Out of the Ashes

Out of the Ashes R. W. Day Published by Lethe Press at Smashwords Copyright ©2010 R.W. Day.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief citation or review, without the written permission of Lethe Press. For information write: Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Avenue, Maple Shade, NJ 08052.   www.lethepressbooks.com [email protected]      This Lethe Press edition published 2010 by Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Avenue, Maple Shade, NJ 08052.  Book Design by Toby Johnson  Cover art by Ben Baldwin      ISBN 1-59021-064-6 978-1-59021-064-2        Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data available on request.     

Out of the Ashes is the sequel to A Strong & Sudden Thaw by R.W. Day.  Reading A Strong & Sudden Thaw is essential to understanding Out of the Ashes.  http://lethepressbooks.com/gay.htm#day‐a‐strong‐and‐sudden‐thaw 

Out of the Ashes

Chapter 1

Callan Landers’ Journal – August 23, Ninety Second Year since the Coming of the Ice…

Zack Tyree suggested that I start this journal as a way to improve my handwriting, and it’s a good suggestion for more reasons than that. I like the idea of a place where I can set down my thoughts and keep a record of some of the things that are happening to us here. I argue with David over the value of the written word. He’s not illiterate by any means, but he was raised in a culture where literacy isn’t valued. No, that’s wrong. It’s valued, just not truly understood. He’s coming around, though, since it was written words that saved us… no, I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s been too long since I wrote much of anything, paper being so rare here, that I think I’ve lost the ability to construct a decent narrative.

This journal was a gift from Jeannie Findlay, and I shouldn’t have accepted it. She’s given me so much already. When I came to Moline, destitute and desperate, she took me on as her assistant even though she knew nothing about me except that I claimed some skill as a healer. When trouble found me—no. I have to be honest with myself here. When I sought out trouble and brought it down on myself, she was beside me every step of the way—my own mother couldn’t have done more. I rarely see her now, and I miss her horribly. I miss healing too, more than I miss my arm in a way, but that’s not something I can write about yet. I certainly ramble. Not that it matters—this isn’t a journal that anyone will likely read. I sometimes wonder if all those famous people who kept detailed records of their lives somehow knew they were going to be famous, or else went back and doctored their diaries. Probably the latter. I don’t care how famous you are, nobody’s interested in reading things like ‘Tuesday, March 12—had mutton for lunch, played tennis with Chucky and wrote some bad poetry,’ which is what I expect the sort of thing most of those old time people put in their journals. In any case, anyone wanting to read this mess is going to have to be very patient. My writing with my left hand has improved dramatically, but I expect if posterity comes upon it, they’ll think it some sort of code, like da Vinci’s mirror writing. It’s nothing so exceptional; just the feeble attempts of a right handed man to learn to manage with his left.

It’s been almost three months now. I keep waiting for the pain to stop, for me to stop trying to reach out for things with a hand that isn’t there or trying to put my nonexistent arm around David, but it never stops. I’m unbalanced and nothing works right, nothing feels right anymore. Zack Tyree, who also lost a limb, says it gets better in time, but he was much younger than I when he had to adjust, and he has a stump, at least. I have nothing. No. Not true. I have David, and without him, I would probably long ago have taken one of Zack’s pistols into my clumsy left hand and fired it into my brain. I wouldn’t ever say that to him, but he’s promised me he won’t read this journal unless I give him leave, so in these pages I can say things like that without fear. Even with David, most days, it’s almost more than I have within me to get up and face my life. But David makes it possible. I don’t believe in God, haven’t seen anything much in my twenty-three years to make me believe that there’s anyone up there watching out for us or anything beyond this life, but if I did, I’d thank Him every day for David. And for Zack, letting us be together here at his house even though it’s against the law, and also for the town for turning a blind eye to it. Well, I say ‘the town’ but in truth, it’s a sadly diminished town. Most of the people left in June, after the dragons. I should explain the dragons, I suppose, but I can’t really. What I know for a fact is that the government, specifically the Department of

Reintroduction and Agriculture, bred or developed these dragon-like creatures and put them on a mountaintop. The dragons began to prey on the livestock and eventually turned on the people, killing two girls, including David’s sister Almond. They did something similar in the neighboring town of Crawford, driving those people from their homes to an unknown fate. David and I uncovered some of the truth of it and the people divided, some choosing to go along with the government and leave, and others choosing to stay and fight for their land. There’s more to it than that, but that’s the gist. Oh, and David killed the dragons. Well, one of them, anyway. And I killed also in the course of it all, a two-legged monster, the man whose bullet took my arm. Not for revenge, but to save David’s life. I had no choice, but the guilt of taking a life weighs on me. And so there it is, for posterity. David. Describing him is not easy, for on the surface there’s nothing remarkable about him, so anything I say is going to sound boring and ordinary. He’s anything but. He’s tall, though not quite as tall as I am, and big—not threatening, but in a way that spells comfort and safety. His hair is charcoal black and his eyes are a wonderful shade of light blue that turns dark when he gets intense. David isn’t handsome in any sort of classic way, but he’s beautiful to me, not so much for his body, though I certainly appreciate that, as for the spirit inside it. I’ve never known anyone as genuine, as real, as David Anderson.

I can’t heal anymore, not having two hands, so I’m teaching school. The old teacher left with the others, and amazingly, they chose me to succeed him. Apparently my being reasonably well-educated balances out my unfortunate tendency towards sodomy. That sounds bitter, and I’m not, not about that. I’ve enjoyed teaching. Going to the school every day gives a structure to my life that I find I need. In afternoons, or on weekends or holidays, I’m out of sorts and at loose ends, rattling around Zack Tyree’s big house, reading books I’ve read a dozen times, looking for anything that will distract from the phantom pain of my arm. Some of the distractions I’ve been finding are probably worse than the pain, and I know it. It’s hard to do the right thing. I don’t know how David manages to be so strong all the time. I’m whining again. That must stop. I will not allow this journal to become a place of complaint. Things will get better—they have to. Anyway, the next two days, school is dismissed so the militia can drill. It’s not a militia as they had Before, with military rank and uniforms and such. It’s just every able-bodied man and some of the younger women coming together to drill daily outside the school yard, half of them with long sticks instead of rifles. The older students slip outside to join them before lessons end. I pretend not to see, for I can’t stop them, probably wouldn’t if I could. They love their homes. David is one of them—I wish that he weren’t. My throat seizes up every time I think of him at risk. I could ask him to stop, and I expect

that he would, for me. But I can’t ask him to give up something so important to him as the defense of his home, so I never mention it, and neither does he, and it hovers in the air between us like a big dark cloud. While the militia trains, David and I have another mission, an important one, but it’s going to be hard. We’re retracing steps we took last spring when I was still whole and we were accompanying a government agent with murder in his heart to find the lair of the dragons. After I was hurt, David found something more, an old machine still running after almost one hundred years of neglect and frigid weather. We think it’s what the dragons were guarding, and why the government wants the people in this area relocated. The hope is that this trip will give us an ace in the hole, or at least some more information that will help us make sense out of this mess. My hand is cramping with effort from all this writing—must close—I have to pack. David is packed already, a light bag with hardly anything in it, but then he doesn’t feel the cold the way I do, so he doesn’t need the extra clothing and blankets and gloves that I seem to need, even in the height of summer. I’m from Florida, where we still can go out without shoes in summer. Anyone going out without shoes in the hills around here after dark, even in summer, risks the loss of their toes to frostbite. I’d love to take David to see my home someday, to walk with him barefoot along a beach in high summer. Not that I’ll ever be able to. I can’t go back there. That door is shut and locked.

David Anderson Horses don’t care if who’s on them is rich or poor or well-read or unlearned, yet somehow they can see inside of people, pick up on the thoughts and feelings of their riders. I wasn’t much of a rider—our home mare, Lightning, was one step up from a livery nag, but with Mister Zack’s teaching, I was coming to learn more and more about the ways of horse-kind. They were better than most people, that was for certain. I’d had a bad time over at the General that morning, running into one of the few folk left who were outright disapproving of me and Callan, and she’d had some words to say that had cut deep. Though I tried to let those filthy words fall off me, her condemnation clung to me till I got back to Mister Zack’s, climbed onto one of his mares and just rode and rode, letting the horse take the sting out of the words. I was supposed to be getting the animals used to loud noises in preparation for them being used by the militia, but I didn’t even try to do any training, just exercised the horse and worked out my pain before going home to Callan, for if I went home all agitated, he’d demand to know the cause. And the last thing we needed that day of all days was more worry and fears. This journey was going to be hard enough, returning to the place where we both went through so much pain, where I run off, betrayed Callan and left him to die. And it was going to be physically

hard on him too, as he’s still recovering and isn’t strong, though he hides it pretty well from me. Me, I can’t hide anything from him. Mister Zack has given us two rooms at the far end of his west wing. His house is a big old red brick place built hundreds of years before the Ice, for his family had money and land going way back. His rooms are in the main part of the building along with the kitchen and living rooms and a ballroom so huge you could do trick riding in it. The east wing burned to the ground more than a dozen years ago and he ain’t never had it built back up again, saying the house was more than big enough anyways. The west wing was vacant before we come, all empty bedrooms with big old sheets over all the furnishings, the ghost of a house, really. Mister Zack could afford servants, and Lord knows there are folk who need the work, but other than the hands he hires for his farming, he don’t keep any help on the place. I’m glad of it mostly, for servants would be more people we’d have to be discreet in front of. Though I do feel the lack of a cook some. We had the west wing to ourselves. It was a fine arrangement, though I knew it couldn’t last. Nothing good ever does, I’m finding. Callan was writing in his journal when I came in, though he put the pencil down and closed the book when he heard me. He flexed his hand and shook it out, then run it through his hair. “What’s wrong?” I sighed. Caught out again. Run into Miz Weaver at Haig’s General

Store, she had a few things to say that weren’t so nice.” Callan poured me a glass of water from the ironstone pitcher on the bedside table. He was getting quite skilled at managing one-handed. “I’m so sorry, love, but you know she doesn’t approve.” “It ain’t her disapproval that worries me. It’s…I know she’s close to Mam. What if she’s not just speaking for herself?” I thought my mother had come to terms with Callan and me—but she was, of all my family, the only one who truly believed in Holy Writ, and the scripture had some pretty strong words for men who lie with other men. “Your mother is more than capable of speaking for herself. She’s never going to like that we’re together, but I can’t see her gossiping. She came to see me yesterday, by the way.” I looked up sharp at that. Callan was packing his bag and didn’t meet my eye, just kept clumsily rolling up clothes one handed and tucking them into his pack. “Why didn’t you say?” “Because amazingly, she didn’t want to talk about us. She’s worried about Benny C, thinks he’s joined the militia to impress Daisy, and that he’s going to get himself killed.” The water tasted cool and clear and good. It had been a long morning with a longer afternoon ahead of us. “What did you tell her?” “The truth. That to the best of my knowledge, he joined because he

cares about the town, and because of what happened to Almond.” “And what did you tell her about getting himself killed?” I knew, though he never said, that Callan didn’t like the militia. He felt like we’d be better off using talk to get things settled, and when talk failed, he’d be likely to cut and run. But he ain’t got roots here, so he just doesn’t see what this place means to those of us born and raised in these hills. “I told her you’d look out for him as best you could.” That was the first time he’d ever let on that he knew I was drilling with the men. “Callan, I—” “No, just forget it, okay? Come and help me with the clasps on this pack.” He never, ever asked me for help on anything he could manage himself, so I figured that was his way of trying to put an end to that subject. I took the rebellious pack and slid the clasps into their holders. This was something we was going to have to talk of before long. I didn’t know how long we had before the army came. I didn’t think the outcome of any fighting was like to be in our favor. There was more than a fair chance that I wasn’t going to come home. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I really think—” His hand tangled in my hair and he shut me up the one sure way that would always work. Lips met lips, and when he pulled gently away, he rested his forehead against mine and whispered, “Please. I know we

have to, but not now, okay? Just not now.” I could feel the sweat on his brow from where he’d had to struggle to make the pencil obey, the taste of his kiss, salt and something else, something strong and pungent still lingered between us. My heart sank and I pulled back. “You’ve been drinking?” He nodded, refusing to meet my eyes. “It was just a taste and I won’t do it again. I thought it might take the edge off.” I remembered Mister Zack had said that Callan would be tempted to lose himself in a bottle. I wasn’t about to let that happen. “There are better ways we can take the edge off,” I said, and kissed him again. “I’m sorry I ain’t been around as much as I should.” School had been running only half-days, that gave Callan a lot of time to just be on his own. I’d thought when we’d come to stay here that I’d be mostly around the place, working with the horses and helping Callan learn to manage, but Mister Zack had been finding errands for me, sending me hither and yon on Mayor’s business and militia business. “Can’t Jeannie give you something for your arm? Something better than rotgut, anyway?” He pulled away and sat down on the big double bed. “She could, but she won’t, and she’s right. I rolled him over onto his belly and started rubbing his shoulders, noticing how tight they were. I was getting used to the way his right shoulder just ended while his left kept going down into his arm, it was

beginning to be not strange, to be Callan as he was, not as I remembered him. “You sure you want to start out today? We could go in the morning early, like…” I broke off. Like we done last time, I was going to say, but I understood him not wanting to retrace it the same as before. We’d leave in the afternoon, camp far short of that place where things had gone so wrong, and it would be like a whole new journey, not one of those nightmares where you’re trapped doing the same horrible things again and again. “Mmm, that’s so nice, thank you. No, let’s go today.” My hands strayed under the fine cloth of his store-bought shirt. “In an hour or so, though, okay?”

Oh, yes. I let my hands wander over Callan’s back, tracing the scars the lashing had left on his back, teasing low near his trousers, kissing the back of his neck till he groaned with delight. “Better than whiskey, ain’t it?” “You have to ask?” There was a sharp rap on the door. “You boys decent?” “Damn it.” I pulled off and we both stood up, breathing hard. “Yes, sir, come on in.” The door opened and Zack Tyree come in. He glanced at me, then at Callan and snorted. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

I looked over at Callan, saw how his shirt was all mussed up and his hair disheveled, and his eyes was sort of glazed. Figured I didn’t look much better. Callan blushed. “You’re not – we were just packing up.” Mister Zack smiled. “So that’s what they’re calling it these days. Glad I caught you before you headed out. I’ve got food in the kitchens for you to take, nothing fancy, dried meat and cheese mostly, a bit of bread.” “Thank you, sir.” Zack sat himself down in the old wingback chair I used as a clothes hook. “Don’t mind if I sit down, do you? I’m worn out and it’s barely past noon.” “It’s your house, sir.” “Not this part of it. Far as I’m concerned, this part is yours. And David, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Zack?” No matter how many things in my life conspired to make me feel like a grown man, in the presence of friends of my Pa, I always felt like a child. “Sorry… Zack.” “Just wanted to wish you boys the best. I don’t know what you’ll find up there, but I hope to hell it’s something we can use.” He wasn’t a handsome man, Mister Zack Tyree, but he had a presence

about him, a way of talking that made it clear he was the one in charge of any gathering or group he was part of. We’d told him, Healer Jeannie Findlay and my Pa about the machine I’d found, and nobody else. I figured the fewer folk who knew, the better till we knew for sure what it was all about. Callan answered. “I hope so too. Thank you for letting me close the school so I could make the trip. It’s likely to take three days or more— I’m not up to a very fast pace,” he finished, apologizing. “No problem, son. I needed a few days school holiday myself with the older students free and the schoolyard empty. And speaking of that, David, I wanted to ask you a favor. I got word from Nate Clemmons in Richmond this morning, he sent one of his hired men down to tell me the army’s been ordered into Moline.” Callan had walked over to the window, just staring out onto Mister Zack’s fine front yard. I wanted to follow, to take him in my arms and tell him it would be all right, but I couldn’t do it in front of Zack and couldn’t say lies in any case. “Are you asking me to stay here? Zack, I can’t let Callan do this trip by himself, I’m sorry, I—” “No, that wasn’t what I meant. I wouldn’t expect that of you. Besides, we’ve got probably a good week or more before they get here, maybe longer depending on the weather and the roads and how much stuff they’ve got with them. The information you boys bring back might give

us a bargaining chip or some leverage that we’ll need. No, what I’m asking is for later.” Zack stood up and went over to stand by Callan and put a hand on his shoulder. My mouth dried up. Zack Tyree was a good man, but not at all physically affectionate. Him giving comfort to Callan didn’t bode well. “You know we’ve been sort of staying away from military titles and ranks in this whole thing, none of us being at all experienced in war, but it’s come to the point where I need some men I can trust to lead others and be able to make decisions.” I knew where he was going, didn’t want him to go there. “Zack, I…I’m not even a grown man. Surely there’s someone else—” “Son, deeds make men, not years. I’ve watched you teaching the town folk to shoot, helping those both younger and older than you the skills they’ll need to survive in the woods in all weather. You’re a born leader.” He let go of Callan and faced me head on. I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. If Callan was whole, he’d be the one—he had the book learning and knew strategy and all that. I couldn’t even play chess proper. “And you’re one of the few men in this town who’ve actually taken a man’s life. David, I worry that when the time comes for most of these people to pull that trigger and send a bullet into another man that they’ll hesitate. I don’t fear that about you.”

But he should’ve, for I’d never killed anyone. Oh, I’d wanted to, but it had been Callan that done it, using my belt knife to end George Delahaye before he’d had a chance to shoot me, though Zack and the whole town thought otherwise, for I’d told the lie to spare Callan from trouble. “Sir, I’m honored, of course, but—” “Don’t be honored. Be worried. If you do this, it’s going to mean the minute the army’s sighted, you’ll be taking a small group off to the hills and staying there, keeping an eye on the situation. Men’s lives will be in your hands. And you won’t be able to…” he glanced at Callan who was still looking out the window, “…come home, nor communicate with anyone here in town in any way till it’s over.” “My Pa, he’d be—” “He’s already got a job. I need you for this, David. I’m hoping what you two find will somehow give us an avenue out of this thing without bloodshed, but if it doesn’t, then we fight or we let them relocate us, it’s as simple as that.” “I’ll think on it, is that all right? I can’t give you an answer now.” He wandered over towards the door. “You two talk it over—not like you won’t have time to talk, after all.” He smiled. “I wish you the best. And take some time up there to just enjoy the last of the summer if you can—I’d say in about a week everything’s going straight to hell.”

Chapter 2

David Anderson Zack’s place was at the far end of the county from the mountain that held the machine and the rotting bodies of those dragons, so Zack had offered us horses to take us across town. I’d accepted, figuring we’d leave them stabled at the General. Being on horseback made it harder for us to talk, which was a blessing just then, for his request was weighing on my mind. Despite being scared half to death at the thought of other people looking to me for guidance and direction, I was flattered by his trust and, if I dug down deep into my heart, wanted to accept for a whole mess of reasons. Of course I cared about doing what was right, for what kind of man could sit by and let others take his home without protest? But it was also just the thought of it, being out in the woods with others under my command, fighting for a good cause. I’d spent my life, short though it was, in those hills, and nobody was better suited, save for Pa, to do this. And I knew, without even having to ask, that Callan would rather I not.

So we walked the horses along without speaking till we come up to the livery stable behind the General. Like so many of our buildings, the stable used to be something else, a repair house for cars, its wide open space now chopped into stalls, horse tack hanging on the walls along with the rotting rubber of old tires and belts. Joe Haig still had one car he kept in the very back of the stable covered in old horse blankets and I remember when I was a young boy, maybe my sister Ruby’s age, I used to love coming down to the General with Pa so I could sneak back to the stable and raise the blanket and trace my fingers along the curving metal, a wonderful fading orange color not found anywhere in the natural world that I’d ever seen. The tires were near to being rotted away, and rust was starting to overtake the body, but it was still the beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I dismounted and hurried over to help Callan off, but he was already sliding awkwardly out of the saddle, so I took both sets of reins and led the horses back into the cavernous old building and sure enough, there was the car, still hiding under its cover. I wondered if Joe Haig used to pull that blanket off, sit in that car and pretend he was driving. I surely would have. I started to tell Callan about the car and then stopped short. He hadn’t followed me. I couldn’t recall ever a time since we’d known each other that he’d been silent with me this long. No matter how angry he’d been before, he’d just blow up and have it over. This was new, this silent treatment, and I

didn’t much like it. I saw that he’d gone up into the General, so I set down my pack and followed. The General is just what it sounds—a general store with merchandise we can’t make ourselves: fine cloth, store-sugar, matches, metal goods and the like. In summer it’s also been used as a field office for the Relocation & Agriculture agents who’d come through giving advice on seeds and plantings, but not this year, of course. The small table that Mister Haig set aside for the R&A was covered up with some claim farmer’s peas for sale. And the shelves, usually full to bursting, were almost bare. There’d been no shipments nor mail for the whole summer. Mister Haig, a short, balding man with hanging jowls that reminded me of the picture of a bulldog in the dog book at school, was deep in conversation with Jeannie Findlay, but they’d broken off when Callan came in and Jeannie hurried towards Callan and caught him up in a big hug that seemed to swallow him up, no small feat as she was a slight woman and he was tall, over six feet. “David,” she greeted me, still keeping hold of Callan’s arm. “I’m so glad I caught you two before you left.” “Me too,” I answered, for I truly loved the healer, who’d always stood by Callan and by me too, no matter what sort of trouble it brought upon her. “You shopping?”

She shook her head and as always, her wiry grey hair slipped out of its bun with each movement. “Not hardly. There’s nothing to shop for. I was just telling Joe that my medical supplies are dwindling down to nothing, and if we don’t get some shipments soon, I’ll be reduced to faith healing and voodoo.” That was serious. We didn’t have proper doctors anymore. Callan, who knew more about medicine than anyone I’d ever even heard tell of, says the knowledge is still there, being passed along in the few medical schools remaining, but it’s only book knowledge as so much of what those old time doctors did relied on machines we don’t have access to now. It don’t do no good to know how to read fancy x-rays and scans if you couldn’t make them in the first place. We did have medicines, though. Some natural ones like foxglove and willow bark, but also tincture of poppy and a few other such drugs we import from the south. “We’re going right by the turn-off to Crawford.” I was worried about how we’d manage without proper medicines. “You want us to stop, see if their healer left anything behind when they was forced out?” She shook her head. “No, David, just do the job you’re set to do. I’m concerned enough about having you boys out of the valley right now, don’t be away any longer than you must.” She met my eyes unblinking and I knew she must have known about the coming of the army. “We’d better go,” Callan said shortly, and bent down to kiss Jeannie on

the top of her head. “I’ll come see you when we get back, if that’s all right?” “Always. You know I miss you,” she said. He went back out to the porch and I made to follow, but Jeannie stopped me. “Has Zack Tyree talked to you?” The look on my face must have given it away. “Yes, I see that he has. He’s asking a lot of a seventeen year old, David, and you mustn’t feel any shame in turning him down.” “I haven’t decided yet,” I mumbled. Lying never came easy for me. “Well, just remember that you’re not responsible for the welfare of this town and the folk here are adults and made their own choice to stay.” “I can’t help feeling... I mean, it was me that brought all this down and...” “David Anderson, I’m beginning to think guilt is a sexually transmitted disease!” I turned scarlet red. Jeannie Findlay came from an old family with money and property—her brother was a lawyer in Richmond soon to be made a judge, so you expected her to be a prim and proper lady, then she’d come out with something like that and I realized there was far more to her than just the healer I’d always known. “All you did was lift up the rock so we could see the ugly, squirmy bugs beneath it. You didn’t create them, and now you let somebody else try

to smash those bugs. You’ve done your job.” She glanced out the door to where Callan was waiting, leaning on the porch rail. “You have other priorities now. You’ve done your part and more.” “I ain’t about to forget Callan, you don’t need to be fearful of that.” I kissed her cheek, it felt warm and dry, like my Grandmam’s had and I realized Jeannie was getting old too. “I’ll look out for him, I promise.” I joined Callan on the porch, wordlessly helping him into his pack and shouldering my own before setting out up the road. Roads were getting worse all the time, crumbling away more with each passing year. Whatever the Before people used to hold their pavements together must have reached the end of its life, and we had to watch our footing as we made our way out of town. In town, we all worked to keep them level, filling in the holes with dirt best we could during the Common Days after harvest, that time of year when we paid our labor taxes. I hadn’t been required to help on the Common Days till now for I’d been counted as a child, but this year, assuming anything was normal at all, I would be there with my shovel in hand. My mind was ranging all over the place, trying to fill the silence that Callan had created, but it weren’t no use. “Callan, are you mad at me?” He’d been moving along at a fair clip, making better time than I’d figured he would, probably out of sheer determination. There’s nobody can beat Callan Landers for determination. “No,” he said, shortly

through hard fought breaths. “No, just concentrating on keeping my footing.” We were moving upwards now, and the wide old road was narrowing down as nature had reclaimed the edges with pine trees and grasses pushing through pavement. “And was you concentrating on keeping your footing when we was riding through the center of town?” I stopped, not intending to take another step till we had it worked through. Callan had gone a few feet further and then stopped himself and turned back to face me. His face was red from exertion, and I could see sweat on his brow. “I’m not mad at you. You can believe that or not as it suits you, but it seems to me we should be concentrating on this trip and what we hope to find, not fretting over our relationship like a pair of lovesick adolescents.” He shrugged his pack higher on his shoulder, set his face like stone and walked on up the road, away from me. I followed after him, making no further attempt to talk, for his words stung sharp. Lovesick adolescents. That was Benny C and Daisy, not us, never us. Our love was real and strong and it was going to last the distance, like my Mam and Pa, who’d been married going on twenty years and you could still see the spark between them. He was slowing, and I would have slowed with him and walked alongside, but not today, today I just pushed past without speaking,

figuring he’d follow. What had got into Callan? It couldn’t be just the militia—that made no sense for he’d known I’d joined up, surely he wasn’t expecting me to sit out the actual fighting? I loved him, but sometimes it was like carving on granite with a pocketknife trying to get through the masks and layers he’d wrapped around himself for protection. We passed by the turn off to Crawford, the old sign fading and barely legible. In a year, it would be gone, but it didn’t matter as there was nobody left in Crawford. Not one single person—man, woman, nor child. We’d been told they’d been resettled west, but nobody’d heard from any of those folk, and for all I knew, they were all dead. That was what faced us if we lost this fight. That was why I had to go, had to do what I could. I’d buried a child in Crawford when Callan and I had gone there. A tiny girl, burned to death by dragons. She was all that was left of that town. I couldn’t let that happen to my home while I had breath in my body. I heard a voice behind me. I turned and saw that Callan had slumped down to the ground, bleach-white and shivering. The sun was getting low in the sky and the warmth of the day was burning off, but I didn’t think it cold. It probably wouldn’t even get down to freezing. But Callan was always cold here and he’d pushed too hard. I ran to him and helped him up, leading him off the torn up asphalt into a grove of pines out of the wind. He relaxed against me, his body sheltering against mine, and I

knew from his body’s language that it was true what he’d said. “You ain’t mad, then?” “I told you I wasn’t.” Lord, he was pale. The next day would have to be slower, especially as we hit the steeper hills. “Let’s just stop here. I’ll get a fire going, put up the tent.” He nodded and closed his eyes, so I slipped a blanket out of my pack and wrapped him in it and set to work making a fire. This was no small feat as rain is plentiful during summer and wood left out uncovered gets saturated. I collected some fairly dry kindling and used pine straw to make it catch, and before the sun was fully down had a nice cheering fire going. “I’m sorry I said those things,” Callan said. “Don’t think on it—you were tired and cold and pushing yourself too hard. Just rest in front of the fire. A good fire always makes me feel better.” I watched the tongues of flame lick at the pine logs. “Guess it’s what separates us from the animals. Well, that and opposable thumbs,” I added, remembering a book of Callan’s I’d been reading that summer. “Monkeys have those too. No, it’s fire. Fire and an insane need to invent gods.” Neither of us had much use for religion, not surprisingly as the faith of my fathers teaches that we’re both abominations who ought to be stoned to death. I knew there were people of faith who weren’t like

that—my Ma was a believer and so was Mister Nate Clemmons who was our state senator and a fine man. But I couldn’t forget that the judge at Callan’s trial had used the Word of God to condemn him. That weren’t God’s fault, I knew, but it was more than I could manage to separate Him from his followers. If there was a Judgment and a heaven and hell, He’d just have to understand. I sat down took out some of the food Zack had prepared for us. “I ain’t said I was going.” “But you are, aren’t you?” “Yeah.” The fire popped and cracked and I fed it some small branches. Callan stared at the food I’d put out, but didn’t eat. “It isn’t that I don’t care about the town, you know that.” “I know.” He took up a round piece of smoked sausage and laid it on a small pine stump, then fished out his pocketknife and attempted to cut a slice, but with no hand to steady the meat it shifted position and rolled away like it had a mind of its own. I knelt down and put my hand over his. “Let me help you with that.” He flung my hand away. “No! I have to do it myself. I have to learn, or what am I going to do when you aren’t there?”

I watched as he chopped at the sausage, leaving it mauled into bits. “Is that what this is all about?” Callan nodded and I took the knife out of his hand and held him close. “I thought maybe it was you not wanting any fighting at all, being one of those folks who don’t approve of killing.” “A pacifist.” My chest muffled his words. “No, there’s a proper time to fight, and this very well may be it. It would be naïve of me to think otherwise, to expect the army to just go away because we want it to be so. I know there will have to be fighting—I just don’t want you to have to do it. I’m not a pacifist. I’m selfish.” “You ain’t,” I said softly, remembering so many occasions when Callan had proved that. “I am.” He sat up. “I don’t want to let you go, even though I know it’s the right thing for you to do.” And it was. Jeannie had talked of me having other priorities now, and while Callan would always come first, it was for him I was fighting as well as for me and the home folks. “I’m afraid too. I wish we could just go away, sometimes. Leave right now, just turn west and keep walking, away from all this to someplace safe.” But I wouldn’t do it, couldn’t leave my Pa and Ma and my sisters and Benny C, nor did I think Callan could truly walk away from Jeannie and Zack and the friends he’d made, and the acceptance we’d fought so hard for.

“I know we can’t—not sure there is anyplace safe for us, anyway.” He swept the sausage onto the ground where it would feed the small creatures of the forest at least. “I made a proper mess of this, didn’t I?” I knew he weren’t just talking about the sausage. “That ain’t true. Now that I know the cause, and that you’re not mad at me, it’s okay. We’ll work through this somehow.” He sighed. “We’ve been through so much, I just hoped…” He gave a short shake of the head and smiled for the first time that day. “You wouldn’t be you, wouldn’t the man I loved if you’d back away from this fight. “We’ve got this trip together, and I’ll be back, nothing’s going to happen to me, Callan. I’ll be careful.” I slid closer, my arm going around him. Our bodies fit so well together. “I got something special to come home to.” The tent went up quick and we ate, with Callan allowing me to cut the cheese and bread and lay out the dried fruit. We still didn’t speak much, but it was all right. We was all right, at least for that moment. I’ll

be back, I’d said, and I intended those words to be true, but my Grandmam, who’d been Danish and much taken with the tales of the old Viking people, used to talk about a man’s wyrd, his fate. Preachers called it God’s will, non-believers called it chance or dumb luck, but it all come down to the same thing—no man knows the moment of his death,

only that its coming is inevitable.

Callan’s Journal I lied to David today. I was angry, though not at him, at myself. At my own selfish heart that doesn’t give a damn for the whole town of Moline or for the machinations of the R&A or any of it. I’d happily turn my back on the whole mess and run away with him to New Orleans or even clear out to California if he’d have it. And that knowledge shames me, for by and large, this town has been good to me. I don’t hold my arrest and trial against them—most of those who had condemned me have gone already, and really, what choice did they have? The law was the law, and I’d been foolish beyond measure. No, they’re good people, and brave, staying on in a doomed town awaiting certain defeat and destruction because they love their homes and have some faith that their democratically elected government ought to be representing them, not repressing them. They still have hope. I don’t. I lost that sort of innocence a long time ago. I try not to dwell on my losses, but now, with David sleeping a few feet away from me after lovemaking that even now always brings a sense of wonder and awe and absolute gratitude at what I have, all I can think of is how much I’ve lost, how many people who’ve been close to me are either lost through death or exile and I don’t want David to be the next.

Chapter 3

David Anderson Things was better between us the next day, though we still didn’t talk much on the trail because Callan was too worn down to talk much beyond what was necessary. He’d spent an entire month and a half flat in bed and was only beginning to get his strength back. It was too soon for this. But it was too important, and we had no choice. I couldn’t make sense of the papers I’d seen scattered around that underground chamber, but possibly Callan could. I’d offered to fetch them for him and spare him the trip, but he said he needed to see the machine for himself. So we pushed on, stopping every hour or so, and each time we started off again, I could see what it was taking him to stand, watched his lips grow tight and the set of his shoulders stiffen. So I started to talk, just babbling nonsense to distract him from the steep climb over slippery pine straw and rocks that was strewn all over the hillsides.

“Harvest Fair’s going to be a might disappointing this year, with none of the folk from outside coming,” I said, though I knew perfectly well there most likely wouldn’t be a Harvest Fair, as we was about to be invaded. “Used to be traveling folk would come through and there’d be games and curiosities, you know, like fire eaters and bearded ladies and a twoheaded goat one year. Pa said the goat was a fake, but I still paid a penny to have a peek at it, for how many times in your life could you say you’d seen such a marvel?” “Could have been a birth defect,” Callan said. “Though probably faked.” “There’s a book at the school, you might have seen it, shows all these pictures of monsters from outer space. Not drawings, actual pictures, and old Burke told me that in the Before times, they could make up pictures that would look absolutely real, but weren’t. Anyway, the Harvest Fair was always a lot of fun, and I’d been looking forward to taking you. There’s a dance, too, and—” I broke off. It weren’t like Callan and me could take the floor together in a waltz or reel. “And...” I struggled for direction. “Real good food, city food, fruits clear from Mexico and sweet cakes and ginger beer and sarsaparilla to drink. Remember, I told you about that, how it was fizzy like that champagne you found us, over to Crawford?” “I remember.” The incline had leveled off slightly, but we was still going upwards and

would be till we reached the entrance of the cave. There was two entrances—one from the summit and one below which I’d found by accident when I was running away and fell over the side of a small cliff. The summit one would have been easier to find, but that would mean walking by the rotting carcasses of the dragons and of George Delahaye, and I weren’t about to do that unless we had no choice at all. The other entrance took you through a long passageway up into the mountain. The door there was locked, but I’d brought tools and figured I could have it off its hinges. I’d been quiet while thinking all this through, so I hadn’t noticed that Callan had stopped and was staring off through the pines towards a small grove of trees and stumps where the remnants of an old fire lay forgotten, along with cast off clothing and debris abandoned by us when we’d come this way before. “Do you think there’s anything worth salvaging?” “I doubt it.” “Then there ain’t no need to stop here.” I took firm hold of his hand and led him away. We was close now, within a few hours of the place where I’d found the opening. If we stuck west, we should come upon the spot without having to go through the trouble of falling down a cliff. I ain’t so good at book learning. My true strength lies in things of nature. I can track most anything, just like my Pa, and I almost always know

where I am in the woods. There’s just this feeling I get when I start to go astray, like a little voice telling me to stop, or turn, or stay. Even knowing that, I had a moment of triumph when we rounded a corner of the hill and I saw the broad, flat surface, covered with a hundred years’ worth of rotting leaves that I’d identified before as an unknown road. “Here’s the road,” I said, unnecessarily, for it could be nothing else. No other part of this hilltop was flat—it couldn’t have been natural. “This road seems unfinished.” Callan was right, for it stopped about ten paces ahead of us, not fading off into crumbling pavement like most of our roads did, but as if the concrete had been cleaved in two by a big axe and part removed. “Guess they started it at the cave, then maybe the Ice come before they had a chance to connect it down to the old highway.” Though that seemed what my Grandmam would have called ass-backwards way of building a road. We walked along it as it followed the cliffside until we come to the entrance, still uncovered. I led the way through the tunnel, flipping on the light switch that somehow miraculously still connected to working lights, all the while drinking in Callan’s wonderment at it, watching him tracing the fingers of his left hand over the box and switch, following the wires as far up as he could reach into the ceiling of the rock-cut tunnel. “It must be solar batteries, but where are the cells? They’d have to be

kept free of debris, and these bulbs should have burnt out or deteriorated long ago. I can’t imagine what type of filament they’re using, they don’t seem to be fluorescent…” His voice trailed off, deadened by the walls of the cave. “However it’s managed, it’s a good thing the light works.” We turned upwards toward where the door would be. “The door into the machine room locked behind me when I came through before and I’ll need decent light to try and work it open.” But it weren’t locked. In the half light, Callan gave me a strange look, and I could see he was thinking I’d got it wrong, had been so overcome by thinking him dead back that I’d forgot it was left open. But I hadn’t. It had been the locked door that had forced me to go on through the tunnel into the natural cave and brought me out at the dragons’ lair. And now it stood not only unlocked but open. This didn’t feel right at all. “Stay behind me.” I took out my belt knife, wishing like crazy it was a pistol, but I didn’t own a gun. Pa had promised me one for my birthday, but there weren’t a way to buy anything we didn’t make for ourselves, being cut off like we was. Callan pressed back against the side of the tunnel, trying to still and slow his breathing as I nudged the door farther open. It was grey metal with a tiny window set into it and heavier than our wooden doors, but instead

of creaking comfortably like a proper door, it moved with a slithering near-silence that set my teeth at edge. The chamber, a large, highceilinged room, walls covered with maps of the world and the country and Virginia, sat just as I’d left it. There was still dust over much of the surfaces, though I could feel air flowing from somewhere. The machine was still giving off its gentle hum, and the letters on its side still smudged and damaged too badly to truly make out. Looking around with a more careful eye, I saw armless chairs on wheels and strange half walls marking off sort of private areas around metal desks. A clock on the wall was stuck forever at 3:17. Callan walked up to one desk, its chair pushed back like its owner had just stepped out for a break and would be back directly. He looked down at the desk, then up at me sharply. “There used to be papers on this desk. You can tell by the pattern of the dust.” He was right. Almond, my baby sister who the dragon killed, used to have a dirt box in the summer. Grandmam had said in her day, young kids had sandboxes, and even if you lived miles and miles from anything close to a beach or ocean, you could buy sand in bags at stores to fill them. We couldn’t do such a thing, but Almond liked the idea, so Pa made her a frame box from pine logs and filled it with soil, and she’d played in it. Building walls. Pressing things down to make shapes in the dirt. That was what this desk looked like, as though papers and objects had pressed down through the dirt to leave their marks and then been

taken up. The other desks looked the same. The papers and books which had littered the floor before was gone. Every single one of them. “There was papers. I swear it — you know I wouldn’t have drug you up here—” “Hush, love. I know. I can see where they’ve been, remember? Someone’s been here. Someone’s taken anything that might have been of value.” We stood in the silence of that dying place with only the hum of the machine, and I strained to listen for the echoes of footsteps, for some sign of people. Something scuttled across the back wall of the room and I jumped. A rat. “Guess it come in through the door.” “Yes, I expect they did that on purpose too—the door left ajar so that animals will come in, chew on wires and things, the snow will blow in and eventually the whole room will be destroyed.” Callan shivered, and I came behind him and took him in my arms. “Guess there’s nothing here for us, then.” “Probably not. I should take a look at the device, though. Not that I know anything much about 21st century physics and engineering.” He slipped out of my arms and started to examine the knobs and dials that covered the sides of the machine, shaking his head as though he didn’t

have any more idea of what it all meant than I did. “Wait, David. Do you have any water left?” Callan sounded excited. “There’s something here, but it’s hidden behind dirt.” I tore a strip from an old blanket in my pack and wet it with water from my pack, then scrubbed at the place where the marking was. The dirt was stuck on like it had been baked, but my Mam had taught me to put my back into my chores and slowly it yielded to my pressure - a design, shield shaped, with a bird across the top, wings out. I knew it, of course, as it was the badge of the R&A. “This makes no sense.” Callan was still shaking his head, sitting baffled. “There was no Department of Reintroduction and Agriculture before the Ice. There was no need for it. Why on earth would this symbol have even existed, let alone be found on this device?” “What’s that thing under the bird?” I squinted hard at the symbol where normally the initials R&A would have been, but this close to the floor, the light was just not good enough to make it out. I tried to feel over it, the way I’ve been told that blind people used to read, but my fingers were too big and calloused to make sense of it. Callan’s more sensitive hand traced over where mine had been and found something I’d missed. “I can’t make out what the design is, but here’s a screw. This is a plate, screwed onto the machine.”

Using a screwdriver from my pack, I forced the two old screws out of their holes and then used the flat blade of the tool to pry up the plate from the surrounding metal. It came loose with a snap and I fell back, tumbling near head over heels, and as I righted myself I heard footsteps. Not another rat. Not scuffling but steel-toed boots clattering against the stone floor of the tunnel, coming towards us. We weren’t alone anymore. No time to think and nowhere to go except through the door I’d hoped like mad to avoid, the door leading to the mountaintop. I grabbed for our packs, stuffed the plate I’d pried from the machine into one of them. Callan was looking around for any clue, any remaining thing we might take. “Come on,” I whispered with my hand on the door latch. He took one last agonizing look at the machine; I knew he was damn curios and wanted nothing more than to spend the next three days taking it apart, but there just wasn’t time. I could make out voices now, men’s voices, and close, too close. I opened the door. Callan ran through it, and I followed, pulling it shut behind me just as I caught a glimpse of a leg in mottled green cloth, then another wearing the same. Uniforms. The army had come. The door had a small deadbolt latch, and I turned it, hoping its click wouldn’t be heard over their voices. I followed Callan up the passageway. It was a hard

slope upwards, and soon the electric light gave out and the only light was coming down from the outside, from where I knew the dragons lay. Callan had made it through the open cavern where the lair had been and was standing blinking in the sunshine. And then the wind shifted and there was a stench the likes of which I’d never known. Meat gone bad. Callan dropped to his knees and retched, and I came close to joining him. He was breathing like he was trying not to be sick, light and quick breaths, and sweat had broken out on his brow. “It’s a foul smell, and a foul place. We can just slip down the mountain from here, ain’t no reason to see—” But stubborn as always, he’d got up and was walking out onto the bald top of the mountain, and it looked like he was heading towards the metal frame tower that the Before people had put up for the electric or telephone or whatever it was. But he stopped short of it, looking down, and I knew it was George Delahaye, or what was left of him, that he studied so carefully. I didn’t figure there to be much of Delahaye left. He weren’t a ten ton dragon, after all, and we had scavengers aplenty in these mountains, but I didn’t want to see it for myself. I’d seen enough horror to last me. Callan turned and walked back to where I was waiting, his face set. “We should go, David. That deadbolt won’t hold those soldiers for long if they decide to come this way.”

“One whiff of the air here and they’ll turn around right quick,” I said. “But yes, let’s go. I’m sorry you had to come up here. This whole trip was a waste of time. One piece of metal with half the words worn off.” I’d exhausted Callan and spent what was like to be our last day together for a long while, maybe forever, tramping through woods of evil memory. “Not wasted. We know where the army is now, we can give warning. We’d have to hurry down, make the best time we could, for who knew how many troops there were? I started us off heading away from the lower entrance. It would make our walk a bit longer, but it seemed safer than taking chances of meeting up with the soldiers. I’ve always been a terrible liar. Without stopping, Callan said, “We need to get the news back to town as soon as we can. I don’t suppose you’d consider going on ahead of me?” The look on my face must have answered that question, for he sighed and nodded and we kept on, together.

Callan’s Journal I never thought any trip could be as difficult or unpleasant as the one I took north after Mother died, but this one was a close second. The only

thing that made it bearable was David’s presence. He set a grueling pace, and I kept up with it, something I expect I’ll regret for the next few days. My muscles are screaming in pain and I can’t imagine taking another step. Even writing is difficult, though I didn’t use my arm for anything more strenuous than grabbing hold of David when I started to fall. We camped along the way, I couldn’t say where, didn’t stop till there was absolutely no light at all, the moon being shrouded by clouds. Rain clouds, David said, and he was right, as by morning a steady rain was falling over the ground, and I was grateful for the tent, one we’d taken from Delahaye, for otherwise we’d have woken up sodden. Delahaye. I had to look at what remained of him. It wasn’t morbid curiosity—I’ve seen bodies in various states of decomposition back in Florida where I’d spent my youth badgering the healers at the Institute to teach me. And it wasn’t out of any sense of guilt; I had no choice but to kill him. He would have murdered David and then left me to die without a second thought. We made it back to town fairly early the next day despite the rain, before noon, and as soon as David had passed word along, he borrowed a wagon, rigged a cover, hitched Zack’s two saddle horses to it (an indignity they bore with fair patience) and drove me home. From where I sat in the wagon, even through the sound of the rain drilling on the canvas, I could feel the fear spreading through the town, people standing on their porches, talking in harsh whispers, doors slamming,

children being shushed and sent inside. But David was brilliant, calling out to the people, greeting them like it was just a normal day even though I knew he was scared to death and completely exhausted, and after he passed, they seemed calmer, happier. I love him so much. I swore once that I’d never let myself be in a position where I needed someone else’s presence to be complete, but David slipped up on me like the proverbial thief in the night, and though he’s not perfect, he’s exactly what I need. And he’s leaving in the morning. We have one more night together, and that won’t even be spent alone, as I’m expecting a crowd of people to descend on Zack’s home at any moment, wanting answers and reassurances that neither he nor David can give. But Zack and David, and David’s father and the sheriff, are all they’ve got. And me too, I guess, for whatever I’m worth.

Chapter 4

David Anderson Callan looked to be asleep before I closed the door, though I didn’t trust him not to get straight back up to write in his journal. He seemed to take pleasure in that, and though I wished he could confide those things he wrote down to me instead of to the pages of that book, he couldn’t, and I just had to accept that. Maybe someday he’d share it. I nearly run right into Zack, who was just outside our door. “Tell me you found something we can use.” “No sir, sorry. Someone had got there ahead of us, cleaned the whole place out. And did you hear about—” “Yes.” He looked worried, and with reason. “I’m glad you got back as quick as you did with that piece of news.” He glanced at the door I’d just come through. “How’s Callan holding up?” “Dead exhausted—you wouldn’t have believed how fast he made it down the mountain. Matched my pace and didn’t complain a bit.”

“Doesn’t seem to be the complaining type. I’ll let him sleep for now, but I need to talk to him later. I’ve got a job in mind for him as well.” That brought me up short. I didn’t know that I liked the notion of Callan being used in all this. “What kind of job?” “That’s between him and me.” He led me down the corridor towards the main house. “I told you you were going to have to watch yourself, you’d want to do too much for him and make his choices for him. He’s a man, not a child. You hover too much and he’ll come to resent you for it.” “I just worry, that’s all.” I didn’t see how that could be wrong. “It’s fine to worry and care, just trust him to know his own limits. If he thinks what I’m asking is too much, he’ll say so.” A small group of men was seated at one end of Zack’s huge oak dining table, talking among themselves. Zack went to sit with them, while I wandered over to the far wall, staring at the faded portraits of dead Tyrees, all with Zack’s straight brow and deep-set eyes. The only pictures of my own ancestors were a few faded photographs Grandmam had kept. Any pictures of Pa’s people had probably been burned for fuel or lost. I wondered what Callan’s people had looked like. Handsome, I’d guess. The men kept glancing up at me and talking quiet to each other. I don’t

like it much when folks are talking about me. Oh, I know they do, for I’ve been a great source of gossip for the whole town ever since Callan’s trial, but it makes me feel sick to my stomach to think on it. So I come over to the other end of the table where Jeannie Findlay was studying what looked like a map of town with all the houses marked out. She smiled when she saw me. “David, sit with me, why don’t you?” She poured me some water from a silver pitcher and I sat down. Well, I say sat down, but really my legs collapsed under me as I realized I’d been on my feet and moving for most of two straight days. “You look half-dead, child. Why on earth don’t you go and get some sleep?” “I’m fine, just a little tuckered out. What are you working on?” Now that I had a closer look at the map, I saw some of the houses had circles around them and others were crossed out. “Figuring out who’s still here, who will be left when the militia moves out, where we can move people if we must.” “I hate this.” And I did, hated what I was having to do and think about—it wasn’t a game. Hearing those soldiers’ voices on the mountaintop had made it real. “None of us likes it, but we have to make the best of things. I take it you didn’t find anything up the mountain?” “I pried up a name plate off that machine, for whatever that’s worth.” I

started to tell her about the open door, the soldiers, then stood as I heard voices in the corridor. Familiar voices. Zack got up to greet my pa, and Benny C come running in and about knocked me back against the table. “David! David!” “Easy, son,” Pa chuckled. “Let your brother breathe.” It was a strange thing, for when I lived at home and had to share a room with Benny C, he’d have been more like to hit me than to hug me, and the same with me to him, but being apart had made me realize how much I cared about him, about all of them. I wanted to be away and on my own, but I wanted to be with them too—I hadn’t expected that. Pa shook my hand, the way he would with a friend. An equal. “What are you doing here, Pa?” “Come down to get the straight story. And it seemed like the family ought to be together today. Your Mam and the girls are down in Zack’s kitchen fixing up a meal.” That was good to hear. Mam was a fine cook, and Zack and Callan and me certainly weren’t. It struck me that Pa was right, that family

should be together on the night before so much was like to change. But Mam wasn’t keen on Callan and me together, and he was family to me too. “Mam ain’t going to cause a scene about… about things, is she?” “Not today.” He shook his head. “Boy, what do you think you’re

doing?” Benny C was looking up at Zack like a puppy begging scraps from the table. “Mister Zack, can we have a barbeque?” Trust my brother to think of some damn fool thing like a party when the whole world’s about to slide into hell. I waited for Zack to start laughing, but instead, he stroked his chin, nodding. “Not a bad suggestion. There’s a lot to be said for lifting spirits before things turn bad. But I don’t think the dried squirrel meat I have on hand will be much good for a barbeque,” he said with a sour face. I had to agree. Anyone who says squirrel tastes like chicken has only had really lousy chickens. Benny C stared down at the ground and mumbled, “I got cows.” Everybody in the room was staring at him, but most particularly Sheriff Fletcher. “Son, there’s only one farmer in this valley that ever raised cattle.” “Yessir. Seems that when the Casteels left, they sort of… er… forgot one of their herds. It’s a small one. Three or four cows.” My brother didn’t have to look up for me to see how red his face had got—the tops of his ears gave it all away. I knew darn well that no Casteel ever ‘forgot’ property, nor any debt or advantage that they might gain. But neither I or the sheriff cared. He sent Benny C off towards town to fetch some

hands to aid with butchering. We was having beef for dinner. “David, why don’t you go along to the kitchen and let your mother know to expect a crowd for dinner?” More excited to see my Mam than a man my age ought to admit, I took off at a half-run towards Zack’s kitchen. I could hear Mam and Ruby rowing even before I pushed through the kitchen door. Ruby was a year younger than Benny C, which made her near fourteen now, and somehow in the three months since I’d seen her last, she’d shot up near as tall as Mam, and the shapeless clothing she wore couldn’t hide the fact that she was filling out into a woman. “Pa said I can, it’s up to me, and I’m going to do it no matter what you say!” “Ruby Anderson, I’ve lost two children this year, and I’m like to lose Benny C as well. No more, I tell you!” I cleared my throat and sort of smiled. “I ain’t lost Mam, I’m right here.” Mam put down the spoon she’d been shaking at Ruby and took me in her arms. The first touch I’d had from her since I left home to be with Callan. She looked so thin and frail. She trembled in my arms saying my name over and over. “Hello, David. You look good, I guess.” Mam pushed me back, still holding onto my arms and looked me up and

down. “You need a good meal.” She turned back to Ruby. “We ain’t finished with this, young lady. Not by a long ways.” Ruby scowled and turned back to the big metal sink where she commenced peeling potatoes like they was her mortal foe and she were skinning them alive. Mam led me over to Zack’s kitchen table, a thick wood block, well scrubbed, but marred by two hundred years or so of hard use. “Sit down and let me take a look at you.” I never cared for being the center of attention, not since I was a small boy at my first Fall Recitation where I’d forgot all the words to ‘My Country ‘tis of Thee’ in front of the entire town and had sung a child’s rhyme about mice instead. I still occasionally had people come up to me and whistle that tune just to rile me up. “I’m okay. Just the same as always.” She shook her head. “No, your chest has filled out some, expect working with horses builds muscles.” “Yes, I suppose so. Where’s Delia?” If I’d had to lay money on it, I’d say my youngest sister had fled outside to get away from the arguing. Delia always hated conflict of any kind. “Outside, I think.” Mam looked down at her hands on the table, and as I followed her gaze I noticed how thin her hands had become, almost like Grandmam’s had been. Without looking up, she asked, “How’s Callan?”

“He’s good. Adjusting pretty well.” She kept her eyes on her hands, empty hands, quiet hands, such a rarity for her, for all my life they had always moving, working. Loving. “He did a fine job with the children this summer. They all seemed to learn a lot, even Benny C, and he ain’t never been much for book learning. I’m sorry it’s over.” “I think he likes teaching better than he figured he would.” Then what she’d said made it through my mind. “Over?” “School’s closing until further notice,” Ruby said, without turning around. “Mister Zack and the sheriff don’t want us coming into town till we know what’s going on.” “I’m just as glad—I want to keep my babies close right now,” Mam said. In response, Ruby slammed a pan down and started throwing potatoes in it. “What on earth is—” I started to ask, but Mam shook her head. “Never mind about that, tell me what you’ve been doing.” So I launched into a watered down account of my life, leaving in the horses and the chores and even the trip up the mountain but leaving out the militia and most of the personal things about Callan and me. It seemed to satisfy her, for when I finally stopped talking, she sighed. “It ain’t what I would have picked for you, but you seem happy, I

suppose. As happy as any of us can be these days. Probably just as well you didn’t marry Luanna after all,” she added, still regretful at my refusal to agree to marry Luanna Burke. “Seeing as how she’s left town.”

And seeing as how I’m in love with Callan, I thought, but just nodded in agreement. “‘Spect so. Mam, I need to get back to work. I guess you know I’m coming up home tomorrow sometime. I hope that’s okay.” Out of the blue, she stood up, chair scraping against the wide boards of the pine floor and kissed me on the top of the head, then held me so tight it hurt. “You still call it home,” she said, in a choked off voice. “Your Pa said I’d driven you off, oh David, he said just horrible things to me about how hateful I was being, and he was right—I’m so sorry, so mortal sorry. I was so fixed on condemnation that I forgot most of my scriptures is about love and forgiveness.” Her tears was hot on my neck and I was choking up my own self—I’d never seen Mam cry save for when Almond died. “Can you forgive me?” “Oh, Mam, of course I can.” The rift between us had been eating at me like a cancer. But now things could maybe be right between us again, if she could begin to see me as a grown person with my own life and my own choices. “Zack said for me to tell you to expect a big crowd for supper. I guess Benny C’s stole some of Casteels’ cows and we’re going to barbecue.” Mam’s face turned six shades of purple, and Ruby started laughing. “I

wondered how long he was going to be able to keep that quiet. He’s been sneaking off to care for those animals twice a day, sometimes three times.” “He told me he was going off to see his girl!” Mam shouted. I laughed, remembering how I’d let her think I was seeing Luanna when really I was going to town to be with Callan, and wondered if she was more upset about her son the cattle thief or her son the sodomite. “I’ll skin him alive, I swear on a stack of Bibles I will.” Then the rest of what I’d said must have hit her. “Crowd? How big a crowd?” When I didn’t answer, she just shook her head and pushed me out of the kitchen. “Go on and get out of my way, David, I’ve got work to do.” I could hear her calling for Delia through the closed door. It was nice having them all here, though I wouldn’t want to live with them all the time anymore. I wondered what she and Ruby had been arguing over. If it was something to do with me, I’d know soon enough. Figuring Callan would probably not want to sleep the day away, I went off to wake him. --Callan was sitting at the desk like I figured, but if he’d been writing, he was done, for the book was closed up. He had the pencil between his knees and was trying to sharpen it one-handed with a pen-knife. “You’re going to cut something off.” I knew I was supposed to let him

do for himself, but he was tired out already, and seeing that sharp knife shaving downward towards his lap made me wince, so I took the penknife and pencil and whittled it to a point. “Thank you.” He set the book and pencil into a drawer. “I’ll have to do it myself when you’re gone.” “Or just not write so much.” Callan looked out the window and silence stretched between us a while. “I expect I’ll write more. I won’t have you to talk to.” “Zack should be around. And I think some of the farm families will be coming in to stay. You won’t be alone.” He shifted in his seat, restless, so I kept talking. “Mam and the girls are here; we’re having a barbecue.” “That’s smart, it should make people feel better. Zack is a wise man in a lot of ways.” “It was Benny C’s idea.” Nobody could accuse Benny C of being wise. Callan smiled up at me, and I got a sense that he was hiding something. “I should get cleaned up if we’re having people in.” He rummaged in the chest of drawers. “Come with me while I get a bath. I need to tell you something.” I picked up his towel and change of clothing and followed him through

the door into the bathroom. Zack’s house had two true bathrooms and another three or so indoor privies that weren’t used no more, as personal needs were taken care of in outhouses. One baths in the main wing, the other here with us, and ours were the one with running water of a sort, a hand pump that Zack’s father had rigged up and a small wood stove that kept water boiling. He must have stoked the fire earlier, as the pot of water was nearly boiling over. Callan struggled with the pump, which took an awful lot of muscle to operate. “I know I’m supposed to let you do it, but just for today, please.” I let my hand cover his on the black metal pump and kissed him. He stepped back and watched as I sent the cold water splashing into the tub. Up and down as the action of the pump clattered and the water spurted in fits and starts through the rusty iron. “Zack’s concerned that if it comes to fighting that you… not you personally, but you in the militia may need a healer available somewhere out of town.” I pumped a little faster. Might Zack be thinking of sending Callan with me? “So,” Callan watched the water, not looking at me. “So he’s asked Jeannie to go up into the hills and stay at the shepherd’s cottage.”

Jeannie? I stopped pumping and looked at Callan. “What’s that got to do with you?” “It’s important that we look like a normal town. Normal towns have healers. There’s also the possibility that the army will impress the healer into service—trained medical people are in short supply, and Zack doesn’t want to lose Jeannie.” “But it’s okay to lose you? That what you’re saying?” I tried to stay calm, for Zack was right, and I had to let him choose his own way. Forcing myself to act normal, I grasped hold the big vat of boiling water and tipped it into the tub. The water frothed into the bath as I imagined a waterfall would crash down on jagged rocks. “No, love. That’s not what I’m saying. I think it unlikely the army has any great use for a one-armed healer with a felony sodomy conviction. They’ll leave me alone. But I’ll be able to treat anyone in town who needs it while Jeannie is gone. She’ll be there to keep you safe.” He started struggling out of his clothes. I’d never thought about how much you really do rely on both your hands. Taking off your shirt for example, is a simple matter of crossing your arms, grabbing the bottom of the shirt and then raising hands above your head. But Callan can’t. He’d got it up part way and it was stuck around his head. I pulled it gently free and smoothed his hair down, reveling in the silky feel of it. Oh, I was going to miss him. “I thought you couldn’t do

healing work with only one hand.” Trousers were easier to have off one-handed—they fell to the floor and he stepped out of them and into the hot bath. “Zack’s arranged a helper for me.” It all fell into place. “Ruby.” “Yes, she’d asked me a couple of times about what you needed to do to become a healer. I remember how she was when Almond was hurt—I think she’ll be good at it.” I expected she might. Ruby was the most down to earth of all of us; calm in a crisis, unafraid of most anything that walked on the earth, full of compassion. “She’s a bit impatient, Callan,” way my way of telling she was a child and be no use if things went bad. “She’s thirteen, she’ll grow out of that. You should have seen me at thirteen.” He settled down into the water. “Want to scrub my back?” I stripped out of my own shirt—no sense in getting it soaked—and knelt beside the tub. Callan’s skin glistened as I let the warm water roll off the cotton wash cloth over his slender back. The scars from the lash were mostly faded white lines now, but the brand with its cruel ‘S’, was still easily made out. I kissed the scar tissue on his shoulder, tongue flicking out to trace the mark. “Wish I had seen you at thirteen.” “You’d have been six. I don’t think it would have worked out.”

I rarely thought on the age difference between us, but put that way, seven years seemed half a lifetime. I pushed it from my mind—we were both adults now, or as good as, and those years made no nevermind. “Guess not.” I reached the cloth around to his chest, dragging it lower and lower in circles, teasing the hair that grew lightly over his chest and thicker down towards his legs. “Mmm, yes. You want to come in?” The tub’s big enough for two, and the words were hardly out of his mouth before I’d stripped off the rest of my clothes and slipped in behind him, pulling him back to relax against my chest as the water sloshed out of the big white tub onto the floor. “Guess that’s a yes.” The feel of skin on slippery skin in the warm water was pleasure like a warming fire in the dead of winter. My solitary baths had always been quick and cold, with Pa and Mam taking their turns in the tub first. “Is this what swimming is like?” “Sort of like, though usually you’re wearing swim clothes and the water’s not so warm.” Callan’s hair was tickling my nose and mouth. I nibbled on one ear, then reached my hand around and down, seeking, searching, finding. He gasped. “Seems like clothes would get in the way of things,” I whispered, and was pleased to find that further speech was beyond him. ---

The water had cooled almost beyond comfort by the time we climbed out, all wrinkly skinned, but happy. At least happy on the surface, though I couldn’t stop thinking of him alone back at Jeannie’s house, surrounded by soldiers. But Callan had assented to my going and doing what I had to do, and it was my turn to do the same without fuss, and I would. We dressed without speaking. This might well be the last time we’d be together. “You don’t think we have a chance of winning this?” I stooped to sop up the water that covered the floor. Seemed like half the tub’s water had ended up splattered over the black and white tiles. Callan sat on the old indoor toilet, now little better than a cold white stool. “Well, I don’t know what the army is prepared to do, but the R&A has proven itself more than willing to put innocents in harm’s way. We saw that with Hennessy and Delahaye.” I sat back on my heels. “I don’t take your meaning.” “What are you going to do when they round up your mother and Ruby and Delia and me, take us to the town square and start putting bullets in our heads till you come out of the hills and give up. Could you stand by and let that happen?” The cold of the tiles seemed to have seeped upwards into my blood.

“No, you know I couldn’t.” “Then they’ve already won. A military solution isn’t going to work unless you can get every single person in town that might be used as leverage off to safety, and that’s running away, which is just what we’ve all decided not to do.” “So what should we do, then?” I stood up and so did he, facing me so our eyes was level. My heart was pounding and I felt something strange—desire and love and longing and something more. I didn’t know whether I wanted to pull him down on the cold tiles and make love or shake him so he’d stop saying troubling things. “Love, I don’t know what the answer is. I have this feeling that I’ll never see you again after tonight.” The words was tight, forced out like it hurt him to say it. They might well be true, and I’d fought too hard for truth to lie to Callan or to myself. “I’m going to try my hardest to come home to you, but I can’t promise you that ain’t going to happen. You know I can’t promise that.” “I know.” He reached his hand up and stroked my hair, not soft like his, but curling and coarse and tangly. “Let’s not waste our last evening together. We’re going to have a house full of people in an hour or so, and that will be nice, but I can think of some nice things we can do all by ourselves, too.”

He took my hand and led me through the connecting door to our bedroom so we could say our goodbyes proper.

Chapter 5

David Anderson The sun was setting and I could hear voices from the rest of the house by the time we finally started packing, for neither of our hearts were in it. This place has been good to us, more of a home than most folk like us probably ever had. We’d been safe here. Even if by some miracle, the government relented and left us in peace, I doubt it ever be the same. So I filled my backpack, and Callan packed his brown leather suitcase, a real old one from Before with cracks in the leather and the handle held on with rope, and we talked about barbecue and cows and when it was like to turn cold . Anything other than what were in our hearts. Callan clumsily lifted a wooden box from his bottom drawer, and it spilled open, scattering papers and pictures all over the threadbare flowered carpet. I knelt beside him and helped stack them. There was a picture of a woman in a store bought-wedding gown, complete with lacy veil. She didn’t have a pretty face, but it was one you’d remember, strong features with skin so dark I wondered if she might be part black, a

nose far too large for her face and dark eyes that didn’t smile with the rest of her. “Is that your mam?” “No. My mother was fair. She looked a lot like me.” He took the picture and studied it. “That’s Kathleen Cohen. Sorry, Kathleen Forrester now. She was… a friend.” Any other man I’d have asked if he’d been courting her. Callan rummaged in the box and pulled out another picture, one of the same woman in her wedding gown seated in a stiff backed chair with a man in a fancy suit standing beside her with a hand resting on her shoulder. The man might have been the most handsomest one I’d ever seen. “That’s Malcolm, her husband.” Callum’s voice remained flat. “He’s…” I struggled for the right word, but Callan put the picture away and closed the box. “Yes, he is. And he knows it, too.” There was more, I could tell, a history, something between Callan and this man who looked to be much older than either of us, but it didn’t matter. I knew he’d had other lovers before me, just didn’t let myself think on it too often. The sounds of voices was getting louder, spilling out of the main building and onto the yard. The back of the house had a double porch, two stories tall with a stair going down from one to the other, and it sounded like that was where the party was.

“They’re outside, best take a coat,” I said without thinking, then flushed. “Sorry, don’t mean to treat you like you ain’t got sense.” Callan was already shrugging on his worn greatcoat. I surely loved that coat; it suited him. “It’s okay for you to fuss today,” he murmured while giving my hand a quick squeeze. We went out to join the others. Seemed that the whole town and about half the country folk had come to Zack’s. I have no idea how the word spread, you’d think we must have had a telephone like they had Before to get so many people from so many places together at such short notice. The fire in Zack’s big stone barbecue pit was burned down to coals, and the sweet smell of the beef sizzling on the grill made my mouth water. There was wheat bread and Mam’s potato salad and corn ears, fairly small ones that ought to have been left on the stalk a bit longer, but then, who knew if we’d even be here to harvest any of our crop anyway? Why not make good use of it now? Mam was behind a table serving food with some other women; Miz Weaver and Miz Henslow and Delia, though Ruby was off talking to Jeannie Findlay, probably about healing. Callan excused himself and went to join them, leaving me standing alone. “David!” Zack stood in a circle of older men—Pa, Sheriff Fletcher, Burke the Digger, two older claim farmers I didn’t know. “Bob Wainright,

Chuck Porter, you know David Anderson, right?” I shook hands with the men, feeling odd to be included in this group of adults. Mister Porter, who looked familiar, clapped me on the back. “My boy Errol speaks well of you.” I could tell from his voice that he was worried for his boy. “You don’t need have no worry for him. He’s got the furthest eye I’ve ever seen, sir. He’ll see trouble coming from three miles off.” Mister Porter nodded. “Gets that from his Mam, I think. I can’t hit the broad side of a barn, myself. Why, I remember back when I was about fifteen—” Zack interrupted. “Sorry, Chuck, don’t mean to interrupt, but I wanted to let y’all know that I just got word the army’s camped about an hour’s march north of town and ought to be here at first light.” We all stood quiet at that, and the Digger spat his chaw. I didn’t know how he was getting tobacco, he must have had a lifetime’s supply stored away for he was always smoking or chewing. “Going to tell them?” “Later. There’s no need to rile people up. Let them have their fun.” As we watched Mark Bevins, a young farmer who’d been a few years ahead of me at school, stumbled by carrying a jug that looked like ’shine. He upended the jug into his mouth and the sharp scent of whisky spilled over him.

“Keep that boy away from the firepit,” Digger muttered, and the men chuckled. Air was cooling off as the sun set and along with the barbecue fire, they’d laid a huge bonfire in the center of Zack’s backyard. A bunch of girls stood on the upper balcony throwing things down at Benny C and his friends. Delia came running up to me with a plate of food, which I took, aware I was ravenous. “Must be nice to have sisters to bring your food for you, David,” Sheriff Fletcher said. “Suppose so,” I replied around a mouth full of corn. “’bout all girls is good for, though.” All these years, I’d never wondered about whether Sheriff Fletcher’d ever been married. “Was there ever a Miz Fletcher?” He looked grim. “There is. She run off to Richmond with one of the Circuit Judge’s people about fifteen years ago. Divorce is pretty much illegal for anyone who can’t buy themselves a judge, so far as I know, I’m still married to her.” He looked over to where Jeannie Findlay was still talking to Callan and Ruby. “More’s the pity.” The sheriff and Jeannie? “This grown-up world is awful complicated.” “You got that right.” He took hold of my elbow and led me over to a table, really a long board put up on sawhorses. “Easier to eat steak sitting down, and I want a private word with you.” Everybody wanted a private word with me these days. I was watching

Callan. What on earth could he have to say to Jeannie about healing that he hadn’t said before? Curtis Henslow started tuning up his fiddle, and one of the claim farmer’s wives had a dulcimer on her lap. I poked at my steak with my belt knife. I was no longer so hungry. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?” “You can stay away from town after tomorrow. I know that’s your intention and what Zack’s asked you to do, but I don’t want you sneaking down to town at night or anything like that, you hear?” “Why?” “Because, son, you killed a federal agent. And that’s a federal crime, and there’s every possibility those soldiers are going to come complete with a warrant for your arrest.” I tried to think what he was talking of. “I killed a what? Oh. Delahaye.” Though I hadn’t of course. Callan had. But that was our secret. “Was self defense.” “I’m figuring John Hennessy got back to civilization, and I expect he’d tell a different tale of it.” “I’ll stay away, I promise. You don’t think Hennessy will come back here, do you?” Henslow had struck up a soft tune, something I couldn’t make out over the crowd, but Callan, who was closer to the porch than I, smiled and

excused himself from Jeannie and went over to listen. “No, I expect he’s back in a nice comfortable office buried deep in Washington.” I could recognize the song now, for Callan was singing it in a strong, clear tenor voice—Aura Lee. I listened to his voice with my eyes closed, just drinking in the sounds of the music and the crowd and the fire crackling, home sounds, joyful sounds, and yet somehow wistful and sad at the same time. Jug still in hand, Mark Bevins sat down next to me. “You ever tried ’shine? Seems like if you’re a man now, you ought to do what men do.” His voice slurred as his eyes scanned the crowd. “You already killed a man, you ain’t likely to ever have a woman,” he glanced over at Callan, “so you need to have a drink to get two out of three.” One out of three, really, I thought, but he shoved the jug at me. I took it and looked at Sheriff Fletcher. “David, nobody here would begrudge you a drink if you want one.” I was curious, so I tipped it up to my mouth and swallowed, figuring I’d just have a sip, but it slopped over me and my mouth filled with fire. I gasped and sputtered as my throat ignited and the stuff blazed burning trails down into my belly. Mark was pounding me on the back, laughing. “How can you drink that?” Somehow the warmth that had seemed so painful was now settling to a slow fire, bringing every inch of my body

alive in a way that I could only compare to when Callan was making love to me. I took another sip, a real sip this time. The taste didn’t improve. “Moonshine isn’t sipping whisky, son, you ought to just swallow it down like medicine,” Sheriff Fletcher observed. I tried to pass the jug back to Mark. “Keep it,” he said, and he wandered off. He seemed like he was moving sort of funny, or maybe that was me, I weren’t sure at all, but then I heard Callan singing another song, so I stood up, taking the jug with me, and drifted over to where he stood, singing first one, then another song. He had such a sweet voice, and folk was listening appreciatively, joining in on the choruses and parts they knew. “Love me tender, love me sweet,” he sang to Ruby, but I knew it weren’t truly to her, so I joined in, my lower voice blending with his as we sang, him to Ruby, me facing towards Jeannie, just so I didn’t rile up nobody, but really to Callan, always and only to him. “For my darling, I love you, and I always will,” the old song concluded, and there was a burst of applause. “A king used to sing that,” I said, unable to stay away from Callan’s side any longer. I had an overwhelming desire to touch him, to run my hands over his sides, to tangle my fingers in his hair. I took another drink to stifle the urge. “Grandmam talked about him.”

Callan smiled. “Yes, that’s right. What on earth are you drinking?” I held up the jug of shine. “Want some?” He shuddered. “Not if my life depended on it.” I took another swig and stood closer to him in the darkening yard, thinking maybe we could slip away in the darkness, for a powerful desire was coming over me. More of the moonshine, which didn’t seem to taste so bad anymore, slid down my throat. “Enough of that. If you want to get drunk, do it on something that won’t kill you.” Callan took the jug firmly out of my hand and gave it to Zack, who’d come up behind us, then excused himself to go back into the house. Zack handed the jug off to a passing farmer. “What’s going to happen tomorrow, you think?” I asked as Henslow broke into a reel and the yard filled with people dancing. “Likely nothing. I’ve got papers from Nate Clemmons documenting the suits he’s filed asking for a stay of any confiscation of property under the eminent domain, plus petitions for show cause, all sorts of paperwork. I’ll go over them with the senior officer and likely he’ll take himself and his unit back to Richmond to wait the outcome of the trial. Worst case is they hang around here till it’s decided.” I didn’t understand a lot of what he’d said, but he sounded confident and that was good. Benny C and Daisy was dancing with a lot more

touching than you generally see in a reel. I tried to take another drink but the jug was gone. Where’d the jug go? I felt a bottle in my hands. Callan was back. “Drink that, if you absolutely have to drink.” “I got to obey you, we worked that out a long time ago,” I giggled and tipped the bottle into my mouth. It was as different from the ‘shine as night was from day, so smooth, and it didn’t burn at all, though it warmed me just the same. “That’s my brandy, isn’t it?” Zack asked. “Yes, hope you don’t mind.” “No, not at all, ’cept I thought that bottle was full.” Zack’s voice sounded reproachful, and as I looked at Callan, and even in the half-light of the fire, I could see he was blushing. “Yes, I had a couple of rough spots back a while ago. It won’t happen again, I swear.” Zack laughed. “It won’t happen again because David’s going to finish it all tonight. Go slow with that, son, or you’ll be sorry in the morning.” He turned to Callan and their voices seemed to come from a long way away as I drank again. “Do you want him drunk for some reason?” “I think it might be easier on him not to be able to think too much tonight.”

Ruby came out of nowhere and dragged Callan off to dance with her, ignoring his protests that you needed two hands to do a proper reel. I watched him move on the lawn among all the dancers, so graceful and tall, unmistakable, and completely mine. He should be dancing with me. I started forward to take him from Ruby and found my hand caught by Jeannie, who led me out to dance with her, and I took one last swig on the bottle of brandy before Zack took it from me. The ground was moving in rhythm with the reel as I bowed and spun and sidled in the steps I’d learned as a child, only stomping on her foot twice and once running into someone on my left that I thought might have been Pa. The music slowed and became a waltz, and I was spinning around with Jeannie, and then Jeannie somehow became Callan, and I looked up into his eyes, so blue, like violets, which I’d only seen in a book, for we didn’t have violets anymore. I said that out loud. “We don’t have violets anymore.” But Callan had both arms because one was on my shoulder and the other on my waist, and I asked him about that too, as the stars were spinning round and round in time with the beautiful waltz. “You want me to make some coffee? I think there’s some left in the kitchen.” The voice was Zack’s I thought, but the world wouldn’t stop spinning enough for me to know for sure. “No, just water, and some of the bread.” “Son, how much of that moonshine did you drink?” That was Pa, I was

sure of it, so I tried to open my eyes and focus on him. “Not sure, I just kept drinking and it just kept coming. That’s a big jug, ain’t it?” I shook my head to clear the images of Pa, because it seemed like there was two of him. Maybe three. “Callan?” “I’m here.” And he was, and only one of him, which was a good thing. He was talking to Pa. “Don’t worry, I think he’ll be all right, if a bit worse for wear in the morning.” I was being led away, reveling in the cool air, which felt so good to me, cool wind washing over me like water, like the water in the bath had flowed around us. Somehow we’d got to our room, and Jeannie was there, looking worried, but I couldn’t make sense of her words, nor of Callan’s to her, they was just buzzing sounds as I lay flat on my back on the bed. “Am I drunk?” Callan’s hand stroked my head. “Extremely. I had no idea you’d had so much of that moonshine or I wouldn’t have given you brandy. Now sit up and drink some water.” “Can’t drink anymore.” “Yes, you can.” He sounded angry. “Sit up and drink it. I’m not joking around.” I sat and drank the water, and ate the bread they put in my mouth. “He’d be better off if he could be sick, I think,” Jeannie said, and

something in her words triggered my stomach—all the fire that had flowed down into my belly forced its way back out, and oh, I was sick, so sick, so shamed, but Callan kept stroking my head and speaking soft to me. “Very obedient young man you’ve got there, vomits on command,” Jeannie said, and I felt her weight shift off the bed. “I think you’ve got it in hand, Callan. He’ll live, though I expect he’ll think twice about drinking again. Silly boy wouldn’t be seventeen if he didn’t do something stupid and irresponsible once in a while. Ruby’s going home with me and we’ll wait for you in the morning before I leave. Don’t be late.” “I won’t. I’ll leave at first light.” “He won’t be awake at first light.” “That was the idea. I’m not much for goodbyes.” “Zack has some hangover remedy I made for him a while back, see that David has some, all right? Just because you can’t face saying goodbye is no reason why he has to have the headache of the damned all day tomorrow.” “I know. It was selfish of me.” “Try not to fret about it. Zack thinks it’s all going to be fine.” Jeannie had bent over me, I could smell her lavender soap, I

remembered it from when I’d lived at her house. “Sleep now, David, and God go with you tomorrow,” she whispered into my ear and kissed my cheek. Callan was trying to pull my boots off one handed, and I knew I ought to be helping him, so I sat up as the bed spun around me. “I don’t like this much,” I admitted as I forced the boots over my feet. “Don’t suppose you do. I remember the one time I was really, really drunk. It was very scary. I hate being out of control.” That was how it was, like nothing was in my hands, not the ground, not the bed, not even my own body. I guess maybe being drunk was a reminder that our lives ain’t ours, we really don’t control anything at all, no matter how much we think we do. I had managed to get out of my clothes and Callan had clean pajama pants for me, but the idea of clothes binding my body seemed wrong, so I just climbed under the covers in my altogether. Callan sat beside me and I put my head in his lap. The desire had passed, sadly, and I was content to just lie there, my limbs and body heavy. “Tell me about when you got drunk.” He was quiet for a while, and I almost drifted into sleep, and then he started talking softly. “I was sixteen, it was Malcolm and Kathleen’s wedding, from the picture you saw before, remember?”

“Was you in love with him?” Funny how the alcohol brought words from my mouth that would never be uttered otherwise. Callan was quiet for a while. “No, though I thought I was at the time. He was older than me. Sixteen years older, I think. Kathleen was... I guess you’d call her my babysitter, she used to watch me when my mother was at work, then as I got older we became friends. She was about nine years older, but for a whole lot of reasons she didn’t have many friends her own age, and neither did I. I never knew if Malcolm seduced me to get to Kathleen or Kathleen to get to me, but it started when I was about fourteen, and he did everything possible to make me love him.” The room had slowed its spinning. Callan handed me some more water and I drank gratefully, aware that I was very thirsty. “When they became engaged, he said it was over between us, and I did my level best to put him from my mind, but it was so hard, because Kathleen was always at the house, planning her wedding, talking to me and to my mother about how wonderful Malcolm was, how bright, how far he was going to go in his career. She knew nothing of what had been between us, of course. There’s more tolerance for men together back home than here, but it’s still nothing you can speak openly about, and of course, it would have destroyed Malcolm’s career had it been known that he was having sex with a fifteen year old boy, and I wouldn’t do that to Kathleen, who loved him. So I just let it eat me

away in silence. Then came the wedding.” I remembered the picture of the man in the fancy suit, though my blurred mind put Callan’s face on the man. “He was nice to look at.” “Believe me, good looks are vastly overrated. After the ceremony, he pulled me aside, and I mean right after the ceremony—Kathleen was still greeting people in the receiving line— he hauled me into a closet and he fucked me.” I didn’t think I’d ever heard Callan say that word. He must of have seen what it did to my face. “There really isn’t any other word for it, except maybe rape, and I was willing, so that’s not right. He left me lying there on the floor of that closet while he buttoned up his pinstripe trousers and adjusted his fine white tie to go back out to greet his guests and kiss his wife, my best friend. The smell of closets still makes me sick.” “So you got drunk.” “Imported scotch, left over from Before, at least a hundred years old. It was a wedding present from Kathleen’s father. Very expensive. I drank most of the bottle, got alcohol poisoning and they had to take me to the clinic. But not before I was sick all over Malcolm’s suit and fancy wagon.” I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Good. What did you see in

him, anyway?” I couldn’t believe he’d told me so much private about himself. I wished the room would hold still so I could grasp better hold of what he was saying, but the words kept slipping away. “Besides his looks? He was very charming, very intelligent, older, sophisticated.” He smiled sort of sadly. “Quite like Taylor Mills, in fact.” Taylor Mills, who had tried to run off and leave Callan to face the law on his own. “That don’t make me take much of a shine to him.” “I have terrible taste in men, I admit it.” “Had,” I said, stroking his chest. “Had,” he agreed and kissed my forehead. “You figure I’m going to forget all this by morning, don’t you?” “Yes.” He smiled and slid down next to me, holding me close against the cold of the room. We’d need a night fire in a week or so, except that we wouldn’t be there in a week or so, would we? “Wish you could trust me when I’m sober.” “I do, love, I just don’t trust myself. There’s so much there, and if I start, I’m afraid I won’t ever stop, and I hate whiny people, I really do. Talking about the past doesn’t change it.” “But it lets me know more about you.” A cold thought crossed me. “What if you die and I never know about you, the real you?”

“Oh, David, I’m not going to die. I’m going to sit in Jeannie’s house and treat sniffles and maybe put bandages on a couple of soldiers who scrape their knees playing football. I’ll be bored silly, and I’ll write all about it in my journal, which I’ll let you read when we’re together again.” “You’ll let me read it? Promise?” “I swear. Every word.” I wanted to kiss him, but had enough of myself left to think that my breath probably would have melted the Ice, so I stroked his hair instead. “I’m tired.” “Then sleep. I’ll stay here with you tonight, and whoever wakes first in the morning, let’s just leave quietly. We’ve said everything that needs to be said.” That made sense. I didn’t want to say goodbye anyway. “I’m going to feel bad in the morning, aren’t I?” “Yes, love. But it will pass. Just take your medicine and do what you have to do.” “Love you,” I mumbled. As I closed my eyes, the world was closing in around me, the swirl of the room becoming a comforting rocking motion, like a child cradled in his mam’s arms. I let the movement take me down into sleep.

Chapter 6

Callan’s Journal I woke up this morning with the sun barely peeking through the window and the awareness of a heavy weight on my chest. It was David’s arm, and he was snoring, mouth open. I had to smile at him like that, completely relaxed, all troubles forgotten. That was my hope, why I had encouraged him to drink. If he’d been sober, he’d have stayed awake, full of worry. This way was better. He’d have a horrible hangover, and that I hadn’t intended, but it would pass. I extricated myself out from under David, pulled the covers up to warm him and set a glass of cold water and some expensive drugs that ought to help combat the hangover on the table next to him. He didn’t stir, and I was glad. I’m no good with goodbyes. When Mother and I left Florida, I just left, I didn’t see anyone for one last lunch, gave no promises of letters that would never be written or visits that would never be made. Except to Kathleen, and that was awkward and difficult with Malcolm there in the background, hovering over her like he always

did. I should write her, I suppose, and let her know I’m alive. But that would mean telling her that Mother is not, and I can’t do that, not yet. Jeannie was waiting for me at her house. It’s odd coming back here. It’s a bit like closing the door on the period of my life when I was with David and reopening an earlier chapter, before I’d met him, before Taylor even, when I was just Jeannie’s assistant and content to focus on mastering my craft. But of course, I opened Jeannie’s door with my left hand, not my right. You really can’t go home again. And I wouldn’t give up David, anyway. Not for anything, not even to have my arm back. What I said to him was true, I really did have appalling taste in men – he’s the only one worth a damn. The only one who loves me back. Jeannie took me through an inventory of her supplies, pathetically diminished, but all exactly where I remembered, and I knew she was just prevaricating, not wanting to leave. I asked her where she would be staying. “Best you not know,” she said, and of course she was right. I couldn’t reveal what I wasn’t privy to. “You can have my room, and I left you food, as much as I could, and I think Ruby Anderson can cook, at least I’d hope so, being May Marie’s girl, and—” I kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Stop worrying, and go. The sun’s been up for an hour.”

She left then, and I wish her luck. If none of what had happened had happened, it would be me who was going and she would be staying in her comfortable home. She’s too old for what she’s being asked to do, as David is too young, but that’s the way things are. Ruby woke just after Jeannie left and set to making breakfast, and yes, she can cook quite well. “But I don’t like it much,” she complained after I complimented the eggs she’d made. “I don’t see why women have to do all the cooking. Ain’t fair.” “W can take turns cooking if you don’t mind the fact that I can make exactly three things and it takes me next to forever these days.” She looked down at her plate, and I’d swear she was blushing. Ruby resembles David, same hair, though hers is longer and pulled back into a very disorganized braid, her heart-shaped face heavily tanned from spending so much time outdoors. “No, that’s all right. I’ll do it.” She paused a while. “Can I ask you something personal?” I nodded, though time was short and I’d promised to be at the school by nine. “Does it ever bother you, thinking that you won’t have children?” There’s a part of me that would very much like my line to continue, for my mother’s blood and my father’s name to go on into whatever future

we’re creating. It’s not something I acknowledge very often, as the way I am makes that impossible, and I don’t find it useful to dwell on impossibilities. “Yes. On occasion. But I expect I’d be a horrible parent.” “You was a fine teacher.” I heard David’s stubbornness in her voice. “Teaching’s easy. After six hours or so, you all go home.” I set her to some tasks and assigned some reading in one of Jeannie’s more basic books, a standard First Aid, and then went to join the others at the school which serves as a town hall. I don’t know if there ever was a real town hall, but the school is the largest building we have remaining, so it serves the purpose. We. I never thought I’d come to think of this place as home, but it is. I remember how absolutely terrified I was, traveling south from Charlottesville after discovering that my mother’s brother was long dead and I had nobody, not one person on this earth who really cared if I lived or died. Moline is where my money ran out, and seeing the healer’s sign in Jeannie’s window and knocking on that door was the bravest thing I’ve ever done, though as I said to David once, it was more desperation than bravery. Zack was waiting at the schoolhouse door, along with Curtis Henslow who looked a bit the worse for drink, Sheriff Fletcher and Burke the Digger, who doesn’t seem to have a first name and is always called Digger to differentiate him from Jeroboam Burke, who was schoolmaster

here before me. There were others, but they were hanging back, taking shelter inside the school building, because it was a fairly cool morning for August. We heard the soldiers long before we saw them. They were going for presence, not stealth, and it was a fairly intimidating presence. The ground shook from the uniform movement of booted feet on the road, the rumble of wagon wheels and the snuffles of horses. The mounted officers appeared first, then the men on foot, as the whole company or group came into view. We waited in silence. Zack clutched a leather folder thick with papers so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The column of soldiers moved into the square, and I tried to count them, but failed when I got past fifty. My estimate would be close to a hundred, probably more. Ten men were on horseback, nine in uniform, and the tenth in civilian clothes. He hung back, letting the soldiers take the lead as they paraded around the square before settling in front of us like a flock of regimented birds. “Sure know how to make an entrance,” Digger muttered, and he was right. The uniforms were plain, not the bright colors you see in the history books, but that didn’t matter—that many men, moving with one accord, following one leader—it chilled me. The leader swung down from his horse and passed the reins to a waiting soldier. He was a slight man of medium height, very ordinary in

build, and yet there was something in his eyes as he scanned us that reminded me of Delahaye. Dead eyes. He had a craggy nose and pointed chin, giving the impression of an aging raptor, pausing on the heights before swooping down on its prey. Behind him, the other men dismounted, and waited, as we were doing, for their leader to make the first move. But Zack beat him to it. Handing the papers to Sheriff Fletcher, he put out his hand and the officer took it. “Zack Tyree, I’m mayor of Moline.” “Colonel Wardrup Griffin.” His voice was gruff, as though he’d spent long hours barking orders. “And this is my officer corps.” Zack gestured back at where we were standing. “My town council.” The colonel did not acknowledge us. “Mayor, I’m hoping we can get this over with a minimum of fuss.” Zack took the folder from the sheriff and awkwardly opened it one handed. The colonel glanced at his missing left arm. “Combat wound?” “Nope, just a kid being stupid with a gun.” The colonel looked disappointed as though somehow having one’s arm blown off by an enemy soldier is better than being accidentally shot by your best friend. I wondered where my own particular injury would fall on his scale of wound-worthiness. “I think there’s some kind of misunderstanding, Colonel, and I’m sorry

you and your men had to come all the way out here from Hampton or wherever it was you hail from. Our state senator, Nate Clemmons, has filed suit to halt any taking of our property under both federal and state eminent domain statutes, so there’s just no reason for you to be here— we figure the court actions will take at least a year to resolve.” The colonel’s smile was troubling—he didn’t look like the sort of man to whom smiling came naturally, and there was nothing in this situation to warrant it. He took Zack’s paperwork, then barked out a name and one of his officers brought forward a folded paper which he handed to Zack. “Before any of your court actions were instituted, the President declared martial law for this region, which of course nullifies the Constitution and makes all this,” he shook the sheaf of papers, “moot.” Zack scanned down the paper, then handed it to Sheriff Fletcher who read it more carefully. “Seems in order, I guess.” “We’ll appeal.” Zack was grasping at straws. “There’s no appeal, sir. Due process has been suspended. I’m sure you’re anxious to know the cause behind all this, and I’m ready to tell you. If we could retire to someplace more comfortable?” Zack showed the colonel into the schoolhouse, accompanied by the ‘council,’ two of the officers and the man in civilian clothes, who I suspected was an R&A agent.

His aide spread papers all over the table, probably more paper than most of the Moline people had seen in their lifetime. Zack glanced over a few pieces then looked up, clearly impatient. “Colonel, I don’t have time to read through your novel here. What’s the story? We know darn well the R&A,” and he nodded at the civilian, “wants us out of here.” “If I had my druthers, you would have been told long ago. These ridiculous plots and games accomplish nothing but increased aggravation and unnecessary losses. The fact of the matter is there’s a large cache of radioactive materials in the mountains near here and it’s leaching into the groundwater.” He was looking down at his papers, and wouldn’t meet any of our eyes as he spoke. The mark of an honest man forced to lie.. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “Colonel, I haven’t seen any sign of radiation sickness.” “And you are?” “I’m the healer.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “This entire mountain range is under scrutiny—apparently our forbears were pretty free and easy with where they buried their waste. We’re only just now finding the records.” I considered arguing the point—most of the radioactive waste disposal

sites had been in the west, but the R&A man was already suspicious. “So, you see, gentlemen, there’s really nothing further to be said. We want to move out by noon, so if you could—” Zack exploded. “Noon? We’ve got lives here, we’ve got houses to empty and things to pack and animals to deal with. To say nothing of the old and the sick! I doubt another three days or so of exposure to this

radiation”—I could tell by his voice he didn’t believe in it any more than I did—”will hurt us any.” Colonel Griffin glanced back at the R&A man who gave an almost imperceptible nod. I wondered how the colonel appreciated taking orders from a civilian. “We can give you two days.” Zack wasn’t pleased but must have realized arguing was futile. “That’s most accommodating of you, sir. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to consult with my council on how best to get this process moving.” The soldiers started for the door, then the colonel turned back. “One other thing. If we’re going to be here for two days, then I’ll be quartering my officers among you for the duration. The men will camp down near the creek.” “Third Amendment says you can’t force us to shelter your men,” said the sheriff.

Zack cut him off with a hand holding the crushed Presidential decree. “No Constitution anymore, Bill, remember?” The colonel nodded. “I have a map of the town made by...someone who used to live here, I’ve taken the liberty of making living assignments as I see fit. Hope that’s not a problem.” The tone he used made it clear that it had better not be, so Zack just sighed in assent, and the military men left. Henslow had his head on the table. I wished I had some of the medicines I’d left for David—it looked like he’d inherited the moonshine jug. “We’re finished.” “Or we fight.” “Digger, did you see how many soldiers they’ve got parked out on our schoolyard? How many people in the militia, Zack, thirty, forty? And half of them are under twenty and probably never shot at nothing more than ground squirrels and rabbits.” I listened as the argument ebbed and flowed around me, not sure what I believed to be the right action, unwilling to give advice to these men who were all twenty years my senior, and then I heard Zack complain that we needed more time and something inside me clicked. “Unweaving.” They looked at me as though I was mad. Maybe I am. “No, listen. We

need more time—” “Yes,” Zack said. “More time to work out a plan, and to put them off their guard. Thirty men waging a guerilla action may not be able to beat two hundred, but could at least discourage them enough that they might give up and go home, but it can’t be done in two days.” “I have an idea. Inspired by Homer’s Odyssey.” They were puzzled; none of them, not even Zack who was educated by Moline standards, knew what I meant. I told them of Odysseus and his Penelope, of the suitors demanding her hand, and how she had outwitted them, weaving her shroud by day, unweaving it by night, so that the suitors were none the wiser. Digger surprised me. “Won’t hold them long, but yeah, that might just work. If they see us packing, they’ll not pay attention to the details, may not notice that a wagon that was half full at sunset is only a quarter full at dawn. All they’ll know is that we’re not prepared to go, and to avoid trouble, they’ll give us another day, and then another.” “Giving Brock and David and the others time to act.” Zack nodded in approval. “I think you’ve given us at least a fighting chance.” There was a sharp knock on the door and Colonel Griffin stepped in with the R&A agent beside him. “Sorry to intrude further, Mayor, but my colleague here reminds me that I forgot one other detail. A matter

for your sheriff—” Sheriff Fletcher stood up. “That’s me.” The Colonel had another piece of official looking paper in his hand and he handed it to Sheriff Fletcher. “While I know it’s not normally the role of the military to enforce civilian justice, under these special circumstances, exceptions must be made. I have a warrant for the arrest of a certain David Anderson, resident of Moline, for the murder of a federal agent. Do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts?” My chest seized up. The R&A agent, still unnamed, was watching me, so I schooled my expression while my heart fluttered and I fought for calm. “He lit out a while back and we haven’t seen him in weeks. Expect he went south, looking for adventure,” Sheriff Fletcher said. “Can’t keep them in small towns, Colonel, you ought know that—I expect half your troops come from someplace like Moline.” “We’ll be conducting a thorough search of the area. I don’t have to remind you that harboring a fugitive is a serious crime.” “No sir, you don’t have to remind me.” Sheriff Fletcher’s voice remained deadpan as we all watched the Colonel leave again. Curtis and the Digger left soon after, off to spread word of the plan. Zack turned to me. “You’re going to be watched, you know. Don’t

know if you caught the way that man was staring at you—” “Yes. He knows, probably from Hennessy. I won’t seek David out, and hopefully he’ll have enough sense to stay away.” Though I can easily imagine David sneaking down in the middle of the night. It would be the sort of thing he’d do. I left by the back door— running a metaphorical gauntlet of two hundred curious men when my mind was churning with worry for David was more than I could manage. I was glad Jeannie was gone, for she’d have wanted to talk about it, and I just wanted peace and quiet. I’d have to start the packing too, but it could wait an hour or so. I decided I’d record the events of the morning in my journal, then have a light lunch and an hour with a good book. But there was a soldier waiting on my porch.

Chapter 7

Callan’s Journal Captain Daniel Morris—his introduction came with a sheepish smile which suggested he wasn’t about to arrest me—offered his right hand without realizing I couldn’t manage a traditional handshake. “I’m assigned to stay here.” If they suspected that David might come here, or that I might go to him, of course they’d assign someone to watch me. I gave him my left and we fumbled fingers. “Callan Landers. Captain, I’m sorry, but I haven’t got a spare bed.” “That’s what your wife told me, but I can sleep on the sofa.” I nearly choked. “Wife? You mean Ruby? She’s thirteen.” “Sorry, I just assumed…I mean, out home, some girls are married as young as that.”

“She’s my assistant. I haven’t got a wife.” The wind had picked up, preparing for the daily deluge. “It’s going to rain. You might as well come in.” He followed me into the house. I led him back to Jeannie’s parlor. Ruby was nowhere to be seen, but I felt sure she was nearby, listening to every word. Captain Morris sank gratefully onto the overstuffed sofa. “That was about the hardest march I’ve ever made. Could I trouble you for some water?” Ruby had left a pitcher on the table, and I asked him to help himself while I tried to think of plausible reasons not to accept my forced houseguest. “Captain Morris, I’m a healer—there will be people calling at this house at all hours, and you won’t be able to get much rest. I’m sure you’d be far more comfortable somewhere else.” He colored slightly. “Colonel Griffin made the assignments. He’s not the sort of man you argue with.” There really was nothing for it but to acquiesce. “All right, then this is your room.” “My first billet was up on the Canadian frontier—I shared an ice-cold barracks with thirty other men. I’m not used to luxury or privacy much anymore.” So he had once? His accent spoke of an education. Without his hat, I

noticed his thick chestnut-colored hair and green eyes. I thought him an attractive man. “Meals are catch as catch can. I’ll be in and out with my work and—” “It’s only for two days. I hope there won’t be much call for healing in that time.” I’d forgotten. Everything that had happened on the square and in the schoolhouse had slipped my mind. Stupid. I’ll have to do better than that or things will slip which I should keep silent. “The Colonel wanted me to ask if you would agree to act as a back-up to our own medic. I doubt there will be any need, but just on the off chance…” Zack had predicted this as well, so I agreed. Captain Morris gazed around the room. “Er…not to pry, but don’t you find it hard to do your job? I mean, I’ve never seen nor heard of a one armed healer before.” Neither had I, but I had an answer ready. “This is a small farming community. I see mostly small cuts and broken bones and fevers, and I have Ruby to assist with anything I can’t handle, Captain Morris.” “Daniel.” He rummaged in his pack then took out a framed photograph. “Can I put this on the end table? It’s my wife, Ann. I like to have her picture near me.”

I didn’t want to know his wife’s name, let alone his. But I had to play my part, so I told him to make himself at home. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind. I’ll try not to get in your way.” I nodded, then thought of something that just might drive him to seek other quarters. “If you’re going to stay here, there’s something you should know.” I undid the top buttons of my shirt and shrugged it down over my shoulder revealing the scar tissue there, neatly burned into a stylized ‘S.’ Branding was standardized for the whole country. He should know what mine meant. His face reddened. “Well, that’s fine. I mean, you’re not...I mean...not interested in—” I sighed. He seemed more frightened of his colonel than the idea of sharing a roof with a sodomite. I would have to make actual advances to drive him away, which would only mean my arrest. I excused myself and fled up the stairs to my bedroom, and have been setting down the events of the day as best I remember them. --The first day of our unweaving came, and so far David is safe, and the rest of the men with him. The soldiers have brought Mrs. Anderson and Delia into town, ‘for their own safety.’ They’re housed with Zack in what used to be Mayor Casteel’s town house. Captain Morris told us of

their capture (though of course he didn’t use that word) over breakfast this morning. I’d had no sleep at all; no matter how hard I’d tried, I hadn’t been able to shake the image of David in a jail cell or worse. I was borrowing trouble, I know it, and if I’d been smart, I’d have made a cup of chamomile tea or delved into the last of the drugs for something to help me sleep, but I wasn’t smart; I was wallowing in fear. When Morris, who’d been summoned before dawn by someone loudly banging on the door, told us that they hadn’t caught the fugitive, but had brought in his mother and sister, Ruby had turned pale and dropped a skillet full of eggs. Morris had stared up at her, and I could tell he’d not made the connection between Ruby and David—I hadn’t introduced her as Ruby Anderson, it wasn’t any of his business. I’d hoped to keep the fact of their relationship secret. “Is my mam all right?” So much for that hope. Morris understood the situation and reassured her, and I sent her off to see for herself. His voice changed as he spoke to her, though, becoming restrained. He started to clean up the spattered eggs, not meeting my eyes. “What didn’t you want to say in front of her? Are they really all right?” He sat down, still not meeting my eyes. “Colonel Griffin has a certain

reputation for getting the job done at all costs.” I stifled a yawn. “Sorry, I had a rough night last night.” “Maybe this will help.” He handed me a small packet. Real coffee, the type I hadn’t seen since I’d left Florida. The stuff that Haig’s General Store passes for coffee tastes like to dried potato peelings. A bribe or a peace offering, whatever it was, I was grateful for it. “Thanks, I’ll make us some.” It wouldn’t taste the same as if we had a percolator, but it would do. “You were saying about your colonel?” Spying could go two ways. “I served under Colonel Griffin before, up on the Canadian frontier. I don’t know if you’ve ever been up that far?” I shook my head, troubled by his tone and the expression, almost like sorrow which darkened his eyes. “Well, the frontier is far south of the old Canadian border, but it’s still pretty damn cold. The people there, well, they’ve managed to survive somehow, but my God, you wouldn’t believe the life they lead. Subsistence doesn’t begin to describe it. Covered in furs, exposed areas greased up with animal fat, living in whatever shelters they can cobble together, or in caves. They’re desperate to come south. “Most forts, the policy is, when the Canadians try to get past the border, you pick them up, give them a hot meal and then convey them back

north.” “Doesn’t that just encourage them to try again for the meal?” He nodded. “Exactly what Griffin—he was Major Griffin then—thought. Most of the other officers were just fine with that policy—we could afford the food, and there were women and children and old people among the refugees. A lot of us didn’t understand why we didn’t just let them cross. We’ve got a major labor shortage here, and those people would work practically for food alone.” “Seems reasonable to me.” “Well, for whatever reason, that’s not the policy, and I learned pretty quick that it wasn’t my place as a soldier to question my orders, though my father always said a man made a better fighter if he understood what he was fighting for.” “Was your father in the military too?” I shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t do anything to encourage a friendship, but I was curious. “Yes. He’s an Academy man, like me, like his father, and his father, back to before the Ice. It’s in our blood. Griffin has a different philosophy: don’t ask. Don’t question, just do your job. That’s Griffin. So when I voiced my few careful questions, I learned not to ask again.” “What’s this have to do with Mrs. Anderson?” “Yes, sorry, I’m getting there. Anyway, Griffin came up with a new

tactic. Shoot on sight.” I was sure I couldn’t have heard him right. “You don’t mean shoot the

refugees?” “Yes. Anyone coming within one hundred yards of the border was to be warned and then shot if they continued on. Men, women, children, the old, the sick. Shot and their bodies left to rot as an example to the rest. A stinking wall of corpses became the wall around our fort.” He was staring down at his plate and I was sure it wasn’t the remnants of his breakfast he saw. “And still they kept coming. It’s as though their desperation for a better life overcame common sense and fear and just drove them on, right into our guns.” I could hear voices outside, the townspeople doing their packing, the sounds of axes as wood was hewn into boxes, voices calling. Children. “Did you shoot too?” He stood up, red faced. “I had no choice. Disobeying a direct order on a frontier post is considered mutiny. I’d have been shot myself.” “I’m sure that comforted your victims.” I felt panic for Ruby and wished I’d kept her with me. “I wrote to my father, got a transfer out as soon as I could—I didn’t want to be a part of it, you have to believe me.” I did. Looking at it honestly, there was little he could have done to stop

the slaughter. The really sad thing about growing up is realizing that sometimes evil wins. “Major Griffin earned a commendation and promotion for doing his part to secure the border, and his policy, with some modifications, is now the law on the border.” He sighed. “I don’t think he’d hurt that woman or her daughters; they’re not aliens, they’re our own, but...” If circumstances change, anything could happen. If, for example, the militia fires on the soldiers as they’re searching the countryside. Morris started tidying his dishes, turned away from me again. “I wanted you to know, Healer, just so you could watch out for your friends. Griffin has no tolerance for...er...difference, especially not your kind. I saw him order two of his own officers flogged to death for engaging in illicit activity. You need to be careful.” “I try to be.” Morris turned, wiping his wet hands on a towel, and met my eyes for the first time in the entire conversation. “What I had to do on the border, it wasn’t why I joined the army, and neither is this. It makes me sick, Healer.” “Callan. My name is Callan, Daniel.” I wasn’t sure if I was giving my name to soften him up or out of genuine friendship. The man was a murderer. But then, so am I. I watched him go out the door then retired

to my room, determined to record our conversation in this journal. --It’s been three days, and amazingly, our strategy of unweaving is still working. Each day and night, the wagons fill and unfill, boxes and bags and packs bloated with possessions and then emptied again and the soldiers, even those living in our homes seemed to notice nothing. I guess you really do see what you want to see. All of us on the council have our own personal houseguests—Zack has three, including the Colonel. At noon today, the Digger stopped by to tell me that our departure had been delayed another day. The weather has turned warm, or at least as warm as it gets here, so he was in his shirtsleeves. It hasn’t rained since the day the soldiers had marched in, though thunder, low and long and rumbling, has become a constant accompaniment to our work. Digger glanced up at the sky, then over towards Gibbs Creek where the soldiers were camped. “Storm coming.” “Yes.” I didn’t think he was talking about the weather. Daniel was in my study, reading. There are always eyes and ears anymore. “Just a matter of when it will break.” “Any ideas on that?” I knew it had only been a matter of time before the militia took action.

“This afternoon seems likely. Best you be prepared for it.” Daniel opened the door, dressed in his full uniform. “Oh well, I’m off to check more farms. Most of them are empty already, and the ones with people argue with us tooth and nail.” He’d been ordered to bring the farm people and as much of their things as could be loaded into wagons into town. “I can’t for the life of me imagine a more frustrating job.” “Try grave digging,” the Digger spat, and I couldn’t help picturing his hands, large and dirt encrusted, wielding the shovel to open the earth to lay David to rest. Daniel shook his head and shuddered. “No thank you. Callan, I doubt I’ll be back for dinner, so don’t wait for me.” The Digger watched him walk away. “You seem like you’re getting awful familiar with him.” “He’s not a bad man, underneath it all.” But weak, and committed, if not to this mission, to the army and the government. I understood the Digger’s concern. “But don’t worry. I know where my loyalties lie.” “Good. Don’t get attached. That’s pretty much my philosophy of life, and it works.” He left, and I considered what he’d said. Not forming attachments would certainly keep you from feeling pain and loss, but at what price? Anyway, I doubted if he really meant it. David has told me that his

father and Burke the Digger are close friends. That sounds like an attachment to me. The afternoon stretched on. Every time thunder echoed over the valley, I imagined it was the sound of gunfire. Every voice I heard from the street was someone coming to tell me that there’d been fighting, that David was hurt or dead. Ruby and I packed some dishes, folded up Jeannie’s clothes, sheets, things we weren’t likely to need. I wanted to send her to her mother, but the plain truth was that I needed her. I could manage fever and bruises and bumps and sprains, had even learned to wrap an ankle one-handed, but if there were gunshot wounds or serious cuts, I wouldn’t be able to handle with them alone. Jeannie’s grandfather clock was running down, so I opened the case and started to wind it, but paused, watching the slowing pendulum tick off the seconds. Even now, hours later, I remember the slow, inexorable movement and how it held me spellbound. Winding a clock is an act of faith; faith that you’ll be around to see another week’s worth of time, an affirmation that I wasn’t sure I could make. Somewhere out there on the hills, beneath the thunder, people were likely dying, and the equilibrium we’d established with the army was about to come crashing down. Then in my mind, I heard David’s voice. Wind the damn clock, Callan.

You think too much. Sometimes a clock’s just a clock. I laughed, and

raised the counterweights for another week. “What’s so funny?” Ruby asked. “Just thinking about David.” “Do you think he’s all right?” “Oh, yes.” I lied. “He’s fine, you’ll see.” I sat down and opened a book, not even bothering to look at the title, for I knew I wasn’t going to read a word of it. Ruby stayed staring at the clock, also seemingly hypnotized by the pendulum’s swing. “When you was...were arrested, David and Mam got into an awful row, I’d never heard the like. He stormed off to the barn, and I went and asked him what you’d done, and he told me.” I closed the book, waiting. “Seemed to me a powerful stupid thing to arrest someone over. It still does.” “To me too, obviously.” “I just wanted you to know that. How I feel, I mean. When you were my teacher, I sort of used to think about you...in what Mam would call a forward way.” I’d suspected that and reassured her. That seemed like another lifetime ago.

“But now I’m glad you’re with David. He’s been better since you came along. He used to be awful.” I noticed then that she was using better grammar than normal and moderating her accent so she sounded more like me. “Ruby, I’ll tell you what I’ve said to David, you don’t have to change your speech for me.” She shook her head. “It’s not for you. I want to get out of this town, Callan. Once this is over, I want to go away to school and learn to be a proper healer, and I can’t do that sounding like some bubba from out of the woods.” She had the mind for it, and possibly the drive as well. “If you really mean that, once this is settled, I’ll write to some people I know—” I heard voices outside, loud ones, and running feet. Ruby started for the door, but I ordered her back, just in case, and it exploded open, slamming back against the wall. Daniel stood there, looking filthy and exhausted, and behind him, two soldiers were half carrying a third, and a fourth walked behind him, his arm in a bloody sling. “The exam room, now.” Ruby was brilliant, not panicked at all, cutting away cloth and washing wounds as I did a quick triage to see that the arm wound was superficial, a graze that could wait, but there was a bullet in the lower part of the

other man’s leg which would need to come out. “Why you didn’t take them to your own medic?” Daniel helped me ease his man onto the table. “He’s already dealing with three more seriously wounded.” I had been afraid of that. “Any deaths?” “Two. Ours.” He asked, in answer to what I didn’t dare ask. The soldier with the leg wound looked younger than David. I asked him his name. “Peter, sir.” His voice trembled along with his body. Shock. Ruby threw a blanket over him. “Peter, you’re going to be fine.” We hadn’t any anesthetic. There had been chloroform, but Jeannie had taken what was left with her. “Ruby fetch the bottle of brandy in my room” The next hour passed slowly; the brandy helped, but didn’t really dull the pain, so Peter had to be restrained by the two men who’d carried him in as Ruby and I extracted the bullet. I say Ruby and I, but it was really her work that made the difference, and she showed not the least bit of squeamishness or reluctance, even when her actions were clearly causing the young man pain. She has the makings of a first rate healer. “He’ll need to be taken somewhere he can rest and be kept warm.”

Daniel nodded. “Our unit medic has set up a temporary hospital in your schoolhouse. We’ll take him there.” And without further orders, the two silent men carefully hoisted him up and left the three of us alone. The thunder had ceased, and all I could hear was the ticking of that clock down the hall, mocking me. “No civilians were killed?” “No. It was a quick strike. By the time we got organized enough to return fire, they were gone.” Ruby slipped out of the room and I heard the door close. Going to tell her mother, I supposed that her father and brothers were still alive. For now. A tired Daniel leaned against the counter. “We suspected something like this…. The men of age had to be somewhere. We hoped you would see sensible evacuation was—” “Radiation is a lie.” He didn’t seem to have the energy to argue with me. “Thank you for taking care of my men.” I poured him a glass of water and he took it, saluting me with a nod. “Civil wars are always the worst.” I started cleaning up, putting bloody instruments into a pan of water,

kneeling to scrub the blood from the floor, keeping busy to drive my fears away. Daniel grabbed a rag and knelt beside me, and I decided to push a bit. “Having hostages makes a battle easy to win.” He stood and backed into my metal tray, which clattered to the ground, sending the bloody bullet skidding across the floor tiles. “We’d

never take hostages! We’re an army, not a gang of thugs!” “That wasn’t what you implied when you told me about the Canadians.” “They weren’t our own. Even Colonel Griffin would never…” Words seemed to be failing him. “And if he does, what will you do?” But in my heart I already knew the answer to that. Daniel Morris is a soldier first, last and always. I suspect his first toys had been carved army figures and a toy rifle; his dreams are of rank and promotion, and he will ultimately follow his orders, no matter what they are. He left without answering, and I have spent the last hour writing, pushing my fear from my mind as best I can.

Chapter 8

Callan’s Journal I haven’t had the heart to write much of late; the opening of hostilities seems to have sapped any desire in me to record events. I guess I don’t have the makings of a war correspondent, but I’ll make the attempt— today deserves to be recorded as fully as possible and I can’t sleep anyway, not yet. The days after the first shots were fired brought more of the same. We’d pack each day and unpack each night; the soldiers would comb the hills for signs of the militia. On occasion, the two groups met, and I’ve done more tending of bullet wounds lately than I’d ever wanted to. Daniel has grown glummer and glummer, and it seemed until today like our plan might have had a chance of working. Zack had asked me to play the impartial healer in hopes that they’d come to trust me. I’m sure he is most pleased with my performance, but the fact is, I’m not acting. I do care about the men I treat—it’s impossible not to. They’re just boys in a strange place being shot at by people

they’re trying to help. And then there’s Daniel, who I’ve come to genuinely like. All his life there’s been someone above him to always tell him what to do, so questioning Colonel Griffin and his mission is hard, but I can see the doubts beginning to grow within him as we talk. It’s hard when your certainties become questions. I’ve been there. I try to get over to the field hospital once a day. My old schoolhouse is greatly changed—the desks are shoved back against the walls, their places taken by rows of cots for the wounded. The chief medic, Captain Tedrow, is a good man; though his book knowledge must be less than mine own, his experience is vast—we get on mostly, as we both want the same thing when it comes down to it. I was checking on a couple of men I had treated when Captain Tedrow asked me to take a look at a young man about my own age with an infection in his arm, actually very close to where my own wound had been. Without the antibiotics of Before, I think it likely that he will lose the limb. Tedrow didn’t need me to confirm what he already knew. “You’ll speak to him after,” he asked me as we walked away from the man’s cot. “Help him come to terms with it.” I’m a very long way from coming to terms with it myself, but promised I’d try. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk to him on the march. Traveling is the

dullest part of this job. To think they used to recruit soldiers with the slogan ‘join the army, see the world.’ Wish I’d lived then, back in the days of jeeps and jets. These days, marching ten miles can take all damn day.” There was no reason to play games—I’d heard him clearly, so asked point blank if we were leaving soon. He flushed. “I wasn’t supposed to say that. But you’re a decent man and a good healer; you’ve treated our men as though they’re your own, and that’s saying something in a situation like this. It’s a shame, really, that there ever had to be bloodshed. I mean, you can’t live with radioactive waste—” He’s a medical professional. “You know that’s a lie.” There is an aspect to Tedrow that reminds me of David’s father. An honest man who probably joined the military as a place to practice his healer’s calling, not out of any great desire to fight. When I called him on the lie, he couldn’t carry it through. “Yes, well. It was a plausible excuse – you people could have latched onto it to save face and—” I never discovered what he would have said, because a colossal pounding shook the schoolhouse, as though someone were knocking on the door with a hammer. Tedrow was furious, as I would have been, concerned for the peace of

his patients, and he ripped open the door to reveal two soldiers hammering a sign to the door. I can’t recall the exact wording, though I read it through several times. It’s a wanted poster of sorts, a list of names with dollar rewards attached to them, with David and his father at the top of the list, followed closely by Jeannie and the other militia men. I stared at David’s name while my heart pounded. At first opportunity, I excused myself and crossed the square to the old Casteel house. David’s mother opened the door. Delia clung to her skirts in a way that reminded me of how Almond had buried her face in David’s trousers the first time I saw her. Mrs. Anderson greeted me warmly, even giving me a hug, which was the first time that she’d ever touched me. She took me into the living room, an old-style room with vaulted and beamed ceilings, a massive stone fireplace and multi-paned glass windows stretching from floor to ceiling. I can’t imagine how much wood it takes to heat that room in winter. Funny how I’m starting to think like a native. “Callan,” Zack rose from the antique leather sofa he’d occupied. The Casteels had not taken much with them when they fled, so the house is well-furnished. Mrs. Anderson retreated to the kitchen despite Zack’s pleas for her to stay. “I can’t get her out of the kitchen. It’s like she thinks she’s my servant, or that she’s only alive when she’s working.”

“I expect it gives her a purpose. Being idle would probably lead to all sorts of imaginings.” “Like that her husband and sons are listed on a wanted poster?” He walked over to the window, old glass, much clearer than the newer sort, and stared across the street as though he could see through to the schoolhouse. “Someone gave them that information, you know.” I knew. “I’m hoping it was Casteel, making a list of those he felt would be a threat, but—” “He wouldn’t likely have included Jeannie. No. We have a traitor.” “I’m afraid so.” He’d put about a cover story that Jeannie had gone to her brother the Richmond lawyer, trying to get more help for us. Only a very few people know otherwise. “Right now you’re about the only one I’m absolutely sure I can trust, Callan.” It makes me feel better to know I’m trustworthy, but I don’t like thinking that one of us might not be. “Not me and not you. Certainly not the sheriff. Joe Haig, then? Or Mr. Henslow? One of the militia themselves?” I imagine they’re getting tired of living rough and being shot at. Possibly evacuation might have come to seem a more desirable option. “Haig, no. I trust Joe, though he does tend to gossip some, I think in

this case he’d know enough to keep quiet. Henslow?” Zack ceased pacing and scratched his face where three days’ stubble grew. I wonder if he finds shaving one handed as difficult as I. Probably not; he’s had a lifetime of practice. “Henslow is a practical man. If he thought we were done for, he just might be tempted to feather his nest a bit for the future.” Henslow had always been friendly and supportive, coming to me for healing back when I was ostracized by the rest of the town. I couldn’t believe he’d betray us. “I don’t want to think it, either. But it’s got to be someone, and Curtis being Curtis wouldn’t likely see it as betrayal but as helping his misguided friends. Colonel Griffin may have promised those people on the poster won’t be harmed.” But the poster, like an old time western novel, read ‘Dead or Alive’ as clear as day. Zack and I talked for a while longer as the sun lengthened towards evening. He asked me to stay to supper. Before we joined Mrs. Anderson and the others, I told him what Captain Tedrow had said about the imminent evacuation. “It was a good plan you had—we knew it wouldn’t last forever, but it bought us time. And I still haven’t given up hope that Griffin will realize the price he’s paying is too high and just go without us in the end.” I have given up that hope. I thought then, though I couldn’t say it, that

we should just go. A place is just a place, when it comes down to it, though David wouldn’t see it that way. And neither would Zack. At least the meal was pleasant; the first of the carrots, cornbread and lamb chops from Mrs. Anderson’s flock, which she seems to be butchering on a regular basis as Zack made a quick face at the chops as though he was sick of lamb. I would have preferred biscuits to cornbread, but I know there isn’t a drop of wheat flour to be had anywhere in town. We spoke of generalities; the weather, how Ruby was progressing in her studies, the harvest, and it was nice to talk about something other than imminent disaster and death, so I lingered over a mug of sassafras tea till the sun was mostly down, then started home. There was no moon. Clouds obscured it, or perhaps it was simply the dark time of the moon; I don’t track those things, though have read how Before doctors used to notice an increase in certain behaviors at different phases of the moon, so possibly I should. The Casteel town house is behind the school; the easiest way to get from there to Jeannie’s takes you right through the center of the army camp that surrounds Gibbs Creek, so I took a longer route, down Flint Street to Main, bracketing the square. I was approaching the corner when I bumped into someone hurrying the other way, neither of us watching where we were going. Daisy Bailes, Benny C Anderson’s girlfriend. She apologized for nearly running me down and I scolded her for being out so late with the soldiers around.

“I know, we was just running late and I lost track of time. You know how it is, Teacher...Healer, I mean.” I couldn’t clearly see her face in the darkness, but the tone of her voice, dreamy and distant, spoke volumes and my stomach clenched and I asked her with some trepidation where she had been. “Down past the graveyard. Please don’t tell my folks, I’d be whupped for certain, but I just can’t stay away…” I had to force the words out, for I knew already what she was going to say. “Stay away from what?” “Benny C. He’s been so good about meeting me, most every evening after supper. Mama thinks I’m doing chores for Mary Bevins, since her man’s away and she’s got that new baby, and I hate lying to her, but me and Benny C, we’ll just die if we can’t be together.” The choice of words was unfortunate, considering what the price of her actions could be. The Bailes family had at least one soldier in their house—she could have been watched, followed. I’m afraid I wasn’t kind to her, saying something like, “you stupid girl, how could you be so short-sighted?” She sobbing and my anger melted somewhat; the sight of crying girls always left me more than a little unnerved. “Just go home,” I turned away, leaving her crying uncomforted on the street. She’s not only put Benny C in jeopardy but every man in contact with him, David as well—

I couldn’t bring myself to speak words of comfort under those circumstances. Ruby was up and waiting for me, but Daniel was nowhere to be seen. Though worry was (and still is) eating at me, I said nothing of my meeting with Daisy to Ruby. She has enough contempt for the girl already. I told Ruby about the ‘wanted’ sign, though, for she’d see it for herself soon enough, and we sat together in the dark kitchen, waiting till it seemed there was nothing to wait for. Then I sent her to bed and took out this journal to record all that’s happened today in hopes it will tire me enough that I can stifle the fear that Daisy’s idiocy may come back to haunt us. The thunderstorm that has been building again over the past few days is moving in; the windows are shuddering with the force of the wind as I write this, and if we had electric power, it would have gone out by now. I hope David is safe and dry, along with Benny C, returned from his stupid rendezvous safe and unharmed. But I know that regardless, tomorrow is going to bring changes, and so I think tonight I won’t unpack our day’s work. I think we may have need of those packs and bags and boxes very soon. --I can’t sleep, so I might as well write. I fought for sleep as the storm rolled through and rain shook the upstairs windows but it was no use. I

know something is wrong, I knew it the instant I woke. Patterns of light frost are melting across the window where I sit writing and doodling to pass the time, flowing down in sheer tears over the panes of glass, so it must be warming a bit, though there’s no sign of the sun, and the sky is slate grey. The clock I hadn’t wanted to wind has just struck eight. I’ve been up since five, and I need to know if my fears are foolish imaginings or something more. --After my last entry, I waited in Jeannie’s room, staring out the dormer window as a dark grey sky transformed to iron grey, waiting for the sounds of Ruby, who despite her protests, seems to take great pleasure in making me breakfast each morning. But the clock struck the quarter hour and the half and the three-quarter, and no pots banging nor smell of eggs frying. Then I remembered I’d let Ruby stay with her mother the previous night. I struggled on with my greatcoat, the coat I was wearing when I met David. It was cold enough this morning to warrant the heavy coat that Jeannie had given me for my last birthday, but the greatcoat is a touchstone to David, and I needed that then. I need it now, actually, and the old coat is lying across my lap like a child’s security blanket as I write.

The dew had fallen hard, just on the edge of frost, and I cut across the untended gardens of abandoned houses, nearly tripping over a tangle of green vines and surprisingly healthy pumpkins, planted before the owner had fled in the spring. There were squash in the garden as well, fertile and lush. To think we worry that nature needs us, fear that without our planting and greenhouses and weeding the Ice will somehow triumph and all life will cease. It may change, will change, but it will go on. I have to believe it will go on. The coat, the pumpkins glazed with dew, the way the wet grass sponged beneath my boots and darkened the cuffs of my trousers as I passed, because to step back and see the larger picture is almost more than I can bear. But I have to if for no other reason than my hand is starting to cramp, and David may be back soon and then it will be too late. I felt their presence in the square and knew that when I stepped out from between the two deserted houses, I would see soldiers in their ranks and the townsfolk keeping to the edges with all eyes on the steps of the schoolhouse. I stepped out into the square, and looked across, expecting to see the prisoner was David. But it was Benny C—I have to confess I was glad yet sorry, too, and worried. Even from the twenty-five yards or so across the square I could see how frightened he looked, though the scowl on his face was clearly meant as defiance.

He wore manacles, and seeing them, I recalled so clearly the drag of cold metal on my wrists in the same way I remember the pain in my right arm; phantoms of a past I’ve tried to forget, but then I reached up to rub my wrists where the cuffs had chafed and of course could do no such thing, and it came to me in a rush that this was real. Benny C, who David loved and I cared for as a pupil and friend was in deep trouble. I started across the lawn towards him. But Daniel was there, standing like a statue of a soldier on a park war memorial, blocking my path. “There’s nothing you can do.” “He’s just a boy.” I could hear Mrs. Anderson and Ruby from across the square, arguing with Colonel Griffin, but I didn’t look at them or at Daniel, kept my eyes on the place where Benny C was held. The R&A agent watched it all. “He was taken in arms against his own government.” I turned to stare at Daniel, fairly certain that ‘taken in arms’ was the wrong phrase to use for a boy who had likely been ambushed returning from a lover’s tryst. And I doubted that Benny C even has a gun. The only reason David has one is because Zack gave it to him. “Callan, look, he’s all we’ve got. Colonel Griffin would prefer to have captured a grown man, but he’s determined that someone’s going to pay for the murder of that agent and the attacks on our people.”

I pointed out the illogic of punishing the innocent for the deeds of the guilty. “That’s not going to happen. Just go home and don’t worry about any of this.” And I knew what the Colonel intended. He was going fishing; Benny C was bait. I pushed past Daniel over to Zack, standing near the old playground climbing equipment. Colonel Griffin had broken off his argument with Mrs. Anderson, who looked an inch away from hysteria. Daisy Bailes clung to her, sobbing uncontrollably. My anger of the previous evening had fled and I could only pity her. She betrayed her love. Oh, God, don’t we all? The Colonel read the martial law decree and a proclamation naming the outlaws, adding Benny C’s name to the end of the list. The square lies low in the valley, and the morning fog lingered, deadening Colonel Griffin’s voice so that we strained to hear. Simple words. At noon that day, Bennett C. Anderson would be hanged by the neck until dead. “Unless his brother chooses to surrender himself.” Because the Colonel had no wish to execute children for the deeds of their elders, he said, and I watched, not the Colonel, but the R&A agent, who was looking at me, and smiling. To my left, Zack swore and disappeared towards his borrowed house. I followed, catching up to him on Casteel’s spacious porch. I knew, of

course, what he intended. Zack alone knew where David was. Other people see me as a decent man, a good and unselfish man, but that’s not who I am, not really. I am selfish beyond the telling of it. As soon as we were in the house, I grabbed hold of Zack’s shoulder and begged like a child. “I have to go, Callan. He has to know.” He pulled away from me, not meeting my eyes. “Please. Please,” I whispered. “David’s got the right to make the choice for himself.” Of course he was right; I can’t deny it. I knew also what David would choose to do, and so did Zack. David would never allow even his worst enemy to suffer in his place. Mrs. Anderson and Ruby came in and my protests died. I had at least that much strength in me. Zack clasped my hand, told me he was sorry quietly so the others couldn’t hear, and then slipped out the back door. We waited, I don’t know how long. Casteel’s clock had not been wound and was stopped perpetually at 2:07, and even if I’d had the skills to judge time by the sun, there was no sun to judge by. So I sat by a window, my coat wrapped tight around me, staring into the grey haze while Ruby paced and her mother prayed. I did not know where Delia was. Away from all this, I hoped.

The front door opened, and one of the officers, a man I’d seen with Daniel, gestured to Mrs. Anderson and Ruby, who went out with him, presumably to see Benny C. At least they’d been granted that small mercy. I wondered if I would be allowed to see David and what I would say. Then I saw David’s father standing near the back entrance Zack had used. My relief must have shown, because he smiled in reassurance. “Don’t worry. David is fine, and he don’t know nothing about this.” He explained that he’d become worried when Benny C had failed to return the previous night and was already on the road to town when he’d run into Zack. “Zack’s trying to work out a trade, me for Benny C. But I wanted to speak with you first,” he said, staying well out of sight of the windows, keeping to shadows. “I need something from you. I don’t know what’s going to happen with my boys in all this, but I’d be mighty grateful if you’d look out for May-Marie and the girls, after I’m...once this is over. I know we ain’t truly kin, but I feel like I can trust you to do right by them.” I choked out my assent. I’d never had sisters, and my own mother was dead, but I could take care of David’s family as though they were my own to the best of my ability. It would be a step towards making up for my selfishness in being willing to sacrifice Benny C for David.

Brock Anderson was not a physically demonstrative man, so I wasn’t expecting him to grab me in an awkward bear hug. Before I had a chance to even think of reciprocating, he was gone. What happened next I will set down as clearly as I can. The Colonel looked ecstatic at the possibility of exchanging a raw fourteen-year-old boy for a grown man, and though I half expected them to keep Benny C as well, they upheld the bargain they made and let him ride out of town unmolested. I hoped Benny C had enough sense to realize he was likely being followed when he took horse and fled and behave accordingly. Some of the women tried to take Mrs. Anderson away, but she wouldn’t go. I admired her for that. Ruby stayed too, fixing her eyes not on her father but on the Colonel, with a look of implacable hatred that made me shiver even more than the chill of the day. Mr. Anderson refused the head covering, declaring in a loud voice that he’d be damned if his last breath was going to be taken through a stinking burlap bag, and he looked at his wife, and then at the hills where their farm lay. He refused the army’s preacher too. The Colonel read out the sentence as a thick rope noose was thrown over a high branch of the playground maple, the same tree I’d seen the girls cluster under to gossip about boys. The fog had finally begun to lift, and the sun to emerge though it was still cold when with the whole town and all the forces of the army

assembled, Brock Anderson was hanged for defending his home.

Chapter 9

Callan’s Journal This entry has gone on far too long, I’ve worn three pencils down to the nubs, but I have to push on a bit more, to finish the story as best I can, and I may not have time to write for a while after tonight. There’s not much more I can say about Mr. Anderson’s death. The whole thing was over with appalling speed; I don’t think most of us watching really had time to take in what was happening. Mrs. Anderson’s calm resolve lasted till her husband’s neck broke with a sickening crack and then she collapsed and was borne away by her friends. The Digger then started forward to cut down the body, but Colonel Griffin stopped him. “Let him stay there as an example until I say otherwise.” I genuinely thought Burke was going to attack him then. The Colonel must have thought so as well, as he kept a hand on his sidearm. But nothing came of it. We were then officially informed that the evacuation, so long delayed, would begin at first light and whatever goods were left unpacked would

be abandoned. The crowd broke up after that, the troops returning to their camp by Gibbs Creek, the people to their houses as a cold wind whipped over the square. Zack vanished almost immediately, and I thought he must have been planning to make contact with David, but I could not follow. I’d made a promise, and Ruby was still there in the square, watching her father spin on the rope. It’s an undignified way to die, hanging. I am grateful that he went quick—they don’t always, from what I’ve read, but still, it’s ugly. I asked Ruby to come back to Jeannie’s with me, or to go and be with her mother, but she refused. “He taught me to ride when I was about four years old. I was a bit rough with Lightning, and got myself thrown on the first day. Can you fathom that old mare ever having gumption enough to throw somebody?” Her laugh was on the edge of hysteria. “I was scared to death to get back on but he wouldn’t let me quit, and stayed by me while I forced down my fear and learned to ride that horse. He never let any of us quit nothing, nor at the same time let us face anything on our own that he could see us through.” She looked toward Colonel Griffin who was still standing on the schoolhouse steps, surveying his handiwork. “He won’t be there to see me through it, but I’m going to kill that man someday.” I believe her;

Ruby was very much her father’s daughter at that moment, and he was always a man of his word. I left her there, keeping her vigil, because I didn’t know what else to do. I’m not good with other people’s grief. Or my own, when it comes to that. And I was grieving hard for David’s father, and for David as well. This news would crush him. I was tired and cold and wanted David so much, the comfort of his arms and to give comfort in return, the feel of his presence near me; it was an ache that had been building in me since we were apart, and was becoming almost unbearable. Not just sexual need, though that was certainly part of it; my clumsy fumblings with my off hand were a poor substitute for what we’d experienced together in our bed at Zack’s. I returned home and set a fire that someone, Daniel probably, had thoughtfully left built up in the grate. The muscles in my left arm are getting fairly impressive, but it’s still awkward to haul logs one handed. There’s so much I can’t do; I’ve seen it so clearly since David has been away, and I don’t know how I’ll manage if they force me to leave here without him. He can’t join us and after tonight, I’m not sure he’ll even want me with him. Even his love can be stretched to the breaking point. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I have to set this down as it happened, or I’ll never get through it. So I watched the fire and waited, waited for Ruby, waited for Daniel,

waited for night to fall. The clock struck seven and it was just becoming dark enough to need lamps when Ruby returned, absolutely filthy. Her cotton dress was ripped, mud spattered her legs and arms, tears had mixed with the dirt to leave her face almost black, an apparition, swaying and shivering on Jeannie’s doorstep. My first thought was that she’d been attacked, and I wrapped a blanket around her and set her in front of the fire, waiting to see if she would talk. After what seemed like a long time, when she hadn’t spoken, I said her name. “Antigone,” she replied. That was, I must admit, the last thing I had expected to hear, so of course I questioned her. “He said you’d tell me what it means.” “He?” I was reasonably sure that nobody now in Moline had read Sophocles. Then understanding hit. “Daniel?” “It’s what he called me.” Oh dear Lord. She’d buried her father. Or at least she’d tried. “I shimmied up the tree, but I couldn’t get high enough to reach the branch he was hung on, and I tried to bring things to stand on, but there weren’t nothing big enough that I had strength to move. The soldiers guarding him laughed and laughed at me.” She sniffed back tears, and I ached for the affront to her dignity. “Then Captain Morris come. He was

so angry; he said a nasty word and ordered them to cut Pa down. He said he’d make it right with the Colonel and he called them names, told them they was cowards for laughing at a girl trying to help her daddy. So they put him in a wagon and took him to the Digger, and he said he’d lay him out by Almond even if it took him all night to do it. Who’s Antigone, Callan?” So I told her the story of Antigone and her brothers, and how she’d defied the evil King Creon to do her duty to her beloved Polynices. I didn’t share Antigone’s ultimate fate with Ruby. You can take an analogy too far, in my opinion. Ruby was sobbing, broken down completely, and I took her in my arm, assuring her that her father and David would be proud of her, that I was proud of her, held her as she cried, then was about to suggest she go to bed in hopes that she could manage to sleep, when she stood abruptly, fished around in her pocket and handed me a folded piece of paper. From Daniel. Rather than reproduce it here, I’ll just include it in these pages

Callan, I am more sorry than I can say about how all this has turned out. I’ve come to regard you as a friend, so feel compelled to warn you that it’s going to get worse before better. Col. G will not leave one rebel

walking free - this ends tonight. I know you are close to many of those we fight against, felt you should know. Under these circumstances I will not be returning to your home tonight. Will speak to you as I can on the road to your new home. Yours Respectfully, Daniel

Ruby was watching me read and I knew it, so I schooled my countenance as I’d learned to do through hard experience. Had Brock Anderson’s sacrifice been for nothing, then? This ends tonight. I asked Ruby if she’d read the note. She looked horrified at the thought. Thank all gods for honest children of honest parents. “It just says he’s not coming back tonight and thanks me for the hospitality.” “He wasted paper for that?” “It’s a custom some places. Thank you notes.” I needed her gone. She would either follow me or try to stop me, and I had to find David, so I sent Ruby to her mother. “Families should be together on a night like this.” It wasn’t a lie. David is...was my family, and I needed to be with him so much that it tore at my heart with every breath. She felt the need too, going eagerly to her mother as though the fights between them were nothing. Which was the truth, really, when it came to it.

I pulled on my coat, the heavy one this time, for I assumed I’d be going into the higher rougher country, opened the back door and came face to face with David. He looked beautiful and terrible at the same time. Stronger, leaner, older. His face was losing all remaining traces of boyhood, and his eyes, oh, his eyes most especially were changed. Terrible grief and questions and fear danced in those blue eyes. Neither of us spoke for a moment, then I stood aside from the door to let him pass within. “Is it true?” I said nothing, hearing the sound the weight of the rope had made on the creaking branch, the snap of a neck; totally and completely unable to speak. But in the back of my mind, I felt a fierce joy. David was with me. Whatever was planned, whatever plot Colonel Griffin had devised, it wouldn’t touch David, because he was with me. “Benny C come back this afternoon, raving mad, and he said...” He swallowed convulsively. “That Pa...that they hung...” I found my voice. “Yes, love. He’s dead. Colonel Griffin ordered him hanged. The Digger’s laying him beside Almond. He thought that’s what your father would have wanted.” David picked up an empty jar that had once held some of Jeannie’s pickles and slammed it against the far wall. The crash reverberated in the

silence, and without another thought, I dropped my coat to the floor and held him. He fought against me some, trying to pull away and vent his grief as anger and violence again, but I held tight as I could, and as he struggled against me, the movement of our bodies turned to arousal. It had been a long, long time. “I can’t stay,” he gasped, as my lips danced over his face, tasting the tears on his cheeks. “I just had to know...” I hushed him, silenced him with a kiss. I couldn’t let him go. David, if you are reading this, please, I hope you can understand. I could not let you go. They would have killed you. “Stay a while with me, love. I’ve missed you so much.” And my hand, still clumsy, teased and touched and made promises. He let me, moved with me, and then stopped, gasping. “My pa, oh God, Callan, they killed him!” It struck me then that true grief, lasting grief, is like the ocean. It comes in waves, goes out and goes in like the tide, but it’s always there in the depths, moving beneath a deceptively calm surface. “I know, I know. I can’t take it away, but I can help you forget for a while. Please, let me do that for you.” He nodded assent almost immediately, for his need was as great as mine, and I pushed him back against the kitchen wall and fell to my knees.

I’m not going to describe the time we spent together in any great detail. David will remember it, as will I, and should anyone else ever find this journal, it’s none of their business. I have a certain degree of skill that comes with experience, and I used it to the fullest that night not only to give David pleasure, but to keep him with me for as long as possible. There was no territory that my mouth and hand did not explore, no pleasure that I denied him. Lovemaking, not sex. Slow and languid and beautiful; and possibly the last time. I wanted to make memories. The clock had struck eleven and we were nestled in Jeannie’s feather bed when he finally fell back, exhausted. “I love you,” I whispered. “Stay the night.” I had said nothing about the evacuation or any of the troubles of the town. In the bed, I could foolishly pretend none of it was real. David was not so good at pretending, but then, his father lay cold in the ground that night, and that was a reality that could not be ignored. “I have to go. Benny C and the others will be expecting me.”

No, they’ll already be taken. But I said nothing, just dressed, with David helping me, falling into old patterns. Will we ever have that life back, the one we made for ourselves at Zack’s house the last summer? I didn’t speak as we came down the stairs, as he put on his jacket, kissed me lightly on the lips, whispered words of love and slipped out the back door into the night. I let the door stay open so that the cold came flooding in. I did not want to be warm ever again. Cold is numbing.

And so I’ve told it all. As it happened, exactly. David is not a stupid man. He’ll suspect, when he finds his brother and the others captured, that I knew, that I deliberately detained him, and he’ll be back, not coming to me in love this time, but in anger. A good captain goes down with his ship; a good hero is willing to sacrifice himself for his companions and his cause. David is a great hero. I am not.

David Anderson Walking back the long trek up the mountain I kept my thoughts on my feet. Watching the ground, thinking on the things I saw in the sick sliver of moon, the rocks and twigs and leaves. I didn’t think about Callan and how hard it had been to pry myself away from him, how much I’d rather have stayed nestled in that warm feather bed than be tramping over the hills, and I certainly didn’t think on Pa, on what that man had done to him. Colonel Griffin. I hadn’t known his name till Callan said it, but I’d known who he was and what he was. When I’d gone away to the hills, I’d been afraid that I wouldn’t have the nerve to kill a man when it come to it, but I’d learned to do it. Learned to sight my man the way I’d sight a deer or squirrel or fox and squeeze off that trigger slow and careful, then move on to the next. I’d had to stop thinking of them as people, forced myself not to think on their mams and pas and wives and brothers. They was targets. But I’d been

shooting the wrong targets. Those men were tools, and the tool ain’t responsible for the poor job it done. Pa used to say that. Oh, God. How could there be a world where this could happen? Benny C was blaming himself, and so was I, to be honest. He shouldn’t have gone down into town. If I could keep away from Callan so long, he surely could have managed to go without mooning over Daisy for a week or so, but he’d gone and done it, and it was water under the bridge. I was head of the family now, I guessed. Mam and Delia and Ruby and Benny C would be looking to me, and any plans I might have had of taking Callan and running off, well, those was water under that same bridge. What I had to do, I thought as I moved quick as I could up the hill towards the shepherd’s cottage where we’d set up camp, what I had to do was drive the army off, kill Griffin if I could, and then, then take my family, my whole family, Callan included, off to safety. I couldn’t bear to farm and hunt our land without Pa. Every tree and every rock would bring him back to me. Callan had seemed odd, not himself. He hadn’t talked none about what he’d done while we’d been apart. He hadn’t spent time in talk at all, for that matter, and my body was sore, though in a good way, from what he had spent his time at. I’d needed that, needed what he’d called once an affirmation of life in the midst of death, but I wished we’d have had some time to talk too. With Callan, I fly. He shows me what I can

be, just like Pa… like Pa connected me to what I was, anchored me. And now he was gone and I was floating free and lost. I hadn’t been followed, I’d made sure of that. It surprised me that there weren’t guards around Jeannie’s house—I’d expected to have to get round them somehow, but there’d been nobody. I was in charge now, not just of my few assigned men, but of the whole thing. I had a plan, an idea to draw those soldiers into a place of our choosing, and then to make them sorry they’d ever come here. This was our town, and we was well going to stay here till we was ready to leave. That would be my memorial to my pa. I came up to the clearing surrounding the shepherd’s hut. Oh, it had been hard camping here in the place where Callan and I had first come together, for every time I entered that cabin, I felt him there with me. But it was a good shelter, gave Healer Findlay a place to treat our wounded, and there was water nearby. So we’d stayed there. Probably too long. I’d give orders to move in the morning. I should have heard voices as I approached, should also have been challenged by the watch I’d set before I went tearing down the mountain to see if Benny C’s awful news was true. But there was nothing. No voices, no crackling of fires, no snapping of twigs as men moved around. There should have been movement, there should have been life. Even the air felt wrong.

I was not armed, save for my knife. It would do no good against bullets, but the weight of the antler hilt in my hand was comfort to me as I stepped out of the ring of trees and saw...there ain’t a word for what I saw. Carnage. Death. None strong enough. Ordinary words ain’t near enough for such a thing. The knife slipped out of my hand and fell to the ground and I stumbled forward. Some face down, backs blown away as though they’d been running, some face up, rifles in their hands and eyes staring up at the cold moon. Some together, some apart. But all alone in the end. I did not see Healer Findlay, though the wounded in the cabin had all been shot point blank in the head. I supposed their murderers thought it was a merciful end. I found Benny C almost by accident—I hadn’t had the heart to look for him, was hoping somehow that he’d been spared, but bending to check one man, I spied my brother. His poor body was riddled with bullets, but his face was calm, and I closed his eyes. All I could do. When Almond had died, I’d been afraid to touch her, hadn’t been willing to close her eyes and acknowledge that they’d never open again. That seemed a million years ago in a land far away. I could not bury them. Oh, I had a shovel, but to bury so many would have taken days and days. I placed them in the cabin, laying them out in neat rows, and by the time it was done, I was a mess of gore. It coated my clothing and my hands and my face, spattered in my hair as I heaved the heavy bodies into their resting place. I found matches and set light to

the cabin. I stood from a distance and watched it burn, waited as the heat of the flames dried the blood on my face. Then finally, when the roof collapsed and the smell of the fire began to be sickening, I turned away. I had a man to kill, but before that, I needed to see Callan. I realized as I carried those bodies, that Callan’s seduction of me, his insistence on my staying though I was in danger of capture there, meant that he knew this was to happen. I had to look on his face, see through the mask, and force the truth from him. And if he’d known that while I was taking my pleasure, my brother and the men who trusted me to care for them was dying alone, if he’d known that and held me back apurpose, then...well, I love him more than life, and always would, but that was a betrayal I didn’t know if I could forgive. --He was in the kitchen when I burst through the door -sitting at the table with that journal of his in front of him, though he weren’t writing. He stood up, and I could see in his face what I must have looked like—a horror, a haint from an old tale, returned from the grave to wreak vengeance. Without warning, I shoved him back hard against the wall, the same wall I’d leaned on when he’d… no, I couldn’t think on that, couldn’t think on anything except the conflagration I’d left in the forest. The bodies, oh God, the bodies. He gasped and winced in pain, and it was the first time I’d ever hurt him, used my size and bulk in anger. “Did you know?” I demanded.

My hand was at his throat. He made no move to try to fight me off. All blood and color drained away from him and I knew the answer to my own question. Heartsick, I let go and he lost balance, clutched at the counter with a hand that wasn’t there. I made no move to help, just watched. “How could you, Callan? They’re all dead.” He hadn’t expected that. For possibly the only time since I’d known him, every thought was clear on his face. He hadn’t expected them to be killed. “Did you think they’d take prisoners? Where are the prisons to hold them, where are the jailers to guard them? You of all people should know there ain’t no prisons no more!” His reply, when it come, was barely a whisper. “They would have killed you. I thought… hoped that the others would just be captured, but I knew they wanted you dead.” He kept his voice calm, but he was trembling, and I wanted to take him in my arms. It tore me to shreds. “How could you? I trusted you!” “They would have killed you and I couldn’t… I’d rather you were alive and hate me than dead.” “I don’t hate you.” It were true. I couldn’t. But I couldn’t go to him for comfort as I might have done had this not fallen out as it had. “But you should have let me choose. I might have been able to stop it.” He shook his head. “No, it was too late. I know it was too late.” I didn’t

know if he was trying to convince me or himself. “Benny C was gut-shot. I don’t think he even had a chance to fire Pa’s rifle. He didn’t die straight off.” “If you’d been there, it wouldn’t have made any difference.” “I could have been with him so at least he weren’t alone.” I could hear him calling for me, in my mind as he’d called for me a thousand times as we’d grown up. But this time, when it mattered most, I’d not answered. And so I’d failed him, failed Pa, failed Zack who had placed such trust in me. There was silence between us then. The sun was coming up red and huge in the east. Callan sat down at the table and run his hand through his hair like he’d always done when worried or upset. “They’re evacuating the town this morning.”

Come away with me, I said in my mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to form the words. It was all too raw, and the anger I felt burned too bright. I turned away, because to look at that beloved face all filled with pain hurt near as much as anything that I’d been through that hellish day. “I got a thing needs doing.” I set the pistol Zack gave me when I went to the hills down on the table. “You can’t. You won’t be able to get close enough.” Callan knew what I

intended. “I don’t have to get close—I’m a good shot. This Colonel Griffin, he’s a walking dead man.” The silence had turned into to a gulf that I didn’t know how to breach, nor even if I wanted to. He’d lied to me; not just in words, but in deeds, and he’d used the love and desire between us to keep me from my duty. What was left between us? “David, please—” he started, then stopped. “I’m sorry. I haven’t the right to ask you anything right now.” “No, you haven’t.” The silence came back, and I could hear the ticking of Jeannie’s clock, and that reminded me of something. “Healer Findlay weren’t there. Might be that they did take her captive, or else she escaped.” “I had been afraid to ask. Thank you for telling me.” It was all formal now, polite, distant. Two strangers in a kitchen, waiting for the sun to rise. I took the heavy ring that had sealed our love from my left hand. If it was to be formal, then I’d break it off formal as well. I dropped the ring onto the table. It clattered and rolled and finally came to rest beside him. Callan went deathly pale. “I don’t want it.” I should have said, ‘neither do I’ but I couldn’t say that and mean it. My hand felt naked without the ring. “I have to go.” It was light enough

not to need a lamp anymore. Looking as I’d seen him only once before, at that moment when he’d chosen to save my life from Delahaye (oh, why did I have to think of that then?) he stood up. “At least have something to drink first.” He took water hot from the stove and poured me a cup of chicory coffee. The bitter taste was what I needed, fit what my life had become. I drained the cup, set it down and tried to pick up the pistol, but it was moving, sliding left and right on the table. The table was moving too, and the room; and there were spots before my eyes, and then utter darkness as I heard myself call out to Callan and fall to the floor.

Dear David, I hope somehow you will understand what I’ve done, why I had to do it. I don’t expect you to forgive me, not for stopping you now, not for keeping you with me when we both knew where you belonged. If you hate me forever for this, it’s a price I’ll gladly pay to see you safe. We’re out of choices, David. Maybe we never had any, maybe the thought that we had a choice was just a dream or an illusion, but the reality is that they’re forcing us out. I made a promise to your father before he died. I gave my word that I’d protect and look out for your family as best I could. I’m not him, nor

you, nor even Benny C, but I’ll do my sorry best to be sure that they are cared for and safe wherever they take us. I hope that when we are relocated to a new town and the army leaves us alone, you’ll find a way to come and make a home with them. And also, I hope, that time will heal what’s gone wrong between us and we can be right again. Regardless, I will always love you, never give up hope that this breach can be healed. The dawn has broken and I hear voices on the street, and must close now. I regret nothing in my life save for the pain I’ve caused you.

Yours, always. Callan.

Chapter 10

David Anderson I woke slow, stretching stiff muscles against the hard ground beneath me. As always, I’d dreamed about Callan, but this time the dreams shook me to the core. There were filled with blood and a sorrow I couldn’t name… and the ground I’d been on weren’t rocky, there were a pillow under my head and a blanket covering me. Not dreams at all. It came back then, sweeping down like an avalanche and I sat up, staring around Healer Findlay’s kitchen as if I’d never seen it before. My head ached and the world seemed made of glass, so that if I moved too quick, it might shatter. It weren’t as bad as that moonshine hangover had been, but it were close. Things came into focus. Pieces of broken glass covering the floor, a folded piece of paper on the table held down by Callan’s ring, a pitcher of water, food. Not one sound from outside, nor from the house neither, not even the ticking of the clock—I wondered if Callan had stopped it when he left. It would be like him to do such a thing; to make a proper end to his time

here. As I’d tried to make a proper end to us, by giving back the ring. I stroked the rough carved surface of it, watching the gold catch the sunlight reflecting through Jeannie’s kitchen window. My throat filled up with bitter regret, and I picked up that piece of paper and I read it. I could hear Callan’s voice saying those words to me, feel his hand on my shoulder bearing me up, and though the forgiveness he’d asked for weren’t fully in my heart to give, it come to me that the words I’d spoke and the way I’d shoved him couldn’t never be taken back. Even if I found him and somehow we managed to make things right, the memory of it would always be with him. And with me. Oh, we’d both made mistakes, no doubt of that. Looking at it in the cold light of day, I knew that Callan had been right. If he’d told me of the attack, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. I’d be as dead as Benny C, and Pa and the others. Yet Callan had robbed me of my choice. I cried then, letting loose the grief I’d hidden under anger. I sobbed and raged and yelled, at Callan, at Benny C, at Pa, at the world. Most of all at myself. It was too much. I was utterly alone. I screamed at the empty house till my throat was raw and my head felt near to bursting with pain. No. This weren’t the way. I had to calm down, think like Callan would have thought, do as he’d have done. I’d explore the town, find any folk who might still be here; see what, if anything, had been left behind that I could use. For now that I’d come to my senses, I were determined to do

what Callan’s letter had said and make things right. Make a home with my family no matter what it took. Find Callan and talk things out like men. Pa had taught me to track and hunt better than most grown men. An army of that size with women and children and old people would move slow and leave a trail so big a blind man could follow. Pa lived on in me, in Ruby and Delia, and he wouldn’t want me to lay my head down on the table and despair when there’s work to be done. Stepping out the door into the sun’s brightness, I saw it were the fine day I’d predicted. The end of the summer, what they used to call the Indian Summer, when it looked like fall and the harvest’s mostly in and the leaves starting to turn, but the air has summer’s bite. Stepping onto Jeannie’s porch was like walking into a bad storybook. Empty streets. The houses which had so lately been occupied and alive were shuttered tight, boxes and parcels left behind spilling off the porches to litter the street. I walked towards the square, slowly taking in the debris; a picture album that was surely not meant to be dropped, clothes, a bag of knitting that looked achingly familiar; it could have been my mam’s. Toys. A Bible, also not likely left a-purpose. Animal dung scattered about the street as though people had driven their sheep and pigs this way. Chickens would have been carried. Dogs would have followed their owners; I wondered about cats. Ahead, in the square folk had left a piles of clothes, all a jumble. Shoes,

coats, trousers. Them, as I bridged the gap between me and the schoolyard wall, I heard the saw-sound buzzing of flies and I knew what it were. Bodies. I froze, utterly unable to make myself take another step forward and see if one of them had wheat-gold hair. I didn’t want to know. Enough were enough, and there’d been so much death in the past hours of my life that any more would be beyond my ken. For just an instant, I thought of turning away. It would be better to live in my fantasies than to know that truth. My Mam preferred to live in a world of pleasant lies, but I needed the truth. I started slowly forward. Reverently. Like in the church, going forward to receive the bread and wine. Though I didn’t believe, I’d always put on a show of reverence. But this was no show. In a lot of ways, I knew I’d worshipped Callan like he was a god. That hadn’t been fair to him; I’d laid burdens on him that he never ought to have had to bear; no wonder he’d done what he did. Please, I prayed to no one, please let me be able to make it right. Don’t let this be the end. “He’s not there, David.” I turned away from the bodies and saw Healer Findlay leaning against the climbing bars, deathly pale and looking like she was about to collapse right there on the spot. “Healer?” “Callan. He’s not there. He went with the rest when they left, though it was a close thing for a time. It’s Zack and Joe Haig and...and Bill.” Her

eyes closed. So all the leaders save for Callan. And Curtis Henslow. “What happened here, Healer?” She’d started crying; and though I’d seen her cry soft tears when things had gone bad in the last year or so, I’d never heard sobs like these from the healer—she’d been the one to calm others. It shook me up, turned our places upside down and backwards so that I was comforting her. I took her by the arm and led her into the shade of the schoolhouse, away from those bodies and the buzzing flies that swarmed them. Healer Findlay set down on a bench in the entry hall, then I found a pocket-handkerchief in Callan’s old desk and she took it, blew her nose and smiled at me with watery eyes. “I’m sorry to go to pieces like this, but it’s just been too much, starting with the horror of last night, and now this. I’d managed to stay strong till I saw you, and now, knowing I’m not alone, it’s just...” She shuddered. I knew how she felt. It was good to hear another voice, to see a friendly face, but it also made it harder to keep up the false walls. Made me understand those hermits who live in the hills on their own, away from other folks. When you’re with people, you’re vulnerable. “How did you get away from the soldiers last night? I was afraid they’d taken you prisoner.” She laughed, but it was empty and humorless. “I’d gone off into the

woods to answer the call of nature, and that’s when the army came. I suppose I should have gone back and tried to fight, but—” “You’d have just been killed.” I echoed Callan’s words to me. “It wouldn’t have done no good.” “I know, though it didn’t make it any easier to listen to it.” I closed my eyes at that, trying not to see Benny C’s pale face staring up at the night sky. “So I came down to town, hid out in one of the empty houses. Then in the morning, when they all started to gather, I couldn’t hear, you understand, just see. I was there,” she pointed across the square to a vacant house. “Watching from an upstairs window. The army was forming up in lines. How do you suppose they always seem to manage a straight line so quickly? I guess it’s practice.” “Suppose so,” I said. She weren’t herself not at all, and it was scaring me. “Anyway, people were coming from all sides, some few with wagons, most on foot, pushing carts and wheelbarrows, and oh, David, it was the most heartbreaking thing I’d ever seen; they all looked so lost and scared. Callan was with your mother and sisters, he stuck to them like glue, and I was so glad that he wasn’t alone. I thought you were dead, you see, and I wondered if he’d ever even know it.” “I was in town when they attacked. Callan saved my life.” “Thank God—I’m ashamed to say I was afraid to check through the

bodies after...after they’d left. How pathetic a healer am I?” She didn’t really want an answer, so I stayed quiet. “Once everyone was there, this man in a suit, I think he must have been an R&A agent spoke to the commanding officer, and then—” She buried her head in her hands, and not knowing what else to do, I put my arms around her, pulling her close to me so her grey frizzled hair tickled my nose. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want,” I said. She shook her head. “I do have to say, because when I leave here, I’m going to Richmond and find my brother and Nate Clemmons and I’m going to tell this story, all of it, to anyone who’ll listen at the Statehouse and in Washington. Someone’s going to pay. Someone has to pay for this.” She took a deep breath. “So then the officer came down the schoolhouse steps and spoke to Curtis Henslow, and even from where I was, I could tell Curtis was in a right state, kept shaking his head and arguing with the officer.” “Colonel Griffin.” “Thank you. Colonel Griffin went back up the stairs and spoke to the crowd, then Zack and Bill and Joe and Callan all came to the front and I don’t know exactly what the Colonel said then, but Myra Haig collapsed just screaming and screaming. Then a young officer came out of the ranks and started whispering in the Colonel’s ear, for a long time they talked, and then they sent Callan back into the crowd and hauled the

other three in front of that wall.” “And shot them,” I whispered. “Not quite yet. Bill broke free and knocked the R&A man to the ground and tried to choke the life out of him. I never thought I’d be condoning such violence, but I was so proud of him.” I remembered the night of Zack’s party how Sheriff Fletcher had talked about Healer Findlay, how he’d loved her. There weren’t anything I could say, just listened to her tell the rest of it, how they’d had their hands bound, except for Zack because the soldiers couldn’t work out how to tie one hand, and he must have made some rude comment, so typical of him, because he got himself punched and knocked down, and as he was getting back up, the bullets rained down on them and it was all over. Something she said stuck in my mind. “You say they talked to Mister Henslow first?” “Yes,” she snarled. “Yes, and you notice they killed all the leaders save for him. I hope he’s happy with himself, looks like he saved his own neck, but at what a price?” “I don’t like to think of Mister Henslow doing any such thing. Why would he?” “Someone was betraying us. Zack knew it and suspected Curtis. I’d

hoped he was wrong, but for most men there’s a price. That colonel found Curtis’s.” Did I have a price? I supposed I did, and Callan surely did. A threat to someone he loved, or promise of their safety. I wanted to hate Mister Henslow, but I just couldn’t. The grown-up world was like a ball of yarn that had been snarled by two cats; I couldn’t untangle it if I’d tried. “I’m sorry about Sheriff Fletcher, Healer. I know he cared for you.” She raised a tearstained face to smile at me. “Please call me Jeannie again? You used to.” But calling her Healer Findlay was taking me back to an earlier place in my life when things was right and the world made sense. Now everything felt wrong, like we wasn’t ourselves at all but just kids being moved around stage for a Christmas play. I remembered once Callan had said about this whole mess that it was like we was puppets being made to dance. I figured the government thought the dance was about over. They was wrong by a long shot. “Jeannie. I need to bury them.” “No. Let them lie here, let them be a sign and a warning to anyone who comes here...” She knelt beside the body of Bill Fletcher. I remembered the honest sheriff—patient, decent, kind. “Seems kind of disrespectful to just leave them.” And she seemed more than a little unhinged by it all. But in truth, it was like it had been when Almond died. They weren’t there no more. Mister Zack, who’d been my

friend and opened his home to me and to Callan, he’d gone from this earth; and so had Sheriff Fletcher and Mister Haig. What was left was less than snails’ old shells or snake skins shed after a year’s growth. “Bill wanted to marry me. But neither of us could bring ourselves to give up our homes and our independence. So stupid. Places. We got so hung up on places we forgot it was people that matter most.” I didn’t think she was just talking of her and the sheriff. “The night of Zack’s party, after I helped Callan put you to bed, he proposed again, said that Zack would hear our words as mayor and it would be official. I said no, I said we’d wait till this was over. I wanted things to be right.” I thought about what it would have been like, had Callan and I never been together, had one of us wanted to wait till things was settled and the time was perfect. I laid my hand on her shoulder and she leaned against it. “I was so stupid, should have realized that things are never right, never perfect, but you live your life anyway.” She dropped to her knees beside him. “David, there’s something in his hand.” I pried the stiff fingers open and took a piece of jewelry from his grip, a silver pendant with a broken chain, broken as though it had been ripped from the neck of its wearer. It looked a bit like the religious medal that

I’d seen on Mark Bevins, who was Catholic, but instead of the picture of a saint, it bore a shield shape with an outstretched eagle over a cross, and I’d seen it before. On the plaque I’d pried up from the Before machine on the mountain. “Did you ever recall Sheriff Fletcher having something like this?” She shook her head. “He must have pulled it off the agent when they were fighting. I wonder what it means.” So did I. “It reminds me of something I saw once.” I told her of the plaque. “We’ll take both of them to Richmond and see what my brother and his friends can make of it.” I hadn’t planned on going to Richmond unless that was how the army had gone, but it seemed to me like Pa would have said that I had an obligation to see Jeannie safe to where she was bound. That was going to be a problem. The sun beat down on our backs as we walked away from the square and its horrors. I still felt wrong about leaving the bodies lie, but it seemed like Jeannie had the right to make the call. If Callan had been lying there, I’d have buried him, though, not left him out there a feast for vultures and crows just to make a point. Jeannie looked round her house like she was seeing it for the first, or

maybe it was for the last time. Opening each room and closet and drawer, stroking the furniture and picking up the glass knick-knacks that must have come down from Before. Saying goodbye. I followed, not wanting to be alone in the house, for I knew I was soon to be more alone than I’d ever been in my life. I’d get her to Richmond, and then try to pick up the trail. We was in the examination room, the place where I’d met Callan over a year before, when I noticed the row of his books was still mostly there. I run my fingers over the spines, remembering the ones I’d read, how we’d used those books as a way to meet and talk. I’d fallen in love with him over books. “I’d have thought he’d have taken them,” I wondered. “I don’t own a wagon, David, and I had my horse with me, so Callan could take only what he could carry or push in a cart if he could even manage a cart with one hand. I can’t imagine how it must have been for him to leave them behind. Almost as bad a loss as leaving you.” Worse, probably, considering how we’d parted. But I gathered up a few of the books that looked well worn and loved, and I asked Jeannie to tell me a medical one that he’d valued. I’d manage to find space in my pack for them even if I had to do without food. “When did you want to leave?” She reached up to stroke my cheek. “I’ll leave in the morning, but you

don’t have to come with me. I’ve ridden to Richmond on my own more times than you have years in your life. Your heart is with Callan and your mother, and that’s where it should be. Follow them. Find them and have some happiness if you can manage it.” “What about you, though?” It struck me hard that I’d like to never see her again after we parted here. Distance was a summit almost beyond climbing, and the only communication was mail, which was slow and uncertain. She was home; all that was left to me of home. “Write me care of my brother.” She took the medical book back and scribbled an address in the flyleaf. “I’m not going to rest till I have answers. This shouldn’t have been allowed to happen, not in our country. There’s something deeply wrong—–I knew it before with the dragons, but that seemed almost like a fairy tale. This is a nightmare.” She was right. Looking back on it, the dragons seemed almost a sick joke; someone’s idea of how to scare the bubbas out of the hills. That cave was the key, I knew it, and I was going back there before I left my home, make one final look for answers. “Jeannie, that officer, the one who spoke up for Callan, do you know who he was?” I was grateful beyond measure to him, and yet I couldn’t help wondering what had made him do it. “I think he was the one staying here at the house. Zack told me his name was Morris. Thank God for him, that’s all I have to say, or Callan would

be lying there with Bill and the others.” Her hands were busy, sorting through what was left of her medicines into two piles, one for me, one for her. “You don’t suppose they was...together?” It was a shameful jealousy, considering the man had saved Callan’s life, but I couldn’t help myself. She swung around on me. “David Everett Anderson! If you don’t know Callan any better than that by now, then there’s nothing I can do with you! That young man loves you. Only you. Now enough of this ridiculous talk. Help me pack us bags—we’re both going to be needing supplies.” She was right about Callan, and I couldn’t say a thing against it, but the thought that Callan had been with other men before, that he had a past that I couldn’t match, troubled my mind as we went through her house and then some of the neighbors’ homes as well, taking what we’d need. Moline was a dead town now, like Crawford. Like the men slain in the square. Dead.

Callan’s Journal I’ve had little time or energy to write of late. And even less desire to record these monotonous days of travel, but I think I have to try, because the act of writing anchors me to my past, and I need some

continuity between my life that made sense and this utter madness. We are heading approximately northwest I think, judging by the sun, at least on the days when we have sun and not rain. I don’t know our ultimate destination. Nobody does and nobody will ask, almost as though we’re afraid of the answer. Which we are, after the murder of Zack and the others. I would ask Daniel, but I have seen little of him. On the second or third day (the days blend, I’m afraid), he fell back and rode beside me for a while and told me that since he had taken steps to save me, he has fallen under suspicion of being, not a rebel or a traitor, but a sodomite. His superiors aren’t the problem, but his fellow officers and the men under his command are muttering, so he’s had to keep his distance. I understand, though I miss the talks we could be having; it would make the journey so much easier. I hate that everyone who befriends me seems to be tarred by the brush of prejudice. Do these people honestly think I’m so beautiful that I could seduce a married man with no interest in men at all – am I so irresistible? I don’t know how much progress we are making. I think we walk at least ten hours most days. They’ve let us keep our horses—I’d been worried that they would be confiscated—the food animals have been, but not so far, so Delia rides Lightning and the rest of us walk. And though I try to keep a good face about it, in these pages, I can admit that it’s killing me. I know (hope) I’ll adjust and my legs and back will strengthen, and I’m

trying to be grateful to be alive, but it’s been rough and the pack gets heavier every day. I’m seeing a side of David’s mother I never knew existed—the side that made a man like Brock Anderson fall in love with her, the side that raised David to be the man he is. She makes each day’s journey a game for Delia and the other children, tells stories her grandmother told her of the Before to entertain Ruby and tells me of David’s childhood. That hurts, actually, and I’d almost rather not hear his name right now, but I can’t tell her that. I haven’t told her or Ruby that David and I are, for lack of a better word, broken up. It’s a guilty pleasure, pretending to a relationship and a privilege that I have no right to, but it’s the only pleasure I have right now, so as much as it pains me, I’m going to cling to it. Nights are almost as hard as the days; we sleep on the ground under whatever shelters we can manage. The soldiers help the women traveling alone to raise tents, but there has been more than one night when I’ve slept huddled under a blanket near a tree while rain beat down all night long. If any of us come out of this without pneumonia it will be a miracle. More than the hardships, more than the stress of the journey, almost more than losing David, what mires me in despair is the complete insanity of this situation. It’s the world upside down, it’s down the rabbit

hole, but instead of Wonderland, we’re in hell. Each morning, I wake up, and for the briefest moment, I’m in our bed at Zack’s and David is beside me and I’ve got a classroom full of students to teach, or sometimes, people to heal and two hands to do it with. And then the cold rain will fall onto my face and the root I’ve been sleeping on will dig into my side and a soldier will be shouting at us to move. I was raised to believe in the inherent decency of people, and the rightness of our form of government. Even after the Ice, I thought we’d managed to hang onto what was most important. Yes, I’d heard that some regions in the north had reverted to barbarism, and I knew the country had been diminished, but I honestly thought that our government, our Congress and the state assemblies and the bureaucracies that accompanied them were on our side. I thought we had rights. I believed we’d avoided that post-apocalyptic totalitarianism you saw in old-time fiction, but now I don’t believe that anymore. When life comes down to staying dry and getting enough to eat and not wearing out the soles of your boots as you’re marched along to God-knows-where, it’s hard to believe in anything.

Chapter 11

David Anderson I come up over the summit to that infernal cave for what I hoped would be the final time. I shouldn’t have took the time to come, should be heading west after the tracks the army had left. If they got too far ahead of me, the trail could be muddied by weather, or they might separate and then all hope of finding them would be lost. But I had to see what if anything we might have missed in the cave. Besides, the army had been there too, they might have left something of value. Maybe even something telling me where they’d gone. The sun had finally set on that endless day and I’d made Jeannie drink some brandy I’d found in her cabinet and put her to bed. I rode off on her horse to Zack’s to fetch that plaque with the R&A emblem. Riding through black silence lit only by the moon set my teeth on edge, as did going through Zack’s empty house, left unlocked and waiting for a master who would never return. The place we’d been so happy would sit here on its hill while the seasons came and went. The rain and snow

and wind would do their work until it crumbled into plaster and brick and wood. No more Tyrees would make their home here. The portrait of Zack in the hall, painted, I realized, by Callan’s old lover Taylor Mills, smiled down at me. Approving. Jeannie had been full of approval and praise for me too. She’d ridden away the next morning, still acting like she was moon-mazed, and who could blame her? I should have gone along—it troubled my heart that she’d be alone on the road, though she kept on reassuring me that she’d make it fine on her own. I suspected she would. She had a good pistol and a supply of what food was left. I kept almost nothing for myself, figuring I could hunt where she could not. She’d blessed me and kissed my cheek, and told me the sorts of things about myself that would have made my heart soar with pride if I hadn’t known they was all false and I deserved none of them. And the minute she disappeared from sight, I got a shovel out of the tool shed near the schoolhouse and commenced to making a big hole to bury Zack and the others. I just couldn’t leave them, it weren’t right, and I owed Zack especially better than that. Traveling without Callan I made good time and approached the cave from the summit side for a change, though I knew it meant walking by the bodies of the dragons. Delahaye was gone, likely buried by the soldiers, but the hulking remains of the beasts still rotted. There was sign of the passage of the troops—dead fires and deader grass, logs cut for

firewood and abandoned, and dried muddy footprints leading into the cavern and then down the passage to the machine room. They’d dismantled the electric light. That was bad. I don’t favor enclosed places too much and could only stand this cave before because it was lit so well it might have been a room. Now I had to set light to a candle I’d brought along as a ‘just in case’ and hope it gave enough light to even be able to see at all. It did, just barely, but the tiny yellow flicker did nothing to take away the feeling that the whole mountain was about to come crashing down on me. I can’t explain how it feels to be in a place like that. Some folk have no problem with it; Callan never seemed to mind, but to me the light is the only thing holding back the weight of the rock and dirt, and it’s like being buried alive, which is a nightmare of mine. Only for Callan, only for finding out the truth of what made this place so special that my Pa and brother and all those other good men had to die to keep it secret, that was all that could have pushed me on into that dark room. They’d left it unlocked, and I set the candle down on a table and began exploring mostly with my hands like a blind man. No papers, no books, nothing of value. But near the other door, I found a wire coming from the passageway, and as I followed it, it seemed that it circled the room, and every few feet or so were sticks about as long as my hand, thick as good sized kindling, tied together in bundles of six or

so. I had no idea what any of it was and thought about cutting one of the bundles loose to take with me, but it wouldn’t pull loose. Whatever it was, I’d just have to remember it. There was nothing here of worth, no answers at all. For the third and final time, I swore I’d never come back here and started back up the corridor to the open cavern where the dragons had made their lair. I’d left my pack in the cavern and had stopped to resettle my load when I heard the voices. A man and a woman, standing out where the dragon’s bodies lay. “...didn’t think they were real. I mean, we’ve heard the stories, but to actually see them, Daddy, it’s just beyond belief.” That was the woman, and she sounded, not scared of the dragons, but fascinated by them as though they were a puzzle. “This should give us a real sense of verisimilitude next time we’re doing St. George. Not why we’re here of course, but one should always kill two birds with one stone.” The man’s voice was deep and pleasant and it carried down into the cavern though as I crept forward I saw that he was facing away. “Makes our pathetic prop look, well, pathetic.” Had they come up the mountain to see the dragons the way Before tourists used to come up to this area to ski? Just for fun. I remembered being tossed on the neck of the dragon, fearing for my life, for Callan’s. I remembered far too much to stay quiet.

“Who are you?” I came out of the shadows. I hadn’t any weapon for my knife was in my pack, not on my belt, which was dumb of me, but I remembered a story Callan had told me about a man who hid a gun in his pocket and tried to make my fist look like a pistol. They were shocked to see me, and I couldn’t blame them for that. Nobody expected to find another human being on this desolate hilltop. The man was older, probably older than Pa even, mid fifties, but handsome with thinning golden hair, much lighter gold than Callan’s, worn longer than was typical on a man and held back with a leather tie. His temples held just a hint of grey which matched his eyes. He looked me up and down, focusing in on the ‘gun’ in my pocket and then started to laugh. “Take your hand out of your pocket, boy, before someone thinks you’re playing with yourself.” I jerked my hand out of my pocket and flushed. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” “I could ask you the same thing. I’m Magnus Ferguson, if that means anything to you.” It didn’t, and that fact seemed to concern him. If he’d been Delia’s age, I’d have said he was pouting. The girl, who was probably a bit older than Callan, laughed. “Quit

pouting, Daddy. We’ve never even played in these hills, so how on earth could the poor boy know who you are?” “Yes, why should anyone know an aging actor ten years past his prime?” the man sighed. “Just because I lit up the stages of—” “Los Angeles and San Francisco, took the works of the Bard into deepest, darkest Texas. Yes, Daddy, I know.” The girl turned to me. “I apologize for my father. He’s mad. I’m Calisa Ferguson and we’re passing through on the way to Moline, and we’d been told that there were dragons here.” They didn’t seem to be R&A agents, but it seemed like they’d be the only ones who would have known about the dragons. “Told? Who told you that?” She glanced at her father, who shook his head. “Er...just somebody we know.” The hulk of the dragons drew her eyes again. “Incredible, aren’t they?” “You should have seen them when they was alive.” Both the strangers looked at me more careful then, like they’d decided I was worth their notice, and I figured I’d better be smart and shut up. No stranger had come to Moline of late who meant us well. But the girl seemed friendly, though she wore her hair cut short as a man’s and had a man’s frame too; tall, mostly flat in front and lean, and there was

something that bothered me about her. “If you’re going to Moline, you might as well turn around,” I said, figuring I’d best be on my own way. “Ain’t nobody there.” “Emptied?” The man, Mister Ferguson, cursed, and his daughter turned away and run her hands through her gold hair, and then I knew what it was that bothered me. She had Callan’s haircut. Turned away, with only a bit of imagining, she could be Callan. When he was whole, that is. “How did you know?” He laughed. “You don’t think your little town is the only one to suffer such a fate?” “Well, there was Crawford—” “Crawford, Crozet, Pennington Gap, Timberville, others down in North Carolina and Tennessee and even into North Georgia. And many more, so they tell me, out west.” He looked over at the dragons. “This place is a charnel house. We have a camp on the lee side of the hill. Come and have some food, young man, and we’ll talk.” I wasn’t going nowhere till I had some things straight. “Are you with the R&A?” The man raised silky eyebrows. “Do I look like I’m with the R&A?” I had to admit, I ain’t never seen an agent dressed in jeans and a ragged

sweatshirt and a flannel jacket that Mam wouldn’t have let my Pa step out the door in. “I am an actor, as you’d have heard if you’d been paying attention to my daughter.” “Why ain’t you in Richmond or Atlanta, then? You doing plays for the foxes and squirrels?” “As good as,” he grumbled. “We’re traveling folk,” Calisa explained. “We play the harvest fairs and festivals, mostly. Haven’t you ever had any players at your Fair?” Mister Ferguson started down the hill. “I’m going to go make a cup of something warm to drink. The sun’s going down and your climate here is like the ninth circle of Hell. You’re welcome to join us, young man. I promise we won’t murder, rape or rob you.” He disappeared from sight over the dark hill. Calisa, whose name was too close to Callan’s to make comfortable hearing, sighed. “He’s so cantankerous these days. Coming on the road was his idea…. What’s your name, anyway?” “David Anderson.” I didn’t think they was agents nor army in disguise. A pretty good disguise it would be in Miss Ferguson’s part, for as I got closer to her, I could see she was definitely a girl with slight curves in all the proper places. “Well, David, haven’t you ever seen a play?”

I thought back, and remembered one harvest when I’d been real young, about five, maybe, and had been took down to the schoolhouse where we’d sat and these folk in funny costumes had put on a show about a girl and a rabbit that I’d liked quite a bit. I told her about it. “Sounds like Alice in Wonderland. I know a lot of companies are adapting novels to play form, since we have so few real plays left, but Daddy won’t let us do that. He’s a purist.” She sighed. “Anyway, come on down and have some coffee with us, David. Unless you’ve somewhere else to be?” I did, of course. I needed to be on the road, but it was growing late and I didn’t relish the thought of trying to make my way down the mountain in the dark. These folk had known about the dragons and more about the emptying of the towns than I did, so maybe they had knowledge that could help me. And, in truth, I didn’t want to be alone. Mister Ferguson and another man was sitting in front of a goodly fire. The other man nodded to me, but didn’t speak and at first I thought him a black man, but there was a more sallow tinge to his skin and his hair was straight and silky black, not kinked. Miss Ferguson poured me a mug of something warm, which I took with gratitude, and I set down my pack and let the warmth from the cup flow through me and restore me, breathing in the nutty smell from the liquid in the cup. “This is Esteban Ramirez.” She gestured to the dark man. “He doesn’t

speak much English, I’m afraid. Daddy, Esteban, this is David Anderson.” Mister Ferguson reached out a hand and I took it. “Sorry if I was short with you before, David. Seeing those things, well, you hear stories, but I never gave them much credibility, you know? It knocked me back some.” I sipped the drink, which was bitter, but in a different way from chicory. It caught me funny and I made a face which even in the darkening grove, they must have seen, for the two Fergusons smiled. “Never have coffee before?” “No, sir. I’d heard of it, though.” From Callan, and in books. “Daddy’s addicted, though he says he’s not. He spends way too much money on the stuff and it takes up space in our wagons that really could be used for more important things,” Miss Ferguson whispered across the fire. “I heard that. I have few enough pleasures in this life, don’t begrudge an old man his silly beans.” He was smiling, though, and so was she. It was an odd way to be with your father, I thought. I couldn’t imagining teasing Pa in such a way. “And now, to business. David, you said you saw the dragons alive? And Moline has been cleared off schedule? Could you tell us what happened here?” “Schedule?” I knew there was some plan behind all that had happened

to us, and it sounded like Mister Ferguson knew it for a fact. If I could trust him enough to share what had happened in Moline, perhaps he would tell me enough to get to the bottom of it, maybe he’d even know where they was taking Callan and Mam and the girls. “You have no reason to trust us, I know. And if you’ve been through what I suspect you’ve been through, probably trust in strangers isn’t coming easy. But I think we’re on the same side.” Mister Ferguson handed me a hunk of jerked meat, which I took gratefully, as it had been hours since I’d eaten. “Tell us what happened to Moline, and I’ll tell you what I know, and perhaps together we can make some sense where there was none before.” “Please,” Miss Ferguson leaned over and put her hand on my leg. I jerked away, and her father said, “Calisa, leave him be, he’s young.” I took a deep breath and I told it all. Well, most all. I left out anything personal about me, left out Callan as much as I could. But I told them of the dragons and of Almond’s death, and of Hennessy and Delahaye and the expedition up the mountain. And how we’d decided to stay and fight, and the sorry outcome of that, and how I was following the army west to try and get back my family. While I’d been speaking, Mister Ferguson and his daughter had been watching me close, though the other man, Mister Ramirez, who I realized must be Mexican, was staring into the fire, feeding it as needed. After I finished, all three glanced at each other, and Mister Ferguson said some words in a language I didn’t

understand, and Mister Ramirez nodded. “That’s an incredible story, David.” “Not so much incredible as stupid, Mister Ferguson. It cost...” I couldn’t think on that. Crying in front of strangers wasn’t to be countenanced. “Magnus. My name is Magnus, and sounds to me like you’ve earned the right to use it. It is incredible, because in all the towns that I’ve heard of where they’ve come and cleared, wherever there have been dragons or griffins or manticores or any of the other ridiculous beasts that have appeared, the people there just rolled over and did what the government wanted. You, as far as I know, come from the only place where they stood and fought. Yes, you failed, but you tried. To strive and not to yield, that’s a thing to be proud of.”

Callan’s Journal More walking. We’re definitely moving north as well as west because it’s turning colder. I’ve lost track of time, but I think it’s mid-September, and if we continue in our current direction we’ll cross the Ice Line soon. I saw Daniel today for the first time in what seems like ages. He dismounted and walked beside me for a while, just talking of nothing in particular, and then asked me out of the blue if I had fur gloves or hat, and if I had a coat other than the one I was wearing. When I told him

no to all, he pressed an expensive looking leather, fur-lined glove into my hand with an admonition not to let any of ‘them’ see it. Then he told me not to stir up trouble and rode away. I wonder what’s going to happen that he worries I’ll make trouble over? It’s funny, but I’ve become something of a leader. Curtis Henslow, who would have naturally assumed that role, is shunned absolutely. Only his wife speaks to him, and I don’t give much for his chances at staying alive once we’re on our own. Perhaps they’ll settle him in a different place. Mrs. Haig, who has more reason than most to be angry, has even started to fix me food, and she and Mrs. Anderson are almost fighting over who will sew the rips in my clothes or help me make up bedding for the night. I can’t be too harsh with Curtis. I don’t know what leverage they used on him, but I know full well that if they’d threatened David, I’d have cooperated with barely a second thought. I don’t say that to the ladies who make so much of me, because frankly, it’s nice after a year of being reviled to have people care about me again. Selfish to the last, that’s me. My pencil’s worn to the nub and Ruby, who sharpens for me, is sleeping, so will close now. I’ll be glad to see the end of this journey, wherever it leads me. --Tempers are starting to flare and food is getting short. Most of us have

used up the supplies we brought and the army has so far refused to release any of the livestock they confiscated. They’ve also taken the wagons that Myra Haig and a few of the others had. I think that may have been what Daniel was warning me against making trouble over, for those wagons were being used to transport the older people and the young who would be unable to walk so far. Those with horses pitched in to give them rides, so Delia is now walking or being carried by her mother or Ruby. As the last member of the town council, I did try to protest. I went to Colonel Griffin’s campsite and asked to speak to him, but was sent away. I made my complaint (loud enough to be heard through the canvas of the Colonel’s tent) and said flat out that if any of those people died, it would be on their conscience. I was told they needed the wagons to carry wounded soldiers, but that’s utter rot, as they’ve been walking fine or managing on the army carts up to this point. We’re being punished for fighting back, there’s no doubt in my mind that’s what’s behind this. One bright spot—Ruby overheard two soldiers talking near the creek we camped by tonight, and it seems we’re within a week or so of stopping. I’m glad, though a bit apprehensive, because it’s colder than I’m comfortable with here already, and if they make us stay the winter nearby, I can’t imagine what it will be like. Ruby thinks David will come and get us free soon, and I hope she’s right for her sake and that of her mother and sister. I doubt he’d take me with them, though perhaps for

old time’s sake, or because he’s a decent man, he would. I’ve considered telling her what passed between us; it’s hard not to have anyone to confide in. Though I’ve spent most of my life keeping my own counsel, having David in my life changed that habit some. I wasn’t always forthcoming with David—he was forever after me to tell him more about myself—but he was always there to talk to when I needed it. It’s tempting to talk to Ruby—I trust her as much as I trust anyone. But to tell her everything I’ve done might change the way she looks at me, and I can’t face that. When this is all over, I suppose I could go home. They’d welcome me there even after all that’s happened. I could have my life back, have books again, and music—Kathleen on Mother’s piano, the Institute’s string quartet playing Mozart in the park in August. Especially in this cold autumn, I find myself longing for a sun that truly warms and trees that stay green for most of the year. And the sea, how the waves come in and tickle your bare toes as you sit in the sand, how the water rushes up and covers you and then recedes, taking everything bad away with it. I’ve been too long away. If David and I can work things through, I’ll take him with me if he’s willing. This experience, as horrible as it’s been, has made my fears about facing my past seem petty. It’s shown me what’s important. That was where we went wrong in Moline. We sacrificed the people for the place. I look around at these women and children, cold and hungry, afraid.

Alone. There’s not a family here untouched by death, and I can’t believe that any of them wouldn’t see the price paid for those last few months we stayed as far too high.’

Chapter 12

David Anderson I didn’t feel like I’d done much to be proud of, but it was nice to have praise, even from strangers. Maybe especially from strangers. Mam and Pa had not been much for giving compliments; they’d believed it swelled our heads. I’d drunk in humility from my earliest days, so I wriggled like a little boy in church at the compliment. “Thank you, sir. Could I ask you how you come to be here? This ain’t on the direct route to Moline from anywhere.” “You told your story, I’ll tell ours. But first, if you don’t mind saying, why were you in that cave?” I hadn’t told them about the machine. Though I liked these people, it seemed stupid to trust so quickly. But they seemed learned folk, so it might be that they could help me unravel this puzzle. “There’s a machine in there. Something from Before. I took this off it.” I dug the metal plate out of my pocket and handed it over. Mister Ferguson and his daughter moved close to the fire so that their hair turned to gold and the plate

reflected the flames like a dull mirror. They exchanged glances. “Brethren?” Mister Ferguson said, so quiet I could barely make the word out. Miss Ferguson, fairly dancing with excitement, nodded. “I think so.” She handed the plate back to me. “David, this is the first thing we’ve seen that might make some sense of this. Can you take me into the cave and show me?” I looked over at her father, figuring this was more man’s work, but she laughed. “Daddy doesn’t do caves. He thinks he’s too big.” Her eyes moved over me. “Though he’s not as big as you.” “There ain’t no light in there and candles just get swallowed up in the darkness, so unless you’ve got strong torches, I don’t think it’s worth the trip.” She swore. Other than Jeannie Findlay, who was more like a man than a lady, I’d never heard a woman use language like that. “Then can you tell us about it in as much detail as possible?” I did, remembering how it had been when I first saw it, and then when Callan and I came back, what we’d seen and heard of the soldiers, and finally this last trip, with the new things, the bundles of sticks and wires.” “Sounds like dynamite,” Mister Ferguson said. “I’d say they’re planning on blowing up the cave. Might be a good idea not too linger here too

awfully long.” “But the soldiers is gone. Long gone, and Callan and my family with them. I appreciate the comfort of your fire and your food, but in the morning, I got to go after them. My family’s there.” A long silence stretched across the fire, broken by the crackle of wood and the wind in the nearby pines, and then Mister Ferguson talked Mexican to Mister Ramirez, who seemed to be saying ‘yes’ to whatever it was, least I assumed an up and down nod meant yes in Mexican just like in English. Miss Ferguson kept on looking at me, smiling, so that I finally had to break away and poke at the fire some. I weren’t used to any girl giving me so much attention. They finished their talk. “Do you have a horse?” “No, sir. I’m walking, but I’m not afraid of it. I’ve walked all over these hills and I’m a fair tracker and hunter too, thanks to my Pa’s teachings.” “Well, I’ve got a proposition for you. We’re taking the western road for a time ourselves and we’ve got horses and wagons and can make better time than you will on foot. Ride with us for a while.” “I couldn’t take advantage of your kindness, sir.” “Oh, he’s so wonderfully old fashioned and polite,” Miss Ferguson said. “Don’t worry. You won’t be taking advantage. Everybody works.” Mister Ferguson nodded. “Esteban needs someone to help with the

horses and the manual labor, and if you can hunt, well, so much the better, as the only weapons I can wield are fencing sabers, not much use in taking game. The damn animals won’t stay still long enough for me to stick them.” I was about to say something to that, then saw his half-smile and realized he was joking. It would be nice, riding with other folk, not being on my own till I had to be. But I couldn’t travel with them under false pretenses. They had to know what I truly was. “There’s something you got to know about me first, and I’ll understand if once I tell you, you want me to clear off from your fire. You heard me tell of my friend Callan, well, he weren’t just a friend. We was...” I didn’t know how to say it and not make it sound ugly. “We was together like a man and a woman.” I’d said all that looking at the fire, and for a minute, the crackling of the embers was the only sound. I dared to look up, expecting outrage on at least the two faces that understood me, but they was smiling, and Mister Ferguson reached across the fire to clap me on the shoulder. “Son, I’ve spent my entire life pretending to be other people. So have most of my friends and family. An actor wears a mask during most of his professional life; he can’t be hiding behind one in his personal world as well. Don’t be ashamed of who you are. I wouldn’t suggest you tell the whole world, considering how things are these days, but I can assure you that with us, you’ll find no condemnation.”

“One of our actors, Sterling Woods, he’s like you,” Miss Ferguson said. Other than Callan and Taylor Mills, who really didn’t count, I’d never met anyone else like me. I knew there was others, but to find one, to be able to talk to him and see if his life and experiences had been as rough as ours, that was going to be something. “I look forward to meeting him, Miss Ferguson. And the rest, of course.” “Please call me Calisa or Cal.” “I’d like to use your given name, ma’am, but it’s...” I didn’t know how to put into words how her name brought Callan to my mind, how it hurt. I didn’t have to say it. “How about Lisa, then? Maybe that will do.” Lisa. “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you for understanding.” She gave me a hug and took off into the woods. “You’ll soon learn that Cal’s a big flirt. She doesn’t mean anything by it, though if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll ask her to tone it down,” her father observed, watching her walk away. “No, sir. She’s just...different from the girls back home, that’s all.” “That she is,” he said, and Mister Ramirez, who must have understood us right enough, laughed. Lisa come back, slipped into a place beside me and snuggled up close. It

was an odd feeling being so near to a girl who weren’t my sister, but it felt good. Not in the way the way Callan’s body made me feel, but loved, cared for almost the same. “I guess we should tell you what we know, David. We’ve heard all your story, but you don’t know any of ours.” I yawned and shivered as it was turning into a fairly cold night. Mister Ramirez stood, stretched and began setting up tents. I knew I ought to start earning my keep, but the fire felt so fine, and I was bone weary. Mister Ferguson stood and stretched. “Tomorrow on the road is enough time for that, I think. It’s been a long day. David, do you have shelter?” I did, the Before tent from Delahaye which had served me well. I’d got so I could set it up right quick, and it was a good thing, as I was asleep near as soon as I lay down that night. --I woke with the dawn, like I’d been raised to. I’d got away from the habit when I’d lived at Zack’s, for Callan gave me good cause to lie abed, but there was no such reason here nor when I was off with the militia. Almost without thought, I’d slipped back into the old habits drilled into me by my folks. Daylight hours was for working, dark for sleep. I didn’t have any work to do here yet, though I wondered if I could do a bit of early hunting, provide some meat for my new friends.

Game much larger than a squirrel had been scarce on the mountains while the dragons had been alive, but I’d seen signs of larger animals on my journey up, so figured I might take something worthwhile. I was just pulling on my boots when I heard voices, and I was pretty sure one of them said my name. Eavesdropping ain’t one of the things my Mam taught me, but I’d come to learn that sometimes, especially when you’re alone and the world seems against you, it’s a necessary evil. So I lay back down and got quiet, listening. “...what he seems to be.” That was Mister Ferguson. “Oh, I know he is! I’m just not sure how much we ought to tell him. What we heard in Raleigh about the evacuees, for instance—” “That’s just rumor, Cal, I wouldn’t tell him things like that.” “He has a right to know.” Lisa’s voice seemed more serious than I’d heard it before. I wondered if her flirting was as much a mask as the ones Callan used to put on to shield himself from the world. “No. He won’t be with us long, most likely, and there’s no point in getting him involved in things that can only end badly.” They was quiet for a few minutes, and I smelled fire and the bitter coffee. “Though he might be of use. The only person I’ve yet met who fought back. Might be that he could help in ways that the rest of us can’t even dream of.” I’d had enough of listening in, so I unzipped the tent and walked out

into the cold morning, just in time to hear Lisa say, “He’s barely of age, Daddy,” and her father reply, “Alexander the Great wasn’t much older when he conquered half the world,” which made me laugh out loud, thinking of myself and my poor little troop as a general and great army. “You were listening.” Mister Ferguson’s voice was approving, which brought me up short, as no grown up in my world would have praised sneakiness like that. “I’m sure your mother taught you not to eavesdrop, but I’m glad to see you’ve overcome that teaching. It’s a brave new world now, and you want to survive in it.” “Yes, sir, I do. And I want to know what you know about all this. Now, not on the road, not later.” He handed me a mug of the coffee, which I’d have as soon declined, but took it anyway to be polite and we sat down at the fire. Mister Ramirez was making up a breakfast of side pork that sizzled and popped and smelled wonderful. “Buenos dias,” he said to me. “That’s good morning in Spanish,” Lisa supplied and I tried to say the unfamiliar words back at him. It would be a fearsome thing to be in a strange land surrounded by people you couldn’t understand. I wondered why he’d come here. Conditions down in Mexico were much better than in the U.S., everybody knew that. Mister Ferguson stretched out his long legs so the black of his boots gleamed in the fire. “You want some answers and you don’t want to

wait; I respect that, so I’ll be straight with you. We don’t know a lot, frankly, and much of what we do know makes almost no sense. I’m hoping between us, we can change that, though.” “I’ll try, sir.” “Magnus.” He raised his eyebrow. “Magnus,” I repeated. You’d think after almost a year of being treated as an adult, I’d get used to it, but in my mind, I’m still thirteen. “We think,” he went on, “that it all started well before the Ice. That was a troubled time, and religion and science were all jumbled up, intolerance was on the rise and at the same time being fought by reasonable people—do you know any of this?” I did, told him what Zack and Callan had taught me about how the Ice come just in time to forestall what may have turned into a civil war. “Exactly. Well, one of the major ‘players’ on the religious side of the conflict was a crazy sect called the Church of Jesus Christ Triumphant. They had a set of rather quaint beliefs that came down to the tired old concept that they and only they were saved, everyone who didn’t adhere to their doctrines of right and wrong were dire sinners in need of cleansing. Their idea of cleansing usually involved a bit more than baptism, by the way. You had to suffer for the Lord, if you see where I’m going with that.”

I nodded and sipped my coffee, which surely didn’t improve when cool. Mister Ramirez must have noticed my face, for he handed me a skin of water. “Thanks.” “They were rabid racists as well, hated foreigners, immigrants, Jews, Blacks, homosexuals, basically anyone who wasn’t them. The symbol of the Church Triumphant was a cross under an eagle.” A cross under an eagle. “But that’s the same sign—” “As on that plate you have. Yes, and it’s a mystery to me why a group utterly opposed to science and technology—” “Except weapons technology,” Lisa interrupted. “Yes, well. That’s a given. Anyway, why they’d put their mark on something like that machine is just one mystery out of many. So the Church Triumphant seemed to disappear during the Ice, but then it reemerged after as the Brethren of Eden. Have you heard of them?” “No. We had one preacher in our town, and he was Methodist, I think. And there was some Catholics, but they only had a traveling priest.” “The Brethren are fairly influential in the cities. We’ve had one President who was, if not a member, then at least a sympathizer. They’re much involved with the R&A—you see the similarity in their symbols. We don’t know much about their specific doctrine yet, but they’re definitely an apocalyptic cult.”

He looked at me like he weren’t sure if I knew what ‘apocalyptic’ meant, so I said, “End of the world.” “Right. Though how anyone could be expecting more apocalypse than we’ve already had is beyond me.” “Daddy, get to the part David cares about,” Lisa said, taking a slice of the side pork for herself and handing one to me. The grease was still mighty hot, but it felt good against the cold morning and tasted even better. I hadn’t been eating too well of late, not since I’d left my Mam’s house, to be honest. “Yes, well, about seven years ago, for various reasons which I won’t go into here, I decided to leave a rather promising stage career to go on the road, take culture to the uncultured, that sort of thing,” Magnus snorted. “Fair waste of effort, if I do say so myself, but in my travels, particularly in the mountain regions, I started to hear rumors of odd beasts. Dragons, wyverns, chimera, griffins. Creatures from mythology, things out of legend, but these stories were contemporary. To my shame, I didn’t believe them.” “I don’t think you got any need to feel shame for that. I wouldn’t believe such a thing if I hadn’t seen it for my own self.” But once you’d seen that massive dragon, spiraling down at you, you become a believer right quick. “So we were playing over towards Asheville, North Carolina, doing

Shaw’s Pygmalion, as I recall, one of my better roles, and I spotted some of the griffins. Of course I thought it was a hoax, but they swarmed into town and snatched three people up and killed them. That made me a believer; let me tell you, though I still doubted the dragons till I came here, just because of the sheer size of the things.” “So,” Lisa continued. “We started to spread the word from town to town, because honestly, most people thought it was just them, you know? And then we noticed that the next year, when we’d go back to a town that had been plagued by monsters, the town would be empty.” “Again and again and again the pattern would be repeated. We didn’t see any signs that the people were dead, so it seemed logical to us that Relocation Bureau had to be involved. They’re the only group big enough to coordinate something of this sort.” We ate for a few minutes, and then Mister Ramirez started to knock the fire out, making ready to leave. “So, anyway, when we were in Atlanta last year, our leading lady, Maddalena Bianca—” “Maude.” Lisa scowled. “Her name’s Maude Butterworth, David.” “Cal, she’s asked us to call her Maddalena. It makes her happy, and when she’s happy, it’s a much easier world for all of us. Anyway, Maddalena managed to get...er...close to a bigwig in the R&A and she

liberated a few documents. Nothing that explained much, sadly, but among them was a schedule of clearings for your region. We’ve been following the schedule, trying to get to the towns and warn the folks before it’s too late.” “They mostly don’t believe us,” Lisa said. “Even if they’ve had the monsters, they just blame it on the Ice or God’s will or acts of the Devil. Nobody wants to accept that this is all a government plot.” I thought about that some, about whether if strangers had come to town telling the tale to us, whether I’d have believed it. No, likely not. “Moline wasn’t due to be cleared till late fall, and yet you say the soldiers showed up late August. So what you did, in killing that agent and uncovering part of the plot, it set the schedule in a tizzy, and then by fighting back, well, I’d say everything’s changed now.” Mister Ramirez poured water on the last of the fire, and we all stood up, staring down at the dying embers as steam rose and hissed. “The gloves are off, so to speak.” “But where do they take the people, do you know that?” What happened in town was melted ice now, and there weren’t nothing I could do about that, but I could save my family, and others too, if I set my mind to it. “When they emptied Crawford, we got told they was going west to some of rich farmland out there.” The army was traveling west, which was a good sign that maybe that story had been true.

Magnus and Lisa exchanged those looks that I was coming to realize meant they knew something they didn’t want to say. Silence stretched out, the steam died down and Mister Ramirez was kicking over the embers before Magnus nodded to his daughter, who put her hand on my arm. “We don’t know for sure. It could be they’re being given new farms, certainly. And we’ve mainly traveled in the southeast, and there’s lots of places we haven’t gone, and you know what communications are like, it’s not like Before where you could pick up a phone and—” “Cal, just come to the point. It’s not the third act soliloquy.” Magnus’ voice sounded weary, though it wasn’t hardly an hour past dawn. She drew in a harsh breath. “Nobody’s heard from anyone who has been evacuated from any town. I’ve spoken to family and friends in nearby towns, and it’s as if their loved ones have simply ceased to exist.” That was how it had been with Crawford, but I knew there was answers out there, and I’d find them no matter what I had to do. I picked up the crate with the griddle and cookpot and followed Magnus and Cal down the mountain.

Callan’s Journal We’ve arrived at our final destination, and this may be my last

entry—likely they’ll confiscate this journal. Emma Haig, Joe’s sister, died. She’d never been strong, and seeing her brother shot, I think, took away her will to live. She’d ridden in the wagons when we had wagons, and then on horseback, but about a week ago it was obvious she couldn’t mount, couldn’t hold the reins or even cling to the pommel. I went to Captain Tedrow for medical help. He refused to see me. I should have realized then that there was no good ending in any of this, but stubborn as I am, I appealed to Colonel Griffin. There was no diplomacy in my appeal either. I walked in on him eating bacon and fried eggs when the rest of us have been living on porridge and stale bread, and my resentment showed. We tried, some of the women and I, to tie her to the saddle, but she was beyond it, beyond sitting up, even. The soldiers were in their formation, horses hitched to wagons and all was in readiness. The breath of the horses hung on the cold air like fog as Mrs. Anderson and her neighbors tried every way they could to truss up the old lady, who was beyond protest at the loss of her dignity. The order to move out came, but we couldn’t move, obviously. Word passed up the line, and Colonel Griffin came riding down the line. He took one look at Miss Emma, now lying on the ground as we tried to figure out a solution, pulled out his revolver and shot her through the

head. None of us spoke. Even Captain Tedrow, who had followed the Colonel, seemed shocked. Griffin shrugged, looked at me. “Would it have been more humane to leave her to starve or freeze? Winter’s coming on and we can’t allow anyone to slow us down.” He rode back up the column and the wagons started lumbering forward. I knew then what I should have realized when they shot Joe Haig and the rest—we aren’t refugees. We’re prisoners, and wherever we end up, it isn’t going to be rich farms like Mr. Hennessy had promised so long before. Those farms don’t exist. I waited to see if anyone, any soldier, that is, would make a protest, but of course none did, so leaving the poor lady lying on the frosted ground, I turned with the others and walked away. We marched another three days with tempers flaring and temperature falling, and then we came upon a structure. My near-sightedness is getting worse,, and at first I thought I saw a barn standing in the center of a field, surrounded by long, low outbuildings set in neat in rows. As we came closer, I recognized it for what it was, and I can be excused, I think, for not recognizing something I thought was as extinct as dinosaurs (or dragons, ha!)—a train station. These trains were cobbled together from somewhere, re-fitted electric engines now run by steam, cars built up on the framework of those from

Before, some I think must have been museum pieces. We camped by the rails that night, and I had my last talk with Daniel. He sought me out, asked me to walk with him behind the line of cars waiting on the track. I asked him if he knew where we were going. “You’re headed for a refugee camp. They’re just temporary, sort of way stations. I expect you’ll stay through the winter and then be processed out and onto new farms or in new towns come spring.” Though I still wasn’t sure I believed in those farms, I could understand the necessity for waiting—no town has resources to take on extra people through the winter, and with the exception of people like David and his father, most are not equipped to live off the land in winter. I thanked him, both for the information and for everything he’d done to help. “It was little enough.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I have to be honest and say that this mission has put questions in my mind about a lot of things. I never thought to see some of the things I’ve seen over the past month, let alone participate in them. I should have spoken out more, but—” I stopped him. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Perhaps if the whole officer corps had spoken up, but even then, the military functions through orders. It takes an extraordinary person to question those orders, and few of those go on to act on their questions. I don’t blame Daniel for being a normal man.

But even the questioning he was doing was enough to land him in some hot water. Also, a few of the enlisted men under his command had deserted along the road and he is being blamed, unfairly, in my view, for that. He’s being re-assigned to captain some guards at one of the refugee centers. He didn’t say which one, but I’m thinking it’s not the one we were bound for. I’m sure his superiors think that his association with me was corrupting him. I was accused of corrupting David too. We said goodbye, and I suppose I’ll never see him again. The next day’s train ride was actually fairly phenomenal. The children were delirious with the experience, the older people glad to not be walking, and the movement of the train, the speed, the way the outside world blurred by, was fascinating. The seats weren’t any too comfortable, slat benches with straight backs, but there were windows, so you could watch the ground change from mottled brown to white. For we were, as I had suspected, going north. I’m going to remember that ride, hold it in my mind along with other special days, simply because I think those memories are all I’m going to have to live on for a while. Possibly forever. It was dusk when we arrived at our ultimate destination, and a wicked wind was blowing out of the north. The train’s steam and swirling snow obscured the buildings, but the station had a blue and white sign with large embossed letters that read “Beulahland.” It was all noise and chaos and shouting, the whistle of the train and the release of steam and men’s voices,

shouting orders. There, on the platform, I was separated from Mrs. Anderson, Ruby, Delia and everyone else from Moline. They are refugees. I am a felon, and felons are not permitted to ‘mix’ with the general population. I could have lied, but the proof’s burned into my shoulder. So I’m scribbling the last of this sitting on a bench with a group of strangers, (for we were not the only train to arrive today), waiting to be processed. Writing this is probably pointless, but this journal has been my lifeline, and I’m going to cling onto it for as long as they’ll let me.

Chapter 13

David Anderson Magnus’ company of players was mighty distracting. They accepted me as one of them without a second thought. I supposed that Magnus must have told them of my perversion, for he went into the camp ahead of Lisa and me and spoke to them, but they didn’t seem to care, nor did any of them mention it directly. I’m shamed to say that over the next couple of weeks I hardly had occasion to think on my losses, and hours went by without Callan or Pa or Benny C or any of what had happened back home crossing my mind. That sounds harsh, I know, but there weren’t nothing I could do for Pa nor for Benny C, and the same with Callan, Mam and the girls, truly. I was heading towards them at best speed, and I like to think that they’d not begrudge me the distraction from the endless empty feelings that ate at me from the inside. I was given a place in a wagon, and once they saw I’d some experience with horses, work to do as well. The wagons was not like any I’d seen

before. Most wagons back home was flat and open, for hauling crops, mostly. A few folk had cloth covers for theirs, something like the old Conestogas pictured in our school history reader. But these, they had the same flat bed, but sitting atop it, held out over the wheels, wooden structures and solid roofs made little houses on wheels. The insides was real nice, complete with beds and places to stow gear, and even small tables and chairs. They weren’t too warm, though, and I understood why the company turned south and spent their winters down around the Mexico border, where they’d met Mister Ramirez and his wife. She spoke better English than her husband, and I learned that they’d come north looking for their son, who had got himself mazed by an old Before book on Hollywood and had run off to be an actor. I don’t know if he was just real young or maybe simple, not to know that there weren’t films no more, but he’d come, and they’d followed, thinking a group of actors might encounter someone like their boy Juan. Mister Ramirez seemed to understand that his son was most likely dead but his missus was still real hopeful, and she latched on to me and mothered me something awful. I loved it, to be truthful. She was a lot like my own mam in build and temperament, and it was no hardship to eat her griddlecakes or let her rub ointment on the windburn I took driving the wagon on the open road. Nights I shared the wagon with Mister Wood. It was so strange meeting

him, for of course, he’s the first man like me and Callan that I’ve had the opportunity to truly come to know, so when Magnus introduced us, I stared at him like a farm boy in the city, was even afraid to take his hand. He was old, older than Magnus, with shining silver hair and heavy lines etching his face, but his eyes sparkled, and he took my hand and shook it, then leaned forward and said in a quiet voice, “Don’t worry, young man, I’ll teach you the secret handshake later.” He then laughed and so did Magnus and the awkwardness passed. He’s an interesting man, though hard to come to know. Mostly he rides in the wagon during the day while I drive; I think he’d been driving himself before I come, and it was a hardship for him at his age. I know he lived in Washington for a time because of something Lisa said, but she wouldn’t tell me much, said it was his story to tell or not as he chooses, which of course, it is. I’d been worried at first about sharing the wagon, that maybe he’d think I wanted to share more than that, but he ain’t made any improper advances at all. I can’t say the same for Miss Bianca. I was warned she’d try to seduce me. I didn’t credit it, for women in my world ain’t near so forward as that, but I’m learning quick that this ain’t my world, and Miss Bianca is nothing like any woman I’ve ever met. If Lisa is a flirt, Miss Bianca, she’s a leg-hold trap, and she sure don’t want to let up on me. She tried to get Magnus to let me drive her wagon, but he said no, and she didn’t argue.

Nobody much argues with Magnus, I’ve noticed, save for Lisa. We’ve been traveling west for three days now, and I can still see the signs of the army’s passage, abandoned rations, the odd water skin, dead fires where they’d camped. “Here’s another one,” I shouted, and Magnus, who’d been real patient about letting us stop when I saw things I needed to check out, reined in his wagon and the rest of the group followed suit. I jumped off the wagon and slid down the embankment to the left of the road where I’d seen a couple dozen dead fires, brush cleared, all the signs of human presence. The fires was cold, of course, and looking at the state of some of the rotting food the animals hadn’t made off with, I figured they’d been gone from this spot at least two days. No signs of Callan, and that was unsettling. He was smart, surely he’d know I was following and would leave some small sign. But with a sinking heart, I remembered how we parted. “Anything useful?” Lisa had hopped down from her wagon and was surveying the ground with me. “Lord, these army people don’t know how to clean up after themselves.” “They do it with guns,” I said, remembering how well they’d ‘cleaned up’ in Moline. “There ain’t nothing here. We might as well move on.” “We’ll break for a while, have some lunch, I think.” Magnus had come

up behind us. “Good place as any. There’s water for the horses there.” He pointed down a slight rise where a creek lay like a silver ribbon against the grasses. It was turning to true autumn, and the direction we was taking was northwest. Seemed likely to me that the players wouldn’t be able to take me further. Their work needed towns and a decent climate for outdoor shows, and those things was in short supply in the direction we was headed. Lisa and I rounded up the horses and led them to the creek. “I’d think Miss Bianca could help with this sort of work.” I looked back to where the lady was sitting on a stool she’d taken out of her wagon, reading a book. “Her? She never helps with anything except making trouble. You should get Sterling to talk about her. He calls her Mad Maddy and does an impression of her that’s utterly priceless. They loathe each other. He’s got no respect for the useless, and she can’t abide any man who won’t sleep with her.” She glanced at me. “I never...I won’t...” I stammered. The horses was drinking deep of the gurgling water, which was clear and cold and fast moving against the rounded rocks that pebbled its bed. “She hasn’t given up on you yet, handsome.” “I ain’t handsome.” Callan was the handsome one.

She laughed. “Look at your competition! A gay man in his sixties, my father who won’t have anything to do with her—he tells her it would be ‘bad for morale,’ which is code for ‘not if my life depended on it.’ And Esteban, who has a wife with knives and a temper that you’ve probably not seen yet, but I can assure you is formidable. She sees you as her best chance, and now she’s on the prowl.” I laughed too, for Miss Bianca did seem to be a great cat, moving on soft pads around the camp, looking for an unwary mouse to take. We wandered back up the meadow to where food was laid out, cold meat from a brace of rabbits I’d taken the day before and some apples we’d found in an abandoned orchard along the road. The wagons had been pulled into a small circle, and despite the cold, everybody had come out to sit together, like a family. “Read lines with me tonight, David.” Miss Bianca had peeled and cored her apple and was cutting it into neat little sections. “Miss Bianca, I really ain’t much for speaking in public.” I read with Mister Wood occasionally, and it was just me sitting there with the big book of plays on my lap giving him his cues, but I wanted a reason to refuse her. She arched not just her brows, but her whole body, like a cat in the sun. “Oh, we won’t be in public.”

“I’ll read lines with you, Maude.” Lisa’s mouth was full of apple, so she sort of spat pieces of red peel at Miss Bianca when she turned to talk to her. “It’s the balcony scene.” “You’ve got more chance of action with Cal, lovey,” Mister Wood called out. Miss Bianca shook out her hair, which I had to admit was pretty darn impressive, flowing red-gold curls that reminded me of the lions in the zoo books back at school. “You’re just awful. I’ve been so lonely. I would think that you, of all people, ought to understand.” Magnus’ voice cut across Mister Wood’s reply. “Read your lines with Cal, she’s the one you’ll be doing the scene with. She’s taking Romeo.” “Why on earth don’t you get David to do it?” I must have turned white as a sheet, thinking on what it would be like standing up in front of people saying fancy words by heart. I opened my mouth to protest, but Miss Bianca rolled on without pause. “How on earth am I supposed to manage a proper Juliet playing against a bony girl?” “It’s called acting, darling. You know, Cal will pretend to be a boy madly in love with you and you can pretend to be an innocent fourteenyear-old virgin.” I stifled a giggle at Sterling’s words. I thought Miss

Bianca was at least thirty, maybe more. She wore some kind of cosmetic on her face, but you could see the lines on her eyes, especially when she smiled, not that she did that too much. “It’s bad enough we can’t do the whole play because our numbers are so low, but this is just too much. I swear, I’m going to walk, Magnus, I really am.” I wondered how he’d take the threat. Magnus didn’t strike me as the kind of man you threaten, no more than my Pa was. He kept utter calm, didn’t even look up from the small book he was reading. “Then walk. If you go directly south from here, you should reach Atlanta in a few months’ time. If the mountain lions don’t get you.” Lisa cracked up laughing and Miss Bianca gave her a murdering stare and retreated into her wagon. Mister Wood was laughing as well. “A hit, a very palpable hit. Well struck, indeed.” He brushed off his wool trousers and bowed to me, then climbed back into our wagon. Magnus closed his book. “I don’t suppose you do want to play Romeo, do you?” I shook my head so hard I nearly knocked my teeth out. He sighed. “Didn’t think so, but I figured I had to ask. It would make her happy.” Hesitating, unwilling to pry, I waited for a minute, then plunged ahead.

“Why do you put up with Miss Bianca, sir? I mean, she’s pretty enough, I guess, but...” “Oh for God’s sake, call her Maddy or Maddalena. Don’t give her any more reason to put on airs. As to why I put up with her, well, she’s good at what she does. And not just on stage. You’ve probably never heard of Mata Hari. Let’s just say that when it comes to getting information out of foolish men, a pretty woman is just about the best weapon around. Better than torture.” I thought Maddalena was a lot like torture, and I was powerful glad I didn’t have to read lines with her as part of my work. Horses was much easier to handle. We’d been on the road for about an hour when Sterling come up out of the wagon with a skin of water for me. “Thanks.” “De nada.” He settled beside me on the board. “You don’t mind if I ride with you for a while, I hope?” “No, sir.” We rode in silence for a time. “So how are you finding life on the road? I’m assuming this is the first time you’ve left your home…” “Went to Crawford a time or two with my Pa, but I never traveled beyond that. I like it well enough, but if I was being honest, I’d say the

travel is a bit dull.” Mile after mile of the same road. He chuckled. “Thou sayest it. It may have escaped your notice, but I am not the world’s greatest outdoorsman.” I looked down at the reins of the horses loose in my hands, they hardly took any guiding at all, following after the wagon in front as they was. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to be here, sir?” “Magnus told me you had a problem calling adults by name. I’m Sterling, or Mr. Wood if you absolutely must. But not ‘sir’ like I’m an army general. I’m here because I owe Magnus a rather large debt; one that should I spend the rest of my life playing one horse towns before audiences better fitted to watch horse-pulls than Hamlet I could not begin to repay.” “I like horse-pulls,” I said, and he laughed and patted my knee. “As do I, on occasion, though the occasion usually involves beer. Anyway, without getting into unpleasant details, I found that I had to get out of Washington in a bit of a hurry. Magnus was there and actually ended up smuggling me out in a prop-wagon. This wagon we’re on, as a matter of fact.” He made a face. “Does that answer your question?” It didn’t really, as I had no idea what the trouble in Washington was over, but it weren’t my business, so I said yes. “Your accent, I ain’t never heard the like. Where you from?”

“Ah. My father was English, part of the Royal Shakespeare Company touring the U.S. when the Ice hit. He was young and he lost his accent some as he stayed here, but I’ve always tried to speak as I remember him doing. He died when I was quite young, so my memory is highly inaccurate. I’m sure if I was to miraculously encounter some legitimate Brit, they’d run screaming in horror, but I like the notion that though England may be in ruins with all the palaces and playhouses and cathedrals and cottages destroyed by the Ice, there’s still someone speaking the Bard’s words in something akin to his native tongue.” “Is it all in ruins, do you think?” We’d never heard from Europe so far as I knew, but over the past year, I’d come to learn that there were more things in our world than I’d ever dreamed of, and it could be that people still lived there. “I suspect so, or we’d have had contact by now. In ruins and emptied, or else the poor wretches that live there are like our own northerners, eking out a subsistence living with no time for art or literature or any of the things that made Europe a shining beacon for so long.” “We’ve lost so much, I guess. Living in a small town where we didn’t have much in the way of books, I never realized what I was missing.” “I suppose that’s why I stay on the road, more than just to repay my debt—to make an attempt to keep hold of some of that past so it’s not totally lost.”

“That’s a fair thing to spend your life doing, Mister Wood. A man could do a lot worse than that.” I thought of the R&A agents who was supposed to be helping us rebuild, secretly tearing down and destroying all along, and of the church Magnus had told of, twisting religion to hurt people. “Being raised in the theatre, I suppose I always had larger than life dreams. I used to think that I, and my small group of friends, could restore culture and reason and tolerance to this world all on our own.” He laughed. “There were four or five of us, trying to be so dreadfully bohemian in a world that just couldn’t cope with that anymore.” I didn’t know what ‘bohemian’ meant, but didn’t want to interrupt. “We even decided to do a Bradbury.” I had to ask about that. “What’s that?” “A Before author named Ray Bradbury wrote about a future where books were illegal and people who loved them would each memorize one so it wouldn’t be forgotten.” “Did you manage to memorize your books?” I couldn’t fathom learning a whole book by heart. “No. That was about the time of the Morality Statute Riots, and we soon had more important considerations than literature—fighting for our right to live and love as gays and lesbians for one thing. Though a life

without books and ideas isn’t truly a life at all.” “I’d like to hear about that some, what it was like then to be...like we are.” “And I’d like to hear about you, about your young man. I’ve been alone for a long time, but I can still love a love story.” So I told him about Callan, about us. I told the parts of my story I’d left off from telling Magnus and Lisa, the personal things, the way I’d felt and the confusion and uncertainty and the breathless rush of joy when we’d finally come together. I told him the bad parts too, the betrayal and pain, and how it had ended. “...like a true love story, I guess, for I hear they don’t end happy a lot of the time.” He’d been watching the world go by as he’d listened, huddled in a heavy fur coat against the cold. “It’s not over yet, young man. I never had what you two had—I flitted from man to man most of my life, never staying in one bed any too long, and I can’t deny that I took great pleasure in it, but—” He stopped and pointed ahead. Off to the side of the road, a man in uniform sat huddled next to the body of a woman I knew.

Callan’s Journal I still have my journal and pencils. Funny how something so small

means so much in a place like this. Everything else is taken away, but I still have the written word, and my thoughts. And companionship, of a sort. I look at the strangers around me and try to remember that not too long ago Jeannie was a stranger, and Zack, and even David. Here in this place, at least, we all have one thing in common, and we don’t ever need to hide who or what we are. After I was separated out from the others, I waited in the processing area, hard wooden chairs against the wall of a cold room, with five other men and a woman. They were hard men too, and even the woman had a sharp edge to her, and if I had to guess, I’d say their crimes were of a slightly more violent nature than my own. We were taken one by one into a private room where I was asked questions— name, age, hometown, criminal history. My hair was cut short to prevent spread of lice, but it hurts, remembering how David used to love it so. I expected to be given some sort of uniform, that’s how it always seemed to work in books about prison, but surprisingly, they let me keep my clothes, and the small bag of possessions I carried. I was led through a maze of buildings; it was dark, and there were so many twists and turns that I’d never be able to find my way back through even if I could get free. They herded us through a gate set into a wooden palisade wall separating out a space from the rest of the camp. Within, four large structures and several smaller sheds framed a courtyard that even in the

dark I could tell was nothing but frozen mud and filthy snow. The guard who led us pointed me towards one of the buildings, then did the same with the other new arrivals. Hesitating, I opened the door to a large room illuminated by glass lanterns hung from the rafters and warmed, inadequately, by a small iron stove set against the center wall. Rows of beds lined the walls, and they seemed occupied, but it was too dark to make out details. “Hey, were you born in a barn? Close the door before we freeze.” The voice was male, and the tone was guarded, though not hostile. I shut the door and stood, letting my eyes adjust to the light. Fifteen men were sitting on the beds talking or in chairs scattered around the room, while others slept. A slight man with dark red hair and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, approached me with his hand out. “Dominic Langston.” I reached out with my left hand, which made for an awkward handshake, but he didn’t stare nor comment, which was a relief. I introduced myself, and he showed me to a vacant bed. I sank down into the straw-stuffed mattress in relief. It could have been stuffed with stones by that point and I’d have slept on it. I had questions, but couldn’t begin to frame them, didn’t even know where to start. Dominic Langston, though, knew what I needed. “Max, dish up some of

that soup for Callan.” Turning back to me, “It’s not filling, being mostly water, but at least it’s hot.” I took the soup, which under better circumstances I wouldn’t have fed to animals, and drank it like tea, not even bothering to try and use the spoon. As the warmth spread through me, I began to relax, and listened. The handshake he gave me when I arrived, was a violation of the rules. We’re not allowed to touch each other, with the exception of regularly scheduled inspections, the guards leave us alone, probably afraid we’ll turn them gay. There’s a daily chapel service so we can be converted from our evil ways, and work details when the weather permits. We are not allowed to mix with the ‘proper’ refugees, and they even frown on us associating with the thieves, rapists and prostitutes, though we all inhabit the same courtyard. I supposed they might let us mix with the prostitutes, as a strategy to aid our conversion to heterosexuality, and Dominic laughed, and then I started laughing and couldn’t stop. The laughs turned to tears. I was hysterical, and no wonder, really, so he broke the rule again and held me, and it was so wonderful to rest in someone’s arms and know they understood completely and absolutely what I was feeling. I stayed there in his arms till I’d cried it out. The other men looked away; but I’m sure they’ve all been where I was last night. Natural light comes in through tiny rectangular glass windows set high in

the walls, and I stared out of one, trying to get control of myself. The snow must have stopped, for the moonlight was streaming in, made brighter as it reflected off the snow. The room was, and still is, cold. The stove does little to counter the bruising chill and I had only one threadbare blanket. Again Dominic showed his good quality. Noticing how I shivered, he excused himself, approached an older man sitting on a bunk near the fire, then returned with a second blanket. “Won’t he need it?” “That’s Dennis Burney. He lived above the Ice Line all his life—this is a balmy evening to him. He’s been here next to forever, so he’s got the bed nearest the fire.” Next to forever. I wondered how long that was, how long they intended to keep us here. “How long?” He called over to Burney, who started counting on his fingers, then asked, “What month is it, anyway?” “October, I think,” I replied. “Be a year in November. They cleared our town late fall. I expect the rest of my folk have already been sent on. Didn’t realize how late it was.” “They’re never going to let us go,” the boy Dominic had called Max said. “We’re all going to die here.”

Another man replied, “You know how to get out of here. We all know.” I didn’t, but I was too tired to care. Grateful to Dominic, who settled me into the bed, helping me with my shoes, stowing my meager possessions under the bed, I fought to keep my eyes open long enough to thank him. “We’ve all been there. And don’t worry about your stuff. Nobody will touch it.” It had not occurred to me that theft was even a possibility. I have a lot to learn, but it can wait. I have nothing but time here. This is prison, there’s no doubt of it, and if I let myself remember my home or David right now, I don’t know how I’ll cope with it all. But in a strange way, it is comforting to be among my own kind.

Chapter 14

David Anderson I handed the reins to Mister Wood, jumped off the wagon, and ran over to the place where she lay. “Miss Emma?” A single bullet hole marred her wrinkled forehead, and I saw she was beyond answering. The soldier next to her was a young black man, probably about my own age. “Did you kill her?” I threw myself on him, slamming him back against the ground, but he didn’t fight back, and Magnus pulled me off. “Easy, David. He seems in shock.” He led the soldier away from Miss Emma’s body and handed him a skin of water. “Stay back,” he called out to the rest of the company, but Lisa was already scrambling down from her wagon with a bottle in her hands. “Water’s fine as well as it goes, Daddy, but I think he needs something a bit stronger.” The soldier took the whisky and drunk deep, then sputtered and coughed and started to cry. Magnus and Lisa was seeing to him, so I turned back to Miss Emma,

remembering glimpses of her when I’d gone to the General; she’d sometimes worked the counter there, and how she’d used to visit with Grandmam when I was very young and they was both able to get round better. She’d been murdered. I could imagine a whole lot of folk among the Moline refugees who might incite murder, starting with Callan who wouldn’t never keep his mouth shut when it was good for him and even my Mam, but not Miss Emma. She was cold, dead at least a day or two, I thought, and the smell was starting to make me sick to my stomach so I stepped back. “His name’s Joshua Halloway.” Lisa said, leading me over to where they’d wrapped the soldier in blankets and set him down beneath a tree. “He’s deserted from the battalion escorting your family.” I looked down at him sitting there so small, for he was a tiny man, not even as big as Benny C had been, and he looked up at me, and it struck me that we’d been shooting at each other not much more than a week before, and how stupid that was, as he was just a kid and so was I. So I set down beside him. “I’m David. Where you from, Josh?” “Gulfport, Mississippi, sir. I joined up to the army to get away from my Papa’s fishing boat.” “Bet you’d give near anything to be on that boat right now,” Magnus said, then stepped back like he trusted me to speak to Josh, one soldier

to another, I guess. “Yessir, and I’m going home.” The words caught in his throat like he was fighting back tears. “So why are you here?” “I wanted to bury her, sir. I wanted to bury her when the Colonel shot her, didn’t seem at all seemly to leave an old lady lying by the side of the road. I wasn’t brought up that way; don’t want you to think for one minute that I was.” His mouth was trembling, his whole body shaking, and not just from cold. “Don’t worry. We’ll lay her out right. Her name was Miss Emma Haig and she was a proper lady.” His eyes widened. “You from Moline?” “Yes. I’m trying to find my family. Can you tell me—” Mam and Delia and Ruby was too ordinary to be picked out from the rest of the crowd of people, but Callan was pretty unique. “Did you see the town healer at all when you was traveling?” “The one armed one? Sure. He was right by this lady when the Colonel shot her. Looked mighty sick about it too. Not what the army ought to be doing, not at all.” He buried his face in his hands and as his head bent forward, I saw a pendant around his neck. An eagle over a cross. Magnus saw it too, then glanced down at me. “We should just make

camp here. Young man,” he said to Josh. “We’ll get a hot meal in you, bury the lady, as David says, and then see you on the road south with some provisions.” “That’s big of you, sir, but I got no money to pay and my Papa wouldn’t want me taking charity.” “You can pay us with your story,” I said. “I’d surely love to know what’s been happening with my people, what you know about where they’re bound.” Josh thought that was a fair offer, but still insisted on helping with the fire and making camp, and while I was working with Missus Ramirez to fix the meal, he took the shovel and found a grassy place in a field nearby and commenced to digging. I offered to help, but he shook his head. “No sir, I bear blame for her death, and I’m going to make her grave on my own.” I would have argued, but Mister Wood said I should let him do it, so I did. Truth was, I was dying to know how Callan fared and what Josh could tell us, so I’d have like to worn him out with questions if we’d been digging together. After Miss Emma was laid, Magnus said words over her, beautiful words in a voice that rolled like thunder then fell away to a gentle rain; I’d truly never heard nobody speak like that before so that their speaking voice was a like a musical instrument. After all that, we sat by the fire.

Maddy sat next to Josh, giving sympathy in a most forward way, but he didn’t seem to mind much. “Guess I should start at the beginning.” He sounded reluctant to begin, but he finally did, telling the tale of the journey they’d made, how harsh the army had been with my people, how they had orders not to ‘coddle’ those who’d dared to rebel. I asked him of Callan, and he said far as he knew he was fine, and that they’d have arrived at the camps by now. And that was the heart of it. “Do you know where these camps are?” “Yes sir. My very first billet out of boot camp last year was guarding at an R&A refugee camp. There’s three or four of them. I worked at Goshen, but the biggest is Beulahland, and that’s where I figure they’re taking the Moline folk. It’s north of here, above the Ice Line, but I couldn’t tell you exactly where.” My heart plummeted. There weren’t no way I could risk travel north with winter closing on. Maybe Magnus would have an idea. I looked over at him, but he had come over to sit down by Josh and was making a strange gesture with his hand, and by the looks on Josh’s face, it meant something to him. “Sir, are you an Elder of the Brethren?” he asked in a sort of breathy voice. Magnus shook his head. “No, just one who knows a bit about your

ways. I saw your sign,” he pointed to the pendant. “Just wanted to let you know you were among friends here.” Josh seemed down in the mouth that Magnus weren’t an Elder, whatever that meant. “I’m in a state of mortal sin, what with leaving the army like I did. It surely would be good to find an Elder and make a proper confession.” “God knows your heart, young man,” Mister Wood said from where he was standing, leaning against a tree. “If you confess to Him, that ought to suffice.” “Oh no, sir. Not at all. You got to make your confession to a proper Elder or it don’t do you any good at all.” I got up and started over towards the horses, thinking I’d work out my sorrow over Miss Emma and my worry over Callan by giving them a good brushing. Magnus caught my arm as I went by him. “I’m going to ask Josh to help you groom the horses—you see if you can get him to tell you what the Brethren believe,” he said in a whisper so quiet I could hardly make it out. “I thought you knew all about them,” I objected. “You knew that sign, and you told him—” “I know next to nothing about the Brethren beyond that sign which I saw two of them making down in Mobile, Alabama about a year ago. I

took a chance on that and it might just have paid off for us.” I went off to a sheltered place near a strand of trees and started into grooming, and in a while, Josh come over and I handed him a horse brush and showed him how to go about it, for it seemed they didn’t have too many horses down on his Pa’s boat. I’d have loved to ask about that, what it was like out on the water, what the ocean was like. That seemed a whole lot more interesting than somebody’s religion. The church teaches that I’m evil just by being the way I am, the way that God, if there is a God, made me. I can’t accept that. I wasn’t on good terms with God before I met Callan and awoke to what I was, but since then, it’s just got worse. But this church, these Brethren, they might have some secret that might help us; and I was hoping that Josh might know some way I could get to Callan and Mam before the true cold set in. Some secret army thing. So I was going to do my best. “I’m a Methodist,” I said, a lie, but my Mam was. “We don’t have Elders. Are they sort of like deacons?” The horse Josh brushed was called Lou. She pulled Lisa and Maddy’s wagon and was as gentle a mare as you could hope to find. He weren’t brushing, but was running his hand down her flank as she nickered in response. “I don’t know. We don’t have deacons. My Papa is Senior Elder for our parish which is most of the south of Mississippi, and he preaches and teaches and judges when the Judgment Days come round.

And he interprets the signs, of course.” So much for common ground. It surely seemed to me like Magnus could have asked Maddy to talk to him. She’d have twined herself around him like the serpent all over Eve in the garden to get what she wanted, but he’d given the task to me, so I pushed on. “What do the Brethren believe?” His face lit up. “Oh, it’s a fearsome and wonderful thing. God is getting ready to work a mighty miracle here in this country. First there will be many signs— sinners will repent, the sick will be healed, many thousands upon thousands will call upon the name of the Lord and of the Prophet—” “Prophet?” The words he was speaking didn’t seem to be his own words at all; I figured he was quoting his Pa. I knew there was prophets back in Bible times, old men who’d gone around foreseeing doom and gloom and disaster. Didn’t take any great power to prophesy doom and gloom in these times. “Yes, the leader of our faith, the Reverend Lynwood Wilkes.” The look on Josh’s face reminded me of something, but I couldn’t place what till he sort of closed his eyes and I knew it –it was the look on Benny C’s face when he’d talked about his Daisy. Josh was in love with his faith. “They’ll call upon the name of the Lord and of His prophet, and there will be many strange signs—wild beasts and demons from hell will

ravage the land and the people will be in despair; they’ll wander in the wilderness, just as the Israelites of old.” Wild beasts, like dragons? “And finally the Prophet will speak the Word and all the mountains in the land will cry out to God, and God’s going to answer. Unrepentant sinners will be cleansed from the earth, and the great miracle will take place.” I’d stopped brushing Euphrates, Magnus’ stallion, and was staring at Josh. “What’s sort of miracle?” I said in a voice not much more than a whisper. “God is going to lift the Ice. And a New Eden will come, a warm world again.” And it clicked. When my baby sister Almond was alive, Pa used to make her puzzles. He’d cut them out of wood with his small saw, and she’d figure out how they fit together. All of this, the dragons and the Clearing and the machine; the army and the camps, it fit together like those puzzle pieces, and though there was still some pieces I couldn’t quite make fit, I understood what was going on. Finally, I knew what all our suffering had been for. Understanding didn’t bring me any peace, though. It just made me angry. Our lives had been destroyed so that some religion could make it

look like its prophecies had come true. Josh must have seen something in my eye that troubled him, for he pushed on. “You could be standing at our side on the Great Judgment.” “Is that the same as the judging your Pa does?” He shook his head and went back to grooming his horse, so I did the same. “No, those are the small judgments, the Judgments of Shame, not the Great Judgment of Guilt that can only be done by the Lord through the Prophet. The small judgments are for sins like fornicating and sodomy and murder, breaking the commandments.” Of course there wouldn’t be any room for sodomites in their New Eden. A moment of abject panic for Callan crossed over me; he was branded, anyone who saw him without his shirt would know what he was. It was all I could do to keep myself moving the brush, not to throw it aside and jump on that horse and ride north as fast as it could carry me. “Nobody’s saved but those in your faith, then?” “That’s the old teaching. Prophet Wilkes says now that true believers in the Christ of any Bible-confessing church can share in the blessing. They’ll go to heaven…but we’ll be the Lords of Heaven.” I could hear my Mam’s voice in my head saying, ‘There’s only one Lord in heaven, boy, and you surely ain’t him.’ “When’s your prophet going to speak his word, do you know?”

Josh had moved to the other side of Lou and I couldn’t see his face. “I’m not sure exactly, though Papa knows. He says there’ll be a big revival, all the Brethren will come together from all over the country and we’ll witness the last signs and the great miracle. And then come winter, it’s going to be warm, like Before.” “I think I’ll stick to being a Methodist for right now.” “They’ll be saved too, and I promise, we’ll be kind masters in heaven. Miss Emma, the lady the Colonel shot, was she saved?” “She lined the psalms in the church on Sundays and was head of the Altar Guild.” It was true—Miss Emma had been a powerful righteous woman. Josh seemed relieved. “I’d hate for her to be burning in hell.” I figured if Miss Emma had been sent to hell, she’d already be ordering the devil about and lining up the demons into cleaning parties. Of course I didn’t believe in hell beyond what we made for ourselves here on earth. Callan had said that to me once. I wondered what sort of hell he was in, up above the Ice Line.

Callan’s Journal I’ve survived the first full week here, somehow. On the first day, after a breakfast of watery oatmeal, Dominic took the time to tell me a bit

about some of my new companions. Dennis Burney I have already mentioned, and Dominic didn’t know much of his story—he keeps to himself. Two boys not much older than Ruby Anderson were sitting together on a bunk deep in conversation as they played some card game. Sean Ackerly and Mike Wise. Their presence here is an absolute affront to decency; they were convicted of violating the Morality Statutes because they were caught kissing. When their town was cleared, they were sent here, children ripped from their families. I noticed, looking at the barracks in the daylight, that though there were at least twice as many bunks as men, each man had taken bunks next to another, except for one man, balding, with the sort of face and frame that you can tell once carried too much weight. He was isolated almost halfway down the room from any other man, so I asked Dominic about him. “Ira Treeby.” The tone of his voice indicated disgust. “He’s, well, he really is a criminal. Would have been Before too. I don’t know all the details, but what I’ve heard is that he’s a rapist and a child molester. We tried to get him moved to Barracks B where the rapists are held, but because he assaulted everybody, including men and boys, we’re stuck with him.” Treeby must have known we were speaking of him, for he turned and

looked at me, and though he was a singularly unprepossessing man, I felt a shiver run through me in a way I hadn’t since I first laid eyes on George Delahaye, the R&A agent I killed to save David. There is something dead within Ira Treeby. “What about you, how did you end up here?” I sought to change the subject away from Ira Treeby, though I could feel his eyes on me; a hideous feeling, like having slugs traveling up my back, leaving their slimy trails over my skin. Dominic laughed. “By being utterly naïve and stupid. I’m from California.” I had never met anyone from California before, but you hear so many things about it. I wondered if half what I had heard was true. “California never passed the Morality Statues.” That was one of the rumors I’d heard, but I hadn’t believed it. “I thought all the states were forced to?” “The Federal government tried to force it, sure. They withheld massive amounts of R&A funds from any state that didn’t fall in line, but our grandfathers didn’t care. The Ice didn’t hurt California much and we take care of our own.” I thought about what it would be like to live in a place like that. My home is fairly liberal compared to, say, Moline, but it’s still all buried

deep beneath the surface. Everybody may know, but nobody talks of it, and it’s something shameful and not quite proper. I’d almost rather outright condemnation—at least you know where you stand. “So you came east?” I prompted. “For my work. I’m a journalist. It never occurred to me not to talk about my sexuality. It’s just a part of who I am.” That surprised me. We have very few newspapers. Paper mills are just beginning to start up again, but there’d been about fifty years where paper was highly scarce, still is in many places. “San Francisco Chronicle, the oldest continuously running newspaper in the United States. Not many weekly papers. I was reporting on conditions here. I was traveling in the southeast, stopped in a smallish town with a decent inn, and I thought a nice looking young man was giving me the sign.” I remember how confused and uncertain I’d felt when I thought David might be interested in me. I’d withheld making any advances or even mentioning my feelings for the longest time because I knew that in our world, such things were not supposed to exist. Dominic hadn’t any of that natural caution. I could picture how it must have fallen out. “And I was wrong and found myself stuck in the town jail waiting for trial. Fortunately, or possibly unfortunately, haven’t decided which yet,

the army got there before the judge.” I sided with fortunate; he would have died from whatever punishment they gave him. “What about Max?” He seemed as young as Mike and Sean, though with the oversize jacket and scarf he wore, it was hard to know for sure. “Most of the rest of these guys are pretty open about themselves, but Max is different.” Living in a place like this, surrounded by people every minute of the day, we’d have to find ways to carve out some privacy for ourselves. If Max wanted to keep his story for those with whom he chose to share it, that was understandable, and I liked Dominic even more for refusing to gossip. Before I could ask about the rest of us, a bell rung. All the other men stood up, took their breakfast bowls to a large tray sitting by the door and then got on coats. I asked Dominic what was going on. “Time for chapel service,” he replied. “Just stick with me and keep your mouth closed.” Wrapping my coat around myself, I followed him out a side door into the courtyard where a large crowd of both men and women had assembled. I presumed they were all, like us, convicted of some crime. Likely no murderers—murder is almost always an automatic death

sentence, but thieves, rapists, prostitutes generally get the same treatment I had received. There were too many women, I thought, for all of them to be prostitutes. Dominic’s explanation confirmed my thoughts. “The women are mostly fornicators and adulteresses, plus a few prostitutes. You ought to know that men are mostly free to commit adultery or fornicate to their hearts’ content without fear of any real punishment. As long as they do it with women,” he added, with a snort. “There are a few lesbians mixed in, but apparently they’re not brought into court as often as we are.” Most families handled lesbian daughters privately. Which could be better than what happened to me, or much, much worse. Benches had been set down in the snow-covered courtyard, and a large podium stood in front of the fourth building. “That’s Brother Joe’s offices,” Dominic said in a flat tone. All eyes turned towards the podium as a man emerged from the building and mounted the stairs to the podium. He was utterly bald, though I would swear him no older than forty, and he had the most intense dark eyes I have ever seen. Even from a distance, they blazed out of his skulllike face. He scanned the crowd, which numbered maybe a hundred people, and then fixed his eyes on me. If Ira Treeby’s gaze had been slime, this man’s was fire. I looked away, but felt him watching me even as he started to speak and identify himself

‘for the newly arrived’ as Reverend Joseph Stroble, but we should call him Brother Joe, in anticipation of our conversion to the true church, where we would all be brothers and sisters in the Lord. He began to preach. I am not going to attempt to transcribe the sermon. I heard it every day this week, undoubtedly will continue to hear it daily, and this entry is already overlong. I’m thankful that this journal is so thick, as doubt I’ll be getting another when this one is full, so I should more carefully pick and choose what I include, keep my entries short. The message, of course, was sin. How displeasing it is to God and to Jesus and how if we’d only acknowledge our wickedness, confess and be cleansed, we could be welcomed back into God’s kingdom and proper society. Nothing I hadn’t heard before. And he ended with an altar call. I am from the south, though my own hometown was a bastion of freethinkers and intellectuals, we had country villages nearby and I know what evangelical church services are like. Two women and a man I didn’t recognize made their way up the aisle and dropped to their knees in front of the preacher. From behind me, I heard more movement, and turned to see one of our number also moving forward. “Fool.” The voice, which carried very well in the cold, silent air, was of Dennis Burney, who was sitting opposite us, but the man did not hear, or chose not to listen, and soon he was kneeling beside the others.

Brother Joseph flung out his hands, said some words of praise to his God. “These sinners have passed through the wilderness! They have seen the light of Truth in Jesus Christ and they come forward today to be cleansed and healed.” He looked down at each of them in turn. “Is it your decision, freely entered upon, to be cleansed?” They each nodded or made some affirmative comment, and he lifted each one to their feet, embraced them, and led them away. That seemed to conclude the service, for we got up and returned to our barracks, something I was glad of, as it had been very cold in that courtyard. I can’t imagine what it will be like in January. “So much for Jeff Hall, then.” Burney stopped Dominic once we got inside. “I keep trying to warn them, but do they listen? Fools, every last one of them.” Then he turned to me. “You seem a smart lad. You listen to me, and don’t trust the preacher, no matter what he says with that honey tongue.” He stomped back to his bunk, and I turned to Dominic for explanation. “This isn’t a prison, not in the sense the word is normally used. They don’t want to keep us locked up for defined periods of time, they want us to convert.” “To Christianity?” “No. To heterosexuality. Or to give up rape or prostitution or whatever sin it is that we’re guilty of. You’re supposed to suffer forty days in here,

symbolic of some religious figure’s forty days in the desert, and then you’re eligible to answer the altar call, repent, accept whatever cleansing Brother Joe chooses to assign and then, allegedly, you’re sent out into the main refugee population and can be with family and friends. That’s where the people who lived here before you came have done, like you saw with Jeff Hall today.” It couldn’t be so easy to ‘repent.’ Forty days and then a fake conversion and freedom? Considering the average thief or rapist is not exactly a paragon of virtue and honesty, it’s a wonder that anyone is left in that barracks at all. “Brother Joe is something of a sadist, and you’ve got to convince him you’re sincere or he’ll send you right back. And well,” he hesitated, “Dennis has a theory, widely shared, that anyone who goes to the altar is murdered.” He must have sensed my disbelief. “I know it sounds crazy, but Brother Joe is...you’ll see when you meet him. He’s a torturing fanatic, and it’s a short step from that to murder.” He shuddered, and I put my hand on his arm, comforting. Dominic smiled, but there wasn’t any joy in it. “You’d better learn to stifle those impulses. They watch us all the time when we’re in the open.” I don’t why I did what I did; whether it was an act of sheer defiance, or

an attempt to reclaim some of my humanity, which I know I am in danger of having stripped from me in this place, but for whatever the cause, without thought, without considering the consequences, I leaned forward and brushed my lips against Dominic’s own; lightly, the whisper of a kiss. Then, feeling an arousal I did not truly want but couldn’t entirely suppress, I returned to my bunk to record the events of the morning.

Chapter 15

David Anderson We settled Josh for the night in Magnus’ wagon, and I figure he must have been asleep before his head hit the pillow. He hadn’t said much more after telling me of his beliefs; it was like that sucked the life out of him, or more like, the work of burying Miss Emma had finally caught up with him. I did think to ask if he knew where the great revival would be, but he didn’t, though he did let on that the prophet lived in Washington. Figured somebody like that would want to be at the center of things. So once Josh bedded down, Mister Ramirez built up a big fire and we dragged fallen logs into a circle around it so I could tell Josh’s tale to the rest. They listened to it without interrupting, and when I finished, I told them what I thought it all meant. “The only thing I don’t get is about the mountains crying out. How can mountains cry?” “The dynamite,” Lisa whispered. “The dynamite you found in the cave. And if the machine, or rather, machines, for it seems likely there’s more

than one, if they’re responsible for the Ice, then if they blow them up...” “Their prophecy comes true and this so called prophet rules a grateful nation,” Mister Wood said with a grim smile. “But I don’t believe we have remote detonation technology anymore, so the Prophet speaking a word and the machines blowing up en masse seems a bit improbable.” “You don’t need remote detonation when you have fanatical followers.” Magnus poked at the fire. “Martyrs for the faith, you know. That young man,” he jerked his head back towards his wagon, “would be one of the first to sign up. Doing his bit for God’s plan.” “And the dragons?” I asked. It seemed likely they’d been part of the Brethren’s plan too, but where had they come from? “That’s the R&A’s work, I suspect,” Sterling said. “There are still genetics labs in Texas and Florida. If they’ve been planning this since before the Ice, that’s more than enough time to play God. Ironic, isn’t it?” “So now we know.” Lisa moved closer to me as she spoke and shivered. “Now we know,” Magnus agreed, and we watched the flames shoot up into the sky, sparks drifting on the breeze, the sky so big like it would have swallowed us up if we’d give it half a chance. And our troubles was as big as that sky. Sure, we knew what it all meant, but what good did that do us, seven people against a whole church and the government besides? If anything, I was more discouraged than I’d ever been.

Maddy broke the silence. “What good does that do, I’d like to know? There’s nothing we can do about any of it. A hundred years ago you could publish it in newspapers or put it about on that computer thing they used to have, but now? What are we supposed to do, parade down the Main Streets of a hundred little towns spreading the word? Even assuming anybody would care. I expect most people would worship Satan himself if he could do something about this climate.” She was only saying what I’d thought, but something about her words put my back up. Guess I just didn’t want to be on the same side as her on anything. “It’s always good to know. We’ll figure out what to do about it.” Though mostly what I wanted to figure out was how to get Callan free. Mam and the girls would likely be all right. I didn’t believe for one minute that they’d hurt the refugees, but a convicted felon would be nothing more than a sinner in need of cleansing to the Brethren. I knelt by the fire and started snapping kindling and tossing it on, all agitated inside. “Knowledge is never wasted, Maddalena,” Magnus said, and he put his hand on my shoulder. “But David, the first thing that’s apparent to me is that you can’t possibly get to your family till spring.” “If I can get a horse, I can maybe make it.” I’d thought it myself, but hearing him say it made it real, and I weren’t ready to accept that. “Did Josh tell you where this camp was?”

“He said he didn’t know exactly, just that it was north.” I needed to be away. I liked them all fine, even Maddy had her good points if you dug down deep enough, but I weren’t used to being around folks all the time, and at that moment, I was heartsore and miserable and needed solitude more than the warmth of the fire. It was dark and cold and the grass was damp, but I didn’t care; I followed a moonlit path down to a small creek. I could hear it gurgling before I saw it, and I sat down on a rock watching the dark water flow by and tried to work out what to do. It was nigh onto October and Callan was lost to me till spring. Magnus was right. I figured he’d been about to invite me to stay on with them for the winter. That was an offer I’d surely like to accept, and yet my pleasure in the offer was balanced by worry that when spring come, they might be down in Mississippi or deep into Texas or somewhere else they’d go to winter out the cold, and I wanted to be as near to that camp as I could get so the minute the weather turned, I was ready. I had to find out where it was, and I didn’t know how to do that. But Magnus seemed full of useful information, and if anyone could find out where Beulahland was, it would be him. So it might be I could stay on for a time. At least I’d be with friends—who knew where Callan was or what he was going through? “Mam, Callan, I’m so sorry.” I looked up at the moon which hung huge and full in the sky, and it struck me that they might be looking up at the same sky and moon, and that my feet was planted on the same earth

that they was on, yet they might as well have been on that moon for all the good it would do me. My throat got all tight. “David?” It was Mister Wood. I brushed away the tears stinging my eyes and stood up as he come down the slight hill, picking his footing as best he could. “Are you all right?” No, I thought. “Yes. I’m fine, just needed to get by myself to think for a while.” “It has to be very difficult, knowing you can’t get to the people you love when they’re in need.” “I can’t help thinking if I’d gone after them quicker...” “Even if you had, what could you have done? No, you mustn’t blame yourself.” He put his arm around me, and all the air I’d been holding in my lungs released. “You should come back to the fire. We’ve decisions to make, and your voice should be heard.” I was a mite embarrassed to come back to the fire after running out like a lovesick teenager, but nobody said a word, Lisa scooted over on the log we’d been sharing and I sat back down as though I’d just left to answer nature’s call or something. “David, we’ve been talking, and we’d be pleased to have you join us for the winter.” Magnus held up his hand to still my protest. “Hear me out. Stay with us, then as soon as the weather starts to break, we’ll take you

north to this Beulahland and help you get your family back.” It was more than I could have hoped for. Lisa was smiling at me, welcoming; so was the Ramirezes. I wondered how much of all this they understood; probably more than they let on. Sterling Woods was looking at his hands, though, and Maddy’s face was unreadable in the moonlight. She spoke next. “Lovely sentiment, Magnus, but we don’t know where the damn camp is, so it’s a bit moot, don’t you think?” “We can find out.” “Wandering through one-horse towns? These people don’t even know where they are, let alone the location of some secret government refugee camp.” That got my ire up, for the people in these hills was pretty much like Moline folk and we might be country people, but we wasn’t stupid. “Leaving aside your rather condescending attitude, you have a point,” Magnus said. “Nobody in this region likely knows, but they certainly will in Washington.” You would have thought that Magnus threw a stick of that dynamite into the center of the fire. Everybody started talking at once, then shouting to be heard. I didn’t understand. It seemed to me to be a good idea—surely the center of government was the place to start to get

answers, especially since Josh’s Prophet was there too. Then something occurred to me. “Wait,” I said, pitching my voice to carry over the din. “Hang on!” They got quiet and listened. “I thought you had to have permission to even get into Washington. You have to have—” I couldn’t think of the word. “It’s about who you know, ain’t it?” Sterling answered me. “It certainly is. Magnus, I respect you as an artist and a friend, but you can’t ask me to do this. I cannot go back there.” “Can’t or won’t?” Maddy was nearly bouncing, probably imagining herself meeting the President. Or sleeping with him, maybe. “I would

love to play the Capital. Think of what that would mean to my career!” “Your career is not more important than my life. You’ll have to find another plan.” Sterling stood and looked over to me. “I’m sorry, David. I truly am, but there are some things I just can’t face.” He disappeared into our wagon. Magnus sighed. “Without Sterling’s contacts, we have little chance of gaining entrance to the city and even less of getting any useful information. David, if anyone can reach him, I think it will be you.” I wondered why Magnus thought that. I didn’t have the gift of strong speech. I found Mister Wood still awake, sitting at the small table in the wagon

with a candle burning. “Hey,” I went to pour myself a cup of water. He didn’t answer. “Mister Wood, I don’t want you to do what you ain’t comfortable with.” He smiled. “Yes, you do. I would appreciate if you would have the courtesy to be honest with me. They sent you in here to convince me, I assume. Are you supposed to sleep with me to gain my cooperation?” I’d been holding the jug of water and it half fell from my hands, sloshing cold liquid over my bare chest so that I yelped in shock. “The idea is that disgusting to you? Can’t you believe that once upon a time, I was young and handsome like your Callan?” I nodded, then realizing it was powerful dark with only one candle sputtering against the dark and whispered, “Yes,” for I did believe it. I sat down opposite him at the table and hesitantly took his hand. It was an old hand, but fine of bone and still strong. Oh, yes, I believed him. “They sent me in to talk to you, but not to bribe you with my body.” Though I wondered if Sterling might be right. He smiled again. “Too bad, as that might have worked. I can think of nothing else that would get me back to Washington.” “Whatever you done there that got you run out, that was a long time ago, weren’t it?” “They have long memories there.”

I could hear voices from beyond the walls of the wagons, the sounds of camp being broken for the night, the fire banked, the horses blanketed, something I should have been doing. “Earlier today you was talking to me about preserving that which come before us, of making sure that books and art and beauty didn’t get swallowed up by the cold—” “And you’re going to tell me that by going back to Washington and helping you, I’d be doing that very thing. You can’t reach me that way, David. I believed those things I told you, but they come from a part of my life in which I was young and idealistic. I’m neither now.” He pulled his hand away and pushed the chair back so he was all in shadow. “It’s late. We should get some sleep—I’ll want you to read lines with me tomorrow on the road.” I knew what I had to do. Hearing Mister Wood and remembering the things he’d said earlier about giving your life to something important, I knew. “I won’t be with you tomorrow, Sterling. I’m sorry, but the only chance I got of getting my family back lies in Washington. If you won’t take us there, then I’ll go on my own.” “It’s above the Ice Line and you don’t know the way.” “I’m not afraid of the cold. And it’s good Before roads from here to there. I know my geography.”

“You haven’t permission to enter,” he said, and my heart lifted a bit that he wasn’t just saying ‘Godspeed’ and letting me go. “I’ll sneak in, or scale the walls if there’s walls or dig down into the tunnels if it’s tunnels. You said yourself, earlier, when I was telling you about Callan and me that I wouldn’t let it end like this, and you were right. I ain’t about to let it end as long as there’s breath in my body.” “Even assuming you can get in, what are you going to do, David? I understand how you feel, but you don’t know anyone there, and believe me, a place like Washington is all about who you know.” I stood and started stripping out of my day clothes, and I knew good and well that the light from the candle gave Sterling just enough to see my body. “Then I’ll knock on every door, I’ll stand on the street corners and ask folks who pass by if they know of Beulahland; I’ll find the office of the R&A and break in at night. Whatever it takes, I intend to do it.” He threw me a nightshirt. “Cover up, son. You didn’t need the strip tease…though I certainly appreciated it.” He sighed. “I’m going to regret this, but I’ll take you there.” My heart leapt in my chest. “Thank you. I’ll protect you as best I can, see that no harm comes to you.” He snorted, and blew out the candle. Lisa and Maddy sounded like they was having an argument over something; their voices hooted like screech

owls in the quiet of the night. I couldn’t make it out too well, but it seemed Maddy was complaining over not being able to go to Washington and Lisa was calling her bad names for being selfish. Sterling groaned and sat up, padded over to the door. “Magnus, can you tell those girls I’ve said yes so I can get some bloody sleep?” A flurry of voices rose up in harsh whispers and then got quiet, so I laid down and pulled the covers over myself. Washington. I was going to the capital. I’d seen pictures of course, in our school books, but those was all from Before. Pictures of gleaming white buildings and monuments, one that shot up into the air like a great needle, another with a statue of President Lincoln large as a giant from a fairy tale. And the museums, I’d heard about them, how they’d contained all the knowledge of the Before. But those things had likely all gone up in the Great Conflagration, and the city, I supposed, would be only charred ruins now. I’d have to mark everything I saw, so I could tell it to Callan. If I found him. If we could manage to put things to right. So many ifs. Sterling was sleeping; I could tell for he snored, just a little, slow, regular gurgling sounds, when he was deep asleep. I closed my eyes and brought Callan to mind, and as always in my mind, he was whole, and his hands, both of them, was on me, as they’d only been a few times in our lives together, but the memory remained, oh it stuck with me like burrs on the coat of a dog. And it was a while before I slept that night.

Callan’s Journal Boredom here seems to sap all desire to do anything but lie around. I can’t let that happen to me. Some of the men have books. I suggested we take turns reading aloud, and it’s caught on. The selection is dire, but everybody seems to enjoy sharing the stories, and we’ve taken to acting out scenes from some of them. --I haven’t spoken in private with Dominic since the kiss. He went to Brother Joe this morning and I spent the time in my bunk, remembering times I’d spent with David, trying to force myself to relive them without pain so that when (I can’t let myself say ‘if’) he comes, I’ll still be at least in some part ‘his’ Callan. Around noon, I think, Dominic returned, and they served us a lunch of bread and cheese and water for which he did not get up, so I took extra food and with the plate in my hand and the mug sort of balanced in the crook of my arm, went to Dominic’s bed with the food as a sort of offering, in case he was angry at me for kissing him. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said when we were both finished. “I can’t explain it—I had to. I’m sorry if it upset you.” The spark in his eyes was unmistakably desire. “Disturbed, perhaps, not upset.” He glanced around the room. Most of the other men napped

after the midday meal; Mike and Sean, together as always, played cards. “Those two are going to land in trouble.” Nobody was looking at us. His hand, an indoor man’s hand, not like David’s at all, stroked my cheek and I shivered with the pleasure of it. “There’s so much going on here that you don’t know, Callan, and I just can’t tell you right now; Brother Joe, he addles up your mind, turns you around so that you don’t know whether you’re coming or going. I understand why you kissed me. You needed to remember who you are. So do I, so forgive me for this.” His hand slid up to where my hair used to be and he pulled me down onto the bed and kissed me hard. I felt alive for the first time in weeks, and kissed him back, our bodies clinging together in the uncomfortable bed, trying not to move, which might draw attention, and yet yearning for more contact. --Exercise takes place in the same courtyard as chapel and what we do is walk in circles in hellish cold, not what I would choose, but then, choice isn’t something we have a lot of here. Actually, it didn’t seem as cold today as it has been, and the sun was shining, though that just served to make the snow-covered ground blindingly white. Wes Adams, the man who had spoken to Dominic at the start of the chapel service walked alongside me and asked if I was

settling in all right. “Yes, fairly well, I think.” He glanced at my missing arm. “I certainly hope they take that into account when they assign you to a work detail, though knowing them, they won’t.” He sounded bitter, and I remembered that he, at least, seemed to have no faith in Dennis Burney’s theory that prisoners who converted were killed. I have my doubts on that as well. If they want us dead, it seems a simple enough thing to just kill us. They certainly have the power and authority to do it. Why wait forty days and go through the sham of conversion? For that matter, why not kill the ones who

wouldn’t repent? “So you’ve been here less than forty days?” I asked. “Four days short. And before you ask, I don’t believe repentance is a death sentence— that’s just Dennis’s paranoia.” “The other barracks seem very full. Assuming that many of these people have been here over the allotted forty days, I’m surprised more haven’t gone. I would think most people would take even a slight chance of freedom over imprisonment.” “There’s a certain comfort in being among people like yourself, I would think. I imagine that’s as true for rapists and prostitutes as for...er...” He seemed embarrassed, which struck me as odd. “The legal term is

sodomite.” “I know. It’s just awkward for me, as I’m not one, and I never really even knew one until I found myself here. I didn’t want to offend you by using a word you might object to.” “I’m never offended by honesty,” I said, and then asked the obvious question of how he ended up here if he wasn’t homosexual. You would think that after the past year, nothing would be able to shock me; I’ve seen lies and duplicity and slaughter of the innocent and government conspiracies beyond anything I’d ever read in even the most outrageous fiction, but Wes Adams’ story just about topped them all. He’s a married man with three small children who last saw his family on the arrival platform. The reason he’s among us is that when he was fourteen years old, he was raped. His rapist was executed, but Wes was also punished for not fighting back enough, and so, like me, he bears the brand of a sodomite. “I’m getting the hell out of here as soon as I’m eligible. I’m worried about how Rachel and my boys are surviving without me there to do for them. I’ve seen a bit of how they treat you when you resist. You go much beyond forty-five days or so without answering the call and they label you ‘recalcitrant’ or ‘incorrigible.’ Then you get extra time with Brother Joe, they call it reparative counseling, and though I’m not sure exactly what happens to those people, the effects seem pretty scary.

Dennis is a total wreck, and your friend Dominic is heading down the same path. He used to be a regular ball of energy, full of stories, games. He’d spend hours making up ways to keep us entertained, but now he seems to spend half his days in his bunk.” The exercise period ended and we went back inside, grateful for the warmth, and as I clustered with the rest around the wood stove thawing out, I took the opportunity to look more closely at Dennis. It could have been the poor lighting, of course, but his skin had a tinge of yellow to it that seemed to indicate jaundice, and he was painfully thin. As I was watching him, he took a coughing fit that sent him reeling back to his bunk. I hope he hasn’t got tuberculosis. This is the kind of environment where something like that would thrive, and in as close quarters as we are, none of us would likely escape. There are a lot of ways I don’t want to die, but coughing my lungs out is fairly high on the list.

Chapter 16

David Anderson We said loaded Josh up with food and supplies before saying our goodbye, then turned back to move at best speed towards Washington. I hadn’t any idea where we was, how far west, but it seemed we’d crossed into Kentucky, and I marveled that I had traveled so far away from my home without even knowing it. I’d thought somehow that when you crossed over a state, it ought to look different somehow, but here we’d gone out of Virginia, across the bottom of West Virginia and all the way into Kentucky and mountains still looked like mountains. Heading back, we cut north and then east, following the old highway system through towns and cities I never thought I’d see. We stopped for a day in Charleston, West Virginia, and Lisa took me around, showed me what a proper city looked like. Like Moline, it set in a bowl of mountains with water running through it, but it was like Moline grown up; a river, not a creek, hundreds of houses, not dozens. “We’d do a show here if we weren’t in such a rush,” Lisa said as we

walked along a street which had once been home to buildings so tall I could hardly fathom it. They’d fallen mostly, or been torn down, for a building so high would have been impossible to heat and the materials, the brick and especially the metal would have value beyond price. “A city like this is good for us—too small to have their own theatre companies any more, but large enough to want to seem cultured.” “You’re losing money on account of me.” It hadn’t crossed my mind till that moment that the company would miss out on a whole mess of shows by going to Washington. “Don’t fret. Daddy’s more interested in the political situation than in acting right now, anyway. He says if we don’t do something about the Brethren, they’ll end up outlawing the theatre. Except vapid morality plays.” Because this was the last major town we’d see before we got to Washington, we stocked up on goods and supplies, cold weather gear and warm furs. The last reminded me of home. This was the season where Pa and I would have been out most days, checking our traps, hunting the last of the big animals before they holed up for the winter. I missed it, and him. We was camped on the outskirts of town, on the far side of an old bridge across the sluggish Kanawha River. Magnus and Mister Ramirez must have just got back ahead of us, and they had hold of a round

machine that looked at least a hundred years old. They set it on the ground and Mister Ramirez set about cleaning it with an old rag. “What on earth is that old thing?” Lisa asked. “Looks like a nightmare.” “It’s a kerosene heater, genuine antique.” Magnus was beaming. “Never thought I’d see one—they were mostly used till they fell apart back when the Ice hit. This one’s just like new.” “So they made them covered in rust? Honestly, Daddy, what good’s it going to do without kerosene?” But then her eyes fell on three big metal barrels, about the size they used in stills back home. “Do you truly think it’s going to be that cold?” I asked. “It’s not for us, it’s for the horses. I’m hoping we can find places to shelter on the road, but if we can’t, I want some way to create heat outside the wagons.” “Those heaters were fire hazards,” Sterling pointed out. “They exploded a lot too, if I’m remembering correctly even with proper fuel, not whatever mad scientist’s brew you’ve got there.” “We’ll be careful,” Magnus replied. But I was just as glad the heater and the fuel was traveling with Magnus. He went over the route with me, tracing it out on an aged map that was barely held together along its creases by hope and wishful thinking, and I saw that though the direct route to Washington took us mostly below

the Ice Line, staying on roads meant we’d cross over it sometime in the next three days or so. I figured it was probably like those state borders, something I’d hardly notice. Till the sun went down and we all took to freezing half to death. The Washington road took a fair bit of use, mostly from the politicians and those coming to treat with them. I knew there had been talk about moving the capital west, perhaps into north Texas or thereabouts so it was more properly halfway in the center of the country, but it hadn’t happened yet. “Likely won’t, in your lifetime,” Sterling said, when I mentioned it. He rode beside me a few hours a day, keeping me company, talking of plays he’d done and men he’d known, though nothing at all of what had happened in the capital that struck such fear in him. “It don’t make sense. I mean, sure, back when there was cars and airplanes and such, it weren’t no burden to travel so far, but now? Imagine living in California and having to come all this way on horseback to have your voice heard.” “Which is why we’ll lose California. They’ve been talking of breaking away for years, and when they do, David, were I you, I’d emigrate at first opportunity.” I’d heard it was better for our kind in California. Maybe when I’d got Callan free, I’d take him and my family and we’d go there, start over.

“Might just do that. I’m surprised you don’t go yourself.” Sterling smiled. “When this is all over and we’ve got you reunited with your one true love , I think I’ll get on a ship and take passage south. I have a bit saved up, and thanks to Esteban I speak fair Spanish. Find a small place on the ocean, somewhere that’s still warm, with palm trees and coconuts, and spend the rest of my life there. You can come and visit, and I’ll ogle you and your young man as you lie naked soaking up the sun.” The sun was out that day, but nobody in their right mind would be bare under it, for it was near to freezing, but at his words, I could feel that sun on my skin in a way I’d never known it and I could imagine a breeze that didn’t bite. “That would be real nice, Sterling. You get yourself a fine house and Callan and me will come stay. He’d like it, being from a warm climate himself.” That was the last of the sunny days. It rained on the next day, a blessing, as it meant it weren’t cold enough to snow, but it made travel real unpleasant, especially for those of us driving the wagons. The country began changing, flattening out like I’d never seen before, and it disturbed me. A horizon should be broken with good strong mountains, covered in forest, not low rounded hills all bare like they’d been shaved. The moon should brush the tops of the trees as it rose, not hang pale and huge in an empty sky.

And there was a lot more Before ruins as we moved close to Washington. Whole towns that simply weren’t towns no more; just piles of dwindling rubble. We’d see people among them sometimes, and I couldn’t imagine living in such a place, raising your children in hovels made from the bricks and stones of dead men’s houses. But then, I guess home is where you find it and there ain’t no part of this earth that ain’t a cemetery when it comes right down to it. A day out of Washington, we stopped at the largest inn I’d ever seen. The owners had taken one of the old motels, a long row of twenty or so rooms set into two wings, and added fireplaces to the backs of each. It was full to the brim, so we was all in one room. The girls took one bed and Magnus and Sterling the other. I’d sleep in the wagon—it was cold, yes, but it weren’t nothing worse than winter back home. Esteban and Patricia would sleep in their wagon too—they always did, and he never strayed far from the horses, probably for fear of thieves, though this particular inn had a stout stable guarded day and night. Guess it wouldn’t do for some senator to have his stallion lifted by horse thieves within ten miles of the city walls. That night, Sterling and Magnus who were the only ones who’d been in the city before, went over what we could expect to find while Lisa drew a map of it out on a mirror using some kind of cosmetic stick that I suspected she swiped from Maddy. I took it all in, trying to picture Washington as they described it, not as I’d seen it in those old books.

Most of the white marble monuments and buildings had been pulled down or abandoned just as the houses and stores and such that had surrounded us for the past day or so had been. The life of the city went on underground, in tunnels and bunkers and hideaways constructed Before, to protect the capital not from cold, but from the superweapons they had back then. “Sterling’s pass should still get us through the checkpoint. I’m counting on there being too many passes issued for them to have some kind of ‘revoked’ list,” Magnus explained, trying to be reassuring, but Sterling was looking out the window into the courtyard of the inn, and his reflection in the glass was troubled. “We’ll find a place to stay—I’ve got some ideas about that, and then...” he paused and waited. “And then I’ll go and see Jack. If I can. If he’ll see me. If he doesn’t call the police the moment he sets his eyes on me.” Magnus nodded. “He cared about you once. I think he’ll hear you out.” “He cares about himself more. It’s the defining characteristic of most politicians. And seeing me isn’t agreeing to help me.” “Let’s just take it one step at a time, okay?” Lisa said. “And the rest of us need a plausible reason for entering even if Sterling has a pass.” “We’re actors preparing a play. What else would you expect us to do, silly girl?” Maddy smiled as though she’d won a great victory, and I

supposed for her, standing in front of a crowd of the rich and powerful was a dream come true. I dreaded it, but had agreed to take some small, mostly non-speaking parts to help out some. They was doing me a tremendous favor—it seemed the least I could do. “Fine, then. Assuming everything goes as expected, tomorrow night we’ll be sleeping in Washington.” Magnus blew out the candle and around me folk started to settle down to sleep. Sterling got up and went outside and I followed, for I knew I couldn’t sleep. I wondered what my Pa would think of me going on stage, seeing Washington which even he had never seen, which nobody in Moline save for Nate Clemmons, our old mayor, had seen. Sterling had wrapped up in a thick coat and taken a seat on a bench facing out towards where the city must be, though it was so dark, it could have been just more miles and miles of empty. “I’ve heard that Before you could see the lights from miles away. And the Washington Monument soared up into the sky under its own spotlight; they say it was beautiful.” “That surely would have been a sight to see.” I sat down beside him. “I haven’t thanked you for what you’re doing for me. There ain’t words to say how much it means.” It was a real quiet night; some soft voices from other rooms was the only sound as I waited to see if he’d answer.

“You are the only one I would do it for.” There weren’t much I could say to that, so just sat and listened to the voices which was like the sound of Gibb’s Creek in spring, gentle, rushing, babbling. “David, if I die in the city, please don’t leave me there. Promise me?” Tears stung my eyes, not so much at his words as at the voice behind them. I hadn’t known Sterling too long, but I’d come to care for him an awful lot. This lost and frightened voice was so different from his usual confident self that it seemed another man. “You ain’t going to die. I said I’d take care of you. I keep my word.” “I know you’ll try, but you’re not invincible. Life will teach you that lesson, I’m afraid.” I thought of Benny C’s body stiff in my arms. “It already has,” I whispered. The voices in the next room was getting louder and I realized what they was doing, and it was a good thing it was dark, as I think my face flushed blood red. Sterling chuckled, but there weren’t no humor in it. “Well, good that somebody’s having fun tonight. Promise me, all right? I don’t want to be buried in that city of filth and lies.”

“It ain’t going to come to that, but if it will set your mind at ease, then I promise.” “Thank you.” The old bedframe in that room started in squeaking. “Go on to bed, David. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, I think.” “Couldn’t get to sleep till they finish their prayer meeting anyway,” I said, as the bed squeaking was drowned out by cries to God, and Sterling laughed. “Makes you wonder what you sound like, doesn’t it?” “Callan and I had to be quiet.” “I understand. Hard to hide all the time, isn’t it?” He sighed. “Not that I could imagine you putting on a public show, mind, but I could wish we lived in a world where you and your love could walk down the street holding hands, or kiss goodbye.” “Who’s Jack?” “Senator John Dupree, the junior—no probably senior by now—senior senator from the state of Georgia.” “Were you two together?” The noises from the couple stopped and the night went quiet again. “As much as I was ‘with’ anyone. Fidelity was never high on my priority list. And Jack was very married. He didn’t care how many pretty boys I

took to bed; I didn’t care about his wife or the fact that nobody could ever know about us.” His voice sounded bitter, so without a second thought, I took his cold hand in mine, and squeezed it. “All right, yes. I cared. But I accepted, as we have to. You understand.” “Oh, yes.” “It was the perfect relationship. Till we were caught, of course.” I imagined a younger Sterling being ripped out of the arms of a man who looked much like Nate Clemmons, the only important politician I knew. “That must have hurt, having to give him up.” He stood up and walked across the concrete porch to the wooden rail and leaned against it. “What hurt was how quick he turned on me, cut a deal to save himself. I raped him, he said.” He turned to face me. “Look at me, David. Jack is about your size, and was around forty then, at the height of his strength. I am essentially as you see me now. But everybody believed him; the trial was a farce.” “They usually are, ain’t they?” I remembered how the judge had looked at Callan, how Mister Hennessy of the R&A had listened to lies because those lies fit in with what he wanted to believe. “So it seems.” He turned back to face the night, and a gust of wind whistled around the corner of the motel and set the No Vacancy sign to swinging. “I barely escaped with my life then. If Magnus didn’t have a

hero complex and an utter disregard for his own best interest, I’d have been hanged. Nobody’s that lucky a second time. So please, remember your promise.” I stood up and come behind him to take him in my arms. It felt odd, holding a man who wasn’t Callan, but it seemed the right thing to do, and Sterling relaxed and just let me hold him for a while as we looked out at the stars, glowing like fireflies in the sky’s meadow. There was something soothing in giving comfort; it took me out of my own troubles and fears that had been eating at me since Josh’s story and reminded me of how fortunate I’d been really. “It was a good day when I met Magnus,” I said, thinking on how I’d likely be wandering the western roads, freezing, no idea where Callan and Mam was, friendless and alone. But instead I had friends, almost a new family; folks who were willing to risk their lives for me and for what was right. Though I knew Sterling’s heart lay heavy that night, I was filled with hope. “It was a good day when I met you,” he said, and turning, kissed me on the cheek and went off to bed.

Callan’s Journal I’ve been summoned to Brother Joe. Tomorrow, immediately after

chapel. I have hopes that some of my questions will be answered—how long we’re expected to stay here, what’s happening to Mrs. Anderson and the rest, and why there’s so much religion in this government installation. I know Moline was under martial law and constitutional rights were suspended, but as far as I am aware, separation of church and state is still the law of the rest of the land. I can almost hear David in my head telling me to keep those questions to myself and stay out of trouble, but I know if he was here himself, he’d be the first one asking. I have to find out as much as I can about this place, why it exists, how it works. Not for curiosity’s sake, but for survival. Yet while I want answers, that man’s eyes haunt my memory. My experience with fanatics has been limited, and what happened with my trial in Moline does not encourage. My home was a reasoned and logical place, and generally, the only passions that moved those around me were intellectual and sexual. Religion touches something primal in the human psyche, and there are times when I believe we travel those paths at our peril. --After chapel, I was told to go to the barracks that held Brother Joe’s office, so I did. It’s a barracks just like our own on the outside, but with a very different interior. There’s a large waiting area decorated with a six foot cross hung against a wall, surrounded by benches. Halls branch off in each direction, with doors set at regular intervals along each. Though I

could not see sign of a fireplace or stove, Brother Joe’s building was far warmer than ours. I haven’t written much about the temperature here and how it’s affecting me because frankly, there’s nothing I can do about it, and even I don’t want to read endless whines about the weather, but it’s been hell and it’s only October. Entering this building, for the first time, I felt comfortable. I expect that was done deliberately, to put us at ease. I let my guard down. I had been waiting for an undetermined amount of time when Brother Joe almost exploded out of one of the side halls, a whirlwind of energy. Close up, he is even more intimidating than he is at Chapel. I hadn’t realized how large a man he is—as big as David, only where David gives the impression of strength and comfort, Joseph Stroble looms, menaces. He called my name, and I followed him down a hall into a spacious office where I saw the source of the warmth. A coal stove, complete with pipes leading up into the rafters and out of the room. Stroble is, I believe, at least self-educated in human psychology. From the placement of my chair in relation to his desk to the decorations on his wall (tasteful and religiously neutral art, landscapes mostly of warm places) to the way he seemed to instinctively reach out with his left hand to take mine instead of fumbling like most men do, he seemed determined to put me at ease, to gain my trust. Only those eyes seemed beyond his control, and they were sharp as flint as he watched me sink

into the chair, the first comfortable chair I’d taken since leaving Moline. “So. Tell me about yourself.” He had papers in front of him, presumably the information I’d given when I’d been processed, and I repeated that. Name, age, place of birth. Trade, both former and most recent. “I know all that.” He pushed the papers aside to tent his fingers together in front of his chin. “Tell me about you. Your life, your hopes, your dreams, your fears. Your loves and hates and joys and pains.” I don’t speak of most of those things to anyone, not even David, so was less than forthcoming. “My hopes and dreams? I hope and dream I can get out of here.” He laughed. “And so you can, in good time. You don’t mind if I call you Callan, do you? Callan, you’re going to find that you alone hold the key to your freedom. This is not a prison.” “I suppose it was all the armed guards that confused me.” He waved a hand towards his window which looked out on the courtyard. “There are no prisons anymore. Beulahland has some of the trappings of imprisonment, but this is a place of healing.” Since he brought the subject up, I pursued it. “Then I would appreciate it if you’d send a healer to see Dennis Burney. I think he might have TB.”

He sighed. “What are our bodies save for vessels to contain our immortal souls? Flesh is weak, transitory. Our healing here is of the spirit. I offer Dennis all the medicine he needs in here.” He put his hand on a black leather Bible on his desk. “He has thus far been recalcitrant, has preferred Satan’s bittersweet lies to God’s truth. But we’re not here to talk about him. He’s old and well settled into the ways of sin, but you’re a young man. God has work for you to do in this world, and here at Beulahland we want you to be free to do it. Free from sin, free from pain, free from the fear of condemnation of your fellow man and the even greater fear of eternal damnation.” I wanted to break in and question him, but he kept on, rolling over me as though I wasn’t even there. “Sodomy is a sin, a grave sin, but it’s also an illness, and one we can cure. The initial impulse is not your fault. I’ve seen dozens, no, hundreds of cases like you, young men led astray by their elders, often lacking proper fathers, raised without respect for the Word of God. That you succumbed to temptation is not surprising, nor is it unforgivable if you turn away now and truly repent.” “First of all, I don’t believe anything in my past made me this way. There’s evidence from Before that sexual orientation is genetic. So even if I wanted to change, which I don’t, I couldn’t, any more than you could stop wanting your wife, assuming you have one.” His eyes narrowed, but I fixed my stare on a container of pencils on his desk and pushed on. “I also don’t understand why a government facility allows

you to preach at us. We have a Constitutional right to separation of church and state in this country, and anyway, as far as I know, Jesus didn’t say one word about homosexuality, though he said an awful lot about false teachers and hypocrites.” I thought for a moment that I had gone too far, and remembered how Dominic had been when he returned from seeing this man. But he smiled, and I’d swear it was genuine. “You may not believe this, Callan, but I welcome your questions. Questions are the first step to dialogue, and it is only through dialogue with me and with the Holy Spirit working through me that you will find the freedom and peace you seek. Our facility here, along with its sister camps, has a special mandate from the government. We’re truly not here to punish. But we are here to separate the wheat from the chaff, the sheep from the goats. Most of the people who pass through this camp are good people, true refugees torn from their homes under grievous circumstances. We care for them, give them what they need and send them on to new lives.” I hope that’s true, for Mrs. Anderson and Ruby and Delia’s sake. “But for those with a strong sin nature, like yourself, what we offer is far more than a new life. It’s a new soul, a truly clean slate. You can’t do that without God, Callan. It’s just impossible, even the government sees that, which is why they’ve authorized this experiment I’m doing. You have forty days, as Christ spent forty days in the wilderness, forty days to pray and contemplate what you want, and who you are. Not this false

self, this sin-loving self, but your true self. At the end of that forty days, all you have to do is sincerely repent, beg forgiveness, and the door will open and you’ll be free. On that day, I will rejoice.” There were tears in his eyes. He is very good at what he does, and I think he believed what he told me, which makes him all the more terrifying. But I was fairly sure that I already knew quite well who and what I truly was, and to ‘repent,’ even knowing I was lying, would be to deny my truest self and to make a mockery of everything David and I had. “What happens if I don’t?” I asked. Stroble sighed and stood up, coming to stand behind me and rest his hand heavily on my shoulder. “They always ask. I wouldn’t show you if you didn’t ask, my son. Each time someone new sits where you are, I pray that they’ll just accept my words as spoken, but they always, always ask. Come with me.” I had no choice, so I followed him out of his office, down the length of the converted barracks into a small room set against the exterior wall. There was no heat in this one, no furnishings save for a wooden table with straps attached and some high counters that reminded me of Jeannie’s examination room. On the counters were jars and bottles, ropes and clamps, and what appeared to be medical instruments, including hypodermic syringes and something I recognized only too well. A bone saw. If Stroble’s office was designed to induce trust and relaxation, there was no question what this cold place was supposed to

make me feel. Fear. And it worked. He walked the length of the counters, touching bottles, moving scalpels into neat alignment. Giving a lover’s caress to his tools of torture, then coming to rest behind me, his hand clamped hard on my shoulder. “We do many things in this room, Callan, including some that may cause you temporary pain, but our purpose in doing those things is always to heal. To free you from sin.” He moved closer, whispering, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. “And I will do whatever is necessary to accomplish that goal. Just as a healer may cause momentary pain cleaning and stitching a cut to prevent the agony of infection, I will scrape out the filth from your heart and fill it with God’s love.” I stood frozen as the tiniest pinprick pinched at my neck. “This is just a reminder, really, that you are not in control here. God is in control, and I am his instrument.” The injection slid home. There were many drugs given Before that had nausea as a side effect. Though some are still made down in Mexico and South America, they’re far too expensive here. Someone with a lot of gold is behind Brother Joe. I became violently, horribly sick. I dropped to my knees on that cold tile floor, trying to balance myself with my left hand, failing. Falling. He

looked down at me with what I can only describe as a mixture of compassion and desire. “Remember, Callan. You never need to see this room again.” Then he left. I tried to right myself, but before I could even rise to my knees, out of nowhere, a blow to my stomach sent me gasping back to the floor. A soldier, whom I hadn’t even noticed, stood grinning over me. “Brother Joe is God’s instrument. And I’m his.” He kicked me again. I didn’t try to fight, as the nausea of the drug was made ten times worse. They brought me back to the barracks. Dominic was waiting, a look of abject pity and understanding on his face. He held out his hand, and he eased me into a bunk. Everyone’s eyes were on me, all pitying, even Ira Treeby, and I remembered what Stroble had said. “They always ask.” I tried to speak, but my throat was raw and aching, and Dominic pulled the light sheet over me. I became aware that I wasn’t cold and realized I was in Dennis Burney’s bed, closest to the fire. “You sleep some, all right? It’ll feel better soon.” Wes Adams said softly, “Forty days. Mark them off; I have. Forty days, then freedom.” But even after that taste of hell, I doubted I would be able to give Joseph Stroble what he wanted of me. I tried to say that, but was half asleep, already, I think, so the words caught in my throat and died there.

I slept for a time, and when I awoke, it was dark. I’d been moved to my own bed, and Dominic was sitting beside me. When I stirred and opened my eyes, he smiled. “You okay?” “I think.” And it was true that the churning in my gut had ceased. I felt almost normal. “Guards?” I asked, remembering the rules. “We have a couple of hours.” I remembered he had been here for months. Nearly twice forty days. “How do you stand it?” “It isn’t always like that. Sometimes it’s just talk, sometimes it’s even good things, special food, treats. And sometimes it’s pain. You never know which it will be.” “That makes it worse. Are you ever tempted…” “To give in? Not so far. Perhaps it’s because of where I grew up, how open we were… I can’t imagine myself denying the truth.” Very carefully, lightly, he stroked one finger along my jaw line and down my neck and over my Adam’s apple. The sensation of it traveled downward and I imagined that finger tracing fire down my chest and belly and lower. I gasped, looking up at Dominic. “I want...I need...” I couldn’t say the words, but the need was insistent. David won’t understand, but it wasn’t love, wasn’t even really lust in the sense of wanting another person, but

my body needed release at that moment in a way that defies explanation. “Shh,” Dominic whispered. “I know. I followed Dominic into the bathroom. There’s an outhouse behind the barracks, but we bathe weekly in a long narrow room with a tub and a pump and a small stove. It reminds me of the bathroom in our wing of Zack’s house, but I must put that thought from my mind. Dominic positioned me against an inside wall, near to the stove which was banked for the night but still producing warmth, and he had my shirt unbuttoned and my trousers down before I realized what was happening. “You don’t have to—” I started to say, but my words were swallowed up by his mouth, devouring me lightly, if that makes any sense at all, tasting, nibbling gently, exploring its way down my body until it reached its destination, for whether by instinct or experience, Dominic seemed to understand that his hand would be too rough and it was his mouth that I wanted. He took me in completely, moving with skill and delicacy as I leaned back against the wall, my hand resting on his wiry red hair, my whole body alive with pleasure, as it had been filled with pain that morning. What I did with Dominic left me feeling healed and whole and right. David will not understand. I needed what Dominic gave me, gave freely

without expecting return, a gift that anchored me to my past and connected me to my future. If he can stand against Brother Joe, then so can I.

Chapter 17

David Anderson I’d come a long way from the country boy who didn’t recognize Callan’s desire when it stared me in the face. I knew Sterling wanted me. I’d seen it in his eyes, and heard it in his voice, but that night, my dreams were troubling. Dreams of Callan turning to Sterling in my arms, and when I woke covered in sweat and breathing hard, I understood I wanted him as well. It was a strange thing, feeling desire for a man older than my Pa, as old as Jeannie Findlay, I figured. He was a fine looking man, no question. But more than his outward appearance, it was the person beneath that I was coming to care for. Yet how could I want Sterling while still loving Callan so much? Made no sense. I didn’t love Sterling, leastwise I didn’t think I did, certainly didn’t want to make a life with him as I thought I did with Callan, and yet my body had responded to the thought of him, and part of me regretted not inviting him back to the wagon. He’d have come. I forced my mind away from it, refused to play out that scene in my head. We

drove into Washington today; thinking on such matters was a distraction I ought not allow. But the dream still lingered in my mind and body. We left the inn early, even before the sun was fully up, our little row of wagons following one upon the other towards the city. We’d be crossing over into Washington from the east, the bridge that Magnus said was busiest so that we might cross without question or trouble. Sterling stayed in the wagon, either sleeping or hiding, maybe both. It pained me that he was so full of worry over this trip. I suppose it was because I was young, but as the sun come up in a blaze of yellow and the morning fog burned away, my spirits lifted. With luck, by the end of the day, we’d be close to knowing where Callan and Mam was, I’d be seeing a famed city that we’d talked about in Moline in the same awed voices we’d talked of Camelot or Jerusalem, and I had no doubt that Magnus and I’d be able to look out for Sterling well enough. I started to sing an old song my Grandmam had taught me, and after a time, Sterling climbed out to sit beside me, not talking, just sitting in companionable silence as we come over a rise and I saw the river, flat and smooth, and on the other side, the walls. I had been expecting city walls like out of the book we’d had back at school on the Trojan War, tall and smooth and shining, with guard towers. What I saw was more like what you’d get if a hundred buildings collapsed in place, leaving their rubble piled where they lay, and then the gaps was filled in with junked cars, twisted pieces of metal, anything hard that the rain

wouldn’t rot away, just shoved into place to plug up the holes. A wall of debris twice the height of a man. “My God,” I whispered. “And you were going to climb that,” Sterling said. “It’s been tried, you know. The piles aren’t stable, pick the wrong footing and half the wall will come down on top of you.” I just stared at it. I’d have tried for Callan’s sake, but I was mortal glad Sterling had changed his mind. “They’ve got proper walls on the south approach, or at least they used to. Pieces of stone from some of the monuments. But here, it’s mostly a jumble. Serves its purpose, though.” It surely did. Between the river, which seemed to have but one bridge, and the rubble walls, nobody was getting in that city without going through the gate, which I saw was guarded by soldiers, half a dozen of them or more. Beside me Sterling tensed up. “It’s going to be all right,” I said. But his hands clenched into tight fists and his lips drew in tight, so I took the reins in one hand and covered his left hand with my right. “For luck,” I said, and kissed his cheek, intending just a light brush of lips over skin, but then he turned so our lips met. He kissed me. Nobody but Callan had ever kissed me like Sterling did then. He tasted of apples and autumn, and it went through me like a bolt of lightning, thrust me right back into that dream, and my hand moved on its own to run through his

hair and over his shoulders. He pulled away. “I’m sorry, David. I shouldn’t have done that.” I stayed silent. I didn’t dare touch him again, for we was within sight of the guards now, but I desperately wanted to, to let him know that though I was mightily confused, what he’d done was fine. Finally, we stopped at the gate. “Pass, please.” The soldier in charge, sounding bored, took a thick piece of paper from Sterling and barely glanced at it. “How many are you bringing in on this pass, sir?” “Seven, including myself.” Sterling’s voice shook a little, but I figured the soldiers would take it for the cold. “Your purpose in entering the city?” “Theatrical performance.” Without comment, they waved us through. I felt Sterling relax some as we passed beyond the piles of rubble into the city. Time stretched out, and what might have been two friends on a wagon ride had become something more as our thighs touched on the bench seat. Sterling’s breathing, rhythmic and deliberate, drowned out the pounding of my heart. It felt like the way Mam used to spin her yarn, drawing the wool out tighter and tighter, twisting and turning till it was just right. But if you twisted too much, if you let it go on too long, it would break. I didn’t want what was starting between Sterling and me

to break. “You got nothing to apologize for,” I finally said, feeling stupid but not knowing what else to say. “I’d like to do that again. Kiss you, I mean. If you want.” “If I want,” he repeated slowly. “Oh, yes. I want. But there’s what I want to do and what I should do, and here and now is not the time or place to talk of either.” That much was true, as Lisa was hollering at me to move and Magnus was already far ahead down the street, so I flicked the reins and the team set off, and though I was surrounded by such wonders as I never dreamed I’d see, the only thing I could see was Sterling’s grey eyes. --One thing I did notice was that the street we was on was clear of snow. The side streets branching off from it was covered about knee deep, but somebody, likely a whole bunch of somebodies, had taken the trouble to shovel this one off. Houses lined the street, but they weren’t like any homes I’d ever seen. They looked like houses wearing coats, metal or brick or wooden coats that didn’t fit too well. Most of them didn’t seem to have proper chimneys and smoke was drifting out of cracks in doors and holes in roofs. Sterling must have read the confusion on my face. “This is where the

poor live. Sandwich houses. Most of these buildings were shops Before, the poor devils who have to live here add extra walls for insulation. You’d find the space between filled up with just about anything they can find to create additional warmth—two layers and a filling, like a sandwich, you see. They’re dreadful. Open fires burn in the center of rooms, windows long boarded up so there’s hardly any light. Horrible conditions.” He shuddered. I thought about those fires. There weren’t no trees anywhere to be seen. “What do they burn?” “Coal or firewood is usually part of a laborer’s pay here.” A boy about Delia’s age had come out of one of the houses and was watching the traffic pass. He was in shirt sleeves as though the cold of this day weren’t nothing to him. Which I suppose was true, and I remembered how Callan had found the climate in Moline. Guess it’s all in what you’re used to. “Where do the rich folk live?” I couldn’t imagine the politicians and powerful men who run the government living in these sandwich houses. “Underground, mostly. We’ll be coming up on the Archive Station soon. I expect that’s where Magnus is planning on stabling. There’s a huge livery there, and then we’ll find lodgings.” Underground. Now it was my turn to tense up, for though I knew that most of Washington’s business and life went on beneath the earth, I

hadn’t considered what that would mean. For the time we was here, I’d be living underground, closed in, with the weight of the earth and all these buildings atop me. No breeze, no windows, no way to step outside for even a second’s worth of fresh air. The sandwich houses looked mighty fine to me just then. “David?” Sterling was looking at me funny. “Are you all right?” “I don’t much care for caves and the like. Knowing all that rock’s above me weighs on my chest so I can’t breathe proper.” But it was for my family, and if Sterling could put aside his fear and come back to this city he hated, I could put aside my foolish panic. “I’ll be all right.” “I never knew you were claustrophobic.” He slid his arm around my waist and squeezed lightly. “And here I thought you were perfect.” I smiled. “Not hardly. I’m too quick to speak up when I ought better to keep silent, and I’m stubborn as a mule, and sometimes, well, sometimes I expect too much of people I love.” “Are you talking about Callan?” “Him, and my folks, too. I wanted my Mam to understand and accept things she just couldn’t. I made my Pa out to be some kind of a god, thought he could fix anything, even things no mortal man could fix.” “There’s nothing wrong with a boy thinking his father is special, David. And as to Callan, well, young love is blind to flaws. If your relationship

with him had been allowed to develop anything like normally, you’d have worked it out over time. You still can.” “I know that now, too late,” I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “But the burden I put on him has had a high price.” “For both of you,” Sterling said. “You’re very young. I look at you, David, and I see myself at your age. Though I was much less than you are. I was flighty and frivolous and spoiled.” “I ain’t so much,” I mumbled as I reined in the horses not far from Magnus, who was talking to the largest man I ever seen. Sterling caught hold of my arm as I moved to climb down off the wagon. “This place brings out the absolute worst in me. I’m going to need you here. Keep me level, all right?” I almost warned him. I might let him down as I had Callan and Zack. But he weren’t asking me to be a hero, just a friend. “All right.” As I was turned away from the small crowd at the livery and nobody could see, I pressed a kiss on his long, elegant fingers. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Callan’s Journal I haven’t written in a while, mostly because every day has been like

the one before, so why waste paper? The same chapel service, the same food, the same people. During the mandatory exercises each afternoon, more milling around a half-frozen muddy yard, I’ve gotten to know my fellow inmates. Some are women. There are more of them than males kept here, and many are incredibly kind. I’m disgusted at how mothers have had their children taken from them. A couple of the women are pregnant—this should be a time of hope for them, but I think they dread giving birth knowing what will happen to the newborns. I’ve been able to practice some healing, though without any medicines or even soap, it’s hard. There’s no way I could ever give a proper examinations in the yard, so I offer only advice, bandage a few cuts, wrap swollen ankles twisted while walking over the rutted ground. I’m getting quite adept working one-handed, though I’ve no shortage of helpers. We’re packed in close, breathing each others’ air, and every sneeze and cough is shared by a dozen or more people. Add that to poor nutrition, and I really fear that we’re ripe for an epidemic. I’ve seen no sign of proper healers, though I’m sure they have them for the guards. If I could convince Dominic that soap would be a good thing for us, that cleanliness is next to godliness… But would Brother Joe might show some compassion? There’s some disturbance at the door. More later.

--I’ve got my soap, and a stash of bandages and most precious of all, ointment! Of course, it might not be an antibiotic. Could be someone’s make-up or brewed in the kitchen, but it’s better than mud. The disturbance at the door was one of the soldiers. He directed everybody out for work assignments. I haven’t got one yet, and asked if I should go and help the others. The soldier grinned most unpleasantly. “I’ve got special plans for you.” As the others left, I could feel my heart pounding, my stomach churning, but the minute the last man was out the door, the soldier stopped smiling and collapsed on one of the unoccupied beds. “One of the officers told me one of the sodomites—the one with one arm—was a healer.” He pulled up his trousers to reveal a bandage dripping with blood. “I need this stitched up.” He looked at my one good arm. “Can you do that?” I nodded. “But why don’t you see the medic?” He blushed. “Because I don’t have to explain myself to the likes of you.” I bristled at that and told him I’d need more than spit and dirty sheets to help him. That’s when he pulled a cloth sack from his coat pocket, spilled out surgical thread, needles, a large roll of bandages, a tube of ointment and a cake of soap.

“I’ll help it I can keep the extra supplies.” Then I realized what he’d said. One of the officers told me. “And you bring a message to Captain Morris for me.” It wasn’t easy working in those conditions, and I had to ask his help in threading the needle, but at the end, his wound was cleaned, closed, and bandaged. “I might be tellin’ a few friends about you. The medics is good enough, but they got to tell the officers every damn thing. Sometimes a man wants his private life kept private.” “They can come to me but they’ll need to bring supplies. Enough to patch them and extra for payment.” I scrawled Daniel a quick note to let him know I was alive, telling him it was clever to send the soldier, and asked him to look in on David’s family. The soldier left, satisfied, and a bit later, my barrackmates returned. Max came right over, and I hade to assure him the soldier hadn’t abused me. His grin at the small stash of medical supplies was infectious. --The soldier kept his word—and brought me a note from Daniel. The Andersons are fine, and so is he. I feel better, knowing someone out there knows I’m here and cares.

Chapter 18

David Anderson Magnus worked out a deal to stable the horses and store the wagons, then while the rest of the company stayed with the wagons, he and I descended down a long set of rickety metal steps into Washington underground. I’d been expecting torches and smoky darkness, but like the cave with the machine, this place was lit with false light. In this case the lights hanging from the ceilings and strung along the walls was so bright they made me forget I was deep under the earth – in fact, I stopped to stare around me that Magnus nearly run me over. “Sorry,” I said, moving on. “I just weren’t expecting it to be so bright.” “It’s pretty remarkable. Costs them a fortune to keep it going, which they do, pretty much twenty-four hours a day. But I can’t imagine being down here without light.” Nor could I. In truth, I was having enough trouble being down in that hole even with light, but I gritted my teeth and followed Magnus

through the large cavern which I think used to hold some kind of train, then into a side passage - narrow, alley-like. It twisted and turned, moving with a steady but gradual downhill slant till it opened out into a kind of underground road, complete with shops and buildings set into the side of it, and people, more people than I’d seen in my entire life. People walking back and forth on their business, dressed in fine clothes; men in suits, women in the kind of dresses that showed that these fine ladies likely never went outside. If they had, they’d have had pants under their skirts just like the working women back home had. Or like Jeannie Findlay, forgo the skirts altogether. “These tunnels started with the old Metro system plus some underground levels they had on most government buildings, not just basements, but sub-basements, bunkers, shelters,” Magnus explained. “As I understand it, it took about twenty-five years to connect them, add more passageways and hollow out caverns to make places for the powerful to live in relative warmth and comfort during the cold seasons.” We turned off the large street and started up an incline. “The more important or richer you are, the deeper you live. Those people on the surface? They are little more than slaves when it comes down to it. Ah, here we are.” He’d stopped in front of a large archway. “Wait here,” he told me as he stepped through the arch.

I stared around. This part of the city weren’t near as fine as where we’d been. Most of the people about seemed to be working, selling food off carts or manning shops, or else loitering around the corners in a way that put me in mind of how Elmer Casteel, the town bully, used to hang about with his gang looking for trouble. The street here was dirty, and though the air had seemed remarkably fresh before, here there was a stale smell of sweat and urine that, along with the thought of being so deep under the earth, had me on the edge of nausea. I realized I was staring at the people around me in a most forward and rude way, so turned back to look at the arch Magnus had gone through. It led into a large, well-lit space where Magnus stood in front of a counter, talking to a woman bundled in an worn man’s coat. He handed her something, money, I thought, and she passed something back to him, then he come out, smiling. “We have three rooms and part of a surface storage area for the props and costumes not too far from where we’ll be performing, assuming everything goes to plan. That’s good, as it means we can transport things directly from the stable to the storage without going up and down those damn stairs.” I was real glad to hear that as I figured most of the toting and carrying would fall to me and lugging boxes of props the great distance we’d come would have been exhausting. “Three rooms?”

We’d started back the way we came. “Yes. I suppose Maddy would have preferred a private room, but as she’s not paying for any of this, she’ll have to make do.” It struck me that all this was like to be very expensive, and it was mostly for my benefit. “I have some money, not a lot, but I could help out if you needed.” He smiled. “Thank you, not necessary. I have enough for now, and Sterling is, well, to say rich would not be an understatement, and he’s offered to foot the whole bill for as long as we need to stay here. We’ll manage.” Rich? “He said he had a little put by.” “A little.” He snorted. “Right. Anyway, we have more than enough for rooms; one for Esteban and Patricia, one for the girls, one for you and Sterling. I’ll sleep in the stable.” “Shouldn’t I do that?” I couldn’t wrap my mind around how I felt about sharing a room with Sterling. We’d shared a wagon for quite a time, but that was different. That had been separate cots, paper thin walls with no true privacy at all. But this would be a proper room with walls and a door that locked, and a feeling of dread excitement stirred in me. “No. It’s not safe. I don’t want you or Esteban there. This place is a snake pit, David. That stable has security, but, to be honest with you, I

don’t trust the livery man as far as I can throw him.” He stopped and frowned at me. “You don’t mind sharing with Sterling, do you? I thought you two had got rather close lately.” “We have.” I tried to keep misery out of my voice. How could I explain we’d gotten closer than I’d ever intended and my feelings and desires was all jumbled up. Magnus looked at me like he was trying to decide whether to speak, then just shook his head and walked on. I wasn’t sure if I was sorry he’d kept quiet or grateful. Part of me wanted to confess my confusion to someone. I surely couldn’t talk to Sterling about it. Esteban wouldn’t understand me; Patricia would, and that would have been the problem—talking to her would be like talking to my Mam. No way would I ever talk to Maddy about something so personal, so that left Lisa and Magnus, or keeping my own counsel and trying to work things out on my own. I hadn’t such a great record of success with that. We drove the wagons across a few city blocks to where the upper levels of the inn were located, and then I spent a long couple of hours with Esteban, Magnus and Lisa, unloading crates and boxes. That weren’t too bad, being on the surface and in the air. Cold, yes, but as I was working, I barely noticed it. But then we descended back down into the depths of the inn, carrying personal belongings to our rooms, four levels below the street.

The room Sterling and I were to share was hollowed out of the ground and judging by how well it was constructed, done Before. It was small, with one double bed, a table and two chairs and a dresser with a mirror that was cracked in three places so my reflection seemed to shimmer and move, which was just what my stomach was doing. I’d finally stopped moving and was taking in that I was living thirty feet or more under the dirt and it felt like the walls was closing in. No windows, no connection to the surface save for an air shaft set in the ceiling, and the ceiling was lower than I was used to; so low that if I’d been much taller, I’d could have stood on tiptoes and touched it with the top of my head. Though I knew I ought to be unpacking and helping Sterling get his own things settled, I lay down on that bed and closed my eyes, trying to picture trees and grass and mountains, trying to feel real air, not the stale stuff that was forced into the room through whatever Before machinery they had running. My body ached from hard work and wanted sleep, so I tried to school my mind to calm, but panic crept up my throat. I heard voices. Sterling and Magnus, I thought, and then the door closed. “David, are you all right?” Sterling sat down on the bed, which creaked something awful. “Guess I’ll get used to it. I just wish there was a window or something. I miss seeing the world.” I knew I sounded like a whining child. The bed lifted as Sterling rose, then I felt my boots being unlaced and pulled off and a blanket tucked around me.

“Sleep for a bit. I have an idea. I’ll be back, and then we’ll get something to eat.” Fears or not, I was asleep before the door closed behind him. --I slept fitfully, aware even in sleep that I was in a strange enclosed place, and my dreams was filled dark things I don’t care to bring to mind. What brought me awake was a smell of food that left my mouth watering and stomach rumbling. I opened my eyes and saw, not the bare wall, but a tangle of green, a summer forest with blue hazed mountains in the distance, clouds lying low across a sky so deep blue it seemed almost black. It was a painting done so true to life it could have been a window onto my own home place. I sat up and turned to Sterling, who was sitting at the table looking worried. “It’s not a window. I can’t give you that, I’m afraid, but I thought maybe this would help. If not, if it’s too much a reminder of what you’ve lost, please tell me.” “No, it’s perfect.” I saw he’d hung another one on the opposite wall, this one a mountain stream so clear and crisp that I could taste the water, could hear the rushing of the water over the flat stones. “Thank you.” The food smell drifted back into my consciousness again. “That smells mighty good.” He held out a sandwich wrapped in paper. “Beef and cheese with onions

off a cart. It’s not much—there are restaurants in this area that we can go to if you’d prefer. Magnus and Lisa and Maddy are off to get our performers’ license. They’re eating near the Capitol and going to take in some sights, I think. Esteban told me they wanted some time alone, so we’re on our own.” I came to the table and took the sandwich. It was wonderful—I’d never known food could taste so good. And the room, with the pictures added, seemed more a home and less a hole. “This is great, thank you. Why didn’t you go with the others?” He put his sandwich down. “Well, I’d rather stay with you, but on top of that, I can’t. Too likely that someone there will recognize me. I’m going to have to come up with a false name and only appear on stage heavily made up or in costume.” “Ain’t it been long enough that they’d forget? I thought crimes that weren’t murder had kind of limits on them, anyway.” “Statutes of limitations. Yes. Except that’s only for putting someone on trial. I was already convicted. The only way I can appear here as myself is if I’m pardoned by the President, which is highly unlikely. So expect me to be spending a lot of time hiding in here.” He sounded so discouraged that I put down my sandwich and took his hand. He gripped back and our eyes met. “David,” he started to say, but I leaned across the table and kissed him again.

He pulled away and stood up, facing the picture of the stream. “I don’t want your pity.” “Ain’t pity.” I kept my voice soft like I was talking to a horse I aimed to gentle. “I don’t rightly know what it is, but it ain’t pity.” “You might think, because I’m so much older, that I don’t have the same needs and desires you do. I certainly would have thought so at your age, but you’d be wrong in that. I can’t hide it even if I wanted to—I want you. You’re a fountain of youth to me. Being with you, talking to you, touching you reminds me that I’m a man, not just some old broken down fool.” “You’re not—” “When I was your age… well, if some man three times my age had expressed desire for me, I’d have been disgusted. If you want different sleeping arrangements, I can well afford to get a fourth room, and—” I moved to him and embraced him, leaning down to press my face in his soft, greying hair. “I ain’t at all disgusted. I’m mighty confused, Sterling, horribly confused so that I don’t know if I’m going or coming most of the time.” He leaned back against me, resting, and laughed softly. “Not coming, I think. Not yet, anyway.” I laughed too, and pulled him back onto the bed, where I propped

myself up on my elbow and looked at him. Yes, you could tell he wasn’t young any longer, but the lines of his face were fine and his body was fit and handsome, flat chest and belly, slender waist, and below, the truth of his desire. I hadn’t ever touched any man there, save for myself and Callan. I wondered if Sterling was different. Without even thinking, I reached out, tracing down his chest to the waist of his trousers. Sterling’s breath stopped, and I knew this was a moment of decision, one he was letting me make on my own, no pressure. He had spoken his words and made his desire plain. His offer was on the table, as Zack would have said it. The next step would have to be mine. I knew that if I turned away, we’d still be friends; things would go on as they had been, but surely the tension between us would remain and build until something broke. And I didn’t want to turn away. Callan. I called him to mind, the wheat gold hair, the handsome face, so different from Sterling but just as beautiful to me. All he’d been through for me, and what he’d taken on, taking care of my Mam and sisters while I could not, even after I’d rejected him. How could I think of touching another man? And yet, I knew Callan—he wouldn’t want me to be lonely, would he? Callan’s ring was in my pocket, not on my finger, for we’d parted badly. I would repair the breach between us if I could, but in the meantime, I could give some comfort, and get some as well, from Sterling, who was a good man. My hand moved abruptly lower and caressed and massaged the bulge

swelling Sterling’s trousers. It was as if my action brought him back to life, he groaned my name, thrust upwards into my hand as he rolled to face me and we got lost in each other’s lips and limbs and bodies.

Callan’s Journal We got three newcomers today. One of them, Harry Butler, told me they’re supposedly the last train in this year—the tracks will soon be buried by snow and we’ll be cut off. I hope there’s enough food to last out the winter. Harry used to direct a church choir, before his conviction, obviously, and I suggested he try to start up some kind of singing group. There are a number of us who can carry a tune, and if we don’t all know the same songs, we can learn. Anything to pass the time. --My little clinic is becoming quite well stocked. I wouldn’t have thought so many soldiers would be so eager to avoid official notice of their illnesses and injuries, but apparently they are. With what I’ve been ‘paid,’ I’ve been able to do quite a bit of good here. At first I intended only to practice my skills here and with the women, but even thieves and rapists need patching up, and I find I can’t say no to anyone who needs me. Being a healer is all I have, and I can’t let it go.

Max has stepped in and fills the same role that Ruby Anderson did in Moline. He’s very skilled—I asked if he had any training, but he said not. Just natural talent, I guess. Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it. He still hasn’t told me any of his story. But then, I haven’t asked, nor told much of mine. I can’t talk about David here, not even to Dominic. Especially not to Dominic. Apart from the healing, the days go by slowly. I see Brother Joe twice a week…or maybe it’s more. Despite my desire to mark off the days or write something every day, I’m losing track of time. We just talk, but I’m still in that forty day grace period. Even so, I’m always aware of that room at the end of the hall. Dom often comes back from his appointments drained of life, moving gingerly like an old man. I do what I can for him, of course, but it’s no way near enough. He’s coming in – must stop for now. --One of the guards whose broken finger I’d splinted made it possible for me to go into the women’s barracks and spend an afternoon doing the type of healing work that can’t be done in a courtyard. Most of the problems there seem to be connected to diet. The pregnant women at least need better food, but there’s nothing I can do about that—I’ve tried asking the guards to pay in food, but they say they can’t, it’s too

carefully rationed. I may try to ask Daniel—am still getting notes back and forth to him, though they say almost nothing of consequence, probably in case they’re discovered. Dominic came back from Brother Joe’s today with a gift for me. He’d been left alone in the office while Brother J. attended to some emergency, so knowing how much I miss my library, he grabbed a book off a shelf, smuggled it out in his coat. I was so touched by his thoughtfulness and the risk he was willing to take for me. We both had a laugh, though, when he pulled out the book and saw the title: The

Clinical Treatment of Homosexuals. It’s a horrific book. After Dominic left me to play cards with a few of the newcomers, I paged through it—published Before, and far Before, I think, as it views gays and lesbians as no better than animals. I’d seen similar writings back in Florida—the Institute’s library had some very old journals that I spent some time going through back when I first came to understand myself—I’d read anything on the subject I could get my hands on back then. What worries me is why a book like that is on Brother Joe’s shelf in the first place. Torture and brutality I expect and can survive—there’s not much physically he can do to me that’s worse than I’ve already experienced, but some of the techniques in this book can do more than destroy bodies.

--Wes Adams had his forty-first day today and answered the altar call. Sean and Mike have just gone over forty, but Sean confided in me that Brother Joe’s told him that he and Mike will be separated if they repent, for the sake of their ‘immortal souls,’ so I doubt they will be following Wes’s example. Dominic continues to hold out, as does Max. The other men, I either don’t know well enough to ask, or with Ira T., don’t care. I wish he’d go – he makes my skin crawl, and Max admitted a similar reaction yesterday. He says Ira’s always watching him, and now that I know to look for it, I think he’s right.

Chapter 19

David Anderson Oh, it was so blessed fine, so good. It seemed ages since I’d touched Callan in an act of love, and I had forgotten how much I missed it, so I let myself go, just lay back under Sterling’s ministrations as he eased the clothes from my body. I tried to put out the lights, but Sterling wanted to see me. He devoured me with his eyes before he turned his skill of hand and mouth to my pleasure. He was very skilled and so gentle. It almost shames me to say it, for I love Callan truly and think him a wonderful lover, but Sterling seemed to be able to read my mind, or maybe it was my body, and it seemed that every move he made, every touch of his hands (and oh, I felt guilt for reveling in the feel of two hands), every kiss and caress was done by design, building pleasure in me like a child stacks blocks one on the other in trembling tension till the tower comes crashing to the ground. By that same instinct, Sterling seemed to know where to stop, knew that there was things I wanted to save for Callan alone. At last, we lay quiet, just holding each other and that was almost the best part of all. I had no

idea whether it was morning or night, didn’t know how long we’d stayed there, but I was content. And somehow, shy. I wanted to speak, but the words caught in my throat. “That was so fine.” My words left me feeling dumb. “Would be glad to do it again.” He chuckled. “Oh, to be young again. Sorry, David, I think I’m done for the night. Did you want to go out, see some of the city?” “No, I’d rather stay here, just be with you.” I got up to shut out the light and his eyes followed me, and without thought, I put my hand down in front of my privates. “Don’t do that. You’ve got a splendid body, David, hasn’t anybody ever told you that?” Callan had. I didn’t know if I should mention him then and there. Mam raised me up with proper manners, but there weren’t any rules for something like this. So I just slid back under the covers and didn’t answer. “It’s all right to talk of… well, I know where your heart lies. I’m going to do all I can to help you find him, David, I promise that. This,” he caressed my shoulder, “won’t make any difference to it.” I chose to believe him, to close my eyes and nestle against him. ---

The next morning we gathered in the bottom level of the inn for breakfast. Food was served at a long low counter, eggs and bacon and griddle cakes put out in pans set over lanterns to keep them warm. We took however much we wanted, and drunk it with cups of coffee. Sterling paid extra so I could try orange juice from Florida. It was tart and made my tongue twist up some, but I liked the way the pulp felt in my mouth and how it tasted somehow sweet and sour at once, and most of all how it brought Callan to mind, for he’d have grown up drinking it. While we sat around a big table, Magnus went over the schedule he’d set for practice for the plays he’d planned for us. It would be mostly mornings, he said, leaving afternoons free for the other work, the real work for me. “Maddy,” Magnus said. “I want you to spend some time in the afternoons at the bars near the R&A building. Try to meet someone useful. Be friendly.” She raised her thinned eyebrows. “You’re just a dirty old man, you know that, don’t you?” “Up to you how friendly you want to be, darling. But you know what we need.” She sipped her coffee. I noticed she didn’t hardly eat a thing, where Lisa’s plate was piled high. “What I need is some exposure for my

career.” “You’ll get it here. Play your cards right and you could find a patron, get an appointment to one of the official theatre companies, even the National. Schmooze all you like, just do part of it for us, all right?” She nodded, looking thoughtful. Sterling, beside me, moved his leg so our thighs touched, and I flushed red and choked on my juice. “David, are you all right?” Lisa asked, but she was looking at Sterling when she said it. I weren’t sure how I felt about the others knowing about what was between us, but I just nodded. “Sterling, for now, I won’t ask you to…” Magnus was struggling for the words, something odd in a man who made his trade through his speech. “Won’t ask you to put yourself at any risk,” he finished. “There are a few people I can see, people I know I can trust.” “I’ll go with you,” I offered, but he shook his head right off. “No, these aren’t the kind of people I want you to meet if I can help it. Cal, take him out, see some of the city before it gets so cold you can’t get out. Explore the Capitol; go through what’s left of the museums, the Archive. This is a rare chance for you.” I started to protest, for I’d rather be with Sterling, see him safe as I’d

sworn I would, but the look in his face told me such protests would be foolish, so I agreed. “We would like to go, if it is all right, to the embassy, Magnus,” Patricia spoke. “After the practice, of course, and I promise to have all my work done first, but I am hoping the Ambassador may have word of my Juan.” “Of course. Do whatever you need to do, Patricia, Esteban. Good fortune to you both.” I knew just how they felt, not knowing where their loved one was. “Vaya con Dios,” I said awkwardly, using the few words of Spanish that Patricia had taught me along the road. Go with God. Who I didn’t believe in, but they did, so that was just fine. For me, I would be going with Lisa. But first we practiced that morning, part of a scene from a play I’d never read called Hamlet. Lisa and Magnus did a duel with swords, just splendid to watch, and Maddalena was marvelous as an aging queen with Sterling as the king. Everybody died, which I guess is what makes a play a classic, for all the ones I’ve heard of seemed to be full of death. I had a part too, but it had few lines to speak of, the kind of acting I said to Sterling that suited me well. “You’d have been brilliant in the old silent films.” He laughed. “Just stand about and look handsome, then kiss the girl at the end.”

I made a face at that and he laughed again, and pulled me behind a screen that had been set up to hide props and kissed me. “Or is this more to your liking?” I was about to reply with more than just words, but Magnus shouted, “Again please, and keep it toned down, Maddy, the play’s not called ‘Gertrude,’ you know. And Cal, you’re supposed to be a man. Hamlet isn’t castrated, do something about your voice.” “What do you expect, Daddy? It’s bad enough that I have to bind up my breasts so tight I can hardly breathe!” “Like you have breasts,” Maddy snapped, and Lisa rounded on her and started to reply, but Magnus said a sharp word and they fell back to their places. They snarled at each other like a pair of she-wolves, but came to heel pretty quick when Magnus spoke. Then Sterling practiced a short speech all alone. He was playing an old king and his voice was so full of longing and regret that it brought tears to my eyes. I remembered how Magnus had spoke when we lay Miss Emma to rest, how I’d thought no voice could ever be finer, but I’d been wrong, and I don’t think it was just my partiality to Sterling coloring my thoughts. I’d heard him read lines in the wagons, but never before seen him like this. He was remarkable. Everybody stopped what they was doing and listened, even Esteban who probably couldn’t understand one word in ten. I felt a burst of pride that this amazing man wanted me.

“Incredible. You’ve been doing so many damn comedies and bit parts that I’d forgotten what you are. You haven’t lost a thing,” Magnus said softly when the last word had faded into silence. “I don’t know how we’re going to pull this off without you being recognized.” “Oh, come on. It’s been how many years? Ten?” Maddy said, but the usually mockery in her tone was absent, and she was looking at Sterling with something that I thought might have been respect. “Doesn’t matter. Sterling Woods was the master of the DC stage for twenty years or more. He headlined every play, gave private performances for four Presidents. We’re playing as off-off Broadway, so to speak, as we can and still draw an audience, better hope that’s enough.” We went our separate ways then, me off with Lisa, though I’d have rather gone back to the room with Sterling, for his speech had stirred me in more ways than one. But I watched him slip on a heavy coat and hood that disguised his face and go. Lisa and me headed up into the city above, and we toured the Capitol building. It was a marvel, like nothing I’d ever seen. A great dome full with statues and paintings, cold as the Ice itself, but breathtakingly beautiful, even damaged as it was. The Congress itself didn’t meet in the building no more; they met underground, but the building remained as a memorial. “I can’t fathom how they got that ceiling so high,” I said.

Lisa stood close to me, sharing in my warmth, for it was late afternoon and powerful cold. “There were giants in the earth in those days,” she said quietly, and we stood for a while, silent as in a tomb. “Come on, let me buy you something to drink. Daddy told me how to get to a place that has the most wonderful, well, you’ll see.” She led me to a small shop, not underground, but on the edge of the passage leading down, a building filled with smoke from open fires and a delicious scent that I recognized. “Chocolate!” Lisa seemed surprised and disappointed. “Where have you had it before?” she asked as she ordered for us and we took a seat at a table near the windows, the least popular spot, it seemed. “Callan had some. He shared it with me and my Grandmam when she was dying.” We drank in silence for a while and I just savored the smell and taste of the chocolate—like drinking liquid silk. “David, I don’t quite know how to ask this, and it’s really none of my business, but I care about you and I care about Sterling, and—” “Yes,” I answered her. “We are.” “Do you love him?” “I don’t know.” I had to be honest. I didn’t want to love nobody save for Callan, but a place for Sterling was growing in my heart.

“Does he love you?” “I think so.” Though he’d never said, and likely wouldn’t unless I spoke first. That was his way. “You sound miserable. Relationships are just downright complicated. It’s so much easier if you just sleep with people. No strings, no promises.” “Like Maddy?” She didn’t never seem happy, so I couldn’t see myself taking after her. “No, not like her. She uses people, picks her partners by how well they can advance her career and how useful they can be. No, just have sex because you like the person, want to make them feel good, want to feel good yourself.” My face got all stiff, and I fought against blushing, and probably lost. “But don’t you think it ought to mean something?” “Sometimes. And sometimes it’s just healthy bodies doing what comes natural.” She looked down at her cup, as if she was shy. “Do you ever wonder what girls are like?” “I know what girls is like. I have three sisters,” I protested. “Not like that, silly. You know what I mean.” She seemed to really want to know, so I told her. “It ain’t that I don’t like girls, Lisa, it’s more feeling drawn to men, to the way their bodies

look and feel, how their minds work. They’re beautiful to me in a way women just ain’t. Hope you don’t mind me being so forward.” “No, I really want to know. I couldn’t ever ask Sterling, of course, because he’s so much older,” she broke off, realizing what she’d said. “Not too old, of course, I didn’t mean…” “I know how old he is. That don’t matter.” Though it did some, for it made what we had seem safe, knowing we couldn’t likely have much of a future together anyway; it kept my feelings for Sterling somehow in a separate place in my mind from my love for Callan. “I didn’t mean to say,” she started, then run her hands through her hair in a gesture so like Callan’s that it was like a stab through my heart. “Look, do you like asparagus?” “I don’t know what that is.” I’d finished the last of my chocolate and was staring out the shop window. I was surprised to find glass windows here. There weren’t no cold nor weather to keep out, but I guessed there might be thieves. “It’s a vegetable, long and green and stalky. Good with butter. But anyway, you don’t know if you like it, because you haven’t tried it, right?” I saw where she was going. “Deciding who to be with ain’t exactly like eating vegetables. I look at Sterling or Callan and something moves

inside me, my stomach flip-flops; I look at Maddy, and though I can surely appreciate how fine she looks, and understand why most men would be drawn to her, she leaves me cold.” I hoped Lisa wouldn’t ask about when I looked on her, for the truth was that she was the only woman I’d ever seen who stirred me even the slightest bit, likely because she looked like a man. Didn’t figure she’d take that as a compliment. “Probably just as well. She’s like a spider with flies, except she doesn’t bother to paralyze the men she eats.” Lisa drained her chocolate and looked at me steady. “Well, if you ever decide to try asparagus, David, come and see me. No strings attached, okay?” I must have mumbled something satisfying, for she smiled, waved away the money I tried to give her and paid our bill. We walked back to the inn in a silence that should have been uncomfortable, considering what we’d talked of and the offer she’d made, but wasn’t. Truth was, I did wonder sometimes what women were like that way, and Lisa of all the women I’d ever known, tempted me to find out. I expect if Sterling hadn’t been in my life, I just might have taken her at her word. --So as the next couple of weeks passed, we settled into a routine so different from my routine back home as to make me feel like I was living a different life altogether, which I guess I was. At home I’d have been

tending to the greenhouse plants, checking the traplines, hunting some as the weather allowed. Mam would have been knitting up a storm and quilting blankets, Pa working on the hides he’d took, making furs ready to market in his final trip out before the winter set in and we was trapped. This year, it would have been Benny C doing the traps, for I’d have been at Zack’s, but of course, all that was melted ice now. I used to wonder what it would be like to winter in town where you saw more than just the same five or six folk all the time, but now I knew, for I was trapped in a world full of strangers, and I didn’t care for it much. It weren’t the acting company, they’d come to be like family, even Maddy, who weren’t truly any more annoying or difficult than Ruby had used to be before she calmed down and got to be more of a person. But there was always crowds, always people watching and listening, jostling you as you walked. And the sense of being enclosed weren’t helped by the way the smells lingered; unwashed bodies and spoiled food and human waste, though not animal, for it seemed that animals weren’t allowed in the underground. I would have welcomed the smell and feel of sheep, would have reminded me of home, of freedom. Though I had freedom a-plenty once the practice times was done. I thought the play was shaping up fine, but Magnus kept at us like we was just horrible disasters unfit to walk on his precious stage. I finally asked Lisa about it on one of our afternoon trips. “I’m afraid I’m ruining the

whole show. I know I’m not much at speaking out, but—” “Oh, no, you’re doing fine!” She put her hand on my arm and gave it a squeeze as we walked down that wide underground road to the Archive Station. “Daddy’s just like that. He won’t praise a performance till it’s over. He thinks it’s bad luck. He’ll jump all over everybody, well, everybody but Sterling.” I’d noticed that. “Guess he don’t want to be too hard on him, being as he’s put himself at risk just coming here.” “Well, that, and just because he’s Sterling Woods and Daddy’s been in awe of him since he was old enough to want to be on stage. We’re really very lucky that he got himself into that trouble. Someone like him would never have joined a traveling company otherwise. Have you seen his album?” “No.” I’d never seen any pictures of Sterling, and knew nothing about his past. “You should ask to see it. It’s fabulous. Pictures and playbills and reviews in Washington’s paper.” We spent out afternoons with Lisa and me out exploring, first above, then as the weather turned bitter, below. While we was taking in the sights, Magnus was seeking out folk who could give us what we needed to know; the location of the camp, what was happening with the

refugees, where the big revival was to be. Maddy had got herself into a romance with some R&A man with a fancy title. I hadn’t met him, none of us had, but he was supposed to be the Deputy First Undersecretary for Relocation. Lisa teased that he likely relocated files from one drawer to another, but Magnus was pleased. Evenings, after dinner was done, I spent with Sterling. Sometimes we was intimate, but other times we just talked, and he told me about life for men like us Before, of how in some places, it had been legal for two men or two women to stand up and say vows together, to raise children, even. And he’d talk to me of older times, of the ancient Greeks who’d held up love between men as a noble thing, and of David and Jonathan in Scripture, which I knew already from Callan. And what the sin of Sodom truly was: not men loving each other, but poor hospitality and abuse of strangers. He wouldn’t say what he did during the afternoons, though I knew he went out to places he wouldn’t let me follow and come back tired and drawn. Those, oddly enough, was usually the nights he wanted to be with me physically. He didn’t have the enthusiasm or energy of a young man, but he had patience. I learned that sometimes things was better if you savored them slow, that the journey could be as wonderful as the destination. There was still things we didn’t do, walls he wouldn’t climb till I breached them first, but as the weeks passed, my need for Sterling was fast coming

up in conflict against my desire to hold something separate for Callan, and I wondered how much longer I could hold out, or whether I even should. Maybe Lisa was right and sometimes it was just two people in need. The night after Lisa and I had talked of his album was one of the quiet nights. Sterling had brought in food, meat and vegetables cut up small and served with rice in a sauce that cleared out my nose and burned my throat a little, though it tasted delicious. We’d eaten at the table while I’d talked of my day and what I’d seen at what remained of the old Air & Space Museum. “They’re rebuilding, as I understand,” he said. “Looks like. At least there was construction tools and wood lying around. If that church really does manage to end the Ice, that’s sure going to change things around here, ain’t it?” I hadn’t thought before on how much all our lives would change. “Yes. Quite a bit, I’d think. It would open up the north, at least. I may play on Broadway yet.” “Lisa says you’ve got an album with pictures and such. Could I see it?” He sighed. “I don’t know why I haven’t shown you before.” He rummaged through his trunk. “No, that’s not true. I know why. I have a quite irrational fear that seeing me young and handsome will make you

disgusted with how I am now.” “That ain’t going to happen,” I said softly, and come up behind him to brush my lips over the back of his neck. He handed me the album, brown leather covers pressed around paper leaves filled with all the remaining traces of Sterling’s past. We sat together on the floor, leaning against the trunk as I drunk in the life of this man I realized was coming to love. I wished I had some such book of memories of my own folks. All the pictures of them was what I carried in my head. “That’s my father.” He pointed to a fading picture of a handsome man in Before clothes. “And my mother and stepfather.” His mother was beautiful, with Maddy’s looks and Lisa’s elegance, though his stepfather looked cruel, and I noticed how he kept his voice flat when he named him. “And there’s me.” A serious looking boy of around my sister Almond’s age when she died. And then again a few years later, acting in his first play. After that, the pictures was mostly of Sterling in costume alone or with other actors, often on the same page with a paper review that praised the young actor with words I wasn’t quite sure of like ‘consummate’ and ‘superlative.’ Then my breath caught. I’d turned the page to the most extraordinary picture. Light and shadow played across Sterling’s face in just the right way to accent his eyes and the hollows of his cheekbones. His hair was full and soft and I thought it must have been dark in color, though it was hard to tell from the black and white picture. He wore a

half smile that went straight between my legs and roused me so that I’d have happily cast the album aside and sought the bed without further thought. “How old was you?” I breathed. “Thirty, give or take a year. Do you like the picture?” He was looking at me, not at his younger self. I nodded. He took the album from me and gently lifted it from the page. “Then it’s yours. You can look at it and imagine me as you’d rather have had me.” Without speaking, I took the picture out of his hand and stuck it back in place and started paging through the album till I found another picture, still not current, for I doubted Sterling had had a picture made since he’d gone on the run, but older, closer to how he looked now. “I’d rather have this one, if it’s all the same to you. And I’d rather have you just like you are right now than that young man. I don’t know him. I don’t love him. But I love you.” I knew it was true. His breath expelled in a rush, and he took me in his arms. He kissed down my face and neck. I lay back onto the threadbare carpet. I caught his hair in my hand and pulled him down atop me. There weren’t going to be any more waiting. Whatever I did with Sterling, it couldn’t touch

how I felt about Callan any more than those other men Callan had had before me made him love me less. “I want you.” Words just for him, breathed in a whisper. He groaned. “Bed, please.” We scrambled up from the floor, tearing our clothes from our body in a flurry, for it seemed I’d finally managed to disturb his calm. I was bare, quivering against the mattress, my body taut and hard and ready. It had been too long. Then came a knock on the door and Magnus’ voice called out, “Sterling? I need to speak with you.”

Callan’s Journal I’ve finally been given a work assignment—the laundry. It’s dull, hot and hard, especially one handed, but I manage, and I’m finally getting used to the loss. I still stupidly reach for things with an arm that’s not there, and I’ll always miss being whole, but my writing is almost legible now, and when I stripped for my bath yesterday, I noticed how developed the musculature in my remaining arm and shoulder have become. Dominic and I have continued our (for want of a better word) relationship, though the more frequently he sees Brother Joe, the less physical it becomes on his part. Makes me worried that maybe Brother

J. is using the techniques in that book, though I don’t ask, and Dom doesn’t say. On the bad days, I sit beside him in silence, trying to give what comfort I can. Sometimes we end in the bathroom again, for it seems to me we should take what chances at comfort and friendship as we get in this world. Some of the other men, along with Mike and Sean also make use of the bathroom for a similar purpose; they’re not discreet, and I am thinking of warning them. The guards’ visits are predictable, but I don’t necessarily trust all my fellow prisoners, and Ira Treeby particularly, seems to always be watching. --Appointment with Brother Joe later. Since that first time, it’s always just talk. In a way, I almost dread that worse than torture. Though I can tune out the preaching, he asks about things I do not want to share. David, my mother, my father, other men I’ve known and had. He probes and pushes until he gets the answers that he wants, answers that support his theory that something lacking in my past has left me susceptible to this ‘sin.’ And he wants details, intimate details. I wonder if he takes some kind of prurient interest in it all—judging by the way he acted when he showed off his torture room, I’d say it’s likely. It’s often occurred to me that those so adamant against homosexuals may have some secret fears about their own sexuality. ---

It’s turning colder—snow almost every day, or sleet. Or both. And the wind—it’s very flat here, and the wind tears across the plains like knives. Not much else to tell. This winter will be something to be endured, and only the friendships I’m making here and the hope that David will come with the spring is going to let me survive.

Chapter 20

David Anderson “ Perfect timing,” Sterling groaned, and gave me a rough kiss. “Can’t we pretend we’re not here?” I was roused to a fever pitch, aching and wanting. “No, love. I told them I’d be in all night, and Magnus wouldn’t say it was important unless it was, sadly.” He wrapped a robe around himself and tossed a blanket over me. “Sorry to interrupt,” Magnus said as he come in, dominating the room like he always did, and then catching sight of me barely covered by a blanket that did nothing to disguise my state, he raised his eyebrows. “Very sorry.”

“De nada,” Sterling said, but he looked past Magnus at me with a look that did nothing to calm me down none. “What’s so important?” Magnus handed him a small folded piece of paper. “This just came for

you by courier.” Sterling grew rigid. “I didn’t expect him to respond so quickly.” “What is it?” I wrapped the blanket around my waist and sat up. Magnus and Sterling was looking at each other like they didn’t want to tell me what was going on. Then without speaking, Sterling read the paper. “He wants to see me tonight. I suppose that’s a good sign.” “Who? Who wants to see you?” I asked, frustrated at their game. “Will you go?” Magnus spoke as though I might not have even been in the room. “I have no choice, do I?” Sterling put his hand on my shoulder. “A moment, David.” “I’ll leave you to it, then. But take care of yourself, all right?” Magnus slipped out. Sterling pulled on his trousers. “Where are you going?” Wordlessly, he handed me the note.

Sterling – will see you in my private office tonight, will send transport at 10. Bring the letters. J. Dupree

“J. Dupree? The man that turned on you, betrayed you to the police so you nearly got yourself hung?” “That would be the one,” he answered, all grim, buttoning up a shirt of fine blue wool. “I thought you was trying to work things out so you didn’t have to see him. I thought that was what all those trips you made in the afternoon was all about.” I didn’t like the whole feel of this. “That didn’t pan out. Information about the R&A camps is apparently highly classified, and those who know aren’t telling. So I go to Jack, who always knows everything.” I started pulling on my own clothes. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Coming with you. I ain’t letting you run around at night meeting someone like that alone.” Sterling paused by the door. “David, no. I don’t want Jack to even know you exist. I’ll be all right. It’s a very good neighborhood,” he added, half laughing. I tugged on my boots. “I made a promise to you when you agreed to come here for me. I swore I’d see that no harm come to you, and I can’t

do that stuck here in this room. You heard me tell you I loved you. I’m coming with, so don’t you dare argue with me.” He smiled. “Topping from the bottom?” I didn’t know what he meant, but I knew I’d won. “All right, come along if you must, but please leave the talking to me.” We come out of the inn and there was a cart waiting. Mostly people walk, but sometimes you see rich folk being pulled in carts by teams of other people. It makes me feel sort of sick to see it, people done up like animals, but Sterling says it’s a good job and pays well. This was the first time I’d ever been in such a cart. The ride was bumpy, but I blamed the poor roads for that as much as the cart, and we moved along at a good clip. The cart itself was fine and fancy with padded cushions and velvet curtains that stayed closed so we couldn’t see the roads we was taking. That worried me some. “I know the way,” Sterling said with his eyes closed. We didn’t talk beyond that, and I concentrated on trying to get a feel for direction, for I was trying to learn how to get around in this city where you couldn’t see the sun nor shadows, where no wind gives direction. It seemed we was moving upwards, to the top level of the underground and then, judging by the cold, to the surface for a time. Finally, we pulled up into a sheltered place and stopped in front of an office building that was clearly from Before, smooth concrete and metal and glass.

Sterling led me into the entry space, which was warmed by coal fires, and into a small boxy room where a man stood. “The Senator is expecting you,” he said to Sterling, though gave me a swift up and down. The double doors to the box-room slid shut and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. “Hydraulic elevator,” Sterling whispered, seeing my confusion. We plummeted down and down and finally stopped, the doors opened and I followed Sterling out into a world of crystal and glass and shimmering red and black satin. Everything in the room was focused on a broad wood desk, dark red wood with an ebony top. A gold nameplate sat on the desktop and behind it, there was a man. He didn’t get up as Sterling approached, and I stood back, examining him. He was powerfully built. His hair was black, though graying at the temples, brushed back from a high forehead. His eyes were dark, fathomless, and I saw them flicker to me, then back to Sterling who waited, poised at the end of the desk. “Hello, Jack,” Sterling said in a flat voice. “Sterling. It’s been a while.” “You’re looking well.” The man pushed back from his desk and stood, walked around Sterling, surveying him. “And you do not. You look damn old.”

“Well, I am, aren’t I?” It was like watching two mountains facing each other down. “Drink, Sterling?” Without waiting for a reply he poured two tiny glasses of a dark yellow liquid and handed one to Sterling who took it and sipped. “What’ll your catamite drink, then? Beer, moonshine?” Sterling flushed, but didn’t rise to it. I didn’t know what the word he used meant, but I had a pretty good idea it weren’t nice. “Lovely whisky, Jack. Imported?” “The last of your stepfather’s cellar, actually.” He lifted his glass. “To your health,” he said, clinking his glass against Sterling’s. “Now, I believe you have some letters of mine?” “May I sit down? It’s been a long day.” Without waiting for permission, Sterling sat in a large leather chair and crossed his legs. I moved behind him, like I figured a guard should do. The Senator took the opposite chair. “Yes, I suppose all your days are long ones, being wanted and on the run. Don’t worry, they’ll be a good deal shorter soon. Very short.” “If anything happens to me, those letters will be made public, Jack. I don’t think you’d like that too well.” “Why not use them years ago? Would have saved you a good bit of trouble.”

Sterling laughed. “Honest? In all the turmoil, I forgot I had them. But I assure you, I remember now.” “What do you want? It can’t possibly be money.” “God, no. What would I want with money? No, what I want, Jack, is—” “He wants a pardon.” I spoke without thinking, and Senator Dupree’s eyed me as though seeing me for the first time. “A full pardon, and for everyone to know it.” Sterling remained motionless. “That’s not what I—” “Done.” The man had a curious look, an odd look of triumph on his face. “Normally, of course, I wouldn’t care much about the letters, but as it happens, old friend, I’m running for President. I’d rather not have to deal with messy old scandals if I can help it.” He leaned forward and extended his hand. “Some worthless letters in exchange for your future, that’s not a bad trade.” “That’s not what I want.” I’d never heard Sterling sound so angry, and I knew it was at me, but I didn’t regret what I’d done. If the Senator was so eager to keep those letters quiet, he’d agree to another small term in the bargain, surely. “I want to know the exact location of a refugee camp. Beulahland.” For the first time, I saw Senator Dupree look surprised. That hadn’t been what he’d expected. He set his glass down and leaned forward. “What

are you looking for, Sterling?” The Senator smiled, and it was the oddest thing, for it was a perfect smile. Nobody in my world over about forty has all their teeth, let alone having them straight and white and gleaming like Before tombstones. “You mistake your role here. If it comes to it, Sterling, I can ride out whatever storm those letters raise—it’s not like there’s national media of any kind anymore to spread scandal beyond the city. You’re the supplicant. Don’t be greedy. I made you an offer, you’ve countered it, now really, in order for me to respond adequately, I need all the facts. Surely you remember how the game is played?” Sterling kept quiet. I figured he were trying to wait this man out, but it seemed to me like Senator Jack Dupree might be a patient man. I moved, and his eyes jumped up to me again. “Or maybe he should tell me.” I didn’t see no harm in it, though I could hear Sterling shut mouth still shouting, Don’t! “I’ve got kin there. I just want to find them, so we can relocate together.” Not exactly truthful, but I’d learned to lie when I had to. For the first time the man gave me his whole attention, and, under those relentless eyes, it were all I could do not to squirm like a schoolboy brought up for some prank. “Really, Sterling,” he said, though still looking at me. “My bargain would be with him, not with you.” “I got money, sir. I can pay you for your trouble.”

Senator Dupree stood and smiled. “Money? God, no, what would I want with money?” He mocked me with Sterling’s words, but underneath it all, I had a sense that none of this were about me. “Well, Jack, running for President isn’t cheap. I’m sure we can work something out that will be mutually beneficial,” Sterling said. “I could throw in, say, three thousand or so to cover your trouble in getting the camp’s location.” Sterling hadn’t moved, his voice was utterly calm, bored sounding, even, but I remembered what an actor this man was. If Callan wore masks, which he surely did, Sterling was the masks he wore. “We’ve got our deal. The letters for the pardon.” “If you don’t disclose that location, those letters are going public. No more games.” Senator Dupree was still looking at me. “I told you I’d weather the fallout from those letters—proving their authenticity alone will take till long after the election is over, for one thing.” Rising to his feet, Sterling glanced at me. “We’re going, then. There’s nothing further to discuss.” “I wouldn’t bother. The minute you leave this room, you’ll be arrested. Unless we come to some agreement.” We was caught, and somehow, I got the feeling that this had been the outcome destined from the moment we stepped foot in the cart.

“Senator, what do you want?” I asked. “Here’s my counter offer. The pardon for the letters, just as I said, because I am a man of my word, aren’t I, Sterling? And in exchange the location of the camp, I want him.” And he pointed to me. “He’s not mine to bargain away, Jack.” “Oh, I don’t mean permanently; just, say, once a week? Fridays, maybe, from six p.m. to noon Saturdays? Sort of a visitation schedule—” He turned to me. “You’re trapped in Washington till the weather breaks. Might as well do something to pass the time.” “That’s out of the question; we’ll get the information another way.” Whatever role Sterling was playing, it slipped, as his voice trembled and his face drained of color as he took his seat again. My heart was pounding, trying to work out what to do. The Sentator had us where he wanted us. If I refused him, not only would he not tell us what we needed, but it seemed likely Sterling wouldn’t leave this building alive. “I doubt that. Not even every member of Congress is privy to the location. The only reason I know is because of my close, personal relationship with the President. No, love,” and I’d never heard so much loathing in a tender word before. “You’re stuck between the proverbial rock and the hard place.”

“Jack, please. Anything you want of me, anything. All my money, it’s yours. Or let me take his place. I know how to please you.” The Senator laughed. “You? You disgust me. There’s nothing you could offer that I’d possibly want.” The words were like arrows. I could see Sterling going down under them. “Enough,” I said, though I was barely whispering they both stared at me. “It’s done. I’ll do it.” Sterling shot out of his seat, dragged me into the corner of the room all the while Senator Dupree watched. “No, David. We’ll find another way. You don’t have to do this.” “What other way? You heard him. He’s going to have you arrested. I can’t let that happen. I promised you.” “You don’t understand what you’re agreeing to… what he wants from you.” Miserable, I nodded. “The thought of him makes my skin crawl, but there ain’t another way out of this.” “This is why I didn’t want you here. I’m sorry.” “It’s my choice. You got to let me make it. Folk have been sacrificing for me for too long, my Pa, Callan, now you—I have debts to pay back. It’s for me that we need to know about the camp, so it should be me pays the price.” I sounded brave, but inside I was curling up in a ball and

screaming for my mam. I wanted to go home so bad at that moment, I could taste it. Shaking, I stepped away from Sterling and faced down the Senator. I was mighty glad to see I was taller than him. It didn’t mean anything, as he had all the power and wealth and influence, but somehow it gave me comfort. “I got your word that if I agree to this, Sterling will be pardoned and safe and you’ll tell me what I need to know to find my kin before the weather breaks?” He held out his hand. “You have my word.” I’d grown up believing that keeping our words made us men, but this weren’t my world, so I looked at Sterling who nodded and closed his eyes. I put out my hand and sealed the bargain. Senator Dupree sauntered over to his desk and took a small bag and tossed it to Sterling. I heard the clinking of coin. “Take him out and get him some clothes, evening wear, some things suited for decent society. Oh, and an outfit appropriate for Le Fouet.” Sterling dropped the bag onto the thick brown carpet. “You’re absolutely not taking David there.” “But I am. You can come and watch, of course. I don’t believe your membership was ever revoked.” “If you wanted to hurt me, Jack, you’ve done it. You’ve paid me back

for whatever imagined wrong I did to you.” Moving quicker than a snake, Senator Dupree slammed Sterling back against the wall so hard I could hear him wince. I started forward, but from the corner of my eye I saw movement in the heavy curtains that blocked out the back of the room and realized we weren’t alone. “Hurt you, Sterling? I want to break you; I want to destroy you. And I will, by God.”

Callan’s Journal I know what Max’s secret is. We went over to the women’s barracks to deliver a baby. The guards are willing to have me work there—I suspect more than a few of them are involved with the women, so they care what happens to them. It’s cold and lonely out here, as much for the soldiers, I think, as for us. Fortunately, the birth was uneventful. A healthy young woman, a fairly healthy baby. There are many things I can do with confidence, but delivering a baby with one arm isn’t one of them, so Max was left the hard part. I watched his hands as he reached out for the baby. Slender wrists, narrow hands, but then, he’s just a boy, probably younger than David. Then as he stood holding the baby, the scarf he wore against the cold

slipped and I knew. I didn’t say anything then, but afterwards, as we cleaned up and prepared to make our way back across the courtyard, I reached into my bag and took out a handful of clean cotton bandages and handed them to Max. “Thought these might come in handy sometime this month,” I said, keeping my tone level. He looked confused, then blushed, and asked how I knew. “Your hands. Then no Adam’s apple. I’ve been working in medicine for years—nobody else might notice.” I saw the distress on Max’s face distress. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything. Does anyone else know?” “Dominic.” I suspected as much. I asked then, how it had happened that a woman found herself living as a man in our barracks and how he’d managed to keep Brother Joe from finding out—Max has been here more than forty days. I can’t stop referring to Max as a him in my head and might as well do so still in this journal. He showed his brand. “When they saw it they just assumed—I don’t look very girlish.” His blush deepened. “Except below the waist. It doesn’t occur to him, even when my shirt’s off, that I’m not a man.” “Wouldn’t you rather be with the women?” He looked around the barracks where women were talking, playing

cards, braiding each other’s hair, which they’d been permitted to keep. “I don’t think of myself as one of them. Anyway, I feel safer with you. You don’t judge. They would.” I think I understand. We returned to our barracks—the wind had picked up and though I’ve hardly got David’s weather sense, even I could tell that a blizzard was blowing in. Max seems relieved that I know. It can’t have been easy keeping a secret like that in the close quarters of our barracks. If I can protect him at all, I will. --My forty days is almost up. I’m not going forward. While I have many regrets, I have nothing to repent. Nothing.

Chapter 21

David Anderson We didn’t speak going home, and Sterling refused to look at me, just stared into the curtains of the cart. When we got back to the inn, I followed him up to the room, undressed in silence and slid between the crisp sheets, thinking how it had only been a few hours before that I’d been ready to give myself to Sterling in this bed, and now I’d made a promise that would let a man I didn’t even know use me as a toy. Sterling put out the light and got into bed with me, but turned to face away. Though usually we ended up all tangled up together in sleep, whether we’d been intimate or not, we didn’t touch all through that night. I know, for I didn’t sleep, just kept running things through my head, trying to work out how I could have done it different.

Practice the next day was the worst I’d seen; Sterling was off—missing entrances, forgetting lines, messing up enough that Magnus blew up at

him for the first time. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” “Just a bit off my game. Had a rough night last night,” Sterling said, and I could see Magnus’ moment of understanding breaking on him. He knew where Sterling had gone. “Let’s just call it for today.” Maddy was already grabbing her bag. “Good, I promised John I’d meet him for lunch.” She started through the door but collided with a welldressed man with faded blond hair, close to Sterling’s age, carrying a large envelope. “So sorry,” she said, not at all meaning it, and dashed around him. Sterling, who had been toweling off his face, looked up and got all wary, like an animal cornered. But he recovered quick, and greeted the newcomer. “Peter. Still working for Jack, I see?” “This is for you.” He handed the envelope to Sterling. “It’s good to see you again, Sterling.” He sounded like he meant it. “You as well.” I thought Sterling meant it too. His hands fumbled with the envelope, took out a thick piece of creamy paper and read. “What is it?” Lisa asked. Sterling’s eyes met mine. “My pardon.” He handed the paper to Magnus, who read it and whistled. “Signed by

the President himself. I don’t know how you managed it, but this is the best possible news we could have.” “Second best,” Sterling said, still looking at me. Peter was smiling. “And I have a message for you from Gervaise. He wants you back.” “Too bad Maddy left,” Magnus said. “She’d kill to get into National Theater. I suppose I’m about to lose my best actor.” “I’m not going anywhere. Peter, tell Gervaise, if you see him, that I’ll call on him next week, see if we can work something out on a temporary basis, at least. Thank you for bringing this over.” “You ought to thank Jack. He arranged it all, you know.” “Tell him I won’t forget any of this. Ever.” We went our separate ways then, with Lisa expecting me to join her like normal, but I told her to go on without me, that I was tired, which was true, but mostly I wanted to talk to Sterling. I followed him into the room, but though I figured he’d lie down for a rest, he was dressing for outside and gathering up money. “Get dressed,” he told me. “We’ve got shopping to do, remember?” Buy him some clothes. I nodded, then remembered he’d left the bag of coin lying on that fancy carpet. “Let me pay, though.”

“No.” I didn’t fight him on it. We went out, walking in a different way than I’d ever gone before till we come to a stand of carts for hire. Sterling paid for one and we climbed in. He sat back and closed his eyes. “I’m not angry with you.” “That’s good to hear.” The cart was swaying something fierce; I thought it might tip over, else I’d have moved to sit beside him instead of across. “I’m worried for you. Tomorrow night could be very ugly.” “I’m not...I ain’t got the experience you have, but I’ve been with a man before, you know.” “You haven’t been with Jack before. He’s not Callan, he’s not even me; he’s not going to care two hoots about what you feel or what you want. I’ll do what I can for you, but you’ve made this bed, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to lie in it.” “It’s worth it to me,” I said, thinking of the folded pardon tucked into Sterling’s jacket pocket. We didn’t talk no more till the cart stopped, but the silence wasn’t as harsh as before. We climbed out and then took a set of odd grooved metal stairs down into an inside street with more shops than I’d ever seen in my life. Sterling took me right to a men’s tailor, where he bought me two storebought suits and the fanciest thing I’d ever owned, black trousers and a

pure black jacket that hung down low in back made from a fabric I’d never felt before, a white shirt with tiny pleats all down it, a grey vest and tie. Sterling tied the tie for me, for I’d never done such a thing before, then turned me to face the mirror. I didn’t recognize myself, but looking at my reflection (not the one in the mirror, the one in Sterling’s eyes) I figured I must look pretty good. “That’ll do,” he said to the shop owner. “And I suppose he ought to have a dress coat. And some shoes.” I was fitted for those things too, and then Sterling paid, asked to have it all delivered to where we was staying, giving his own name, his real name, which he could do now. I was mightily pleased with that and my part in it. I could get past whatever Senator Dupree threw at me knowing I had given Sterling his freedom and was on the way to getting Callan his. We’d come out of the tailor and I stood looking around, just astounded. The stores seemed to go on forever, and in the spaces between was large beds of plants, some I thought were food plants, but others just for show, including flowers behind glass. There weren’t carts selling food as I’d seen most places, but a rich smell set my stomach rumbling. Sterling must have heard it. “I’ll get you some lunch. I don’t know that I’ll ever want to eat again, but you’re young.” “You got to quit spending all your money on me.” Sterling shrugged. “What am I supposed to do with it, David? I can’t

take it with me.” “You ain’t going nowhere anytime soon. Keep it, you might need it.” I was mighty curious on how an actor got so much cash, didn’t seem to me like that was a trade that paid too much. We was walking down the avenue of shops and I stared into the glass windows as we passed, drinking in the fancy clothes, the imported things from Mexico and beyond, a whole store of nothing but broken machinery from Before, another of paintings; and places of service, restaurants, shops to have your picture made, barber shops. “This is...” I couldn’t think of the word. “Ostentatious? Tacky? It’s what’s left of Union Station mall. I understand it used to be three times this large, though the upper levels are closed off now.” He’d stopped in front of a jeweler. “Look, David. I inherited this money, most of it, anyway, from my stepfather. I haven’t really told you a lot about him, but suffice to say that he was a loathsome troll of a man, and though it will likely sound rather stupid, I’ve done my best to live by my own means and not touch what he left me.” “That don’t sound stupid at all. A man should take care of himself.” There was a fancy egg in the shop window, all crusted with jewels and gold. I’d never seen the like—what sort of bird it would hatch if it was real? Next to it was a tray of rings all brilliant greens and blues and a beautiful stone that looked like liquid fire, all dancing yellow in the fake light of the store.

“Consequently, his fortune, which wasn’t small to start with, has grown immensely. I don’t have any children to leave it to, so let me use it to help you. I couldn’t access most of it when I was on the run, or I would have just given it to Magnus. Lord knows, I owe him.” He saw where I was looking. “I don’t figure you as the type for jewelry.” I didn’t want him thinking I was begging for those gee-gaws. “I ain’t. I just never seen the like. I wouldn’t wear none of it,” I added just to make sure he knew I weren’t asking. “I should take you to see the Hope Diamond. Now that I’m me again, there are places we can go together, things I can get you access to.” His beautiful voice sounded choked up. “I’m bloody annoyed and worried and have spent the last day wishing you’d just kept quiet, but I am grateful.” He looked back in the shop window for a minute. “Do you have a watch?” I didn’t. Five minutes later, though, I did. A beauty of a pocket watch, meant to be a pocket watch, not a converted bracelet one. It was antique silver, though he’d tried to give me a gold one, I said it was too much, and Sterling hadn’t pushed it. It had a cover that opened with a button, and designs on it, a mountain covered in trees that had reminded me of home. And he’d had them engrave on the inside cover ‘SRW to DEA’ and the date. “So you’ll remember me,” he said, in the cart going home.

“Like I’d forget.” I sat beside him and spent the rest of the ride safe in his arms. --We was both exhausted, for I don’t think Sterling had slept the night either, so ignoring everything else, we went up to the room and slept till dark. I woke to find him already up and dressed, and some of my new clothes laid out on the bed. “Get dressed. I’m taking you somewhere tonight that I really don’t want....Just get dressed, all right? We’ll get some dinner.” I knew there was no point in asking, so dressed and followed him up back to the Archive Station, where we found a cart going up the old metro tunnel, the green line one which I’d never yet been on. Seemed like we traveled for miles before we stopped. From there we walked; through hollowed out tunnels that nearly had me seizing up with the weight of the earth above me, through open archways and passages that were Before work, and then up to the surface for a short time. The building didn’t look like much. It was brick, and the front of it was all dark, so dark if you hadn’t known a door was there, you’d likely have missed it. The sign over it, a Before sign, cracked and fading, was almost completely unreadable. But it was too cold to linger taking in the sights, so Sterling led me up some concrete stairs to the door. He knocked on it and a window in the top part of the door

opened. He showed a piece of paper, not sure if it was his pardon or something else, and the door opened and I followed him in. It reminded me, in coloring anyway, of Senator Dupree’s private office. Rich reds and blacks and deep greens covered furniture that I knew for certain was old even in the Before. The walls was done in heavily patterned paper, and though the light was just torches set into the walls, they didn’t smoke the way our home torches did. The entry hall was bigger and finer than the one in Mister Zack’s house even, and I could hear the sounds of voices and laughter and the chinking of silver on china beyond. Sterling turned to face me, and I’d never seen him so serious. “This is Le Fouet de Velours, a club for a certain type of gentleman. Jack will bring you here, and I want you to be prepared, because I can guarantee you’ve not seen anything like this before. Please stay near me while we’re here and if you have questions, just ask me, not anybody else, all right?” A short man with a round face was coming towards us, beaming at Sterling. “What’s it mean, those foreign words?” “The Velvet Whip.” I stood back and listened as the man, who seemed to be a waiter or

host, greeted Sterling so warm, you’d have thought he was a long lost brother. “Mister Wood, I’m so glad to see you back. I heard that you were finally...well, isn’t it about time, I couldn’t believe those ridiculous charges, about time that was cleared up, isn’t it?” Word of his pardon had spread. That was good. Less chance of it somehow being taken back. “Emile, breathe occasionally. You’ll find it helps the diction. I don’t suppose there’s a table available?” The little man seemed kind. “Sir, of course. The Founder’s table is yours by right; we’ve been saving it for you. Nobody here ever lost faith that you’d be back.” He started to lead us back into another room, but Sterling stopped him. “Emile, this is David. You might see him here with Jack Dupree. Regardless of who he’s here with, he’s my friend and I want him treated as such. Behave towards him as you would me. Is that clear?” Emile sized me up, and nodded. “Of course, sir, anything you say. Welcome, David, to Le Fouet.” “Thank you,” I said, figuring answering him weren’t going against Sterling’s wishes. We followed Emile up a flight of stairs and through a curtained archway into the most remarkable place I’d ever seen. It was huge, cavernous, and considering we was on the surface, should have

been much colder than it was. I felt warm air moving around me, though I saw no fireplaces nor stoves. Two or three layers of floor rose up like fancy cakes, but with a space in the middle that went clear up to the ceiling, and down in that lowest level there was a dance floor. Filled with men. “Sterling?” I asked breathlessly, for the men weren’t dancing in the way men might have danced with each other back home, a quick pass of hands as you swung your partner. They was clenched together tightly, body against body, swaying to music provided by a small band. And opposite us I could see other men who weren’t even troubling with the pretense of dance, just kissing and fondling each other right out in the open. Sterling took hold of my arm and led me to a table right on the edge of one of the tiers, but I was still gawking around like a farm boy on his first trip to town. I had no idea anything like this could be! Why would Sterling have worried about me coming here? This was like a dream come true. He was ordering something to drink for us, and food, but I didn’t listen, was struck dumb and deaf with delight at finding a place where I could finally be who I was without shame. Looking around closer, I saw a group of men sitting at tables opposite us but down a level, and at their feet were boys. Mostly my age, my real age, not the twenty years Sterling assumed I had, or even younger, and they was barely dressed, wearing leather that covered only those parts

that couldn’t be exposed for decency’s sake, and then as one turned, I saw that his didn’t even do that. And they wore collars like you’d put on dogs, with leashes held loosely in the arms of well-dressed older men who were playing a game of cards. I saw others, men, not boys, in the same kind of clothing. I started to rise, but Sterling pulled me down, and we sat quiet as Emile came back with a bottle of wine, poured some small amount in a glass which Sterling tasted, nodded approval and then waited while Emile poured us each a glass. I wasn’t sure about drinking, considering what had happened with the moonshine, but I sipped. It tasted nice, like fruity wood, sort of. “My father and stepfather started this club together,” Sterling explained. “But they was married!” This was a place for men like us, surely. “So are most of these men. It is possible to desire both men and women, as my father did, or some people marry simply for the social aspect of it. That would have been my stepfather. I doubt he ever touched my mother in an act of love. “They found this building, which had started life as a warehouse, and then been converted to a sort of avant garde theatre.” I didn’t know what that meant, but didn’t want to interrupt to ask. “Which explains the balconies—there used to be seats here, they just

removed them and leveled out the floors. They replaced the old electric furnace with coal, had it rigged for gaslight, converted the dressing rooms to offices and private chambers, spent a fortune renovating it. The idea was to create a safe space for men like us to meet. Membership is exclusive, you have to be sponsored by two other members and it’s ridiculously expensive, though those of us with means endow ‘scholarships’ sometimes.” “I get the idea of a place for us.” I still stared at the dog-collar boys. Some looked happy enough, but others, even from the distance, had bored or even miserable expressions on their faces. “They don’t look like they’re here by choice.” “I expect some of them are being paid.” Sterling took a sip of his wine and smiled as my shock must have showed on my face. “It is the oldest profession, after all. I promise you, they are well-paid, and generally not mistreated. The rules here are strictly enforced, and any complaint by anyone, member or not, is taken seriously.” I couldn’t complain against the Senator, though, or the devil’s bargain we’d made would be over. “But the way they’re dressed...I don’t understand.” Sterling sighed. “This is going to be hard for you to understand, and I’m oversimplifying horribly, but there are people, men and women both, who take sexual pleasure in either giving or receiving pain. Others are

what are called dominants or submissives; they function best in a sort of defined role, giving or taking orders.” “Roles like in a play?” I was still turning the idea of being aroused by pain over in my head. “Not exactly. Most of the men you see in the collars are more than willing to be there. That’s how they express their desire. There are private rooms here with, how do I say this? With things that can be used to inflict mild pain; whips, handcuffs, other...er...things.” Sterling blushed slightly, but I could feel my own face scarlet red. “That ain’t how I—” A thought come over me and my stomach went wobbly. “Do you, I mean is that something you want—” I didn’t know if I wanted his answer to be yes or no, to be truthful. “No. I’ve played those games in the past, but it’s not really to my taste. But it is to Jack’s. Very much so.” My mouth went dry. “He might want me to wear that?” I pointed to the group of men with the leather-clad boys at their feet. I could hardly stand to be naked in front of men I loved. How could I expose myself like that? “Sterling, I couldn’t.” “Then you’ll be breaking your word, and if you do that, Jack will make sure you never find the camp. It isn’t the clothes that scare me, David, it’s what he’s going to make you do when you’re wearing them that I’m

afraid of.”

Callan’s Journal Ira Treeby went forward at the altar call in Chapel today, but Brother Joe sent him back. I’d heard of that before, but hadn’t seen it. As today was my Appointment day, I asked him why. Brother Joe was usually unwilling to talk of my fellow prisoners, but he answered me with a grim smile. “Sincere repentance is our goal here, Callan. Mr. Treeby is not sincere. God sees that. So do I. When he comes to me with a broken and contrite spirit, then I’ll embrace him as a brother.” And that was all he would say, turning the conversation to David, the ‘youth I corrupted.’ His words. At first I tried to keep David out of our conversations, but as I’ve said, he’s very good at this, and the entire atmosphere here is designed to wear down my resistance and force me to confide in him, and it’s working. I try to give him facts only, dry recitations of events, none of the emotion behind any of it, but I’m pretty sure he sees through that. He also got me talking about my mother today, though I carefully kept the conversation to my childhood, not veering into her death. That’s private; only one person in the entire world knows that story and I intend to keep it that way. But he seems content with tales of my

upbringing, of Mother and Kathleen, of being the golden boy (which I must admit I was) of the Institute, the son of Jacob Landers. I was spoiled, but he’s wrong to think it was a world of women. Most of the scholars and students were men, and I did not ever lack for male role models, as Stroble seems determined to prove. Would any of them recognize me now, I wonder? David had talked of going there with me, of taking me home. I close my eyes on my cold bed and try to remember how the Florida sunshine would soak into me, the smell of the salt rising up from the ocean, the feel of water surrounding me. I want to teach David to swim; I want to walk the beaches with him and find shells, to show him palm trees and Spanish bayonet and all the plants and animals that he’s never seen, maybe not even in books. But I open my eyes and it’s snowing, great clouds of white falling across the tiny windows, and there’s no blue sky, just wood plank walls with insufficient insulation. Dominic is finally sleeping. Today was a bad day for him. He won’t talk of it, but I can see him twitching even under the covers. The little choir is going to practice tonight. Maybe the music will soothe him. --A message came from Ruby. So wonderful to hear that she’s all right— I had heard it already from Daniel, but to see her writing was a touch of home. She’s been put to work in the infirmary and is learning medicine

from the army medics and doctors. Probably better training than I could have given her. Mrs. Anderson and Delia are doing all right. I wrote back, a very edited version of my time here. I hope it gets to her—it’s a circuitous route, from me to one of our guards to Daniel to Ruby. There may be more guards involved—not sure. I gave five blank pages out of the back of this journal and a pencil to a quiet man who just gives his name as Clarence. He’s an artist. He paid me with a sketch of Dominic that’s just true to life. I’ll keep it in these pages so I remember him. Forty days today, and I celebrated by being punished. Dennis’s cough hasn’t improved and he’s picked up a fever. He’s very much like David’s father. A stubborn outdoorsman. Being in a place like this must be a kind of death to him even if he was perfectly healthy. I’ve given him some aspirin I got from my soldier patients, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. So I did what nobody ever does—I sought out Brother Joe, waited for him under that massive cross, and when he came out of his office, asked him to get Dennis proper care. He refused. “Dennis Burney is experiencing the wages of sin. We’ll do nothing to interfere with God’s plan for him, and for you to ask it shows you lack the proper humility before the Lord, even after so many days among us.” He sent me into the courtyard to kneel and pray. In contemplation of my sins. I don’t know how long he made me stay there—I forced myself

to take it one minute at a time, trying to think of warmth, of home, of David, of anything but the snow numbing my legs and the wind that somehow manages to infiltrate the closed courtyard and create whirlwinds of blowing snow. I didn’t learn anything about humility before the Lord, but it’s a true miracle that I didn’t lose toes or fingers to frostbite. I’m warm enough now, thanks to Dominic and Max and the others giving me blankets and hot food and settling me near to the fire, but I felt weak and feverish myself. Dennis, who was next to me during the afternoon as I thawed, thanked me for what I’d tried to do. “Don’t do it again,” he said. “I’m going to die one way or another. At least I’m doing it on my terms. They aren’t defeating me, nature is. No shame in that.” And then his words trailed off into a fit of bloody coughing. He rummaged under his bed and brought out a small box, took a piece of paper from it, unfolded it and handed it to me. A faded pencil drawing of a man, the kind I’d seen in Moline done by traveling artists at their harvest fairs. He looked about forty or so, with kind eyes. “Andrew,” Dennis explained. “I met him when I was about twenty, I guess, and we were together for nearly thirty-five years. He died hunting the autumn before last. I came south after that, just trying to make a new start, and that’s when I got caught up by these bastards.”

I handed the picture back. “I don’t believe Brother Joe knows a damn thing about God. My mother raised me to be a believer, and I know I’m going to see Andrew after I die. But until that day, I’m going to live my life the way I see fit, and the devil take anyone who says otherwise.” He thanked me again, told me to take his bed for the night, as it was nearer to the fire. Actually, I was wrong before. I did learn something about humility. From Dennis.

Chapter 22

David Anderson When we got back to the inn, there was a message for me. 6:00. Will

send a cart. No name, but I knew who it come from. Tomorrow was the first Friday. I didn’t figure I could sleep, but I did. Worrying about what was coming with the Senator wouldn’t change a thing about it, so I went through the night and the next morning’s rehearsal in a sort of daze, automatically saying the right things and moving where I was told. I stayed near the inn for the afternoon, though Sterling went off to see that Gervaise person who run the National Theatre. I told him to go, didn’t figure having him around worrying over me was like to make any of this easier. When the time come to get ready, because the note hadn’t said nothing about dress, I put on my own clothes, my clothes from home. Denim trousers worn thin from long use, undyed shirt of white wool from my mother’s flock and a blue and green store-bought flannel overshirt that

had been a gift from Mister Zack back when I first started to work for him. I laced up my boots and was sitting on the bed, trying to calm myself when Sterling come back. He nodded approval when he saw what I was wearing. “Good choice. Be your own person as long as you can.” “How’d your meeting go?” I asked, trying to pass the time without saying the things we was both thinking but neither of us wanted to give voice to. “Oh, fine. They want me back, at least for one show, a ‘triumphant return.’ Of course, the triumph will be to their box office receipts, but that’s all right. It will feel good to stand on a proper stage at least one more time.” “You leaving Magnus’ company, then?” “No, I made that very clear—my prior commitment comes first. They’re offering me my choice of role. Age appropriate, of course.” He grimaced. “I’ll probably do Lear.” “We got part of that in our show, don’t we? Your solo thing.” He nodded. “Soliloquy, but that’s all cobbled together from different speeches. The original is much more effective. I could get you a nonspeaking part, if you like.” I shuddered and he laughed. “Never mind, then. You can be part of my

coterie of admirers.” “Your biggest fan,” I smiled. “The power behind the throne,” Sterling replied and then his face darkened. “Sorry. He used to call me that, back in the dark ages, when it was good between us.” I knew who ‘he’ was. “Guess I ought to go.” Sterling stood by the door. “David, you don’t have to do this. We can run; we could leave right now.” “And go where? It’s too cold to travel beyond the city more than a few hours, even south.” “Hide in the city then, there are places we can go. Money opens just about any door.” I knew he meant it, and that stabbed into me like a knife, for I’d got the sense from Sterling that his work was the most important thing in his life, and leaving now, going on the run with me would mean giving it all up just when he was starting to grasp hold of it again. “No. I gave my word.” Which settled it for me. I’d come pretty far from Moline, and not just in miles, but the teachings I’d learned from my Pa still held. They always would; it kept him alive to me. I shrugged on my heavy coat and walked to the door, put my hand on the knob, and Sterling covered it with his own hand, slighter, older,

weaker, and yet with a strength I didn’t know if I possessed. I couldn’t have let him or Callan walk out of this room to go to where I was going. And yet he did it, kissing me lightly on the lips and standing aside as I went through the door. --The cart was the same one that had taken Sterling and me to Senator Dupree’s office, pulled by the same men. Inside was a package and a note, and I was struck for the first time by the way the Senator wasted paper. Back home, paper was rare, valued. That journal of Callan’s had set Jeannie Findlay back close to a month’s wages. We’d learned writing on slates, read the same books again and again, and yet here it seemed the world was drowning under paper. The note told me to put on what was in the package, and what was in the package amounted to about as much leather as you’d use to bridle a good sized horse. I guess I knew where I was headed. I stepped out of the cart in front of Le Fouet in the same clothes I’d left the inn wearing. It was too cold to parade around outside half dressed, and decided, if I had to wear the leather, it was going to be on my terms as much as I could manage. The Senator waited just inside the door. As I approached, he opened it for me. A man took my coat and Senator Dupree’s eyes narrowed, seeing my trousers and shirts.

“I knew Sterling wouldn’t outfit you properly, but you did see my package in the cart?” I reached down into myself and remembered my Pa, how he’d never feared another living soul no matter how powerful in the world’s eyes, and met the Senator’s gaze. A man like that, you got to start out on the right footing. “I thought that was a gift for my horse.” I walked over to where Emile stood. “Hello, Emile.” He smiled. “David, it’s good to see you back with us so soon. Do you want Mister Wood’s table?” “No.” Senator Dupree pushed forward, scowling. “We’ll be joining the game. I assume it’s already in progress?” “Absolutely, if you’ll just step this way, sir.” “First,” Senator Dupree turned to look at me, “my companion needs to be appropriately dressed. I believe there are some things available?” “Yes, Senator, of course.” Emile turned to me, and I thought he seemed sorry. “David, if you wouldn’t mind following—” “I’ll take him,” the Senator snapped. “We have some things to work out.” He took an offered key from Emile and led me down a hall towards a series of doors, the last of which opened to show a rack with leather clothes hanging on it. The Senator studied on it for a while then handed me some things. “Put those on.”

There weren’t nothing I could do but obey, so I did, and he watched me with those eyes, unreadable and dark, tracking every movement I made. A predator’s eyes. When I was dressed, or as near to dressed as it’s possible to be wearing a leather brief and a bunch of straps, he nodded, and held out a studded collar with a leather leash attached. “Now this.” I was no man’s pet. “I’ll do what you want, you can use me as you like, but not this.” “Do you know what a safe word is, David?” I shook my head. “Sterling must have changed his stripes quite a bit since I knew him.” He dropped the collar onto the floor. “Essentially, a safe word is just a word, something that a person would normally never say in an intimate moment, and it is a signal to the person’s partner that things have gone too far. It means ‘stop’ and upon hearing it, the dominant partner will always stop. It’s how the game is played. Our safe word, David, is ‘Beulahland.’ Say the word, and I’ll stop and this whole arrangement is over. All of it.” He stared first at me, then down to the collar. Slowly, I picked it up, fastened it round my neck and handed him the leash. “Good.” He smiled and led me out of the room. I kept my head up and my face straight ahead, didn’t allow myself to look on any of the other

people there. Though it was foolishness, it eased my mind, the way a child thinks if he’s hiding under a blanket and can’t see you that you can’t see him. Emile led us to a round table where a group of three men was sitting, cards in front of them, and at each of their feet, a boy dressed as I was. The men at the table looked up when Senator Dupree approached, but they didn’t rise, just nodded and greeted him as he took a chair and positioned me on the floor beside him. He didn’t pay me no mind at all as they dealt him into the game, so I tried to make eye contact with my peers. One, a blond boy about my age, was stroking the leg of the portly gentleman he was attached to, another, older than me, I thought, was sitting sullen-faced looking at the floor. I tried to whisper to him, but he ignored me and I felt a sharp tug on the collar that bound me to the Senator. Well, I reckoned things could have been much worse than sitting on the floor half naked while a bunch of rich men played poker above me. I leaned against one of the table legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the boy across from me. He had the trousers of his friend undone and was using his mouth on him right there in public. I must have strained against the leash, for Senator Dupree looked down at me, then across the table, then back to me. I knew what he wanted and my chest tightened. Then a voice, a familiar voice, saying “Good evening, gentlemen. Jack,”

and chairs scraping as everyone save the Senator rose to greet Sterling. I risked a glance up at him. His grey hair was rich and flowing, dressed as elegantly as I’d ever seen, and I think he may have had a touch of stage makeup on. “Sterling!” Portly Man shook Sterling’s hand. “It’s damn good to see you back where you belong.” The man with the sullen companion clapped Sterling on the back. “Heard about your pardon. About time, that’s all I’ve got to say.” Sterling glanced down at Jack, just for the briefest moment, but long enough that the men saw it. “Yes, well, you know how it is in this town. You can defraud the public till you’re blue in the face, but rape charges are a bit harder to shake.” The collar jerked without warning, choking me, and I stifled a cough. “But the important thing is you’re here now. I understand we’re to see a revival of King Lear?” The man stood there with his trousers at his feet, the boy still working at him. “That’s the theory. I’m interrupting your game, so sorry.” “Yes,” said the Senator. “You are. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my game.” A man in a white suit brought out a tray of drinks, set one in front of each of the men at the table, but nothing for us on the floor. The men

settled back into their seats. “Why don’t you join us, Sterling? Bet it’s been eons since you’ve played a decent hand of cards.” Portly Man seemed to genuinely want him to join, but I wasn’t sure how I felt. It was bad enough being in this place, dressed like this. I didn’t know that I wanted Sterling looking on me like this, though I weren’t sure if that was because I feared he’d want me this way or because I feared he wouldn’t. “We’ve got a full table, Jenkins,” Senator Dupree snapped. “No, no,” the man with the boy attached to his crotch said. “I’m off for the night, want to see if one of the upstairs suites is free before the night’s up.” Sterling tossed him a key. “The Founders’ suite is free. Enjoy it, old fellow.” Before he slid into the newly vacated seat, he wiped it down with a silky handkerchief he took from his pocket. I tried to follow the game, but I couldn’t, for very little was said beyond ‘raise, ‘call’, and ‘fold’, and every time I tried to look up, Senator Dupree jerked on my collar. It was starting to rub my neck raw, and some of the other leather parts to the outfit chafed and cut. It was made, I think for someone smaller than me. Sullen boy had gone to sleep at the feet of his ‘master’, and the portly man, Jenkins, was rubbing the head of his ‘pet’ absently, the way you’d scratch the head and ears of a loyal dog. Other than the occasional tugs on the leash, I was being completely ignored,

but I watched the Senator’s foot tap restlessly, increasing whenever Sterling spoke. Judging by the chinking of the chips, the game was for high stakes. The character of it had somehow changed when Sterling come, though I weren’t sure that Jenkins and Sullen Boy’s master really knew that. Or maybe they did, for Jenkins coughed and stretched. “So, Jack, how goes the campaign?” “Beautifully. Ran into a slight snag a day or so back, but I managed to work that out to my own advantage.” “You were always good at that,” Sterling replied in a dry voice. “Land on my feet every time. Like a cat.” “I’ve heard they don’t, actually, Jack,” said Sullen Boy’s master. “Don’t what, Edward?” “Cats don’t land on their feet always. And are you going to hold those cards forever, Mister President?” I heard the sound of chips being tossed into the center. “I’ll call,” Edward said. “I’ll raise you, Jack, say two hundred?” Sterling threw his chips into the pot. “And what’s all this about an office of public morality having to

approve King Lear?” Edward laughed. “So Shakespeare’s become immoral?” “Always has been, darling,” Sterling said. “Just some new claptrap to keep that Brethren Prophet happy,” Senator Dupree said. “I’ll raise another two.” “I fold. Too rich for me.” Edward pushed his chair back and began to stroke down the neck and shoulders of his boy. “At least if they’re off reading Shakespeare, they’re leaving us alone. Don’t mind telling you, Jack, that some of the new laws have me a bit nervous.” “Call.” “I fold too. I’m about tapped out.” Jenkinss ignored the boy at his feet. “I’ll stake you, Tom,” Sterling said. “I couldn’t win at Go Fish with this hand. I’m done. But I have to agree with Eddie, things are getting ugly.” “Just vote for me, then, gentlemen. I’ll get it cleared up. We have to throw those fundamentalist idiots a few bones, that’s all. Trust me. You know I’ve got your best interests at heart.” “If you could quit campaigning long enough to play?” In my mind, I saw Sterling arching his brows.

“Oh fine, I call. Read them and weep, old friend. Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh.” Took me a minute to work out he meant three kings. “Full house.” I heard the pot being pulled over towards Sterling and the appreciative whistles of the other men, the sound of glasses against the table. “You’ve had the devil’s own luck this evening, Sterling.” Edward didn’t sound upset. I got the feeling that of all of them at the table, he liked Sterling the best. “Luck just going my way for a change. Don’t worry, it won’t last. Your deal, Jack.” Jenkins stifled a yawn. “I’m dead. I promised my wife I’d be home at a reasonable hour.” “And I’m broke,” Edward said. “Sterling, I know you’d stake me, but I’ve already got more debt than the federal government.” “Just you and me, then,” Senator Dupree said, and dealt the cards. The other men made no move to leave, just sat watching, drinking, talking about the Senator’s campaign and Sterling’s play and the prophet. The chips was flying across the table, and it seemed that Sterling’s luck must be holding, for after about another half hour of play, Sterling raised the pot five hundred, and Senator Dupree swore under his breath.

“Tapped out. Need to save some for the campaign war chest. Damn. This is a good hand, too.” “Play it out then. Think of the handbills you could buy with all this.” “Got nothing left to bet with.” There was a brief silence, and then Edward, not Sterling, answered. “Well, that’s not strictly true, is it? Traditional wager is always good here, unless the boy objects.” My collar jerked harder than it ever had. “Don’t think I’m going to let this one get away.” “God, Jack, he’s not that pretty,” Jenkins said. “And you just might win. Nobody’s luck runs that well that long.” Jenkins shifted in his seat. “I’m ready to go, but wouldn’t mind seeing this played out.” “What do you say, Jack?” Sterling sounded bored, as though he couldn’t care less about the outcome of the bet, but my heart pounded, for I knew what was on the table weren’t money. It was me. “I’ll put up the whole pot and sweeten it, say ten percent, against your boy there.” I thought for a moment the Senator was going to stand up, his leg muscles flexed and he clenched his fist under the table. “You’re not going back on our deal like this, Sterling. Even if you win, this place closes down at two, and he’s mine the minute he walks out of it. What on earth would you get out of it?”

“I’d get him out of that ridiculous get-up, for one thing. Studs, Jack? Trying to convince yourself of something?” I could feel the tension hardening between them. “Now. Put up, or shut up, as I believe the saying goes.” “Fine. If you insist on giving your money away.” He must have laid down his cards. I tried to rise up to see but was yanked back down again. “Tough luck, Sterling,” Jenkins said. “Been a hell of a game, though. You always did throw your money away like water. I’ve really missed that about you.” Sterling didn’t speak to him, but he looked down at me, finally acknowledging I was there. “Go down to the lobby and ask Emile to take you to where your clothes are and for God’s sake take off that idiotic collar. Wait for me there, I’ll be down directly.” I peered over the table in time to see him lay down five cards. A royal flush, hearts. Senator Dupree turned redder than the cards, but there weren’t nothing he could do about it with all these men around, so he dropped the leash and I stood up, legs cramping from being on the ground for so long. I was also real thirsty, for though the men had drunk steady, nobody’d offered anything to any of us on the floor. As I was leaving, I heard Senator Dupree snarl at Sterling, “You haven’t won anything. I’ll make you pay for this out of his flesh!” He slammed

his chair against the table and stormed past me, down the stairs and, I assumed, out the door. I looked back to see the other men and their companions drifting away, leaving Sterling alone at the table with his head in his hands. Wanting to go to him, but figuring I’d best do what he’d asked, I followed the Senator down the stairs and got Emile to give me the key to the room I’d changed in. I was still in the leather, though had taken off the collar and was sitting on a long bench undoing an endless series of straps binding my chest when I heard the door open behind me. “I made a mistake tonight,” Sterling said. “I should have stayed away. I’ve made things worse for you.” “I’m glad you come. Don’t be having regrets. Whatever happens, it was worth it seeing you show him up like that.” He came round and sat beside me. “You have two hours. I tried to get them to let you stay over till morning, but the rules are quite specific, and if we don’t follow them, we risk having the local police pay closer attention to this place than would be healthy.” Two hours. I put my hand on Sterling’s knee, rubbing lightly over the silky cloth of his trousers. “There’s a lot we can do in two hours,” I said. His hand covered mine. “You don’t have to—” But he stopped mid-

sentence and kissed me, stroking my bare chest and back. My fingers worked the tie around his neck, the buttons on the stiff white shirt, dropping the clothes off his body. “I know I don’t have to. But I need to, need you. Please.” I couldn’t get out of what was coming, and I knew Senator Dupree weren’t going to be satisfied with a kiss and some clumsy fumbling. But I could have a fresh memory of Sterling to hold to. He and I could go where Jack would take me, but get there first. “I understand. I have a room we can use,” he said, but I’d noticed a bed, made up with clean white sheets in the corner of this one, and led him to it, lying back as he stared down at me. “I would never make you dress like that, but I have to say that seeing you in that took my breath away.” “Thank you.” I rolled onto my belly as he come down onto the bed. “I didn’t much like wearing it in front of strangers, but here alone for you, it might be nice.” His hands was all over me, drawing pleasure from every inch of my body. For a long time we spent just touching and kissing, rubbing against each other slow and easy. But time was short, and finally, Sterling pulled away and looked into my eyes. “How do you want to do this?” “Only one way that I know of. If you know more, I’d surely like to

know,” I smiled. “No, love. I mean do you want to top or bottom?” I hadn’t heard those words before, but I knew what he meant. “What do you like?” I asked. “At various times, I’ve gone either way. I’d very much like to take you, David, but the thought of you inside me...” His hand stroked me with agonizing slowness. “You pick.” With Callan, since his amputation, I usually did the taking, but I remembered with longing the sense of fullness, the almost painful pleasure of being taken. I pictured myself up on my knees, Sterling behind me, his hands gripping my hips as he thrust slowly in and out. I started to roll back over for him, and then stopped. I hadn’t any doubt what Jack Dupree was going to choose to do. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to...to take you.” “Thought you might,” Sterling said. It was wonderful, more than wonderful, and it put Jack Dupree so far out of my mind as to be in another country. Sterling helped me along, for it had been a long, long time; for both of us, I figured. He moved in rhythm with my body, pliant as a reed in the water, anticipating what I wanted before I even knew I wanted it, and when I came, it was like a wind blowing through me, like what I imagined the ocean to be, wave

upon wave breaking over me so that I cried out, not caring who heard us. My cries pushed Sterling over his own edge, and afterwards we lay, hearts pounding as one while the blood pulsed back into our limbs. Sterling wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You’ll be the death of me, David. I’m far too old for this much exercise so late in the day.” I hadn’t even thought. “I’m so sorry, I—” “Shh. Joking, love. You keep me young.” He kissed me all sloppy and got out of bed, went to the window in the far wall and peered out. “Is he there?” I asked. There weren’t no point in hiding from it. “Yes.” The grandfather’s clock in the entry hall struck the half hour. “I guess I’d better go. Will you be at the inn when I come home?” It was home to me, and it struck me that home was becoming where Sterling was, and that both pleased me and scared me so bad. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He lay in the bed, the sheet pulled up to his chest, watching me dress. My clothes felt odd, scratchy and constricting. But no matter, I figured the Senator would have me out of them quick enough. I didn’t want to say goodbye. “Guess I’d better go,” I repeated. “I—” I broke off and put my coat on, had my hand on the doorknob before he spoke.

“The key to Jack, David, is fairly simple. You never let him see fear in you. If he thinks you’re afraid, if he thinks he’s got to you, he’ll go for blood.” “Thank you for the warning, and for all this. I’m powerful glad you had such luck at cards tonight.” “Luck?” He laughed. “I cheated. That’s the other key to Jack. Always play by your own rules.”

Callan’s Journal When I got back from my work detail today, I found a note on my bunk, not sure who from. Not Ruby or Daniel, I don’t recognize the handwriting. B.J. is coming for her. Tomorrow. It could only be referring to Max. Brother Joe must have discovered the truth. Or someone told him. Not me, not Dominic, but Treeby misses nothing, and if he thought he could gain advantage from it, he’d turn on his own mother. But then why warn me? I showed the note to Dominic. I’m not sure if I should show it to Max—I don’t know what to do. He can’t leave—the guards are everywhere. At lunchtime, I’ll take Max into the bathroom. We’ll figure this out

together. --I killed Max. That’s not how he would see it, but it’s truth nonetheless. I can’t write about it just now. On Christmas Eve, apparently. Peace on earth, goodwill to men. --I’m going to set down what happened, but just the cold facts, no embellishment. Dom and I showed Max the note. We agreed it must have come from a guard, probably one of my patients. Max did not panic. I offered to try and find the writer of the note, who might be able to help. It thought it might be Nathaniel, who I’ve treated him more than once. When he talks to me, he tells me about growing up in Oklahoma. We’re not friends—that would be impossible here, but I think there’s at least mutual respect between us. I saw him lounging against a wall during Chapel, now held in Brother Joe’s building because of the cold. I made eye contact, then took a chance and slipped out the back while Brother Joe was occupied with two women at the altar. Nathaniel followed. We spoke briefly—a blizzard was blowing in and the wind was brutal. He confirmed that he wrote the note. “If Brother Joe knows why doesn’t he just act now?”

He didn’t answer at first. Like so many of these soldiers, I think Nathaniel is essentially a decent man in an indecent situation. At last he admitted he’d been told to leave the note, though he’d been told to leave it on Max’s bed. He chose to tell me instead, I suppose in hopes I might be able to do something. I’d laugh at that, if I wasn’t afraid I’d start to cry. He’s a soldier with a gun, but he thought I could do something. Brother Joe, sadist that he is wanted Max on edge. He wanted him nervous, afraid that every time the door opens, they’re coming to take him. And Nathaniel told me something else—what Max’s punishment will be. A woman ‘pretending’ to be a man needs to learn a woman’s place, apparently. Who better to teach that lesson than thirty or so convicted thieves and rapists? They used to call it a fate worse than death, and in this instance, they’d have been right. I know what those men are like. They won’t kill Max, not right away. Later, Max, Dominic and I met again in the bathroom. I suppose the others thought we were having some kind of group sex. I told them what I’d discovered, and that Nathaniel wouldn’t help us. I couldn’t reach Daniel in time, and anyway, as much as I’m loath to admit it, he wouldn’t help either. He might stick his neck out for me as he did back in Moline when he saved my life, but not for Max.

Max was so brave. He sat with his head resting in his hands just thinking it through for a long, long time, and then he asked me if I had anything, any drug, that would end it. Like Dennis, Max would live on his own terms, or not at all. Barely able to speak, I nodded. I had morphine, carefully stored against need, Not much, but enough. It was so cold, too cold for exercise, so we stayed in the barracks, mostly in bed. That’s where they found Max when they came for him later. Beyond their reach. As far as I know, there’s no suspicion that the death was anything other than natural causes. One final thing—Ira Treeby’s face when the soldiers burst in, it showed triumph. I had thought he betrayed Max, but now I know it. I wonder who his next target will be?

Chapter 23

David Anderson I kept Sterling’s words in mind as I climbed into the cart opposite the Senator. He didn’t speak, so neither did I. He took me back to his private office and into an inner room, a bedroom, sparsely furnished with a large bed and a table that had things laid out on it that I didn’t recognize, save for a small leather whip with a flurry of tails knotted at each end. My mouth went dry. He locked the door behind us. “Strip.” It was worse the second time. Before, at the club, I’d been pretty sure nothing was going to come of it besides me being made to dress as he chose, but here, with that whip, I knew the rehearsal was done and it was time for the show. Don’t show fear, I told myself, and peeled out of my shirts and boots and trousers and stood there trying not to shiver from the cold. Senator Dupree picked up the little whip and circled me, looking me up

and down in a way that reminded me of Mister Zack checking out a horse he’d bought. “You want to check my teeth?” I asked. The whip lashed out and caught my lower back and buttocks with a stinging blow that left me gasping. “When you address me, you’ll call me ‘sir.’ And on that same vein, you’ll speak when spoken to, or when I give you permission. Is that clear?” “Yes, sir. Do you want to check my teeth, sir?” He smiled, and I felt somehow I’d won a victory. “No. I want you to undress me.” He had complicated clothes compared to what I was used to. A tie, and metal things that held his shirt cuffs together, and extra buttons where buttons ought not be, but I managed it as he stood there, barely helping beyond lifting his feet as I removed his shoes. He had a fine body, I got to admit that, and if it had come attached to a different person, I’d likely have felt desire for it, but those flat eyes kept drilling into me, making my skin crawl. Touching him was like having tiny insects walking over me; it was worse than being trapped in a dark tunnel, but I’d do it. For Sterling, and for Callan. I was a toy, and there weren’t no difference in Dupree’s eyes between me and the false prick he used to breach me for the first time, slicked up wood to take the place of a living person, and that was what made it so terrible. I weren’t a person, just a thing for his use. But there weren’t

nothing I could do about it, no word I could say in protest save the one that I would not ever utter, so I bit my lip and took it in silence. He spoke plenty, foul filthy words, directed not at me, but at Sterling. I understood then that none of this, not one bit of it, from the bargain we’d made to the poker game to this abuse was about me, and I knew sure as the winter will bring snow that I couldn’t never tell Sterling, for he blamed himself enough all ready and this would near to kill him. I tried to keep my mind elsewhere, to think of lines from the play or books I’d read, to remember the poem that Callan had once copied out for me, anything to take my mind from the heaving man behind me, from the tiny strands of leather that ate at my back, but it was hard, so hard. Finally, it was over, and he pulled away from me. “You’re getting blood on my sheets. Go clean up. I may want you later, but for now I have work to do, so you may sleep.” He pointed through a doorway, which I assumed led to a washroom, then wrapped a robe around himself and went out into his office. I hadn’t any idea what time it was. We’d left the club at two, and our encounter had unfolded with excruciating slowness, so it had to be going five or six. Six more hours till I could go home. As I tried my best to wash the evidence of his cruelty and lust from my body, I hoped he’d had enough for one night. There was other things on that table that he

hadn’t used. Not out of obedience, but out of need, I tried to sleep, but couldn’t. The thought of the Senator just through that door, able to come back at any time and watch me, touch me, use me or hurt me any way he pleased, drove sleep away, though I was exhausted beyond telling. I had finally reached the edge of sleep, that place where your mind is half in dream and half awake and you’re not sure if what you hear is real or not, when I heard voices. Dream voices, I thought, but then realized that they was real. My whole body felt sore and aching, but I wrapped a blanket round me, got out of that bed and went over to the door, opened it just a crack. From where I was, I could see Senator Dupree at his desk, still wrapped in the thick velvety robe, and the elevator man was talking to him. “...not have an appointment,” the man was saying. “He doesn’t need one. Send him in, please.” I couldn’t make out Senator Dupree’s expression too well, but he didn’t look pleased. The elevator man went out of my line of sight, and I heard his voice, and then an unfamiliar one and then he returned, followed by a slight man, about Sterling’s size and age, though with his hair was mostly gone on top, leaving a shiny bald circle surrounded by faded blond short hair. Senator Dupree stood and offered his hand. “Mister Wilkes, good to see

you again.” “Pleasure is mine, sir. I appreciate your willingness to see me so early.” I hadn’t spent nigh on three months with actors without learning nothing. This man’s voice was trained. The pitch, the rhythm of it, was like a subtle parody of the Senator’s own voice; it weren’t the same tone he’d used in speaking to the elevator man. It was as though this man was like an animal that took on the colors of those around him. And his name, why did it sound familiar to me? “My door is always open to you.” The Senator walked out of my vision, and Mister Wilkes followed, and I heard the sound of chairs being settled into. Then Mister Wilkes said, “And I am grateful. Though I would prefer you to call me Reverend.” I remembered Josh Halloway, speaking of his faith and its leader. Our

Prophet, Lynwood Wilkes. “Of course, of course. Reverend Wilkes, I hope you noticed how the vote went in the House on the new morality codes. I think my lobbying efforts had some effect.” “It went fine though I have some concerns for the Senate. I’m given to understand some of the more liberal of your colleagues have doubts.” “Nothing that can’t be dealt with through the proper channels,” Senator

Dupree assured him. So, Jack Dupree was in with the Brethren. I weren’t surprised, though it struck me as laughable that he’d work with a man who would gladly see all sodomites, including the Senator, I assumed, hanged. I was half tempted to push open the door and walk out, carrying the whip in one hand and the fake penis in the other. “Speaking of proper channels,” Reverend Wilkes paused and I heard clear as crystal, the clinking of coin in a bag. “I’ll be glad when y’all get the paper money up and running again.” “Agreed.” The clinking stopped, and I shivered. Taking bribes. That weren’t a surprise either, but it struck me that maybe I was in a position to learn some things that could be useful to Magnus who was still working hard on trying to make connections and find information that could help the towns that was going to be cleared. By our agreement, I’d be spending eighteen hours a week with the Senator, and surely, a man of his age wasn’t capable of spending all that time in bedplay? I could listen and spy, maybe find some papers that could be used to bring him down, to pay him back for what he done to Sterling. And to me. So I lay back down, letting my heavy limbs relax and found sleep at last, till I was shaken awake and shown more of just what a man his age was capable of. --He let me go just as the clock struck noon, pushed me out the door

half clothed to make my own way back to the inn. I don’t know how I managed it; must have been my Pa’s teachings somehow worked even in the crazy world, half under and half aboveground where you hardly ever saw the sun to give you direction, but somehow I done it. My back stung as it rubbed against the soft wool of my shirt, and shooting pains run up my legs and into my backside. I did it for I had to, couldn’t hardly lie down in the street and die. Sterling was waiting for me in the room like he’d promised, pacing the floors. “You’re later than I thought.” “I walked.” “Walked? That bastard didn’t even have the decency to have you brought home?” He took me in his arms and I winced as he touched my back, and he pulled away. “Take off...please take off your shirt.” It felt powerful good to hear someone say ‘please’ to me again, so I shed the flannel, leaving just the wool, which I knew was likely stained red down the back. Sterling cleaned my wounds, speaking soft and soothing to me all the while. I lay flat on my belly, reveling in the feeling that I could relax and trust that only good things would come from the hands on me. “Where else are you hurt?” I didn’t answer, just buried my head in the pillow and shook it, for the shame of it all was starting to bubble up in me, and to give voice to it would make it real. “David, where else?”

“It ain’t nothing, just leave it. He was rougher than I was used to, but it weren’t nothing that’s going to kill me.” But I still couldn’t look up. “You can’t go back there.” “That ain’t open for discussion.” I rolled onto my side so he could see my face, hoping he wouldn’t see the tear tracks. I could tell he wanted to argue, but just shook his head. “Do you feel up to going out?” I was real tired; I felt like I’d lost a whole last day, which I guess I had, but didn’t want to lose no more, so I got up and dressed in clean clothes, the softest shirt I had and loose trousers. Sterling wrapped me in my coat and I followed him out of the inn. He hired a cart and helped me into it, treating me like I was made of blown glass, and I loved every minute of it. “Where we going?” “Never you mind that. I thought I’d take you somewhere different.” The cart drove along the underground roads and then up a ramp and I felt the chill of outdoors for a time. Snow was falling, white and clean, covering the filthy streets, covering up the sandwich houses. It struck me it must have been going on December. Christmas would be coming soon. I hoped it wouldn’t fall on a Friday. The cart stopped in front of the old National Cathedral. “I seen this

before, with Lisa.” “Not like this, you haven’t,” Sterling said, and I followed him into the building. A few of the shattered multi-colored windows hung in their frames, barely holding together, but most was covered over with wood and the dark should have been all-encompassing, but instead the place was lit up by thousands of candles blazing from walls, from the aisles, from the front area where the altar had been. The old pews was three quarters full with people, and at the front a group of men and women stood together in fine clothes, all matching, facing us, and below them, seated, a smaller group, some holding fiddles, other things I didn’t recognize but figured must also be for making music. Sterling and I took seats near the back. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. It was powerful cold, and I snuggled down into my coat and wished I could take Sterling in my arms, for he was shivering lightly, but I settled with just pressing as close to him as I could get without risking a scene. After a short time, an older man come up and everybody clapped, then he raised up his hands and brought down pure magic. Swells of music from the instruments and voices of the men and women in the front washed over me. It weren’t like any music I’d ever heard; none of the familiar words or simple tunes we’d played and sung to back home to pass the time. This was layered like a cake and just as rich, taking me to heights undreamed of and then dropping me into valleys so dark I couldn’t see the sun, only to be brought out again just at the

moment I was most filled with despair. “It’s Mozart. Do you like it?” Sterling whispered as the music stopped and the whole audience released the breath they’d been holding. “It’s like...” I couldn’t think of words to say what I wanted so I let my voice fade away as a new stream of music begun to flow. The strangest thing started to happen as I listened, sitting in that hard and uncomfortable pew surrounded by strangers. The music seemed to seep into me like water, lifting out all the horrors that Jack Dupree had inflicted, bringing them to the surface, and not just them; Pa lying dead in an unmarked grave in Moline, Benny C, stiff as I carried him into the shepherd’s cabin, Callan’s face when I slammed him against the wall, all of it shoving against my mind so that the tears that had been hovering on the edges of my eyes just started to fall and I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t help myself from crying like a child, sobbing like a woman. Sterling led me out, down a hall to a frigid room, sat me in a chair and stood holding me close as I let it out. I told him then, told him all of it keeping nothing back, and he held me and soothed me, and all the while in the background I could hear the music rising and falling and bearing all my agony away. I heard the door open, and Magnus’ voice, and I hadn’t even known he was there. “Is he all right?” and Sterling answering in a soft voice and the door closing again.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out the words against his hair. “Don’t know what come over me.” “A person can only stand so much before he breaks—that’s a lesson you had best learn before you get much older. Everybody needs to let go sometimes. Truth be told I was hoping this would happen. You’ve been braver than a man twice your age, but don’t forget, you’re young. I couldn’t have handled what you’re dealing with when I was twenty.” “Seventeen,” I muttered, and he froze and backed off, his face showing shock. “I didn’t know, I’m so sorry, David, for taking advantage—” “Stop it! You ain’t done nothing to me that I didn’t want, didn’t practically have to beg you for. You said it yourself, how much I stood. If that don’t make me a grown man, I don’t know how many years you’d need to add onto me to do it.” “I’m still going to pretend you’re twenty, though, if you don’t mind.” The music was still playing and my breath was coming hard, and I could see it rising like mist in the cold office. I stood to face Sterling, and I could see his breath too, all white and frosty, joining with mine to form a cloud, the two streams becoming one as we’d become one the night before. I was fiercely glad I’d been with him, didn’t care that his actions at the club might have made Senator Dupree more hostile to me. It was worth it.

“I don’t mind. Age don’t mean nothing to me, anyhow,” I said, and he got a little strangled look on his face, not sure if it was happy or sad, so I leaned down through the cloud of our breaths and kissed him and kissed him while the music flowed around us like the mist. When we come back into the cathedral, the performance was over and folks was standing around talking or leaving, going back to the underground where it was warm. Sterling led me over to where Magnus and Lisa waited, and I greeted them self-consciously, aware that Magnus had seen me crying and that the signs of it likely still streaked my face. But neither of them said a thing, and Lisa, her eyes darting up to the stage area, asked me how I liked the music. “I never heard such a thing,” I said. “Is there more like it?” Magnus laughed. “Oh yes. Though this will be the last concert on the surface for a while. It was a fund raiser; they’re trying to rebuild the cathedral, so it seemed appropriate to hold it here.” I looked around the huge building, like something out of a fairy tale book. “I hope they do rebuild it. Would be a little bit like winning over the Ice for a change.” We was walking back up to where we’d come in and Magnus stopped and swore. I followed his eyes to a big sign, red white and blue, with the seal of the U.S. government on it. “Good to know that Mozart gets the morality seal of approval. The verdict’s still out on Shakespeare.”

“Still waiting on approval?” Sterling asked as we moved out into the light snow. “Yes, I meet with some damn bureaucrat Monday—apparently they’re concerned about ‘sexual overtones and inappropriate dress.’” Sterling laughed. “Inappropriate dress? Don’t tell me you’re reinterpreting Juliet as a stripper or something?” “Maddy would probably do it, but no. Cross-dressing. It apparently leads to gender confusion and sodomy.” “So that’s it!” Lisa snorted. “David, tell the truth, did your mother dress you in skirts as a child?” I laughed aloud. It felt good. “There’s a reception in Tenleytown Station for the choir and orchestra,” Lisa said, changing the subject. “Want to go?” Truth be told, I was real tired, and starving. There had been food in our room when I got back, but I couldn’t manage to eat most of it, and now that the tension had eased a bit, I was ravenous. And I needed to talk to Magnus about what I’d learned at Senator Dupree’s, and to do that, I’d need to tell him what I was doing there, and that weren’t something I wanted Lisa to know. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather go on home.” “Yes, sounds good,” Magnus said. “I’d like a few words with you, David,

so how about I take you for some dinner and then home? I’m not in much of a party mood anyway.” “I wouldn’t mind going, if it’s all right with you,” Sterling said. “The conductor is an old friend, and I think they want me to endow a window or two, so I might as well get some free hors d’ouevres and bad wine out of the deal.” “That’s fine.” I squeezed his hand, the closest I could manage to a proper goodbye in such a public place. “Thanks for everything,” I whispered, and watched him and Lisa hurry off, following the crowds. Magnus took me back below, to a small shop that sold plain fare, the sort of food I’d have had at home. Roast meat, potatoes and carrots, and wheat bread, It was a comfort to me, and I wondered if he’d picked it a-purpose. He didn’t say much till we’d got our food, and then he set his fork down and cleared his throat. “I’m just going to come out and ask this, though it isn’t any of my business. I’ve come to care about you like a son, and well, I couldn’t help noticing that you were in quite a state this afternoon. Sterling’s not...he’s not hurting you or treating you badly, is he? He had a reputation. I thought he’d changed some, but—” “No,” I said, swiftly. “Nobody’s ever treated me so good as him. I don’t know or care what he might have been like in the past,” that weren’t true, as I was right curious about a lot of Sterling’s past, “but he’s been

wonderful.” “Good.” He returned to eating, and it was my turn to put my fork down and talk. “I wanted to tell you, Magnus. I saw that prophet, that Reverend Lynwood Wilkes, and I saw him bribing Senator Dupree, giving him a big pile of money, and it looked like they was real close.” He froze mid-bite with a chunk of beef halfway to his mouth. “And just how did you come to see that, David?” I took a deep breath and told him all of it. Well, most of it. I left out the club and surely didn’t give him the kind of details I’d told Sterling, and it was a good thing, I think, for even what I did tell left him raging with fury such that I thought we’d be asked to leave. “I swear to God, box office receipts or no, I’m going to strangle Sterling Woods. I thought he’d changed, but coming back here seems to have brought out the absolute worst. How dare he drag you into his sordid affairs?” “No! It’s not his fault. I made him take me with him that night. He told me to keep my mouth shut, but I didn’t, I chose to do what I done, and I’m not sorry about it. I got him his freedom, I’m going to know where my family is at, and now it looks like I might be able to spy out some information that you can use!” I lowered my voice, hoping he’d do the

same, for the rest of the small crowd was staring at us in interest. “David, you don’t know him like I do. I love Sterling like a brother, but he’s more than capable of manipulating you to do just what you did, and you’d never even know it. He has a history of using people—why on earth do you think Jack Dupree is so hostile?” I may be fresh off the farm, but I knew Sterling cared for me. No one could fake that, not even the best actor in the world. “I think it’s something to do with his stepfather. He weren’t real clear, and I don’t care. I trust him.” “It started with his stepfather, yes, but it didn’t end with him. Sterling’s got a lot to answer for.” I knew Magnus was just speaking out of love and concern for me, but I had to make him see. “That’s between him and the Senator and God if there is one. It don’t make no mind to me. I figure, a man lives that long, he’s going to have things in his past he’d just as soon forget. I ain’t even half his age, and I got plenty of regrets, so I won’t condemn him for things he can’t change.” Magnus still looked troubled, but he’d started in to eating again. “I don’t like it one bit. It stinks like a bad review. Please remember you can come to me about anything, any time.” “I know.” I felt a wave of love for Magnus, as the essence of him

brought Pa to my mind. “I know you’re just trying to look out for me, but I trust Sterling. He don’t mean me harm, I know it. And I know you need the information I can get you.” “That much is true. We’re running into wall after wall. The Church of the Brethren is so intertwined with the R&A you’d think they were one entity, and every single agent, worker, bureaucrat, hell, even the janitors, are either closed mouthed and loyal, or scared witless. If you can find anything about the date of the revival, or those machines and what they do, or even better, what’s planned for all the cleared towns and their people, that would be more than I’ve managed in these weeks of trying.” I’d finished my meal and the waitress brought me a slice of pumpkin pie with some creamy stuff on top. It was so fine. “So Maddy’s John ain’t been too forthcoming?” “No.” He scowled, heavy brows darkening. “She’s too busy trying to get herself married and picked up by the National Theatre to even think about what we’re here for. She won’t even let us meet him. Probably fears our uncouth manners and inappropriate political opinions will scare him off.” Magnus went on talking about the government and the R&A and such, anything but Sterling and me and Senator Dupree, but I had one more thing on that I needed to say. “I don’t want none of the rest of them to know.”

Though he’d been talking about some R&A secretary he’d met who might be willing to let us see some files, he knew instantly what I meant. “No, probably for the best. Though if you’re going to be disappearing one night a week, Lisa at least is likely to suspect something.” I’d already thought of that. “I’m going to tell them I got a job hauling firewood one day a week.” It would explain not just me being missing, but any bruises or sore places I might get, for I had no illusions that the Senator was likely to be kinder to me in the weeks to come. Magnus sighed. “I still don’t like it. But you’re a grown man, and I guess you know your business.” He let me pay, which was new, I suppose in token of giving me my independence, and we left, taking a cart back to the inn. All through that long drive we didn’t talk, and I knew he was still sore at Sterling and would have liked to keep pushing on that, but he didn’t and I was glad. Sterling cared about me, he loved me. And I loved him. When I’d been scared and hurting, it had been Sterling that I’d yearned for. Not Callan. What did that mean? Could you love two people? Callan had been my whole life, and when I turned my mind to him, I knew I still loved him, yet here lately I’d go a day or more without even thinking on him at all. And that scared me worse than anything Senator Dupree could ever do.

Callan’s Journal Christmas. So hard to care just now, with Max’s death still lingering in my mind. What a waste. It’s all such a waste. Daniel came by this morning, took me into one of the offices in Brother Joe’s building to talk. The place was deserted. I guess even Brother Joe takes a Christmas holiday. Daniel knew everything, even how Max got the drug that ended his life. I don’t know what he does here, but he seems high enough up to have some authority. He says I shouldn’t blame myself, and he’s right. I’ve always accepted responsibility and felt guilt for things which weren’t mine to own, but in this case, I don’t blame myself. I blame Brother Joe. I blame this place and the people behind it. And since Daniel is one of them, I blame him. I knew back in Moline that he was weak, that his first loyalty was to the army, and he hasn’t changed. He gave me a vitamin shot and some iron supplement pills, expensive stuff, very rare, but I can’t feel gratitude. Other need them more. I was right about Treeby—he stares at me constantly. I can only think that he’s picked me as his next victim. So no more illicit sex with Dominic—I’m willing to risk my own life, but not his. I’ll need to be on my guard. That man would betray me without a second thought. This journal will have to be kept with me at all times from now on. ---

Unless I’ve lost count, the New Year, 93, starts today. My forty days passed a while ago, and the Appointments are…. Unpleasant. Horrible. He’s trying to turn me off men using the techniques in that book Dominic lifted. He shows me pictures—let me just say that the man has the largest collection of homoerotic photography I’ve ever seen—and then inflicts pain as I look at them. When I consider all the uses we would have for electricity, from lights to refrigeration to important medical devices, it breaks my heart to see a precious generator used to torture men into abandoning their souls. It hurts, oh God, so much. And judging by Dominic’s growing lack of interest, it works. After Brother Joe leaves, the guards sometimes get creative. I’ve been lucky there. The ones I’ve helped will generally not harm me, and will sometimes stop their partners. I guess it’s true that no good deed goes unrewarded. I’m still working as a healer, though without Max, there’s an emptiness to it all. Dominic isn’t much help. He practically faints at the site of blood, but both Sean and Mike have stepped in, grateful for something to do. It’s the boredom that is going to drive us all insane. We’ve been through everybody’s books. The choir helps some, and a couple of the men made up a checkers set with rocks. We got up a tournament, and I actually won, which was a surprise. Chess is more my game, but I can’t

figure out a way to make the pieces. But even with all that, there’s too many hours of lying in bed shivering, thinking of nothing. Oh, and of all things, we got a newcomer today, a young man from Tennessee called Eric. He’d been in the regular camp, apparently, ‘passing.’ Then someone saw his brand, and here he is. I noticed, as we were getting him settled in that he felt very warm, and he kept sneezing. Hope it isn’t anything serious. Dennis is actually doing better, and I’d hate for him to pick up another round of fever. --Note from Ruby today. She says her mother and sister are sick, along with several others. It made me nearly frantic with worry, and was all I could do to keep from begging the soldier who brought the note to let me go to them, which of course would have not been allowed. I scrawled back a reply, asking for more details. I don’t trust the army medics to even bother to treat them. I’d pray, if I believed in prayer.

Chapter 24

David Anderson Back when Callan and me was first coming to know each other, he gave me a book to read about a group of boys round about my age who got themselves stuck on an island. After a time on their own, they made their own rules and went on with their lives. I remember remarking on that to Callan and he told me that people can learn to adjust to most anything. I found out over the next weeks that he was right. I went on with my life, same rehearsals and seeing the city and making love with Sterling, only every Friday regular as clockwork, I went to Senator Dupree. Mostly it was the same as that first time; sometimes better, often worse. The very worst times weren’t to do with pain, they were when he blindfolded me so I couldn’t see what was coming, and I was real careful not to let him see how much that bothered me. We went back to Le Fouet a couple of times for the card game, which Sterling never joined again, though both times we was there, I saw him,

sitting at his table alone, watching. He turned away more than a few offers of companionship those nights, but he never spoke to me, or to Senator Dupree, though I saw the Senator watching him, and he was harsher with me those nights. I didn’t tell Sterling. My side-job as a spy didn’t go too well. Mostly the Senator stayed with me the whole time, and when he didn’t, I tried searching the bedroom, but found it to be full up of scary things for sex and short on important papers. I never got into the office by myself, and though I listened as best I could to anything that happened in there and reported back to Magnus, it seemed like we was up against a wall. Magnus got his approval to do the show though without the crossdressing scenes. Ignoring, of course, that Lisa was cross-dressing in every role she played. Sterling’s King Lear was in rehearsal too, and he’d even got Maddy a role of one of the daughters. It made her powerful happy, as did her R&A man, who we still hadn’t met. I took to coming to rehearsal with Sterling on Saturdays, after I’d come back from the Senator. It was restful, sitting in the darkened theatre, wrapped up in a blanket, just listening to Sterling’s voice roll like thunder. I felt safe there. Christmas come round, and not on a Friday, I’m glad to say. I’d gone out and bought small gifts for everybody; earrings for Maddy, a box of fancy Mexican chocolates for Esteban and Patricia to remind them of home and a container of cocoa for Lisa. For Magnus I figured a practical gift would make most sense, and I found some antique tools of good

Before metal, things he could use to keep his wagons and props in order. And for Sterling, two gifts. One to open in public, a blue sweater of the softest wool I could find, and another, a book which he opened when we was alone. “David, this is...” he broke off, turning the pages, one by one. “Where did you find this?” I looked away from him. “I met somebody at Le Fouet. We got to talking, and he offered to show me some pictures. I went to his place on an afternoon.” “That was fairly dangerous. Not everybody at that club can be trusted.” But he was still turning pages. “But do you like it?” “Very much.” The book was from Before, with pictures and drawings of men, mostly unclothed, some in acts of love. “I have something private for you, too.” He’d given me a public gift, a copy of King Lear bound up in leather, real old, and some new boots. “You didn’t have to do that. You done more than enough for me.” “If I gave you the stars and the moon, it wouldn’t be enough.” Sterling was drinking. He’d had wine with dinner, and Magnus had given him a bottle of some old whiskey and he’d gone through a fair bit

of it. I had some too, though I didn’t much care for it. It tasted like dirt, and I feared alcohol since I’d got so drunk with Callan that last night we was together. Sterling reached into a drawer and took out a wrapped up package, real heavy. It was a pistol. Of all the things I’d expected, that was the last. “It’s beautiful.” And it was. The finest piece I’d ever seen. Finer than anything Mister Zack had owned; finer than any firearm I’d ever seen. “Looking ahead to when you leave here. I thought it might be useful. There’s something under it,” he gestured with his glass. I lifted the gun and the cloth under it, uncovering a huge pile of coins, mostly gold. I stared up at him. “Sterling, you really don’t have to do this.” “I want you to have it.” It struck me what he’d said. When you leave here. You. “Are you staying here when we go?” He didn’t answer at first, then walked over to where the bottle was and refilled his glass. “I believe I might find it somewhat difficult to watch you ride off into the sunset with your Callan.” I sipped my whisky too, still hating the taste, but it seemed the thing to do. “I’ve been thinking that I might find that kind of difficult too.” He froze, his back still to me. “I didn’t intend that.”

“I know. Love ain’t something you intend. It just happens, whether you ask for it or not.” “I’m not a good man, David, not in any way worthy of your love. From all you’ve said, Callan is. You should stick with him.” He sat back down in the chair, twirling his glass in his hand, but not drinking. “Sterling, can I ask you something and have you be honest with me? As a sort of Christmas present?” He didn’t answer, so I just pressed on. “What’s between you and Senator Dupree? Why does he hate you so? Magnus says...he says you done him wrong. He thinks you used me, worked things around so I did what you wanted, but I knew you’d never do that.” “Oh, but I would. Magnus knows me very well. In this case, he happens to be wrong, but I certainly would manipulate any situation to my advantage.” He set his glass down and pushed it away. “But you were asking about Jack.” “I figured out that your stepfather used him like he’s using me, is that true?” “Yes. After I’d grown too old to interest the loathsome bastard, he turned to Jack. Jack’s father was a congressman. He grew up mostly here in DC.” I noticed the matter of fact way he passed over what his stepfather done to him as though it didn’t matter. “He used him from

when he was about fourteen till the old man died, maybe three years later. Jack’s father was complicit. My stepfather, as you may have gathered, was a very wealthy man.” “Okay, so he ought to hate your stepfather, not you. Did he expect you to be able to stop him?” “No. He expected me not to step in and take the old man’s place when he finally had the good grace to die.” So Magnus had been right about that. “Oh, I told myself it was consensual, but I knew even then that I was deluding myself. I took advantage of him rather masterfully. That lasted till he was about twenty-two and went back to his home state for a time.” “But you was together later, right?” “Yes. When he was first elected to Congress, we drifted back together in a sort of love/hate relationship that just went on for years. It was always a struggle for dominance with Jack.” “Did you...” I didn’t know if I truly wanted to ask, but I’d started this, and would finish it. “Did you hurt him for pleasure?” “Oh, yes. And not just him…many, many other men. Now, mind, I also had other relationships that didn’t include that particular aspect. Jack and I were never monogamous. I loved sex in all its variety. Well, except

the heterosexual kind, obviously.” “You ever want to do that sort of thing with me, do what he does?” He looked at me across the table. “We’re being honest, in vino

veritas and all that, aren’t we? Yes, very much. But I won’t, because it’s not what you want. For the first time in my life, I truly care more for what my partner wants than my own pleasure.” He sighed. “I’ve come late to the party, but I’m here now. I’d understand if you wouldn’t want anything more to do with me. It really is my fault that Jack is being so harsh with you. All those years with him, I always knew there’d come a day of reckoning.” I took his hand. “Don’t be stupid. I ain’t going nowhere. What you were in the past ain’t who you are now. And I can take what he gives so long as I’ve got you to come home to.” He drew my hand up to his mouth and kissed each finger and then the palm. “Thank you.” “I got one more present for you. Well, for us, really,” I said, and led him to our bed. --Sterling’s confession didn’t surprise me. I suppose it should have made me feel sorry for Senator Dupree, but it didn’t much. He’d been a victim, sure, but he’d had a lot of years to sort through that, and here he was

doing the same as had been done to him instead of trying to live a different life. He claimed to be a Christian, too, and I remembered my Mam had always quoted the scripture as saying ‘do unto others as you’d have them do unto you.’ Not do unto others as you’ve been done to. So I counted the days through January, which was so cold that nobody went to the surface if they could help it, and the Senator had me taken to an underground shelter instead of his office for our Fridays. My story about hauling firewood seemed to have satisfied the others, though Lisa remarked on every bruise I got, wondering how I’d managed to slam a piece of wood into the side of my face. “Just clumsy, I guess,” I said, and she let it drop, but I could tell she weren’t altogether convinced. Magnus’ play opened at the end of January. We played in a little theatre created out of an old Metro station in an area that Lisa called ‘cutting edge,’ whatever that meant, and Maddy called ‘slum’, but whatever you call it, the people there seemed to enjoy our show, and I found, to my complete surprise, that I enjoyed it too. All that standing and moving and blocking stage left and stage right and learning how to say my few lines paid off as we stood before torchlights and made a kind of magic. I understood Sterling better after that—being on stage was a lot like making love. Sort of intimate, which makes no sense as we was in front of a hundred people, but it was. You give everything you got to please those folks, and when they applaud and roar their approval, it rushes up

over you like a climax. We run the play through February, which somehow managed to be even colder than January. One week, towards the end of the month, I got word from the Senator that I wasn’t ‘required’ that week, then that very Friday at breakfast, Maddy let on that her John was busy that weekend. I met Sterling’s eyes across the table. Weren’t likely to be a coincidence. “Where’s he gone, did he say?” I asked. She set down her coffee, which was about all the breakfast Maddy ever managed to eat. “No, just that it was R&A business, something to do with some big plans for the summer.” She screwed up her face like a child pouting. “I’m really quite annoyed. He says something exciting is coming up, but he won’t tell me a thing about it, even though I tell him absolutely everything.” “Everything?” Magnus looked at her sternly and she flushed. “Well, nothing you wouldn’t want me to share. Just stuff about the plays, and little things about you all. He’s very interested in you, Sterling. I think he must be a fan.” “I’ll give him an autograph, if we ever get a chance to meet him,” Sterling said, but his expression seemed worried. “Soon,” she said. “He’s coming to the Lear premier.” And that was scheduled for the first part of March, but had to be put

back a couple of weeks because a massive blizzard hit, and the National Theatre building couldn’t be reached underground. I went out, once, up to the surface to check the livery stable, for I was concerned for the horses. Snow swirled in wild whirlwinds out of the north and the wind was worse than I’d ever known. Our horses had been moved to a lower level, and it was well heated by fires, but they was lonely and in need of more exercise than they was getting, being led around what used to be an underground car garage on a rein. So I spent some time there, and started making it a point to go back once a week, just grooming the horses, talking to them, walking them some myself. I’d be glad when the weather broke and we could hitch those horses up and leave this place. The Fridays had begun to wear on me, leaving me indifferent to sex most of the time, and I was glad that Sterling was content to just hold me on bad days. Of course, I still didn’t know whether when we left, he’d be coming with us. I couldn’t imagine being without him, and yet when I found Callan, what would happen then? I felt like I was being split into two.

King Lear opened the third week in March when the weather finally broke some, and I went along with Lisa and Magnus and sat in special seats that Sterling had arranged. Though I’d heard the whole thing through in rehearsal a dozen times or more, I was still on the edge of my seat through it all, held in a spell by Sterling. I couldn’t believe that aging petty king, so shallow that he didn’t see love right in front of his face,

was the man I lay next to every night. He was marvelous. The applause when they finished was thunderous. It reverberated off the high ceilings till my ears hurt, and pride for Sterling welled up in me. After, we went down into the dressing rooms, but there was too many people lined up to see him for us even to get close, so Magnus suggested we go see Maddy, maybe meet her John, and then congratulate Sterling later. I didn’t want to leave, and for one blessed moment, I wished I was female, for if I was Sterling’s wife or girl, the crowds would have parted for me, and I could have been at his side through all the praise and congratulations. Maddy was pleased to see us, especially once we’d told her how fine she’d done. “We’ve got a three week run of Lear, and then I think they’ve asked Sterling to stay on and do another play. I’m hoping for a role—the director’s practically promised me!” I heard the door open, though we was facing away from it, looking at her. “Everybody, this is John.” I turned and my world come crashing down around my ears, for Maddy’s John was Hennessy, the R&A man from Moline who’d condemned Callan, who knew me for what I was—a wanted murderer. I froze, waiting to see what Hennessey would do, whether he’d call for police, or just try to take me in hand himself. The small room was crowded with folks jostling each other to get close enough to

congratulate the actors; there weren’t no way I could run. If it come to a fair fight, I could likely take Hennessy, but it wouldn’t be a fair fight, that was certain. I thought longingly of the gun that Sterling had gifted me with. “John, good to finally meet you.” Magnus held out his hand, and Hennessy took it, still looking at me, though. “I was beginning to wonder if you were a figment of Maddy’s imagination.” “You must be Magnus. I’ve heard so much about you.” I could hardly keep from shuddering, remembering that voice raised to condemn Callan, to threaten me. Why hadn’t he cried out on me? Maybe he didn’t recognize me. Could be he’d been staring at me trying to remember where he’d seen me before. I started to edge away. “David, come here.” Maddy’s hand grabbed hold of my shoulder and I had no choice but to turn back. “John, this is David. He’s close to Sterling, I’m sure he’s got some great stories he could tell.” He blinked and the corners of his mouth twitched, and I knew darn well he knew me. No way out of this except through it. “Yes, sir. I sure have. Perhaps I could tell you one or two now.” Maddy looked puzzled, but Hennessy smiled, kissed her goodbye, and I led the way out of the crowded dressing room and down a hall to an office, sparsely furnished with a broken desk and a table piled high with

wigs. It was the oddest thing, seeing the jumble of red hair and brown and blonde all tossed over each other, like small furry animals, or the heads of the dead in a mass grave. I stared at the wigs to keep from meeting Hennessy’s eyes. He closed the door behind us. “You’ve come a long way.” There weren’t anything I could say. “From a farm boy to what? An actor’s paramour? Too bad we don’t live Before. You could have made a fortune selling your story.” Money. Yes, that was the way. “I got money. You can have it all if you forget you saw me.” He laughed. Hennessy weren’t a big man. With his mousy brown hair and small eyes, he was the sort of man you’d see on the street and not even notice. Just listening to him or watching him, you could have thought he was laughing at a funny story or a joke. “I don’t want your money. I want to see you suffer. I want to watch when they come to take you, when they bind your hands behind you and string you up. You inconvenienced us, and there’s a price for that.” “Protecting my home and family is about as much my business as anything could be.” “So noble,” he said quietly. “I find it wonderfully appropriate that you and I have met again in this way. I knew of course, the minute

Maddalena began to describe you who you must be.” “How come you ain’t called for the police yet?” “A quick death by hanging is not suffering enough for the trouble you and your friend caused me. I’m going to leave you dangling like a worm on the hook for a while. You can’t go anywhere. This city is locked up tight, and I’ll make sure the guards on the gates know exactly what you look like, just in case. It will do my heart a world of good, thinking of your days as numbered.” “Ain’t you afraid if you leave me free, I’ll figure out a way to beat you? Seems like I’ve managed to do that every single time we run across each other. Seems like letting a cold-blooded killer walk free might be pretty dangerous.” I thought of Sterling, or Callan, always able to keep up masks, and my voice stayed calm and clear. “You’re not a cold-blooded killer, David.” At my look of utter confusion, he explained. “Oh, you might have shot some soldiers from a careful distance, but I know very well you didn’t kill George Delahaye. I had my doubts about it when you confessed to it.” “But why...” It made no sense. If he knew Callan done it, why try to punish me? “If you don’t mind, my beloved awaits. As I expect, does yours.” “You’re just using Maddy. I’m going to tell her.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Tell her what you like. She won’t believe you.” He opened the door and left me alone, the sounds of celebration spilling over from down the hall.

Callan’s Journal Dominic asked me to go with him to California, when we get out of here. As if we’re ever getting out of here. But he sounded so hopeful. I had to remind him that I wasn’t going anywhere—I had the Andersons to care for, and I still believe that David will come. And then we had a fight. “He’s just a boy and he’s alone. How on earth is he supposed to even find this place? He might have been able to track you while you were walking, but once you got on that train? Come on, Callan, don’t delude yourself. He’s just kid. Mourn him, say goodbye to what could have been, and then move on to what is.” On the surface, there’s no rational reason for me to believe that David will find us, or that he will even want me back when he does, but I do. I thanked Dominic for all he’d done, reminded him of how much I wanted him, but he pulled away, and not, I think, because of what Brother Joe had done to him. Because he wanted more than I can give. I’m not good at this. This would not be the first time I have

unconsciously led someone on; dashing someone’s dreams to shreds. I hate it. “I care about you, you know that. I couldn’t have survived here without you.” “But you don’t love me.” There was more resignation than bitterness in his voice, at least. I don’t want to make an enemy of this wonderful man who has done so much for me. “It’s nothing lacking in you, nothing you’ve done wrong, or not done. It’s me,” I told him. “I don’t care if you don’t love me. Come with me anyway. You’ll learn to love me, and if you don’t, well at least you’ll be out of here and safe.” “David will come. Isn’t that what faith is all about?” It struck me that we spend hours listening to Brother Joe talk about faith and belief and trusting in a higher power, and maybe the reason none of his arguments can touch me is that I already have that sort of belief. In David, in the love we had, even if I’d damaged it beyond repair. If God is love, then God is love between men as much as any other kind of love. He took me into the bathroom then and brought me off. I told him it wasn’t necessary. “I need it,” he said. I understood. We parted that night on good terms—it seemed my refusal of his offer had changed nothing in his feelings, and I expect he had anticipated it.

But I think he’ll be going up to the altar soon. There’s nothing to keep him here. --Treeby threatened me today. He’ll tell Brother Joe about the medical supplies unless I prostitute myself to him. I shoved a scalpel in his face, told him to go to hell, told him if he tells, or if he tries to touch me, I’ll kill him and take the consequences. I think he believed me. --Eric is still sick, seems worse. Dennis Burney has a fever again. The man has the constitution of an ox, but this fever is troubling. Spikes up and down, doesn’t respond to the willowbark tea I tried first or the aspirin, and now he’s got diarrhea, which is just hell to deal with in here. I hope whatever this is doesn’t spread. --Eric is dead, and the disease is spreading. Three men in our barracks, two of the women and a number of the rapists are showing signs of fever, plus diarrhea. It’s only been a couple of days, but already I’m running ragged trying to see to all these people, including the rapists who I’d almost rather let die. I’d never been in that particular barracks— they’d always come to me before—but if this isn’t contained, it could wipe us all out, so I went over. With Dominic. He wouldn’t let me go

alone. It was horrific. We take care of each other, and so do the women. We help each other out. I doubt that Mike likes cleaning up the filthy messes the fever victims make in bed, but he does it—we all do that sort of thing for each other. Not over there. It was every man for himself, and the two or three strongest have all the blankets, all the food. They dole out favors to those they like, and anyone on the outs is left to freeze and starve. I did what I could for them, but if they won’t take care of their own, I’m afraid they’ll all end up suffering. --Dennis died today. I hope he’s with his Andrew. --I haven’t had word from Ruby in a while. Now that I’ve seen this disease firsthand, I’m even more worried about her mother and Delia. I sent a note to Daniel through a soldier who came in this morning with an infected toe. I was expecting an increase in the number of soldiers coming to me—if the medics out there are dealing with anything close to what we’re seeing here, they’ll have their hands full. But if anything, I’ve seen fewer patients. So perhaps Mrs. Anderson’s illness wasn’t related to this disease. Perhaps it hasn’t hit the refugee part of the camp yet. As busy as I am, I wish I had more soldier patients. I’m nearly out of

aspirin. --Appointment today. Just thinking about it wears me down so badly. My twice a week torture in the name of the God of love. I tried to talk to Brother Joe about the disease, but he got angry, and things got bad. I was useless for almost the entire rest of the day. With so many sick, I can’t afford that. I need to play along with him, just tell him what he wants to hear. --Ira Treeby is sick. He wants me to treat him. I will be damned if I waste precious aspirin on that animal. --I’ve hardly any time to write anymore. Three more deaths just in the last two days. I can’t handle this, and if it’s spreading into the general population, this camp will end as a charnel house. I need to talk to Daniel. One of the guards who brought us lunch has taken notes before. When he comes in to remove the soup pot, I’ll see if he’ll do it again. We need medicine, and decent food. Watery soup with no hint of meat and only a few dried vegetables isn’t enough.

Chapter 25

David Anderson Knowing he was there watching me, it ate at me all the time. I didn’t dare tell Sterling, for he was all caught up in his play. Besides, there weren’t nothing he could do about it, and he was already doing enough, helping me through those last few Fridays with Jack before we was supposed to leave. He still hadn’t said whether he’d be going with me – sometimes it seemed he meant to and other times not. I had no idea what I wanted. I wanted him and Callan too, what my Grandmam would have said having your cake and eating it too, though I never really understood what that meant, but I knew it was something that couldn’t be. I had a choice to make, and so did Sterling. But before I could even think about that, I had to find out the location of the camp from Dupree and escape from Hennessy. It all piled on my mind like rocks on the mountain tops back home, and I knew something, some final little pebble was eventually going to send it crashing down. I told Magnus about Hennessy. We were in the theatre tearing down

the sets, for our play was over. It was the first week in April and the weather was starting to break. Sterling had one more performance of

Lear left and I had one final Friday to face. After that we’d be free to leave, if we could. “What are we going to do?” “Leave it with me, but be ready to go at any time, all right?” I nodded. “Magnus, has Sterling...has he said anything about his plans?” Magnus looked away. “No. And I’ve asked flat out, he refuses to say. I don’t think he knows himself, David. One the one hand, he’s got his career, respectability, access to his wealth, comfort. And on the other he’s got—” “Me.” “And you’re off to rejoin the great love of your life. You see his position?” I did. Put that way, he really had no choice. I thanked Magnus and returned to our room, telling myself I ought to make the most of what time we had left, and yet not truly believing it was all about to end. --The last Friday with the Senator come close to being unbearable. He knew it was his last chance at me, and seemed determined to reach new

heights of cruelty, grinding me down so low, it took everything in me to take it without complaint. But I did, didn’t speak the word to stop it, not this close to winning through. Whatever he did, I kept my thoughts on Callan and bit my lip till it bled. At last, he pulled the blindfold off so I could see him. He sat beside me on the bed, a small knife in his hand. “You know, I’m going to miss these little encounters of ours. Suppose I should give you something to remember me by?” The knife traced over my belly. I jerked away from the blade. “Not likely to forget you,” I gasped. “The only thing wrong with you, is that I prefer my men cut. I could fix that, if you like.” He drew the blade of the knife across my lower belly, just above where the dark hair curled. “No!” “You know how to stop me,” he smiled, but he folded the knife and tossed it on the bed beside me. “Keep that, then, to remember me by.” He began releasing the restraints. “I suppose I can let you go early today, as a treat.” “Mighty big of you.” I started to dress and pocketed the knife, though it was a fair challenge not to stick it in his gut. “I believe I’ve kept my end of this deal.” He was watching me with narrowed dark eyes. “I suppose you have,

yes.” “And now you owe me some information.” “The location of...where was it now?” He weren’t about to trick me that way. I’d say the word, he’d claim I’d said the safe word and call our deal. “You know where it is. Now give it up.” He smiled slightly. “Tomorrow night’s the cast reception for Sterling’s play. I’ll tell you there.” “That wasn’t what we agreed!” I should have known he’d cheat me. I felt the knife in my pocket; I’d use it if I had to. “I don’t recall that we ever arranged exactly where I would give you the information. That’s my deal. Tomorrow at midnight. There’s an old office under the ballroom.” He scribbled some words on a paper. “Here’s directions. Take it or leave it.” “Fine. And then I’ll never have to see you again.” He opened the door, then looked back. “Have to? No, but you can always come back any time. You’ve been most cooperative and highly entertaining. Sterling was right about you. Thank him for me. You were everything he promised you’d be.” “What are you talking about?” I knew he was baiting me.

“How naïve can you be? This whole thing was his idea, a way we could share you. He and I would meet afterwards, and I’d tell him all about what I did to you. The highlight of his week, I’d imagine. He was practically coming in his trousers just hearing me tell it.” “You’re lying. I don’t believe you,” I said flatly. “Believe what you like.” He started to leave then turned back. “Oh, and tell him his payment is arranged and will be announced tomorrow evening.” Against all my judgment, I had to ask. I had to know. “What are you talking about?” “In exchange for his part in all this, I’ve arranged for Sterling to be appointed Assistant Director of the National Theatre. It’s what he’s always wanted. Final step to being his father, you know. Or maybe you don’t, not sure if he shares that sort of thing with his playthings.” “Even if you’re right about the job, he got it because he deserved it!” Dupree was trying to work me, trying to get me riled up with his lies so I’d make mistakes. And yet, at the far back of my mind, something in his words rang true. “Oh, no doubt he does, but nobody gets a position that high here in Washington without a patron. Nobody, no matter how talented. You might consider what it means, him taking a job like that that ties him

here just when you’re planning to leave.” I’d already figured he weren’t likely coming with me, though the knowledge of it hadn’t reached through to my heart yet. I didn’t answer him, and he left with a wave and a cheery ‘See you tomorrow night,’ and I went on home, unsure if I should say anything of this conversation to Sterling or not. My Pa taught me to speak my mind, not to play games and hide behind false words and deception. He believed, and raised me to believe that a man should be straightforward and shoot from the hip. But this place wouldn’t never be my home, and these people weren’t like the home folk, and it might be that I had to twist truth and lies together myself, and choose my words carefully just to survive. --So I held my peace all through that night and the next morning, bit back the questions and the doubts and the fears as Sterling prepared for his final performance. If he thought anything wrong with me, he likely put it down to what I’d done with Dupree, and I didn’t give him reason to think otherwise. He brought me down into the dressing room before the performance and I watched him dress, thinking on how this place had changed me, and I hated it. Hated what it was turning me into, how far it had taken me from who I’d been. If my Pa should come back from the dead, would he have been ashamed of me? I’d tried to do the right thing, to protect those I loved, but it seemed like I couldn’t win. I longed

something awful for open air and high wind blowing off the Ridges and the smell of Mam’s lamb stew, so that I had to get up and face the wall so Sterling wouldn’t notice. “Are you all right?” He never missed anything. “Just worrying on what’s coming up. Finding out about the camp and all.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and felt Dupree’s knife. I took it out and set it on a table. Let the man who cleaned the room have it. I wanted nothing from Dupree except the location of Beulahland. He come up behind me and slid his arms around my waist, kissed the back of my neck. “You oughtn’t to do that, unless you want to be mighty late for your last performance.” “They can’t very well start without me.” I turned around and kissed him. I looked into his eyes, and it was like all my doubts slid away—I saw the love there; surely you couldn’t fake that. I’d been stupid to even think Dupree was doing anything other than trying to come between Sterling and me. I started to sink down to me knees, but he pulled me up. “No, my turn, love.” I closed my eyes and let him unfasten my trousers and lower them down, warm, moist mouth enclosing me, hands playing across my

buttocks till I thought I would die of it, each touch, each stroke of his mouth almost more than I could bear, till at last I exploded into his mouth, crying out softly with the pleasure as he brought me down slow, eased me into a chair. It had never been so fine. “Thank you. That was...” And then it hit me. “Was that goodbye?” He was righting his clothes, brushing out his hair where I’d clutched at it in my ecstasy. “I wish I could tell you one way or the other, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do.” His voice sounded almost like a child’s. “I’m torn in two, and I don’t know what’s right.” He turned to meet my eyes, and I nodded, miserably. “I understand.” “I thought I knew what I wanted. I had it all planned out, how it would go, but you’ve thrown me for a loop every single time, and I just don’t know what I want anymore.” I didn’t understand all that, but the pain in his voice was real, and to his honesty, I had to be equally honest. “I love you. I love Callan, too, but I love you and I don’t want to let you go. Come with me when I leave, Sterling. Please. Could be Callan is,” I swallowed hard, “dead, or maybe he won’t even want me no more—we didn’t part friends, after all. I got to see him, got to see to my family, but it could be that we might still be able to be together.” There was a sharp knock at the door. “Mister Wood, they’re ready for

you in makeup.” Sterling swore. “We’ll talk about this later. You’re getting the information from Jack when again?” “Midnight. He says there’s an office room where the party’s being held, I’m to meet him there.” The oddest look flickered across Sterling’s face and I shivered for it reminded me somehow of the way the Senator used to look at me, but it was gone as soon as I noticed it, replaced by a weak smile. “After tonight, when things calm down, we’ll talk, I promise. I do love you, David. You believe me, don’t you?” “Yes,” I said, for I did, no matter what. That was a certainty, as sure as the sun would rise the next day, Sterling loved me. --The performance was the best he’d ever done, or so Magnus told me later, for I didn’t actually see any of it. Oh, I was watching the stage and I had a fine view, but I didn’t see it. My thoughts churned around and around all through the play so the words was no more than bird calls or the gurgle of a rushing creek, just noise. In a few hours, I’d know where Callan and my Mam was. I could make plans to go to them, and Magnus had promised to help so I wouldn’t be making the trek alone. And yet, if Sterling weren’t with me, I’d be so alone I wouldn’t know what to do.

A roar of applause made me jump half out of my seat, and I realized the play was over, the cast was taking bows, and I followed Magnus and Lisa out the theatre door into the cold. We walked across the square with the last of the snow still clinging to the edges of the pavement on the way to Sterling’s party. It was in the fanciest place I’d ever been. The ceiling was glass—I’d never seen the like. They had it heated with some kind of coal stoves that blew the air around so you weren’t at all cold. Must have cost a fortune. You could look up at the ceiling and see the stars and the moon. It was dazzling, put me in mind of being home in the summer, out under the stars. And the people dazzled too. I’d wore that fancy suit with the tails that Sterling bought me, and as I walked into the party, I caught sight of myself in the big mirrors that lined the walls and was brought up short by how much I’d changed. Magnus wore a suit like mine, as did most of the men, including Sterling, who was far across the room, surrounded by other men all done up fancy and women in fine dresses dripping with jewels. More jewels than I’d ever seen. Then one of the women moved sideways and I saw it was Maddy, wearing a dress cut so low it was God’s own miracle that it hadn’t fallen off, and she was on the arm of John Hennessy who saw me and winked kind of slow-like and smiled. “Honestly, David, I didn’t think you cared for the charms of the fair sex.” Lisa had appeared at my elbow.

“What?” “Mad Maddy. You’ve been leaving eye tracks all over that fine silk gown of hers.” I had been looking at Hennessy, but I couldn’t tell her that, so I did what my Grandmam had always told me to do with girls. “That sure is a fine dress you’re wearing yourself.” And it was. Black, sort of straight with a slit up the side that showed most of her leg. Maddy was like a butterfly, all colorful and gay, flitting from flower to flower, but Lisa was like the otters we used to see in the river, sleek and shiny. “Good save. Do you want to dance?” A group of musicians set to playing and a few couples danced in the center of the room. “Unless they got a caller and he’s about to say ‘swing your partner, dosi-do’ I ain’t likely to do too well on the dance floor here.” “I’ll teach you,” she grabbed hold of me and dragged me out onto the floor and positioned my hands on her waist and shoulder. It weren’t bad, especially as every time I turned around I caught sight of Sterling, laughing, talking, surrounded by friends and admirers. I tried to catch his eye, but there weren’t no chance of it, we was whirling by too quick. Then as Lisa swirled me around so fast I nearly lost my footing, I come right again and saw Dupree for the first time that night, standing next to Sterling with his hand on his shoulder and my stomach lurched.

“I need to sit down.” I broke away from her and went over to the food table and pretended to be hungry. I filled a little plate with food I mostly didn’t recognize and took a glass of some drink that was probably alcohol, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt me to have just a sip or two, then found a chair on the edge of the room, trying to get my bearings. It was a bit after 11:00; I was to meet Dupree at 12:00, and he’d given me enough description on that paper that I thought I could find the room. Back out to the entrance hall, down a flight of steps into the basement, third door on the right. I wondered how he’d manage to shake himself free from the guards that was around him, but then figured they was likely used to him going off by himself for sex and to take bribes from that prophet. “...moving fairly swiftly.” Two men, one I didn’t recognize and one jarringly familiar, had come to stand almost directly in front of me, almost like they didn’t see I was there. The familiar-strange man, who was slight and balding, laughed. “All time is the Lord’s time.” And then I knew who he was. The prophet, Lynwood Wilkes. I sank back into my chair, willing them not to see me, willing Lisa and Magnus and Sterling and Maddy to stay away. “Still, sir, we don’t want events to spiral out of our control.” The other man’s voice was low and urgent. “God is in control, Colton. He tells me when the time is right, and I’ve

heard his will on this. The roads are clearing; send word to the Elders that the revival will go as scheduled.” When? Where? I was screaming the questions in my mind so loud I couldn’t believe he didn’t hear. “But Reverend Wilkes, Lookout Mountain is so exposed. We can’t offer you the kind of security you could have here, or in Atlanta, say.” “Security? What are you afraid of? My faithful will offer me no harm, and I have assurances that the government will provide troops in the unlikely event that some satanic malcontent tries to interfere with the revival. No, old friend. It goes as planned. On the twenty first of June, I’ll stand on the peak and speak the Word, and you and everyone else will see God’s power working through me.” “And then the new world,” the man sighed. “Yes. A new world. Our world.” The Prophet pulled a watch from his pocket, then sighed. “I need to have a word with Senator Dupree about his players. Shakespeare’s all well and good, but I’m thinking they might want to do something with a bit more moral fiber to it.” He walked away towards the crowd and the other man followed. Lookout Mountain. I knew where that was from my geography studies back at school. The very end of the mountain chain that my own home place was part of. Of course he’d have to have his revival in the

mountains, else nobody would hear or see the explosions, nobody would credit that it was him that worked the miracle. So now I had a date and a place. I got to my feet, heading for Magnus who was leaning in a corner talking to some actors. “If I could have everybody’s attention for a moment.” It was Mister Danton, the director of the National Theater—I’d come to know his voice real well when I’d watched Sterling’s practices. The whole room, probably a hundred people or more, got quiet and I moved closer in. “I want to thank you all for the wonderful support you’ve given to the company this season. I can say honestly this is the most successful production we’ve had in years. Every one of you shares the credit for that, whether you be actor or crew or sponsor or member of the theater-going public. And I have no doubt that our next show will be even bigger.” There was applause then, soft and polite, like it would be bad manners to sound real happy. “To that end, I have a few announcements. Our next show will be

Julius Caesar. Sterling Woods will be taking the title role, and he and I will be casting for the rest over the next few weeks.” The clapping this time was louder, and Mister Danton smiled. “And I’m even more pleased to inform you that Sterling has been appointed Assistant Director of the National Theatre, effective immediately.” There

was a couple of cheers and more clapping. “Our prodigal has returned, and I am looking forward to a long and prosperous working relationship. Sterling, want to say a few words?” So Dupree had been right about the job. That didn’t mean he was right about the rest, I told myself, or even that Sterling was going to take the job. I bet the first words out of his mouth was going to be refusal or at least saying he needed to think on it. He’d been confused when we talked, like he hadn’t known what he wanted. We had to talk, he’d said that, so we would. And then he’d make his decision. “You have to ask if an old actor wants to speak in public, Gervaise?” There was laughter at that, and all eyes turned to Sterling, and I tried to meet his eyes, but he kept shifting his view around the room. “I’m honored, of course, by this appointment. I’m sure most of you know my father was Director for many years—” “Better watch out for your job, Gervaise,” someone from the crowd called out, and there was more laughter. “But...” Here it come. He was going to refuse. “But before I can accept, I have to publicly thank my long time patron and friend, Senator Jack Dupree. Or should I call you Mister President?” Dupree came forward and clapped Sterling on the back. “Just Jack will always do for you,” he said and they stood there together, like old friends. Like old lovers. I turned away though Sterling still talked. I’d

been used. I fought to keep the shock and anger from showing on my face, but it felt like a mountain had crashed down on me and I was wading through mounds of earth, slowing me down, crushing me. I leaned on the food table, not even looking up when Lisa slipped her arm around me. “Not feeling well? This food is a bit rich. And what did you think of Sterling’s performance?” “He’s a fine King Lear,” I said dully. “No, silly. Not on stage. Just now. He loathes Jack Dupree, everybody knows it, and the feeling’s pretty much mutual from what I’ve been told. So I guess Dupree must be a damn good actor too.” “Guess he is.” I didn’t know who to trust, who to believe. Washington was a big web with too many spiders in it and I wanted to go home. “Going to get some air.” I wrenched away from her to the entrance hall, then out the door where I drank in deep breaths of cold night air. I’d have things out with Sterling the next day, tell him everything Dupree had said, lay it on the line and see where we stood. Pa had been right— a man has to speak plain. Folks was coming in and out of the door. Couples, men with their arms around women wrapped up in furs, mostly drunk, I thought, from the way they staggered and laughed. Carts waited to take the people home, and the cartsmen stood around a fire blazing in a big metal can. They was laughing and singing and I wanted so much to join them, though

they’d take one look at my fancy suit and clam up and get all formal. They was my people, ordinary folk, not the glittering and bejeweled partygoers. I’d come so far from where I’d started, but just then, it seemed to me that sometimes you could go a long way in the wrong direction. Judging by the moon it was close to midnight, so I went back through the main doors and down those stairs I’d seen into the basement. This part of the building was older, with no light but oil lanterns set on high platforms along the walls. The sounds of the party overhead trickled through the floor in a waterfall of music and laughter, all bright and shining and false, but here in the basement, water dripped from a leaking pipe, and the dark walls stank of mold. Third door on the right. The door was unlocked. This room too, was lit by lanterns and had a round squat wood stove, rusty with disuse, shoved up against a wall. The floor was bare concrete and the cold seemed to well up from it, flowing through my boots and into my bones. Two chairs set facing away from me, and in one, I saw a black sleeved arm. “Senator?” No answer. “Dupree?” I walked over and looked down at him sitting there, head lolled over, body slumped against the side of the dark red leather chair, the same dark red as the blood that blossomed across the front of his white shirt. He was dead.

Callan’s Journal Daniel hasn’t been in touch. Days are slipping by, and the only thing that distinguishes one from another are my meetings with Brother Joe. He gave me an apple today. It hurt my teeth to eat it, but it tasted so wonderful that I didn’t care. I devoured it down to the core and let the juice that had dripped down my chin dry where it was so I could smell it all through that hour with him. --Still no word from Daniel. I hope he’s not sick himself. Ira Treeby is dead, and I don’t think from the disease. Dominic smothered him with a pillow. My only regret is that I’m sorry I didn’t think of it first, though one-handed, it would have been difficult. God, what has this place turned me into that I can talk so casually about killing another human being, even one so vile? I agonized over Delahaye, but I know that if I was given a gun, I could end Brother Joe without remorse or hesitation, and I celebrate Treeby’s death. I can’t think about him, or any of that. Can only think of what to do for these men, for the women, now that the aspirin is gone. I’m no expert, but I think it’s a kind of flu. The diarrhea, I think, is separate, maybe dysentery. Conditions are rife for it. I’ve read history. Millions and millions dead Before.

What’s Ira Treeby against that? --Finally, a reply from Daniel. He’s agreed to meet me. There’s a woodshed in our block, about half empty now and likely cold as glaciers, but it’s private, and I can get to it without much danger. After exercise, which is a joke, as nobody goes out now, I’ll slip away for a while. Most of us are either sick and in bed, or just cold and in bed most of the time and the guards don’t seem to care anymore. I hope he can help me. Sean is sick, and I think if he dies, Mike will go out into the snow and just sleep in the cold till he dies. --I can hardly write, my hand is shaking so badly. I have never been so furious in my life. I thought what Brother Joe was doing with his ‘reparative counseling’ was bad enough, but this is beyond words. I went to Daniel and carefully told him of the illness, gave him the information I’d collected from my patients so he could share that with the medics and healers here. The mortality rate, the rapid spread. I expected him to be concerned. You’ll have to convince them, get them to believe you, I told him. “Oh, they’d believe me,” he answered, almost casually. I started pacing, trying to warm myself in the frozen shed, think of what

to do. “So it’s already spread to the rest?” I tried to keep the fear I felt for David’s family out of my voice. “No, no, calm down, it’s okay, it’s controlled.” He showed no panic, no worry. Nothing I’d expected of someone who has been exposed to a serious contagious disease. He wasn’t worried that he’d get it. “Controlled how?” I asked “They tell me that with a combination of vaccine and drugs, most people are just fine. It’s no worse than a bad cold.” So he’d been vaccinated. That explained why he wasn’t worried that he would get it. But he wasn’t worried that I would get it. Which I should. I should already have had it. I wasn’t strong to start with, plus the effects of what Brother Joe is doing to me. Add to that some serious vitamin deficiencies—it was that thought that brought the truth home to me. The ‘vitamin shot.’ The iron pills. Daniel had given me the vaccine, and in case I’d already contracted the disease, the drugs to control it. “You knew this disease was around…or, knew it was coming? Did they give us this on purpose?” Daniel hemmed and hawed, didn’t want to admit what we both knew was true. But he did, finally. The disease is a bacterial infection, probably bred in a lab in Mexico, commissioned by the R&A, the only agency with

the funds for something like this. Eric was, as they would have said Before, a plant. They infected him and put him among us deliberately. He must have accidentally infected some ‘normal’ people first, though, and things started to get out of control. So they brought in the medicines. But not for us. “What do you expect?” he said. “It’s closing on spring, they’ll be relocating the refugees, and shutting down this camp. What are they supposed to do with you?” “Let us go home.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “And let you spread word of what’s happened here? That’s not going to happen. Brother Joe was given the chance to save you, but you, others like you, you won’t cooperate.” He held up his hand to forestall the explosion he saw coming. “From the R&A’s perspective, you people, you’re in the way. But I protected you,” he finished, as though that somehow made him righteous. “If they want us dead, do you really think they’ll stop? Do you think they’ll just look at me and say ‘oh well, I guess he’s immune,’ and let me go on with my life? Where is that medicine, Daniel? Where is it kept?” I felt my voice rising, was thankful for the howling wind for once. “I’m not going to let one more person die if I can save them.” It took some doing, but Daniel drew me a map to where the drugs are stored. How I’ll get out of this block to use it, I’ve no idea. But I will.

They may well kill us all anyway, but they’re going to have to do it with their own filthy hands, not rely on some disease to do their dirty work for them. --I showed Dom the map, told him what I’d discovered, and he gathered the rest, the healthy ones, and I told them, too. I looked around at all those few men sitting and lying on beds, some in chairs, some standing. Some old enough to be my grandfather, some, like Mike, younger than David. Hair falling out and teeth loose from poor nutrition, and you can count the ribs on most of us, but seeing them like that, ready to do whatever it takes to survive, I thought them beautiful beyond description. What we’ve been through, it creates a bond. I don’t even like all these men, but they are my family, and I’d die for them as I’d die for David. Dominic, bless him, came up with the plan. “I always wanted to be in a prison riot.” Dominic’s smile was, I thought, a little sad, but the others agreed. About an hour after the last bed check, they’ll swarm out into the courtyard and raise such a row that even the gate guards will leave their posts. I hope, anyway, as we are completely separated from the rest of the camp with solid walls, and that gate is the only way out or in. I’ll have to be quick, get there and back before order is restored and the

gate guarded again—I wish I had David’s sense of direction, but I’ve studied the map and think I can do this. I have to. I acted shamefully back in Moline, and I can never make that up to David, even if he comes back and forgives me, but I can do what I have to now. No more losses, no more deaths, not as long as I have the power to act. --I’m back, and have given shots to those unaffected and drugs to the sick, remains to be seen if it works. Too tired to write now, will finish later. Except… Dominic is gone. The others say he fell down on his knees and repented right there in the courtyard, and Brother Joe believed him. I wish him well, but I miss him already. --There have been no new cases, and most of those already infected are starting to mend. No deaths in almost a week. I haven’t had a lot of time to write—patients on the mend take just as much work as sick ones, in some ways more, but I don’t care. I love my work. Give me my work and David’s forgiveness and love, and I wouldn’t ask for anything else in the world. So far, no sign that Brother Joe or any of the soldiers know what I’ve done.

--It’s quiet now, finally, though very late—I shouldn’t be wasting the oil of the lamp, but I’m going to try and set down what happened the night I went for the medicine while it’s still at least partly fresh in my mind. Dominic’s riot went beautifully—somehow he’d managed to get word to the women and they joined in as well. As he predicted, the guards, who spend the nights in four small buildings set along the walls, came running. I expect they long for any chance for some action. I made my way to the gate, and there, the plan almost fell apart, because those two soldiers hadn’t moved. They were arguing about whether they should go. I waited, hidden behind the wood shed. The noise from the courtyard grew louder, and finally, they quit arguing and took off towards the shouting at a run. I didn’t hesitate. I wish I would have had time to truly enjoy the feeling of freedom I experienced as I moved beyond the sight of that gate, but I couldn’t let myself be distracted. The moon was nearing full, a night so cold that every breath I took hurt. I remember always complaining about the cold in Moline—it was nothing to this. Beulahland was dark and quiet, and Daniel’s map was well-drawn. I had no trouble in finding the infirma—

Chapter 26

David Anderson Dead. And all my hopes of finding Callan and my family died with him. All the long months of pain and abuse, of letting myself be used like a toy, all for nothing. I dropped down onto my knees and wept. It was over. He’d won by getting himself killed. Oh, and they’d blame me. I could see that clear as glass, for there was enough folk in this city had seen me with him, knew I was Dupree’s unwilling pet, and I’d been outside when it likely happened, away from anybody who could give me an alibi. I wanted Sterling something fierce, needed him. He knew the city, would know what to do. Whatever he might or might not have done, even if he’d set me up with the Senator for his own reasons, I had to believe he loved me in his way and would help me now. The crowds had thinned so I had no trouble finding Sterling talking to an older lady wrapped in a fur coat, though it was quite warm in the room. Wearing the fur to show it off, not for good warmth. Falseness and lies,

it was all lies. “Can I talk to you?” I asked quietly, and something in my trembling voice must have got through that it was urgent. “Of course, David. If you’ll excuse me?” He kissed the lady’s gloved hand. “What’s wrong?” I glanced around the entry hall as I led Sterling through it to the stairs. Nobody could hear us, save for maybe a bored looking coat attendant who seemed to be half asleep, but I lowered my voice to a whisper anyways. “It’s Senator Dupree. You got to come, please, just come.” I started down the stairs and Sterling followed. “Did he tell you where the camp is?” He sounded kind of winded on the stairs and I realized I was moving real fast and he weren’t young, so I slowed some, waited for him to catch up. “No. He’s dead.” The footsteps behind me stopped short and I turned to see Sterling staring at me with a fierceness I couldn’t figure. “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he said, and pushed ahead, down the hall and into the room where I’d left the body of the Senator still slumped in the chair. Sterling picked up his wrist, feeling for a pulse that weren’t there. “Yes. Very dead.”

“He never told me.” It was the strangest thing how numb I was. I’d cried before, but those tears hadn’t done nothing to help, and now it was like I was watching a play, all distant, a story happening to someone else, save that I was on stage too. Sterling took me in his arms, making comforting sounds, and I let myself be held, though the cold of the room seemed to have slowed my mind, slowed my body. I was turning to ice, freezing to death, heart first. I’d failed. I’d failed Callan and Mam and the girls. I’d failed Pa. A man takes care of his own, and my life was as much lies as that fur-coat wearing lady. I’d been living the life of a man, in a man’s body, but weren’t nothing but a child when it come to it. “It’ll be all right, David. We’ll find someone else who knows. I can’t believe that in the whole of this city, only Jack Dupree knew where that camp was. You’ll see. It will take time, but we’ll get it sorted out.” Time. Callan didn’t have time. I didn’t have time, neither, for surely they’d be arresting me for this crime. My fingerprints was all over the room. I couldn’t hardly deny that I’d been here. But Sterling kept talking. “All my resources are yours to use—we’ll make contacts in the R&A—” The ice that coated me shattered and I jerked away. “Of course!” A contact in the R&A. We already had one; it was just a matter of making him talk. I wished I’d kept that little knife, or brought the gun, but I

hadn’t, so cast about the room for something that would serve. Near the stove I found a piece of heavy metal pipe, about the width of a small gun barrel. I thrust it in the pocket of my coat, remembering how I’d tried to do this with Magnus so many months ago when we’d met. “You might not want to be here when I get back,” I warned. “What are you doing?” I heard panic rising in his voice, and I hated to leave him like that. But I had no time to explain, left Sterling with Dupree’s body, and scrambled back up the stairs. Hennessy was there, without Maddy hanging on his arm for a change, picking over the food table. The party was winding down; it was a relief that he was still there. I had so little time. Somebody would miss the Senator soon. My only hope was that if Sterling stayed away from public view, Dupree’s guards would think them together. “Don’t move,” I said to Hennessy, shoving the pipe into his back. “What are you going to do, shoot me here?” He kept calmly filling his plate with pieces of cheese skewered together. “I got nothing to lose one way or another. Now you just come with me, you hear? Nice and slow.” Moving stiffly, he started forward and I followed, directing him down the stairs and back to the room where Dupreer’s body lay. I knew taking

him there was as much as admitting I killed him, but I had to make Hennessy believe I would kill if necessary. Sterling had stayed. I didn’t want him seen here with me, with the body, but he was there, standing next to the stove staring down at Dupree’s body. I couldn’t pay him no heed, not right then. Later, if there was time, we’d have to talk things through. If there was time. “What the hell?” Hennessy started forward to the body, but I grabbed hold of his arm and flung him into the other chair. “Less you want to end up like him, you tell me where the relocation camp called Beulahland is?” He started to laugh. “You’re going to ride in on your white horse and rescue your beloved? How cliché! And how futile.” I ignored his protests. “Where is it?” “And if I don’t tell you, then what? You’ll shoot me with that piece of pipe?” My heart sank, for I’d been careless and let my hand holding the false weapon slide out of my pocket. “No,” Sterling stepped forward, Dupree’s knife in his hand. “I’ll cut you, that’s what, cut you and let you bleed to death slowly. Nobody will hear you down here, you know. This used to be a bunker and it’s very well insulated. You could scream for hours.” The knife flashed red in the

lamplight. Something troubled me about that knife, that red knife, but I pushed it away. Hennessy turned pale, and Sterling played the knife over his face, down his throat, using it just as Dupree had done with me. “You believe that I’ll do it, don’t you, John?” Hennessy nodded. “Fine. The camp is located approximately twenty miles north of Cairo, Illinois. Not that it will do you any good at all.” “What do you mean?” Hennessy looked up at me with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Your lover is dead.” “I don’t believe you.” But I had to wonder. It had been a hard winter here for us and I remembered my geography well enough to know that Illinois was further north, higher up the Ice Line, and Callan hadn’t been strong to start with. “Even in winter, we receive updates on the camps, and I took a special interest in his case. He could have made things so much easier for himself, you know by stubbornly clinging to his sinful life. I suppose he thought he was being true to you. Such a shame, considering you seem to have wasted no time in replacing him.” He glanced up at Sterling and smirked. “Think about that, how the love of your life was gasping out his last agonizing breath alone while you—”

I lashed out with the pipe. It struck his head with a sickening crack. Hennessy fell forward. “Did I kill him?” Sterling checked his pulse. “No. But you need to go, now. Jack’s people will be looking for him soon and they mustn’t find you here.” “Ain’t no point in me going nowhere,” I said. Callan was dead. Hennessy had been right, oh God, how could I? “What?” Sterling seemed genuinely confused. “You didn’t believe him, did you?” He straightened up from where he’d been bent over Hennessy. “He was lying, David. A good liar can always tell a bad one.” It all come back to me then, the job and Dupree’s taunts and whether Sterling had used me. But it weren’t time to ask, not yet. “Come on, let’s go.” He shook his head and stepped away from me. “No. You go, get Magnus and Cal and go back to the inn, then get out of town. I know it’s not quite warm enough for travel, but you should be all right.” “You got to come! Hennessy will tell them you was part of all this.” I grabbed at his hand, but he stepped backward. “And so I was. They’ll arrest me for the murder—that should slow down any pursuit of you.” He had the strangest look on his face, one I’d never seen before, a look of peace.

“No! You ain’t going to give yourself up for me—I’ve had enough of that in my life. There ain’t no reason why you should take the blame for this.” “No reason except that I’m guilty.” The little knife, red with blood, clattered to the ground. He gripped my arms. “I don’t have much time, so listen, please. I warned you that I was weak, didn’t I? I told you I wasn’t worthy of your love. Yes, I was a part of this. Jack did come to me, told me what he did to you, at first to taunt me, and then to...to titillate me, and God help me, I let him. I listened to it and drank it in and let it fill my dreams.” “Sterling—” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to condemn him or tell him I understood. “No, that’s not the worst of it.” He let go my arms and turned away, looking down at Jack Dupree’s cold body. “I knew he was going to tell you what you needed to know, and then you’d leave. I thought about going with you, but I can’t face life on the road anymore, David. I’m old and tired and I want to live out the rest of my days in comfort and I didn’t want to share you. And yet, I couldn’t imagine my life without you. The right thing to do would have been to let you go to your Callan. He’s young and so are you. The two of you have years and years ahead of you, and I’m old and finished, but I didn’t care. I said I loved you, but was willing to sacrifice your happiness so that I could have a

few miserable years more with you beside me.” “It’s okay, “I was torn too. And you know I don’t care how old you are.” “I’m sixty-three. Sixty-three. I like to think I’m in fairly good shape for my age, but the fact is that if I have ten good years left, it will be a miracle. I would have stripped away your future, kept you here as...as a pet, just to quell my own fears of dying alone and unloved. Jack held the key that would take you away from me.” He paused, took a deep breath. “So I killed him before he could tell you.” I thought I understood. “In panic, out of desperation, I know you’re sorry—” “No. Planned out ahead of time, I decided on it days ago—it was cold blooded murder. And now you’ve got to go, you’ve got to let me take responsibility for what I’ve done.” My throat swelled tight. “They’ll hang you.” “Should have happened long ago. I’ve had a lot of good years I wasn’t expecting, the best of which was this last one with you. Go, David. Perhaps in time, you’ll think kindly on an old man who really did love you, in his own way.” Tears welled in my eyes. “I hope you can forgive me too, someday,” I said, and I brought the pipe down, leaving Sterling lying unconscious at

my feet. --It weren’t hard to get him out of that basement, wrapped tight in my coat, carried in my arms, for he was so much lighter than me it weren’t no burden at all. I’d once carried Callan halfway down a mountain to save his life. I could carry Sterling up some stairs and into a cart to keep him from making a deadly mistake. He’d killed Dupree, yes, but he done it out of love. Sitting in the cart being pulled back to our inn, I tried to keep my mind focused on that, and on how truly evil Dupree had been, how Sterling had killed him for what he done to me, but I weren’t never no good at living in a make believe world. You got to face the world as it is, and though it pained me to think it, Sterling had a part in what had been done to me; what I’d allowed, I corrected myself, for it had been my choice. Sterling’s motives hadn’t been any too pure or noble. But they was human, and so was he. Not a painted picture of a man or a statue up on a stand, just a man who made mistakes and regretted them the same way I’d regretted the wrong things I’d done. I brushed his hair from his face, which looked younger in the moonlight that streamed in through the cart window. I ought to be angry, ought to hate him—he’d expected that. But I couldn’t. Sterling had been my lifeline for so many months—he’d taught me more about the world and

myself than I’d ever dreamed I’d learn. I loved him, despite what he’d done. I can’t turn my love off and on like water out of a pump, and nor would I want to. I’d see him safe away from here, find him a place he could make a home, and then I’d go to Illinois and see what was to be found there. Even if Hennessy had been telling the truth, my Mam was still there, and Ruby and Delia, so I’d have to go. We come to the inn in the small hours, going on two in the morning by my watch. I carried Sterling to our room and laid him on the bed while I packed swiftly. I would leave a note and some money for Magnus, enough to cover the cost of the wagon and horse, and we’d be out of the city before the sun rose. I’d just put the last of Sterling’s clothes into a valise and was wondering how I’d manage to carry him and the luggage too when the door opened. I froze, ready to fight, but it was Magnus, looking tired and worried. “What in the name of all that’s holy is going on? Cal and I barely got out of the ballroom—somebody’s killed Jack Dupree and knocked Maddy’s John unconscious.” He looked at Sterling, who was starting to wake. “Don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you, son?” Because I had no choice, I told him. Not all of it, but most. I made it seem like Sterling hadn’t known that Dupree still owed me information when he killed him, made it sound like he’d killed him for revenge, and I

must have become a pretty fair actor myself, for he bought it. “Then we’ve not much time. I was afraid of something like this, so I sent Cal to pack her things. We should leave right away.” “You ain’t in this!” Was everybody determined to give up their lives and futures for me? “I brought you here, I made you a promise I’d take you out to Beulahland when the time came, and I intend to keep that promise. We’ve done all we can here, anyway, and it’s quite likely I’ll be implicated in the murder. Everybody knew I was close to Sterling. And to you. I don’t fancy being hanged for a murder I didn’t commit, thank you very much.” He grabbed up the bags, I took Sterling in my arms once more and we took the long stairs up to the surface. Lisa was there, looking pale and more serious than I’d ever seen her, changed out of her fancy dress into boys’ clothes, and together we hitched two of the wagons to the healthiest horses we had, packed the wagons with foodstuffs and the old heater, for though spring was upon us, it was cold enough that I could see my breath, and the horses was snorting restlessly like they knew this weren’t right. “What about Esteban and Patricia?” I figured Maddy was a lost cause, but I was worried about the Mexican couple.

“I left them a note, told them to take refuge in the Mexican embassy. They should be all right,” Magnus said. I climbed onto the board of our wagon and followed him and Lisa out of the garage into the night. We started northwest, making for a bridge that Magnus said wasn’t so well traveled as the one we’d come in on, where there weren’t so many guards because few people come in from that direction. We was counting on the word about the murder not spreading so fast, and the guards being less interested in keeping people in the city as keeping people out. Sterling come to as we was driving through the streets; I heard him call my name. “I’m here. Just lay back and sleep, okay? We’ll be out of the city soon.” But I heard him moving around, and then after a time, I looked back and saw that he was writing something. I couldn’t worry about that, for every shadow had become an armed guard, and every line of spindly trees we passed was a row of soldiers, rifles at the ready, and I was starting at every noise like a shy colt. Dread prickled my spine like sweat on a summer’s day. Ahead of me, Magnus’s wagon stopped. I pulled back on the reins. In the silence, I heard it—the sounds of men, dozens of men, coming our way. “What’s wrong?” Sterling called. His voice sounded weak, and no surprise considering he’d been knocked unconscious.

“I’ll be back.” Magnus had climbed off his wagon, coming back to see me. “We’re being followed,” I said. “More likely they’re just dispatching soldiers to shore up security on the bridges, but the end result is pretty much the same.” He pointed west, away from the sun which was starting to rise in a brilliant blaze of red to the east. “There’s the bridge. If we hurry, we can make it, I think.” But he didn’t look confident at all. “Magnus,” Sterling called out. “Can I have a word?” “Quick one.” Magnus climbed onto the board I’d vacated then slid inside our home on wheels. I waited, straining to hear what they was saying, but the words was muffled by the walls of the wagon. Then I clearly heard Magnus say ‘no!’ in a sharp voice, then Sterling got louder, then they both went quiet. Magnus crawled out of the wagon, the expression on his face like nothing I’d ever seen before. “He wants to see you, and then I’m having you switch places with Cal. If we run into trouble with the bridge guards, I’d rather have someone who can fight beside me.” That made sense, though I was reluctant to leave Sterling, even with Lisa. He was up, leaning against one of the big metal drums of fake kerosene, holding his head where I’d hit him, but he smiled when I come in. “You forgive me for hitting you?”

“Yes. Do you forgive me for trying to keep you with me?” “Yes. Looks like we’re together, so you got your way and so did I. Whatever problems that brings, we’ll face them together, all right?” “Of course, love. Now come give me a kiss, all right?” I bent down to kiss him, figuring a gentle brush of lips would be all his aching head would stand for, but Sterling grabbed hold of my hair and pulled me close, lips and tongue dancing over my mouth insistently, making me feel like we was two parts of one person. I withdrew, but I didn’t want to. “Is that a promise of things to come?” I whispered, wishing we was far from the city and alone, dreaming of the things I’d do for him, to him. “I hope so.” A shadow crossed his face and he smiled, and I was struck with the beauty of it, of him. He was like one of the marble angels from the cathedral, fine drawn and graceful. “Go on, you go with Magnus and lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.” Reluctantly, I left, exchanging places with Lisa as we started forward. The bridge seemed an endless expanse of rickety wood, and the wheels of the wagon lumbered slowly over the uneven boards of it as the struts creaked ominously. I couldn’t hear the sounds of the soldiers no more, for the bridge was making too much noise, but ahead I could see the guardhouse, two men, half asleep sitting in chairs. They stirred as they

saw us, dragging themselves to their feet like men who’ve been up all night on a cold river waiting for people who never come. Then over the creaking of the wheels I heard shouting, and Magnus shook the reins and we started to move faster. I turned back to see if Lisa was doing the same, but she’d stopped, and Sterling had come out of the wagon to sit beside her. “Wait,” I said, and clambered down, for surely something was wrong, but before I’d taken two steps, Magnus had me around the chest, and he was so strong, big like me, only older and more sure of himself, so that I was caught fast. “They need help! Let me go!” Something odd was happening at our wagon. Lisa had somehow managed to get it parked almost sideways across the bridge, and was unhooking the horses. I relaxed a bit. Could be there was a problem with a wheel and they was going to ride. Leaving the wagon that way would make it harder for the soldiers on the other side to follow. But no, she was arguing with Sterling, I could hear her plain as day, and it sounded like she was begging, and behind me, Magnus whispered, ‘Come on, Cal, come on,” and underneath it all, the footsteps of the soldiers echoing on the bridge now, marching forward without hesitation. Sterling shoved a bag into Lisa’s hand, and she mounted one of the horses bareback, taking the other by a lead rein and started towards us.

What the hell was going on? “No!” I twisted in Magnus’ grasp, but his arm crushed me to him. “Stop fighting, David, or I’ll have to knock you out, it’s what he wants, let it be.” I couldn’t, couldn’t let him turn himself in, couldn’t live in a world that had stripped Callan from me and now was taking Sterling too. And for Sterling to be publicly humiliated, held up as a murderer only a day after he’d been cheered and loved? No, oh no. “They’ll hang him, please, let me go!” I knew I couldn’t break free, but if I could convince Magnus to let me go. “That’s not what he intends, God help him,” he said grimly, and I stopped struggling, watching wordlessly as Sterling stood by the wagon watching Lisa ride towards us, watching me. The sun was high enough that I could make out his face; he was smiling. Then he turned back to the wagon, climbed up and over the board and disappeared into the enclosed place. It surely was only two or three seconds that passed, but it seemed long minutes as the world slowed around me, and then just as Lisa reached us, I heard the retort of a pistol firing, and the wagon, our wagon, with Sterling still in it, exploded into a ball of flame, taking that part of the bridge with it. Unable to struggle, unable to scream, frozen into ice again, I watched as the remnants of our wagon and the old wooden

bridge fell into the water below.

Callan’s Journal My name is Mike Wise, and I’m writing this by Callan’s permission. He told me, before he went for the medicine, that if anything should happen to him, I should get this book from its hiding place and write it down. He told me that some day, a man would come and ask about him, and if Callan himself wasn’t here, I should give this to that man, David Anderson. He was smiling when he said it, kind of sad. I think he knew his time was short after he got the medicine. I don’t figure the army is likely to miss a theft like that. I haven’t read the rest of this diary because it’s not my business, just looked at the last entry so I’d know what I needed to tell. Looks like he was writing when they came in. I wasn’t paying attention to him then, because Sean was starting to come round and I was sitting by his bed. All the sick ones were getting better, and nobody new had come down with the flu, but I guess Callan already wrote about that. What he did, it worked. It saved us. Anyway, when the door burst open, we all knew something was wrong. The guards, they have a routine, and so late at night, they never come

near us, not since the weather turned so cold. When Brother Joe came in, Callan must have moved like lightning to hide this book, for they didn’t find it. There was an officer with him, a man I’d never seen, but I think he must have been real important, as he had a lot of markings on his uniform. He stood back against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Brother Joe, he just ignored the rest of us and went straight to Callan and demanded to know what he’d done. Callan played dumb, I guess he didn’t want to give anything away, in case it wasn’t the medicine that Brother Joe was talking about, but of course it was. “How dare you try to deceive the Lord? Where did you get it?” He was crazy, worse than I’d ever seen him at any of my appointments. Ever. He’d come in flanked by two guards, and they were soldiers I’d never seen before, not any of our regulars. Callan explained calmly, like he was trying to sooth the madness out of a mad dog, that he’d snuck out of the block and just wandered around the camp till he saw the sign for the medical building, I can’t remember the word he used. Brother Joe didn’t believe him. “See if you can’t help him remember better,” he told the guards, “See if he’ll tell you who helped him.” One of the soldiers grabbed hold of him and held him up. He said that nobody helped him, but Brother Joe took out a piece of paper and unfolded it, thrust it into Callan’s face. “Who gave you this?”

The paper fluttered to the floor, and I picked it up later. It was a map, showing how to find the medicine. I didn’t know where Callan had got it—maybe Dominic did, as they were close, but none of the rest of us knew. Whoever it was, he ought to get down on his hands and knees and thank Callan, because he took what those guards gave and he didn’t say a word. After a while, the officer stopped them. He just held up his hand, and the two soldiers dropped Callan and stepped back. “This isn’t working,” he said to Brother Joe, who looked kind of let down, like he’d wanted those men to beat Callan to death. “We’ve run things your way long enough,” the officer said, and he squatted down on the ground and grabbed hold of Callan’s chin, forcing him to look the officer in the eyes. “We have a special place for you. About five by five, a hard bench to sleep on and a pot to shit in, no books, no friends, nothing to break the monotony of your thoughts. Oh, and visits from my friends whenever I feel like sending them.” He stood and brushed his hands against his trousers like he’d touched something nasty. “That’s your home till you tell me who helped you. I want the name of the traitor who gave you that map, and I will have it.” Brother Joe started arguing with him then, but I couldn’t hear it clearly— just a lot of words about who was in charge, something about senate committees—a lot of government nonsense, probably. But it told all of us that maybe Brother Joe wasn’t making the decisions around here

anymore. Maybe it’s too late for repentance, fake or real, to save us. Two guards dragged him out then, and we haven’t seen him since. None of the guards he treated have been back here, and we learned pretty quick not to ask about him. So I’ve done as he asked and set it down. We’re not sure what’s going to happen to us. They didn’t kill us with the disease, they didn’t torture us into denying ourselves, but spring is coming, and from what Callan told us, the camps will be emptying. Brother Joe is still here, there’s still chapel every day, but he’s stopped having altar calls and no more appointments. Between all of us, there are a hundred, maybe more, men and women who can spread the word of what happened here. We’ve talked about it—hardly any of us have Callan’s book learning, but between us, we’ve got lifetimes of experience with people who hate. I think they don’t know what to do with us—I think things are falling apart and nobody’s in control right now. Nobody wants to be the one to decide what to do with us. When I was paging through this book trying to get to the end, I saw where Callan described us as his family. Well, if we were a family, it was because he made us one. There isn’t one person in this block who hasn’t been helped by him, and in the weeks when disease was spreading, he nearly wore himself out trying to care for us all. I’ll bet he didn’t say

much about that in these pages, or about what he went through with Brother Joe, but I can tell you from experience, it was hell like you can’t imagine. I don’t know if we’ll live through this or not, but we’ve survived this long because he held us together, and because he risked his life to get that medicine.

Chapter 27

David Anderson I stared at the gaping hole in the bridge, watching small tendrils of flame consuming the edges of it, not truly understanding what I was seeing. It was as though the explosion had hollowed me out, created a great burning hole in me. As though I somehow was the bridge and Sterling had fallen through me—I tried to catch him, tried to hold on to him, but all I grasped was dead air. Magnus dragged me around to the front of the wagon and I saw the two half-asleep guards, fully awake now, running towards us, weapons out. But Lisa was riding past, the gun Sterling had given me in her hand, and the guards fell. I could hear shots behind us from the soldiers trapped on the other side of the bridge, but I did not try to evade them. Let them shoot me—at least then I’d be sacrificing myself, not everyone around me. But the shots went wide, and after a time Magnus eased the horses to a walk, then pulled off the side of the road near a stream. Without

speaking, I climbed down from the wagon. The horses needed water—I hung onto that thought, let it carry me around to the front, to the harnesses. My body felt wrong. Too big, awkward, and I stared at my hand against the leather of the bridle, not recognizing it. I heard voices, or maybe that was the water of the stream. The stream looked like the one in the picture Sterling had put in our room, though the land here was flat. I was flat, and the hole that had opened in me when the wagon exploded grew and grew, pushing me away and leaving only emptiness. Swaying against the horse, my legs wouldn’t hold me and I sank to the ground, the first true earth I’d touched in so many months, so I let my fingers dig into the cold dirt, burying them deep— “Oh God,” I gasped, thinking how there’d be no body for a bury hole, no stone nor marker nor any memorial to show that Sterling had lived. Nothing. His whole life was swept away in a fiery river, and mine had gone with it. “David?” Lisa’s voice sounded so far away, like she was miles up in the air, not kneeling beside me. “Daddy, is he all right?” “I’m fine,” I muttered and tried to rise, but I couldn’t move, for if I was to take a step it would be in this new life, this life without Sterling, and I couldn’t, just couldn’t. Magnus lifted me, and I thought how strong he must be to be able to carry me, for nobody’d carried me for years and years, and I looked up

into his face, but it weren’t Magnus’ face, it was Pa’s, and he was crying like he’d never done, not even when my baby sister Almond died. Or maybe he had, and I just never seen it. Maybe men cried all the time, just not out in the open. He laid me down on a narrow bed and a glass of something poured down my throat. It tasted raw, it burned like fire, and I wanted to tell Pa to stop, for I couldn’t drink whisky, it would burn me up from the inside like the moonshine had, but there weren’t nothing there to burn. Just emptiness. “Sleep now, David,” Pa said, and I felt Mam’s hand stroking my cheek. “Yes, sleep. It will be better after you sleep,” she said, her voice sounding oddly young, but I obeyed and closed my eyes. --We was moving when I woke, and for a time, I didn’t recall where I was or what had led me here. It was raining, not hard, just a slow drumming on the wooden roof of the wagon, and the smell of cold rain come in through the front opening. And the sound of the rain, the sway of the wagon and the rhythm of the wheels against the road slowly brought it back. Sterling was dead. He’d shot out those cans of fuel to destroy that bridge and keep the soldiers from following us. He’d given his life for me, just

like Callan had given his arm. And his freedom, for he’d gone to the camps to look out for my family, doing my duty for me. The empty inside me was still there, but thoughts and feelings was pressing against it. I shoved them back. Better empty, for if I let it fill me up, it would overflow and I’d crack like a badly made cup filled with hot liquid. No. Empty was better, for empty, I could manage to live, and I had Magnus and Lisa to think of, and Callan, if he lived. I climbed forward, so clumsy, hitting my head on the low ceiling and banging my knees on furnishings, but it didn’t matter, the pain just got pushed into the empty, and I sat beside Magnus on the board, sheltered from the rain by a slanted overhang that sent the water flowing down in a stream between us and the horses so it looked like I was seeing the world through swirled glass. Lisa was riding ahead, probably soaked through. “Pull over and let me ride.” Magnus stopped the wagon and called to Lisa, who just looked at me, then dismounted without a word and took my place on the board. There weren’t no saddle, but that didn’t matter, I’d learned to ride pretty well bareback working for Zack, though the rain slicking everything made it so I had to concentrate hard on just staying on the horse. Fat droplets of freezing rain soaked my hair, dripped down into my eyes, and I was glad, for it was like tears, and I knew I should cry,

but I just couldn’t. I’d cried when I’d found Jack Dupree dead; angry tears, frustrating sobs, but that was all on the surface. This went too deep for ordinary tears, like roots of a big old tree, or the stone at the base of a mountain, so it seemed right to let the rain cry for me. It eased up long about nightfall, but I was soaked to the skin and half frozen. Magnus started to help me off the horse, but I slid down, not wanting him to touch me. I knew somehow that I could hang on so long as nobody touched me. We cared for the horses and I managed a small fire from wood Lisa gleaned out of the undergrowth. We sat around it eating jerked meat and some dried up bread that I think they’d stolen from Sterling’s reception. Magnus was talking about the route, saying how since Hennessy had likely told them where we was bound, it would be best not to take the main road, which was old highway 70 west, but to travel along the even older road of Route 40. “I’m not sure they’ll follow just because you threatened and beat up Hennessy, David, but if they think we had anything to do with Senator Dupree’s murder, they’ll follow to the ends of the earth.” “Could be they’ll blame St—” Lisa looked at me and stopped herself. “Anyway, could be they’ll be satisfied with things as they are. It takes an awful lot of effort to track a small group in all this country.” By going to Beulahland I was putting us all at risk. “You don’t have to come with me. Just give me a horse and I’ll—”

“We’ll hear no more of that.” Magnus voice was firm. “I have nothing better to do.” I saw him smile across the fire in the gathering dark, but I knew it was my fault. If it weren’t for me, he’d still have a company of players, still be safe in Washington planning his next show, or getting ready to go back on the road, doing what he loved. “Been a long day, I think I’ll turn in,” he said, stretching. We was all sleeping together in the wagon, and it was cramped, but it was just too cold to be out of doors all night. I watched Magnus go, wishing Lisa would go as well, but she stayed there next to me, watching me intently, till finally she got up too. I started to say goodnight, but she was gone and back before I could get the words out, and when she come back, she was holding the satchel that Sterling had handed her right before...at the end. “This is for you,” she said, and gave it to me. “I’m going to water the horses.” Though I’d done that already. Lisa threw a log on the fire so the flames flared up, giving me enough light to see the bag, which was made of old leather, broken in, comfortable like a favorite saddle or a well-loved jacket. It felt heavy, and I reached in and found the gun, Sterling’s gift to me, the same one Lisa had used to shoot the guards. I laid it aside, then felt back into the bag and come up with a leather bound book—the album of Sterling’s pictures and clippings. I clutched it like a talisman, fighting off memories that were falling around me like dead leaves off a tree. I didn’t dare

open this book, for I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand it. I started to push it back into the bag when I saw a white paper half sticking out of the pages. Opening it, I saw it was two papers, one typewritten and full of words I didn’t understand, so I put that aside and took up the other one, scrawled with pencil, sloppy careless handwriting that looked like it had been made in a hurry. I remembered Sterling in the back of the wagon, writing something. It was a mistake to read it, I told myself, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t help myself kneeling down on the wet ground close to the fire so I could make out the words and read what he’d wrote to me.

David, Must be quick, for time is running out. Always loved the great death scenes & planned to go out with a speech that would be remembered for years. Well, I guess this letter will have to serve, and the other paper, that’s my will. Made a while ago, and everything’s yours. Magnus will help you sort it out. I told you I’d flitted from man to man; you’ve seen the truth of that. You’ve seen some of the wreckage I’ve left behind as well; you’re now a part of it, and I regret that deeply – my one regret in a lifetime of bad choices. Until I met you, I had one great love, the theatre, and it was all-

encompassing. No man meant so much to me as my career. Which is a rather noble-sounding way of saying I was in love with myself, and only myself. Till you came along. I’ve had a good run. A career I can be proud of, including the comeback every aging actor dreams of, many beautiful men who adored me, and one that I loved back with all my heart. Don’t grieve for me, for God’s sake. Go and find Callan and your family and take them far away from the evil in the world, make a life for yourselves, and think of me on occasion, preferably when you’re alone and in bed. Yours, Sterling

The letter fell from my hand and I stared into the fire, seeing not the tiny flickers devouring the logs, but great blue flames exploding into the sky. A funeral pyre. Like heroes of old in the tales my Grandmam had told, the fire had taken him, and left me. Left me alone. It must have started raining again, for my cheeks was wet. Don’t grieve for me, but I had to, knew that I had to grieve or I’d die of it, and Sterling wanted me to live; I had to cry or shout or scream, so I let it out, screaming my rage to the star-filled sky, slamming my fists into the ground, feeling the twigs and rocks open gashes in my knuckles so the blood would run, for it weren’t right to hurt so much and not bleed. Slender arms twined around my neck, and Lisa was there beside me,

pulling me down into her lap as I cried and cried for Sterling. --We traveled on over the next weeks, heading west, stopping at small towns for supplies, never staying long, though, just in case. This country was different from home, especially after the first week or so as we moved beyond the low mountains of western Maryland and West Virginia into flat country. I didn’t like it, for it made me feel exposed under a sky impossibly huge. It rained most days, spring showers that still smelled of winter, so I rode one or the other of the spare horses with the saddle we’d picked up, covered myself with oilcloth to keep the water from penetrating my clothes. But nothing kept the cold out of my heart. I’d grieved for Sterling, but that hadn’t healed it, and I was going through my days like a walking corpse, caring for the horses, doing small repairs to the wagons, talking politely to Lisa and to Magnus, but all the time the real me was wrapped up in wool so nobody could touch me. Every turn of the wagon wheels was bringing me closer to my family, closer to Callan, if he still lived, and that should have lightened my path, but it didn’t, just gave me more things to worry and dread. We got to the center of Ohio and Magnus turned us straight north, away from any of the main highways, just to throw off any pursuit, he said, but I think it was mostly to give me a look at Lake Erie in hopes it would

distract me. We come upon it at dusk, and I jumped off the wagon, stunned out of my lethargy by the sight of it. I’d seen lakes, but this, surely this was what an ocean must be like. The water rolled up to the rocky shore in waves, and as far across as I could see there was nothing but water. We camped by the side of the lake that night, planning to head west the next day, which Magnus said would bring us in above where the camp should be. He had maps of the whole country, a big old book with crumbling pages that showed all the Before roads, though you couldn’t always trust it, for some of those roads had grown over with grass and others had been destroyed by folk trying to get building material for fences and walls. But still, it was better than nothing. There had once been people here. You could see the remnants of their buildings, a tattered and rotting wooden boardwalk that followed the line of what had once, according to Magnus, been a beach. But it was dead now, frozen to death by the Ice. If the Prophet’s plan worked, if blowing up those machines did change the weather, would this place be reborn? I tried to picture it, gave roofs to the buildings and cleared the streets in my mind. Surely that would be a good thing, ending the Ice would be a good thing. Reverend Wilkes would do a good thing for a bad reason. Like Sterling, killing Dupree, which surely needing doing, but for the reason of jealousy and fear. Well, I had done a bad thing, giving myself to Dupree, for a good reason. How was they different? It turned

my mind inside out to think on it. Though I’d mentioned it to Magnus, I hadn’t given much thought to the Prophet and his revival. Sterling’s death had drove it clean out of my head, and now that I was starting to think of it again, I couldn’t see my way clear as to what, if anything, to do about it. I couldn’t stop it short of killing Reverend Wilkes, and even that might not be enough. The bombs was in place, those mountains was going to be blown no matter what. Yet if ever a man deserved to die, it was the Brethren Prophet. It was his scheme that had started all this in the first place. If not for him, then I’d be living in Moline with my family and Callan. And wouldn’t have met Sterling, I realized. It was all so damn complicated. So I figured I’d just take one day at a time. If Callan was dead, though, then I silently swore I’d see my Mam and sisters settled somewhere and then make an end to the Reverend Wilkes. That gun Sterling gave me would do the job real nice. We crossed over into Illinois and got close to Cairo sometime in early May, though I didn’t know exactly when, for there weren’t signs on the roads we was taking and the land was just as flat and windswept and barren as it had been before. I couldn’t imagine Callan living a whole winter in a place like this. Somehow, knowing I was within a few days ride of him gave me a sense of urgency I’d not had before, and the long days’ slow rides had me antsy and impatient. Lisa and Magnus bore with me, though, not once saying a word in admonition, though I surely must

have tried their patience beyond words. But finally we was there, camped outside a proper city despite it being so far above the Ice Line. “That’s because of the camp, mostly, I think,” Lisa said as we sat round the fire. She’d gone into town to ask around that day, get an idea of what we might be up against. “The town was dying, a few people holding on to family lands, proximity to the river the only thing keeping it going, and then about five years ago, the government built the camp south of town, brought in an army unit, contracted for food service, all sorts of things that built the place up.” “Do the people you spoke to have any idea what goes on in the camp?” Magnus asked. “They think it’s an army base. I spoke to a man at a general store who thought it was a forward outpost guarding the river to make sure the Canadians don’t sneak in.” “So they don’t go over there? No townsfolk working in the kitchens or doing clean-up?” I was hoping to get in that way, disguised as a local. “Not that I heard. All army, all the time. The soldiers come into town for recreation, to have their laundry done, and for shopping, but not the other way round.” We sat quiet, listening to the fire. There was still snow in the shaded

places; winter here was hanging on with every ounce of its strength. Callan was within five miles of me, and I could think of no way to get to him. None. “Could I bribe a guard to get me in, do you think?” A good chunk of Sterling’s money had been loaded into Magnus’ wagon. “I wouldn’t risk it. Not unless you want to spend some time getting to know the soldier first, make sure you could trust him.” “God damn it! So close, and there’s nothing I can do!” I was failing Callan, like I’d failed everyone. “David, we’ll think of something. Look how much you’ve already done,” Lisa said, her hand on my knee. “You’ve survived Washington DC, you’ve gone on stage as an actor, you’ve—” “Actor.” I’d played a soldier in one scene, no lines, just walking on in my uniform. Of course, the uniform had been a little white skirt thing and I’d carried a spear, but it gave me an idea. “Lisa, you said they bring their laundry into town, right?” She nodded, and then her eyes lit up, as she seen where I’d gone. “You ought not try to bribe a soldier, but some poor woman taking in washing? Or better yet, let me do it, it’s safer that way.” So we sat late into the night planning it, how she’d get me a uniform and I’d go into the camp just like I belonged there, just to get the lay of

the place and see what was to be seen. To find out whether any of the folk I loved was still alive. Magnus banked the fire, and he and Lisa went into the wagon, but I knew sleep weren’t going to come for me that night, so I saddled the fastest of the horses, a bay mare I’d called Pitchfork because she had markings like that down her forehead, and galloped off in the direction of the camp. Just to see. Just to come close enough in the dark to get a feel for what it was, what Callan and Mam and the girls had called home for these past months. It loomed out of the dark, and it was so very dark that night, with only a sliver of a moon and the scattered stars to guide me that I nearly ran Pitchfork into the walls. They was tall and wooden, a stockade fence with guard towers set in it at regular spaces. I stayed out of the range of the guards’ vision best I could, circling round the place, crossing at one point over train tracks that were cleaner than any I’d ever seen, for usually such things was overgrown with grass and rusted clean away. Not these. You’d think they was still in use, and they led right up to the edge of the stockade where there was a large covered platform, and beyond it, a massive gate lit by torches. Continuing my circle, it looked like that was the only gate, so however I dreamt of to get them out, we’d have to come through that way. Unlike the bridge at Washington, this gate was guarded by a whole mess of soldiers, and despite the late hour, none of them was asleep. I watched

from beneath a stand of trees till the sun began to rise. New soldiers come out of the camp and replaced the ones on duty and I checked my pocket watch. Six in the morning, or thereabouts. So they changed the guards at dawn. That was good to know. Before anyone could see me, I wheeled Pitchfork around, went back the way I had come, intending to return to our campsite. But before I got too far, something caught my eye off to my right, a place where the ground seemed disturbed and unnatural. In the growing dawn, I saw what I’d missed in the dark. A graveyard. There weren’t no markers, but it could be nothing else. Mounds of earth in rows, some long brown patches that spoke of mass graves, some older so that grass begun to grow over them, others new, and a few holes that still lay open. Callan could lie here if Hennessy had been telling the truth, lie here in a shallow grave and I might never know where. A sense of panicked urgency took me and I urged Pitchfork on, riding as fast as she could manage for camp. --It took Lisa less than a day to get me a uniform, and she said it would have been quicker if I hadn’t been so big. She rejected the first one she found that fit, for it belonged to a sergeant, and I surely didn’t want to look like someone in authority. So it was dawn two days later before I dressed myself in my stolen uniform, let Lisa cut my hair down to what

we figured was a military haircut and then we drove the wagons and horses as close to the camp as we dared. Those big gates was open wide and there was a whole lot of coming and going, so nobody took no notice of me as I walked through, keeping me eyes down till I was past the guards. Inside the gate was two big buildings, one labeled ‘Headquarters’ and the other with the red cross that meant a medical place. Beyond that, a two dozen or more buildings stood in a square forming a courtyard where grass must have grown once, but was now just churned up dirt that had turned to mud with all the recent rain. Men, women, and children, more than I’d ever seen anywhere, even in Washington, filled the courtyard, spilled out of the buildings, not going nowhere, just wandering. Some talking, and some of the children were playing, but mostly just standing, or sitting where they could find dry patches. Their clothes looked worn, and so did their faces. The winter here must have been brutal. I found myself scanning the crowd for anyone I knew, not just Callan and Mam, but anyone from Moline who might have been able to help me locate them, but there was nobody. I stood in the center of the courtyard as the mass of humanity just flowed by me, like water flowing around a rock. “Private?” I turned. A soldier with more stripes on his uniform was beckoning me

over. I figured he must be an officer, so saluted best I could. He frowned a bit, but returned the salute. “I haven’t seen you before, Private…?” “Wood.” I didn’t know why I was feared to give my true name, for it weren’t like Anderson was so rare as to be recognizable. “Yes, sir. I’ve just transferred in from Washington.” The man sighed. “You poor bastard. I’d give anything to be posted back east again. I won’t ask who you pissed off to get sent out here. Do you have a duty assignment?” “Not yet.” I hoped he weren’t about to give me a task that would keep me from my searching. “Go over to the infirmary then. They need help moving some bodies.” It weren’t like I’d never touched a dead body before, and maybe at the infirmary there’d be records. If Callan or Mam had took sick here, might be the healers would recall them. I crossed the courtyard and went up the wooden steps into the infirmary. It was lit by oil lamps, a long, fairly narrow building with a double row of beds all filled up with people, and at the end of it, bodies wrapped in white sheets and stacked on the floor. The putrefaction of the bodies and the stale scent of sickness was barely masked by the soaps they’d used to clean the place. A few healers was tending to the patients,

two women and a man, it appeared. Not Callan. I’d hoped maybe they’d have enough sense to make use of his skills, but the man was in uniform and clearly in charge of the two women who wore the same sort of worn out clothes I’d seen in the courtyard. “Oh good,” the man straightened up from the bed he’d been bent over. “These corpses are starting to smell.” He gestured to the smaller of the women, who’d been facing away from me. “You, help the private move them out, then take your break, all right.” “Yes, sir,” the woman said, and turned to face me. I had to school my face not to show my surprise, for the woman was my sister Ruby.

Chapter 28

David Anderson She didn’t recognize me, or else she was a better actor even than Sterling, for she gave no sign of recognition, just said, “Come on, then,” in a tired voice, and led the way to the end of the room where I took the shoulders of the nearest body and she took the feet and led me out a back door to a waiting wagon. “Just heave him up there. I know it feels disrespectful, but it’s easier and there’s a whole lot of them,” she said, and we did, but before she could turn to go back, I stopped her. “Ruby?” I saw recognition dawn in her eyes, but instead of looking pleased to see me, it looked like she’d had the wind knocked out of her and she started in crying. “David? Oh, God, David is it really you?”

I tried to take her in my arms, but she pulled back. “No, we might be seen. I can’t believe...I had given up hope you would come!” Tears was flowing free down her face and she made no move to wipe them away. “Help me with these bodies and then I can have a break, we can talk.” “Wait,” I caught her arm as she started back into the infirmary. “Please, just tell me. Where’s Mam?” I knew the answer before she spoke; I read it in her eyes. “She died, about two months ago, from a fever. Delia too. She went first. It was horrible, David. Once they knew what was happening, the soldiers gave us medicine. They really tried, and it saved most people, but Mam and Delia were already weak.” I had to know. “And...and Callan?” “Just help me with these bodies first.” “Ruby! Please!” I weren’t moving till I knew something, anything. “I don’t know. I really don’t. And what I do know, I’m not going to tell you here like this, so you help me now, all right?” I followed her back into the infirmary, which stank worse after being in the open air. Ruby had changed. She’d got taller, and was a woman in body, but more than that, she seemed older, older than me, even. We worked without talking to clear out the rest of the bodies, then I

helped her onto the buckboard of the wagon, climbed up myself, and drove the team out towards the gate, heading to the graveyard I’d seen that first night. “Now we’re alone,” I said as we cleared the last guard. “Please, you got to tell me what happened to Callan.” She wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t rightly know it all, but when we first came here, he was taken from us. Well, he went along willingly, but they’d made it clear that anyone with a criminal brand had to be separated out, and they’d have caught him eventually. We didn’t see him after that. Mam was afraid they’d killed him.” “No,” I whispered, remembering Hennessy’s taunts. “Oh, no, please.” Ruby turned to me and caught hold of my hand. “No. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I know he was alive after that, because of Daniel.” I shook my head, not understanding. “Daniel Morris, the soldier who lived with us at Moline. Of course, you never met him, but he got assigned here, and he’s been so wonderful. He passed messages along for a while. He helped us.” When she’d been a girl, and got caught out at something she didn’t want to own up to, she’d beat around the bush, saying the same things over and over again. Maybe my sister weren’t so much changed after all. “Ruby, just come out with it.”

“I don’t know it all, as Callan’s notes didn’t say and Daniel wouldn’t tell me, but there’s a special part of the camp for criminals. And he was taken there. I don’t think the folk there were treated very well, David.” “Is he alive?” Bad treatment and ill health I could deal with. “I don’t know, I told you. He was about a month or so ago, but that’s the last I’ve heard.” We’d reached the graveyard, and I started unloading the bodies into a shallow open grave. Ruby come round to help me. “I got this, you just rest.” “I’m not a child,” she said in a tone that brought Healer Findlay to mind. “I tended these people when they were living, I can stand to help lay them to rest.” “I just want to spare you.” We still hadn’t touched to speak of. “You can’t. It’s too late for that.” “I aim to try anyway.” I took her in my arms. She fought me some, protesting that she needed to get on with the work, that she’d be missed, but I held tight, and finally the tears come, and I held my baby sister as she cried, trying to make soothing sounds. “It’s going to be all right now, sweetheart, I’m here. I’ll get you away from this, find Callan and we’ll go far, far away from here.” She pulled back and looked up at me with red eyes. “No. I’m not

leaving, not yet. I’ll evacuate with the rest of Moline when they send us on to new homes, but I’m needed here now.” “Ruby, you can’t. You got to come away with me. It ain’t safe.” “Safe? Where on earth is it safe, David? Haven’t you learned yet that there’s no place safe?” “Yes,” I whispered. “Which makes it even more important to hang on to the folk we love.” “I love you so much, but I have work here that matters to me, and when we do move on, they’re going to need a healer, and right now, I’m the best they got. The army medics have been great about training me.” I held her at arm’s length, looking at the woman she’d become. “You’re all grown up, I guess. But you’re the only family I got left.” Somehow, in the back of my mind, I’d known my dreams of laying my head down in Mam’s lap wouldn’t never come to pass, but her death, and Delia’s, was so raw, it was opening up the scabs that had only just begun to cover the gashes in my soul that Sterling’s death had left. And now I was going to lose Ruby too? “I’ll write to Nate Clemmons back in Richmond once we’re settled somewhere. I hear they’re putting in telegraph wires again, should be a lot easier to keep in touch soon. And you can come join us, once we’re settled and the soldiers leave.”

I nodded, but I knew I couldn’t never live in some place they picked out for me. “I got to see to Callan first. Do you know how I can get to him?” “You can’t. Daniel says security in the prison area is incredibly tight. You have to be assigned to go there, and they check identification very closely.” “I got to.” If I had to shoot every single soldier between me and Callan, I’d do it. As we headed back towards the gate, Ruby’d moved away from me, the proper young lady out alone with a man not her kin. “Can you at least show me where the prison is?” “Straight back and to the far left, but there’s separate walls for that area, and if we even stray near it by accident, the guards turn us back right away. Even dressed like that,” and she smiled at my uniform, which was darned uncomfortable and made me itch, “you won’t get in without a fight.” “Then I’ll give them a fight,” I muttered, as we crossed through the gate and I drove her back to the infirmary. I didn’t want to let her go. “Ruby, you sure you don’t want to come with me? I can’t hardly stand to say goodbye.” “Then don’t.” Checking that nobody was looking, she gave me quick peck on the cheek. “It isn’t goodbye—I’ll see you again, I know it. I wish you luck with Callan, I really do. He was so wonderful on the journey

out here, you know. A pillar of strength. Mam really came to love him.” That was good to hear. “You here most of the time? I’d like to see you again, if I can.” She nodded, then hopped down from the wagon. “I’m here from about dawn till dusk, then usually have some dinner with Daniel.” Something occurred to me. Ruby might not be able to help me get in to where Callan might be, but this Morris just might. “Where would I find him, Ruby?” “Officers’ club, probably. He doesn’t have much actual work to do here. I think his assignment here was punishment of some kind, though he won’t talk about it.” She pointed the building out for me, a small wooden structure that set back from the house buildings that formed the courtyard. Hoping I wouldn’t be stopped again, I walked across the courtyard, moving like I had a purpose. I’d learned that mostly, if you acted like you was busy, folk treated you as if you were, and didn’t tend to bother you, and it worked here as well as in Moline or Washington. The officers’ club, a pathetic old hut that didn’t look worthy of its name, was guarded by one bored looking soldier who looked up when I approached, but didn’t speak. Assuming he was higher in rank than me, I saluted. He returned it. “You

want something, Soldier?” “Sir. Yes.” I tried to sound official. “I got a message for Daniel Morris.” “Captain Morris, you mean?” He frowned up at me. “Yes, sir. Captain Morris.” I hadn’t been sure of his rank. The guard turned away into the building and I heard him calling to Morris, saying he had a message. There was more voices, steps on a wood floor and a slight young man, a frown on his face, fiddling with a hand of cards, come out the door. “Yes? I hope this is important. I was winning.” I weren’t sure how to start. “Yes, sir, er...” “Come to the point, Private...” “Anderson.” Weren’t nothing to lose, really. “I believe we have a friend in common, sir.” He knew how I was, and who I spoke of, I’d swear to it, for he turned pale, muttered a quick ‘excuse me’ and gave his cards to the guard. Then he took me by the elbow and dragged me off into another building, a storage shed of sorts. “How on earth did you get in here? Do you know how much trouble I could get into just talking to you?” “I don’t much care about your troubles just now, and it don’t matter

how I come here. What I care about is Callan.” He sat down on a pile of what looked like blankets and put his head in his hands. “There’s nothing I can do to help you.” “I ain’t asking you to help me. But near as I recall, he held you to be a friend and someone to trust. Might be a good thing if you proved him right.” “I’ve done all I can,” and I’d swear he sounded in anguish. “More than I should have. He’s been recalcitrant and difficult, made things much worse for himself here than it had to be.” “But he’s alive?” “Yes. But he’s in solitary confinement. Look, Anderson, I wish I could help you, I really do. I hate seeing him suffer, but it’s just not worth the risk. My career is already in ruins.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, and even in the dark shed, I could see his hands rolling and unrolling a corner of his uniform jacket. “And your career is more important than his life?” I said quietly, and let those words just sort of hang there in the air for a time. “Captain Morris, my sister says you’ve been good to her, and I’m grateful to that beyond words, and it pains me to ask you to put yourself on a limb, but with you or without you, I’m getting Callan free. If you help me, it’s like to be a lot less bloody than if you don’t.”

He didn’t speak so I pushed on. “You got the...I don’t know the proper word...permissions—” “Clearance,” he supplied, looking miserable. “Yes. I could get you in. But if we’re caught, I’d be drummed out of the army, ruined. And you’d be shot.” “Then I’ll be shot. But Callan is suffering right now, and I ain’t waiting a single moment more, knowing he’s so close. Give me your gun.” I don’t know what made him obey; something in my voice, I guess, but he did, handing the pistol over handle first. I tossed it away and took the one Sterling had given me from the waistband of my trousers and pointed it at him. “Now you can say I forced you at gunpoint.” --A series of loud sounds, clearly gunshots, went off fairly near and I started. “What’s that?” “Target practice. Just behind this block are the soldiers’ barracks, and there’s a range set up. You’ve got a lot of bored young men hanging around here, they tend to practice whenever the mood takes them.” He sighed. “Follow me, then, and keep quiet.” He took me, though I honestly don’t know why. All he’d have had to do to free himself of me was cry out, and I’d have been shot down like a dog. But he didn’t, just led the way back through the confusing corridors

created by the walls and buildings to the left side where two very alert soldiers, carrying rifles, stood at attention as Morris approached. “Sir!” they said smartly, and Morris presented a small badge of identification, and they nodded, then nodded in my direction. “He’s with me,” “Sir, you know the rules. We aren’t supposed to—” The cold feel of the gun next to my skin was a comfort. I couldn’t shoot Morris, who’d been good to Ruby, but I would kill these guards if I had to. “Soldier, he’s with me. I vouch for him.” The guard on the left, who was short and heavyset nodded, and waved us through, so, heart pounding, I followed Morris through the opening and around the side of a building to a smaller courtyard, somehow even more bleak than the main area, and empty. “Where’s everybody?” I whispered. “Those still left here only get exercise at designated times. This isn’t one of them.” He pointed to a building. “He’s in there, last cell on the right. You can see him, but there’s no way you’re getting him out of here. I don’t have keys to those cells.” “Locks can be broken.” Now that I was so close, I felt reluctant. But I’d come this far. I started across the courtyard, still frozen hard in jagged

ruts of mud, covered in what was left of the filthy snow. Gray buildings, gray sky. I’d never seen a place so empty of life or joy. The building was one long hall with small rooms off each side of it. Like the Moline jail, though the doors here was half-solid, each with a large barred window at the top. Each cell I passed was empty, and I felt my stomach knotting with every step that echoed in that cold building. Last on the right, Morris had said, and I come up to it and clung to those bars till my knuckles went white. He was there, lying down on a narrow bench covered with a threadbare blanket I wouldn’t have used for a dead horse. Even if Morris hadn’t told me where he was, I would have known Callan. I can’t say why, for there wasn’t hardly nothing recognizable about him, all wrapped up like that, but I knew him with all my heart. All those long months I’d wanted nothing more than this moment. I’d dreamed of it, planned and schemed for it, even gave myself over to Jack Dupree for it, and now, when the moment was on me, I froze like a frightened rabbit. But time was short, and I knew I had to speak. “Callan?” I spoke soft, so not to spook him. He sat up, pulling back the blanket and I saw his sunken chest, the shadows of bruises on his face, clothes barely held together, rotting on his body. Anger surged through me, and it was echoed in his eyes with a force that sent me reeling.

“Nice try.” Callan’s voice dripped with contempt such as I’d rarely heard. “How hard did you have to search to find a soldier who looked that much like David? Well, it won’t work, I wouldn’t tell you, and I won’t tell him!” He spoke those last words loud, as if he was trying to make sure someone far away could hear. He thought I was a fake. “No, Callan, it’s really me. I’m really here.” The smile he gave me was sad. “I see David every time I close my eyes, so I’m dreaming.” “What will it take for me to convince you I’m real?” Something must have stirred in him, for he stood up and came forward to the bars, moving slow like an old, old man. “Do something I wouldn’t ever predict, not in a million years.” I weren’t much good at thinking on my feet, but then I remembered the ring, Callan’s father’s ring, which I carried in my pocket. I took it out and held it up. “No good. I always see that, you put it on and everything is good again, or you throw it in my face and tell me you hate me.” I slipped the ring through the bars into his hand. “I don’t deserve to wear it yet, though I surely want too. You keep it for me, till we get free of this place and things are right again, and then, if you still want me, you can put it back where it belongs.” Though I fought them back, tears

streaked my face, and whether it was that or the gesture with the ring, something reached him. “David,” he whispered. “I’d almost given up hope.” Then panic gripped him, his face contorted in fear. “You can’t be here, they’ll take you too, please, please! Get out before they catch you!” “Nobody’s going to do nothing to me. I’m going to take care of you, I swear it. I’m sorry it took me so long. But I’m here now, and I’m going to take you away.” He reached through the bars and took my hand lightly as though it made of glass. “There’s no way out of here. I’m here till I die.” Till I die. And then I knew what we had to do. “Listen, I haven’t long. Morris got me in, do you remember him?” The strangest expression crossed his face. “Yes. I remember him.” “Well, he’s here, and he’s going to help me.” Whether he likes it or not, I thought grimly. Callan just had to make it through one more night, and then we’d turn our back on this place and on the government and its schemes and all of it. I didn’t care at that moment about Prophet Wilkes and his revival. Let him blow up the mountains; let him blow up the whole damn country if he could. I was taking Callan to safety. I weren’t sure exactly where that would be, but California or those islands Sterling had talked of seemed a good place to start.

I’d thought I could somehow fix everything, make it come right. Callan had said I was a hero, and though I’m shamed to admit it, those words went straight to my head and I felt pride in them, pride that made me want to try to stop the R&A, save this country and turn it back to what Mister Zack Tyree had once describe as ‘a place for people who just wanted to live their lives and mind their own business.’ But I couldn’t do that, and now that I’d read in Callan’s eyes so much unspoken pain, none of the rest of it mattered. I knew that likely there was hundreds of Callans, in this camp and in others, and I couldn’t do nothing for them. But what I could do, I would. “Tomorrow morning, I’m taking you out of here and no power on heaven and earth or in hell itself is going to stop me.” “In hell,” he repeated, and his eyes grew all dull and unfocused. “Yes. That’s where we are. Hell.” And he’d been in a sort of hell, I realized, since we parted thinking I hated him, and that, at least, I could remedy. “I’m so—” I never got the words out of my mouth. The door opened and Morris’s voice, loud, “—if you think it’s best.” Another man’s voice replied, “Yes, I do. And the general finally agreed to let me have another try.” Morris was coming down the corridor with the unknown man behind

him. I cast around for some place to hide, but all the other cells were closed and locked with heavy padlocks, and there wasn’t so much as a broom I could pick up to give me purpose here. “Tsk, tsk,” the man clicked his tongue when he caught sight of me. “How many times do we have to tell you soldiers that these prisoners are not animals in a zoo? But since you’re here, you might as well be of use.” The man wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a plain dark suit with a preacher’s collar. He took a large ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the padlock on Callan’s cell. My hand slipped to my pistol, but Morris shook his head slightly. “Bring him,” the man said. When I did nothing, sighed in exasperation. “Are you deaf? I said bring him.” He stood back from the door, waiting for me to enter. “Follow orders, private,” Morris snapped, and I took Callan’s arm and I held him up as we followed them across the courtyard and into another building almost identical to the one we’d come from, down another corridor into a cold grey room. At the center of it a table was fixed with straps. “Strap him down, please,” the preacher said without even looking at me. Morris raised his eyebrows, so I did it, hating every moment of it, as Callan jerked away from me, as the retorts of the pistols on the range

hammered irregularly, just like my heart was beating, so loud I was sure the man had to hear it. But he just smiled and stroked Callan’s head. “If you want this to stop, it can. All you have to do is say the word.” Those words. Dupree’s words. Callan turned his head and looked at me. “I won’t.” “You’re my greatest failure, you know. I really suppose I should just have you killed, for you’re clearly beyond redemption, but I can’t bring myself to do it.” The man was talking almost lightly, the sort of conversational tone men had used in Washington to talk of nothings when there was deep somethings going on below the surface. “I said I would break you, and I will. Very soon, for I see you’re close, so close,” he moved his head down to Callan’s ear, whispering into it like a lover. “Say the word, just say it, and all this will be over.” But Callan closed his eyes, his lips went tight and his muscles rigid. Sighing, the man straightened and began unfastening Callan’s shirt, and I was oddly reminded of an act of love. Morris had turned away. “Squeamish, Captain? One cannot be squeamish in the cause of the Lord,” the man said. He turned to the counter and picked up two clamps connected to a wire which led to a large box. “I’ll bet you’ve never seen one of these down on whatever farm vomited you up, Private. It’s a generator. Runs on imported Mexican gasoline, and I can only use it for very special occasions.”

I didn’t need his fancy words to know what he had in his hand, nor what he intended to do with it. I moved closer to Callan and saw scars, poorly healed, some old, some very recent, and burns, odd scorching burns on his chest, and something broke loose in side of me, for that man, that preacher, with his tools of pain and his taunts was no different from Jack Dupree. Whatever this man’s intent, whatever his talk of service to the Lord, he was hard as iron inside his trousers, and he’d never let Callan go, no matter how many safe words were spoken, for he was taking pleasure in Callan’s pain. “Enough!” I cried out, and without thought for anything save ending this nightmare, I took Sterling’s gun in my hand and I fired point blank into that mocking face. The man’s head exploded into a shower of blood and he fell forward onto Callan, dead.

Chapter 29

“What have you done?” Morris stared at the body of the man, backing away till he clattered up against the counter. “What I had to.” I pushed the man off Callan, who lay still as stone on the table, half-covered in blood. “Now, you tell me, will that shot bring anybody round to check it out?” His eyes were still stuck to that body like he was waiting for it to rise up. “No, they’ll likely think it’s just more target practice. Oh sweet Lord, you killed him.” Ignoring him, I started releasing the bonds that held Callan. “You okay?” “Yes. I am now.” He stared down at the body too. “Thank you for killing him.” “I only wish I could have done it sooner.” I picked up a towel from the counter and gently wiped the blood away from Callan’s face and arm

where it had spattered. He flinched from my touch and my heart sank. Didn’t matter though, whether he’d forgiven me or not, whether he still loved me or not. What mattered was getting him free of this place. “You killed him.” Morris acted as if he’d never seen a dead man before. “What kind of soldier are you? I didn’t bother to hide the contempt in my voice. “We need to get Callan out of here, and take care of that mess. So you tell me, how can we do that?” “There isn’t any way. I told you, they control who comes in and out. Nobody leaves this block alive.” Callan carefully sat up. “There’s your answer, then. As long as I’m alive, I’m stuck. But how closely do they check the bodies?” That had been my thought as well. It felt good, me and Callan thinking as one again. “What happens when somebody dies in here?” Morris thought for a moment. “The bodies are taken to the infirmary where one of the healers confirms the death and records it, and then they’re taken for burial.” “To that bury yard outside the walls? I helped Ruby today load a whole bunch of dead people onto a wagon.” He nodded. “Yes. With the disease, even controlled, we’ve lately had at least two or three bodies a night, so they generally try to take them each morning. But back to your question, what you’re thinking of doing

won’t work.” “Why not? Callan pretends to be dead, gets carried out to the infirmary and from there out of the camp.” “Because an officer has to certify the death before he can ever be removed from his barracks.” “Ain’t you an officer?” More gunfire in the courtyard, Callan flinched, then focused hard on Morris. “Yes, David. He is. And he owes me.” “Yes, I am. And I do.” But I heard the reluctance in his voice. “Those sheets they wrap the dead in, you got any of those here?” Morris kept staring at Callan, then staring at the dead man. I grabbed his arms and shook him hard till his teeth rattled. “Pull yourself together! Those sheets, can you get them, or not?” He nodded. “Then do it, get me two of them and bring them back here right now. How long till he’s missed?” I pointed down to the unnamed man. “Not sure. A while. As a civilian, he’s not part of the chain of command, and he spends a lot of his time back here, working with the prisoners or alone in prayer.” “So we wrap both of them up and haul the ‘bodies’ out of here.” I

pushed Morris towards the door. “Sheets, remember? Go.” Once he’d gone, I stared at Callan, tongue all tied in knots as I tried to know what to say. He broke through the silence. “David, what I did-” “No. This isn’t the time. We’ll settle all of that, I promise you, once we’re well away from here. How are you going to handle it, being wrapped up like a corpse, keeping still while we get to the healers?” “There’s chloroform in the top cabinet. It would probably be best for you to knock me out. I can tell you how to do it safely.” He said it like he was suggesting we have soup for dinner, like he was separated from his words. I answered the same way, hating the wall that seemed to have grown up between us. “If you think it’s best.” I rummaged in the cabinet till I found the bottle, stood holding it facing the wall, not able to meet Callan’s eyes. Half a year I’d fought to get back to him, and here we were strangers. “I got to know. Can we make this right?” I looked at him, and he smiled slightly. “I thought this wasn’t the time. But to answer your question, please God, I hope so.” That was enough. It would have to be enough, because I had been right. Tis wasn’t the time. Outside the window the shadows was lengthening, and time was slipping away while we waited.

Morris came back then with the sheets, and I started to wrap the dead man up in one. “They’ll see the blood, fever victims don’t bleed like that.” He was right. Though the sight of the gaping, bloody wound turned my stomach, I’d done it, after all, so I forced myself to look at it, to wrap the head in layers of the towels I’d found in my ransacking of the cabinets, then rolled the man in a sheet, clumsily. “This isn’t going to work, they’ll need a name to record, what am I supposed to say? I can’t give his real name!” I ought to know the name of the man I’d killed. “What’s he called?” “Joseph Stroble. He’s a minister of the Church of the Brethren. They run the prison part of the camp. This isn’t going to work!” The Brethren Church—even more they had to answer for. “Make up a name, use my name, whatever. By the time they catch on it’s false, we’ll be long gone.” “But I won’t be!” “Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?” I couldn’t keep my voice down, didn’t care who heard. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to help—Callan, you know I helped you as best I could, but I just can’t be a part of this!”

“You’re already a part of this, and the only reason you ain’t lying dead beside that preacher is my sister says you been good to her, and Callan counted you a friend.” “I have a wife, children. I have to think about them.” “You can tell them I forced you if it comes to that. Now I’m going to clean up this place, make it look like nothing happened. How do they take bodies out of here?” “A handcart kept behind this building.” I’d dropped down to the ground and started mopping up the mess. “Go fetch it round front, then. We’re going to make this work.” I didn’t look up to see if he followed my order, but I heard the outside door slamming. I supposed I should have been worried that he’d tell someone, but I weren’t. If he was going to turn on us, then he was, and nothing I could do would change it. I mopped up the place as best I could and hid the broken glass and bloody towels in a trashcan. Blood didn’t unsettle me much—I’d spent my whole life hunting, butchering, skinning. A man weren’t much different from a deer or a squirrel underneath the skin. That preacher, Joe Stroble lay wrapped up in the winding sheet, ready to face that judgment I’d heard tell of, the last one. I didn’t much hold with prayer, but I said a short one in my mind. Not for mercy - for justice. I shook out the other sheet, but Callan shook his head. “Daniel’s right. It

won’t work, damn it. I think they only take bodies out in the morning, and it’s well past that, isn’t it?” I nodded. “So you’ll have to...” The thought of it turned my stomach— Callan lying all night among cold, dead men, trying not to move or speak. The light which had come into his eyes when he’d first recognized me for true was fading. “Well, that’s a problem. It means no chloroform—I’d come out of it confused, maybe delirious.” “You’re not well enough to hold still that long,” I protested. “I’ll have to be.” He spoke with grim determination, and I remembered so many times when Callan did what I’d have thought impossible. “This is going to work, I swear it. Do you trust me?” “With my life. My journal, in my barracks, the men there can help you find it. If you can, I’d like—” “Of course, I’ll get it. Just hang on, okay? We’ll get you out of here soon.” I helped him up wrap up in the sheet, saving his face for last, and making certain he had a way to breathe. Morris came back in then, and I asked him where I could find the place where Callan had lived. He told me, though I could see he didn’t understand why I needed to know.

I crossed the courtyard and pushed open the door. Five or six men sat on beds and chairs, talking, playing some kind of game with rocks. They seemed to fear me, and I remembered I was wearing the uniform. “I ain’t a soldier,” I told them, though that was probably pretty stupid of me. “I’m...” I wasn’t sure what to say. These men was Callan’s friends, maybe, or maybe not. A young fellow, younger than me by a ways, and thin as a rail, got up off his bed, looked me up and down. “You’re David Anderson, aren’t you?” You could have knocked me over with a snowflake, but I nodded. “Callan said you’d come, but I didn’t half believe it. Is he alive?” the boy said, and I nodded, still unsure, but the men seemed real pleased to hear that, and the boy went on. “Tell him, will you, that we’re being shipped out with the rest. Some have already gone. Tell him we’re not sure what changed, but something did, and now we’re safe.” I didn’t understand what all the boy’s words meant, but I could remember them and tell them to Callan. “I will.” “And I’ve got something for you.” He rummaged under his bed and took out a familiar book. Callan’s journal, and looking much the worse for wear. I took it and held it like a magic talisman. It sure seemed that these men

cared about Callan. Once not so long ago, I probably would have been jealous. Now I was just glad he’d not been alone. I’d have liked to tell them I was taking Callan away, but I couldn’t risk it. So I just thanked them for caring for the journal and went back out to the courtyard. Morris met me there, told me there was two other dead in the barracks to the left, and I followed him, wrapped the two unknown women and laid them out in the cart, then put the Reverend in on top, making sure he stayed covered, and finally laid Callan gently above them all, tucking the ragged journal into the sheets with him. Morris and me wheeled the heavy cart across the courtyard. It was rough going, wheels sticking in muddy ruts along the way, so that I was real glad Callan was unconscious, for the jostling would have surely made him cry out. The guards at the gate just nodded us through. I was afraid they’d look at the bodies and maybe recognize the Reverend, but they didn’t, just stood at quiet attention while we passed. Guess the presence of death affects everybody, even soldiers. Maybe soldiers more than most. Pushing a cart full of dead people was like being invisible. None of the people we passed, not soldiers, not regular folk, wanted to see corpses. Guess would be them acknowledging that death could happen to them just the same. My heart lightened as we neared the infirmary building, Morris leading the way. Seemed like finally, things was going my way, if only Ruby was still at the infirmary like she said she’d be.

She was. We’d wheeled the cart around to the back, which Morris said was the proper way, then went inside. The place was full, with sick people from the camps come in to be seen and three healers besides Ruby and the main army medic all jostling around the beds seeing to the people there and the ones waiting. She looked up quick when the door opened like she’d been waiting, hoping I’d come back, but her eyes glossed over me and lighted on Morris. Good girl, I thought to myself, she’s got sense, knows enough not to draw attention nor treat me different from any ordinary soldier. “Four bodies from the prison block,” Morris said, and the army healer swore. “I can’t believe there’s anybody left there to die,” he said with disgust in his voice. “Ruby, record them, please, then stack them with the rest.” I noticed a group of about five bodies accumulated since the morning. Two of them were tiny, young children or babies. I looked away. “Yes, sir,” she said, and grabbed a board with a paper on it and followed us out. The minute the door closed, she turned to me. “David, what are you doing?” In answer, I peeled back the sheet to show Callan’s face, pale and still. His eyes opened and he smiled up at her. She cried out, and I caught hold of her. “I got a plan,” I said, and I told her all of it as quick as I could.

“Show her the fly in the honey,” Morris said, and I opened up the sheet around the man I’d killed, and then peeled away the layers of towel till the bloodstains showed. “What on earth?” “I killed him, Ruby.” The expression on her face looked for all the world like Mam when she was disappointed with me. “He would have hurt Callan. I had to.” I covered him back up – I weren’t having my sister looking on that man’s missing face. But she weren’t looking at him, she was staring at me and her eyes had gone all hard and steely. “Good. Sounds like he deserved to die. I’ll make up a name, nobody will check for weeks, if ever.” She opened the other shrouds and found papers where Morris had wrote down the names, then wrote them on her paper, then Callan’s, then the made up man. “I’ll be right back, you stay here.” I watched my little sister cover up the corpses and go back into the infirmary. “She’s grown,” I said. “She’s a decent girl. I’ve got very fond of her.” I noticed how Morris looked at her. He wanted her. “She’s fifteen, you know. And you’re married.” “I know that very well.” Morris jammed his fists down into the pockets of his uniform jacket.

“Why don’t they leave the bodies outside?” I hoped Ruby could take care of her own self. I had too many worries for one head. “It upsets people when they left them out where they could be seen. Gets the loved ones riled up wanting a proper funeral, wanting to go to the graveside. I think the prevailing philosophy is out of sight, out of mind.” “Imagine folk wanting a proper burial for their kin,” I said. “If you all had left us at peace in our own homes, you wouldn’t have all these unreasonable people making impossible demands, now would you?” “None of this was my idea. I’ve just been following orders.” He turned away from me and from the bodies, looking at the big stockade fence behind us. “Following orders? That’s like a dog, doing what it does for fear of being kicked. We’re human. We got the ability to think, and to choose, Captain Morris.” Sterling had taught me that, and Callan before him and Pa even before him, and one thing I knew for sure was that our choices and actions was our own responsibility. “Don’t go hiding behind others. Whatever part you played in all this you got to own up to and face the consequences.” “I know.” Morris sounded miserable, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. “I’m sorry.”

“You help us out of this, that’s a step in the right direction, but there’s still all these people. What happens to them, do you know?” “They’re resettled.” “Resettled in a hole in the ground? I ask because my sister intends to stay on here, and I ain’t about to let her die.” He looked horrified. “No! They’re really resettled, into towns in Arizona and New Mexico that have been depopulated, given farms, or set up in trade.” “You know that for a fact? You been there, seen it?” He stammered and stuttered some. “Well, know, but I believe it. I’ve seen pictures.” “And I’ve seen pictures of giant shaggy aliens flying spaceships. If I leave Ruby here, I want your sworn word on whatever you hold sacred that you’ll see her safe.” The door opened and Ruby come out, taking a needle out of her coat and dropping to her knees next to where Callan lay. I watched Morris watch my sister, watched his lips form the words, “I swear.” I didn’t know how they’ll end up, but figured Ruby was in for a world of hurt. We stacked the bodies inside with the others, making sure Callan was put where he wouldn’t be hurt or suffocated, and then I took my leave of Ruby till the morning. Morris said guard shifts changed at dusk and

dawn, and soldiers who was on leave generally left and come back round that time as well, so I planned on going back to Magnus and Lisa for the night. I hated to go, wanted to stand guard over Callan through the night, to watch over him and keep him safe. But that would draw attention, and I couldn’t have that, had to make things look normal. I made it back to where we’d set up camp though I couldn’t recall a step of that journey. Lisa welcomed me back with hot soup and Magnus put a bottle in my hand which I drunk from gratefully, though I still didn’t like the taste much. They didn’t ask questions, and I didn’t say nothing till we was sitting around a small fire, kept tiny to avoid drawing notice, for we weren’t terribly far from the camp. “I killed a man today,” I said, passing the bottle back to Magnus. “Oh, David!” Lisa looked sorrowful, but Magnus had a grim smile. “Did he deserve it?” Funny how a grown man echoed the words of my little sister. “Yes. It’s horrible there, Magnus. People herded into corrals like sheep, told where to go, when to eat, how to live. It ain’t right, and if this is the world that Prophet wants to create, somebody’s got to put a stop to it.” A wolf howled from a long way away. If the Ice went, the wolves and bear would go north, and the crops would come back, farms sit where

wild places were. The whole world would change. “And somebody will. But not you,” Lisa said. “You’ve done your part and more. You can’t be going off to Lookout Mountain; you’ve got something more important to do.” “I do.” Callan had to come first for now. Maybe always. “I’m bringing Callan out in the morning; I’ve got a plan and it ought to work, but we need to get out of the area quick, disappear.” “Where do you want to go?” Magnus was cooking a bit of sausage. The juices made the fire hiss like a pit of snakes. I remembered how light Callan had felt, wondered if they’d even been feeding him. “Not rightly sure. South, for certain. Maybe Florida, that’s where Callan’s people are from, some little town with a college, I think.” “My advice, for what it’s worth, is to get passage on a riverboat, go south to New Orleans or thereabouts. Large cities are easier to disappear in than small towns, and that’s a city known for a live and let live philosophy.” “I wouldn’t know how to hire a boat, where to go.” Magnus took something out of his pocket. “Good thing I do.” He handed the things across the fire. “The boat is a rust bucket, I’m afraid, but the captain’s not the type to ask questions so long as he’s getting paid, and they had three staterooms available.”

“Three?” “One for you and Callan, one for Lisa, one for me. I need to start over, too. Decide if I’m going to rebuild my company, try to settle somewhere. Figure out where and how I can best fight the changes that are coming. Unless you’d rather not travel with us—” “No.” I choked out, filled with gladness that Magnus would still be around for a time, at least, to give advice, to listen when I needed to talk. “No, I’d be glad...we’d be glad of the company.” “Good. You bring Callan home and we’ll head to the docks, board the ship and stay there. You think they’ll be looking for you?” “Not if all goes well.” “Probably yes, then,” Lisa laughed. “When does anything ever go well for us?” “Tomorrow it will,” I said, and I believed it. Lisa went to bed then, and I figured I’d follow, try to get a little sleep if I could, but Magnus stopped me. “It was presumptuous of me to book passage for you, I know, but I think of you as family, you know, and I think that Sterling would have wanted me to look out for you till you’re on your feet. If I’m crowding you, or if you feel like I’m trying to take over, just say the word and I’ll back off.”

“I like the thought of making a new family. My old family, well...” I swallowed. “My Mam and baby sister are dead, Ruby’s staying on in the camp, going to relocate with our old town.” “I believe we’ve got two chances at family – the one we’re born to and the one we make by choice. People like us, we’re outcasts in a way, hanging on the fringes of society, but so long as we know who we are, we can make our own society, live by our own rules as best we can.” “That’s what I aim to do.” “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.” I climbed into the wagon, content knowing Magnus was watching over me. --In the morning, I waited outside the gates till a group of soldiers coming back from town after a night of leave passed, then fell in behind them. Nobody questioned any of us, as before. It was a flaw in the army, I thought, that anybody wearing a uniform was assumed to be all right. I hated the scratchy wool of the uniform. It fit well enough, but it turned me into something I weren’t, made me look like everybody else and stripped away that which was David. It was real early, so that all the people who’d been milling around the courtyard yesterday seemed to mostly be in their barracks, probably eating breakfast. I went straight to the infirmary. I didn’t know how long

Callan could manage to stay still, and besides, I was itching for this to be done. Ruby was there when I opened the door, and though I felt relief when I saw her, I ignored her and saluted the medic, who looked up from the bed he was bent over. “Here to take to bodies away, sir,” and he nodded. “Lanie, help the soldier with the bodies, please,” the medic said, turning back to the man on the bed who looked to be sweating buckets. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I hadn’t thought of this, that someone other than Ruby would be sent along with me. I caught my sister’s eye, and she shook her head, which I took to mean I should keep peace.” “Sir, I can do it,” she said. “You went yesterday. I don’t want anyone having to do that too often, Ruby. This man’s fever is breaking, I want him watched – you can do that instead.” She shrugged, and I knew there weren’t nothing she could do, nor me either. The medic was trying to do her a kindness, and the other healer girl was an innocent, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Together we loaded the bodies in silence. I tried to be extra gentle with Callan, while not drawing attention to him, for I felt him move slightly

when I heaved him into the wagon; but Lanie, who was a good sized girl, probably farm bred and used to handling dead animals, tossed two smaller bodies atop him and I swear I heard him moan. Saying a silent goodbye to Ruby, I hitched the reins and the team led the wagon through the gates and towards the graveyard all the while my thoughts was in turmoil. I’d have to knock her out, or tie her up, but either way, she’d be found, and then they’d know there was something special about this set of bodies. So they’d check them, and find the man I killed and maybe figure out that Callan was gone. It was as inevitable as the next winter’s snowfall. Even if I were to kill the girl, which I couldn’t do and live with myself, she’d be missed and they’d investigate. What do I do? There weren’t nobody to tell me, not Magnus nor Sterling nor Callan nor Pa, and whatever choice I made, I’d have to live with the consequences, and so would Callan and Magnus and Lisa. We’d reached the graveyard and started to unload the bodies into the pit, lying one next to each other, till the ground was covered with white shrouded figures like snow. As I grabbed hold of Callan’s shoulders, he groaned aloud and Lanie screamed. “He’s not dead! Oh my God, we nearly buried him alive—that’s not supposed to happen, there are checks for that!” Her voice spoke of the far south, Georgia, or South Carolina, perhaps. Mountain folk like my own.

I lay Callan on the ground and cleared the cloth from his face. He kept his eyes closed. It was my moment of decision. I saw in Lanie’s face the kind of girl I’d grown up with and prayed she came from a town like my own. As I stood, I lifted the soldier’s cap from my head. “I’m not a soldier, Miss Lanie. My name is David, and this man here is my friend. He’s been treated real bad, and I’m planning on taking him from this place and making him well--” “Are you going to kill me?” “No. Not going to hurt you at all, though I’d be mighty grateful if you’d let me tie you up.” “That sounds wrong,” Callan muttered from the ground below us, and my heart leapt, for he was alive and more than that, was with me in mind as well as body. Lanie knelt beside Callan and pulled the sheet back some. “I’m guessing he’s from the prison block – the bodies we’ve seen from there have all been horrible.” She started in tearing up the sheet, biting the top with her teeth to start the tear the way Mam used to do when she was making bandages. “I can’t promise not to tell them what’s happened.” “I know. That’s all right. And you can tell them I headed southeast, going back towards home.” I tied her arms behind her. “They’ll come

looking for you soon - you should be okay till help comes. Thank you.” “You’re welcome. And I’d head west—your kind is more welcome in California.” I froze. “How did you—” “He’s branded, and I know what love looks like. Not that I care a bit.” I thanked her again and knelt beside Callan, who clutched his journal in his hand. “Can you ride? I’ve got horses tethered nearby.” “I doubt I could stay on a horse just now.” “Then we’ll ride together.” We walked away from the clearing, me supporting Callan, half carrying him through the low scrub. The horses were where Lisa had promised they’d be, and I lifted Callan up into the saddle, then swung up behind him. His head relaxed against my shoulder, though I could tell it was forced. Oh, we had a long way to go, so much to see through. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter 30

The boat may have been held together by rust and hope, but I thought it beautiful beyond words. I learned later that the River Maiden was built a few years before the Ice for folk who wanted to pretend they was back in time, to tour up and down the river in an old-time steam paddleboat, and once the Ice hit, the owners kept her running, moving people south, delivering goods north. She had a cargo deck, then two decks with cabins and a top that you could sit in chairs on and watch the river go by. Magnus had told the captain that Callan was my brother who’d been ill and we was going south for a rest cure, but in truth I think he could have told him we was little green men from Mars and so long as our money was the right color, it wouldn’t have mattered none. Of course, that also meant he’d sell us out if it come to it, but I didn’t intend it should come to that. The ship weren’t full, so the captain, hearing that my ‘brother’ was subject to nightmares from his illness, gave us cabins far from any of the

other passengers, and I was glad of it. I didn’t figure we was going to be engaging in loud acts of love, but I wanted privacy. Callan fell asleep on the horse, so I carried him onto the ship, laid him out on the single bed. His eyes looked bruised, sunken, and there was a yellow tone to his skin that didn’t bode well, even to my unschooled eyes. And he was filthy dirty as though they hadn’t let him wash the entire time he was in solitary. The Callan I knew had been scrupulous about being clean – I couldn’t have imagined him even playing in the dirt as a child, and now. I bit my lip to keep from screaming out in rage and frustration. There was a sharp knock on the door. I opened it quickly so they wouldn’t knock again and risk disturbing Callan’s sleep. “How’s he doing?” Lisa was dressed in man’s clothes, looked like she’d been bathing in dirt herself. “Sleeping. He don’t look good. I don’t suppose there’s a healer or medic or nurse on this boat.” “I doubt it, but I can ask. I met the nicest sailor, he’s been showing me the engine.” She flushed as I snorted, figuring he was probably showing her his engine, anyways. “Looks like you been bathing in grease. How do we get clean here?” Our cabin had an old style bathroom, but the toilet had been replaced

by chamber pots and the sink faucets didn’t run water, nor did the shower, not that I could have got Callan into a stand-up shower anyways. “There’s two boys who’ll bring you a tub of water and towels, soap, that sort of thing. I’ll send them up, okay?” She smiled at me. “Sterling would have been proud of you.” Hearing his name still hurt, and I hadn’t even begun to think of what I was going to tell Callan about how I’d lived while we was apart. “Hope so,” I said, unsure. “Know so.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek, probably leaving a grease spot the way most girls leave lip paint. “I’ll send the boys with the water.” They came lugging a big tin washtub full of water that had probably been hot when they set out but was cooling fast in the chill of the room. I stripped Callan out of the filthy rags he was wearing and washed him. Of all the things I’d done in the past year or so, I think giving that bath was about the hardest. I could count his ribs, saw too many bruises and scrapes. I dressed Callan in some of my night clothes, though they was far too big. I’d buy him new things when we got to New Orleans; the rags he’d been wearing were fit for nothing but the fire. He was stirring some as

though he was fixing to wake, so I went out in search of some food for he looked as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in months. We was still tied up at the dock, so I paused on the deck, listening to the sounds of workers loading ships, children playing by the riverside, and parents of those children calling them home, as dusk was falling. We were to set out at first light, and I only hoped that our luck would hold. I found the kitchen, and the cook, who seemed a decent man, warmed me some soup leftover from yesterday for my ailing ‘brother’. It smelled rich and good, mutton broth and barley, and I took it and some bread back to our cabin. Callan was awake, lying still in the gloomy darkness of the room. “Hello.” I set the food down, lit a couple of lamps. “Hi.” I was shy, like we was strangers, which I guess we was in a sense. “I brought you some soup.” He sat up, and I propped up pillows behind, careful not to touch him, as that seemed to be bothersome. “It smells divine. Don’t let me eat too much of it, though. It’s not safe for someone who’s been starving to overindulge.” My first instinct was to feed him like a child, but I’d learned my lesson, and offered him the bowl. “No, it’s okay. You do it. I’ll spill it all over myself. Besides, I’ve missed

having help.” He looked down at his clothes for the first time. “I’m clean.” “Well, clean as I could manage here. When we get south, I’ll see you get a proper soaking bath.” I started giving him small spoonfuls of soup, which was no easy trick as although we was docked up, the ship was moving slightly, something I hadn’t noticed till I was trying to fit a spoon into someone else’s mouth in half-darkness. He stopped me well before the bowl was empty. “That’s all I ought to have. You finish it, okay? I’m sure you’re hungry.” I was, so I did, and ate the bread, which he hadn’t touched, then set the spoon down in the metal bowl so it clanged like a bell and sat beside him in an awkward silence. “Callan—” “David—” We both laughed, but this tension still stretched like a rope between us. “You first,” I said. “No. You, please.” “Are you okay?” I covered my hand with his, felt the effort that he was making not to pull away. “Yes… no… but I will be. Though I probably ought to see a healer as

soon as we can manage it.” “There ain’t one here, but as soon as we get south, I promise.” I took a deep breath and looked away, though I kept hold of his hand. “A lot has happened to me, to us, since we been apart, but I got to tell you first that I’m sorry for the way we parted. The things I said to you—” “Were deserved. I’ve had a lot of time to think, you know, and I regret so much of those last few days.” “Can we fix it?” I was holding my breath. “Do you want to?” Despite the yellow tinge to his eyes, they was still Callan’s, the worry lines a little deeper, but the feel of him still made my heart sing. “Oh, yes. So much.” I swallowed, though, and looked away. “But if you don’t, I’d understand, and it won’t make no difference to me caring for you till you’re strong. You ought to know that.” “I never thought it would. I know you better than that.” We was both quiet for a while, hearing the creaking of the boat in the water, the sounds of the sailors as they did whatever it was sailors did at night. Finally, I broke the silence. “I been to Washington DC.” “Have you? I’m quite jealous. I never made it there.” Then I remembered it was for school in Washington that Callan had

been bound on the journey where his mother died. “It weren’t so much. I liked parts of it fine, but other parts...” I shivered. “I’ll tell you all about it, I promise.” “You’ve changed. You’ve grown up. Your eyes,” he peered up at me in the flickering lamp light. “Your eyes look older. I hardly recognize the boy I first met when I look at you now.” “Give me a chance to show you that boy’s still there,” I said, and leaned down to brush my lips against Callan’s as I had a hundred times before. He froze beneath my touch as a rabbit started by a fox, then pushed me away with strength I didn’t know he had. “I’m sorry,” I gasped out, uncertain what I’d done, but wanting more than anything to make it all right. “Didn’t mean to offend you!” “No.” His head was buried in his hand. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You did nothing wrong. I should have told you, but I honestly thought none of it would matter with you, somehow there would be some magic that would make everything right.” There always had been before, I realized. Just us two being together had always been enough. What if it weren’t enough anymore? I’d never thought till just then that possibly there was things between people that love couldn’t fix. “Tell me what’s wrong.” “That camp, it was more than a prison. They were trying to cure us.”

“Cure?” “Make us normal,” he said, bitterly. “It started with religious indoctrination, which didn’t have much effect on me, then torture.” “Oh, God,” my voice broke, and my fists clenched. I wanted to hit someone, wanted to hurt and crush and destroy. “It’s called aversion therapy.” He sat up, hugging the blankets around him like a shield. “It’s an old method of behavior change. Let’s say you want someone not to like apples. Every time you show the person an apple, or the smell of apples, the taste, texture, the feel of apple, you administer pain, and eventually, the person comes to associate the apple with something bad, and he doesn’t like apples anymore.” “Why on earth would they care if you liked… oh.” He nodded. “Traditionally, electric shocks were applied to various parts of the body.” I didn’t know how he could stay so calm, like he was teaching school again. “Brother Joe, the man you killed, was something of a traditionalist.” Something broke inside me. The bowl and spoon went flying across the room and I saw red. I’d always thought that was just an expression, but it ain’t, not at all. The lamps was burning blood, the walls of the room run red with it, and I wished with all my strength that I could kill that man again, only slower this time.

“David, please,” Callan said, reaching up to me, stroking my arm lightly. “It’s over. But you needed to know.” “Is it for always? Can we make it right?” “I think we can, with time and patience. You just startled me before. If I know you’re going to touch me, I can let it happen. Come hold me, all right?” I slipped into the bed beside him, both of us fully clothed, and took him in my arms. Like a wild thing, he trembled for a time, then stilled, relaxing as I stroked what was left of his hair. I remembered how it had been, sleek and full and soft. Of course, mine weren’t no better. “Be glad when both our hair grows back,” I said. “Mmm, me too. Think I need to sleep now.” “You want me to stay with you?” I could think of nothing I’d like more. He sighed. “Yes, very much. But there are other things you need to know, and I think it would be easier, for me, maybe for you, if you’d just read it in my journal.” I untangled my arms from him. “Going to kiss you on the forehead now, is that okay?” He smiled, and it was almost his old smile, the one I’d fell in love with. “Lips would be better,” and leaned up to meet me halfway. I touched his

dry, cracked lips, then picked up the book from where I’d laid it on the table, drew a lamp near to the chair that set beside the bed and commenced into reading while Callan drifted into sleep. I kept reading as he slept, stopping a few times when he started to have nightmares to sooth and comfort as best I could, but mostly I kept that lamp burning and read. It was hard reading, parts of it, for he was real honest in the pages of that book. It was nice to read how much he loved me, and I sure was proud of him for the good he done in that awful place, but when I come to the hard places, the bad places, it was almost more than I could stomach, and I had to stop reading more than once just to walk out of the cabin and stand along the rail, looking out at the river and the night sky just to get my bearings before I could continue. It weren’t just the hurt he’d gone through, though that was bad enough, but I had to acknowledge some jealousy that I weren’t at all entitled to. He’d found comfort in another man’s arms. Well, so had I. I’d have to let him know it didn’t matter none, though in a sense it did; it hurt my chest to think on it. I couldn’t never let him know that, though. Callan was still sleeping when I felt the ship start to move, the surge of the engines, heard the thrum of the paddlewheel pounding water in time to my heart and churning water like blood. My grief was turning back to rage and I knew if I stayed in the room, I’d disturb his rest, so I sought out the kitchen, then took the cup of coffee I got there out onto a deck overlooking the water where I could watch the banks of the river flow

by. Oh, it just hurt so much, I could hardly get my mind around it. Sure I’d had my share of troubles, but even the worst of what I’d experienced with Jack Dupree had been nothing compared to what Callan had gone through. While I’d been going to concerts and parties and being given fine gifts, he’d...I lay my head down on my hands, willing myself to calm. “Are you all right?” It was Magnus, his own cup of coffee warming his big hands. “No. Oh sweet Jesus, Magnus, how can people treat each other the way they do? How can you look at someone and not see a man or a woman, not see a human being at all, just see sin and evil?” He sipped his coffee and I watched him watch the wake of the boat churn away. “I take it your young man wasn’t dined on steak and caviar three times daily?” “It’s just so damn wrong! I thought, looking at that camp, that I understood what kind of world that prophet wanted to make, but I didn’t see it! He don’t want our kind locked away, he wants us dead. Dead for true or dead inside, with what makes us who we are burnt out so that all that’s left is hollow, empty shells.” “What do you want me to say? That it’s human nature to fear those

who are different? That persecuting people based on sex or race or any number of things goes back since we crawled down out of the trees? You already know all that, David.” “It oughtn’t to be that way,” I said, stubborn. “I can stop him, Magnus. If I go there, to the mountain, I can kill him.” “That’s murder you’re planning. Not at all like what happened with the man in the camp, son. Cold blooded, premeditated murder.” “If ever a man needed killing, it’s Prophet Wilkes.” But I’d said that about that Brother Joe, too, and something disquiet was creeping over me. “Is that your place to decide? We have laws and courts,” he must have seen the expression on my face, for he knew of Callan’s story. “I know they’re not perfect, but they’re better than vigilante justice. Watch out that killing doesn’t become too easy for you – it destroys your soul, one piece at a time.” “But the world he’ll give us, Magnus, you don’t know what they done to Callan! They tortured him, tried to get him to deny himself, deny me.” I closed my eyes. “He used to be so beautiful, and they stole that away, not just the camp, but back in Moline, the court and Delahaye, people just like that Prophet Wilkes. They took everything. He’s got nothing left.”

“Not true. He’s got you.” He set his cup down. “And if you do leave Callan to manage on his own and go kill this man, do you really think that will end it? Prophet whatshisname is just a symptom. You cut the head off the hydra and three others spring up to take its place.” “I can kill monsters,” I persisted. “I slayed a dragon once.” “Oh, I know it. You’re a hero, David, but not because you can take your sword and forge ahead into battle, but because you know when a battle is not yours to fight. You have a battle, or rather, Callan does, and he needs you beside him to have the best chance of winning it.” He was right, and I knew it, and it was a relief in a sense to know this burden weren’t mine. “Thank you, Magnus.” “The best revenge is living well anyway.” “That sounds like something Sterling would have said.” I figure if I said it enough eventually I’d be able to say his name without the stabbing pain. “Yes, it would have fit his philosophy. Now take your brother,” he glanced over at a nearby table occupied by three old ladies and a harried looking young man about Lisa’s age, “some coffee and a doughnut or something and set your world to rights.” --Callan had woke up while I’d been gone and I found him sitting in the chair, still wrapped in the blankets, thumbing through his journal. I set

the steaming coffee down in front of him and he breathed in the smell of it. “I don’t think I can drink that, but it smells divine.” He must have noticed the shadow on my face. “You read it?” “All of it. Well, except some parts where I couldn’t make out your writing,” I admitted. He laughed weakly. “My penmanship got better in the middle, but then by the end, well, you saw it.” I turned the other chair backwards and straddled it, leaning forward over the low back. “I got to tell you; I met a man while we was parted.” “So did I, David. We were apart for a long time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of in finding comfort where we could.” “But it was different than you with Dominic. You wrote in your book how you never loved him.” He took the coffee cup in his shaking hand. “But you did. You fell in love with…” “Sterling. Yes. I did.” Callan lifted the cup to his lips, but I knew he weren’t drinking just pretending so he could have a few seconds to think before he had to speak again. “Do you want to be with him? I won’t hold you to any

promises you’ve made, if your heart is elsewhere.” “No, I want to be with you.” I took the cup out of his hand, set it on the table and stroked his hand, feeling the bones ridging the back of it. “Anyway, he’s dead. He died to save me.” “He sounds like a wonderful man.” “He taught me a lot about people, Callan. When I first come to know him, I put him up on a pedestal, just like I done with you, and that was wrong. People ain’t gods – they got to be free to make mistakes. Sterling taught me that.” “You’d better start at the beginning.” I helped him back to the bed, for he was looking pale and tired. I’d brought not doughnuts, but stewed fruit, and he ate it, slow and deliberate while I told my tale. And I told it all, starting with my trip up the mountain where I met Magnus, what we learned from Josh, and how afraid Sterling had been to go back to Washington and how he’d done it for me so I could find where Callan himself was. And then Dupree and the bargain and all of those long months of giving myself to him. I took out Sterling’s album and showed it to Callan, who sat with it in his lap, turning the pages carefully as I talked on and on, afraid that if I stopped half way, I’d never finish. “Oh, David. I envy you so much.”

I bowed my head shamefaced. “I know it ain’t fair that while you was hurting I was living fine and fancy.” “No, oh no. Not that. I think you suffered just as much in your way with that senator’s sadism as I did in the camp. No. I envy you that your love had the power to change Sterling. Sixty years of living and he changed for you. That’s a great power you have.” “Callan, let’s make each other a promise. Only pleasure from now on.” “Life isn’t all pleasure, love.” “I know, but even the bad parts will be pleasure if we’re together, and I’m never ever leaving you again.” “Same. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” “It’s like in that scripture. ‘Whither though goest’ something. I don’t remember the rest.” “Book of Ruth. Whither thou goest, I will go, thy people will be my people, thy gods, my gods.” “I don’t believe in God,” I said. “I didn’t used to. But I think maybe I do now, though I think his followers vastly underestimate him.” He closed the album. “Were you really on stage?” I giggled. “Yep. With spoken lines and all.”

“I refuse to believe it.” “Guess I better take you out and introduce you to Magnus and Lisa. They’ll tell you.” “I’d love to meet them, but I still won’t believe it.” His voice sounded tired but playful, and it was like I was hearing that singing back in the cathedral, joyous voices raised up to heaven, and every fiber of my being soared. “You’ll have to show me.” I stood up and struck a dramatic pose I’d seen Sterling do when he was clowning. “You asked for it. ’My Lord, beware! And then I died, like this.” I spun around three times and fell down, legs flying a-kilter and Callan broke down laughing till he went into a fit of coughing. I brought him water and helped him sip it, then sat beside him on the bed, and he didn’t move away. “I’d dearly love to wear your ring again. And this time, it ain’t leaving my finger less it’s cut off.” Without speaking, he leaned over to the bedside table where I’d laid the ring and cupped it in his hand. “For better or for worse.” “We had that part, and then some. For richer or for poorer. Well, richer mostly, now.” Thanks to Sterling. For everything. “In sickness and in health.” He held the ring in his hand, staring down at it. “You need to know that I may never fully recover—” “Forsaking all others.” I knew forsaking weren’t truly the right word, for

our pasts was a part of who we were and would live on in memory. And in nightmare. “Keeping myself only for you.” “It may be a long while before we can...” He looked me straight in the eye, and my mind went rushing back to a cabin on the ridges and two awkward boys, fumbling together towards something truly splendid and wonderful. “I can wait. You’re worth waiting for, Callan. To love, honor and cherish.” I held out my hand and he slipped the ring back where it belonged. “Not obey?” Callan was smiling for true, and I didn’t speak, just kissed him on the lips, gentle at first, then as arousal took me, opening slightly, letting him take the lead as we kissed and kissed, lips and tongues dancing together. “May not be so long as I thought,” he gasped, when we pulled apart at last. “We didn’t finish the vows. Till de—” I stopped his mouth with another kiss. “No talk of death. We’ve seen enough death. It’s time for life now.” I yawned. “Time for sleep, more like. You were up all night.” I sank down into the soft mattress, wrapping myself around Callan like a blanket as the ship’s gentle motion carried us away home.

Callan’s Journal A clean page in a new book, a new life. It’s been a long time since I’ve written, and comparing this first entry to that in my old book, the first thing I see is what’s changed— handwriting, mostly. You can read this one. Practice really does make perfect, and I’m stronger now in every sense of the word. Of course, you also see what hasn’t changed, what will never change. David, and how I feel about him. So, to details. We’re in New Orleans. David and Magnus bought a house. The neighborhood isn’t high class, but it’s a good place to disappear, and this city suits us – there’s a thriving gay community here, and artists and musicians, people who read and think. Magnus has started a theatre, and David took a part in the first play – he’s brilliant on stage so long as he doesn’t have to speak, looks fabulous, all dark and broody and handsome, though that hill accent slaughters Shakespeare. David thinks I should go on stage, so Magnus says he’ll write a play about Lord Nelson for me. Nobody gets that but me, but that’s okay. I’m working; healing again, and it feels wonderful. The healer David found to see to me when we first came here is swamped with work, didn’t care that I’ve only got one arm and hired me as soon as I was well enough. I don’t have to work; David would take care of me, but I want to, and he understands. He’s so adorable with his money. He’s a glorious combination of his

family’s frugality and the late Sterling Woods, who seemed to have regarded money as the contents of a chamber pot to be thrown out regularly. Most recently, he went and auditioned for a place in the city’s symphony choir (has a lovely obsession with classical music all of a sudden) and then once he’d got it on his own merits, gave them a pile of gold. I expect we’ll stay here a while, though David has promised to take me down the coast to Florida sometime, maybe this winter. Got a letter from Jeannie Findlay in Richmond. She’s still fighting to get permission to go back to Moline, though I hear the explosions that rocked the Appalachians had an earthquake-like effect on the region. David wants to go back there too, to get my library, he says, and to be honest, I’d very much like my books, though there’s a lending library here. Very small though. Will probably donate most of my books to it, if I do get them back. The local Brethren Church says their prophet has ended the Ice; it remains to be seen if the weather actually changes. I have my doubts— could be those machines started the Ice, but weather patterns are tricky. The candidate who’s replaced Jack Dupree in the upcoming presidential election is trailing the Liberal Party candidate, which is very encouraging. Could be this country will escape more bloodshed after all. I am considering writing a letter to our local congressman about the camps, but I’m not quite ready to do that yet. In any event, word is already

spreading, starting in California. I like to think it’s Dominic. We went to the seaside about three weeks back, rented livery horses and just rode down to the coast, then along the beach till we found a secluded place, shed our clothes and went into the water. David loved the waves, as I knew he would, danced and rolled and played, and then I took him out deeper and helped him to float, and something in the water of the Gulf swept over me and through me, and when the waves receded, so did my fear. I made love to David, the first time since he’d saved me. Been making up for lost time since. David’s calling, so I must close. Am writing this from the upper balcony of our house; the weather’s warm and fine. The streets are full of people, and we’re gloriously anonymous. Tonight we’re going to our favorite club, a private place for people like us, men and women both. There’s a zydeco band playing, and we’ll dance till morning.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

R. W. Day once had an obsessive teaching career that she has since abandoned for library work. In addition to writing fantastical and mythic tales, she is involved in the Society for Creative Anachronism. She resides in southern Virginia. This is her second novel.