Once she left, I crumpled. Slumping backwards onto the wet grass, I held my head in my hands. I felt overwhelmed. Cybill thrashed around in my head. Wensem’s bloodied face seemed to rise up in the darkness. I could hear the thrum of ancient machinery, the low chanting of the cultists, and the clip of Black’s hooves. It was difficult to breathe.
“Pull yourself together, Bell,” I said.
A year ago I would have told you I didn’t believe in the Aligning, or the Firsts either. But the tunnel… what I saw in the tunnel told me otherwise.
As if on cue, the noise suddenly returned. It roared its howling metal moan and filled my ears. Just like before. That creature vast and titanic. The hill shook with its thundering, and underneath it all I could hear the muffled shouts and cries of terror welling up from my company and the oxen beginning to panic.
“Not again,” I said. “No. Not again. Not now. Not now!”
I lay back into the grass on the hillside and covered my ears, forced my eyes shut, squeezing them so tight they hurt. I shouted at the sky, “Not this! Not now! Please not now!”
The twisting, writhing, yellow form of the beast in the tunnel flashed in my mind’s eye. Faces of dead friends flickered. A year ago they were living, breathing, people. People with families, jobs, hopes and dreams… and now?
Those who remained in my company were still alive. Terrorized by this endless roaring sound, but alive. They all had families, jobs, and hopes and dreams of their own.
It meant abandoning Tin to turn around and go back, or pressing on and risking more missing, more dead. What else could I do?
This was a mistake.
I realized it then. It was a mistake to leave Lovat. To take the contract and head north. It was a mistake to lead my company down this old Broken Road and leave the safety of Syringa for the unknown.
I had always known that there was something wrong about this trail and I had doomed us all.
TWELVE
HOW I SLEPT WITH THAT AWFUL NOISE, I HAVE NO IDEA. Early the next morning, confused and groggy, I awoke. I was lying in the grass near where I had fought with Shaler. I couldn’t remember falling asleep. My body ached and a headache drummed away behind my left eye.
Above, a formation of geese cut the slate sky as they honked their way south. I could hear the rattle of pots and pans and smell the campfire scents of burning cottonwood and bubbling coffee.
The morning light was languid and shallow. Everything felt fuzzy and foreign, like waking from a whiskey drunk.
The world slowly sharpened as I pushed myself off the wet ground. I stretched a bit of the stiffness out of my back before I began hobbling towards the laager.
My knee was tight, and it pulsed and ached as I walked. My back felt sharp and there was a soreness in my thighs. Probably wasn’t the smartest decision to sleep out on the cold ground.
Coffee sounded good. Coffee to wipe away the fog that gripped my head. Coffee and a plate of eggs, and maybe a pound or two of bacon. My thoughts lost to food, it took me a few more steps before I noticed the sound of a small commotion.
Stepping between two cargowains, I emerged on a hectic scene. People milled about with looks of concern on their faces. They spoke in hushed tones. Guns were drawn, and rifles rested on shoulders. Samantha was the first to spot me, and she shouted in relief before rushing over.
“Oh! Thank God! Wal! Where have you been?” She asked, wrapping me in a tight hug.
That was unexpected. It felt good. Warm.
“Sorry…” I paused, looking over my shoulder. “…I fell asleep outside the camp last night.”
Samantha pulled away, and looked at me with those beautiful dark eyes. I smiled sheepishly and felt my cheeks warm before I looked away. She pulled my face back with a narrow finger, studying me for a moment before smiling, an expression of relief flashing across her face.
“We were so worried.”
“Why?” I asked, confused. I rubbed at my temples, trying to relieve the headache. The same nightmares had haunted my sleep. The faces in the ruins, the man in red.
“Margaret Shaler is missing,” Samantha said, her voice faint. “We thought you were gone as well.”
That snapped me into reality.
“Shaler’s missing?” I asked, blinking at her.
Samantha nodded. “Her stuff is all here, but she’s gone.”
My stomach twisted over. My fears from the previous night welled up.
“Just like Tin,” I mumbled to myself.
“Taft saw her head down the hill last night. Said she saw you arguing, and then she marched off. No one’s seen her since.”
“Damn it.” I should have been more upset, but my head was too fuzzy. “I don’t remember falling asleep. The noise came, and now…”
“You too?”
“What do you mean ‘you too?’” I asked.
“Everyone slept, despite the sound. None of us remember falling asleep, just waking. That’s when we noticed you and Margaret were missing. Her crew is pretty panicked.”
Taft and Wensem detached from the group and moved to where Samantha and I stood.
“I knew we’d find you,” said Taft.
“Shaler’s missing,” Wensem said flatly, rubbing an eye with the heel of one of his seven-fingered hands. He frowned down at me.
“Sam told me. How’s her crew?”
“Scared,” said Taft. “But can you blame them?”
“We need to organize a search party immediately,” I said. In the back of my mind, I knew it would turn up nothing, just like the search for Tin. But I felt obligated to try. Regardless of how we got along or how I felt about the woman, her safety was my responsibility.
“Hannah is working on that now,” said Wensem. “Same as last time, three groups, circling in opposite directions, spreading out as they go.”
“By the Firsts,” I said.
This was the last thing the caravan needed.
Losing my client was disastrous. Shaler had been a pain in my ass, but I didn’t wish her any harm. For her sake and my own, I hoped she was still alive. It’d make things a lot easier if we found her somewhere in the tall grass, or sleeping off a drunk in a thicket of pines.
I had the same hopes when Tin went missing.
My emotions from the previous evening still bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to overflow at the slightest provocation. The returned memories of Cybill were still bright and terrifying. I couldn’t think about that. I’d deal with those memories later. I had a caravan to run. My crew was scared and looking to me for answers, so I forced the feelings out of my head, doing my best to focus on the situation at hand. What else could I do?
It had all gone wrong. Shaler’s disappearance was also a financial burden. It meant Bell Caravans wouldn’t get paid; if we didn’t get paid, then this trip down the Broken Road was for nothing. My job—the contract I signed—was for the safety of the caravan, not just the cargo. If lives were lost, it was my responsibility, but getting away from the Broken Road was going to be difficult. We had left the high desert behind us, and the ground on either side of the road was soft. With the recent showers it’d be impossible to blaze a trail. We could abandon the wains, cut the oxen loose, but on foot we were even slower. We didn’t have the provisions to survive months out here. Our safest solution was returning to Syringa without Shaler but that placed the caravan in a precarious position with the magistrate.
Shaler would have been the one to contact her father, have him wire payment to the caravansara. Even if I could get the cargowains to Lovat, there was little I’d be able to do. The contract was null and void, and Bell Caravans was on the hook. William Shaler—Margaret Shaler’s father—had a reputation as a hard man. He’d hold me responsible.
Regardless of my own safety I had to find her and, with hope, Tin.
I left to assist the search parties, walking with Samantha and Chance. We picked our way up the edge of a gully, keeping one eye on the landscape and the other in the direction
of camp. A row of trees rose up and hung out over the depression, emerging from the grass like the gnarled fingers of a buried titan.
It wouldn’t do us much good to get lost now. The trees were growing thicker, the hills around us steeper and colored a deep green, not the dry brown of the plateau. To the west rose the snowcapped western mountains, pointing at the sky like sharpened spikes. The next stage of the route would be harder. The ground would soften and rise and slow us down, and the trees would creep closer, keeping us from seeing where we were going.
“Margaret probably just slipped away for a morning walk. Clear her head after the noise last night,” said Chance, his voice wavering. The kid wanted to believe his cousin was all right.
Samantha and I exchanged a look. She was gone. Just like Tin.
We made a wide circle, checking the stands of pines, under the occasional willow, and poking our way through scratchy scrub brush. But we found nothing.
I could see the color draining from Chance’s face we progressed. The look in his eyes shifting from nervousness to panic to despair.
In the end, we returned to camp empty-handed, where we found the other search parties waiting. As I had suspected, no one had found anything, not so much as a sock or a boot.
Wensem had searched her prairiewain and said it looked untouched. All it contained was a change of clothes, her jacket, and a small novel. As if she was ready to return at any time, except Shaler wasn’t going to return.
She was gone.
I could see the end coming and it was too late to stop it. The moment had come and gone, and nothing I said or did would set things right.
The caravan clustered together and looked at me. Fourteen pairs of eyes watched me expectantly, waiting for some word from their caravan master. The responsibility sickened me. At that moment I hated the job.
The caravan stood speechless. I gathered myself as best I could. Tin’s disappearance already weighed on my conscience. I tried not to think of this latest soul hanging around my neck.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and spoke, my words coming out in stutters. “M-Margaret Shaler is gone. She’s gone, and with her the contract with Bell Caravans.”
We had all been thinking it, but vocalizing it hardened it in everyone’s minds. Made it more real. For a moment the group was quiet, a solemn moment of silence for our lost roaders.
It was Taft who spoke first. “What’s your plan?” She folded her meaty arms across her expansive chest.
“I don’t know,” I said. My words flat. I felt helpless. I looked at Wensem, meeting his eyes. “Any ideas?”
He seemed to think about it for a moment, looking from me to the caravan in his slow methodical way. The buzz of flies and the bellow of one of the oxen were the only sound. Finally he sighed and spoke. “Well, we’re closer to Lovat than we are to Syringa and it’s always been our rule that we don’t leave a roader behind. Shaler was a roader as much as any of us. We owe it to her and Tin to see if we can’t find them. Exhaust every last option. I say we blaze forward. Find our people and then get ourselves home.”
A surge of relief seemed to flood my chest. My eyes met Taft’s. Wensem’s words were so confident. I felt more sure of myself when I agreed. “Wensem is right. We have to find Shaler. The priest mentioned a town up ahead, maybe they can help.”
“Yeah, we heard about that town,” said Charron. “Dead people hanging around it! That doesn’t sound like any place I want to go.”
“Yes. The stories aren't pretty. I’d be lying if I said the path ahead would be easy.” I thought of Cybill. “But we can face whatever is fearsome together. We need to find our people. If it was one of us we’d want everyone to come looking. Perhaps the townsfolk there can help us. I’d feel guilty for the rest of my life if we didn’t find out for certain.”
“And if we can’t find them?”
“Then…” I could face jail time in Syringa. With my client missing, getting to a safe city would be my best option. “I imagine we finish the trail. Like Wensem said, we’re much closer to Lovat than Syringa now. The ground here’s too soft for our wains and blazing a trail on foot this late in the season would take too long. We don’t have the supplies for it, anyway. As much as I don’t like it, going forward seems to be our best option.”
“So… forward unto Lovat,” said Samantha, unsure. Her eyes flashed as they flicked up and met mine, but it was difficult to read her emotions. Fear? I wasn’t sure.
“No way. That town is between us and Lovat! That forest of bodies! The city of killers he told us about,” said Charron. She fidgeted nervously, playing with the stumpy spurs that grew along her knuckles.
“We don’t know what’s ahead,” I said, hoping I sounded strong. “We only have stories.”
“Road priests tell tall tales,” said Wensem.
“Didn’t sound like tall tales to me,” said Samantha. “That man believed what he saw. He was sure of it. There is something out there.”
“But we have to see if we can find Shaler. She's a part of our crew. Just like Tin. Just like any of you. Maybe that town up ahead has answers,” I said.
“We have two missing people,” said one of the wain drivers. “Our boss and one of your crew. I’d say that gives us plenty of reason to assume something’s amiss!”
“You heard Wal,” said Wensem, his normally soft voice suddenly hard, rising over the murmurs. “We move forward.”
He clapped his hands together trying to rouse the wain drivers into action.
“Well, I don’t know about you lot,” said one of the Lytle twins. He looked at Wensem, his eyes cold, his lips turned up in an ugly sneer. “My brother and me are leaving. We’re turning back and getting off this damned road. We don’t care if it takes longer. We don’t care if we go hungry. We’ll eat shamblers if we have to, we’re just not going to stick around here. To hell with this trail and to hell with Bell Caravans!”
A silence fell. This was the end. I had seen it before, long ago. Before Bell Caravans had existed. In many caravans, time and time again. This was where it fell apart. The fear, the anxiety, it breaks into a crew.
“I’m coming with you!” said one of the wain drivers.
Others echoed his sentiment.
Charron also nodded her head. The Lytle twins stood, looking proud as more and more of the column threw in with them. I began to count who remained.
“Wait, what about Margaret?” yelled Range Shaler. “You’re all just going to leave her? She’s still out there. She might need our help! We have to find her!”
“Or we might end up just like her,” said one of the Lytles.
“Nothing you folk pay me is worth my life,” said a wain driver.
“Hear, hear,” said Charron.
“Now hold on a minute!” shouted Wensem, but it was too late. His expression melted into defeat as he watched the caravan shatter in front of him.
I looked from him to Samantha, Taft, and Hannah before turning to Range Shaler. His panicked eyes met mine and I gave him a reassuring nod. I wanted to find his cousin as much as he did. My livelihood—and maybe my life—depended on it.
The Lytle twins had the right of it, of course. What they wanted was the most logical route. I couldn’t blame them. Get off this damned road before anyone else vanished. It made sense.
Everything inside me said to go with them. Leave the lost behind and return to Meyer's Falls. That would be the safest course of action, the smartest decision.
But…
Shaler’s cousins stared at me, expecting a response. I chewed the side of my cheek and ran my hands through my shaggy hair.
I had a responsibility.
As much as the logical part of me wanted to flee, I agreed with the kid. Margaret Shaler could still be out there, Ivari Tin could still be out there. Victims of this forest of the dead? I owed it to them to investigate. I needed to see this through. Some mixture of honor and fear wouldn’t let me turn around. Bell Caravans didn’t leave a soul behind.
&
nbsp; “Range is right,” I said and the kid thanked me with his eyes. My chest swelled, despite the fear I felt.
“Margaret Shaler could still be out there. She could be at Methow for all we know. Tin could be there as well. We owe it to them to check.”
One of the Lytles chuckled and shook his head, spitting on the ground. “I don’t owe them a damn thing. We did our due diligence. We’re leaving. Weeks ago when that damned noise started, we should’ve taken that as a sign. But no! We had to press on. Shaler got us into this mess. Serves her right. Better that bitch than me.”
He stabbed at his chest with a tattooed thumb as Charron and a few of the wain drivers nodded in agreement.
“Watch yourselves,” said Wensem from behind them.
They both jumped at his voice.
“Go on then!” said the other Lytle. “Get yourselves killed. We’ll have none of it.”
“You’re out of line,” I said. I could feel my fists tightening as they hung at my sides.
One of the Lytles waved a hand dismissively. “Our contract was with Margaret Shaler, not Bell Caravans. I don’t see a Margaret Shaler here. We’re done. We’re going to Meyer's Falls. Now.” He turned to the group. “Who’s with us?”
In the end, a majority of the caravan that had set out from Syringa left with the Lytles. They took most of the wains and the bulk of the cargo. Wensem and I had argued with the deserters over it, but in the end we capitulated. With most of the caravan leaving us we didn’t have the crew to drive the cargowains so we begrudgingly let them go. Very little remained of the original caravan.
Eight souls.
Six oxen.
Four wains.
The gearwain still lead the column, now driven by Wensem with Samantha riding shotgun. A single Shaler Ranch cargowain followed, driven by Ernest Rousseau. Behind him rumbled Shaler’s plastic prairiewain, still driven by Range. At shotgun sat Chance. No longer were they soft young men. Their faces were drawn, masks of cool intent. Rifles always at the ready. Eyes flashing at any commotion off the trail.
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