“Why were you running?”
“My footsteps were echoing in the tunnels, but then I started hearing other footsteps—ones that didn’t match mine. I heard them, and then I heard them running away, so I chased after the sound back to the north tunnel.”
He grunted. “Where the shape was kneeling and placing this silver dollar on the road?”
“Yep.”
He grunted again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have a guardian.” He smiled at me through the grate, and I knew it wasn’t the first time he’d smiled at a white man through bars. “The shape, form, whatever it was placed that coin at the centerline so that you would slip on it and prolong your life.”
“You don’t think that’s a bit of a reach?” I turned in the seat to get a better look at him. “I’m not buying into the ghost thing just yet.”
“All right, but whatever it was, it saved your life.”
“You don’t think it could’ve been just a random, chance kind of thing?”
“No. In my experience with the residents of the Camp of the Dead, they rarely act randomly or leave things to chance.”
“That supposition still depends on the willful suspension of all critical, rational thinking and a belief in things that go bump in the night.”
He continued to smile, to my annoyance. “So, you think it is giant raccoons who have found the bag of silver dollars and are leaving them in the middle of the road to what purpose?”
Suddenly the driver’s-side door opened, and Rosey threw herself in; slamming it behind her, she pulled off her gloves and blew warmth into her hands. “Jeez, it’s getting cold out there.” She turned to look at us both. “What are you guys talking about? It looked pretty intense.”
“Giant raccoons.”
She turned to look at the Cheyenne Nation. “That’s a new one.”
I glanced at the dash and could see that we had another four minutes before showtime. “I’m getting my thermos out of my truck; anybody want a cup of coffee?”
They didn’t answer, so I pushed open the door and limped over to where the Bear had parked the Bullet and fetched the battered Stanley with the stickers on the side that read DRINKING FUEL.
Shutting the door, I started my hampered travels back to the cruiser when I thought I noticed something at the side of the road, near the opening of the north tunnel, a dark shadow that faded away into the uneven surface of the granite wall as I turned.
I took a step forward, but whatever it was, it didn’t reappear. I thought about limping over, but we were coming down to the wire. I opened the door of the Dodge and wedged myself into the front seat. Screwing off the chrome top of the thermos, I poured myself a capful and checked the time.
12:32.
Without taking her eyes off the dash, Rosey asked, “You decided to brew some fresh?”
I took a sip. “Two more minutes.”
“See any raccoons?”
I turned and looked at him. “Maybe.”
I have had some long minutes in my life. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to hear the radio call or I didn’t. I knew I didn’t believe, but what was I going to do then? Rosey was going to have to be confronted, and there really wasn’t anybody in a better position to do it than me. I figured I’d start slow and gentle, trying to get her to see the impossibility of the situation and that she was going to have to come to terms with the fact that there was a problem—the first step in getting it solved.
12:33.
That she was going to have to move past the stigma of psychiatric intervention and realize that it was a difficult job that sometimes took its toll in strange and unpredictable ways. There was nothing normal about a career in law enforcement, and the strains of making life-and-death decisions every day were bound to have an effect. If need be, I’d tell her about my own experiences on the mountain in the snow. It wasn’t anything I’d shared with anyone else, but this was important enough that maybe I could get her to understand.
12:34.
None of us moved, and I waited a few seconds before sipping my coffee in as nonchalant a manner as I could muster under the circumstances.
Rosey reached down and turned up the volume on her radio to the point that the electric hum of random frequency crowded the inside of the cruiser, and I could feel it in the fillings of my teeth.
I fussed with the heat and then figured I’d ask again. “Does anybody want—”
“Shhhh!”
I stared at her but didn’t say anything. Henry stuck a hand through the slider, and gave him my half cup of coffee.
Rosey still sat there looking at the radio.
I turned and looked at it, too.
12:35.
I didn’t move, not wanting to give the impression that these types of things happened with split-second timing.
She glanced at me, but I remained concentrated on the dash clock. She took a deep breath and sat back in her seat, started to say something, and then changed her mind.