Eye of Flame (23 page)

“Holy shit, Liz, didn’t you see it?”

“I saw it. Don’t know what it was, but I saw it.”

“It’s a ghost,” Tad said. “It’s a ghost.”

“Hush your mouth,” the big woman said. “Whatever it is, won’t do no good to start hollering about it.” She looked back. “The driver didn’t see it, and maybe we’re just all kind of batty from what happened and all. We can sit here nice and quiet, or we can start acting up and get thrown off. Besides, it won’t do the driver’s nerves no good to have us all carrying on.”

“You’re talking sense, lady,” the bald man said. “All we need is to get that driver even more upset.”

All of the passengers had their seat lights on now. John wanted to turn his off, to slip into the illusory safety of darkness. The sun was still above the western hills, and there seemed to be nothing along this stretch of road except untilled fields and, in the distance, forested slopes. The bus had slowed; he wondered if the driver was worrying that he might hit something else. The guy can’t get back to the interstate, he thought, and now we’re seeing ghost dogs. Better if he had been the only one to see it; he could have explained it away as a delusion. To have everyone else see the dog was impossible. He was asleep, dreaming. That was the only explanation, but he didn’t believe it.

“I am really freaked out,” the student named Sloane murmured.

“It’s all right, son,” the big woman was saying to Tad.

A gray kitten had curled up near a shrub by the road. The bus was moving so slowly that John could see the small animal clearly, and then it was gone. No, he thought, not again.

The kitten winked into existence in the aisle; John heard a muffled moan behind him. The creature scurried past him; he followed it with his eyes. It stopped next to the leather-jacketed young man, then slowly faded away.

“Oh, my God.” The young man ran a hand through his long brown hair. “That cat. It’s like—” He glanced from the students to John. “I hit a cat once. Killed the poor little thing right off. This girl came out of her house—she was crying like she’d never stop. I’d been drinking, so I knew it was my fault. I said I’d buy her a new kitty cat, but it didn’t do any good.”

“This is totally weird,” Sloane said.

John did not want to look out of his window, but found his head turning in that direction. A deer was out there, standing at the edge of a field, and then it was gone.

The deer took shape in the aisle. It was a small one, not much larger than a fawn. The deer’s head turned toward the stocky gray-haired man; its soft dark eyes gazed at him steadily.

“That’s ours,” the man said calmly, “mine and Ralph’s here.” He gestured at his bald companion. “We were driving along, and this deer jumps out. Now, we should have been able to miss it, but the thing is, I was driving a little fast, and jawing with Ralph, and by the time I saw …”

“There were signs,” Ralph said. “We noticed that later, when the car was towed. Deer crossing. Signs like that all over the place, but we weren’t paying much attention.”

John thought of going up to the driver and asking him to stop the bus. Let me off at the next town. Hell, let me off now, even if it’s in the middle of nowhere. He felt bound to his seat, unable to move. Something else would be waiting outside, and he did not want to see what it might be.

The sun was setting; deep blue clouds were growing darker against the reddish sky. Up ahead, near a billboard advertising a motel, sat a Siberian husky. As the dog vanished, John heard a cry.

“Bessie!” Tad lunged from his seat as the husky appeared near him. “Bessie!” The dog became translucent as the boy stumbled into the aisle. The big woman caught Tad as the husky disappeared. “Bessie!”

“There, there,” the woman said.

“She was my dog.” Tad climbed into her lap. “A truck hit her.” The boy was crying now. “Mom told me to keep her on the leash, and I didn’t.”

“Hush, son.” The woman glanced toward the driver, who apparently had noticed nothing. “Don’t cry. Bessie only came to tell you it’s okay, that she’s in dog heaven now.” Tad wiped at his face, then straightened his cap. “It’s all right. Can you go back to your seat?”

Tad got off her lap. “Jesus,” the student named Sloane said. “This is totally insane.” Her voice rose. “Road kill spirits appearing in a bus. I can’t take any more.”

“Pipe down, young lady,” the gray-haired man said. “You want to get us all thrown off?”

“I wouldn’t mind.” The blonde student crept forward, then squatted in the aisle. “We have to do something.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“You’re college girls, aren’t you?” Ralph leaned across his companion. “You and your friend. You ought to know something. Maybe you can explain it.”

“I don’t know.” Sloane frowned. “A mass delusion. Somehow, we’re all seeing a mass delusion, but why? And why isn’t the driver affected?”

“Be glad he ain’t,” Ralph said.

“They’re outside,” the young man behind John said, “and then they come in here. You can see ’em outside from this side, and then they come in here. It doesn’t make sense.”

“An optical illusion,” Sloane said. “Maybe that’s it. A trick of the light that makes something outside seem to disappear and then reflects it inside the bus.”

“I don’t believe it,” Sloane’s friend murmured. “Those animals looked too real for that. And why would they be ones all these folks recognize?” The young black woman bit her lip. “I’m scared.”

John said, “We have to get back to the highway.”

Sloane turned toward him; Ralph scowled. “The highway?” The bald man lifted his brows. “Think we’ll stop seeing these critters if we get back on I-88?”

“It makes as much sense as anything else.”

“You gonna tell the driver?”

They were all looking at him; the big woman narrowed her eyes. Sloane rose and went back to her seat; at last John stood up. “I’ll tell him.”

He moved toward the front and sat down in the seat nearest the door. “Uh, excuse me.”

“What’s the problem?” the driver asked.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“What do you mean, the wrong way?” The bus was still moving slowly, probably doing no more than thirty-five.

John said, “You’re on Route 7. You should be on I-88.”

“Think I don’t know where I am? Look.” The driver paused. “I mean, look, they’ve got a crew on a big long stretch of I-88. That’s what the dispatcher said. If we’d gone that way, we would have been moving about as slow, maybe slower. Now, my feeling is we’ll probably make better time this way, which is what the dispatcher told me, and we’ll be back on 88 as soon as we pass Sidney. You won’t lose much time.”

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Look, I know I had an accident, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know my business.”

“Sorry.”

“And tell your friends back there that there’s no alcoholic beverages allowed on this bus, and no illegal substances, and no standing around or walking unless you have to use the can.”

“What?”

“From the way you’re all clumped together, looks like you’re having a party or something.”

“We’re just talking. I’ll tell them.” John got to his feet. He should have known the driver would try to cover up his mistakes. It was easier to make up a story than to admit the truth. No wonder the man hadn’t seen the ghost of the dog he had killed. He had repressed his guilt, putting it behind him, keeping his back turned to the evidence of his deed. John understood that kind of failing.

He was nearly to his seat when the next apparition appeared, a Siamese cat this time. It leaped gracefully to the big woman’s armrest and faded away.

“That’s mine.” The woman clutched at John’s sleeve. “Only thing I ever hit—gooshed the poor thing. I was in a hurry, and my mind weren’t on my driving. Going along this street with houses and little kids playing and all—I knew I should have been more careful.”

John freed himself. “I spoke to the driver,” he said. “He’s going to get back on the highway after we reach Sidney. Apparently there’s some work going on along this stretch of I-88.” He straightened his tie; his hands were shaking again. “We’d better settle down. He thinks we’re all up to something back here.”

“He see them animals?” the big woman asked.

“I’m sure he didn’t. He would have mentioned it. I don’t think he’d still be driving if he had.”

“I’ve got a theory,” the student in the Cornell sweatshirt said. “I think—” She was silent for a while.

“Go on, Liz,” her friend Sloane murmured.

“The driver had this accident, okay? Seems like the rest of us folks were responsible in some way for accidents recently, and this one’s reminding us of them, and because we all feel guilty, we’re seeing the victims. We’re blaming ourselves unconsciously—that’s why we’re seeing them. And the driver isn’t seeing what we are because his accident really wasn’t his fault.”

“But why are we all seeing them?” Sloane asked. “Why aren’t we just seeing the ones we hit? Why are we seeing animals someone else hit?”

“I can’t explain it,” Liz replied, “but it’s got to stop pretty soon, because there’s only three of us left that haven’t seen something we remember. Unless the rest of you hit a lot of animals.”

“Never hit anything,” the young man said, “except that kitty cat.”

“Me neither,” the big woman said.

“You college girls.” The stocky man turned in his seat. “You ever hit anything?”

“Yes.” Liz leaned across her friend. “And I think I see it now.”

A white duck was waddling down the aisle, followed by three ducklings. Liz closed her eyes as the birds disappeared. “They were trying to cross the road, and I was going way over the speed limit. Suddenly, there they were, and I was going too fast to stop. It was horrible.” She settled back against her seat. “If I’d only been going more slowly, I could have avoided them.”

John gritted his teeth. “What about you, dearie?” the big woman asked Sloane. “Did you—”

A cocker spaniel scurried down the aisle, panted as it looked up at Sloane, then gradually faded away. “That dog,” the blonde student said in a low voice. “I was arguing with my boyfriend, and then I hit that dog—I didn’t even see him. I should have pulled over until we settled it. I can’t even remember what we were fighting about.”

John’s mouth was dry. The world outside the window was black now. He thought of another night, hands clutching a wheel, the shriek of brakes, the thud, pebbles pinging against metal as a car raced away.

“I guess that leaves the fella over there,” Ralph said.

John struggled to clear his throat. “I don’t drive.”

“What?” the big woman said.

“Says he don’t drive.”

“I don’t drive,” John repeated, remembering how slippery the wheel had been under his sweaty palms. He had kept his secret. His neck prickled; his face was hot.

He jumped to his feet, then staggered toward the driver. “Stop the bus,” he shouted. The driver hit the brakes; John braced himself against a seat as the bus rolled to a stop.

“What’s wrong with you people?” The driver got up and turned toward them. “Do I have to—”

John stumbled toward the door, thinking only that he had to get off the bus. The Labrador retriever appeared in the aisle, blocking his way. The driver stared at the dog, then covered his face as the animal disappeared.

“I guess he felt guilty after all,” Liz whispered.

The bus was parked along the side of the road. John saw the little girl then, on the other side of a ditch. A knife seemed to twist inside him.

He wrenched himself away from the window. She was moving toward him along the aisle; her short black hair framed her face and her hands held a doll. She stopped by his seat and gazed at him for a long time. He felt the others watching him, and thought he heard someone curse at him.

The ghostly child drew her doll to her chest, then vanished.

Eye of Flame

1

Old Khokakhchin listened as the other women gossiped. They had been going on about Jali-gulug all day, and were still murmuring to one another about the afflicted boy as they herded sheep back to camp. Jali-gulug had fled sometime during the night, unseen by the men on guard. His father Dobon had ridden out that morning and found his son wandering the steppe on foot.

The women spoke of evil spirits and possession. This was not the first time Jali-gulug had wandered off in a trance. He saw visions, fell into fits, and sometimes babbled meaningless chants. The spirits tormented him often. Khokakhchin dropped behind the other women, wondering how long it would take these people to see what the boy was.

She had sensed for some time that young Jali-gulug was destined to follow the shaman’s path. Bughu should have seen that by now, and done something about it, but Bughu was not much of a shaman. He knew chants and spells and how to banish evil spirits from those who were ailing; he read the bones for Yesugei Bahadur, who was chief in this camp, as he had for Yesugei’s father. But Bughu was not a shaman who could ride to Heaven or command the most powerful of the spirits. Khokakhchin suspected that Jali-gulug had much more power in him.