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.“Please take me home.I want to go home.”“Take her home,” Chmura said gently.“I’ll be back,” Tim said, leading his wife toward the truck.“I’m going up there.” He opened the passenger door and helped his wife in.Closing the door, he ran around to the driver’s side and jumped up on the seat, knocking a small illustrated pamphlet onto the floor.He bent down to pick up the pamphlet.“Do you know where your children are right now?” the headline screamed up at him.“They could be caught in the clutches of Satan.”He tore the pamphlet in half and tossed it out the window, and the rear tires of the truck scattered the pieces as he sped out of the parking lot toward home.TWOGordon parked the Jeep in front of the closed chain link gate of the dump and got out, leaving the headlights on.The high beams stabbed forcefully into the moonless dark but failed to illuminate more than a straight narrow stretch of the landfill.Around the edges of the light, the blackness closed in thicker, as if gathering for an assault of its own.Gordon raised his arms and linked his fingers through the square holes in the metal fence, pressing his face against the chain link.He could smell the powerful odors of unburied garbage, rotting food, burning trash.The dump had been here almost as long as Randall, he knew.There were literally tons of garbage buried beneath this land.A lot of it was natural, organic, but a lot of it wasn’t.There were various synthetic products, the used goods of an increasingly disposable society, discarded carburetor cleaner, old oil from oil changes, old transmission fluid.God knew what all was down there.Dr.Waterston was right.It could be leaking into the wells below, into the water supply.He peered into the dimness, trying to make out specifics of the several-acre landfill.This was where the Selways’ bodies had been found, he knew.He’d read it in the paper.They’d found the kids’ bodies all torn up and ripped apart, barely recognizable.Mrs.Selway’s head had been removed from her body and buried separately.Gordon shivered, feeling a tremor of fear pass through him, a shiver of dread.A white figure inside the dump passed through the diffused headlights of the Jeep.Gordon’s heart jumped in his chest, his blood pounding.His fingers squeezed against the strong metal wires of the fence.“Hey!” he forced himself to call bravely.“What are you doing in there?”There was no answer.He continued to stare into the landfill, his eyes searching through the blackness for some sign of movement.The figure passed again through the headlights, this time closer.Gordon backed away from the fence, not daring to look away but terrified of what he might see.The figure had been burned, badly burned, a charred husk of a person in a glowing white T-shirt.It had beckoned to him, wanting him to join it.He bumped against the Jeep and felt behind him for the reassuring solidity of the vehicle’s metal hood.He guided himself by touch around to the driver’s door, still keeping his eyes on the spot where he’d seen the terrible figure.He started to climb into the Jeep.And then he saw the boy sitting in his seat.He leaped back.“It’s okay,” the boy said, trying to smile.He was a kid of twelve or thirteen, wearing strangely ill-fitting pants and a white T-shirt.His greasy hair was long, and it curled onto his shoulders.Although he was trying to appear brave, confident, at ease, Gordon could tell that the boy was nervous, scared.“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” the boy said.Gordon backed away from the Jeep.“Who are you?” he demanded.“Your friend,” the boy said.He climbed out of the Jeep and approached Gordon, hand extended.“I have something to show you.”The boy’s voice was tremulous, nervous, but there was an undercurrent of iron resolve in it, as though he knew he had to say something but was afraid to say it.Gordon shook his head, backing away.He was backing into the darkness of the forest, he knew, away from the modern comfort of the Jeep and its headlights, but he did not care.The natural darkness behind him seemed infinitely preferable to the unnatural boy in front of him.“I have something to show you,” the boy repeated.One hand pulled a wisp of hair from his forehead.“Don’t run away.”He turned away from the boy.and he was standing in a large semicircle with several people from town.The fire before them was so large and so hot that the shimmering heat waves radiating outward obscured the faces of the other people, but he knew they were from town instinctively.The fire raged and crackled, flames shooting upward higher and higher until they were well above the tops of even the tallest pines.From somewhere within the blaze came cries and moans, sounds of pain and agony, and Gordon could see that what he had mistaken for blackened kindling at the base of the fire was moving, wiggling, writhing.A charred hand reached upward, then disintegrated into ashes.The person next to him grabbed his hand.The hand felt cold, dead, and Gordon looked down to see the boy, holding hard onto his hand, his face set in an expression of grim determination.And then he and the boy were alone in a small meadow surrounded by pines and aspens.The wind was blowing hard, and though there was a full moon, the storm clouds passing continuously over its face gave a fluid shifting quality to the bluish light surrounding them.Far off in the forest, a wolf or coyote howled mournfully.“This is what I wanted to show you,” the boy said, letting go of his hand.Gordon looked down at the ground, at the tiny white crosses sticking up from between clumps of overgrown weeds.He was scared, filled suddenly with an icy terror he had never before experienced.He looked next to him, at the boy, but the boy was gone.He was all alone in this hateful place, and he closed his eyes, hoping it, too, would disappear, but when he reopened them, all remained as it was.The wind blew hard, tinkling the round leaves of the aspens, sending small leaves and branches skittering across the rough ground.The white crosses, some standing straight, others falling over at various angles, seemed to glow with an unnatural luminescence
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