"No," said Singing Rock. "The manitou is being formed out of that smoke. It's like ectoplasm, you know, in European spiritualism."
The green light faded, and then we heard more noises from inside the room. There was a sound like scaly claws scratching the floor, and then we heard Misquamacus talking. He spoke for at least a couple of minutes, and then, to my horror, I heard someone talking back to him. Someone who spoke in a grating, unearthly voice — guttural and cruel.
"He's telling the demon to destroy us," said Singing Rock. "Now, whatever you do, keep hold of each other, and don't try to run. If you run, you'll be out of my protection, and he'll get you."
Two lines from The Ancient Mariner suddenly pounded through my brain — about the man who looks back and then no longer turns his head "because he knows a fearful fiend doth close behind him tread."
The scraping of claws on the floor of Karen Tandy's room began to move toward us. Through the gloom, I began to make out a tall dark shadow standing in the doorway, facing us across the corridor. It seemed to be like a man, and yet completely unlike a man. I squinted into the darkness, and made out things that looked like claws and scales.
"What is it…" hissed Jack Hughes.
"It's the demon we called Lizard-of-the-Trees," said Singing Rock. "He is the evil manitou of forests and woods and all trees. I think that Misquamacus has chosen him because he knows I am from the plains, and I have less control over the manitous of the forest."
The dark being in the doorway started to move toward us, uttering a thin insect-like piping in its throat. Singing Rock immediately cast powders and liquid at it, and rattled his magic bones.
It could only have been two or three feet away when it stopped.
"You've done it," said Jack. "You've stopped it."
"It won't kill us, because my medicine is too strong for it," Singing Rock said breathlessly. "But it refuses to return to limbo without a sacrifice."
"A sacrifice? What the hell does it want?"
"A small piece of living flesh, that's all."
I said: "What? But how can we give it that?"
"Anything," said Singing Rock. "A finger, an ear."
"You can't be serious," I said.
"It won't leave without it," Singing Rock replied. "And I can't hold it back for very much longer. It's either that, or we'll be torn to shreds. I mean that. This creature has a beak, like an octopus, or a pterodactyl. It can rip you open like a sack of beans."
"All right," said Dr. Hughes quietly. "I'll do it."
Singing Rock took a deep breath. "Thank you, Dr. Hughes. It should be quite quick. Stretch your hand out toward it. Give it your little finger. Fold all the rest of your fingers right back. I will try and keep most of your hand within the circle of my spell. Once it's bitten, take your hand away at once. As quickly as you can. You don't want it to take any more."
I could feel Dr. Hughes shaking as he reached out his hand toward the shadowy bulk of the Lizard-of-the-Trees. I heard razor-like claws scraping on the floor as he stretched nearer and nearer, and that thin piping sound as the demon breathed.
There was a horrible excited rustle, and the claws skidded frantically on the corridor floor, and then a crunch like I never want to hear again.
"Aaaaahhhhh," shrieked Dr. Hughes. He abruptly sagged and collapsed between us. I felt warm sticky blood pump over my legs and hand as I reached down to help him.
"Aaahh, shit, shit, aahh, shit," he screamed. "Oh God, it's taken half my fucking hand! Oh Christ!"
I knelt down beside him and whipped out my handkerchief. Working as well as I could in the dark, I bound up the bitten flesh. From what I could feel the demon's beak had scrunched off at least two or three fingers and half his knuckles. The pain was obviously unbearable, and Jack Hughes was twisting around and weeping with agony.
Singing Rock knelt down too. "The creature has gone," he said, "It just faded and vanished. But I don't know what kind of spirit Misquamacus will summon up next. That thing was only a minor creature. There are far worse manitous than that." "Singing Rock," I said, "we've got to get Dr. Hughes out of here."
"But we can't leave Misquamacus now. I don't know what he'll do if we let him alone now."
"Dr. Hughes is in terrible pain. If he doesn't have that hand attended to, he's going to die. It would be better to lose Karen Tandy than Dr. Hughes."
"That's not the point," said Singing Rock. "If we let Misquamacus alone now, he'll destroy the whole place. Hundreds of people could die."
"Oh God," wept Dr. Hughes. "Oh God, my hand, oh God."
"Singing Rock," I snapped, "I've got to get him out. Look, do you think you can hold Misquamacus off by yourself for a few minutes? Keep that fire away from us while I take him up the corridor, then I'll get him to a medic and come straight back."
"All right," said Singing Rock. "But don't take your time about it. I need at least one other person on my side."
I lifted Dr. Hughes up to a standing position, and wrapped his injured arm over my shoulder. Then step by step, I helped him down the corridor toward the elevators. He groaned in pain at every move, and I could hear his blood dripping on to the floor, but I found a new surge of strength to carry us on.
There was no lightning, and no attempt to stop us. Perhaps this was what Misquamacus had wanted — to get Singing Rock on his own. But as far as I was concerned there was no choice. Dr. Hughes was too badly hurt to stay in the corridor, and that was all there was to it.
We finally made the elevator. Its small red light was still glowing through the darkness, and I pressed the button for UP. After an unbearable pause, the elevator arrived, the doors opened, and we flopped inside.
The light was so bright after the gloom of the corridor that it hurt my eyes. I sat Dr. Hughes down on the floor, with his bitten hand across his lap, and crouched down beside him. We rose swiftly up to the eighteenth floor, and I helped him out.
There was quite a reception committee waiting for us in his office when I carried Jack Hughes inside. Wolf was there, with a party of male nurses and medics, all equipped with flashlights. Two of them carried guns, and the rest were armed with crowbars and knives. A red-faced balding doctor, in a white coat and spectacles, was standing with them.
When I came in, they gathered around and gently lifted Dr. Hughes off my shoulder, and laid him down on a couch in the corner of the office. Wolf called for a first-aid pack and antibiotics, and they gave Dr. Hughes a quick shot of novocaine to ease the agony.
The red-faced doctor came up to me and introduced himself.
"I'm Winsome. We were just about to go down and help you out. What the devil's going on down there? From what Wolf says, you have an insane patient or something."
I wiped the thick sweat from my forehead. Up here, in the calm light of the early morning, everything that had happened in the fetid darkness of the tenth floor seemed totally unreal. But Singing Rock was still down there on his own, and I knew I had to get back with help for him.
"Pleased you could come, Dr. Winsome. I can't explain it all now, but we do have a very dangerous patient down there, yes. But you mustn't come down with all these people and these guns."
"Why not? If there's an emergency, we need to protect ourselves."
"Believe me, Dr. Winsome," I said shakily. "If you come down with guns, lots of innocent people are going to be hurt. All I need is that influenza virus."
Dr. Winsome sniffed. "This is ridiculous. You have a wild patient down there, injuring our doctors, and you want an influenza virus?"
"That's all," I said. "Please, Dr. Winsome. As soon as you can."