Three rocks were stacked up. At the top rested the head of a coyote, its gray fur matted with blood, a bone held crosswise between its teeth. It had bloody holes where its eyes shouldve been.
Pete lowered his camera and stared. Wow, he muttered.
Maybe we ought to get out of here.
Pete flapped a hand at him and stepped closer to the thing. He raised the camera. He took a shot. In the stark flick of light Larry saw intothe empty sockets. He started gagging as Pete stepped right up in front of it, crouched, and snapped another picture.
He turned aside and vomited. When he finished, he backed away from the mess. He took out his handkerchief, blew his nose and wiped his lips. He blinked tears from his eyes. He rubbed them with the back of a hand.
You all right? Pete asked, coming up behind him.
Christ, he muttered.
Feeling a little queasy myself. Bad scene. Guy that did that must be a fuckin lunatic. You see the way he poked out its eyes? Wonder if he did that beforehe ate.
Larry shook his head. Lets do the jukebox and get out of here.
Give me the light. I want to check around, see what else we can find.
Are you nuts? He kept the flashlight and started walking through the gully toward the place where theyd found the jukebox.
Ah, Pete said. What the hell. Dont want to lose mysupper. Wouldnt taste half as good on the way out. His head swung around.
A shiver rushed up Larrys back. What is it?
Nothing, I guess.
Did you hear something?
Probably just the wind. Unless its our crazy fuckin coyote muncher sneaking up on us.
Cut it out.
Wonder if he talked to the thing while he ate. You know? Like put the head up there for a dinner companion. Had a little chat with it. Talked to the head while he ate the body.
It was an image, Larry realized, that had passed through his own mind while he was vomiting.
Wonder if he ate the eyes.
Larry hadntthought of that. He probably just didnt like the thing staring at him.
Maybe. Guess well never know. Unless we get a chance to ask him. Pete chuckled.
Give me a break.
Larry stepped around a large rock. He pointed the light at it. Is that where Barbara was sitting?
I think so.
He swept the beam forward until it found a thick clump of bushes on the right. He glimpsed chrome and dirty red plastic through the foliage. There.
They hurried the final distance.
Larry stared down at the machine resting smashed and bullet-riddled in the bushes. He imagined a photograph of it on the cover of his book. The Boxby Lawrence Dunbar.
Thats the book Im going to write, he told himself. Not some damn thing about a vampire.
See if we can lift it? Pete asked, squatting down.
He saw them struggling to carry it up the steep embankment. He saw himself stumble, fall, roll down the slope. The box tumbled and crashed down on top of him. Pete lifted it off. Wed better not try to move you, Lar. Ill go get help. Pete left the revolver with him and hurried away. He lay there, alone and half paralyzed. Soon he heard someone creeping toward him. A ragged hermit dripping coyote blood, a knife in his hand. What makes me think theres only one of them? he wondered.
What do you think? Pete asked.
Lets not try it.
Yeah, maybe youre right. God knows whats under the thing. Or inside it, for that matter. Dont want to go upsetting a rattler. Or a nest of scorpions, or something.
Thats what I like about you, Larry said. Adventurous, but not foolish.
My mama didnt raise no morons. Pete got to his feet. He backed away from the box and lifted the camera.
Larry stepped aside. He faced the length of the gully and probed its darkness with the flashlight. The campfire and the grisly remains of the coyote were well beyond the range of the pale beam. He swept the light from side to side. None of the rocks or bushes in sight seemed large enough to conceal a person.
You spot Ragu the Desert Rat, Pete said, give us a yell.
I wont yell, Ill scream.
Pete laughed.
Larry kept watch, his back to Pete. In his peripheral vision, he noticed four blinks of light.
Why dont you get into the picture? Pete suggested. Well get a couple of you with the famous jukebox.
Though reluctant to abandon his guard duty, he stepped backward until he came to the box. He crouched beside it. A red light on the flash attachment beamed a ray at his face.
Say cheese.
Come on, get it over with.
Say head cheese.
Screw you.
White light hit his eyes. Pete took another photo, then stepped closer and fired two more. That oughta do it.
Sure did my night vision. He stood up, shutting his eyes and rubbing them. Bright sparks and balls fluttered under his lids.
We done down here? Pete asked.
I sure hope so.
Want to go back and pick up a souvenir? Take it home with us, put it in the freezer?
Yeah. Why dont you do that.
Hah! You think Im out of my tree?
You want to take the corpse back, Larry said, stepping past the bushes and starting to climb the slope. Whats the big difference?
The corpse isnt all bloody and gross.
It looked pretty gross to me.
Well, the coyote head aint worth a million bucks. For a million smackaroonies, Id pick the thing up in my bare hands and walkhome with it.
Would you eat it? Larry asked, starting to feel almost cheerful as he approached the top of the embankment.
Whod give me a million bucks to eat it?
Its hypothetical.
Would I get to cook it up first?
Nope, gotta chow it down raw.
Youre sick, man.
Me?
They reached the top and the wind pushed against Larry. It seemed to be blowing much harder up here than in the gully. But he was glad to be out. He felt as if he had been an intruder in the lair of the coyote eater. Ragu the Desert Rat. He hurried forward, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the madmans domain.
Now and then he glanced back. So did Pete, but not as often.
At last they reached the van. Larry flung himself onto the passenger seat, slammed the door shut and locked it. The warmth felt wonderful. And it was good to be out of the wind. The skin of his face and arms felt tingly from the buffeting. He opened the whiskey bottle and took a couple of sips while Pete climbed in behind the steering wheel.
He offered the bottle to Pete.
Pete shook his head. He flicked a switch and light filled the van. With a nervous glance at Larry, he slipped between the seats.
Larry watched him move in a crouch toward the rear of the van head darting from side to side, fingers wrapped around the handle of his holstered magnum.
Christ, hes afraid someone mightve gotten in.
Pete searched the length of the van and turned around. Its cool, he said, coming back.
In his seat again, he shut off the interior lights. He started the engine. He reached out, and Larry put the bottle in his hand. He drank, then gave it back. Now, are we ready for the real fun?
I think Ive had enough fun for one night.
You arent going yellow on me, are you?
Whatll we do with the corpse if we dotake it home?
You write a book about it.
About what? Having a pseudovampire as a house guest?
Exactly.
Itll just lie there. Thats if the women dont make us get rid of it.
Youre right. Well have to do something with it. Maybe we can find out who she is.
How would we do that?
First things first, Lar. Lets take her home, then figure out whats next.