by Jim Stein
“Is it enough?” Anna felt on the verge of tears, either happy tears for the closeness or angry, frustrated tears over their predicament.
“I hope so.” Piper flipped through the notebook in her lap. “We should reinforce all the door and window thresholds. A line of salt will help, but it’s easily broken.”
“We have an old-country trick for that.” Mr. Conti shifted around and pulled a big silver roll of duct tape from behind his back. “I found this in the kitchen drawer and said to myself, ‘Joel, this will come in handy.’ My nonna would tape down salt and herbs to ward off evil. Grandmother also kept her windows full of little mementoes, saying they kept curses from slipping in.”
“Brilliant! And the little tchotchke idea isn’t half bad. Articles hold memories and any handled by the family will definitely add power.” Piper’s face lit with enthusiasm as she interrupted a barn raising story. “Hey Melissa, what do you have in the way of old photos and knickknacks? It’s time to tell this desert to leave us the hell alone!”
Melissa directed the scavenger hunt for family treasures to bolster the entrances. Everyone scrambled through the house and attic collecting photos and memorabilia—anything and everything that might hold sentimental value and be small enough to nail up, tape down, or sit in a window.
Pete’s sister barked out assessments as each piece came down, and Piper helped Mr. Conti position the most poignant family heirlooms for best effect. Billy and Jinx laid down heavy lines of salt across each entrance and locked them in place with the duct tape. The house was organized bedlam, and Anna loved it.
“Aw, come on, this will fit,” Reggie complained when Melissa waved his offering away.
The scrawny old man had wrestled a stuffed deer head with antlers as wide as he was tall down from the attic. Anna hurried to help him move it to the back parlor, but he seemed intent on taking it to the front door.
“It’s too big,” Melissa complained. “We’d need an engine hoist to hang that monster. That’s why it stayed in the attic all these years. Ma refused to have it downstairs no matter how much Norm whined about his trophy buck. Just sit it by the back door.”
She scowled impressively, extended an imperious arm, and pointed out of the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Reggie pulled his end toward the back. The oak drop-leaf table by the back door ended up being a good spot, and they positioned the sweeping antlers to align with the settee so as not to block the doorway.
Anna peeked outside. The wrap-around porch narrowed to a three-foot-wide walkway. The rear of the house sat low to the ground with only three steps going down to the backyard. None of them were visible because sand stretched out level with the decking. She shivered at the thought of waking to find they’d been buried alive.
“Buck ain’t helping, is it?” Reggie rapped the deer head a few times and jiggled its antlers as though he expected it to turn on.
“Not yet.” She sighed as sand crept across the first few inches of deck.
“Best go find more stuff. I saw a doozy up in the rafters that might do the trick.”
The old man spun on his heel, darted back to the main room, and sprinted upstairs. Outside, the shadowy silhouette of the house stretched east toward the vortex. The funnel flickered and flashed, painting the dunes a sickly green that made the eerie phenomenon seem closer. It looked bigger too, more like a column because the base had widened to nearly the diameter of its top section. Anna dropped the blinds and went to find Piper.
“We’re running out of space.” Brent wiped sweat from his face as he turned from Piper, climbed back on the stepladder, and wedged a long wooden spoon between the pictures and other small items tacked above the front door.
The door looked like it had been used for target practice by a militant arts and crafts co-op. The odds and ends tacked to its gleaming wood extended onto the plaster walls—militant artists with poor aim. The windows were similarly festooned and the sills jammed with everything from dolls to old dog collars.
“That’s enough,” Piper said. “Come on down.”
“It’s not helping out back.” Anna slipped over next to Ed’s sister. “And the vortex looks wider.”
“Well, we’ve done all we can.” Even as Piper spoke, Melissa waved away the next round of offerings. “Let’s see what’s going on out front first.”
She and Piper joined Mr. Conti, Billy, and Brent at the front window. The reflection made it hard to see the porch in the gathering darkness. Melissa turned off the ceiling light, then hit the switch beside the door to bathe the porch in a soft yellow glow.
“Already over the top step.” Billy’s deep voice gave her the shivers.
So did the waves of sand creeping across the gray floor boards. Small surges crested the top step, flowing like water. Each wave brought the leading edge a few inches closer.
“What do we do when it hits the door?” Anna asked.
“Things become tricky then.” Mr. Conti closed his eyes in thought. “We can stay put and trust in the thresholds. If sand gets in, we know our protection has failed.”
“But we don’t want to be buried either,” Piper said. “We can’t sit tight while the desert swallows us.”
“We must be ready to travel.” The old man opened sad eyes.
“Guys?” Billy pressed his face against the top of the window. “It’s too close now. I’ve lost sight of the front edge.”
As the tallest, he had the best angle, which meant the sand was inches from the door. The room grew quiet. The table emptied and people gathered at the windows. Time stretched into the silence of held breath and pounding hearts.
Skittering came through the walls as if mice ran behind the baseboards. Anna imagined wave after wave of sand building up over the doorstop and climbing toward the window sills. Any moment granules would swirl into sight along the glass, the desert rising to swallow them. Her pulse pounded in her ears. We have to get to the cars!
“There!” Billy yelled into the silence and everyone jumped. “I think…yes! The sand’s receding.”
A moment later, a ragged sliver of gray wood showed through the sand. The stretch of decking grew wider as the desert recoiled from the power surrounding the farmhouse. More and more boards were exposed, and counter ripples flowed outward to cancel the surges that had brought the sand over the steps. The movement ceased when the porch was clear, leaving the house an island oasis.
Anna’s breath escaped on a sigh of relief, but she jumped as the house shook under the blow of some invisible force. People scattered away from the windows and dove for cover as another thump from overhead shook the room, then another, and another. Melissa strode to the hearth, grabbed her shotgun, and looked from door to ceiling—unsure where the threat would emerge. The floor lurched as something huge crashed down the staircase. Melissa and two others swung around with guns raised.
“Looky what I found!” Skinny arms and legs tangled around a massive slab of wood with a curved prow. The plank bucked and jerked as the person underneath fought their way into a half-crouch while still holding on for dear life. “If this here toboggan ain’t got powerful memories, I’ll eat my socks.”
“Are you insane?” Charles screamed the question as he bore down on poor Reggie.
The old mechanic stared in confusion at the angry faces and Melissa’s shotgun, which she lowered with a growl. The drummer looked ready to grab the man by the collar, but stopped short and settled for more yelling.
“We don’t need any more damned memories. The sand’s retreating.” Charles’ breath came heavy, as if not throttling the other man took physical effort.
“Okay, okay.” Reggie shifted beneath his load and the edge of the massive sled whacked the railing with the sound of a gunshot. “No need to be snippy. I’ll just take it back to the attic.”
“No!” several voices yelled at once, bringing nervous laughs to the tense room.
“Just put it with the buck.” Melissa shook her head and limped over to stow her gun.
Immediate crisis averted, Anna pulled Piper to the back door to see the vortex. An early moon glinted off the rolling dunes. The green flashes made her queasy, and Piper simply ground her teeth at the swollen column of energy. Anna raised an eyebrow as spotlights played over the backyard.
“We’ll have two people on watch upstairs, so if you hear walking around up there don’t panic. I think Melissa has enough people who know firearms, but let her know if you’re a decent shot.”
“Never learned.” She traced the path illuminated by the glow from their window. The back porch was clear out to the railing where the wood merged seamlessly with desert floor extending away from the house. “Steps are still buried.”
“Better them than us.”
16. Welcoming Committee
“L
ORD?” Pina pushed down her anxiety, though her voice still quavered. “Is there no way I can help?”
Kokopelli didn’t respond. The old spirit hunched in front of the fire, sitting cross-legged and clutching his staff with white knuckles. The staff blazed bright, the fire roared, and the air vibrated with power. His obsidian eyes reflected the flickering light as he stared, unseeing. Strain lined his face, making the skin look thin and brittle. She imagined the power consuming him, stripping away the fragile outer shell.
Pina laid a hand on his forehead and flowed soothing power into his fevered brow. Her breast ached with the effort. She reached past the pain, dredged up deep reserves, and willed more of her essence into soothing her lord—only dully aware she’d dropped to her knees.
Tears leaked from the corner of both eyes, rolled down her cheeks, and met at her chin. Calming was the only power she could offer to ease his burdens. Her energy flowed away, disappearing into the all-consuming strife of Kokopelli’s battle to hold the world veil in place.
The precise teepee of logs had fed the flames of the god’s power for all eternity, never wavering, never being consumed. She tried to draw courage from its steadfast resolve, but the fire swam in her vision as—impossibly—the wood charred. Just a bit more.
“Enough!” The strength in her lord’s voice eased her clutching fear. “You give too much of yourself, Brightness.”
Pina slumped. He caught her and lowered her to the sandy floor. She looked up into Kokopelli’s ancient face—smiling not at his words, but because his mask of tension had eased. Fatigue still pulled hard at those noble features, and the sadness in his eyes made her heart ache—a dull, distant thing hidden among the all-consuming pain. Oddly, there was concern too as his dark eyes darted about, examining her from head to toe.
“You’re better.” She managed a weak giggle at the thought of him being worried about her. “Is it over?”
“Your gifts are too generous. I will be better for a time. But the fight is far from over, Brightness.”
His flute appeared in his hands. Pina smiled as a scattering of crystal-pure notes drifted across her like butterflies on a summer day. She remembered all the good in the world, happier days when they strolled his adobe halls and she showed him the delights of her forests.
The song wrapped her in loving arms, easing much of the discomfort. She turned her head toward the fire. Angry red cracks glowed along the length of each blackened log as a vision materialized in the rising smoke. The vortex—that swirling mass of energy ripping its way out of the sealed third world and into Ed’s—flashed sickly green lightning across the desert behind Pete’s farm. The column of energy swelled fat and obscene like a snake greedily swallowing a too-large meal. But instead of choking on it, the vortex grew, spreading across the sands. It swelled wider and wider until the edges threatened the barn and house.
Worry clutched Pina’s chest but could not take hold under the echoing music settling over her. She giggled again at the irony of her strained and overworked lord helping a lowly sprite. She should tell him to stop, to conserve his power, but the warm cocoon held her fast, and dark sleep rose to blot out the worry.
***
The sound of shattering china rose behind us as we made our way toward the tree line. With one arm tight around Quinn’s waist and the other hand holding the pulsing staff, I risked a glance back. The leading wall of the vortex chased us, smashing the dry clay bed. No, that wasn’t quite right.
“The portal’s expanding!”
Quinn turned her head, cursed, and hit the throttle. Our acceleration caught the other two ATVs by surprise, but they were quick to follow. Our dash didn’t last long because the last rise before the forest hid a deep ravine. Our three vehicles pulled up short. The crashing advance of the vortex also halted. I doubt it had anything to do with our route being blocked—just a happy coincidence.
The blue-green wall and its ghastly suspended minions rose like a frozen tsunami teetering on the verge of cresting. Still a hundred yards away, it now stretched a good half mile to either side. The next five minutes were full of nervous glances back at the vortex while we ranged right and left looking for a path. Dwain spotted the shallow grade first, and we had to plow over a tangle of underbrush to get on the winding trail. But the wash proved plenty wide, and we soon rolled out onto the ravine floor amid clouds of dust.
Farther on, the steep walls eased into rolling hills. We shut off the engines and studied the hard-packed roadway running down the far side, through the gully, and back up toward the vortex. The path looked to have been used recently because it lacked the grasses and scrub brush that covered the ravine floor.
“Looks like we found our way out.” Manny reached for his starter, but froze as crunching rolled down from overhead.
“Coming from the forest,” Quinn pointed at the hill where the road disappeared.
The sound grew louder and closer, the scraping cadence of many feet.
I jumped off the ATV and motioned our small group back. We rolled our rides back down the gully and did our best to hide them behind a line of thorny shrubs. Ralph rode on the handlebars doing his tiny jockey impersonation and clearly not understanding why he was going backward.
“Keep low,” I muttered as dark silhouettes crested the rise.
We crouched behind our sparse cover, with little hope our big machines would go unnoticed. For that matter, they must have heard our engines. I reached for Spirit and a thread of music, thinking we could escape under cover of a mini-sandstorm if things went south.
The first ranks to top the rise were shamblers, a good dozen of them. I shivered at the memory of those hungry mouths bearing down on me. A contingent of Nargun followed close behind, partially obscuring one of the tall boney creatures that controlled sand. My confidence took a nosedive. I’d caught the last sand demon unawares while brimming with rage and might not get lucky again.
Smaller creatures scuttled and rolled around the loose formations. Scorpions spread to either side of the roadway like a billowing cloak, ignoring the tumblers rolling roughshod over their armored backs. At the rear, humps of sand and dirt paced the main group and left mole tracks in the softer earth alongside the road, a sure sign centipedes—and who knew what else—traveled along underground.
“They’re passing us by,” Quinn whispered.
“There’s no way they didn’t see us.” Manny scowled and scratched his chin.
“Maybe that hiding spell?” Pete ventured.
“Probably helped, but we weren’t invisible.” I should be happy they hadn’t turned on us, but it was disconcerting.
“Chalk it up to luck and move on.” Quinn waved at the empty road.
Just to be safe, we pushed our vehicles forward, but they were too heavy to manhandle uphill. Before starting them, Pete and I scurried up the rise to our left to ensure the enemy hadn’t stopped close enough to hear the engines. The settling dust tickled my throat, and I swallowed a coughing fit along with the foul stench that clung to the hard-packed ground like a sickness.
“Smells like chicken shit baking in the sun.” Pete pitched his voice low and wrinkled his nose.
“Thought that’d be
right up your alley.”
“Trust me, nobody gets used to that odor.”
We dropped to all fours at the top, which had my eyes and nose streaming. The passing group shimmered in the distance as if a mirage approached the vortex. I wiped at my eyes, but my stench-induced tears weren’t what made the scene waver.
“They’re going through,” Pete said. “Sis is gonna have her hands full.”
We hurried back to the others.
“The bad guys are out of earshot all right. They went through the portal,” I said as Pete climbed woodenly onto his ATV with his head hung low. “Who knows where they’ll come out? I bet even Milwaukee is battling those things.”
Anywhere Earth magic had breached could be fair game. Still, I tried to warn Anna using firespeak as we rolled up the hill and into the tree line—no luck.
We crunched along on the primitive road, which shrank to a path as trees rose to either side. The staff pulsed strong, encouraging us forward, so going around wasn’t an option. Even in low gear our engines rang out loud through the quiet forest.
“No birds or insects,” Quinn said over her shoulder.
“It’s more than that,” Pete said when the path widened enough for him to pull up alongside.
Rather than the towering hardwoods or pines of our old grove woods back home, these trees looked juvenile—at least in size. I could easily circle the thickest with the fingers of both hands. The sea of trunks off to either side rose straight as arrows and only started to branch at head height. Fungus or lichen clung to the pale bark in patches. The narrow leaves—similar to sumac or walnut—splayed wide and curled as though they’d been bereft of sun and water.
“Well, it smells wrong. Not quite like something’s died, but close.” I rubbed my nose.
Pennsylvania woods had an earthy, wet scent and a certain stillness that always had me thinking primordial forest—even when civilization was just a stone’s throw away. The stillness here was unnerving, the air devoid of moisture. The sharp pungent odor resembled rotting cheese more than healthy leaf mold. In fact, rather than leaf litter, blotchy fungus gathered around each trunk—hungrily awaiting leaves the trees refused to release.