Walkers (2 page)

The dancing broke off in confusion and the rest of the people came running toward them. Glen knelt over Joana and stared into the white face and empty eyes. One of the girls turned away and vomited.

"Is she dead?" somebody asked.

"Shit, look at her, man. She's dead."

Glen took her head between his hands. It seemed so small. Water ran from her mouth, her nose.

"Joana!" he cried. "Joana! Joana! Come back!"

After the last great spasm inside her chest, Joana gave up the fight. She knew it was useless to struggle any more. The moment she relaxed, the pain in her head, her lungs, and her cramped-up leg went away. She felt just fine. All warm and comfortable and absolutely at peace.

The ringing, roaring sound was gone from her ears. There was only a nice, easy silence. And there was darkness, but it was snug and cozy, like a blanket wrapped all around her.

Gradually it began to grow lighter. Dimly at first, then with sudden clarity, Joana could see again. Pictures racing by faster than she could think. Pictures inside her mind.

She saw the happy little girl being lifted high to the ceiling by the smiling giant who was her father. And again, playing with Jordy, the gentle golden retriever in her parents' big backyard. The tears of the day Jordy went down under the wheels of a truck.

Joana saw again the terrifying separation from her mother on the first day of kindergarten. And there were faces of other children she had long since forgotten, but which were as fresh now as though she had seen them yesterday. The images flashed by at an impossible rate, yet each one registered a clear, sharp image on Joana's mind.

She watched as the little girl's body began to change in the fifth grade, and new, confusing emotions filled her days.

Then she was in junior high school—dancing, boys, the beach. Trying out for cheerleader in high school, making it, and thinking no triumph would ever be as sweet. Falling in love at seventeen with Bobby Mills, trying sex and not liking it at all, then trying it again and deciding it wasn't so bad.

The sunny day she entered UCLA and stood in the long lines to register for classes. Pledging Kappa Kappa Gamma and sitting together in a group at the basketball games in Pauley Pavilion where the Bruins always won.

Working during the summers in the lodge up at Mammoth. Getting serious with Gerry Roland from Sigma Nu and finding herself pregnant in spite of their precautions. The abortion that scared hell out of her, then was all over so fast she was almost disappointed. Settling down then to her studies and discovering at last that she had a mind.

Then graduation day with Mom and Pop sitting in the folding chairs set up on the campus lawn, looking like a painting by Norman Rockwell. Then the year she took off bicycling all over Europe and the crazy times with the German boy, Hans Klebber.

Coming home, getting a job, finding the little guest house to move into on Beachwood Drive above Hollywood. Meeting Glen Early at a UCLA Extension class, and liking him immediately. Their first date, a crucial game between the Dodgers and Cincinnati. The delight in finding how naturally their bodies fitted together. Driving out on the eleventh night of June to a party at Glen's apartment...

With her 'life brought up to date, the images vanished, and Joana was once again in the courtyard of the Marina Village Apartments. She floated, weightless, somewhere above the scene. Down below, the body of a young woman floated beneath the surface of the bright-blue swimming pool.

My body.

Joana felt no fear or shock at the recognition, just a vague sadness. She was sorry for the body. It looked so vulnerable, so...dead. Its eyes were open under the water, staring at emptiness. Hair floated in a brown cloud around the face. The body had nothing to do with Joana anymore. It was just a cold, foreign lump of flesh with staring eyes.

She saw Glen come to the pool carrying two cans of beer. He looked at the body there in the water. At first he seemed puzzled, then frightened. He dove in and swam clumsily toward the body.

Dear Glen, you're too late. I'm sorry.

More people came running over from where they were dancing. They hauled the lifeless body up out of the Pool, all pale white with the arms and legs flopping. Over all, the disco music blared and

thumped.

They stretched the body out on the grass. How strange it looked, Joana thought. Just the tiniest bit familiar, like someone she had once met but never got to know.

Watching the frantic activity below as the people tried to revive the body, Joana felt utterly at peace. She floated free, unconnected in any way with the dead girl down there on the grass. Then ever so gradually the feeling of peace gave way to uneasiness. She knew somehow that this state of suspension was not meant to last.

I should be doing something, going somewhere. What? Where?

At first it was very faint, the barest suggestion of a tug at her senses. It became more insistent. Something was drawing her, as though magnetically, back and away from the scene at the swimming pool. The feeling was not the least unpleasant, and Joana gave herself over to whatever was pulling her away.

She was sailing, floating, flying without substance through a long, shadowy tunnel. Along the walls of the tunnel were shallow alcoves, and in these there seemed to be people standing, watching her. Joana flew past them at incredible speed, yet she had no real sensation of motion.

She watched the endless row of faces go by. They appeared to be smiling, warm and welcoming. Here and there along the way was a face Joana seemed to know, but before she could place it, a new, strange face had flashed into view and out again, to be replaced by yet another.

Far, far up ahead she could see a bright circle of light that was the end of the tunnel. Even at this immense distance Joana could make out the silhouette of a seated figure there waiting for her. It looked like a man, but she could not be sure. The light seemed to emanate from the figure.

Joana felt an overpowering attraction to the seated figure. All she wanted to do was hurry there and join him in the warmth and protection of the light. The figure beckoned to her gently, and Joana willed herself to fly ever faster along the tunnel toward the light.

The shadowy people standing in the alcoves along the walls of the tunnel blurred past her. She could hear their soft rustlings, faint murmuring voices. Sounds of approval. While she seemed to travel with blinding speed, the tunne! kept lengthening ahead of

her so she gained very slowly.

Joana!

A voice calling her name. It came not from the seated figure at the end of the tunnel, and not from the dimly seen people along the walls. From where?

Joana!

There it was again. A voice she knew from the world she had left behind. A familiar voice, filled now with agony and with love. Joana tried to make room for the voice in her mind. She willed herself to slow the headlong rush down the tunnel. The magnetic force drawing her toward the circle of light was more

powerful than ever, but she fought against it.

Joana!

That voice, she could almost place it now. She wanted to hear it again.

Then, up ahead, the figure in the light beckoned to her more urgently. A new voice sounded in her mind, a voice of command.

Come, complete your journey. There is no turning back.

The force pulling on Joana from the far end of the tunnel was more powerful than anything in her experience. It was like an enormous vacuum sucking her toward the light. But now she did not feel the desire to join the figure there at the end. She fought against the magnetic pull, put the whole force of her will against it. Her movement along the dim tunnel slowed, then stopped. From the people along the walls came an agitated whispering. There were no more murmurs of friendship and approval. Waves of power surged toward her from the figure up ahead.

Joana, come back!

The voice of life. With an agonizing effort, Joana forced the essence of self that she had left to begin moving back.

At the far end of the tunnel the figure rose to a standing position—tall, powerful, commanding. All sense of benevolence was now gone. The figure was dark and menacing. Instead of the warm glow of light, it was surrounded by angry white flashes.

Bit by bit Joana willed herself back,away from the suddenly frightening thing that awaited her. From the shadows along the walls came an angry mutter. Spidery fingers reached out, clawing for her. At the far end the menacing figure seemed to grow until it filled the entire opening. Its voice thundered in her mind.

There is no going back! You are one of us!

Wordlessly she cried out her reply.

No! I do not belong here! It is not my time!

Joana!

Again the familiar voice calling her back. The voice of life. It gave her strength to resist the terrible power that was trying to draw her on to the unknown.

The rage of the people who lined the tunnel swept over her like a physical force. Joana fought back, and her will grew stronger. She retreated ever faster back the way she had come. Back toward life.

The terrible voice boomed again.

You cannot go back now! You have come too far. You can never return!

I can!
Joana cried inside herself.
I will! I am going to live!

Like a scorching desert wind the voice roared around her and through her.

We will come for you. We will walk. We will bring you back.

No! I can beat you!

In the great echoing tunnel the terrible voice thundered a last time.

You may win once, not likely twice, most rarely thrice, and four times—never! You must return by the Eve of St. John.

With a suddenness that shocked her, the tunnel vanished, and with it the watchers along the Walls, the distant circle of light, and the terrifying figure who waited at the end.

There was only darkness at first, then a pinpoint of light that expanded into a blazing white that filled her head. She tried to speak, but managed only a wracking cough. Her chest heaved and she felt the pain.

Joana was alive.

Somebody finally shut off the record player to kill the blaring disco sound. The young people gathered quietly around the still form of Joana Raitt at the side of the swimming pool. The colored lights still gave a jarring look of gaiety to the apartment recreation deck.

One of the girls who lived in the apartment held Joana's head in her lap. She braced it with her hands to keep it from rolling from side to side. Glen Early was on his knees beside her. Repeatedly he bent forward and put his mouth over Joana's to force his breath into her lungs, trying to give her life. Then he would raise up and count slowly to five while the air sighed back out of Joana's mouth along with a trickle of water from the pool. She was pale and cold, and there was no sign she would breathe on her own.

Joana, come back!
Glen cried in his mind. He could not let this unthinkable thing happen. Breathe into her mouth, count five, breathe, count five. He would keep it up as long as he had breath of his own to give her. Breathe, count five, breathe. Glen was blind and deaf to everything going on around him. His whole being was focused on the pale form lying there on the grass.

Somehow, without Glen really being aware of it, this girl had come to be a vital part of his life. The mundane things that happened to him every day on his job were transformed into amusing adventures merely by the telling of them to Joana. The pleasures of his life were so much richer shared with Joana. He could not lose her now. He would not allow it to happen.

As Glen worked on, the people around him talked in short, excited bursts.

"Did anybody call an ambulance?"

"The paramedics are coming."

"I don't know what good they can do."

"Isn't anybody here a doctor?"

"There's one living in the apartment."

"That's right, Dr. Hovde."

"What unit is he in?"

"Number 12. It's over on the other side by the tennis courts."

"Come on, let's go get him if he's in."

On the far side of the apartment complex, away from the swimming pool and the party deck, Dr. Warren Hovde heard the thump of the disco music suddenly stop. He pulled out a thin gold pocket watch and consulted the delicate hands. It was only a little after ten, much too early for a Marina Village party to shut down, even a mid-week party like this one.

Maybe they blew out an amplifier, the doctor thought hopefully. Whatever the cause, he leaned back to savor the relative quiet while it lasted.

Warren Hovde was fifty-five, which made him one of the senior residents of the Marina Village complex. He wore Brooks Brothers suits in the daytime and he liked classical music, two peculiarities that did not fit in with the local life style. But it was not for the life style that Dr. Hovde chose his furnished one-bedroom unit in the Village. He had taken it because it was convenient to his Santa Monica office and the hospital in West Los Angeles where he put in two afternoons a week. His attorney had found it for him last month when he and Marge decided on the divorce.

He missed the spacious ranch bungalow in Encino, but that would go to Marge, of course, along with the furniture. Also the Mercedes, both the kids, and O'Hara, the Irish setter. Warren came out with the VW Rabbit, his record collection, and an apartment on the Marina where everybody but him seemed to be engaged in a perpetual party.

Warren Hovde had had his fill of parties in Encino. There the whole purpose seemed to be to get drunk enough to get it on with somebody else's wife. Since Warren only wanted to get it on with his own wife, he was considered an old bore. At the Marina Village he was considered merely old.

Lord, was he really middle-aged? He didn't feel middle-aged. Wasn't it just the other day he had turned thirty and could dance all the steps of the cha-cha like an expert until the bars closed? Where the hell did the years go, anyway?