Packard was being dragged out of the wreckage of his car. My God, that man was made of steel: he was standing upright and calling his men to advance on the enemy. Even in his finest hour, a flake of fire dropped from the flowering demon, and touched the lake of gasoline Packard was standing in. A moment later he, the car, and two of his saviours were enveloped in a billowing cloud of white fire. They stood no chance of survival: the flames just washed them away. Davidson could see their dark forms being wasted in the heart of the inferno, wrapped in folds of fire, curling in on themselves as they perished.
Almost before Packard’s body had hit the ground Davidson could hear Eugene’s voice over the flames.
“See what they’ve done? See what they’ve done?”
The accusation was greeted by feral howls from the cops. “Waste them!” Eugene was screaming. “Waste them!”
Lucy could hear the noise of the battle, but she made no attempt to go in the direction of the foothills. Something about the way the moon was suspended in the sky, and the smell on the breeze, had taken all desire to move out of her. Exhausted, and enchanted, she stood in the open desert, and watched the sky.
When, after an age, she brought her gaze back down to fix on the horizon, she saw two things that were of mild interest. Out of the hills, a dirty smudge of smoke, and the edge of her vision in the gentle night light, a line of creatures, hurrying away from the hills. She suddenly began to run.
It occurred to her, as she ran, that her gait was sprightly as a young girl’s, and that she had a young girl’s motive: that is, she was in pursuit of her lover.
In an empty stretch of desert, the convocation of demons simply disappeared from sight. From where Lucy was standing, panting in the middle of nowhere, they seemed to have been swallowed up by the earth. She broke into a run again. Surely she could see her son and his fathers once more before they left forever? Or was she, after all her years of anticipation, to be denied even that?
In the lead car Davidson was driving, commandeered to do so by Eugene, who was not at present a man to be argued with. Something about the way he carried his rifle suggested he’d shoot first and ask questions later; his orders to the straggling army that followed him were two parts incoherent obscenities to one part sense. His eyes gleamed with hysteria: his mouth dribbled a little. He was a wild man, and he terrified Davidson. But it was too late now to turn back: he was in cahoots with the man for this last, apocalyptic pursuit.
“See, them black-eyed sons of bitches don’t have no fucking heads,” Eugene was screaming over the tortured roar of the engine. “Why you taking this track so slow, boy?”
He jabbed the rifle in Davidson”s crotch.
“Drive, or I’ll blow your brains out.”
“I don’t know which way they’ve gone,” Davidson yelled back at Eugene.
“What you mean? Show me!”
“I can’t show you if they’ve disappeared.”
Eugene just about appreciated the sense of the response. “Slow down, boy.” He waved out of the car window to slow the rest of the army.
“Stop the car — stop the car!”
Packard brought the car to a halt.
“And put those fucking lights out. All of you!” The headlights were quenched. Behind, the rest of the entourage followed suit.
A sudden dark. A sudden silence. There was nothing to be seen or heard in any direction. They’d disappeared, the whole cacophonous tribe of demons had simply vanished into the air, chimerical.
The desert vista brightened as their eyes became accustomed to the gleam of the moonlight. Eugene got out of the car, rifle still at the ready, and stared at the sand, willing it to explain.
“Fuckers,” he said, very softly.
Lucy had stopped running. Now she was walking towards the line of cars. It was all over by now. They had all been tricked: the disappearing act was a trump card no-one could have anticipated.