The Talisman

it tasted both salty and woolly, but Jack ate every scrap. And soaked up all the thick gravy with the Empire Diner’s underdone fries. He had just about finished his meal when a bearded trucker with a Detroit Tigers cap shoved down over long black hair, a parka that seemed to be made from wolfskins, and a thick cigar in his mouth paused beside him and asked, ‘You need a ride west, kid? I’m going to Decatur.’ Halfway to Springfield, just like that.
    2
    That night, in a three-dollar-a-night hotel the trucker had told him about, Jack had two distinct dreams: or he later remembered these two out of many that deluged his bed, or the two were actually one long joined dream. He had locked his door, peed into the stained and cracked sink in the corner, put his knapsack under his pillow, and fallen asleep holding the big marble that in the other world was a Territories mirror. There had been a suggestion of music, an almost cinematic touch – fiery alert bebop, at a volume so low Jack could just pick out that the lead instruments were a trumpet and an alto saxophone. Richard , Jack drowsily thought, tomorrow I should be seeing Richard Sloat , and fell down the slope of the rhythm into brimming unconsciousness.
    Wolf was trotting toward him across a blasted, smoking landscape. Strings of barbed wire, now and then coiling up into fantastic and careless barbed-wire intricacies, separated them. Deep trenches too divided the spoiled land, one of which Wolf vaulted easily before nearly tumbling into one of the ranks of wire.
    – Watch out, Jack called.
    Wolf caught himself before falling into the triple strands of wire. He waved one big paw to show Jack that he was unhurt, and then cautiously stepped over the wires.
    Jack felt an amazing surge of happiness and relief pass through him. Wolf had not died; Wolf would join him again.
    Wolf made it over the barbed wire and began trotting forward again. The land between Jack and Wolf seemed mysteriously to double in length – gray smoke hanging over the many trenches almost obscured the big shaggy figure coming forward. – Jason! Wolf shouted. Jason! Jason!
    – I’m still here, Jack shouted back.
    – Can’t make it, Jason! Wolf can’t make it!
    – Keep trying, Jack bawled. Damn it, don’t give up!
    Wolf paused before an impenetrable tangle of wire, and through the smoke Jack saw him slip down to all fours and trot back and forth, nosing for an open place. From side to side Wolf trotted, each time going out a greater distance, with every second becoming more evidently disturbed. Finally Wolf stood up again and placed his hands on the thick tangle of wire and forced a space he could shout through. – Wolf can’t! Jason, Wolf can’t!
    – I love you, Wolf, Jack shouted across the smouldering plain.
    – JASON! Wolf bawled back. BE CAREFUL! They are COMING for you! There are MORE of them!
    – More what, Jack wanted to shout, but could not. He knew.
     
    Then either the whole character of the dream changed or another dream began. He was back in the ruined recording studio and office at the Sunlight Home, and the smells of gunpowder and burned flesh crowded the air. Singer’s mutilated body lay slumped on the floor, and Casey’s dead form drooped through the shattered glass panel. Jack sat on the floor cradling Wolf in his arms, and knew again that Wolf was dying. Only Wolf was not Wolf.
    Jack was holding Richard Sloat’s trembling body, and it was Richard who was dying. Behind the lenses of his sensible black plastic eyeglasses, Richard’s eyes skittered aimlessly, painfully. – Oh no, oh no, Jack breathed out in horror. Richard’s arm had been shattered, and his chest was a pulp of ruined flesh and blood-stained white shirt. Fractured bones glinted whitely here and there like teeth.
    – I don’t want to die, Richard said, every word a superhuman effort. Jason, you should not . . . you should not have . . .
    – You can’t die, too, Jack pleaded, not you, too.
    Richard’s upper body lurched against Jack’s arms, and a long, liquid sound escaped Richard’s throat, and then Richard found Jack’s eyes with his own suddenly clear and quiet eyes. – Jason. The sound of the name, which was almost appropriate, hung softly in the stinking air. – You killed me, Richard breathed out, or you killed ’e , since his lips could not meet to form one of the letters. Richard’s eyes swam out of focus again, and his body seemed to grow instantly heavier in Jack’s arms.