“Totally awesome,” Steven added admiringly.
Burnfingers was filling a small backpack. “It gives me something to do in my spare time. One thing I have no trouble acquiring in this place is plenty of sand.” He nodded in the painting’s direction. “But making the sand stay in place on a vertical surface, that is the real art.”
Frank was confused. “You mean it’s not glued on?”
“No glue can last long here. It is a matter of placing the grains of sand one at a time and making sure the internal planes of the various crystals are correctly aligned.”
That didn’t make sense, but Frank had no reservations about the painting itself.
Four lines radiated from a common center. These served to isolate yeibichais, plants, animals, and highly stylized representations of the forces of nature. Creatures and gods, lightning and stars, combined into an immense whirling shape on the wall. Though the figures were simplistic in design, the overall effect was quite awe-inspiring. It drew you into an alien but warm world.
Burnfingers frowned. “The lower right-hand corner has been giving me a lot of trouble, but it doesn’t matter now.” He was watching Mouse as he explained. “That part contains a representation of Chaos. Not easy to paint.”
“The Anarchis.” Mouse sounded approving. “A most remarkable and revealing portrait. You are quite an artist, Mr. Begay.” She stared at the intemperate mass of black and yellow sand that occupied most of the right-hand corner of the painting.
Burnfingers shrugged off the compliment. “When I don’t have time for making jewelry I like to play with sand. Keeps the fingers nimble. And the mind.”
“What’s this?” Steven had walked around the foot of the bed to examine the painting more closely. Before Frank could stop him, the boy touched the portion of the painting that had piqued his curiosity.
A rush of wind blew through the room, unexpectedly cool in that hottest of regions. It was the kind of wind that caressed beaches and mountain buttes. On contact with Steven’s finger the entire intricate construction collapsed. Where an elaborate work of art had hung an instant earlier there was now only a blank wall with an uneven pile of multicolored sand heaped at its base.
Alicia’s hands went to her cheeks. “Oh my God.”
“I’m sorry!” Steven stumbled backward. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Burnfingers smiled at him as he slung a battered canvas backpack over his shoulders. “We are leaving anyway. Sand paintings are not meant to be permanent. They are intended to instruct and reveal and entertain. The permanent ones you can buy in places like Arizona are for tourists to take home and hang on their walls.” He put a comforting arm around the boy and hugged him. “When I have time I will make another, just for you. One you will be able to take to school to show your friends.”
“Okay. Just as long as they don’t ask me what I did on my summer vacation.” Steven managed a weak smile.
“That’s the spirit. You have quite a little fella here, Mr. Sonderberg. Right now he is a bit too much of a good thing, but I think that will change as he grows older.
“Come now.” He led them to the door, checked the hallway beyond, and stepped out into the intense heat. Mouse followed, then the Sonderbergs. They left a small room occupied by simple furnishings and one collapsed painting of the entire universe.
“I hope this doesn’t make things worse.”
Frank whispered to his wife, “What could be worse than this?”
She looked up at him out of doe eyes. “Fleeing police custody.”
“I think you were right the first time, hon. We’re not gonna find much kindness and sympathy here.”
“I wish we knew more about Mr. Begay, though.”
“We know he’s human. In a place like this that’s good enough for me. And Mouse trusts him.”
“I thought you didn’t trust Mouse.”
“I don’t yet. Not entirely.”
Burnfingers had stopped. They crowded close behind him.
“Wait here.” They complied as he disappeared around a corner. Minutes ticked toward oblivion. Frank was starting to worry that they were being set up when their newfound friend finally returned. “All clear. Come quietly.”
Following him into another hallway, they passed something that lay in a heap off in a corner. It wore a red-orange uniform over bright green skin. A single fang protruded from the upper jaw. Both eyes were closed tight and the row of spines that ran from the base of the skull to the sacrum lay limply against the monster’s back. Green blood trickled from the misshapen forehead.
“Did you do that?” Fear and admiration mixed in Wendy’s query.
“Had to. He was on station here and I couldn’t talk him away. So I waited until he looked elsewhere and then I clobbered him.”
Frank’s gaze lingered on the unconscious beast as they hurried past. “He’ll be pissed when he comes to.”
“This whole place will be in an uproar when you are discovered missing. They will search the station first. That should allow us a good head start.”
“Won’t they see the motor home leave?” Alicia wondered.
Burnfingers shook his head; a terse, economical gesture. “Not unless some are standing around out in the parking lot. There is no reason for them to do so. They will expect you to be wandering around lost inside the building, which is exactly what you would be doing without my help.”
“It just occurred to me,” Frank said, “that if they find out you’ve helped us and this doesn’t work, what they do to us will be nothing compared to what they’ll do to you.”
“Don’t worry about me. Remember, I am crazy.”
“You can still feel.”
“Pain is only a different state of mind. You sound like an old woman, Sonderberg. They are not going to catch me, and they are not going to catch you, either.”
Then they were running past the solid quartz door Burnfingers opened for them, out into the lot. Across the road, the endless line of vehicles containing the Damned awaited their turn to pass through the Gates. Screams and moans emanated from within as panicky, fearful faces hammered on locked windows.
A few patrol cruisers were parked nearby. There was also something that looked like a giant toaster on wheels. Which, Frank mused uneasily, it might well have been. Their motor home gleamed whitely against the stark surroundings, as out of place in that parking lot as a beluga whale in a school of salmon.
