by Jim Stein
“Mr. Conti, any ideas?” My question forced a wry grin from my boss, who simply shook his head and waved for us to continue brainstorming.
“A spray of water could harden the top layers,” Quinn said. “Maybe enough to support cars, but I’m guessing Pioneer is a lost cause.”
“It’s risky, but I could bring up some calcium and other compounds to further strengthen the surface and make a sort of poor man’s concrete.” I’d used the trick to reinforce weak spots in the crumbling sidewalls of my fountain. If Quinn could dredge up enough water, we might just be in business—assuming using Earth magic here where the worlds already overlapped didn’t cause monumental problems. But first I needed to address the strange looks being directed my way. “You’ve all seen or at least heard it’s true. Some of us can perform magic. Honest to goodness spells to help.”
Manny swung away either in disgust at the blatant statement or in some dark-court snit over me using the term “goodness.” But people already knew, even if they didn’t admit it. Sometimes it was easier to ignore the obvious, to simply not talk about the elephant in the room. But we were out of options and didn’t have that luxury.
A murmur ran through the group. I braced for backlash but none came. Anna beamed, while Billy smirked. Even Jinx looked nonplussed, so I figured Billy and he had been talking. On the other hand, Charles’ eye held a nasty glimmer as though he’d outed some secret, which of course was ridiculous.
“Hold on a minute.” Reggie stepped forward and poked me in the chest with a long boney finger, hard enough that I’d probably have a bruise. “You all are making this too goddamn hard!”
Vance snickered at the old man’s ire, which earned him a glare. But I’d seen this interplay between the two back at the station. The game was similar to good-cop bad-cop, only this was more like young-whippersnapper-cop cranky-old-mechanic.
“How so?” I asked.
“Look back there.” He puffed out his chest and pointed at our assembly of mismatched vehicles. “That blue POS truck has a four-wheel-drive off-road package, them three sedans are electronic all-wheel imports, and my Jeep could climb the Appalachians. And of course my ATVs will eat up the dunes.
“We just let some air outta their tires, put ’em in low gear, and keep the momentum—that’s important, gotta keep moving or these city cars will bog down. Then we’ll be digging our way to China tryin’ to get moving again.”
“Makes sense,” Pete said. “When the fields are mud, we bleed air from the tires too. Spreads out the footprint so more rubber contacts the ground.”
“Exactly!” Reggie beamed. “No need to wizard us across, just use common sense and we’ll be fine. I’ve hauled world-class racers out of worse places than this without special gear. Keeping the speed up is critical, but not too fast. And if your tires start slipping, for God’s sake don’t gun it.”
Our resident expert gave the drivers a fifteen minute crash course on everything from dealing with slopes to braking and keeping momentum so they didn’t dig into the soft terrain. Mr. Conti held a whispered discussion with Brent, handed the man his keys, and came over.
“Someone younger can drive my car,” he said by way of preamble. “I was taught to drive in the old country with a…let’s just say no-holds-barred approach.”
I raised an eyebrow as concern settled over his features, bringing an uncharacteristic sternness.
“Brent’s a solid man, good choice.”
“That is not what worries me. Edan, we cannot all go where you go.”
That put an awfully fine point on a problem that worried me too. Presumably this new stretch of desert linked up with the vast expanse surrounding the Easton’s farm. By the look of things, cutting the others loose to head south wasn’t in the cards. Driving across the desert would attract unwanted attention that those without magic were ill equipped to handle.
“I’m hoping we can leave you and the rest at Pete’s farm. Piper thinks the desert stays off it due to some ancestral strengthening of the surrounding thresholds. I honestly don’t know what will be left after we deal with the problem on the other side. Hopefully the third world will just close up and things here will go back to normal.”
“Your sister’s quite the thinker. Generational energy explains a lot.” He scratched at his stubble in thought, looking for all the world like Piper puzzling over her mystic theories. “It would be interesting to see if the Amish farm also survived. Meg didn’t have any of them on her rosters.”
“The Millers? They’re farther out than the Eastons. I sure hope they managed. Will you check on them? You know…if I’m not able.”
Mr. Conti slapped me on the back and slid his hand up to squeeze my shoulder. “We’ll check on them together when this is over.”
“Thanks,” I said around a lump in my throat.
Fitting everyone into five cars was a struggle, but we managed. Ralph, Quinn, and I took point so the imp could steer us through the shifting desert. Following his directions was much easier with him pointing ahead instead of behind us. Reggie’s Jeep led the “clown cars”—as Manny called them—to set the proper pace. Manny and Vance brought up the rear, while Pete and Dwain ranged to either side watching for trouble.
Trouble didn’t keep us waiting long. We’d only been riding for twenty minutes when two dark groups flickered in the distance. I figured we’d run into the bugs that tried to block our exit. Scorpions wouldn’t cause the cars any trouble and with a little care the ATVs could plow through. Details were hard to make out from a distance, but these stood tall and moved slower—something new.
Preparing for the encounter was difficult while constantly turning in response to Ralph’s fickle finger. One minute we’d accelerate straight toward a group and the next we’d be angling away.
Unlike shamblers, the first group moved with a stiff-legged gait, swinging arms and legs as if they were too heavy to lift properly. And they probably were because the closer we drew the more it looked like the massive creatures were made of stone—tan granite flecked with black. The grainy surface didn’t extend to hands and face. The meaty fists stuck on the end of each stone arm were baked black by the desert sun and all too human looking except for their massive size and thick yellow nails.
Dark vertical folds creased the skin to either side of blunt noses, making their faces look wooden. The barrel stone of each torso merged into similarly dark skin along the upper chest. Each stood better than seven feet and was easily half that wide.
I steered us away from the stone horde, but slowed as Ralph urged us toward the second group, which consisted of true shamblers. Long fur hung from each as though they wore threadbare parkas. Their hobbled gait looked painful, but ate up ground.
I considered ignoring the imp and steering clear. Ralph would reorient on the farm, but we ran along a steep ridgeline. Reggie warned us about the roll-over threat. Plus, making the farm before dark remained imperative. Fire leapt to my fingers along with the driving beat from Fall Out Boy’s “Light ’Em Up.”
Fire wouldn’t slow the stone giants, but the greasy shamblers were another story. Flames encased my fingers as we drove onward. I threw a spear of flame at the lead shambler. It turned with a fierce screech, exposing pointed teeth set in a round mouth under a porcine nose. Manny and Vance rode up on my left, a rooster tail of sand spitting high off their rear wheels. The manager pointed his knife over the handlebars, sending out his own lance of fire.
The shamblers slowed, but refused to move out of the way even though three of them burned. Ralph bobbed and coaxed me onward. Manny and I poured on more fire, forcing them back. Just as they were about to break up, a figure rose in the midst of the group.
Cloaked in black and taller than the shamblers by half, the newcomer raised its arms high, and a shield of sand rose to meet our flames. The cloaked figure flicked a boney hand, and a ribbon of sand coiled like a serpent in our path. Ralph snarled and brandished his knife. Fast as lightning the serpent struck, not at me, but at th
e front tire. It jammed between wheel and fender forming a solid wedge of sand, and I launched over the handlebars.
Ralph flew wide, but Quinn yelped and bounced off my back as air whooshed from my lungs. The fire element winked out as did Manny’s lance when his own ATV spun off to the left.
In a moment the lead shambler was on me. It spread its arms wide. Loose skin connecting arms to torso flared out to block my view. Hooks lined the folds of skin like some crazed fisherman selling illicit goods from beneath his trench coat—except these bit into my shoulders as those long arms wrapped around me. Three round mouths ringed with serrated teeth opened in its chest. The thing reeked of burnt rubber and rotten meat.
A rifle cracked loud, and the fur over one mouth exploded with dark ichor. Two more reports sent the thing stumbling back. Pete and Vance unloaded their long rifles into the group. The spectral figure at its center again raised its arms and swirling sand obscured their targets.
I felt the magic as an oily parody of the Earth element. The power felt corrupt and defiled, and anger rose within me. I was sick of sand, dealing with it, crossing it, and now having it used against me. This demon deserved a taste of pure untainted Earth. My left shoulder burned, but this time I ignored my nagging tattoo’s warning.
Crashing drums, guitar, and bass brought my vision to life with Metallica’s “Enter Sandman.” I hadn’t touched Earth in too long. The power flowed thick like honey and smashed into the ground. The impact sent sand and shamblers flying.
The demon staggered, but brought its greasy shields to bear, deflecting the worst of my attack. I spun a column of sand into a spear that ripped through the oily magic and pierced the thing’s chest. Startled hazel eyes met mine and then the demon dissolved, leaving a sandy pile beneath its ragged cloak.
I sagged, feeling as if a hole had been torn through my own chest, and struggled to ground the spell. An insulating layer kept the power from rushing into the earth. Instead, it swept into a void opening beneath the sand. The ground shuddered and sank, threatening to swallow our entire party.
More shots rang out. Without the demon’s protection, the shamblers fell back. My ATV had flipped twice and sat upright. The engine coughed and sputtered to life with smoky backfires, and I had to bend the fenders off the tires. Ralph vaulted onto the tank and Quinn climbed up behind me.
“Get moving!” Manny yelled. “Bullets and fire aren’t going to faze the Nargun rock trolls.”
Ralph jabbed his stone knife off to the right, and I kicked us into gear, risking a glance back to ensure the cars followed. They did, climbing the sides of the expanding depression. I sighed in relief as the last car plowed over the lip of the sinkhole. Although the shamblers had scattered, the phalanx of stone creatures broke into a lumbering run. The imp whipped his arm left and right, sending us through an invisible gauntlet. When I again was able to look back, our pursuers had vanished.
An hour later, one of the cars lost traction and we were forced to stop. The white cross-over revved despite Reggie’s warnings, and the gnarly old driver looked pissed. I almost laughed at his passengers’ startled faces as the car sank to its axles. What wasn’t fun was the prospect of digging the car free. We pulled into a loose defensive circle. I rolled my neck, trying to relieve the burning ache.
“You hunch over the handlebars.” Quinn ran her hands across my shoulders, pulled me up straight, and kneaded with her thumbs. It felt wonderful. “You’d be in the hospital if you tried an iron-butt run.”
“Are cross-country motorcycle rides still a thing?”
“Nothing official, but how do you think I got out here from New Mexico? Try to ride loose in the saddle. Your body will thank you for it.” Her magic fingers dug deep once more, and she patted my back. “Time to put those guns and broad shoulders to use.”
The ache was back with a vengeance, and I dripped sweat by the time we freed Mr. Leadfoot. The loss of traction wasn’t all the driver’s fault. Everyone’s tires heated up as the day wore on, and higher pressure meant less grip. Reggie bled another five pounds of air out of every tire before we drove on into our own lengthening shadows.
The scorpions came with the setting sun, a dark stain under the next dune. Rather than waste time discussing the problem, we simply plowed on. Our steady pace crunched through the vermin, and this time I had the presence of mind to throw out a bit of Spirit energy to keep the critters from kicking up onto my frame.
“Fence posts!” Quinn cried as we topped the dune.
Shadows slanted away from posts sticking out of the sand like a surreal ladder marching off into the distance—each successive rung a bit longer than the last, each post a little higher out of the sand. Far down at the end of the fence squatted a white house and stone barn. I gunned the throttle, which lifted the front wheels for a split second. Quinn yelped and grabbed tight.
“Sorry.” I eased up, but a goofy grin stretched my face despite the blush of embarrassment. We made it.
14. Crossing Over
T
HE EASTON farm still stood strong—sort of. A strange white mesh covered much of the old clapboard siding as well as the barn doors. We approach cautiously, and I fingered the silky material.
“Any ideas?” I asked when a white sheet pulled away with my hand.
“Mold?” Piper sounded unsure.
I slapped the sticky stuff against my pant leg and studied the front porch. The material coated the walls and the porch ceiling, seeming to extend from a denser funnel near the upper right corner. Vance shined a flashlight across the corner where a small frog statue sat atop the support. Something glinted from within the funnel.
Piper stood on tiptoe to get a closer look, but neither she nor I was tall enough. Billy strode over and wedged between us. His head nearly touched the low ceiling. The stuff inside glinted again, shifted, and a furry form shot out.
“Crap!” Billy threw his arms up and fell back.
A gray blur shot along the wood railing and intercepted the thing just before it hit Billy. The pair thudded against the front window. Ralph snarled and hissed as if yelling into the face of the shiny black thing he’d tackled. But the giant spider couldn’t hear the imp’s rebuke, thanks to the knife buried in its head.
“Damned thing’s as big as Ralph!” Piper said.
“Funnel web spiders, but massive.” Pete pointed to more funnels extending from above the shutters.
We cleared the porch and swept the entire exterior before daring to enter. Ralph really hated these things. He took out two more while we worked our way around. Manny and I fried another half dozen by the time the light failed.
“Heads up tonight everyone,” I warned as we entered. “Stay in pairs. We’ll sweep the house and set a watch.”
Our search inside turned up nothing worse than a few mice and normal little house spiders. Even the dusty walk-up attic held no surprises. Quinn and I checked that out, which was when I realized flaming a giant spider in an old wood house might not be the best idea.
“All rooms are clear.” Piper designated the kitchen table as command central. “I think the thresholds are still holding. Those spiders might just have gotten bold because of the lack of activity.” She flipped through her book, scribbled a note, and chewed on her pencil. “Ed, is the clearing around the house as wide as the other day?”
“Yeah, it’s about the same.” I thought about the fence as we’d ridden out with Big Bertha. Hadn’t there been a handful of posts fully exposed along the drive? “Or maybe thirty feet narrower.”
Mr. Conti and Piper set up the watch schedule. No one slated to go through the portal in the morning pulled duty. I’d like to say we all got a good night’s sleep, but nerves and excitement kept most of us up half the night. Dwain might have been the exception. Although he shared Pina’s childlike wonder and reveled in exploring the farmhouse treasures, the sprite curled up around eleven. When sleep finally came my way, it was a fitful, elusive thing that left me sore and drained.
“Anna�
��s your only way to contact us,” Piper said for the tenth time as we readied the ATVs. “Keep testing her link as you pass through the portal.”
“I will, Sis. And you watch that shrinking perimeter. Pete figures there’s about two weeks’ worth of food and water. You’ll have to make a call if the sand reaches the house. Don’t worry about us, just push south until you’re clear of the desert.”
“Assuming we can even cross over.” Pete stared out across the sand. “Why’s the vortex flashing like that?”
We had stability problems, not just with the sand slowly closing in on the house—we’d lost another twenty feet overnight—but with the portal itself. The frozen green tornado dimmed and pulsed to an erratic beat, sputtering as though losing power.
“Trust me, we’ll get through.” No sense being negative. “Koko would have sent a sleepy-time telegram last night if there was going to be a problem.”
“I guess.” Pete looked unconvinced. “Hey, Piper, there’s bug spray in the barn. Might help keep the eight-legged nightmares at bay.”
“Yep, give me a can and I’ll go Annie Oakley on them.” Piper fired off imaginary shots with thumbs and forefingers.
“No joke. We’ve got high-test concentrate in yellow jugs along the back wall. Directions are on the sprayers. We took down thousands of those locusts last year. Of course there were billions of them so…” Pete trailed off and cleared his throat. “Have whoever douses the foundation wear a mask or they’ll be twitching for a week.”
My sister looked like she might say more, wrapped me in a hug, and headed for the barn. She’d argued half-heartedly about going with us, but even Piper could get too much of a good thing.
“Do you really think we’ll be able to firespeak?” Anna asked when Piper was out of earshot.
“I doubt it. We lost that ability when the sand got between our lookouts. I’m going to be busy as we approach the portal, and who knows what waits on the other side.” I pulled out my speaking candle and lashed it between the handlebars. “Keep talking as we head out, say every five minutes. I’ll shoot back a quick mental nod if I hear you.”