"Maybe we should go," Garden said.
Janet shook her head fiercely. "Miles is right. It's dangerous You saw them."
"I saw my gram pa and uncle."
'Tthat's not who they are anymore," Miles told him. He looked Garden in the eye and saw that he was only stating what the young man already knew,
Rossiter disappeared into the deert.
"What do we do?" Garden asked.
Miles didn't know. He knew what felt wrong, but he didn't know what felt right. Isabella needed to be stopped. But he did not know how to do that, and it seemed criminal and irresponsible to stand around here, waiting for inspiration to strike instead of taking action.
"What's going to happen to him?" Janet was looking off toward where Rossiter had disappeared into the desert brash. "I hope nothing."
"But you don't think so?
Miles shook his head. Until Janet had forced him to confront the fact, he had not realized that he never expected to see the agent again. He was surprised at himself for not feeling anything, and once again he realized what a bizarre turn everything had taken, how. off it all seemed.
"Where do you think they're all going?" Garden asked. "Maybe we could call the police. I don't know how strong that Isabella is, but maybe they can be overpowered. Maybe
if we get a group together and confront them we can..."
He trailed off. "I don't know what we can do, but maybe we can do something."
Miles nodded absently. He was listening for the sound of gunfire, expecting Rossiter to catch up with the Walkers and, once cornered, use his revolver. =
But there were no shots, and the optimistic thought briefly occurred to him that the agent was trained in this sort of thing. He might be tailing them without their knowledge. Maybe he would see something or learn something that they could use to stop Isabella.
Hope died in his chest as Rossiter emerged from the brush, shuffling through the sand, hands hanging loosely at his sides, eyes white and wide, his mouth open in a stunned expression.
His face was bright lobster red. The thudding of Miles' heart rose to a drumbeat loud enough to drown out all incoming sounds. Rossiter looked as though his skin had been doused with red paint, but as he drew closer, starting up the slope toward the parking lot, Miles saw that the redness came from a transformation of the skin itself, like some ultra-extreme sunburn. The agent looked up at them and began talking, but the noises that came out of his mouth were like nothing that had ever issued from either human or animal.
Rossiter reached the parking lot and promptly sat down, his legs folding naturally into a lotus position as he lowered himself onto the gravel.
That's what his voice Sounded like. Rossiter was still talking, but his mouth closed as his but locks touched the earth. The disturbing noise stopped, and Rossiter looked up at the sky.." and froze.
Miles thought of Medusa, the gorgon, who, according to
Greek legend, would turn to stone any man who looked upon her.
Was that what had happened here?
What exactly had Rossiter seen?
Miles was not sure he wanted to know.
He looked down at the agent's unmoving form. Behind him, from the road, he heard tires on dirt, the sound of a car engine.
"Someone's coming," Janet said. Her voice was small and uncharacteristically squeaky.
Miles turned. A car pulled into the gravel parking lot, slowed to a stop. "I know that car," he said. "It's from my
It was the longest trip of her life.
Even without May chattering nonsensically in the backseat, Claire would have been anxious and unable to sleep. Ordinarily on a long drive, the rhythm of the wheels lulled her and she dozed. But the homeless woman kept alternately muttering to herself and making sudden absurd pronouncements, making for a long and stressful trip. ::..
Claire stared out the windshield.
Hal was a progressive rock fan, and he had an endless supply of tapes that he played throughout the night: Triumvirat and ELP and Yes and Gentle Giant and PFM. She herself was more of a smooth jazz, New Age kind of listener, and after a while she found the sheer number of notes and the tortured time changes of the music wearying. She longed for something soothing, relaxing, but this was Hal's car, and he was good enough to drive her, and she didn't say a word.
She prayed that Miles was okay, that nothing had happened to him, that he had not found Bob.
Or Isabella. "
They drove through the darkness, and by morning they were on a two-lane road that the map said led to Wolf Canyon. May said so, too, but Claire was not sure how much she trusted the navigational skills of the old woman, and not until the water was in sight was she sure that they had reached their destination.
Approaching the lake by a dirt trail that ended in a parking lot, they saw two vehicles and a group of three people looking out toward the water. Something in their manner, in their posture, suggested both defeat and terror, and as they drew closer, Claire saw that one of them was Miles.
Before him on the ground sat a preternaturally still man dressed in a suit and staring upward at the sky.
"Hal " -she started to say.
" "I see," he responded grimly.
For the past several miles the sky had been overcast, a strange tempestuous swirl of black-gray cloud cover that reminded Claire of tornado weather. There weren't supposed to be any tornadoes in Arizona.
The car pulled to a stop, skidding in the gravel. Miles caught her eye through the passenger window, and she rushed out of the vehicle and hugged him. His return embrace was clutching and heartfelt, the bear hug of a man who had not expected to see anyone he knew ever again.
"I love you," she said
She pulled back and looked up at him as another door slammed. The relief was evident on his face when he saw Hal, heard his friend's booming "Imagine seeing you here!"
Miles started to respond, but then his eyes widened as the back door opened and May stepped out. "Oh, my God," he said.
"I found her," Claire explained. "Or rather, she found me. She was waiting for me when I came home from work.
That's why we're here." Claire took his hand in hers, squeezed it.
"She has some things to tell you, Miles. I think you'd better listen."
The homeless woman stood next to the open car door, looking out at the lake as if searching for something. "May!" Claire called out.
She glanced up and ran over, dirty skirts flying, leaving the car door open behind her.
"May?" Miles said, as though he'd heard the name before. "Lizabeth May?" The old woman stopped in front of him, smiled.
Miles looked stricken. "What is it?" Claire as.
He shook his head.
"Hello, Garden," May said, nodding to the young man standing next to Miles. She smiled. "Dreams," she told Miles. "We should always listen to our dreams. They teach us."
"Yeah, right." Hal had walked up, and he snorted derisively. He glanced around at the others: the young man and woman, the guy on the ground. "Hey," he said in greetingi. "what's going on?" Claire looked down at the well-dressed man seated on the gravel. She hadn't noticed it before, but his face was a bright cherry apple red. "Is he?
" i. "I don't know. He just sat down there a minute before you showed up. He was chasing..." Miles shook his head. "It's a long story.
But he came back all.." red. And then he sat down here and he hasn't moved since."
She felt his neck for a pulse, found one. "He's alive. We should send somebody out for help."
Claire turned toward the homeless woman. "May?" "
"Isabella did this. There's no hospital that can help him now."
Again, Miles looked stricken. "You know IsabellaT"
"I know of her. We all did. Bob"--she nodded at the