I convinced Em/Suzanne to ride in the back of the truck with me, Zelda, Kaliah, Bruce, Pam, Rhonaya, and the singers. The convoy rolled out, the four buses in front, while the singers launched harmonies at the Zaditorians, who had lost their transparency and were following at a distance. The bubbles on their extremities produced long animal legs, allowing the Zaditorians to lope unnaturally on all fours at great speed.
Bruce nudged Rhonaya with his elbow, pointed at me, and shouted over the barbershop singing, “This guy doesn’t like guacamole. Can you believe that?”
Rhonaya looked straight ahead, taciturn.
Bruce shrugged, smiled, and shook his head at me. “I still can’t believe it. Cracks me up. You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“Back at you, Bruce,” I said.
Zelda shook herself off, sending water flying all over, and everyone but the singers squawked in protest. Sorry, she said.
“She says she’s sorry,” I said.
“Is she your pet?” Bruce said.
I laughed as Zelda jumped onto Em/Suzanne and curled up in her lap.
“No,” Em/Suzanne said, defensive.
Bruce smiled and shook his head again. “This guy. Some piece of work.”
As we came to the edge of town, approaching the Wall of Blanche, Kaliah grabbed my hand and closed her eyes, and the landscape outside the truck transformed into a high desert with tumbleweed, sand, and a sun shining high in a blue sky, incongruous with the sounds of rain still pattering on the canvas cover over our heads that we could no longer see. I’d been in Kaliah’s projected whorls several times now, but I still wasn’t used to the experience. Seeing a bleak, grey, flooded town turn into a desert was uncanny, especially knowing that it was the only thing protecting everyone from the Wall of Blanche, the only thing protecting us all from having our thoughts, our minds given over to a woman obsessed with her own “journey.”
When the desert scene dissipated, we were climbing out of the valley. The border of dead birds, the white houses, and the flooding river were all behind us. We had escaped Arampom, but the Zaditorians were still following just out of range of the time-collapsing notes of the barbershop singers.
Chapter 32
KALIAH SLUMPED, TEETERED, THEN fell against me. I put my arm around her shoulder. “Are you okay?” I said.
She didn’t respond. I shook her.
There’s nothing you can do, Zelda said. Let her rest. She’ll either wake up on her own or she won’t.
What do you mean? I said.
She’s spread herself too thin getting us past the Wall of Blanche. She’s trying to gather herself now. I can’t explain it better than that.
There has to be something we can do. What about Craig? Or otalith cackle. I used that the last time this happened.
Far away, I heard a rustling noise, like a tarp being dragged across concrete. It grew louder and louder until I couldn’t hear anything else, then it dipped and was silent, only to come right back, softer and in a halting rhythm—rustling sounds producing various notes and tones, playing together to make a song. The notes were coming from my clothes. I could hear where they originated on my body.
This was the Dirge I’d been warned about. The bloom must have worn off. I was no longer riding the Ghost.
More sounds jumped in from where my hand touched Kaliah, where my skin contacted the air. They merged and flowed together with the barbershop singers, making beautiful and unique music. I was entranced by it. Why had Kaliah been so afraid for me to catch this cackle malady? It was wonderful.
Fight it, Zelda said, almost singing herself.
Why? I smiled at her.
Because it’s one of the songs of death. I know it well. You’re not ready for it. Rhonaya has otalith cackle for you. Tell her to give you some.
I tried to speak, but when I opened my mouth, air made music on my tongue, and I made gargling sounds that Rhonaya couldn’t hear over the barbershop squad. Zelda jumped down and pawed at Rhonaya’s leg, then ran over to me, just like Lassie would have done. I made more gargling sounds, and Rhonaya got the gist, pulled out a small bottle, and sprayed me in the face. In moments, the Dirge went silent. All I could hear now was “Mr. Sandman” for the second time today.
“Thank you,” I said to Rhonaya.
Her only reply was to toss the bottle in my lap.
“Are you okay?” Em/Suzanne said.
“I just needed some medicine,” I said, not wanting her to worry. “I’m okay now.”
“I’m cold,” she said.
“Me too. Come sit next to me.”
She did, and I put my free arm around her broad shoulders. Zelda jumped onto her lap and curled into a ball. Even though we were all wet, our combined body heat soon warmed us. Em/Suzanne and Zelda fell asleep. My eyelids grew heavy. I hadn’t slept much the night before, knowing what was coming. I was tired but anxious. Would we find Naomi? Would I be able to eat the cheese danish? Why had Zelda called the Dirge a song of death?
Despite the worries swimming around in my head, I dozed off.
I don’t know how long I slept, but I was startled awake by sustained and otherworldly shrieking. I looked out the back and we were still on the mountain road that ran along the south fork of the Eel River. The Zaditorians were still loping after us with their long limbs, but now they were closer than they had dared to come before. I heard off-notes from two of the singers and realized they were getting tired.
The two reserve singers across from me were rushing to graft to their totems, but they had cumbersome techniques. One attempted to paint a watercolor on her lap as the truck shook and swayed, while the other molded something from modeling clay.
The Zaditorians shrieked and drew closer.
I tensed, wondering if I should drop more bloom and punch myself in the face again.
But then the reserves put their art projects down,
