“I wish we had something to hold onto,” Rudy said. “Feels hopeless, you know? Does anything good happen anymore? Does anything good ever happen?”
Masie inched across the seat, closer to Rudy.
This is good, she thought. This is hopeful.
“Yes,” she said, softly. “Good things happen.”
She’d never wanted to be so close to anyone before.
Rudy’s eyes fixed on the leaden sky. Was he too preoccupied with his mother, thoughts of his dad? Was he still haunted by the death of Sadie?
Rudy nodded. Yes, he was saying. Good things happen. Good things happen all the time.
She wanted to say something like, ‘Rudy, you’re a good thing,’ but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Maybe he didn’t have time for her, for either of them. His look suggested he didn’t have time, not here, not now. He was too preoccupied.
Just friends, Mase. That’s all I ever wanted. Why? Because you’ll never be as pretty as your friend, Jeanie Masterson.
But Rudy would never think that.
“Rudy?”
He was somewhere else, looking out the window, into the meadow, not seeing the meadow, Masie thought.
She was thinking too much. Hadn’t he said good things happen?
“Rudy?” she said, again.
He turned and faced her. Masie inched closer. He didn’t seem to mind. She reached out and brushed a lone, black lock of hair out of his eyes.
We’re a good thing, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t find allowance to move with rapidity. She had to take it slow. She had to move slowly because Rudy was so far away.
His brows came together as if he didn’t quite comprehend…
“Don’t you ever…” Masie began. “You know…need something more?”
He looked dreamy, confused. He cocked his head, but suddenly, understanding came into his eyes.
Masie cupped the back of Rudy’s head. He let go of the steering wheel and set their beverages on the floor. He tried to smile, but it was weak.
Masie needed it. She’d pined for it. She only prayed Rudy pined for it as well. If he didn’t…
You need this, Masie wanted to say. You deserve it. Not because I want it, but because you want it, too. Because…
People need people.
“Masie,” Rudy said, as if the dream—the haze—finally broke. He understood what letting go meant. Masie was his teacher.
No, not here, not now, she thought. No time for limbo and confusion.
“Rudy,” she said, and smiled.
Slow, she thought. Remember. Just take it slow. Don’t rush. Make it slow. Make it beautifully slow.
Masie raised her chin and closed her eyes. She found Rudy’s lips soft and waiting…
His response was slow only because it surprised him. He’d never thought…never suspected…everything he was going through…everything they’d been through together…
But yes, he needed her. He hadn’t suspected, but it was okay, he seemed to say. He was glad.
Confused, Masie thought. Too confused to dream, to be a good thing, but this is a good thing.
Her heart galloped in her chest. Blood rushed loudly in her ears. Rudy brushed his lips lightly against hers.
Yes, now, gentle, Masie thought. Don’t be afraid of slow. Don’t ever be afraid of anything ever again.
Masie swayed to the beat of a drunken rhythm.
Slow. Take it slow.
The wind, howling through the cracks, pummeled the window.
Rudy’s hands moved along her back. He was breathing heavily.
Pay attention to your feelings. Pay attention to you feelings.
Her body let go, and Masie Auburn closed her eyes.
You need this, and he needs it, too. People need people because there’s so much tragedy in the world. We need this now, gentle, slow, love. I can give you love, Rudy. I want to give you love.
Masie was floating above the ground. The bleak October had disappeared.
This is Heaven, floating through the air, eternity, my peace of mind, my heart filled, eternal, ambrosia. Here with you.
I love you, Rudy.
Masie learned to love, to teach, and to accept love.
…and she took it slow…
x
It was the way in which it all began that troubled him most of all: the same wind blowing cold, the papers blowing across his desk. That deep, perpetual darkness was here again. It had been a nice little town, which had run into some unfortunate circumstance was all. Yet, you couldn’t really call this unfortunate, could you? Because it was nothing of the kind. This was more than misfortune. This was condemnation. It was darkness supernal, and it was moving in across the streets now.
Frank Allen Bimsley had no idea about that darkness until it began to show itself. He had no idea about the extent, or the omniscient presence of that darkness. He had read somewhere that evil was banal…even stupid. But he didn’t see anything banal or stupid about any of this. This was like something lying to waste everything in its path. It was that kind of darkness, that kind of entity. It had been teasing him perhaps, giving him just a little taste of what to expect before…
When? Frank thought. Now? Before now?
Yes, he could see that easily.
Night had fallen, and outside the streets teemed with debris. The wind was making a mockery of the streets. Plastic bags blew in a whirlwind like directionless souls turned into balloons. The stars were out, and there was a sense of cold to these October streets he’d never felt before. Where did cold like that come from, he wondered? Who was to say? The stars seemed a part of it as well, like pinprick icicles in the night sky. The land itself, the darkness beyond, even the mountains…this was a different sort of cold, a blistering, digging cold that went straight to the bones. It made a home here. It wheedled its way into your marrow and just lied there getting colder.
All that, and you haven’t even stepped outside, Frank thought.
The funny thing was, he didn’t want to step outside. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Because he knew…if he did…
Bud Jackson was staring up into the sky, transfixed. Cedar Johanson, as well, stood dumfounded, looking on. Margaret Tudor…brothers James and Oliver Peachtree. He was looking at them through the window in his office, wondering if he should go down, but not sure how that would help. To put it simply, he was scared. He was terrified
What had turned into a simple night out had become a revelation of sorts.
Frank walked out of his office and downstairs, stopping for just a second before the double-glass doors. He could see out over the street, the residents of Ellishome looking into the night sky, and he took a deep breath. He opened the door and stepped outside.
Yes. Cold. Instantly, the wind cut deep beneath his flesh. He looked at the people gaping into the night sky. He thought about the death toll rising. He thought about people moving out, and when he’d taken that step outside, he wondered why he, himself, hadn’t followed suit. It was just another night in another small town, another condemned small town. And he knew, in that moment, that Ellishome would never be the same again. After tonight, it might be a small town wiped entirely out of existence.
The thing was massive, hovering over Main Street like a giant mantle upon the night. Still, it did not seem to have any real discernible shape. It was nothing like that at all. It was a simple presence, something looming under the sky to make a stand.
This thing was much more than a brougham, than a stranger on a horse. The horse, the brougham, the cold, and all the things he’d seen, were nothing. Simple shades it could project at will.
Awesome in its proportion, a cloaked figure without any real characteristics to its face—perhaps because it seemed cloaked in its own darkness—moved in shifting, watery motions to the wind, clouds of blackness. It moved and wavered, surveying everything in its field of vision…if field of vision was something it had. Frank couldn’t see its eyes, but it did s
eem to turn its massive face in one direction, then the other, as though staking its claim upon these streets.
For a second, Frank discerned something else so puzzling he had a hard time acknowledging it as authentic. The very streets disappeared, the storefronts, and lampposts. In their place, huge stone monoliths towered high into the night sky, like great stone beacons. He knew what they were…actual markers, like headpieces, only on a more massive, titanic scale. They traveled outward for as far as he could see, a perpetual graveyard in every direction from the town limits. Each one was a separate city, a separate town, locked in the confines of some stone prison. Ellishome would be this same thing soon, a marker upon the night. The thing, whatever it was, ate worlds whole, towns and cities, and in their place—as some morbid reminder—it erected a landmark to where it had been…where it was going, what it’s purpose was.
Frank saw all this, but wasn’t sure what to make of it. They were, quite simply skyscrapers of stone, headpieces of every town and city this creature had devoured throughout its long and cursed existence.
Yes, everything else was simply illusion, a mockery of its true form, a shape, which breathed in the night air and let it out again, a pervasive shadow on the night wind made from the bones of the dead.
The thing continued to survey the streets. As it did, it seemed to nod to itself a single time, spreading its arms out in either direction. Yes, it was staking its claim here in the land, and perhaps once Ellishome was gone, it would move on to another town, another country, another city. It would continue to feed and slaughter and builds its silent, dead kingdom, housing the souls of all it had taken.
Frank thought of the boys and the one girl on their mission. He knew their doom. He knew in that moment that they would never make it home again. They had no idea what they were up against. This was no phantom bogeyman. Dear God, if only it was!
Car doors slammed. Someone screamed. Motors revved to life. The paralysis had broken. Frank looked around him and saw all the people fleeing. They had had enough. This was it. The town was under siege, and there would be no survivors.
He thought about stopping them, telling them they still had a chance, that this wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but those empty promises seemed only that. Lies and empty promises. He might as well be delivering the deathblow himself.
Was this the last of them, Frank thought? Were these the last real denizens of Ellishome, the people he had called his own? And if so, what did that mean for Ellishome itself?
In the sky, the figure, the cloaked, night-filled sentinel, seemed to diminish, leaving only the wind and the cold in its wake. It had what it wanted: the soul of this town. Silence filled the streets. The stars were cold pulses of illumination daring him to challenge them. But the voice of darkness seemed to mock him in its derision, as though—behind all this—some deep, throaty, diabolical chuckle reverberated from the darkness to the meadow, and back again. Frank heard this chuckle quite clearly. It was laughing at him again.
His town was gone. His town was dead.
Frank stood there for a long time, more helpless and defeated than he’d ever felt in his life. He closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer.
But as far as answers went, he knew…This thing had staked its claim on Ellishome and all who lived here. It was not Frank Allen Bimsley’s town any longer. It never had been.
It was the creature’s own.
CHAPTER VIII
Over a foot of snow had fallen since they’d gone to bed the night before, lying deep and unbroken across the hills and trees in the Land of the Dragon. The worst of the storm had passed, and the clouds were broken, revealing a pale blue sky. Sparkles reflected bright from the sun off the snow, and jabbed their eyes, making everyone wish they’d brought sunglasses.
“First snow of the year,” Malcolm said, and sighed.
They bundled heavily in long underwear and gaiters. Their food was already running low, and they partook only when they absolutely had to. Faces serious, eyes intent on the road ahead, they began their trek. It was slow going at first, but they managed to adjust quite well. Cold nipped at their exposed faces, and they talked about hot baths, cozy fires, and warm meals.
“I think, given the chance,” Gavin said, “I’d probably scour myself with a cheese-grater right about now.”
Gavin had not only healed from his violent bout with his mother, but was more determined and resolute than ever before. An inner strength emanated from deep within. Albert, too, looked more muscled and stout. The boy who’d done the pirate impersonation at Samuel’s Creek more than a month ago was all but gone.
The land turned to solid rock, wind-blown precipices dusted in snow. Steely skies moved in, covering the sun. At one point, they came across a herd of mountain sheep.
“How come no one thought to bring a camera?” Albert asked.
“Wow,” Eddie said. “I’ve never seen big horn sheep before. At least not in the wild.”
Several smaller males with prominent horns were also part of the herd.
“More stuff to add to the journal, Higgs,” Albert said, patting the kid on the back.
After a while, they continued west.
Seth gazed out over undulations of rolling snow-covered hills and white-tipped pines. The land itself, though silent and vast, seemed to hide a secret brutality. The raw weather, the awesome mightiness of the mountains, intimidated him, giving him a reverence for the land he’d never had from his backyard. Even though his companions were close, a dreadful sense of aloneness overwhelmed him.
The ground grew rockier at their feet, and at times, they moved along ridgelines, the ground spread out to rocks, rivers, trees, and lakes. Snow lay everywhere for as far as they could see.
At times—as they did with the wildlife—Seth and his friends stopped to take in the sheer magnitude and beauty of the land. For minutes, they marveled over awesome views, endless panoramas they had never seen in their world back home.
The cold gnawed with sharp, powerful gusts as they moved on.
Albert stopped and took off his pack, his gaze fixed on something in the trees. He grabbed his rifle and loaded it.
“What is it?” Gavin asked.
The others stopped and followed Albert’s gaze, stepping closer.
“Shhh,” Albert cautioned. He pointed ahead, and the others looked. Thirty yards into the trees, a four-point buck stood watching them pass.
Albert put the rifle to his shoulder.
Seth braced himself for the report, but it never came. Instead, he heard the crunch of snow. The deer bounded off before Albert could take a shot.
The boy lowered the rifle. “Maybe another time,” he said.
The clouds grew heavier and darker. Snowflakes, the size of quarters, began to spiral through the air.
“I think it’s going to be a white Christmas,” Gavin said.
Seth looked at the boy and smiled.
“If you could have any present at all, what would it be?” Gavin asked no one in particular.
“A warm bed and a hot meal,” Albert said.
“Baked apple pie,” Eddie said. “Mom makes the best apple pie. I can almost taste it.”
“What about you, Malcolm?” Gavin asked.
“To not have to repeat the fifth grade,” he said, and everyone laughed.
Seth looked to the side and noticed Kinsey smiling to herself. He thought about the day they’d spent at Samuel’s Creek, staring through the trees into the summer sky as they lied on their backs.
“Seriously,” Gavin said, not content with Malcolm’s answer. “What do you really want?”
Malcolm thought about it and smiled, adjusting his backpack. “My grandpa’s a writer,” he said. “I remember he had this book called The Land of the Dragon. One he wrote. I’ve read all of his books, but I never got to hear him talk about his own life. I miss that. Before I left, he was really coming around. It was cool to watch, like he’d been born again, a new man. That was the hardest part about leavi
ng…what I loved the most. I want to sit in the chair and listen to him tell me his life story. I never really knew anything about him.”
“Really?” Albert asked. “He wrote a book called The Land of the Dragon? That’s kind of freaky, don’t you think?”
Malcolm looked at his companions and smiled.
“You will,” Albert told Malcolm. “When we get back, that’s all you’ll have time for, except when he’s waiting to hear your story. Maybe it’s the same as the book he wrote. Maybe it’ll inspire him to write another one. He can look through Eddie’s journal for inspiration.”
“Your turn, Kinsey,” Gavin said.
Kinsey smiled, too, and looked at the others as they walked. “Hope,” she said, nodding. “Just hope. I don’t want anything materialistic. I just want to know…that somewhere…out there…there will always be hope.”
“And,” Gavin said, beating and invisible drum with his hands. “Last but not least…”
“His Majesty,” Albert finished. Seth looked at him, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. “What does the Bearer of the Black Sword desire for Christmas above all things?”
“Isn’t it a little early?” Seth asked.
“I think we’re doing it to pass the time,” Eddie said.
“In that case,” Seth said. “That’s easy.”
The others looked at him, but Seth didn’t meet their gaze. He looked ahead, through the misty white landscape, the rugged, cold terrain they had yet to travel through, a limitless stretch of unending mountains seeming to have no end.
“Victory,” he said, simply. “That’s all. Just a victory.”
His friends did not reply, and they kept on though the snow.
ii
The pine trees grew dense around them once more, and under their feet, the snow was roughly six-inches deep. Seth was glad Malcolm had purchased the gaiters because his feet were warm and dry.
Their trek was still slow, however, and the snow was constant.
Eddie suddenly came to a halt, not saying anything. The others turned and noticed him standing still in the snow, his eyes wide, staring off into the trees. Malcolm followed Eddie’s gaze and noticed a large black wolf watching them from a distance.
Snapdragon Book II: In the Land of the Dragon Page 16