Bentley Little - The Walking

--and seeing her asleep in bed like this, her guard down, vulnerable, he suddenly had the strength to do what needed to be done.

He killed her as she slept.

He killed her, but she did not die.

He put the pillow over her head, held it there, and when he had done so until his arms were aching, he pulled the pillow up.

She was still breathing, still asleep.

And she was smiling.

The chill he felt was not from the outside air seeping in between the cracks of the windowsills, nor from the rheumatism that had permanently settled in his bones. He backed away from the bed, his hands shaking, his mouth dry. He kept waiting for her to sit up, to open her eyes, to acknowledge the attempt he'd made on her life and retaliate in some way. But she remained unmoving, asleep, and only that sly smile on her face let him know that she was aware of what he'd done..

He placed a quick spell on the bed and everything in it, a binding spell, and he rushed around the room looking for a weapon, determined to go through with what he'd decided.

He used her own knife to cut off her head, the long serrated one with which she'd disemboweled the girl. Blood spurted, flowed He stemmed it with toad powder, he separated the head from the body, but still she lived. The eyes blinked open; the arms moved up to casually scratch her disassociated cheek.

She was playing with him, he realized.

She looked at him and shook her head, the unconnected head rocking back and forth on the pillow, its raggedly severed veins flopping from the open neck like live red worms.

He was covered with blood, as were the bedsheets, as were the blankets, as was the floor He had never been so frightened in his life, and it was the knowledge in her eyes that was the most unnerving. For he had intended to kill her quickly and cleanly so that she would not know what happened to her, so she would not be aware of his betrayal.

But it had not worked out that way, and her eyes remained wide and seeing, watching each of his awkward fumbling attempts to murder her.

Knowing that she was aware of what he was doing filled him with a strange and terrible dread, a terror unlike any he had known before.

With a cry he grabbed the edge of the pillow and yanked it, tossing her head on the floor. He sliced her body in half, said a quick and dirty spell, then stumbled out of the house, breathing deeply, trying to fill his tired old lungs with the clean freshness of cold night air and to move the taste and smell of blood from his mouth and nos.

He had planned to keep her death a sret, at least for a little while, and then attribute it to natural causes. But the disruption in power must have ben sensed because a dozen people were standing outside his fence, dressed in nightcaps and bedclothes. He scanned the faces of those present, pecting to confront the wrath of those who had gone along with her purges. But what he saw instead filled his heart with joy. Relief. Gratitude.

They were glad she was gone, thankful that he had killed her.

He staggered down first steps, through the small yard, out the gate, and into the arms of Irma Keyhom and Susan Johnson.

By the time he reached them, his eyes were so full of tears that he could not even see.

They did not wait for morning. Several of the men accompanied him back into the house.

Matthew, Joshua, Cletus, and Russell carried out the two halves of the body, chanting spells to ward off malevolence, spells to protect themselves. William carried her head, have thing dusted it with invested bone meal in order to render it

inanimate, and though his emotions were churning, he had no doubt that he had done the right thing.

By this time most of the town had gathered out front, and they followed silently as the men carried what was left of Isabella up Main Street and out into the wilds of the canyon. The road became a wagon trail, then a horse path as it led farther into the darkness, farther from town.

William felt as though he should explain what he'd done and why, but he did not know what to say, and the truth was that words did not seem to be needed. The people of the town understood somehow, and he sensed nothing but support when he scanned the crowd.

They continued into the darkness.

-The cave was up the canyon in the marshy area by the ferns.

He had intended to entomb her there from the beginning. The cave was far from town but still in Wolf Canyon, and it was remote enough that her body would probably never be discovered. His intention was not to keep her corpse from harm, but to keep her from harming others. He had no faith that she was rendered completely disabled by death, that her power had died with her body, and he wanted to make sure that he did everything he could to ensure her permanent incapacitation.

Leading the way, he slogged through the muck and weeds that adjoined this particularly slow-moving section of the river. Underneath an overhang of rock on which grew clumps of green fern shaded from the sun and fed by a trickling spring located somewhere at the top of the cliff, the cave entrance yawned, a low, narrow opening in the rock that disguised a much larger chamber inside. One by one they entered and someone conjured a sand fire for light.

"We will leave her here," William said. "Place the halves of her body at opposite ends."

He felt movement in his hands, a repugnant unnatural

squirming that startled him into dropping her head. It hit the powdered dirt with a quiet thud, rolling over until the blank staring eyes were looking up. He'd been half expecting something like this, but it still took him by surprise. He stared down at the head, not wanting to pick it up again, afraid to touch it. The eyes blinked, the cheek muscles twitched, and he knew that neither bone meal nor spells were strong enough to block her will.

He backed up a step. The men carrying the halves of her body had dropped them at the opposite sides of the cave, and they had joined the rest of the people near the fire. All eyes were on him. William heard a whisper, saw Isabella's mouth move. Her eyes shifted to look at him, then took in the rest of the crowd. The temperature suddenly dropped, a chilling of the air that was strong enough to dim the fire.

Despite the absence of a connected body and lungs, Isabella's voice issued loud and clear from between the moving lips of the severed head:

'Thou shalt not leave when the waters come. I curse thee. I curse thee and thy descendants, and I shall feed upon thy souls to avenge my death. And woe to anyone who cometh between us, woe to those who bringeth the waters..."

She continued to talk, a litany of dark promises that seemed to have no end. William shivered. It was not the curse itself that sent a chill down his spine. It was the words she used, the formality of her speech and the archaic vocabulary. It made him realize emotionally what he had until this point understood only intellectually: she was different, she was not like them. She was far older than he, and stranger in her makeup than any of them could have possibly imagined.

"... And when I am reborn from the lives of thee and thy descendants, I shall be stronger than thou could st have

ever imagined. Armies will bow before me. As it was foretold, so shall it be..."

Marie and Ingrid and several of the others were already backing out of the cave, attempting to leave without drawing attention to themselves.

The utter silence of all who witnessed this scene told him better than could any words the fear they felt, the impact Isabella's curse was having upon them.

William looked back at the others, then reached down, picked up a rock, and smashed her head.

The voice stopped, and the only sounds in the cave were the echoes of her final words. The large chunk of sandstone he had dropped completely covered her face, but the veins of her neck protruded from one end and her wild hair ringed the rock's upper third. Blood was spreading outwards-ping into the sand, bubbling down. William said a few words, increasing the intensity of the fire. Using all of the knowledge and skill he had gained in his nearly seven decades on earth, he bound her to this place, warding off intervention from others, containing what eve self was left of her. "Get out," he ordered everyone. "Leave. Wait for me by the river."