Page 96 of Badlands

Nora resumed playing, using all the breath she could muster.

Once again the creature reacted violently, drawing up into itself fire, sparks, and embers until its form disappeared in a maelstrom of fire and smoke. A great tongue of fiery smoke engulfed Bromley even as he leveled and aimed the shot.

He vanished in the smoke. The gun never went off.

Moments later, the smoke drew back, revealing Bromley oncemore, staggering backward. He flung down the gun, making a keening sound and grasping his head in both hands, spinning around as if in terrible pain.

“Xuçtúhla!” he gasped. “Xuçtúhla!”

The living smoke coiled around him again, caressing him with its tendrils. He opened his mouth in a soundless scream, and the tongue of smoke seemed now to enter into him, take possession of his body. His head snapped backward, his eyes rolled, and he took a spasmodic step, and another, with movements like a marionette’s, twitching and jerking his way toward the edge of the cliff. At the same time, he started crying out something above the roar of the wind and flames. It was incomprehensible at first, but then Nora began to make out individual words: “Day of days… gift of transformation… Xuçtúhla… through the portal of smoke… the black path to the higher plane.”

Now the smoke spread outward, forked with livid lightning, and flowed around the nearby cultists like a gray fluid. To Nora’s astonishment they took up the refrain, hesitatingly at first, and then louder. They fell into place behind Bromley, chanting: “Our gift of transformation… through the portal of smoke to the higher plane…” Their chaotic movement gradually became coordinated as they surged toward the edge of the cliff, led by Bromley.

“Through the portal of smoke… follow, follow…,” Bromley chanted.

Beneath his tone of command, and the chanting of the cultists, Nora was certain she heard another voice, deeper and older, felt rather than heard, repeating the same refrain.

Bromley took a final step forward, teetered at the edge of the cliff, then keeled off and disappeared. The others hesitated, but only for a moment; one went, then another, and in a few moments the rest followed, surging over the cliff’s edge and vanishing, followed by the sounds of crashing and tumbling, grunts,and thuddings, as the cultists plummeted to their deaths, impacting the rocks below. The last thing she heard was the deep voice, still intoning… until, with a dry, malevolent laugh like the skittering of leaves, it faded away. All that remained was a slow eddy of smoke that was soon whisked away by the wind.

Leaving nothing behind but a heap of glowing coals.

63

NORA TOSSED ASIDEthe flute and ran over to Skip. He had passed out. The cable holding him suspended was hooked to a ring in the ground. She knelt beside it, grasped the cable in both hands, lifted it with a grunt of effort, and freed it from the hook. She lowered it gently, easing Skip’s hanging body down sideways and away from the pile of wood. Once he was on the ground, she cut away the hobbles from his ankles, freed his hands, then quickly inspected the cuts on his back. She felt overwhelming relief when she saw they were superficial—long strokes that had bled freely, but nothing deep. The cultists had been interrupted by the creature before they could begin work in earnest.

Her brother lay on the ground and gave a loud groan, gasping for air.

“Skip?”

His eyes fluttered open.

“Thank God.” She hugged him. “You’re safe now.”

His mouth worked silently for a moment before whispered words emerged. “They were going to… skin me alive.”

“They’re gone.”

Skip’s eyes opened wider, as if in disbelief. “What—”

“Mass suicide. They all went off the cliff.”

He tried to lift his head and look around. “Oh my God.” He laid his head down again. “They were chanting. I could feel the knife…”

Gently, Nora put a hand on his shoulder. “They’re gone. All of them.”

Skip’s breathing eased, his body relaxed, and he closed his eyes and lapsed back into unconsciousness. Assured he’d be all right, Nora rose and rushed over to Corrie, trussed and lying on the ground in a drug-induced haze of her own.

As Nora cut off her bonds, rousing her in the process, Corrie gasped, her eyes pinpoints. With a shriek, she flailed out at Nora, her face a mask of fear.

“No!” she cried. “No…!”

“Easy.” Nora grasped her wrists, holding them and gently calming Corrie’s struggles. “Easy now. It’s me, Nora. We’re okay. We’re okay now.”

Corrie stopped fighting, trying to focus. “Nora… Oh my God…

What—what was thatthing? Jesus, I saw it rise from the smoke and flame… I was sure it was going to kill us all…”

So she’d seen it, too. The rational part of Nora had hoped she hadn’t.

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