They worked fervently, barely aware of the dry heat and utter stillness around them. Rory noticed that Anna’s initial trepidation had mostly gone. But when they got to Mick Hull’s body, she finally broke. “Why is this happening,” she groaned as she helped Rory drag Mick’s body across the road. “Look at him.” Rory was trying not to see Mick’s already mummifying body. “He was just a boy. He didn’t deserve this.”
Rory felt a surge of sadness for the loss of such a young life. “None of them did,” he replied.
They weighted the body and pushed it into the lake. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Anna murmured, hanging her head.
He gave her a moment to regain her composure. He was beginning to feel numb to the madness of it all. He looked up into the mountains and noticed that the sun was now low on the horizon, etching scarlet strokes in its wake. Where had all the time gone? He stared down the dock. There were still a few bodies left. He swallowed, his throat like sandpaper.
“Sorry,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “Let’s finish this.” She boldly walked down the dock. Dusk was chasing the light away, casting a gloomy pall over the buildings. They had only a few more minutes of daylight, before the spirits would leave the host bodies.
He hurried past her and as he stepped onto Main Street, movement slithered on the periphery of his vision. He turned toward the bridge. A man was walking down the road in the slow, plodding way he had come to know meant that the person had been inhabited. Rory didn’t recognize him, but he knew it was a Nephilim.
He stopped, and Anna bumped into him. “What…” she started, then moaned. “Oh no, not more.” Even as she said it, two more men materialized out of the trees, trumping down the road. They met up with the first man and continued coming. Rory made a quick decision. It was time to get Anna away. He could come back and deal with the Nephilim later, after she was safe. He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.” He started to cross the road, and again pulled up short. A man and a woman were coming around the corner of the café: Samuel and Joan. He looked the opposite way. Douggie and two more men were walking down the road into town.
“They’ve outflanked us,” he said. He began to back up, keeping Anna behind him.
“What do we do?” she choked out. He looked around frantically. They couldn’t get past the Nephilim. He glanced behind him, at the lake and the boats. They could cross the lake, but the Nephilim could, too, in the safety of a boat, especially since the lake water wasn’t as harmful to the necessary ones as he originally thought.
“Here.” He grabbed the hose from the well pump and thrust it into her hands. “Start spraying at them.”
“What?” She stared at him in panic and confusion. “It won’t stop them!”
“It’ll slow them down!” He grabbed her hands and pointed the hose into the road. Then he worked the pump, creating pressure for her. Anna suddenly nodded her head and aimed the spout at the oncoming Nephilim. She twisted the handle and a stream of water arced into the air. The two men who had neared Rory’s Jeep stopped, shying away.
“Keep it up,” he yelled at her as he splashed into the lake and slogged through the waist high water. He quickly scuttled two lightweight Ranger canoes that were pulled up on the shore.
“Hurry!” Anna urged him on. “They’re coming fast.” She pumped frantically, pointing the hose at the approaching evil.
Rory swam farther down the dock, to another aluminum skiff. “Watch them!” he chided her, pointing at the Nephilim who were trying to approach from different directions. He grabbed the side of the skiff. Now his feet couldn’t touch the bottom of the lake anymore, and it was much more difficult to capsize the boat. He rocked it until it leaned precariously on its side, then managed to upend it. He kicked away with his feet but the boat capsized onto him, the edge hitting his arm painfully as the boat went over on top of him. He took in a lungful of water and came up in the hollow hull, coughing and spitting. He dove under the surface and swam out from under the boat, emerging to hear Anna’s frenzied shouting.
“It’s not fast enough!” She worked the pump more.
Rory looked down the dock. Ed had appeared, and he was coming down the road, slowly, cautiously, letting Anna spray at the others like target practice. But he still approached, staying out of range of the water. Rory looked at the remaining boats. His sturdy rowboat was moored in his usual spot; Myrtle’s boat was next to it. Further down, four wooden dinghies rocked gently in the stirred-up water.
“The water pressure’s going,” Anna shrieked. “What do I do?”
Rory spied a gas can in Myrtle’s boat. A last desperate idea formed in his mind. “Get Myrtle’s boat started!” He swam to the nearest ladder and crawled out of the water. Anna ran down the dock and hopped into the boat, too scared to question him.
He passed her on his way to the boat shed, his wet clothes heavy on his body. He grabbed two full, ten-gallon gas cans and staggered back down to the remaining boats, feeling the weight of the cans pulling at his shoulder sockets, sensing the presence of Ed drawing nearer.
“I can’t get it started!” she screamed.
“Then soak her boat with gas.” Anna looked around, found the gas can and emptied it onto the hull of Myrtle’s boat, then scrambled back onto the dock. She helped Rory use the other two cans to soak the remaining vessels.
“Get in my boat,” he yelled at her. He noticed the revolver lying on the dock. He snatched it up and handed it to Anna. “Get going!” As she stepped past him, he looked back toward the Crossing. Ed was already on the dock, a dark figure silhouetted against the gray backdrop of the general store. Rory jumped into Myrtle’s boat and grabbed the flare gun and extra flares out of her emergency kit. He slipped getting out of the boat and slammed onto the dock. The flare gun and flares cluttered away from him.
“Rory!”
He stood up, brushing at his scraped hands. “I’m all right.” He ran for the flare gun, aware of Ed closing in on him, near enough for Rory to see his eyes burning malevolently. Rory bent down and seized the flare gun, but as he turned, Ed grabbed his arm.
“Rory!” Anna screamed again.
Then Ed attacked him, his fingers clawing at his neck. Rory felt the evil sink into his being. It wrapped itself around his soul and he knew that he was going to die. “Anna,” he whispered. As he gasped for breath, he heard the sound of thumping on wood, and Old Man Brewster appeared in his vision. He came up behind Ed and with a quick motion wrapped the garrote that Rory had planned to use earlier around Ed’s throat. Ed’s grasp slipped and Rory fell to his knees.
“Run,” Brewster roared at him, even as he and Ed staggered backward on the dock.
Rory looked around frantically, found the gun and flares, and crawled a few feet away from them. He scrambled to his feet and rushed back to his boat, conscious of an overriding fear, the screams of Anna, and the evil that surrounded them.
“Here.” He shoved the flares and gun at her, then took the oars. Ed was within a few feet of the dinghies, clawing at Brewster and the rope choking his neck.
“What do we do?” Anna was hysterical. By now other Nephilim had come onto the dock, making their way toward Brewster and Ed.
“Get out of here!” Brewster shouted at them, and then he and Ed stumbled off the dock. Rory and Anna watched in horror as they fought, thrashing in the water. The chaos continued for a moment, until they both disappeared beneath the surface. The waters calmed.
“Where’d they go?” Rory asked as he pulled with all the strength he had left. The boat slipped slowly away from the dock.
“Look,” she pointed.
He glanced up and saw the Nephilim on the dock. A bold one was stepping into one of the boats. Before he could say another word, Anna cried out as an arm gripped the side of their boat. Rory lifted an oar, then stopped as Brewster’s head emerged from the gloom.
“Help me in,” he growled.
They quickly moved into action and pulled him into the boat. He lay in the botto
m, gasping for breath. “They’re coming after us!” Rory scrambled for the oars. “Use the flare gun! Shoot at the boats!” he yelled as he began rowing. Anna did as instructed, aiming the flare gun at the dinghies. The red ball of flame sliced through the dimness and hit the boat just as the Nephilim was stepping into it. Flames leapt up, showering them and the dock in sudden brightness. In seconds the flames reached the Nephilim, catching his clothes on fire. An unearthly sound emanated from him as he staggered for a moment, then toppled over the side of the boat.
Anna looked in shock for a second, then quickly reloaded the flare gun and shot at the other boats. Already the heat generated from the fire was severe, loaded with gas fumes. Rory pulled on the oars and they put distance between themselves and the growing blaze. Other Nephilim, including Samuel and Joan, stood near the flames, watching.
Rory suddenly noticed Brewster huddled between them. “Is Ed gone?” Rory asked him. As the words left his mouth, both noticed a disturbance in the water where Ed had gone under.
“Ed won’t be coming back,” the old man said. “I snagged his clothes to an old anchor on the lake bottom. Damn near killed myself doing it. That spirit’s being eradicated right now.”
Rory wasn’t so sure of that, but he kept rowing, not expressing his doubts about Ed’s fate.
“What happened to you?” Anna asked Brewster.
“You fell in the mine,” Rory said through short breaths. “I heard the shotgun go off.”
“Yep,” Brewster said. “The gun went off into the air. Scared me half to death.” He paused to catch his breath. “That mine shaft doesn’t fall straight down. It’s more like a steep slope. A ledge stopped my fall. Hurt myself pretty good, was groggy for a bit. And that damn Nephilim was lying somewhere in the dark, too. I felt him sneak right past me as he climbed out of the shaft. I stayed very still, let me tell you. I knew if I made a peep, he’d have cooked my goose.” Anna chuckled uneasily. “I musta passed out for a bit. Then I come into town and see you fighting him.”
Suddenly, an explosion tore the air and rocked the boat.
“Whoa,” Anna said, clutching the sides of the boat.
The inferno had found its way to the engine in Myrtle’s boat. Now the fire roared between all the boats, a thick wall of flames that lit the darkness with an eerie orange glow. A second explosion shook them as another engine blew. The Nephilim still remained where they were, arms at their sides, staring after them, oblivious to the destructive fire. A few other Nephilim had joined Samuel and Joan. Douggie lingered a few feet back, as if awaiting instructions. Then, they all slowly turned and began to walk back to shore.
Rory saw Anna frown, then her head dip, the halo of the fire burning behind her. Even in the near darkness, he could see the tears stream down her cheeks. He never let up his pace and soon the bonfire shrunk to a small blazing ball in the deep blue distance, and then the figures of the Nephilim disappeared completely.
“They won’t cross the lake by swimming,” Rory huffed. “They’ll have no choice but to hike around the lake, and that’ll take a long time through all that rough terrain.” He paused, then said, “Just like Barton planned it.”
“He planned one more thing,” Brewster said.
Anna finally turned in the boat and faced them. “What?” she asked.
Brewster pointed at Rory. “He’s the chronicler.”
“But Ed’s dead, so they don’t need him. They can’t do their ceremony,” Anna said.
“For now,” Rory answered, understanding jolting him. “Blood’s been spilled, and they’ll be back.” But he knew what he had to do. Just like Barton, he would leave a journal for the next generation. Brewster shot him a knowing smile.
Anna’s features were a gray mask in the shadows, but Rory could see the white around her terrified eyes. She huddled on the seat, arms wrapped around herself, warding off more than the rising chill in the air.
Rory felt the cold as well. Icy tentacles crawled into his wet clothes, burrowed their way deep into his heart, intensified with the settling gloom. As he rowed, the night enveloped them all with its uninviting presence. He squinted into the sky. The darkness would buy them a bit of time, for the Nephilim would likely wait until dawn to come around the lake. And tomorrow they could hope for the rain that Brewster had predicted.
Rory allowed himself a grim smile. They had escaped, but they weren’t free. They would never be free again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Renée Pawlish works as a database analyst, and spent eight years as a counselor, specializing in drug and alcohol issues, and teen sexual perpetrator and victim issues. She holds an undergraduate degree in history from the University of Colorado, and a Masters in Counseling from Denver Conservative Baptist Seminary. She resides in Littleton, Colorado.
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