Twenty-four
With a growing sense of unreality Zee stood beside the open trapdoor. The cat scampered past him, descending rough wooden stairs, little more than a ladder. Zee followed. A cramped earthen crawl space led into a tunnel with a floor of packed dirt. Wooden timbers supported a rough ceiling too low for him to stand upright. Dim lightbulbs swung from naked wires.
Bent nearly double, Zee followed the cat. She scampered playfully ahead, pausing to crouch and then leap at unseen objects. Zee’s back ached with the constant stooping; the sword bumped awkwardly against his thigh.
All told, the tunnel ran for what he guessed was a good half mile before ending with another rough wooden ladder. When he reached it, the cat sat on the top rung, waiting. Above her head, another trapdoor. Zee gave it a hard shove and it opened into a spotless, well-lit garage. A workbench ran across all of one wall, holding toolboxes and a telephone. An old radio broadcasted country music.
Most of the interior was occupied by a vintage VW hippie van, painted in technicolor flowers and peace signs. A familiar van—George Maylor had been driving this identical rig ten years ago, on the day he bailed Zee out of jail.
The keys were in the ignition. A case of bottled water, a box of energy bars, sealed packages of dried fruit and real jerky were neatly stored in the back, along with blankets, pillows, and other emergency items.
The van offered an escape. He couldn’t go back to the cabin, not with the cops there, and they might be watching it for a good long while. As far as he could figure, he had two choices: find a place to hide out or keep looking for Vivian, and between those two options the choice was clear.
Not that this was simple in any way. He had no idea where or how to find her. Plus, if he pulled out of the garage now the cops might see him and follow. Maybe he’d do better, after all, to just stay put right here for a day or two.
Schrödinger stared up at him out of scornful, unblinking green eyes. Coward.
“Hypocrite,” Zee muttered. “I don’t see you taking any risks.”
The cat meowed and coiled around his ankle, purring, then stalked over to empty food and water bowls under the workbench. Zee found a five-gallon jug of water and a bag of cat food. He filled the bowls and bent to pat the cat. “What if I don’t get back? I don’t want you trapped in here and starving to death.”
There were no windows in the garage he could crack open, but a brief search revealed a cat door leading outdoors. That was that, then. At least she would be able to get outside to fend for herself.
Zee turned off the light switch, plunging the garage into darkness. It would be dark outside by now. A glow of light when he opened the garage door would be equivalent to standing on the roof and shouting through a loudspeaker. He fumbled his way to the door and lifted the latch. He’d half-expected it to creak and groan with disuse, but the action was smooth and noiseless.
More darkness, lit enough by moonlight to let him see a narrow track, screened by trees. In the distance, red and blue lights strobed, rhythmic, persistent. Leaving the vehicle lights off, Zee backed out of the garage, between the tree sentinels, and onto the road. For a mile or two he drove without headlights, watching the rearview mirror for signs of pursuit, but nothing moved, other than the occasional deer and a careless skunk, and he was soon deep into uncharted territory.
Without any logical progression of thought, he found himself heading for Finger Beach. As a plan it wasn’t much, but it beat driving aimlessly without a destination point. And if he was looking for some sort of paranormal activity, the beach was the most likely place to find it.
About an hour into the drive he was wishing the old man had stocked a case of cola along with the water; a little caffeine would have been more than welcome. In an effort to stay awake, he drove with the windows down, shivering in the cold wind. Music would have been good, but there was no reception over the pass and there was no CD player in the ancient van.
Hours later, Zee rolled into the parking lot at Finger Beach, bone weary and anxious. A harebrained scheme, coming here. He had no contingency plan, no purpose to his life beyond finding Vivian and saving her if he could.
The moon rode high in the sky. Constellations arched overhead in the old familiar configurations. They comforted him—the sheer vastness of them, the knowledge that they had been there when life first began on this planet and would still be there when it ended. That when his small life was over, something beautiful would still shine in the sky above him.
The pungent scent of pine filled his nostrils as he stepped out of the van and breathed in deeply of the cool night air. His footsteps crunched on the gravel of the parking area, rustled through dry grass before the gritting of sand alerted him that he was on the beach.
The Finger glowed with a dull red light of its own, and he paused for a moment as he always did when he ventured down here, to acclimatize to the sensation of raw power that flooded the place.
One of the thin places, he thought, where the fabric of reality might be breached. If science fiction stories had any truth, if there were doors from one world into another, this would certainly be one of them. Whatever had happened to Vivian, whoever the witch woman was, it involved some explanation beyond what physics and science could tell him. If there was such a thing as a Dreamshifter, then it made sense that there were gates leading to other realities.
He shivered a little at the idea of things crossing boundaries from dream into reality. People spoke of dreams coming true as if this would be a good and wonderful thing. They tended to forget that nightmares were dreams as well.
Tonight the stone felt portentous, threatening. Zee approached with caution, opening himself to the currents of energy, letting them find their way through his body and then ground back into the earth. Most people fought it, but he’d always figured that if the old tales were true, fighting the power was what made people crazy. Treat it like a dream, let it flow through you but not touch you, and you’ll be okay.
He hoped sincerely that his theory was right.
In a sudden flare of red light, an enormous white bear materialized beside the stone.
Zee was not prepared. An instant of hesitation and disbelief almost cost him his life. In the nick of time he ducked and rolled, a massive paw whistling past his scalp.
Surging back onto his feet, Zee drew the sword.
The bear reared up onto its back legs, mouth open in a spine-chilling roar to reveal teeth far too long and sharp. Swinging its deadly paws, it lunged.
Zee ducked, sidestepped, just out of reach of the lethal blows. At first the sword felt awkward, as if his mind remembered the way of it but his body did not. But as he danced away from certain death, his muscles began to remember and he drew first blood, a bloom of crimson against the whiteness of one of the paws.
Bellowing pain and rage, the bear crashed down onto three legs, swinging its head with jaws wide open. Zee feinted sideways, not quite fast enough. Something burned like fire down the side of his face, caught his shoulder. The blow flung him backward and he fell hard, his head bouncing against a rock.
Half-blinded by blood, dizzy and dazed, he slashed upward on instinct, felt the blade connect with flesh. Another bellow of rage and the creature retreated.
The world rocked and spun as he got to his feet. Pain hammered in his head with an intensity that twisted his stomach. His limbs felt loose and only half under his control. His left arm hung limp and useless from the damaged shoulder. There was a lot of blood.
The bear was not unscathed. One side of its face was laid open to the bone, a flap of flesh and fur dangling down over the jaw. It shook its head from side to side, spraying blood, roaring its agony and rage.
And then it came for him. Swift, lethal, huge. A death machine of muscle and teeth and claws.
Zee braced himself. He tightened his grip on the sword. Waited, timing the stroke. An instant before the bear struck, he swung with all the strength he had left. A fountain of hot blood burst over him as he was borne to the ground, crushed beneath the creature’s weight. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Blood, his own or the bear’s, ran into his mouth, blinded his eyes. He braced himself for jaws on his throat, but the bulk on top of him lay still.
The bear was too heavy. He couldn’t move. It crushed his chest; he couldn’t draw a full breath. His face burned like fire.
Pain and lack of oxygen took their toll, and he slid away into blackness.