Windkill

The shouts in Anthony’s receiver had diminished to inarticulate sobs. Whatever was happening to Chris Korman had reduced the man to a frightened wreck. Yet there was nothing Anthony could do for the man as the army officer held them at the mouth of the draw.

The ghosts seemed trying to understand the nature of the men attempting to enter his secure area. While the ghost took the technology in stride, marveling at the oddest items, it seemed to understand Dolan when the psychic spoke. It was an impasse that crushed Anthony in the need to wait.

The ghost looked up at Dolan and nodded. For whatever reason, it allowed the men into the valley. It could have been a last grasp at humanitarianism, but Anthony suspected the ghosts simply wanted more company in death. It was a morbid thought, but he could not rid himself of the feeling that they were all being set up for a fall.

The lights of the truck faded, then the vehicle disappeared, as did the men standing in front of the living. Only the officer remained with his curiosity clear as he followed the men when they walked into the valley proper.

The urge to run was past as Anthony took the last place in the procession and watched the ghost to see if it was doing anything suspicious. He laughed to himself, a ghost doing something suspicious. That was the definition of foolish. Until half an hour ago, he had not believed ghosts did really exist, and now he was questioning their motives.

The ghost looked over its shoulder and watched Anthony long enough for the effect man to grow silent.

In the distance, the bridge stood clearly defined against the night sky, spectral lights once again adorning the span and casting pale light as a guide for the party.