After pounding the asphalt for a few minutes, it occurred to me that I didn’t know where I was going and that, perhaps, going by foot wouldn’t be the best option. I stopped running and called out to Boothe to do likewise.
He jogged back to where I stood, panting. ‘What’s up?’ he said.
Around us the night was cool and dark, fresh with salt from the sea and rustling with a mild breeze that carried with it the sound of Prudence’s car fading into the distance.
‘Where’re we headed, Boothe?’ I asked.
He turned and pointed upwards along the road, to where it gained the headland and flattened out before diving into the salt marsh beyond.
‘We need to get somewhere higher,’ he said, ‘just up there should be fine.’
‘And that’s where the Latinos are?’ I queried.
‘It doesn’t matter where they are,’ he responded rather cryptically, ‘come on.’
He took off once more and I trotted along behind him, trying to absorb this new information.
The thing which was bothering me the most at that point was the hunk of rock that I was carrying around with me. I knew that Rebekah had said that I would need it, but the image of Dagon was currently a huge pain in the ass. No pocket that I had would accommodate it so I made a rapid executive decision to stash it. Nearby was a turn-off to the Marsh gold-refinery, with a big fancy sign advertising the fact. I walked over to it and slipped the fetish behind the granite-brick base of the billboard. Making a few Temple genuflections, I hoped that I would remember what I’d done with it in time for Rebekah’s prophecy to come true and took off after Boothe.
When I caught up with him, he was kneeling on the macadam and muttering, with his fists held to either side of his head, the thumbs crooked outward like horns. As I approached, a gasp of white smoke appeared in the air before him and a hole ripped open in the middle of nothing. An oval of emptiness grew, taller than it was wide, and the air that it encompassed was darker than that around it.
‘Say Boothe,’ I said walking up behind him, ‘what the Hell is that?’
He took his hands away from his head and turned his face up towards me; disconcertingly, his eyes were blank again.
‘It’s a gate,’ he said, a note of pride in his voice, ‘and we’ll need it to get ahead of the game. C’mon.’
As he struggled to his feet, I stepped forward, raising my hand to investigate the thing which he’d called into being.
‘Careful,’ he said from behind me, ‘don’t touch the edges. It’s really thin; it’ll slice you six ways from Sunday, you’re not careful.’ He squirreled around me and jumped through with a perky hop. ‘C’mon!’ he said.
Being a Hell of a lot taller and broader than Boothe, I gingerly minced my way through the opening, being wary of the margins. Once through, the air was dank and close, heavy with rot and the smell of cold damp stone. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my Zippo.
In the blackness I could just make out a dim light, the scratching of a pencil and the tearing of paper.
‘Where are we Boothe?’ The light moved and Boothe stepped forward, waving a tiny flashlight.
‘We’re behind a big door we need opened,’ he answered, pointing a beam over my shoulder. I turned; the gate was gone and there, as promised was a large wooden barrier held together with big heavy nails. I took a step towards it and placed my hands on its damp swollen surface. I heaved but the resistance was great: it moved only a little. There didn’t seem to be any keyhole or padlock on this side of the barrier.
‘Any ideas,’ I asked Boothe.
Smirking, he reached into his denim jacket and pulled out a glittery object that looked like a big fancy key. This he tapped on the door’s surface and it sprang open instantly, groaning as it did so. Before us, stretching into the darkness, was a long ditch, adorned with the twisted wreckage of rails and rotten sleepers. I spun around, looking quickly about me.
‘Say!’ I exclaimed, ‘this is the old train tunnel! I was just here earlier on…’
‘And you still are,’ Boothe pushed me forward and swung the doors closed behind us, ‘but you don’t exactly want to meet up.’ He tapped the door with the key once more and it vanished in a mournful twinkle. ‘Where’d you park your car?’
I gestured vaguely to my left. ‘What?’ I asked, trying to keep up.
‘The gate moves through space and time,’ Boothe explained scrabbling up the ditch. I looked upwards to the crown of the domed hill, seeing the flashing beam of a torch swinging around wildly. A chill slipped down my spine. I turned to the dirt wall beside me and followed Boothe.
At the top of the rise, the salt marsh spread out before us and I gestured to Boothe indicating the location of the Firebird; he hurried off into the gloom, skipping deftly from tussock to tussock through the mire. I waded after him.
We soon came to the car, parked as I’d left it at the end of the dirt track.
‘You have a spare key?’ Boothe asked. By way of answer, I popped the right rear hubcap and pulled the spare out from where I’d taped it. I quickly unlocked the doors and we slipped inside. Gripping the steering wheel, I glanced sidelong at Boothe.
‘“The best of hands”, huh?’
He shrugged, pulling on his seatbelt, and I turned the engine over and gunned out into the night…
*****
To Be Continued…
No comments:
Post a Comment