ONE
They came almost silently at first, and cautiously, as though even now they suspected Katya had laid some trap to catch them once they were inside the house. But as soon as four or five of them were safely over the threshold, and it became obvious that there were no traps, their silence erupted into a horrid din of triumph, and their caution turned into an ungainly torrent of desperate spirits, all struggling to get through the door at the same time.
Though Tammy’s consciousness was still slippery, she had enough strength left to protect her face from the feet of those coming through, rolling herself into a semi-fetal position to avoid the worst.
There were so many revenants, and the door through which they were attempting to pass was so narrow, that impatience soon ignited amongst the crowd. Arguments became physical assaults, as the stronger pushed the weaker aside so they could be the first down the stairs, the first through the door that would take them into the Devil’s Country. Tammy had her hands over her face, but between her fingers she saw Katya put up a vain protest against this invasion. She shouted something, but it was lost in the din of triumph and argument. A moment later, she was too was lost, as the wave of exiles threw themselves against her and carried her away. This time Tammy did hear her, though it was not a word she uttered but a scream, a furious scream.
They were in her dream palace —
These things, which had once been her friends, her beautiful friends, the virile and the beautiful deities of a lost Golden Age, reduced by hunger and despair to the filleted, smeared, wasted dregs of humanity now bore her away.
The noises they made as they came — and came, and came — were some of the most distressing sounds Tammy had ever heard.
Slaughterhouse shrieks and plague-pit moans, chattering and curses that were more like the din out of a padded cell than anything that should have come from an assembly of once-sophisticated souls.
Finally, however, the noise and the kicking of her body by passing feet, slowed and ceased.
The procession of the dead had passed over the threshold, along the corridor and into the house. It had taken perhaps five minutes to get the entire assembly inside. Now they were gone. The passageway was deserted, except for Tammy and Todd.
Tammy waited another minute or two before gathering the strength to unknot her weary limbs and roll herself over. She gave thanks, as she did so, to her mother, of all people, who had been an unpleasant piece of work (especially in her latter years) but had possessed the constitution of a horse, which Tammy had inherited. Most of the women Tammy knew would not have survived the brutal physical assaults and violations that had punctuated the adventures of her last few days. Thanks to Momma, Tammy had.
She fixed her gaze on Todd, who had apparently also survived both Katya’s attack and the revenants’ tide.
He was half-sitting, half-slumped, against the wall further down the passageway, staring at the alcove from which he’d grabbed the antique pitcher. His breathing was ragged, but at least he was still alive. It was a short drive to Cedars-Sinai from here, if she could get help to carry him to the car.
She crawled over to him. He was doing nothing to staunch the wounds (Katya had stabbed him at least twice, possibly three times); the blood was pulsing out of him. He saw her coming from the corner of his eye. Very slowly, he turned his head towards her. “You let them in,” he said.
“Yes. I let them in.”
“You … had it planned all along then?”
“Not really. It was Zeffer’s idea.”
He made a long, soft moan, as he saw the neatness of this. Zeffer, the first exile from the dream palace; Zeffer, who’d been the bitch-goddess’s dog, finally become her undoer. And Tammy, his agent.
“So you were in this together,” he said.
“I’ll tell you about it later. Right now we should get out of here.”
He made a very small, very weary shake of his head. “I don’t think … I’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.”