Part 26 (1/2)

”Let's go,” Winn said. He grabbed Deem's arm again and they began walking.

Once they reached the opening, Winn saw that they'd need to climb a little. The hole was about five feet off the ground.

”How are we going to do this?” Winn asked.

”I'll go first,” Awan said. ”You help her into it, and I'll help her down on the other side.”

Awan crawled up and through the hole, leaving Winn with Deem.

”Alright,” Winn said. ”Deem, we've got to go up through that hole. I can boost you, but you've got to use your arms.”

Deem left the trance and looked at Winn. ”I think he'll be fine if I drop out for a few minutes.”

”He's still here? Following us?” Winn asked.

”He hasn't been more than five feet from the EpiPen since I showed it to him,” she said.

Winn leaned down to give Deem a boost, and she scuttled up and over the opening. A short slide, and she landed at Awan's feet. He grabbed her and pulled her up.

”Thanks,” Deem said.

”You left the trance?” Awan asked.

”He's still following me,” Deem said. ”We're good.”

Awan extended a hand to Winn as he slid down from the hole, and they all looked into the new cavern they'd entered.

”This is it,” Awan said.

”I don't see anything,” Winn said. The cave was a large, open room, at least a hundred feet wide and just as long. The floor of the room looked flat, with an occasional boulder.

”Jump into the River,” Awan said.

They all entered the flow, and there before them was the blood river water moving rapidly in a stream at least twenty feet wide. The water emerged from a hole in the wall on the left, and flowed past them to a place on the far right, where it disappeared. It looked dark, like water always looked in caves.

”It's not water, is it?” Deem asked, stepping forward to its bank.

”No,” Awan said. ”It's blood.”

Deem placed her hand into the water and withdrew it. She held her hand up to her headlamp. The liquid running off her hand was dark red. She smelled it, and the unmistakable copper odor hit her nose.

Deem felt a wave of nausea. Her brain hadn't constructed a literal river of blood when Awan had described it. She'd imagined a river of water that was just named 'blood river,' like all the other euphemistic names given to places downwind. Devil's Throat wasn't a literal throat of a devil. Mollie's Nipple was just a mountain with a tiny b.u.t.te at the tip, not a real woman's breast.

”You need to get the ghost into the river,” Awan said. ”And he needs to drink from it.”

Deem sat on the ground about ten feet from the bank of the river. She dropped into the flow and then reentered her trance.

Evan?

She turned and saw Evan standing near the river's edge.

This is it? Evan asked.

Yes, Deem said. That's it. Walk into it, and drink some. Then I can give you the shot.

Evan turned to look at her. His cheeks were swollen, appearing red from the stings and swelling, and blue from lack of oxygen to the tissues. His mouth was open as he tried to pull in air.

It's hard to breathe in here, Evan said. I can't breathe.

Step into the river. Just do as I say, and you'll soon have your shot.

Evan turned back to the flowing liquid in front of him. He placed a foot into it.

It's cold. And it's thick.

Go in. All the way. You'll feel better. And you need to drink some.

Evan took another step. The river wasn't moving as rapidly near the bank as it was in the middle, and he was able to take two more steps with ease. He was up to his knees in blood.

Do you feel your feet? Deem said. You should be able to feel your feet now.

It hurts! Evan said. They're swollen.

Be quick, Deem said. Just jump in and drink some. The sooner you do it the sooner I can give you the shot.

Evan turned back to look at her. Even though his features were almost beyond recognition and his eyes almost completely shut, Deem thought she had never seen a more pleading and desperate look on any face. He turned back to the blood, and submerged himself, lying down in it.

Deem saw the dark liquid was.h.i.+ng over his figure. It bubbled over and around him. For a moment, it reminded her of a baptism. She performed baptisms for the dead at the Mormon temple in St. George when she was fourteen, dunked into water a good thirty or forty times, each time for the name of a dead person. As she watched the blood wash over Evan, she realized it was a real baptism of the dead performing a kind of resurrection.

Evan? Deem called. Evan, can you hear me?

Evan sat up, his torso rising up out of the blood. As the liquid drained from his face, Deem saw he'd changed. Everything was solid he wasn't a ghost.

She dropped out of her trance, but remained in the River, observing Evan.

Give me the shot! Evan said, still struggling for air. I can't breathe!

Deem looked at him. Evan, tell me the name of your brother. Say his name. Say John Carl Braithwaite.

Give me the shot! Evan repeated. You promised!

I will, just as soon as you say his name.

Evan stood, more blood flowing down off his frame. He looked like a nightmare, a grotesque figure rising from a grave of liquid. He held his hands out from his body, in front of his face.

I'm alive! he said.

Say his name, Evan. Say his name, and I'll give you the shot.

I'm swollen, Evan said, looking at the rest of his body. Oh, G.o.d, it hurts! I can't breathe. I need the shot!