"But none of the windows are open, are they?" Dave asked.

"No, they're closed," Deem said.

"That doesn't make any sense," Dave said.

Deem left it at that. Dave hadn't seen the head inside the bus, and she'd learned from her father not to relate stories that others might find crazy; it tended to make them think you were crazy.

"You might want to consider cancelling this particular tour going forward," Deem said, "until we figure out what this thing is. I think it's dangerous."

"Not my decision," Dave said. "That'd be for the owners to decide."

"Then you might want to ask for another route," Deem said.

"What do I tell them?" Dave asked. "Something jumped on the bus and stuck its head inside?"

Deem knew Dave wouldn't be relating that story to his boss. Winn rejoined them.

"She's fine, just shaken up," Winn said. "She's got a set of lungs on her, that's for sure."

"Deem says it's dangerous," Dave said, his eyes looking at Winn through his rear view mirror. "Do you think it is?"

"Might be," Winn said. "Hard to say. Don't know what it is, exactly."

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Deem asked Winn, pulling his arm as she walked back into the bus. Winn followed her to a seat that was several rows from the front, with no one around.

"It's dangerous," Deem said, "but not for any reason you can tell Dave. I felt it lock onto me. I nearly pa.s.sed out, like Virginia."

"Lock onto you?" Winn asked. "Like how?"

"Our eyes were locked," Deem said, "but then everything on the edges began to black out until all I could see was his eyes. I got dizzy, thought I might fall over. It was some kind of attack. Did you feel it?"

"No," Winn said. "No tunnel vision for me. I didn't feel anything like that."

"Did you feel it was looking at you?" Deem said. "Like it was targeting you, specifically?"

"No," Winn replied. "It glanced at me, but I felt nothing."

"Well, it could be dangerous," Deem said. "I told your friend he should cancel the tours until we know what it is."

"He's just a driver, Deem," Winn said. "If he tells them what we saw, they'll just think he's whack, or drunk. Might lose his job over it."

"If that thing out there has appeared before, it obviously knows this bus and the schedule. It'll happen again." She was scratching her left hand with her right.

"But what came of it, other than a scare?" Winn said. "I don't know what harm it caused. It was kind of like seeing a UFO. Not a lot you can do about it."

"It was more than that," Deem said. "I'm sure of it. We'll need to ride this bus again tomorrow. Try the River next time...what the f.u.c.k is this?"

Deem raised her left hand where she'd been scratching. There was a round, quarter-inch b.u.mp in the skin of her left little finger, between the first and second knuckles.

"Looks like a bite," Winn said.

"It's not," Deem said, pressing on the b.u.mp with her right index finger. "There's something really hard inside, and it's sharp. It hurts when I press it."

Winn took over and tried pressing on the b.u.mp. It looked red and sore like a spider bite, but he could tell as soon as he touched it that it wasn't a bite. It was soft and squishy, like a pocket of liquid, but inside was something small and hard.

"Ouch!" Deem said. "Don't push on it!"

"How long have you had this?" Winn asked.

"No idea," Deem said. "I don't remember seeing it before."

Winn reached into his pants pocket and removed a pocketknife. He popped the blade open.

"Whoa, hold on!" Deem said. "What are you going to do?"

"Cut it open," Winn said. "I'll just slit the top open here."

Deem winced at the idea, but part of her knew the b.u.mp was abnormal, and she wanted whatever was inside it to be out of her. "It's gonna bleed all over the place."

Winn got up and walked back to Margie and Virginia. They talked for a moment, then Winn returned with a small white handkerchief.

"We'll use this," Winn said, "to wrap it up."

"Alright," Deem said.

Winn held Deem's little finger and slowly inserted the blade into the b.u.mp. Once he had the tip of it past the skin, he slid the blade sideways, making an eighth-inch cut. As he removed the knife, thin wisps of grey smoke emerged from the incision, and the skin collapsed as the gas escaped. Winn gently pulled the skin apart, and saw a small piece of something white.

"Hope that didn't hurt," Winn said.

"Didn't feel a thing," Deem said. "No blood, either. What is that?"

Winn gently inserted the blade of his knife back into the slit and pried under the object, lifting it out of the skin. He held it up for Deem to see. It was small, white, and jagged.

"What is that?" Winn asked, studying it. He held it for Deem to see. "Is it bone?"

"What the f.u.c.k?" Deem asked, looking up at him.

Chapter Two.

Deem stared up at the ceiling, suddenly awake. The first thing she felt was the bandage wrapped around her little finger. She felt it with her other hand, running her fingers over it in the darkness of her room.

Seems normal, she thought. Isn't swollen again. Doesn't hurt. Should probably leave it alone. What time is it?

She glanced over at her alarm clock on the nightstand two-thirty. She felt wide awake.

She raised her hands to her face, rubbing it. She let her hands slide down to her neck, and then she slid each hand down her opposite arm. She could see a spot on the ceiling where the paint had come off when she'd ripped down a stick-on glow-in-the-dark star years ago. She stared at the spot as she rubbed her arms at the elbows, and she felt it.

Again? she thought. She stopped her right hand, pressing on the small mound of raised flesh just above her left elbow.

What the f.u.c.k is that? she thought. It feels just like...

She threw off the covers and walked to the adjoining bathroom. She flicked on the lights and waited for her eyes to adjust. Then she lifted her left arm and pointed her elbow at the mirror above the sink. She peered into the mirror, trying to see what she was touching.

Oh my G.o.d, she thought. It's the same!

She poked at the skin. It looked a little like a blister, but taller. The skin rose off her arm a good half inch. She pushed at it with the index finger of her right hand, watching it in the mirror. It wasn't hard like a bite, it was soft and squishy, just like the one Winn had cut open on the bus earlier that night.

Cut it open, she thought. I'm going to see if it's the same.

She rummaged through a drawer under the sink, looking for the sharpest thing she could find, and settled on the pointed end of a metal nail file. She poured a little rubbing alcohol over it and then held it up to the blister, using the mirror to guide her as she poked the sharp end into it.

There was no pain, and when the tip of the nail file pierced the skin, two small wisps of grey smoke emerged. The sack of skin collapsed around something hard inside.

She placed the nail file on the counter and pressed against the skin of the blister, forcing whatever was inside out through the hole she'd cut. It was another small piece of bone.

Then she heard steps above her, on the ceiling. Someone was on the roof.

She went back into her bedroom and slipped on some jeans and a t-shirt. Then she crept down the stairs to the main floor.

The house was dark and quiet. She listened again for the sounds from above, but the steps had stopped. She walked into the living room, looking out through the windows into the front yard. There was enough moonlight to make the yard very visible. Everything looked normal and still, like a painting.

She thought she smelled something strange it smelled like the desert, after a rain the smell of wet sage. She looked outside again there was no rain. Just another hot Nevada night.

Then she noticed something in the yard. Movement, very slight. It was a dark figure, trying to stand still next to a tree in the distance. If she didn't know the yard as well as she did, she would have mistaken it for another tree. She walked up to the window to get a better look at it.

As she approached the window, the dark figure left the side of the tree and sped toward her. It met her on the other side of the window just as she approached it. The sudden appearance of the figure at the window made Deem gasp and she took a step back.

Then it opened its eyes, and Deem knew she was looking at the creature that had jumped onto the bus. Its features were dark and smooth. It raised its hands and pressed them against the window. Deem took another step back, afraid the gla.s.s might break.

Instead, the creature's arms pa.s.sed through the gla.s.s and reached for her. The skin on its arms was dark and peeling, revealing a lighter tone underneath. Deem wondered if the skin had been burnt it looked like it was peeling in big pieces.

Then it brought its head through the gla.s.s.

Deem had walked back into a couch. She stopped, and dropped into the River. From within the flow, the figure looked like an ordinary man, wearing the type of suit you might see someone wear to work at a law firm or a bank. He was Caucasian and bearded, balding on top. Completely normal even boring.

The figure stopped halfway through the gla.s.s of the window when he realized Deem was in the River. His eyes widened, and he slowly began to back out, pulling his head and arms to the other side of the window. He stood for a moment in the front yard, staring at Deem through the gla.s.s. Then he turned and disappeared so quickly Deem couldn't see which direction he'd gone.

Deem walked into the kitchen. Her mother was seated at a small table tucked into a corner that had a view of the back yard. She was reading a church magazine.

"Good morning, dear," Margie said, looking up from her magazine. "Want anything to eat?"

"I'll just pour some cereal," Deem said, reaching for a cupboard and pulling down a box.

"Virginia is still in bed," Margie said. "She's not feeling well. I might run her in to the doctor later. I don't like how she looks."

"What's wrong with her?" Deem asked while pouring milk into her bowl.

"Well, she's very weak," Margie said. "And her tongue is black. I've never seen anything like it. I thought maybe she'd eaten something that discolored her mouth, you know, like blueberries or something, but she swears she didn't eat anything since dinner last night."

"Black?" Deem asked. "Her tongue is black?"

"And she smells a little funny," Margie half whispered, as though she didn't want Virginia to overhear.

"Funny how?" Deem asked.

"Oh, I don't know exactly," Margie said, "just funny."

Deem placed her bowl down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen.

"Don't you go and wake her up," Margie called after her.

Deem walked down the hallway to the guest room on the main floor. The door was closed. She knocked.

"Aunt Virginia?" she said.

"Yes?" came the reply from inside.

"It's Deem. Can I come in?"

"Oh yes, it's open."

Deem opened the door and walked into the room. Virginia was in bed, the covers pulled up to her neck. She looked pale and feverish.

"Mom says you're not feeling well," Deem said. As she walked up to the bed, she noticed the same smell she'd encountered the night before wet sage.

"No, I'm not," Virginia replied.

"What feels wrong?" Deem asked, sitting next to her on the bed.

"I feel weak, like I don't want to move," Virginia said. "Doesn't hurt, I just don't want to get up."

"Mom said your tongue is discolored," Deem said.

Virginia stuck out her tongue. It was a solid black, and Deem pulled her head back in surprise. "Wow," she said. "She wasn't kidding. Can I get you anything?"

"No," Virginia said. "I don't feel like eating or drinking anything. Just sleeping."

"Alright," Deem said, standing up, "I'll leave you alone to sleep." She wished Virginia's arms were above the covers she wanted to check her for a blister similar to the one she'd popped open the night before, but Virginia looked so tired she decided to just leave her in peace.