The Walking (39 page)

"Where do you fit in?" Miles asked.

May smiled. "She killed a baby. Back in the town's early days. She thought the population had reached some magic number, and she didn't want it changed: no new people, no one leaving. So when a couple had a baby, she killed it. Her, I should say, not it. The baby was a girl.

The parents left, took off in the middle of the night to escape Isabella's tyranny. Years later, they had another daughter. That baby was my mother. And her parents taught her and she taught me about the town--and what went on there. Your father knew, too. He was born in Wolf Canyon, and he lived there until he was ten or so, until his parents moved to Los Angeles. That was long after Isabella, but long before the lake. I met him at the dam after I'd come out from New Jersey. I walked the shoreline.." and I found your father. I think he'd been called, too. He was here to make sure that Isabella hadn't escaped and was still down there." She nodded toward Garden. "John Hawks, your grandfather, had never left. He'd left the town, but he'd built him a house on top of the plateau." She pointed behind them at a flattened rocky bluff. "He's the one who told us about the

people in town who didn't leave, who couldn't get out, and we all figured it was her, keeping them there so they would be drowned. There were several of us, and we kept in touch for a while. We knew the stories, and we waited to see if she would return. But the years passed, and she didn't, and we drifted apart, drifted into other lives."

"I remember you," Garden said. "We almost told you when Grampa died, but. but we didn't for some reason, and then you were gone."

Claire looked at the old lady. It was as if she'd gotten all the craziness out of her system on the trip over, because she appeared completely lucid.

May shook her head. "Now you say she's come out of the lake. With all of the others." She squinted at Miles. "How many would you say?

"Dozens. A hundred, maybe." He shrugged. Maybe more.

I didn't count."

"You were called, too," May said. She looked intently at Miles.

"So what's the plan?" Garden asked. "What do we do now?"

May turned to face the young man. "We will hunt her down," she said.

Claire felt peach fuzz hairs prickle at the back of her

And we' will kill her once and for all."

Miles stared at the homeless woman, who had suddenly stopped talking and was twirling around with her arms out and her eyes closed, like a little girl trying to make herself dizzy. From where he stood, the immobile FBI agent was directly in front of her, and the sight of the two together hit

May began screaming crazily, looking up at the dark sky and shouting out non sequiturs.

"I was surprised she held out for as long as she did," Hal whispered.

"In the car, she couldn't go two minutes without spouting off some loony nonsense."

Claire gave Miles' hand a small squeeze, then let go and moved forward, trying to quiet May and calm her down.

May.

Lizabeth May.

He remembered the whispers in the night and wondered who had been telling him that name. And why.

He had heard his father's name whispered, and his father had died.

Hal turned to face him. "You should've brought me in earlier, man.

Tran, too. We could've helped you on this. I thought your dad was just missing, I didn't know all this... shit was going on."

"Would you have believed it?"

"Not at first, probably. But I go where the facts take me. You know that." He leaned in, lowered his voice. "And I'd feel a lot better with Tran here than Claire and these other civilians."

Miles had to agree with that.

Except... Except this felt right, and once more he was confronted with the unfamiliar sensation of trusting his feelings rather than facts.

Although, under the circumstances, it didn't seem quite so strange.

"Isabella, huh?" Hal shook his head.

"Yeah."

"Does this super witch have a last name?"

"Would it matter if she did?"

"I guess not." Hal looked over at Rossiter, sighed. "You know, I can't help thinking about the fact that this bitch con trois an army of zombies and turned an FBI agent into a

brain-dead lobster within a matter of minutes. I don't like the odds here." He quickly held up his hands. "But I'm in,

I'm m, I am not complaining. You are just scared. Damn right I'm scared. Vales grmed. "Wuss boy."

"Not ashamed to admit it. And you're glad I'm here, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Miles admitted. "I am."

"That's a start, bud. That's a start." May was suddenly silent.

Claire was standing before her, holding the old woman's arms at her sides, when she pulled away, blinking as if she'd just emerged from a trance. "How long ago did Isabella leave?" she asked.

Miles looked at Garden, at Janet.

"I don't know," Garden said. "Fifteen minutes." 'Ten or fifteen,"

Janet said. vales nodded in agreement.

"She's far enough away, then." May mumbled something to herself before looking up again. "Talismans, spell casters, potions. Your families were witches, they all had the makings. Did you bring them? Do you have materials with you?"

Miles nodded dumbly. He wasn't sure how he felt about relinquishing authority to a woman who obviously had severe mental problems, but crazy as she was, she'd been involved in this longer than any of them.

He had no choice but to listen to her. 'there a box in the car from Janet's uncle's house."

I'll get it." Obviously happy to have something to do, Janet headed over to the rental car to fetch her uncle's witchcraft paraphernalia.

"May told me to bring your stuff, too," Claire said. "Thank God you didn't put it back in that safety deposit box or

there's no way I would, have been able to get it out. It's in the trunk."

"I have the keys," Hal said. go. May turned to look at Garden.

He shrugged. "I never saw those things. I only heard about them. I don't know what happened to them."

The old lady frowned, mumbled something to herself. Hal and Janet returned with the materials. Miles took his father's stuff from Hal, who then offered to carry Janet's box. Janet shook her head, held on to the carton, and following May's lead, they all walked down the slope to the water's edge, leaving the unmoving Rossiter behind.

By this time the strange sky looked downright fierce. The clouds were not stormy gray but black, deep black, like the water. Though it was difficult to detect movement in so much darkness, shapes seemed to be forming and un forming and reforming in the roiling currents of air.

Feeling his chest tighten, Miles put the box down on the sand, Janet following suit. May crouched down, quickly sorted through the jumble of items and, smiling as if she'd found some long-lost treasure, drew out a rusty spoon. The spoon from his dream.

The tightness in his chest increased.

She picked out a large covered jar, a porcelain doll with painted breasts and pubic hair, a kerosene lamp.

He'd dreamed about all these things, and he felt a cold coil of fear wrap around his heart. Sure, the spoon had come from his father's batch of items, and he might have dreamed about it because he had seen it. But that did not explain the jar or the doll or the lamp. Those things had belonged to Janet's uncle. There was no way he could have known about them.

May set those items aside, then begn sorting through the things he did remember. She drew out the necklace of teeth, the plastic bag containing the dried, flattened frog.

"Wear these for protection," she said. She ran her hands above the necklace, tracing patterns in the air in a manner that seemed oddly sensual and that, in some strange way, spoke to him, though he had never seen such a thing before. She held the necklace out and he took it gingerly. He had no intention of ever wearing such a thing, but she held his gaze and refused to continue until he put it on. Shivering with revulsion, he obliged.

She performed similar hand movements over the frog, took it out of the bag, and handed it to Garden. "Keep this in the left front pocket of your pants."

Garden looked like he wanted to object, but he did not and pocketed the frog.

Janet received a ring of bone, Hal a carved wood fetish, Claire a bracelet made out of some type of dried weed. May herself opened one of the bottles and ingested a pinch of some foul-scented powder.

"Now--" May began. But she never finished. From the dark, swirling sky came a bright yellow lightning bolt that was not accompanied by thunder and did not flash instantly to earth but descended slowly and deliberately through the charged atmosphere and struck May atop the head. She watched it come for her, made no effort to move out of the way. When it touched her hair she fell, the features of her face hardening into an agonized rigidity. She collapsed forward onto the gravel, her arms flailing spastically, her legs jerking in furious counter movement even as the muscles of her face froze.

"Somebody do something," Claire said, but no one moved forward, and Miles grabbed her around the waist and held tightly to keep her from approaching May's electrically charged form.

The lightning retreated as leisurely as it had arrived, heading back up into the roiling sky like a fishing line being reeled in. Claire broke free from his grasp and knelt next to

the now still old woman, putting her hand on May's neck to feel for a pulse. She is dead." '"Miles pulled Claire back. "No mouth-to-mouth."

She didn't object, and Miles understood just how frightened she was.

Claire was a congenital do-gooder, always helping people, always giving of her time and money, doing anything she could to assist someone in trouble. She was also well trained in CPR. If Claire was so easily dissuaded from trying to help May, Miles knew that she had to be truly terrified.

Hal looked from May to Rossiter on top of the slope.

"Iwo down, five to go," he said. "Not funny," Miles told him.

"Asshole," Garden mumbled.

Claire suddenly jerked backward, and Miles was nearly knocked over, thrown off balance by the surprise movement.

"What? he started to say. Then he saw. May.

The homeless woman was vibrating, a uniform shiver that passed through her form yet did not bring life to any part of her body. Her arms and legs remained frozen at oddly cocked angles, and the wide-eyed agony on her face stayed unchanged.

A powerful shudder passed through her.

She stood.

And started walking.

He knew what was happening, knew where she was going. There were only seconds to decide on a course of action, and Miles took charge. "Grab your stuff! We're going with her!" He scrambled about for the spoon and the jar and kerosene lamp, leaving the doll on the sand, unable to carry it. "Water!" he called out. "Bring water if you have it! It's the desert!"

Garden dashed back up the slope to the parking lot, followed by Hal.

May was striding away, her head tilted up toward the sky, while her feet followed the path that had been taken by Isabella and the other Walkers. In his mind was the image of that slow lightning coming down to strike May, Agent

Rossiter reappearing from his chase with a red head and a dead brain, the physical proof of the power they were up against, but Miles knew he was doing the right thing and, running on instinct, he kept his eyes on the dead woman, ready to hurry after her if she got out of his sight..

Garden and Hal came sprinting down to the shore, Gar den strapped with two canteens, Hal carrying a six-pack of

Dr. Pepper.

"Let's go!" Miles shouted. "Follow her!

"Get help," he told Claire, kissing her quickly. "Drive back to a town, bring the police, sheriff, whatever you can fred."

"Oh, no, you don't." She grabbed Miles' arm, holding

" " " ' " him tight.

"I'll go for help," Janet said. "Or I'll stay. Or..." She closed her eyes. "I just don't want to chase after her. Them. I don't want to go with you."

Miles understood. Her uncle was not here, any personal connection she might have had was gone, and she was too emotionally on edge to continue on. He thought she should go with them, thought the fact that her family had come from Wolf Canyon might have a bearing on the situation, but there was no time to discuss the subject, no time to argue or convince her, and he knew that without major reassurances she would not be able to make it.

Miles handed Claire the lamp, fumbled in his pocket. "Here's the car keys," he said, tossing them to Janet. "Get some help. Tell them about the FBI guy. That should bring someone over here pretty quick."

Janet said something in response, but he didn't have time to listen.

May was disappearing behind a big paloverde, and Miles took off after her, pulling Claire with him, yelling at the others to hurry up.

They followed her into the desert.

They stayed several yards behind---just in case. May unerringly took the route left by the other Walkers, maneuvering closely around bushes and cacti with the precision of an amusement park ride on a track.

After leaving the shoreline, Isabella had headed between two low hills and then through a narrow eroded canyon. Though the way was easy at first, it became increasingly harder to walk as the sand became deeper and looser, more dune like

It was also hot. The sky was still dark, but the absence Of sun had no bearing on the heat, seemed to make things more humid and oppressive, in fact. Garden shifted the canteens on his shoulders, taking off his sweat-soaked shirt and tucking it into his waistband. Hal followed suit. Miles would have liked to do the same, but May was moving much too quickly, and he would not have had time to stop, put down the jar, and take off his shirt. He would have lost her. Next to him Claire, still clutching the lamp, used a handkerchief to wipe her brow.

They tromped deeper into the wilderness.

This was a perfect opportunity for them to talk things out, discuss what was happening, settle on a unified approach. But they did none of that.

The noiseless ness of May in front of them and the unnatural quiet of the desert all around made speech seem sacrilegious, intimidated them all into silence, and the only sound accompanying their steps was the heavy breathing of out-of-shape exertion.