Where the Summer Ends - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,72
chill. “But I was lonely among them as well, and so I came back. I knew there must be an open passageway somewhere on your land here, and it didn’t take me long to find it.”
“You’ve been hiding out in some caves?” Ginger wondered.
“Not hiding out. They recognized me for who I am, don’t you understand? They’ve forgotten so much over the ages, but not all of the old wisdom has left them. They’re not quite beasts yet!” Ginger considered the scar on his head, and remembered that he must have been wandering in some undiscovered system of caverns for many weeks, alone in the darkness.
“Eric,” she said gently, “I know you’ve been hurt, that you’ve been alone for a long time. Now I want you to come back with me to the house. You need to have a doctor look at your head where you hurt it.”
“It’s certain to sound strange to you, I realize,” Brandon smiled. “I still sometimes wonder if it isn’t all part of my dreams. There’s gold down there—more gold than the conquistadors ever dreamed—and hoards of every precious stone these mountains hold. But there’s far greater treasure than any of this. There’s a lost civilization buried down below, its ruins guarded by entities that transcend any apocalyptic vision of Hell’s demons. It’s been ages since any of my people have dared to enter the hidden strongholds—but I’ve dared to enter there, and I’ve returned.” Ginger compressed her lips and tried to remember all she’d learned in her psychology course last year.
“Eric, you don’t have to be worried about what I said about the police. They know you weren’t to blame for Dr Kenlaw’s death, and they admitted to us that they didn’t have any sort of evidence against you on all that other nonsense.”
She hoped that was all still true. Far better to have Eric turn himself in and let a good lawyer take charge, than to allow him to wander off again in this condition. They had good doctors at the center in Morganton who could help him recover.
“Come back?” Brandon’s face seemed suddenly satanic. “You’d have me come back to the world of men and be put in a cell? I think instead I’ll rule in Hell!”
Ginger did not share in his laughter at his allusion. There were soft rustlings among the leaves alongside the trail, and the wind was silent.
She cried out when she saw their faces, and instinctively pressed against Brandon for protection.
“Don’t be afraid,” he soothed, gripping her tightly “These are my people. They’ve fallen far, but I can lead them back along the road to their ancient greatness.
The activities bus with its uniformed occupants. The wet pavement that crawled along the crest of the high bluff. The storm-fretted waters of the bay far below. The night itself, gauzy with grey mist and traceries of rain, feebly probed by the wan headlights of the bus.
Greyness and rain merged in a slither of skidding rubber and a protesting bawl of brakes and tearing metal.
For an instant the activities bus paused upon the broken guard rail, hung half-swallowed by the greyness and rain upon the edge of the precipice. Then, with thirty voices swelling a chorus to the screams of rubber and steel, the bus plunged over the edge.
Halfway down it struck glancingly against the limestone face, shearing off wheels amidst a shower of glass and bits of metal, its plunge unchecked. Another carom, and the bus began to break apart, tearing open before its final impact onto the wave-frothed jumble of boulders far below. Water and sound surged upward into the night, as metal crumpled and split open, scattering bits of humanity like seeds flung from a bursting melon.
Briefly those trapped within the submerging bus made despairing noises—in the night they were no more than the cries of kittens, tied in a sack and thrown into the river. Then the waters closed over the tangle of wreckage, and greyness and rain silenced the torrent of sound.
She struggled to the surface and dragged air into her lungs in a shuddering spasm. Treading water, she stared about her—her actions still automatic, for the crushing impact into the dark waters had all but knocked her unconscious. Perhaps for a moment she had lost consciousness; she was too dazed to remember anything very clearly. Anything.
Fragments of memory returned. The rain and the night, the activities bus carrying them back to their prison.