By the time Howard and Lovecraft had frantically paddled their way forward to respond to Glory’s cry, she was receding into the depths, already so far down that it was impossible for them to reach her. All they could do was watch, feeling sick and helpless as they trained the beams of their lights on her.
Glory’s wide green eyes looked up at them, and she reached her arms toward them as if to embrace them through the distance of the eerily clear water. But she did not struggle at all as the shadow engulfed her and pulled her down, farther and farther until finally she was lost in the darkness. A flurry of bubbles trailed up for a few moments, then fewer and even fewer, until only a last bubble or two marked her passing.
The water was still. Glory was gone.
Howard’s first impulse was to dive after her. He plunged his head in the water and angled himself downward, only to remember, suddenly and sickeningly, that he could not swim. While Lovecraft held on to a ledge of stone jutting into the water, Howard clung to his raft, and the two of them vainly shined their dimming flashlights down into the black shadows beneath them until the terrible futility was too much to endure any longer.
They spoke not a word to each other as they made their way back up to the pueblo and the star-filled night sky that awaited them outside. They had saved the world from an unpredicted Armageddon, but all they could think of was the ultimate sacrifice one woman had made for them.
20
ALL NIGHT THE DUST STORM did not abate. They drove on, south on Highway 285 down into Texas, both of them anxious about what might happen if the Chevy were to overheat and yet unable to make the rational decision to stop. They had to keep moving, to get as far from the caves as they possibly couldas if mere physical distance could somehow mediate the tragedy of what had happened-but as they drove it seemed that the car was simply humming in place, the tires spinning idly as the clouds of red dust whirled by in the dark. Toward dawn-at least it seemed to be dawn-the horizon lightened and they could see the road ahead of them, far enough to make out the boxy shapes of old adobe structures. Nothing stirred among the buildings as they approached, and the sign that read “San Robardo” was only a hundred yards from the first reddish wall.
“I’m stoppin’ here,” said Howard. “Give the car a rest, dust out the radiator before we go on. Maybe the storm will pass.”
“Thank you, Bob. That greatly diminishes my anxiety.”
“What is it you’re worryin’ about? We’re alive, ain’t we? It’s Glory that’s dead.” There was a touch of anger in Howard’s voice.
“Let’s not argue,” said Lovecraft, wearily. “I am in terrible need of something to drink.”
After an uncomfortable silence, Howard pulled over at an adobe building with a single, decrepit gas pump in front. Over the open door of the garage, a Phillips 66 flying-horse sign flapped gently back and forth, squeaking on one remaining hinge. The place seemed deserted.
“Must be some soda-pop,” said Howard, getting stiffly out of the car. Lovecraft opened his door and tried to get out, only to fall back into his seat as a sudden sense of vertigo came over him. He calmed his breath and tried again, swinging his feet out first the way he had seen women exit a taxi, and he was able to rise without the shooting pain in the side that had plagued him the past several days.
With Howard out of his immediate proximity, it seemed he could think more easily about what had happened in the cave. It had all transpired so quickly, he thought. There had been no time to be deliberate or rational, no time to make a decision the way a reasonable man should. Why was it that, at the instant when their doom seemed inevitable, the monster had balked? If Glory had been chosen by the odd men or by Cthulhu himself for vulnerability to possession, then why had she been able to resist at the most critical moment? The memory of his own weakness and what it took to bring him back from his infantile withdrawal left him feeling deeply ashamed, and with that, the burden of guilt for having lost Glory, of having possibly been the cause of her death, weighed heavily on his heart.
Howard emerged from the gas station scratching his head. “It’s a ghost town,” he said. “Nothin’, no people as far as I can tell.”
“Bob?”
“Huh?”
“I must confess that I do not understand what happened in those last moments at the portal. But even more seriously, I must confess that in my mind I had grossly misjudged Glory. To say I underestimated her would itself be an understatement.”
Howard looked away for a moment, and when he turned back, his expression was hard. “Why can’t you just say what the hell ya mean, HP? Why are ya always hidin’ behind your fancy sentences and big talk like a damn coward? I know you feel guilty ‘cause ya think you failed. God knows I feel guilty. If I could go back, I’d find ten ways to give up my life for her, ya know that? Now we’re alive and cursed rememberin’ how we failed the person who saved our hides and probably the whole wide world, too.”
“I admit I am prone to circumlocution,” said Lovecraft.
“There-you just did it again!” Howard grimaced in frustration and smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand, causing Lovecraft to wince involuntarily. “Admit you feel bad, dammit!”
“Bob, you cannot force me to express myself in a mode—”
Howard grabbed his friend by the lapels and drew his face up close so that they were eye to eye. Lovecraft could feel Howard’s breath, the dampness of sweat and the texture of grime on his forehead.
“Say it, HP,” Howard hissed, slowly relaxing his grip.
Lovecraft stood up from the hunched posture Howard had yanked him into. He began to nonchalantly straighten his jacket, but then he relented, and said, “I feel bad, Bob. I feel terribly guilty.”
Howard gave him a tired smile and patted him on the shoulder. Suddenly, Howard’s expression changed again. At first, Lovecraft believed his failure to respond had provoked another burst of irrational anger, but then he realized Howard was looking at something behind him. He turned around.
It was a young boy-perhaps seven years old from Lovecraft’s reckoning, though he knew he was a poor judge of children’s’ age, having taken great care to avoid them since his own awkward youth. The boy had the light brown skin of a half-blood, but his eyes were a strange green-and-yellow color, rimmed in blue. He stood halfway in the shadow of the empty garage, regarding them in an attitude that seemed oddly mature.
“Hey there,” said Howard with a crooked, wholly unconvincing smile.
The boy did not respond. He took a step forward and paused as if to assess them more fully.
“Hello,” said Lovecraft. “Can you tell us where we might purchase some petrol and soda pop… preferably of the Dr Pepper variety?” The boy blinked and said nothing, but then pointed with his left arm. “And where might that be?”
“Awonawilona,” said the boy.
“Well, thank you very much, son,” said Howard. He motioned Lovecraft to return to the car. He started the engine as soon as he heard the oddly muffled thud of Lovecraft closing his door, but before he could release the clutch the little boy was suddenly standing directly in front, extending a curious hand toward the silver-tinged figure on the radiator cap. “Don’t touch that!” Howard yelled, leaning out of the window. “It’s hot!”
The boy gave Howard an annoyed glance and firmly grasped the wings of the figurehead,
“No!” Howard swung his door open and bolted from the car to jerk the boy’s hand from the angel, expecting to find his fingers scalded by the heat from the overwrought radiator. “Hell, son! Don’t ya understand plain English?” He frantically examined the boy’s hand, looking for the telltale signs-redness, blistered skin-but was surprised to find he was perfectly fine. “What the hell…” Howard looked up quizzically, holding the boy’s hand outstretched so Lovecraft could see. Then he reached over, and with his index finger Howard lightly touched the face of the silver ornament for himself. He jerked his hand back with an involuntary yelp of pain when he felt the stab of heat. “Damn it!” He stuck his finger into his mouth.