while she had it, bolting for the archway. She got through it and into the restaurant itself before she heard his pursuit. By that time she had sufficient lead to reach the outer door and fling herself through it, onto the street. Once on the sidewalk she immediately turned and faced the door through which he would come. But he had no intention of following her into the light.
‘Clever bitch,’ he said, from the darkness. ‘I’ll get you. When I’ve got Boone I’ll come back for you; you just count the breaths till then.’
Eyes still fixed on the door she backed off down the sidewalk towards the car. Only now did she realize that she still carried the murder weapon, her grip so strong she felt almost glued to it. She had no choice but to take it with her, and give it, and her evidence, to the police. Back to the car, she opened the door and got in, only looking away from the burnt out building when the locks were on. Then she threw the knife onto the floor in front of the passenger seat, started the engine, and drove.
3
The choice before her came down to this: the police, or Midian. A night of interrogation or a return to the necropolis. If she chose the former she would not be able to warn Boone of Decker’s pursuit. But then suppose Decker had been lying, and Boone had not survived the bullets? She’d not only be fleeing from the scene of a murder but putting herself within reach of the Nightbreed, and uselessly.
Yesterday she would have chosen to go to the law. She would have trusted that its procedures would make all these mysteries come clear; that they would believe her story, and bring Decker to justice. But yesterday she’d thought beasts were beasts, and children, children; she’d thought that only the dead lived in the earth, and that they were peaceful there. She’d thought doctors healed; and that when the madman’s mask was raised she would say: ‘But of course, that’s a madman’s face.’
All wrong; all so wrong. Yesterday’s assumptions were gone to the wind. Anything might be true.
Boone might be alive
.
She drove to Midian.
XII
Above and Below
1
V isions came to meet her down the highway, brought on by the after-effects of shock, and the loss of blood from her bound but wounded hand. They began like snow blown towards the windscreen, flakes of brightness that defied the glass and flew past her, whining as they went. As her dreamy state worsened, she seemed to see faces flying at her, and commas of life like foetuses, which whispered as they tumbled past. The spectacle did not distress her; quite the reverse. It seemed to confirm a scenario her hallucinating mind had created: that she, like Boone, was living a charmed life. Nothing could harm her, not tonight. Though her cut hand was now so numb it could no longer grip the wheel, leaving her to navigate an unlit road one-handed and at speed, fate had not let her survive Decker’s attack only to kill her on the highway.
There was a reunion in the air. That was why the visions came, racing into the headlamps, and skipping over the car to burst above her in showers of white lights. They were welcoming her.
To Midian.
2
Once she looked in the mirror and thought she glimpsed a car behind her, its lights turned off. But when she looked again it had gone. Perhaps it had never been there. Ahead lay the town, its houses blinded by her headlights. She drove down the main street, all the way to the graveyard gates.
The mingled intoxications of blood loss and exhaustion had dulled all fear of this place. If she could survive the malice of the living she could surely survive the dead, or their companions. And Boone was here; that hope had hardened into certainty as she drove. Boone was here, and finally she’d be able to take him into her arms.
She stumbled out of the car, and almost fell flat on her face.
‘Get up …’ she told herself.
The lights were still coming at her, though she was no longer moving, but now all trace of detail
‘Clever bitch,’ he said, from the darkness. ‘I’ll get you. When I’ve got Boone I’ll come back for you; you just count the breaths till then.’
Eyes still fixed on the door she backed off down the sidewalk towards the car. Only now did she realize that she still carried the murder weapon, her grip so strong she felt almost glued to it. She had no choice but to take it with her, and give it, and her evidence, to the police. Back to the car, she opened the door and got in, only looking away from the burnt out building when the locks were on. Then she threw the knife onto the floor in front of the passenger seat, started the engine, and drove.
3
The choice before her came down to this: the police, or Midian. A night of interrogation or a return to the necropolis. If she chose the former she would not be able to warn Boone of Decker’s pursuit. But then suppose Decker had been lying, and Boone had not survived the bullets? She’d not only be fleeing from the scene of a murder but putting herself within reach of the Nightbreed, and uselessly.
Yesterday she would have chosen to go to the law. She would have trusted that its procedures would make all these mysteries come clear; that they would believe her story, and bring Decker to justice. But yesterday she’d thought beasts were beasts, and children, children; she’d thought that only the dead lived in the earth, and that they were peaceful there. She’d thought doctors healed; and that when the madman’s mask was raised she would say: ‘But of course, that’s a madman’s face.’
All wrong; all so wrong. Yesterday’s assumptions were gone to the wind. Anything might be true.
Boone might be alive
.
She drove to Midian.
XII
Above and Below
1
V isions came to meet her down the highway, brought on by the after-effects of shock, and the loss of blood from her bound but wounded hand. They began like snow blown towards the windscreen, flakes of brightness that defied the glass and flew past her, whining as they went. As her dreamy state worsened, she seemed to see faces flying at her, and commas of life like foetuses, which whispered as they tumbled past. The spectacle did not distress her; quite the reverse. It seemed to confirm a scenario her hallucinating mind had created: that she, like Boone, was living a charmed life. Nothing could harm her, not tonight. Though her cut hand was now so numb it could no longer grip the wheel, leaving her to navigate an unlit road one-handed and at speed, fate had not let her survive Decker’s attack only to kill her on the highway.
There was a reunion in the air. That was why the visions came, racing into the headlamps, and skipping over the car to burst above her in showers of white lights. They were welcoming her.
To Midian.
2
Once she looked in the mirror and thought she glimpsed a car behind her, its lights turned off. But when she looked again it had gone. Perhaps it had never been there. Ahead lay the town, its houses blinded by her headlights. She drove down the main street, all the way to the graveyard gates.
The mingled intoxications of blood loss and exhaustion had dulled all fear of this place. If she could survive the malice of the living she could surely survive the dead, or their companions. And Boone was here; that hope had hardened into certainty as she drove. Boone was here, and finally she’d be able to take him into her arms.
She stumbled out of the car, and almost fell flat on her face.
‘Get up …’ she told herself.
The lights were still coming at her, though she was no longer moving, but now all trace of detail
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