Mouse had stopped singing, unwilling or unable to hold the saving note any longer. Scratching sounds moved from the roof to the walls. Then he saw it, clinging to the side of the motor home and grinning at him through Alicia’s window. Two long, vampirish fangs protruded from the lower jaw of the man-sized cadaver. It stared at him out of tiny, evil button eyes. Then he saw the red revolver. He saw why Mouse’s song had not affected it.
It had no ears.
“No,” he whispered as the decaying finger tightened on the trigger.
The shot wasn’t fired. A look of surprise came over the creature’s face as it turned toward the rear of the motor home. As it tried to reaim the gun, its head exploded. Green blood and bits of steaming flesh splattered the window. The decapitated body clung to the metal a moment longer before dropping away.
A dull roar had preceded the execution. Burnfingers Begay closed the rear window he’d been leaning out of and came forward, his expression one of solemn satisfaction. In his right fist he held a handgun the size of a small cannon. While Frank tried to slow his heart, the Indian removed a box of cartridges from his backpack and calmly reloaded the massive pistol.
“Four-fifty-four Casull,” he announced in reply to Frank’s unvoiced question. “Not as pretty as our lady singer, but effective in its own way. Even the most eloquent sentence can benefit from proper punctuation.”
He finished the loading and slipped the pistol into a leather holster, which he carefully placed back in his pack. Frank caught a brief glimpse of the holster. Arcane Navajo symbols and floating stars had been engraved in the cowhide.
“I wouldn’t think that would be very effective in a place like this. I thought you had to use black magic or something special, like Mouse’s song.”
Burnfingers let out a grunt as he closed the cartridge box. “There are all kinds of magic, my friend. Cold lead works very well in Hades.”
“Another gift from your father?”
Burnfingers smiled. “No. This I bought for myself, in a pawnshop in Flagstaff. It is not traditional, but I find it comforting. Its chant is short.”
Alicia sat up in the seat opposite her husband’s, moaned when she got a look at what had smeared itself all over her window.
“They let you bring a gun in with you?” Frank’s tone was disbelieving.
“It was part of my personal goods. Why take it away from me? They knew I dared not use it back there.”
Mouse was gulping lemonade from the refrigerator. The effort of holding the single note for so long had put a severe strain on her throat. “This will not stop them. They won’t give up so easily.”
Burnfingers leaned forward for a look at one of the rearview mirrors. “I know they will not, but we have a good start now. In a little while I think we will be out of their jurisdiction.”
“That’s no guarantee of safety. Not when the fabric of existence is coming apart. Nothing is as it should be. Realities are crossing unpredictably. Not even Hell is stable anymore.”
“Maybe not, but we have someone who I think can drive his way even out of Hell.” He clapped a huge hand on Frank’s shoulder.
Frank felt as though he’d just been knighted.
After a while he was able to stop glancing at the mirrors. There’d been no indication of further pursuit for some time. Wendy and Steven filled glasses with ice and soda for everyone. The longer they drove, the more the land outside grew normal. The endless procession of the Damned shrank until the oncoming lanes were empty again save for the occasional car or truck. Cacti straightened, green and brown, once more healthy succulents instead of human beings frozen in poses of eternal torment. The sky brightened and there were no unwelcome stains on the pavement.
“Check it out.” He gestured forward. They were coming up fast on another road sign. It gave only the distance remaining to Las Vegas and several small intervening towns. There was no mention of a Hades Junction or anything like it.
“We’ll make it by tonight.” He settled back against the padding, the feeling of relief almost painful. “Everything’s okay again. No gambling for a few days, though. I think we’ve done enough gambling for a while.” He laughed, but it was a forced sound. Alicia knew it but smiled back anyway.
He glanced around. “Wendy! Why don’t you put a tape in and turn up your machine so we can all hear?”
His daughter didn’t try to hide her surprise. “You want to listen to my music?”
“Why not? Come on, put something really radical on. After what we’ve been through a little heavy metal would be soothing.”
“I don’t listen to that much metal, Pops.”
Pops. How delighted he was to hear that mildly contemptuous appellation once more. “Well, then, whatever you’re into right now.”
“Okay, you asked for it.” She removed her earphones and turned up the volume on the compact recorder. Soon they were rolling down the highway to the accompanying strains of Huey Lewis, Bon Jovi, and Cyndi Lauper.
“Real food.” Frank whispered as he drove. “Gaming. Television. Civilization.”
“It’s funny,” Alicia was saying, “but we can’t ever tell anybody what happened to us. No one would ever believe.”
“I’m having a hard time believing myself.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Steven! Why don’t you come up here and join your folks, kiddo?”
“That’s cool, Dad. I’d rather stay back here for a while, if it’s okay.”
“Sure it’s okay.” Despite his son’s smile Frank knew the boy had suffered badly from their experience, maybe worse than any of them. Just seeing parents threatened could traumatize a sensitive child deeply. “There’s ice cream in the freezer.”
“I know, Dad.” The boy smiled wanly. “It’s all right. I’m okay.”
Mouse started to turn. “Perhaps I can help him.”
“No.” Burnfingers stopped her. “It’s been a long time since I had the chance to talk to a worthy child. The few who passed me in that hot place deserved to be there.”
Mouse stared up into his eyes, then nodded sagely. “You are crazy. No wonder you were able to keep your sanity.”
Burnfingers just smiled cryptically and walked back through the motor home until he came to Steven’s couch. He sat down on the floor and crossed his legs.
“Troubles, boy?”
Steven glanced past him, toward the front of the vehicle where his parents sat. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’m still scared, Mr. Begay.”
