when they saw someplace like this.
Maybe he was being affected by working here this summer.
He pushed that thought out of his mind.
He turned to face Pete. "You've been here before, right?"
The other boy nodded enthusiastically. "It's bitchin'."
"You know what all these buildings and shit are?"
"Some. Come on, I'll take you on a tour. There's something you gotta see."
They went into the main structure, walked through a big room with a fire pit in the middle, and several smaller rooms with doorways built for dwarves. Pete had brought a flashlight, which was a good thing because even though the sun was shining directly on the ruins, the few windows in this structure were small and let in little light.
They walked all the way to the back of the adobe building. The light dimmed further, and only Pete's flashlight playing across the solid wall made him realize that this entire structure had been built out of a natural cave, with the adobe facade giving it the appearance of being completely man-made.
Pete grinned. "This is why we came."
"What?"
The flashlight beam landed on a square chiseled doorway in the far right corner. Like all of the others, it was short, but unlike the others there was no adobe frame or wooden crossbeam. There was only a sooty smudge above the opening.
"What's in there?"
"You'll see." Pete moved forward, ducked low, and walked crouching through the doorway.
Devon followed.
The chamber was small and dark, smelling of dust, dirt, and something faintly unpleasant. The air inside felt warm and stale, and he thought that whatever Pete wanted to show him had better be pretty damn spectacular because he was about to turn around and walk out of here. Or crouch out of here.
Pete's flashlight played across a freestanding boulder in the center of the room that was covered with symbolic etchings. Around the foot of the boulder were several jars of clay and some broken pots. As the flashlight moved down, Devon saw that broken pottery shards littered the stone floor of the chamber.
Pete squatted down. "Check this out." He sorted through a small pile of pottery, picked up a piece and handed it to him.
Devon gave it a cursory glance, tossed it back on the floor. "Yeah."
"No. Look at it." Pete picked the shard up again and pressed it into Devon's palm, shining his light on the item.
Devon looked down at the irregularly shaped object. There was some sort of painting on the dusty clay, and he squinted, finally grabbing Pete's flashlight and training it on the shard for a better look.
It was him and Pete.
Devon felt chilled, cold despite the warm stuffy air.
The figures on the ancient pottery were crude silhouettes, but there was no mistaking whom they represented. The figure on the right had spiky hair like he did and appeared to be wearing a bulky motorcycle jacket. The other shape was smaller and skinnier with bozo hair that flared out on the sides like Pete's. His first thought was that this was some sort of joke, that Pete himself had come out here earlier, painted pictures of the two of them on the pottery and had lured him to the site to show him. Which was just about the faggiest thing he'd ever heard.
But he knew even before he saw the other boy's face that Pete had nothing to do with what was in this room.
Devon had the sudden urge to bolt.
Pete took the flashlight back. "Weird, huh? And there's new things every time. I came here twice before, and the first time I found what looked like my dog on a jar. I couldn't find it again the next time. But I found a broken piece with, like, a picture of my mom. I left it against that wall. I wanted to see if it would still be here or if it would have something different on it." He walked over to the right side of the room, shining his flashlight around.
"Gone!" he announced.
Devon's chill intensified. He was no pansy, but this place was damn creepy. He didn't like the fact that they were all alone, that there were no rangers or wor
kers or anyone else anywhere near these ruins. No one could hear them out here. No one could save them.
He tried to make his voice sound bored. "Hey," he said, "let's hit the road."
"Not yet."
Devon watched the flashlight beam play across the broken pottery in front of him as Pete returned. This wasn't just weird lights or spooky noises or shit like that, stuff off in the distance that would happen whether they were around to experience it or not. This was personal. It was aimed specifically at them, and that's what scared him the most. Whatever was doing this had known they were coming.
He picked up what looked like part of an old water jug. Etched on the side was a picture barely visible in the diffused illumination of the oncoming flashlight: his parents. He dropped the jug, and was gratified to hear the pottery break.
"Hey!" Pete called out, and this time there was anger in his voice. "What are you doing? You can't break these pieces. They're priceless."
"Fuck 'em," Devon said.
He was hoping Pete would suggest that they leave now, not wanting him to destroy any more precious artifacts, but the boy had not finished showing him everything he'd discovered.
"Now for the real treasure," Pete said. "If you thought that other stuff was cool, this is going to blow you away." He shined his flashlight into the far corner.
Onto a skeleton.
Devon nearly shit his pants. He backed up a step, involuntarily. He wanted out of here. He wasn't a nature boy. He was a city kid. This wasn't his turf, and not only did he feel lost, out of his element, but for the first time since he was small, he felt scared, really and truly scared. Not the way he had when he'd been arrested, not the way he had when those two skinheads had cornered him on the playground, but the kind of scared you got when you were six and you knew that the monster was going to jump out of your closet and kill you.
He stared at the figure slumped against the wall. It wasn't the skeleton of anything he'd ever seen. It wasn't animal and it didn't look quite human, but it did have two arms and two legs, although the bones were short, oddly segmented and uncommonly wide. The freaky thing was that the skull still had hair, a wild mane like a 'fro. The huge hair seemed to give expression to the noseless face, an angry expression that lent a cruel malevolence to the slightly upturned toothless mouth.
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