toward the lake.
Miles hurried back down to the others. there are two of them coming.
They're almost to the parking lot.'
Janet put a hand on Garden's arm. 'Do you really think you should be going into the wa terT She motioned toward his scuba gear. 'Who knows how many of them are down there?'
'I'd already decided not to go down,' Garden admitted sheepishly. 'I was getting ready to put my stuff away yhen you guys showed up.'
The day was starting to fade. Afternoon was giving way to twilight, and a portion of the sun had dropped below the western hills. The sky above was still light, but a large section of the western shore and surrounding countryside had been thrown into shadow. Through the half gloom came the two Walkers, not slowing because of the incline, not sliding on the sand, but marching relentlessly, surefootedly, toward the water.
Miles heard Janet's frightened, exaggerated breathing next to him, but other than that the three of them were silent, and they watched the corpses--a man and a woman' head straight into the lake.
'Why are they going down there?' Janet asked. 'what do you think they're doing?'
'Walking,' Garden said. z97
The three of them carried Garden's satchel, sleeping bag and diving equipment back to his Jeep. Another Walker was already heading down the road toward the parking lot.
'You still planning to sleep out here tonight?' Miles asked, putting down the sleeping bag.
'Not next to the water, but yeah.' He gestured. 'Near the picnic tables probably. What about you?'
'I guess. There don't seem to be any hotels around here.'
'I suggest we stay together,' Janet said. 'I don't think we should separate. Not at night.'
'Circle the wagons,' Miles said, nodding.
They discussed the sleeping arrangements and other practical considerations, trying to stay away from the real subject, the fact that they had no idea what to do and were simply hanging around pointlessly, waiting for something to happen.
Just before dark the last of the Walkers came striding through the small parking lot.
Bob.
The succession of feelings that passed through Miles made him feel like a frightened child----only he had never experienced anything this intensely as a child. He stood there, stunned into inaction, watching as his dad, the man who had brought him up, the man who had shaped him into the person he was today, the man who had lived with him all those years, brushed against a cactus, stepped on sagebrush. 'Dad!' he called. I
His father did not turn his head, did not pause in his walking, but continued forward, down the slope, into the water, until the water was up to his knees, his chest, his neck. He did not float, did not swim, but appeared to be anchored to the muddy lake floor as he walked.
A moment later, there was no trace of him left.
He was gone, but Miles stared at the spot where he had disappeared into the lake, and he continued to stare until the
day's light was completely gone and the skY was as black as the water.
Greg Rossiter took the week's worth of vacation days he had coming to him and flew to Phoenix
He knew it was wrong, knew it was stupid, knew that in his current position he could not afford to be a hot dogger anymore, that he had to be a team player. But old habits died hard, and he had not gotten where he was by playing by the rules.
He had gotten where he was by ignoring them.
he would once again be the one to crack this thing wide open, would be able to claim all the credit for himself, and would doubtlessly take yet another step up the Bureau ladder.
But what was this case?
He didn't know. Not exactly. A man in Utah had become a reanimated corpse, an Interior Department undersecretary had been murdered by some type of monster in his own garage--and forty years ago, government engineers had flooded a town of witches after constructing a damn.
Whatever it was, it was big. Not as big as what had happened in Rio Verde maybe, but plenty big enough, and if what he'd gathered from reading between the lines of McCormack's secret re oort was true, things might be coming to a head
He approached the dam from the south, passing through Rio Verde. It brought back memories not all of them good ones, and as he drove by the Chinese restaurant on his way toward the center of town, he considered stopping by the police station, dropping in on his old pal Sheriff Carter for a surprise visit. Rossiter smiled to himself. Such a tweaking would be fun--he knew Carter had no desire to see him ever again--but as much as he would like to hang around and annoy that fat bastard, he had to get to the lake. He had no idea if anything was happening there, or if it was, whether he was late or early for the fireworks, but he needed to go there first and assess the situation.
Maybe on the way back.
Outside Rio Verde the highway followed the river, and twenty miles north the road split, one heading through the desert toward New Mexico, the other winding up a series of plateaus and bluffs to the lake. The road curved around a cliff face, then narrowed to a single lane as it crossed the dam. His was the only car, and Rossiter drove carefully, aware of the inadequate railing that separated him from the water to his right and a precipitous drop to his left. On the other side of the dam, the road was dirt, and it ended at an empty gravel parking area ringed by warped and weathered picnic tables.
He got out of the car, stretching, and walked to the edge of the lake, looking back toward the dam, up the shore, then across the water.
He didn't know what he had expected to see, but he had expected..' something.
Rossiter stared out at the desert. There were no cars, no people, no vampires, nothing unusual or out of the ordinary. The late afternoon air was silent save for a whooshing rumble coming from the base of the dam where water was released into the Rio Verde.
God, he'd grown to hate this state in the years he'd been
assigned here. And two terms in D.C. had not lessened his antipathy one whit. Who the fuck would live in such a hell hole other than moronic rednecks and inbred hillbillies?
He sighed. He'd start at the dam and work his way around.
Already he was beginning to think that he'd made a mistake and acted too rashly. There was no reason for him to have come. Even if there was some sort of power in this place, he couldn't hope to exorcise it just by showing up.
The supernatural wasn't some trained monkey, jumping through hoops on his timetable, showing its face when it was convenient for him.
There was nothing to do about it, though, except continue on as planned, and he looked back at the dam, then started walking along the shore, wishing he had brought some tennis shoes.
At night, low whispers.
Miles recognized the Soft susurration, the barely audible noises he had heard in the house the night before his father had returned from the hospital. The sounds had scared him then, and he was even more frightened now. Everyone else was asleep--Garden in his sleeping bag on the ground, Janet in the backseat of the car--and Miles wanted to wake one of them, wanted someone else to hear this, wanted some sort of verification that it was not all in his mind, but he did not know either of them well enough to impose on in such a manner, and the truth was that he would have felt stupid waking them up merely because he was afraid of some noises. '
The noises were spooky, though, particularly under these circumstances, and somehow he doubted that either Garden or Janet would blame him for wanting company.
He stared into the night sky. The whispers were all around
him, coming from behind the tree, up on the rocks, from the black surface of the lake itself. As before, he
