Noctuidae by Scott Nicolay Page A

wrong.
    —Is it that thing? What if all we did was walk right up to its lair?
    —I don’t think so. The color isn’t right, and the light starts at the ground. That thing would have to be lying down. Let’s get a little closer.
    Together they picked their way to the edge of a clearing, saw ahead sheets of diffuse pink light rising from the ground—no, not the ground itself but from rows of stones. It was the same place they’d puzzled over the strange linear alignments of rocks. A cold light rose now from the rocks—no, not the rocks themselves so much as from the patterns they formed on the ground, as if these arcs and arms marked the foundations of translucent walls rising into the sky, not fading overhead so much as growing hard to follow from the angle of their height. Sue-Min wondered how the effect would look from the high above.
    She spoke softly —No way am I going near there. Not after those things hit me in the cave.
    —You said they didn’t hurt you, that you didn’t feel anything.
    —I said I didn’t feel much but I didn’t feel nothing either. I don’t even want to think about what the aftereffects might be. I don’t want to think about anything right now, Pete. I just want to get the hell out of here.
    —Yeah. Damn. Well I agree. Let’s not go close to that light. At least we know we’re on the right track though—we definitely came by those stones on the way out. Now I’m kind of sorry we walked through them even then—if that’s some kind of radiation they’re giving off they might’ve been doing it before only we couldn’t see it because of the sun was too bright.
    They skirted the open patch to what Sue-Min thought was the south, all but dodging from tree to tree and keeping a watch on the curving rosy walls as if the light might somehow notice them. The light did nothing but ascend and glow—it neither dimmed nor shimmered nor brightened nor moved. It showed no sign it recognized their presence, but they were glad to get well around it nonetheless.
    As Pete said, at least they knew where they were. Sort of. They had passed the stones before, come right across them. Their path had come this way. Now if they could pick up its thread from here and follow it back.
    Pete led the way until at last they came to the edge of a ridge. Sue-Min was sure they were somewhere near the spot from where she’d last glimpsed the truck the day before. Pete agreed. —Let’s hope our luck holds out.
    Their luck . . . the word struck Sue-Min as absurd in this context. How could anyone see this experience as lucky? What prize had Ron won? Nothing held the same meaning anymore. Words had become as unreliable as Pete’s watch.
    They began following the ridge down. Though they could see nothing of the abyss to their left, and only the barest outlines of the mountains in the west, they were sure the hidden valley of the Blue lay below. They made good time down, the only mishap when Sue-Min stumbled once and fell against a trunk, scraping her hurt hand even worse. Again Pete came to her aid but this time she waved him off.
    They reached the valley floor. They crossed the meager Blue. They did not find the truck. Pete cursed and kicked the ground, held his arms out, spun around. —It was right here. I’m sure! Those fucking rednecks! They took it!
    Sue-Min shone her fading light on the ground. —I don’t see any tracks. There should be tracks if the truck was here. The ground is damp enough from the river we’re leaving tracks right now. See? She stepped with her left, lifted her foot, pointed at the shallow imprint of her boot sole fixed in her beam.
    Pete stepped toward her, saw, turned to view the path of his own passage. —What the. . . ?
    Sue-Min meanwhile spun a slow circle, and around 260 degrees caught a gleam as of chrome or glass. She saw it through the shadows of the shut gate. They were inside the gate and on the ranch. —Pete, look, there . She pointed. He turned and directed his light