David Barbour - Shadows Bend

“I s’pose you could say the same about me and HP here. Sorry for misreadin’ your character, but there ain’t much more than appearances to go on now, is there?”

“I suppose I could say the same thing.”

Howard nodded and was quiet for a long time. Outside, the night grew progressively darker as the cloud that followed them overtook the car and slowly blotted out the stars in the distance. The twin beams of the headlights, slightly askew, became sharply visible as a dark mist enveloped them. There was no sound other than the car, whose noises grew muffled in the descending dust. Howard found it lulling, like driving in a soft snowfall on an empty road. “Dust storm,” he whispered. “But I ain’t never seen one like this. Don’t really seem to be blowin’ from nowhere.”

“It fits my mood,” said Glory.

HOWARD COULD NO LONGER SEE where he was going, and he knew the car was in danger of overheating from the dust clogging the air filter. For the past several miles the signs themselves had been obscured by the dust, and he realized he had no idea where they were on their route. Lovecraft startled awake when he hit a pothole; he offered to check the map and even managed to unfold it to approximately the right place, but Howard found the rustling and the darting beam of the flashlight so annoying he told his friend to stop.

“Look, HP, we’re comin’ up on a road sign. I’ll just get out and see if I can read it.”

“Why don’t we stop for a while?” Glory said from the back. “I could really use a smoke and a little stretch.”

Howard let off on the gas, stepped on the clutch, and coasted slowly to a stop just far enough from the sign to illuminate its gray-black face with the headlights. With the engine idling, he stepped out onto the deserted stretch of road and wiped his palm across the sign in a wide arc. He had to do it several more times before he revealed enough fragments of lettering through the fine dust to guess at what it said.

“Welcome to The Exham Priory,” Howard read. He wiped his brow with the back of his dirty hand and walked back up to the car, frowning. “This don’t help us a whole hell of a lot,” he said to Lovecraft. “I was hopin’ we were near some town.”

“I think it wise that you get some rest now,” Lovecraft replied. “Even a few minutes, Bob. You’ve been drowsing at the wheel. I’d gladly relieve you of the tedium, but this is hardly the time for you to instruct me in the intricacies of operating your automobile.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Howard. “Where’s Glory?”

“She stepped out to ‘stretch,’ as it were.”

“Why’s her suitcase gone?”

Lovecraft turned the beam of the flashlight into the back and saw that it was, indeed, gone. “I was not aware of that fact,” he said.

“Glory!” Howard called into the darkness. “Glory! Where are you?”

There was no reply. Not even a cricket interrupted the black silence, which was punctuated only by the throbbing of the Chevy’s exhaust and the slightly irregular rumble of the engine. Howard took the flashlight from his friend and shined it into the blackness. “Glory!” he called again. “Glory!” The darkness seemed to stifle the sound, killing its resonance the instant it left Howard’s lips.

“Which way did she go, HP?”

“I’m afraid my back was to her. I was perusing the map to determine our position.”

“You lost her!” Something cracked in Howard’s voice. “I oughta—”

“Can’t a lady have a moment of privacy?” came Glory’s voice, out of the darkness.

Howard turned toward the sound, almost suspiciously. “Why didn’t ya answer?”

“I was preoccupied.”

“Why couldn’t you just say where you were?”

“Because,” Glory replied, losing her patience, “I was taking a piss. Can’t a girl have a little piss in peace around here?”

“Just a word woulda been enough.”

“Well, I was smoking, too,” said Glory.

“Why did you take your suitcase? Where is it?” Howard illuminated her with the flashlight, moving the beam up and down to examine her. Lovecraft, though he was perturbed about what Howard might have said to him without the interruption, looked carefully on.

“It’s back there,” said Glory.

“Why did ya leave it?”

“Because! It sounded like you were about to pop your cork. Now get the light out of my face!” She shielded her eyes with her forearm, grimacing.

“Do not allow her to approach any closer,” Lovecraft said suddenly. “Hold it right there, Glory.”

“What the hell’s gotten into you two?”

“Just stay right there,” said Howard. “Why did ya take the suitcase in the first place?”

“My cigarettes were in there.“_

“Why couldn’t ya just take them out? HP, take the other flashlight and find the suitcase. Make sure you only see one set of footprints, and check for unusual tracks. Glory, you stay right there where I can see ya.” While Lovecraft fumbled for the other flashlight, Howard eased back to the car and, almost incredulous at himself, pulled his .45 from under the driver’s seat and cocked the hammer back.

“Bob, will you stop this nonsense and let me back in the car? It’s cold out here, and I’m a little scared, to tell the truth.” Glory lowered her arm and squinted at him, confused, the light glinting in her eyes. Howard was sure there was an odd quality to her voice.

“Glory, I’m tellin’ ya to stand right there. I’ve got my gun aimed at you.”

There was no mistaking the tone of his voice, and Glory stood in place, her arms hanging limp at her sides though she had claimed to be cold. Howard saw the other pool of light jitter and jump as Lovecraft walked around her into the desert.

“I think you boys need to stop reading your fantasy stories,” Glory said rather flatly.

After a few long moments, Lovecraft’s voice called out of the darkness: “Bob, I’ve located the suitcase. Everything appears normal. Wait…” Silence. “There appears to be…” Silence. The sound of sagebrush crunching. “Bob, it’s blood!”

Howard nearly pulled the trigger at that instant, but stopped when he saw the expression on Glory’s face. It was a complex expression, one he couldn’t exactly read, though it seemed to reflect frustration, disgust, humiliation, and anger all in combination. It was certainly not the workings of a woman hypnotized, or a zombie, or some inhuman impostor. It flashed rapidly across her face, and then she said in a low but clearly audible voice, “I’m having my period, Bob. I carry my pads in my suitcase if you must know.”

“Blood!” came Lovecraft’s shrill cry once again, and this time Howard broke into loud guffaws that shook his frame so hard he dropped his flashlight. In the darkness, Glory’s musical laughter joined in.

When Lovecraft, still trembling with terror, had made his way back to the car, they decided to drive a few miles farther before making camp—in case the bloody menstrual rags attracted animals. They found a flat, empty patch of desert and pulled over again after making sure they were not in a dry streambed. The tension had certainly broken. Even. the air had cleared to some degree, but they were all still on edge at the thought of what might so easily have happened.

Howard made quick work of setting up camp. He scoured the area nearby for sagebrush to bum, checked for suspicious rocks and animal burrows, made sure they were far enough from the road not to be seen. He set up around the car as if it were a covered wagon during the days of the pioneer trails-Glory was to sleep in the backseat, where she would have the comfort of the cushion and could protect herself from the elements by simply closing the door. Lovecraft and he would stretch out on their bedrolls on either side of a small fire.