"The Anarchis." Mouse sounded approving. "A most remarkable and revealing portrait. You are quite an artist, Mr. Begay." She stared at the intemperate mass of black and yellow sand that occupied most of the right-hand corner of the painting.
Burnfingers shrugged off the compliment. "When I don’t have time for making jewelry I like to play with sand. Keeps the fingers nimble. And the mind."
"What’s this?" Steven had walked around the foot of the bed to examine the painting more closely. Before Frank could stop him, the boy touched the portion of the painting that had piqued his curiosity.
A rush of wind blew through the room, unexpectedly cool in that hottest of regions. It was the kind of wind that caressed beaches and mountain buttes. On contact with Steven’s finger the entire intricate construction collapsed. Where an elaborate work of art had hung an instant earlier there was now only a blank wall with an uneven pile of multicolored sand heaped at its base.
Alicia’s hands went to her cheeks. "Oh my God."
"I’m sorry!" Steven stumbled backward. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it."
"It doesn’t matter." Burnfingers smiled at him as he slung a battered canvas backpack over his shoulders. "We are leaving anyway. Sand paintings are not meant to be permanent. They are intended to instruct and reveal and entertain. The permanent ones you can buy in places like Arizona are for tourists to take home and hang on their walls." He put a comforting arm around the boy and hugged him. "When I have time I will make another, just for you. One you will be able to take to school to show your friends."
"Okay. Just as long as they don’t ask me what I did on my summer vacation." Steven managed a weak smile.
"That’s the spirit. You have quite a little fella here, Mr. Sonderberg. Right now he is a bit too much of a good thing, but I think that will change as he grows older.
"Come now." He led them to the door, checked the hallway beyond, and stepped out into the intense heat. Mouse followed, then the Sonderbergs. They left a small room occupied by simple furnishings and one collapsed painting of the entire universe.
"I hope this doesn’t make things worse."
Frank whispered to his wife, "What could be worse than this?"
She looked up at him out of doe eyes. "Fleeing police custody."
"I think you were right the first time, hon. We’re not gonna find much kindness and sympathy here."
"I wish we knew more about Mr. Begay, though."
"We know he’s human. In a place like this that’s good enough for me. And Mouse trusts him."
"I thought you didn’t trust Mouse."
"I don’t yet. Not entirely."
Burnfingers had stopped. They crowded close behind him.
"Wait here." They complied as he disappeared around a corner. Minutes ticked toward oblivion. Frank was starting to worry that they were being set up when their newfound friend finally returned. "All clear. Come quietly."
Following him into another hallway, they passed something that lay in a heap off in a corner. It wore a red-orange uniform over bright green skin. A single fang protruded from the upper jaw. Both eyes were closed tight and the row of spines that ran from the base of the skull to the sacrum lay limply against the monster’s back. Green blood trickled from the misshapen forehead.
"Did you do that?" Fear and admiration mixed in Wendy’s query.
"Had to. He was on station here and I couldn’t talk him away. So I waited until he looked elsewhere and then I clobbered him."
Frank’s gaze lingered on the unconscious beast as they hurried past. "He’ll be pissed when he comes to."
"This whole place will be in an uproar when you are discovered missing. They will search the station first. That should allow us a good head start."
"Won’t they see the motor home leave?" Alicia wondered.
Burnfingers shook his head; a terse, economical gesture. "Not unless some are standing around out in the parking lot. There is no reason for them to do so. They will expect you to be wandering around lost inside the building, which is exactly what you would be doing without my help."
"It just occurred to me," Frank said, "that if they find out you’ve helped us and this doesn’t work, what they do to us will be nothing compared to what they’ll do to you."
"Don’t worry about me. Remember, I am crazy."
"You can still feel."
"Pain is only a different state of mind. You sound like an old woman, Sonderberg. They are not going to catch me, and they are not going to catch you, either."
Then they were running past the solid quartz door Burnfingers opened for them, out into the lot. Across the road, the endless line of vehicles containing the Damned awaited their turn to pass through the Gates. Screams and moans emanated from within as panicky, fearful faces hammered on locked windows.
A few patrol cruisers were parked nearby. There was also something that looked like a giant toaster on wheels. Which, Frank mused uneasily, it might well have been. Their motor home gleamed whitely against the stark surroundings, as out of place in that parking lot as a beluga whale in a school of salmon.
Frank was relieved to find it still locked. He dropped the keys twice before he got the door open. Everyone piled in. Still no sign of alarm from within the station. The lot was devoid of officers, while the demons who worked the line of traffic across the street were too busy to pay attention to anything going on behind their backs.
Frank slipped gratefully into the driver’s seat and jammed the key into the ignition.
"What if it doesn’t start?" Alicia whispered tensely.
Frank growled at her as he turned the key. The engine turned over immediately, a warm, purring sound.
Burnfingers was standing between the two captain’s chairs, watching the station. "Okay. Move out, but not too fast."
The lot was big enough to give Frank plenty of room to maneuver. He’d backed up, swung around, and was about to pull out into the road when something with four eyes and vestigial leathery bat wings came running toward them, waving its clawed hands urgently.
"What should I do?" Frank said tightly.
"Stop."
"Stop? But we — "
"Be calm, Mr. Sonderberg. Roll down your window."
Frank complied reluctantly, forced himself not to recoil from the stinking monstrosity that leaned close for a look at them. It could do so easily because it was at least nine feet tall. The nasty expression it wore relaxed when it espied a familiar face.
"Janitor, what you do here with these humans?"
Burnfingers grinned. "These here tourists took a wrong turn back up the highway apiece. Honest mistake. I’m giving them a guide out."
"That so?" The winged apparition made an unpleasant gurgling noise. "I heard somethin' about that." It rested a clawed hand on the windowsill. Frank did not look at it. Those thick scaly fingers could easily pluck him right out of his seat. "Whatsa matter? Don’t you folks like our hospitality?"
"We’re on vacation." Somehow Frank found the wherewithal to talk calmly and rationally. "We were on our way to a warm destination, but not one quite this warm."
Again the gurgling laugh, followed by a display of four-inch-long teeth in a gaping mouth. "Let you go, huh?"
"That’s right," said Burnfingers, nodding. "No reason to keep them. It was a mistake in traffic control."
"All right." The tall demon’s drool dripped down the inside of the door. Frank quietly moved his left foot clear of the noisome liquid. "Seems a shame to hafta let such sweet people go." It shrugged, an unexpectedly human gesture. "But if that’s the decision, it not my business. What you going do with them?"