I followed the 15 through Barstow into the desert. Somewhere out here was the turnoff to that little dirt road and metal warehouse, and I spent at least twenty minutes convinced that I’d missed it when it suddenly appeared in front of me.
To my right was the Mohave. To my left, across the median and the westbound lanes, was the dirt road. If I was lucky, I’d also find the circle Wally had used to summon the drapes. It was the only way he’d know about the building. I hoped.
Traffic was thin. I slowed and swerved onto the dirt median. When the way was clear, I drove across the westbound lanes onto the raised gravel pathway. Once I passed the rough ground by the dry stream, the gravel gave way to a dirt track.
After about a mile, I passed the spot where I’d spied on Arne, then came to the fenced gate. It was standing open, always a bad sign. A battered sign on the chain-link read QUAKEWATER REFRIGERATOR RECYCLING. I drove straight to the run-down sheet-metal building.
A piece of yellow metal stood out from the far corner, and I decided it would be best to drive around the building once, just in case a SWAT team was hiding back there. As I came closer, I saw that the cameras were pointing right at me, and that the front doors, each as wide as an airplane-hangar door, were wide open.
I drove down the path and coasted by the open doors. It was dark inside, unsurprisingly, and all I could see was a concrete floor and a row of unlit headlights.
Then it was once around the building. On the far side from the gate, I saw a digging machine, almost certainly stolen. There was a scraper on one end and a scoop on the other. Behind the building was a low berm that prevented me from driving out into the desert, which I didn’t want to do anyway. The dirt out there had been disturbed in a few places, as though someone was digging for treasure.
At the front of the building, I turned the Hummer around and backed in. I was barely inside before a tremendous anxiety washed through me—I couldn’t turn my back to all that darkness. I jumped from the vehicle and wandered into the room, wishing I had kept Lino’s gun. I kept my hand close to my ghost knife.
Once I was out of the sun, the room didn’t seem so dark. Against the far wall was a row of cars, mostly German makes. Those were always popular in South America, and Arne made most of his real money with them. In the dimly lit corner at the far right of the building was a small workbench and a radio playing norteno music. God, I hated those accordions.
To the left was a set of desks and tables, including a much larger bench covered with tools. There was also a huge blue plastic water jug mounted atop a cooler.
Against the right wall, off into the darkness, was a red circle on the floor.
I moved toward it. It had been made with red paint—in fact, an open bucket was set in the corner—and it was much bigger than I’d anticipated, more than fifteen feet across.
There were sigils along the inner ring. I compared them to the ones on the back of my hand, but they were not the same, of course. These were rounder and more filled with open space … which was appropriate, I guessed.
This was it. This was where Wally brought the drapes into our world, and killed my friends.
Time to work. I went to the tool area and found a long-handled shovel. The blade was sharp and heavy; it could kill someone if I put my back into it, but it was too crude. I kept searching, but the best option I found was a long flat-head screwdriver. There was duct tape, too, which would suffocate someone, but no. That’s an ugly way to die.
Then I noticed a little shelf loaded with soup cans and packages labeled MRE. They were army rations; I could only wonder where Arne had stolen them. Beside them, in the back corner, was a knife block. I found a long, sharp boning knife there. It would have to do.
I got into the Hummer and backed it closer to the circle but not too close. I didn’t want any part of it extending over the red paint when I opened the back hatch.
I opened the rear door and laid my hand on something I couldn’t see. I caught hold of it—it felt like an arm— and pulled it toward me. My skin began to itch, but that couldn’t be helped. I jostled the body until I managed to roll it onto its back and grasp it under the arms. As I dragged it, it whispered.
I jumped back, startled. Had the drapes learned to talk? I heard the sound again, and it didn’t sound like something a drape would make. It sounded terribly human.
I leaned in close to listen. It was Potato Face’s voice, and he was begging me to kill him.
I hauled him out of the vehicle, doing my best to keep him from flopping onto the concrete floor. He still fell heavily, and I apologized to him. I knew he was in terrible pain, and maybe thumping his heels on the ground was minor by comparison, but I owed him a bit of dignity before I did what I had to do.
I dragged him across the red circle, then set him down and checked the paint. It was undamaged. My brain was working quickly, and I didn’t try to slow it down. How much time did I have before these men started dying? It could have been two weeks, or it could have been two minutes. I had no way to know, except that they’d been stuck in the back of a car for hours in desert heat, so probably not two weeks.
But I couldn’t put them all into the circle at once. If I did, the first to die would drag the others into the Empty Spaces. If Wally was right about there being no death there, those four men would never have an end to their suffering.
So it would have to be one at a time. I taped the knife to the butt of the shovel handle. I probably used more tape than necessary, but I didn’t want it to fall into the void.
Then I took a handful of dirty rags out of a bucket. I was ready, even though I really, really wasn’t.
I laid my makeshift spear on the ground outside the circle. Then I found Potato’s body and felt around for his throat. Once I had that, I laid one of the dirty rags near it, pointing away like a beam of light from a kindergartener’s drawing of the sun.
Then I went outside the circle and hefted the shovel. The first time I’d killed someone in cold blood, Annalise had been standing over me. This time, I couldn’t even see the guy’s face. It didn’t make things easier.
I slid the knife forward just above the ground. I suddenly felt resistance and shoved forward, sawing back and
