Dolan had not been so reluctant. Ever eager for fun, he'd slipped through the barricade and out across the melting ground. He'd been inches from Dorothy Bullard when her blouse tore (cause for much hilarity), and had actually stood in the path of the bullet that had struck Buddenbaum, amused to see it pass straight through him.
Suddenly, the clowning had ceased. From his place on the sidewalk, Erwin saw Dolan's expression becoming troubled. He turned to Nordhoff, who was bending over the fallen Tesla, and let out a moaning word,
"Whaaat-?"
Nordhoff didn't reply. He was staring down at the wounded man, who was plunging his hand into too solid ground. And as he stared, his face grew longer, as though he was about to be transformed into a dog or a camel. His nose lengthened, his cheeks puffed up, his eyes were sucked from his sockets. "Oohhh Heilli.. Dolan moaned, and turning on his heel started back towards the sidewalk. It wasn't safe terrain. Though Erwin was a good deal farther from the source of this phenomenon, he too felt something plucking at his selfinvented flesh. The pockets of his coat were torn off, and a number of the keepsakes carried away towards the epicenter; his fingers were growing longer; his face, he was sure, the same.
Dolan was in even worse condition. Though he was further from the hub than Nordhoff, Dickerson and the rest, the claim of whatever force had been unleashed there was irresistible. He dropped to his knees and dug his nails into the ground, hollering at Erwin for help as he did so, but his matter had no purchase on the asphalt, and he was dragged back towards the hub, his body growing softer and longer, until he began to resemble a stream of melting flesh, coursing across the street.
Erwin covered his ears to shut out the din of his shrieks, and retreated back down the rapidly emptying street. It was hard going. The power at the hub of the crossroads was growing apace, and with every step he took it threatened to overwhelm him and drag him to his destruction. But he resisted its claim with all his will, and after twenty yards he began to outpace it. After thirty, its hold on him was dwindling rapidly. After forty, he felt sufficiently confident to slow a little and look for Dolan. He'd gone. So had Nordhoff, so had Dickerson, so had they all; all melted and run away into the ground.
The sound of sirens drew his gaze off down the street. Jed Gilholly was getting out of his car, along with two of his officers, Cliff Campbell and Floyd Weeks, neither of whom looked very happy with their lot.
Erwin didn't wait to see what the trio made of the forces awaiting them at the crossroads-or indeed what those forces made of them-but instead slipped away while the going was good. He had believed in the law once; valued it, served it, and trusted its power to regulate the world. But those certainties belonged to another life and, like that life, had slipped away.
When Telsa opened her eyes, d'Amour was already hauling her to her feet.
"We've got more problems," he said, nodding down the street.
She started to follow his direction, but her gaze was distracted by the strange sights surrounding them. The band members, crawling away on all fours like beaten animals. The remnants of the crowd, many of them sobbing uncontrollably, others praying the same way, standing or kneeling in a litter of forsaken belongings: purses, hot dogs, baby carriages. And beyond all this, the police, approaching the crossroads with leveled guns.
"Stand still!" one of them yelled. "All of you, stand still!"
"We'd better do it," Tesla said, glancing back towards Buddenbaum. He had both hands in the ground, up to his elbows, and he was working them in and out, in and out, with a motion she could not help but think of as sexual; easing open this hole in the solid world. The air around them all was as hazy as ever, and its contents as incomprehensible.
"What the fuck is he doing?" D'Amour murmured to her. "He's after the Art," Tesla said.
"You two, shaddup!" the lead officer yelled at them. Then, to Buddenbaum, "You! Get up! I want to see your hands!"
Buddenbaum showed no sign of even hearing the order, much less obeying it. The order came a second time, with little variation. Again, it was ignored.
"I'm going to count to three-" Jed warned.
"Go on," Tesla muttered. "Shoot the fucker." "One-"
Jed continued his steady advance as he counted, his officers keeping place with him.
"Two-"
"Hey Jed?" Floyd Weeks said.
"Shaddup."
"I don't feel so good."
Jed glanced round at Weeks. The man had gone the color of a urinal, and his eyes were swiveling up into his sockets. "Don't do this!" Jed ordered him. This order was no,, more obeyed than that he'd given Buddenbaum. The gu@ ' fell from Weeks's trembling fingers and he let out a aspjhat was as much pleasure as it was capitulation. Then he murmured. "Oh God, why didn't... why didn't anybody tell me?"
"Take no notice of him," Jed said to Cliff Campbell.
The man obeyed, but only because he had delusions of his own to deal with. "What's going on, Jed?" he murmured. "Where'd these women come from?"
"What women?" Jed said.
"They're all around us," Campbell babbled, turning as he spoke. "Don't you see them?"
Gilholly was about to shake his head when he let out a low moan. "Oh my Lord," he said.
"Are you ready?" D'Amour murmured to Tesla.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
Harry went back to watching Gilholly, who was fighting to keep a hold on his senses. "This isn't happening... " he murmured, glancing over at Campbell for support. He got none. His deputy had fallen to his knees and was laughing to himself like a crazy. In desperation, Jed pointed his gun at the forms drifting in front of him. "Stay out of my way!" he yelled at them. "I mean it! I'll use this if I have to."
"Let s go, arry sal, 'w i e 's istracted, and he and Tesla started away from the middle of the street.
9 he fell to his knees. "I never knew Jed saw their escape attempt.
"You! Stay-" He faltered in the middle of the order, as if he'd forgotten the words. "Oh Jesus," he said, his voice trembling now,
"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus... "
Then, finally, he too dropped to his knees.
In the middle of the street, Buddenbaum let out a howl of frustration.
Something was wrong here. One moment the crossroads had been melting beneath him, power flowing into its heart, the next the taste he'd had in his tongue had soured, and the dirt was hardening around his arm. He pulled it out. It was like extracting his hand from the bowels of something dead or dying. A shudder of revulsion coursed through him, and stinging tears sprang into his eyes.
"Owen-?"
The voice was Seth's of course. He was standing a yard or two away, looking fretful and afraid. "Has something gone wrong?" Buddenbaum nodded. "Do you know what?"
"Maybe this," Owen said, putting his hand up to his wounded head. "Maybe it simply distracted me-"
"Come away," Seth said.
Owen raised his wounded head and studied the air. "What do you see?" he said.
"The women, you mean?" Owen squinted. "I just see bright shapes. Are they women?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Then it's some kind of conspiracy," he said. He reached up and grabbed hold of Seth's arm, pulling himself to his feet. "Somebody put them there to block the working."
"Who?"
"I don't know," Buddenbaum said. "Somebody who knows-" He halted, turning his gaze in Tesia's direction. "Bombeck," he murmured. Then shouted: "Bombeck!"
"What's his problem?" Harry said as Buddenbaum started towards them.
"He thinks I'm here to take the Art."
"Are you?"
Tesla shook her head. "I saw what it did to the Jaff," she said. "And he was ready for it. Or thought he was."