And He answered, Be still, and know that I am God.
“Amen, Lord,” Jesse murmured. Still staring down into the darkening land spread out below, he whispered, “Let them know You, God. Let them be still and know that You are God . . .”
“Amen,” said Merrill Stanton to his wife’s blessing on their food. He began to apportion the still-sizzling deer steaks and fried bread to his family. His wife, Genevieve, was flushed from bending over the heat of the fire and looked uncommonly pretty. She smiled mischievously at him and nudged her plate toward him, signaling “more.” His daughter, Allegra Saylor, was willow slim but ate like a plowhand; his grandson, Kyle, was only four but could easily put away two good-sized deer steaks. Their friend—almost an adopted son—Perry Hammett, generally ate more than all of them did, but now he took only a modest portion, strongly refusing Merrill’s kind offer of double helpings. Perry was losing some of his chubbiness because he had become determined to eat no more than they did.
Two other fires burned in the valley, and the groups huddled around them might have been in distant cities. At the largest fire, in the most welcoming camping spot, Pastor Tybalt Colfax and his wife, Galatia, and their four friends ate deer steaks and sopped up the delicious gravy with slightly stale soda crackers.
Galatia Colfax was irritated that the Stantons had fried bread but offered them none; never mind that the Colfax faction had never offered the Stantons so much as a crumb of either food or consolation, and Galatia couldn’t boil water. Galatia made a spiteful comment, which ruined their dinner—for about fifteen seconds. They were too hungry, and the fresh meat was too delicious, to worry about the nobodies at the other fires for long.
The Stantons were certainly not nobodies, but as Merrill worriedly tended the third fire and the food for the other group, he despairingly thought that these people were, as a group, almost without human identity. They were the lost ones, the frightened ones, the weakest ones, the ones who lagged far behind and who could never keep up the fire and who had no hope. Merrill had to do and be everything for them. Poor Olivia Wheatley was almost catatonic; her ten-year-old daughter, Dana, was so pale and listless and thin that she looked like a small lost child; the Hartleys, both in their sixties, were fading like aged photographs.
With a sudden lurch in his heart, Merrill had a queasy sensation that someone was going to die. That was all. Just an odd thought in his head that seemed to be put there deliberately, fully formed and certain. With despair he stared at the lost ones and wondered which of them it would be.
About half a mile away from where Merrill stood staring at his forlorn little flock, Riley Case threw his Marlin .30-30 rifle to his shoulder, squinted one dark eye, and aimed. He surveyed the dark woods painstakingly through his notched sight. He didn’t breathe, so he could keep his hand and eye steady.
Nothing. Only shadows and glimmers among the thick evergreens. But I did see it, Riley thought. He wasn’t a man given to having nervous tics or seeing goblins in the dark. He’d seen the eyes; they reflected the red of the dying sun’s last rays, and they’d been the eyes of a wolf.
Victorine Flynn Thayer put both arms around her daughter and kissed her cheek. Dancy was small, her frame delicate, her bones thin, her skin white and translucent. Victorine hugged her just a little tighter.
Together they turned to watch the sun set. It was two sunsets since Tessa Kai Flynn, Victorine’s mother and Dancy’s grandmother, had died. Both evenings Victorine and Dancy had gone out onto the balcony of their beach condo to watch the sun’s last moments. It was late fall, and though they faced due south, across the Gulf of Mexico, the earth had tilted enough so that they could see the sunsets at the corner of the high-rise condominiums.
It was breathtaking, stunning, as it always was, but for both Victorine and Dancy, it was a desolate beauty. The sky was empty and growing a forbidding shade of purple; the sea was bleak and dark; the beach stretched for miles in both directions, abandoned and sad.
Victorine, in a moment of weakness and despair, wondered if they were the only two people left alive on earth.
Dancy was smiling.
PART I
THE VALLEY OF DECISION
Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision:
for the day of the Lord is near in the valley of decision.
—JOEL 3:14
Whither should I fly?
I have done no harm. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable, to do good sometime
Accounted dangerous folly.
—LADY MACDUFF, FROM MACBETH BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose;
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where’er I go,
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, ODE
ONE
RILEY CASE COULDN’T decide whether to tell them about the dead man. .
He had never intended to tell the wanderers in the mountains about the body he’d found the day before he’d joined the group (the “dunkhead dunces” he’d originally named them).
The man, whoever he was, had been young, healthy, and strong, and he’d been following the Christians’ path faithfully, but he’d always been two marches behind them. Riley never knew whether he’d been friend or foe, but he did know that the man had died badly—apparently from a wild animal attack. Riley hadn’t thought it would do any good to tell the poor wanderers about it.
But now Riley was seeing the wolves.
With further consideration, he decided that the only person who might need to be told about the wolves was Merrill Stanton. Riley sure wasn’t going to tell that movie-star preacher, who was supposed to be leading the group, or his shrewish wife; they might collapse with hysterics. None of the others, except maybe Allegra Saylor, could cope mentally or emotionally with the thought of a constant and very present threat. But quickly, with some discomfort, Riley decided not to tell Allegra. It wouldn’t help her, and certainly Riley wasn’t going to let any wolves or anything else touch her or her boy, Kyle. Not that he would ever tell her that. Riley wasn’t much of a man for confidences, either giving or receiving.
Riley was a strong, sturdy man, with coal-black hair, a pugnacious jaw, a beard that shadowed by two o’clock in the afternoon, and dark eyes that gave nothing away. He had quaint, old-world manners but kept a long distance from everyone, man or woman.
He proved to be as invaluable to the wanderers as he was an enigma. He was a skilled hunter, and each day he provided enough meat for the entire group. Though he obviously had woodcraft skills that no one else had, Riley insisted that Merrill Stanton continue to scout ahead, which meant in effect that Merrill was leading the way.
Merrill Stanton hardly looked the part of a wilderness guide. He was a lanky six-footer, almost skinny. His features were homely, his expression kind, his mannerisms like an accountant’s. Ty Col-fax’s “group,” which had been ready to run at top speed in the opposite direction from that which Merrill led them in after the signal fire disappeared, somehow became more amenable to going on after Riley Case came along. Perhaps that was why Riley insisted that Merrill continue to lead. No one knew exactly, for Riley kept very much to himself. He provided food for them, he helped them in their hard travel in daytime, and he guarded them at night. He was not a comfortable man to be around, and so he gave them no solace; but neither did he ask for any in return.
The only person that Riley made any effort to talk to was Perry Hammett. Riley didn’t spend very much time with the gawky child-man, but he sometimes spoke to Perry as they walked or after they finished supper. The boy’s eyes shone when Riley paid the least bit of attention to him. Aside from t
he fact that the entire group regarded Riley as some sort of superman, Riley was probably the only person in the world who had actually chosen Perry. It seemed that, even in the few days since Riley had joined them, Perry stood taller, didn’t blush so much, and had lost at least some of his shyness. He seemed to fall down less, too.
Wonder if Riley was an outcast like Perry? Allegra thought, observing Riley as he pointed out a landmark to Perry. I wonder if that’s why he takes time with him—kinship? It’s not pity. He’s not a pitying sort of man . . . and evidently that’s not what Perry needs.
Allegra disciplined herself not to watch, think about, or wonder about Riley too much. There was something between them. No, that wasn’t right. Allegra was a married woman, happily married for five years, and the fact that she was so cruelly separated from her husband didn’t change her outlook or her moral strength. There was nothing between Riley and her, except a glance once or twice, and a knowledge, deeply buried and deliberately kept that way, that there could be something between them. Sometimes that happened. There was no sin in being intelligent enough to know when you were attracted to someone. The sin was in what you did with the knowledge. Allegra ignored it, and to her relief, so did Riley.
Her mirror told her that she was an attractive woman, tall and willowy, but with a figure that made men steal a second glance. She was not beautiful in the garish Hollywood/Los Angeles way, but her warm green eyes, smoothly curved lips, and tawny hair gave her a sensuous appearance. She knew that Riley found her attractive, though he rarely spoke to her, hardly ever looked at her. But he was never unkind to her. In some visceral way, she knew that he was watching out for her and Kyle especially—just as she’d immediately known that she was the reason Riley had been following the group for so long. In this world, where all standards of human interaction were being redefined, it didn’t seem odd to Allegra at all.
This terrible autumn in the year of our Lord 2050 was sinking slowly and inexorably into winter, and the days were gloomy and chilly. Night began to overtake more and more of the afternoon. On this day, their twentieth day of wandering, it seemed that the sun had never risen, only that the day had been a little lighter gray color than the night before. The shortened days had slowed them down even more. For most of the members of the group were so weak that they could walk only for a short time in the morning and again after lunch and a long rest. Merrill told Riley worriedly that on this dark day he didn’t think they’d have time for two marches, so he was going to go far enough ahead to find a place to camp at about two o’clock in the afternoon and stay for the night. Riley agreed.
Sure enough, by noon it seemed that instead of the day waning, the twilight was beginning to fall. There was no wind, but the air was chilly and filled with unseen droplets of water that made their clothing feel damp and smell dank. All of the group—even the older couple, the Hartleys—seemed to have gained new strength with Riley Case’s provisions of fresh food and his protection. Yet the world’s oppressiveness overtook them, and they soon began to lose strength again.
“Excuse me, Mr. Case,” Allegra said as he passed the straggling column. He’d been weaving in and out among them, sometimes flanking them on either side, out of sight. The set of his shoulders seemed taut to Allegra, and his secretive eyes darted, quick with watchfulness.
He didn’t stop, but he turned to her and slowed his pace to match hers. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Is there something wrong?” she asked bluntly.
“Aside from creation and everything in it?” he parried. Already he was looking away from her, toward a thick stand of hardwoods on their left. The shadows underneath them were an impenetrable charcoal gray.
She tried again. “You seem . . . vigilant . . . even more so than usual.”
To her amazement, he chuckled, although it was a desolate sound without real amusement. “You’re not the first person to call me a vigilante, ma’am. Guess the leopard really can’t hide his spots. Anyway, we’re going to reach your father just up the trail here, and he’s found us a good spot for the night. This march will be over soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” As he always did—a quaint, old-fashioned, rarely seen gesture these days—he yanked on the brim of his cap and said, “Ma’am.”
Allegra felt reassured. It wasn’t until he disappeared, half-running up the trail far ahead, that she realized he hadn’t really told her anything. She reflected somberly, It’s as if he’s watching for something . . . or watching something, something we can’t see . . . Or is something watching us?
Merrill found a campsite, though it was not quite as pleasant as some they’d had. They had been going slightly downhill all day, loosely tracing the bottom quarter of a high, brooding mountain with twin jagged peaks, unlike most of the gently rounded timeworn Ozarks. The trail was clear. It was the remains of an age-old dirt road, likely a logging road or a hunter’s access built a hundred years ago. But it was treacherous and sometimes disappeared in tangles of briers and thickets, and small landslides had buried parts of it under sharp boulders and pebbles as edged as broken glass. It dipped and turned and then sank down into a foggy and thickly wooded valley.
In this valley Merrill set up their camp. As night fell, he wondered about the wisdom of his choice, for the notch between the two high peaks seemed to be like a wind tunnel. A caustic wind out of the north cut through, rising and falling like the atonal cries of women in mourning. In the valley were mostly old hardwoods, tall and stern, almost impossible to hew down with just an ax. Deadwood was scarce, and the fires were difficult to start and tiresome to keep going. A stream was nearby, but instead of running icy cold and fresh, it was one of the hot mineral springs that bubbled up all over these mountains. The pool, which was formed from a small fissure in a rock, looked sullen and dark, and metallic-smelling mists rose from it. Even though it was warmer by the stream, no one made camp by it. For the first time since they’d left the city, the group huddled closely together instead of dividing up into their three distinct “groups.”
Allegra, who was sitting with Kyle and Perry and playing a silly game called Stick-Knock-Stick that Kyle made up, saw her father and Riley standing off to one side, talking quietly. Her father’s face was grave, lined with care and worry. That was nothing new. But once again, Allegra saw, or perhaps sensed, something more.
“Perry, will you watch Kyle?” she asked abruptly.
“Sure, Miss Allegra. Only sometimes I think he watches me.”
Absentmindedly Allegra smiled, then hurried to her father.
Riley had his back to her and was blocking her father’s view. She approached soundlessly, though she wasn’t actually trying to sneak up on them.
“. . . saw them three times today,” her father was saying in a low voice. “I couldn’t tell if it was the same one or not. I just saw a—movement, really, and gray fur, and once I thought I saw eyes, but I couldn’t be sure.”
Riley nodded, his heavy features drawn into a dark scowl. “I saw them. I’ve been seeing them all along because there are a lot of them in these hills. But I’ve never known them to stalk a big group of humans before. It doesn’t make sense. They’re sure not hungry.
They’ve got more than enough easy prey, like deer and rabbits.”
Allegra’s voice shook. “Wh—what? What are you talking about?” She stepped up close to her father.
Merrill sighed and put his arm around her shoulders. “I really wish you hadn’t overheard, Allegra,” he said reproachfully. “No one ever heard anything she needed to hear from eavesdropping.” It was probably the harshest thing Merrill had ever said to his daughter.
“But—but I want to know,” she said tremulously.
Merrill and Riley exchanged glances. Merrill was clearly worried, while Riley shrugged. With a resigned sigh, Merrill said, “Wolves. We’ve been seeing wolves along the trail.”
Allegra’s indrawn breath was ragged. “W-wolves . . .”
Both men waited silently.
She buried her face
in her hands for a moment, pressing her cold fingers to her temples. Then she gave her father a quick hug. “Thank you for telling me. I—I trust you. Both of you. Excuse me.”
Allegra said nothing else to anyone, not even her mother.
They wrapped up in all of their blankets or sleeping bags or whatever they had, but no one seemed to be able to settle down and go to sleep. Merrill walked restlessly around the camp, stopping to talk to this one and that one, sometimes standing at the edge of the woods and staring out into the darkness. Riley was nowhere to be seen; in fact, no one could recall ever seeing him asleep, in a bedroll, at night. Allegra, Genevieve, and Perry were sitting around their fire. Kyle was a big mound of blankets and covers, with his head in Allegra’s lap. He had on a Ty-wool stocking cap, but some of his thick brown curls had escaped around the nape of his neck, and Allegra was absentmindedly playing with them, thinking of how Kyle’s hair was exactly like Neville’s, except that Neville, being a marine to the core, kept his hair cut so short it was almost shaved.
She saw yellow eyes peering at her in the murkiness just beyond the wildly wavering firelight. For long moments she stared, unblinking, as the primeval slanted eyes stared back at her, into her eyes, burning into her brain, searing her with terror. Panicked, she jumped up and looked frantically around for her father or for Riley.
Ten-year-old Dana Wheatley, who had hardly said a complete sentence, suddenly started a low moan that went up in a sliding scale to a high shriek. “Maaa-maaa! Eyes!”
Pandemonium was instant.
People scrambled up, screaming, running this way, falling, shoving.
Allegra saw her father, then took one step toward him. “Father! Here! Here!” she screamed, but her cry was lost in the din. Merrill caught sight of her, though, and he was coming, running, pushing panicked people aside. She turned to pick up Kyle— He wasn’t there.
Fallen Stars, Bitter Waters Page 2