Part 17 (1/2)

Awan walked over to the man bound on the ground. Sorry about this, Awan said.

What are you going to do to me, mister? the man asked.

Awan pulled up the man's pant leg, exposing the flesh of the man's ankle and calf. Most of the man's leg was gone, already shaved away. He pulled up the man's other pant leg and saw the same.

So he's been eating you, too? Awan asked the man.

No, the man answered. People like you did that to me.

Awan swallowed his distaste and ripped the man's s.h.i.+rt open. His chest was intact. Awan removed the collector knife from his back pocket and placed the blade edge on the exposed chest. He slid the knife, pressing down so the blade would dig into the man and slice off part of his skin. The man screamed.

That's some fancy work there, Sorensen said behind them. Me, I just like biting into them. I like to feel the flesh as my teeth pa.s.ses through it; feel them twist under me in pain.

Deem raised her hands to her ears to plug them. In the River it didn't block any noise.

Awan continued to sc.r.a.pe at the man's chest.

You're as bad as him, the man said to Awan, nodding at Sorensen.

I'm not a cannibal, Awan replied to the man.

You're worse, the man said. You're taking what I have left. Just like the others who never help.

After several more pa.s.ses, Awan lifted the knife and inspected the container. It was full.

We're done, Awan said.

You gonna cook that up? Sorensen asked.

Yes, Awan said, wanting to leave the mine without further incident. I and my friends are going to fry it later, and have it for dinner. Thanks for sharing.

You're welcome, Sorensen said. But remember, if you tell anyone what's going on here, I'll hunt you down and have you for dinner myself.

Your secret is safe with me, Awan said. He dropped out of the River, Winn and Deem following him. Deem rose from the floor and walked over to where she'd noticed the graves in the flow.

”My G.o.d,” she said. ”They're buried here. You can see where the ground has been dug up.”

”And now he eats them, over and over,” Winn said. ”I think I'd prefer zombighosts.”

”And it sounds like people have been harvesting the man,” Deem said. ”At some point down the road, he'll be gone. Used up.”

”Let's head out,” Awan said, placing the collector knife carefully into his backpack and lifting it to his shoulder. ”I need a shower.”

In Fallon, they rented two rooms, one for Awan and Winn, and the other for Deem. Then they went for food at a Mexican restaurant. Deem sat in a booth, and Awan and Winn sat opposite her.

”Thanks for the support,” Awan said. ”I guess I could have done it myself, but it was nice to have you along.”

”That poor man,” Deem said. ”Not only does he have to watch his wife and son get eaten over and over again, he occasionally has to put up with visitors like us who carve off part of him. It's sad.”

”Sad is how I'd describe most ghosts outside of the downwind area,” Awan said. ”Sounds like you haven't run into many like this.”

”No,” Deem said. ”Most of the ghosts I know are the kind that chase you and rip into you if they catch you. I'm not used to normal ghosts with a story.”

”They're all a lot like the ones in the mine,” Awan said. ”Something is keeping them here. Sometimes you can figure it out and help them move along, but most of the time they're set in their ways and they keep performing the same routine over and over.”

Deem watched Awan as he spoke. Although he couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than Winn, he seemed to have a deeper level of wisdom than either of them, and she found that when he talked, it calmed her, not unlike when her father would counsel her. She liked the sound of his voice, the calm and measured way that he spoke. And his facial features were handsome, especially when he smiled at the end of a sentence.

She looked at Winn, who was staring at Awan as well. He seemed taken with Awan too.

”Pardon me,” Awan said, rising from the booth. ”I need to get that cave washed off my hands before the food arrives.” He walked back into the restaurant, looking for the restroom.

”Is there one or two beds in your room?” Deem asked Winn, once Awan was out of earshot.

Winn smiled at Deem. ”It's gratifying that you're always so interested in my s.e.x life. What do you say we just get it over with, and just do it, you and I? Then you'll know and won't have to be so obsessed.”

”I'm not obsessed,” Deem said, ”I just saw how you were looking at him.”

”He does have a way about him,” Winn said. ”You gotta love a guy who's both handsome and smart. I wouldn't say no.”

”You're disgusting,” Deem said.

”And you're too laden with your Mormon s.e.xual repression,” Winn said. ”s.e.x is a good thing, not disgusting.”

”If you sleep with him and it screws up him helping us, I'll be really p.i.s.sed,” Deem said.

”More like jealous,” Winn said. ”I saw how you were looking at him. If you sleep with him and it screws things up, I'll be p.i.s.sed.”

”Back,” Awan said, sliding into the booth next to Winn. ”Did you miss me?”

Winn saw Deem blush, and decided to distract Awan so she wouldn't be embarra.s.sed. ”We were just discussing what your next steps would be, back in Indian Springs. You've got the ingredients for the blood souring. When do you plan on kidnapping the brothers? Will you need help?”

”First I have to make the ghost chalk,” Awan said. ”I'll start on that tomorrow, as soon as I get home. It'll take several days to bake and condense down. If you don't mind, I'll give you a call to help plan out how to incapacitate the brothers once that's ready to go.”

”Sure,” Deem said, the blood in her face having returned to normal. ”We'll do what we can.”

”So you need to get back early tomorrow?” Awan said. ”I hope you don't mind my asking.”

”I don't mind,” Deem said, but a part of her did mind. The issue of her father's journals was deeply personal, and she had only spoken to Winn and Claude about them. Now she was about to open up to Awan. She decided he was trustworthy.

”It has nothing to do with the skinrunner,” Deem said, ”it's something else. You mentioned your father's journal. I a.s.sume it's important to you.”

”Very,” Awan said, a serious look crossing his face as he replied.

”Well,” Deem said, ”I suspect my father kept journals as well. He was gifted, and he died a while back.”