It was impossible to get up the stepladder now and Toby and Nick were still at the back of the shed. She had to stall for time, slow Sanders down.
“Stop! Don’t come any closer,” she said. “I can’t get away. What is it you want from us?” She heard the trembling in her voice and tried to calm herself. “Don’t hurt us. We’re still your friends.”
It didn’t sound very sincere, and she prayed that Sanders would fall for it. His old self would have seen through it immediately. After all, she’d tried to clobber this guy with a poker. Was he still human enough to know bullshit when he heard it?
Sanders stopped and turned his head to one side, as if processing new information. Then he spoke in a hoarse voice.
“Nora, you must join us. We need you. Come and be one with us.”
She decided to lie her head off. “I want that,” she replied. “Very much. But not just yet.”
“Don’t resist. Join us.” A long pause, then, “You’ll have a new purpose.”
“That’s just what I need,” Nora replied, and even managed a little smile. “Tell me about the purpose.” She tried to avoid Sanders’ eyes and looked at empty space to the right of his head instead. Already she could feel a sort of dulling heaviness in her thoughts.
“We are all one,” Sanders droned. “Join us and we won’t hurt you.”
“Then drop the axe,” Nora replied.
To her immense surprise, Sanders complied. The axe clanged on the bare floorboards, fell over and lay flat. Sanders slowly raised his hands, palms upward, in a gesture of openness and peace. Nora’s eyes followed their movement. Several of his fingers were bent, and one of the tips looked like it had been squeezed flat. She remembered their last encounter at the safe room door. Inside her head, a heavy weight descended like a dark, covering blanket.
Watch my hands.
Too late, Nora tried to look away and found she couldn’t. Sanders’ fingers moved in slow circles and her locked eyes followed them.
Sanders’ hands went up in front of his face and over his eyes. Then the hands were gone and only the eyes were left, piercing Nora’s soul. She fought and struggled but she couldn’t look away. He’d caught her.
His eyes drilled into her mind, tightening and controlling. Against her will, a wave of relaxation flowed over her, pleasant and impossible to resist. This time there was no voice in her head, nothing specific to fight against and push back out. Instead, she had a new clarity. For the first time she saw things as they really were. The words forming in her head were her own.
We’ve gone too far. We’re the inhuman ones, plotting and scheming, wanting to hurt others. We should be caring and get them medical care, especially poor Marie. I have to be the one to do this, before it’s too late. Why didn’t I realise it before?
Nora sighed deeply. A great surge of compassion welled up in her. She was grateful to Sanders, to Brett, for revealing this to her. Now he would protect her and the connection between them would grow stronger. Her greatest desire was to surrender herself completely to him. She stepped forward to hug him and ask his forgiveness.
“Leave her alone!” a voice shouted.
Nora barely heard it.
* * *
Four of them came for us while the other two, Sanders and Marie, went for Nora. Before we knew it, Peterman, the Mackies and Georgia had cut us off from Nora so that I could barely even see her.
I scanned the area, wishing I’d kept the hammer and frantically looking for a weapon. There was only the workbench behind us within easy reach. With my hand behind my back, I groped around the bench. My fingers found a tool and explored it. A screwdriver, with a pointed Phillips head. I grasped its wooden handle, swallowed hard and prepared myself to commit an act of extreme violence. There could be no holding back now; Nora’s life depended on me.
One weapon, one chance to use it, so it had to be Sanders. I told myself I must do it. Big, ugly, zombie Sanders. I made myself hate him.
Then I went for him. I ducked my head and charged, palmed Abby Mackie out of my way with my left hand, carrying the screwdriver in my right. At the last second Peterman tried to block me but I head-butted him in the nose and he staggered sideways. No time to waste.
I clenched the screwdriver tightly and tried not to think about what I was going to do. Nora needed me, she needed this. I shouted something at Sanders and stepped between him and Nora.
Sanders towered over me, his bashed up body making him look like an end of movie Terminator, and suddenly the small weapon in my hand seemed like a toy. Too late now. I swung my arm as hard as I could, brought the screwdriver up in a broad arc, and the round steel shank sank into his belly. I let go instantly and felt blood drain from my face at the thought of what I’d just done.
Sanders sank to the floor in a crumpled heap. His hands clutched at the screwdriver. I looked behind me, expecting an attack but the others had frozen in their positions as if a master connection had been broken. I knew this wouldn’t last long.
“You had no choice,” Toby said behind me, “You saved Nora’s life.” He clutched the dynamite bundle in his hands.
“Is it ready?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then get up on the roof.”
Nora was still dazed and out of it, so we got on either side of her and pushed her up the ladder. Toby went up straight after her and I held the bottom steady. A dark shadow moved in my peripheral vision. Without looking who it was, I picked up Sanders’ axe from the floor at my feet and swung it. The heavy head cleaved the air and sank into someone’s torso. I turned and saw Georgia clutch her side in agony. Doubly sick at the violence, I ran up the ladder.
Halfway up, Ned Mackie lunged at me and grabbed my ankle in a grip as tight as a bear trap. I couldn’t budge. Keeping my hands loosely on the sides of the ladder, I slid down and caught Mackie in the side of the head with the sole of my other shoe. Something cracked in his neck, he let go of me, and collapsed like a sack of potatoes. Abby Mackie tried to get to me and tripped over her husband on the floor. Peterman came at me from the other side.
I scrambled up the ladder like a bat out of hell. Nora wrapped her arms around me at the top and yanked me through the skylight onto the roof. A precious few seconds of normal human touch but there was no time to enjoy it. I reached back down, grabbed the top of the stepladder and flung it sideways to prevent our pursuers from following us. Toby appeared at my shoulder and handed me the wrapped bundle with the fuse dangling between the sticks.
“Your throwing arm’s better than mine,” he said.
I didn’t argue; I was ready to do it. Toby struck a match and a puff of wind put it right out. He cursed and tried again. This time the match stayed lit and, with trembling hands, he held the flame to the fuse wire. It sputtered and fizzled into life. My heart raced as I realised the lethal package I was now holding.
I gripped the bundle with both hands and lowered it through the skylight. This wouldn’t work; I couldn’t see enough. I eased the fizzling bundle up again.
“Quick, hold my legs,” I told Nora and Toby.
They grabbed hold of me. I lowered the bundle and stuck my head down after it. This time I could see across the room. Ignoring the angry faces looking up at me, I aimed for the stack of propane cylinders piled high in the corner and threw the crackling cluster into them. They fell behind the top of the stack and lodged between the cylinders and the wall. Perfect. Sanders and his groupies would never get to them in time. Nora and Toby pulled me out of the hole.
“Run!” I shouted, standing up on tottery legs. The roof sloped gently, and I ran down to the lowest side and jumped off the edge. Tall grass broke my fall. I picked myself up and got out of Nora’s way just in time. Toby came down in a heap, hurt his ankle, but didn’t break anything. As I helped him up I shouted, “Get to the other side of the house.” The three of us ran for our lives.
We rounded the corner of the house and kept going, me in front, Nora right behind and Toby following, limpi
ng a bit.
Was this going to work? Had the fuse fizzled out?
We passed the front door just as the dynamite went off. A deafening crescendo of sound burst in my ears, and the great wooden mass of the house visibly shook and shuddered. The explosive wave swept over us, the bulk of the house saving us from the full force of the rapidly expanding gas.
I kept going. It was only when I reached the river down by the boat dock that I thought it safe enough to stop and catch my breath. With my hands on my knees, and gasping for air, I looked back. Between the shed and the back of the house, a massive ball of flame rose up into the night sky. The fire had already spread to the house itself and its upper floors were engulfed.
We sat on the ground and rested. Yellow light from the burning house flickered across Nora and Toby’s faces and the acrid smell of smoke filled the air. Toby massaged his swollen ankle for a while. Nora, obviously restless, walked along the jetty to the boat and came back with two grocery bags full of bottled water and energy bars. I gulped a bottle empty in about ten seconds flat then watched the flames rise higher and higher. Wooden beams crackled and collapsed. Small explosions shook the air.
Ever so slowly, night passed into day.
* * *
We dozed on the hard wooden quay and only got up after it had already been light for several hours. The house was still burning but the worst of it was over and around eight o’clock we thought it safe enough to go take a look. I suppose we had survivors in mind, or maybe we just thought that’s what we should have in mind. To survive the explosion and firestorm we’d witnessed would have taken a miracle. An undeserved and unwanted one.
Near the front of the house the heat got too much, and we had to stop. The roof had completely caved in and the upper floors had collapsed, leaving a shallow shell of still flaming timber. The antique furniture, books and the paintings that Wheeler had taken so much pride in were all ashes by now. The most beautiful thing in the house had been Georgia, and I felt guilty for not putting her and the other six human lives lost above mere expensive furnishings.
We circled around to the back of the house and saw that the shed was completely gone, its walls and roof now no more than splintered wood fragments flung in all directions.
“None of them could have survived that,” I said.
“No, thank God,” Toby replied.
Nora simply nodded and went closer. Suddenly her hand shot up to her mouth. She stepped away, bent over and vomited. I rushed to her and patted her gently on the back.
“What is it?” I said.
She pointed to where she’d been standing. When I looked over there, I saw it too.
On the ground amid the grey, ashen rubble and scorched wood, lay a human head. It was horribly charred and blackened, impossible to identify. I quickly looked away. Then, angry with myself, I looked back. A small head, long hair, petite ears and face, what was left of it. It had to be Georgia. I swallowed down a hard lump in my throat and wiped away a smoky tear. We rejoined Toby.
“What is it?” he asked me.
“Nothing, it’s nothing. Don’t ask again.”
Mercifully, he didn’t. “This whole place is going to end up as ash,” he said. “There’s no way even fire experts will be able to figure out what happened.”
I nodded. “Which means we can tell them whatever we like?”
“I suppose so,” Toby replied, “It would be an act of mercy to the families. They’d never believe the truth anyway.”
“It happened like this,” I began, “They’d been drinking all night long. Then Mr. Wheeler took them out to the shed to play around with the dynamite. We went for a walk instead and that’s why we survived.”
“How do we explain our cuts and scratches?” Nora said, “And our filthy clothes?”
“We tried to get close to the blaze, rescue survivors, couldn’t do it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Nora agreed.
I turned to Toby. “You okay with that?”
He didn’t answer for what seemed a long time. Then a little smile appeared on his lips. “A lie can be justified,” he replied, “If it saves unnecessary suffering. For all their bad actions, the seven dead in there are innocent victims of some kind of horrible mind invasion. Let’s go with your story and allow the families some peace.”
“Agreed.” I took a last look around and sighed. “I never imagined so much devastation.”
“That was because of the propane cylinders,” Toby said. “We had propane tanks at the mining sites too, and we always sited them well away from the dynamite shed.”
“How come?” I asked.
Toby grinned. “Propane expands nearly three hundred times in volume when it changes from liquid to gas. In other words, it creates one hell of an explosion.”
I tried to imagine what it was like in the shed when the explosion went off, then recalled the ghastly thing on the ground that Nora had just found. That’s what dynamite and propane expansion did to human bodies.
“Let’s get out of here,” Nora said, breaking the spell. “Before my eyebrows get singed off.”
We walked up the gentle hill behind the house and sat on a flat grassy area near the helipad. A cool breeze blew down the slope, flapping the old orange windsock and keeping the smoke away from us. We were all quiet now. I noticed that Toby had closed his eyes and his lips moved slightly. Birds sang in the trees somewhere behind us and, despite the depressing scene in front, I enjoyed the stillness. After a while, I spoke.
“They must have had a quick death,” I said.
“Instantaneous,” Nora agreed.
I pulled a stalk of bone-dry grass and thought about chewing it. Something was puzzling me. Toby’s eyes were open again.
“Toby, what changed your mind back in the shed?”
“What do you mean?”
I threw the grass away. “About doing what you did. You were set against it till then.”
Toby thought for several seconds.
“I guess I thought it was justified,” he replied. “Somehow I knew that making up that bundle of dynamite was the right thing to do, for everyone’s sakes.”
“You’ve lost me.”
Toby shrugged. “Maybe I’m lost myself, Nick. But I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately; past, present and future. What we’ve just done is in the past now. Because of it we have a better present and hope for the future. Theologians like that sort of thing.”
“Lighting the fuse did that?” I was more puzzled now that ever.
“Never mind, I could be just trying to salve my conscience. Another way to think of it is like the resurrection of Jesus in the Bible; new life springing from necessary death. Maybe that’s just rationalising too.”
“Thinking that way helps you?” Nora said.
Toby nodded. “Yes, it does; it’s meaningful, to me anyway.”
I still didn’t understand, so gave him a reassuring shoulder pat and let the subject drop. Nora stretched out and lay on the grass. Slowly tension eased from her body and her face became more relaxed. I thought she might have dropped off to sleep. A bee hummed around me and I pulled some more grass and chewed it. Toby fondled a small silver cross he took from around his neck, until he too rolled over and dozed.
Weariness finally overcame me, and I lay back and closed my eyes. The sun warmed my body and I sighed deeply. When we got back to the city there would be phone calls, reunion with Mum and Dad, explanations, apologies, and the newspaper headlines Wheeler had tried so hard to avoid. There’d be tears and lies too. But until then, rest.
I was fast asleep when the distinctive loud thrum of a helicopter woke me. Still groggy, I sat up and watched the glorious sight of a big old Sikorsky sweep into view, circle around, then land light as a feather on the helipad. Two pilots jumped out of the cockpit and saw us. I raised a weary arm and waved.
The End
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to all who helped me with this novel.
I am especially g
rateful to the members of Fairview Writers’ Group for reading the manuscript, chapter by chapter, and providing detailed critical feedback. This led to scores of small changes – and some larger ones – resulting in a much better book than I alone could have produced. In particular, my friend Don Morrison gave me excellent suggestions and ideas.
Thanks also to freelance editor Kit Schindell for help with early drafts of the opening chapters, and to fellow author Margaret Hume for advice and encouragement. Special thanks to international bestselling author Daniel Kalla for reading my manuscript at an earlier stage and providing a terrific ‘blurb’.
My wife Joanne supported me wonderfully throughout the long writing process. I am supremely grateful to her and to my son Brendan for their unwavering love and support.
Joanne and Brendan – I dedicate this book to both of you.
* * *
About the Author
David Anderson grew up in a small town in Northern Ireland during the Troubles. Fortunately the town had a public library where he borrowed all the adventure and thriller novels he could find. He took a degree in philosophy at Queens University, Belfast, followed by a postgraduate diploma in social studies, and came to Vancouver, Canada, in 1991, where he has lived ever since.
His first novel, Earthly Powers, a contemporary thriller, was published in 2014, followed by Meaner Things and Shadow of a Killer. He has also published two previous Young Adult novels, The Beachhead and The Remnant.
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