A Gathering of Crows

EIGHT

“Look over there.” Gus nudged his brother with his elbow and nodded his head toward Axel’s house.

The three of them were huddled together behind Ray Dillinger’s old chicken coop. Ray had passed away two years earlier from diabetes-related complications and his property had stood vacant ever since, including the coop. It still smelled faintly of chicken shit. They had encountered more dead bodies as they made their way through the streets, but not as many as they had expected. Instead, they’d found small mounds of ashes scattered along the streets and sidewalks and in yards. None of them had an explanation for it, but the sight disturbed them. Even more disturbing was the silence. They hadn’t heard a scream in several minutes.

“What?” Greg frowned, glancing around in confusion.

Gus pointed again. “There’s a light on down in Axel Perry’s basement.”

Greg and Paul glanced at the small house. Sure enough, the ground-level cellar window was lit with a dim, soft glow.

“But the power is out,” Greg whispered. “How’s he got light?”

“It’s candlelight,” Paul said. “See how it changes and flickers?”

“You reckon he’s okay?” Gus asked. “I like old Axel.”

“I like him, too,” Paul agreed. “He’s a good old boy. They broke the mold when they made him.”

“We should check on him,” Greg said. “Make sure he’s alright. I mean, he’s an old man and all. He might be scared. Don’t want him having a heart attack or anything.”

“That’s a good idea,” Gus said. “Maybe we can take him with us. Get him the hell out of here.”

Paul shook his head. “We’ll check on him, but we can’t take him with us. I hate to say it, but he’d slow us down. I ain’t exactly a spring chicken anymore, and my heart’s beating so fast it’s fit to pop right out of my chest. I can’t imagine what shape Axel is in right now.”

“It don’t seem right,” Greg said, “leaving an old man behind.”

“I don’t like it either,” Paul replied, “but think about it. We may have to move fast. Run. We might have to fight or think on our feet. There’s no telling what could happen. At the very least, he’d slow us down, but if he got hurt, we’d be screwed. Better to leave him inside the house than to leave him in a field somewhere.”

Gus nodded. “That’s a good point.”

“I still don’t like it,” Greg said.

“Your vote is duly noted.” Paul stood up. “If it helps, I don’t like leaving my dogs behind, either, but there it is. Now come on. We’re wasting time. Let’s check on Axel, make sure he’s okay and let him know we’re going for help, and then move on.”

They hurried over to Axel’s house, weapons at the ready, watching the nearby homes and yards for any sign of movement. Gus stepped in one of the mysterious piles of ash. It clung to his boot and pants leg and swirled in the air around him. Gus coughed.

“Goddamn,” he wheezed when the coughing fit subsided. “Whatever that stuff is, it tastes nasty.”

“I’ve got an idea what it is,” Paul said.

“What?”

“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

“Now that ain’t fair, Paul. Tell me what you think it is.”

Paul kept his voice low as they crossed the yard. “Think about it. We’ve been seeing these piles everywhere, right?”

The Pheasant brothers nodded.

“But they weren’t around before tonight. And earlier,when me and Gus were sneaking around, we saw a lot of dead bodies. Not so many of them now though, are there? Instead, there’s just those little piles of ash.”

Gus gagged and began coughing again. He doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Greg’s eyes grew wide. “You don’t mean… that stuff is dead people?”

Paul shrugged, and then glanced around the neighborhood. He stepped up onto Axel’s front porch and approached the door. Greg put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Gus shoved him away and retched again. Greg decided to look in the other direction and stand watch. There was no answer to Paul’s repeated knocking. After a few tries, he came back down into the yard.

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Gus wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “Why did you have to tell me that shit, Paul?”

“Hey, you asked. Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that? Now quit dicking around and come on.”

Paul started around the side of the house, his rifle at the ready. Gus and Greg stared at him in confusion.

“But nobody answered when you knocked,” Greg whispered. “Where are you going now?”

“To tap on one of those basement windows. Maybe we can get his attention that way.”

They hurried along behind him. Gus continued furiously wiping at his mouth and nose, his expression one of horrified disgust.

“Jesus,” Greg whispered. “Jesus fucking Christ, what a mess this whole thing is.”

“You reckon it was death rays?” Gus asked.

“What?”

“All the bodies. What do you think it was that turned them into ash? I mean, it couldn’t have been fire. I smell smoke, but that’s from somewhere across town. If somebody had burned the bodies, we’d see little fires all over town. We’d smell gasoline and stuff. So what do you think did it? There’s no bones, no jewelry or bits of clothing left behind. What could do that to a person?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“I’m just saying, it’s mighty odd. Thought maybe you’d have one of your theories.”

“Will you two be quiet?” Paul handed Gus his rifle. Then he got down on his hands and knees and peeked through the window.

“What do you see?” Gus asked. “Is Axel down there? Is he okay?”

“He’s down there, and he’s got company. Can’t see for sure, because of the light, but I think that’s Jean Sullivan and her little boy down there with him.”

“Well, let them know we’re up here.”

Paul reached forward and rapped on the glass, eliciting frightened screams from inside the house.

“It’s us,” he called. “Paul Crowley and the Pheasant Brothers! Open up, Axel.”

After a moment, Paul stood up and brushed grass clippings from his hands and knees.

“He coming up?” Greg whispered.

“Yeah. At least, I think so. He motioned toward the stairs.”

They crept back around to the front of the house, arriving just as the front door creaked open.

“You bunch of idiots,” Axel said. “You darn near gave me a heart attack. And I think little Bobby Sullivan might have just peed himself. What were you thinking?”

“We were thinking about you,” Paul said as Axel let them into the house. “How you holding up, oldtimer?”

Axel shut the door behind them and locked it. “We’re scared and we don’t know what’s going on. Any news?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied, “but none of it is any good.”

“Come down to the basement and tell us about it. It’s safe there, if a little chilly. Damn kerosene heater is on the fritz, just like everything else tonight.”

Paul hesitated. “We can’t stay, Axel. We saw your light and thought to check on you. Maybe you should blow out the candles, by the way. You can see them from the street. But like I said, we can’t stay. We’re going for help.”

“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey down there. Don’t usually drink it myself, but I might be so inclined if you boys would do a shot with me.”

Gus grinned. “I reckon we can stay for a little bit, at least. Right, Paul?”

Sighing, Paul shrugged and followed the others down into the basement. He thought, not for the first time, of his dogs and hoped that they were okay.

Joel Winkler sat cross-legged in his big, plush recliner and looked around his darkened living room. It seemed so different, so strange, without the lights on. Joel always had at least one light on twenty-four hours a day, even if it was just the small night-light in the bathroom next to the master bedroom. He didn’t like stumbling around in the dark.

The lights had been just one of the things Richard liked to complain about.

He missed Richard. Not a day went by that Joel didn’t think about him, but right now, he was thinking about him more than ever.

They’d met in college. Before his freshman year, Joel had never been out of Brinkley Springs and the surrounding vicinity. Richard was from California and had traveled all around the world. They sat next to each other in psych class, formed a friendship and began spending time together. Within days, that friendship had turned romantic. After graduation, Richard had gone back to California and Joel, unable to find a job, had ended up back in Brinkley Springs. He’d been depressed and despondent until two months later, when Richard showed up at his door. The moving van was parked outside.

They’d lived together for just over a decade. Joel knew what people said behind their backs, but he didn’t care. Yes, some of the people in town were blatantly homophobic, even in this day and age, but most were just curious. As far as he knew, Brinkley Springs didn’t have any other gay couples. Not that they’d let it officially be known that they were indeed a couple. Joel had balked at revealing that, preferring instead to tell people that Richard was just his roommate. In the end, that was why Richard had left a second time—Joel’s steadfast refusal to come out of the closet and openly embrace and acknowledge their relationship.

Joel died a little more each day without him.

Feeling melancholy, Joel began humming Gordon Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind.” It had been their song.

He stared at the picture on the end table. It had been taken four years ago at the beautiful Cass Scenic Railroad State Park, near Bald Knob. In it, he and Richard were smiling, arms around each other. Behind them was a colorful kaleidoscope of fall foliage. Joel had taken the picture himself, using the timer on his camera. They’d been laughing about the mountain’s name—Bald Knob—and it had led to playful innuendos that lasted throughout the day and ended in a slow, passionate bout of lovemaking in a rented cabin atop the mountain later that night.

The shadows swallowed everything else in the living room. Once-familiar objects like the grandfather clock and the potted plants and the coffee table became unidentifiable shapes. The book he’d been reading, a lurid paperback called Depraved, was all but invisible in the darkness. Everything had changed. Muted. But the picture remained clear. Richard’s smile, his hair, his eyes, were unaffected by the gloom. Joel buried his face in his hands and could still see his lover’s face.

The town had fallen silent. The screams and gunshots had subsided. Somehow, the silence was worse. Joel hoped that it would all be over soon.

“The feeling’s gone,” he whispered, “and I just can’t get it back.”

When the window shattered and a dark-cloaked man leaped into the room, Richard didn’t jump or scream or try to run away. He simply looked up, wiped the tears from his eyes and sighed.

“You are not afraid?” The figure loomed over him, arms outstretched.

Joel shook his head. “I’m too tired to be afraid. I saw what was happening. Earlier, out in the street. I watched two of you pull a family from their car. Nobody came to help them.”

“Nobody could.”

“Is this the end of the world?”

The intruder laughed. The sound reminded Joel of a whistling tea kettle.

“No. Merely the end of your world.”

“Will it hurt?”

“I could make it very painful indeed. Agonizing and slow. Now are you afraid?”

Joel shook his head.

The man’s shoulders slumped. “It is better when you are afraid. It improves the taste of your soul. But no matter.”

The man in black reached for him and Joel leaned forward into the embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered as the darkness engulfed him.

Kirby Fox cowered in his tree house, reading his Bible (a red, faux-leather-cover King James version that he’d been given at church after completing catechism classes a year before) and begging the Lord not to let what had just happened to his parents happen to him, as well.

He’d been camping out in the backyard, sleeping in the tree house—or at least that was what his parents had thought. In truth, there had been very little sleeping, as Kirby’s tree house contained a folder full of pictures printed off from a porno site. He kept the folder in the middle of an old Trapper Keeper left over from elementary school, and hid the Trapper Keeper inside a long white box of comic books. His parents had never been inside the tree house—at least, not that he knew of—but Kirby saw no reason not to be cautious at all times.

Like now, for example. He looked up from the book of Psalms, his finger frozen over a random passage. He’d had to squint to read it because his flashlight wasn’t working. The tree-house roof had a hole in it so that he could stick his telescope out of it on clear nights. Each spring, his father trimmed the branches away from the hole, providing an unobstructed view of the stars. Kirby kept a five-gallon bucket beneath the hole to catch rainwater and had a tarp he could pull over the top of it. He realized now that he’d forgotten to pull the tarp closed. The leaves rustled softly as the breeze picked up. Wind gusted down through the hole, ruffling the naked pictures, his comics and the Bible pages. The printouts fluttered across the floor. Naked women stared up at him from a dozen different poses. Kirby felt sick and guilty. The pictures had been provided by Gary Thompson. Kirby had given him ten bucks and his copy of Modern Warfare 2 in exchange for them. Gary’s parents had a color printer and unlimited Internet access. The kid had a nice business as a middle-school pornographer.

Kirby had beat off twice, guiltily wiping himself with paper towels and then tossing the evidence in the corner, and then snuggled into his sleeping bag and read some back issues of Gold Digger, Naruto, Green Lantern and Ultimate Spider-Man. At some point, probably during the issue where Doctor Octopus proposes to Peter Parker’s Aunt May, Kirby had fallen asleep.

His father’s screams were what woke him, although Kirby hadn’t realized it actually was his father at first. The cries were too high-pitched. Too strange. It was only when his father was flung through the bedroom window and landed in the yard, shards of glass sticking out of his face, that Kirby had realized the shrieks belonged to him. His father had lain there, thrashing and quivering and squealing. Then parts of Kirby’s mother had followed him out of the broken window. First had come her head. Then her arm. Then something from inside of her. Then another arm.

Kirby had been too frightened to scream. He’d simply cowered there in the tree-house door, watching in shock and horror as his father bled to death with his mother’s decapitated head and various internal organs lying upon his chest. The ground around him was soaked with blood.

After his father fell quiet and quit moving, Kirby became aware of the screams from elsewhere in town. There were too many of them. He’d sat with his back to the wood-plank wall, pulled his knees up to his chest, grabbed the Bible—and prayed. His mother had insisted he keep the Bible in the tree house; it was her idea of good luck. In hindsight, maybe she’d been right. His parents were dead but Kirby was still alive. He turned his attention back to the book and focused on a random psalm.

“He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry…”

Kirby was unaware that he was reading aloud and equally oblivious that he was crying.

“He delighteth not in the strength of the horse: he taketh not pleasure in the legs of a man. The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear Him, in those that—”

Something warm and wet plopped onto the page and splattered against the crook of skin between Kirby’s thumb and index finger. A raindrop? Frowning, he looked up and saw two eyes staring back at him through the hole. It was a crow, he realized. A big black crow—the biggest he’d ever seen. The bird had shit right through the hole and onto the Bible.

Kirby wiped the offending substance away with his shirttail. Sniffling, he turned his attention upward again, but the bird was gone. In its place was a man, perched on the roof of the tree house and grinning wide enough that his teeth flashed white in the darkness.

Then the darkness flowed through the hole, and whatever good luck Kirby’s Bible had brought him finally ran out.

“Is that yours?”

Levi glanced up and saw that Donny was pointing at the buggy.

“Yes, it’s mine.”

“Where’s your horse?”

“She is safe. I have her stabled down near the river.”

“How do you know they haven’t fucked with her, too?”

“Dee has certain protections. Similar to mine. No harm will come to her.”

Marsha smiled. “Your horse is named Dee?”

Levi nodded. “Yes. And my dog, who is back home in Pennsylvania, is named Crowley.”

“Those are unusual names. Don’t get me wrong—I like them, but they’re not ones you hear every day. Around here, not too many people even bother to name their horses or dogs.”

“I named them after old friends of my family.” He paused, surveying the street. “It looks okay to cross. We’ll be safe once we get inside Esther’s house.”

“How?” Donny asked. “I mean, no offense, Levi, but I don’t see how we’re any better off inside that old bed-and-breakfast. We ought to get the hell out of town.”

“I don’t think we can leave. I don’t think they’ll let us. And as for the house, I can protect us once we’re inside.”

“The way you protected us back there, you mean?”

Marsha gasped. “Donny!”

“It’s okay.” Levi raised his hand. “He’s right. I did miserably back there. I almost failed. That won’t happen again.”

“But how are you going to protect us? I mean, no offense, Levi, but how can I be sure that Marsha is going to be safe?”

Levi smiled. “You’re a soldier. So am I. The only difference is our methods and the weapons we choose. I give you my word that she’ll be safe inside. Now come on. Let’s go, while the coast is clear.”

They hurried across the street. Marsha and Donny trotted behind Levi, hand in hand. They had just made it to the opposite side when a truck engine shattered the silence. Marsha and Donny jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Levi merely turned in the direction of the disturbance.

“Now that is odd.”

A four-wheel-drive pickup truck rounded the cornerand raced toward them. Levi frowned, staring at the onrushing headlights, and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare.

“That’s Randy,” Marsha yelled. “That’s my little brother!”

Marsha and Donny waved their hands at the approaching truck. As it neared them, Marsha released Donny’s hand and ran toward the curb. The truck skidded, the brake lights flashing red in the darkness, and then slid to a stop. Randy leaped out of the cab, leaving the engine running, and dashed toward his sister. The two embraced fiercely, as Donny and Levi hurried toward them.

“Are you okay?” Marsha gasped. “You’ve got blood all over you.”

Randy nodded. “I’m okay. It’s… it’s not my blood.”

He pulled back from her, and they all glimpsed the tears on his cheeks.

“Come with me,” he said. “I can get us out. The old logging road—”

“That won’t work,” Levi said. “We need to get inside.”

Randy stared at Levi, then glanced at Donny and

Marsha. “Who’s this?”

“You can call him Levi,” Marsha said. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.”

Donny stuck out his hand and Randy shook it. They embraced quickly, and Donny slapped him on the back.

“Good to see you,” Donny said.

“You, too. Thanks for taking care of my sis, yo.”

Randy reached his hand out to Levi, but Levi hesitated. He seemed deep in concentration.

“What’s up?” Randy frowned. “Do I have a booger hanging out of my nose or something?”

“Your aura,” Levi whispered. “It’s interesting, to say the least.”

Randy’s frown deepened. He glanced at his sister and Donny, but they only shrugged.

“What’s up with him?”

“Apparently,” Donny said, “he sees auras. And yeah, I know how that sounds, but after some of the shit we’ve seen tonight, I’m inclined to believe it.”

Marsha took her brother’s hand. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

Randy’s expression clouded. He took a deep breath, tried to speak and then sagged forward. Donny and Marsha caught him before he could collapse.

“Jesus,” Donny grunted.

“Randy?” Marsha patted his cheek with her hand.

“Randy!”

“He’s passed out,” Donny said. “I’m guessing shock. I’ve seen this before.”

“Is he going to be okay? He’s got a lump on the back of his head. And all this blood! What’s happened to him? Where are my parents?”

“We need to get him inside,” Levi said, stepping forward to assist them. “Quickly.”

Donny picked Randy up and gently placed the teen over his shoulders.

“Hurry.” Levi’s tone was insistent. He stared up into the sky.

“Why?” Donny glanced around but didn’t see anything.

“Because they’re coming.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

Donny carried the unconscious teen toward the house. Marsha trotted along beside him, stroking Randy’s hair and begging Donny to be careful with him. Levi ran over to the truck, shut off the engine and the headlights and then closed the door. The wind picked up and the tree limbs rustled in the breeze.

“Your will be done, Lord. All I ask for is time. For their sakes as well as mine.”

Turning, he hurried after the others. As they reached the bed-and-breakfast, the door opened and Esther stepped outside. Myrtle bustled around behind her in the doorway.

“What’s happening?” Her eyes widened when she saw Randy. “Oh, goodness! Is he hurt? Is he… dead?”

“He’s okay,” Donny panted. “Just passed out.”

“Well, get him into the sitting room.” Esther moved aside and let them pass. Then she beckoned at Levi. “What is happening, Mr. Stoltzfus?”

“I’ll explain what I can,” he said, slipping past her and into the foyer. “But first, I want to make sure we’re safe. I don’t have much time. Do you have a Magic Marker I can borrow, or even a pen or pencil?”

“Oh, yes. I have some in the kitchen. Which would you like?”

“It doesn’t matter. But I need one quickly.”

Nodding, Esther hurried into the kitchen. Myrtle shut and locked the door, and then she and Levi joined the others in the sitting room, where Donny had laid Randy on the sofa. The teen’s cheeks were pale in the candlelight, and his breathing was steady but shallow. His eyes flickered beneath the lids. Marsha sat beside him, stroking his hair.

“Is he going to be okay?”

Donny lifted Randy’s wrist and checked his pulse.

He nodded. “He’ll be fine. His pulse is strong, and his breathing is steady—if shallow. Just let him rest for a bit.”

Esther returned from the kitchen and handed Levi a black Magic Marker. He dashed back into the foyer. Esther, Myrtle and Donny followed him. Levi uncapped the marker and then glanced over his shoulder at Esther.

“I apologize in advance for doing this, but it’s the only way to keep us safe. This will protect us. I’ll pay for the paint and repairs later, if you wish.”

Before she could respond, he stood on his tiptoes and began to write on the wall just above the closed door. He didn’t talk, didn’t explain to them what he was doing. He seemed totally absorbed in the task.

The three could only watch him and look at one another in confusion. He wrote,

When he was finished, Levi stepped back and studied his handiwork.

“Oh my…” Esther’s hand went to her chest.

“What is that stuff?” Donny asked. “Is that Latin or something?”

“I recognize some of it,” Myrtle said, sounding excited. “It’s a powwow charm. Isn’t that right, Mr. Stoltzfus?”

“Three different charms, actually.” Levi turned to them and smiled. “You are partially correct, Mrs. Danbury. But I must hurry. Please excuse me one moment. While I’m doing that, it might be best if you snuffed out the remaining candles.”

“But then we’ll have a hard time seeing.”

“Yes, but perhaps those outside will have a hard time seeing us, as well.”

“But you said that inscription above the door would protect us,” Esther said. “Why do we care if they know we’re in here?”

“Because I don’t want them surrounding the house. When we’re done, after I’ve rested a bit, I need to go back out there. That’s easier to do if I can sneak outside, rather than running a gauntlet.”

He turned away and repeated the inscription process over every door and window in the house, while the others returned to the sitting room. When he was finished, Levi joined them. To the others, he seemed exhausted.

“Mrs. Laudry—”

“Call me Esther, dear.”

“Very well. Esther, would you be so kind as to grant me a drink of water?”

“Certainly. We have bottled water in the refrigerator. I would imagine it’s still cold, even with the power being out. I’ll get some for everyone. Myrtle, would you help me?”

“Sure. Good thing our eyes have adjusted to the dark. I don’t fancy breaking a hip on top of everything else tonight.”

“Oh, hush.”

The two old women bustled off to the kitchen again. Marsha hovered over her brother, seemingly oblivious to anything else in the room. Donny and Levi studied each other.

“You look beat, Levi.”

“Not yet.”

“No, I mean you look tired.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Levi scratched his beard. “That I am. But it will be a long time before I sleep. I don’t think any of us will sleep before dawn—except for the boy there. His name is Randy?”

“Yeah.”

“He has… abilities.” Levi’s tone was flat—a statement rather than a question.

Donny shrugged. “He’s pretty good at fixing cars, but other than that, I don’t know. Why?”

“It’s… Never mind. We have more urgent matters to discuss. I just find him fascinating, is all.”

Donny looked over at Randy and Marsha and then back at Levi. “Fascinating?”

“He reminds me of… someone else at that age.”

“Who?”

“Here we are,” Esther said as she and Myrtle came back into the room, juggling plastic bottles of water. “It’s still cool. I’m sorry we didn’t pour it into glasses, but these seemed easier, given the circumstances.”

Levi smiled as he accepted one. “I’m sure this is fine. Thank you both.”

He unscrewed the cap and took a long sip while they handed bottles to Donny and Marsha. Marsha opened hers, but rather than drinking, she raised her brother’s head slightly off the couch, put the bottle to his parted lips and poured a small amount into his mouth. Randy swallowed and then smacked his lips. His eyes remained closed.

“I hope he’s okay,” Marsha said.

“Here.” Levi stood up, crossed the room and knelt by him. “Allow me.”

He took Randy’s hand in his and lightly pinched the skin between the thumb and index finger. A moment later, Randy’s eyes opened. He glanced around in bewilderment and then relaxed when he saw his sister and Donny. Levi gently released his hand and then returned to his seat.

“Thirsty,” Randy rasped, licking his lips.

“Here. Don’t try to sit up.” Marsha gave him another sip of water.

“Where are we?”

“We’re at Mrs. Laudry’s bed-and-breakfast,” Marsha told him. “You passed out on the sidewalk. Do you remember? You were getting ready to tell me something about Mom and Dad.”

His expression darkened. “Oh.”

“Randy, what happened? What’s wrong?”

He sat up slowly and stared at his hands in his lap.

Marsha put her arm around him. Donny sat down next to her on the other side of the couch and took her free hand in his. When Randy looked up at her again, fresh tears brimmed in his eyes. He spoke slowly at first, halting between words. His voice was monotone. Emotionless. But then the words began to spill out of him. He shuddered and his throat worked as if what he had to say was choking him. He told them everything that had happened—the power going out, the crow on the patio that had turned into a man, the murder of his parents, the strange effect the spilled salt had on the killer, his escape with Stephanie and Sam, what they’d seen driving through town, the strange graffiti on the hanging tree, Sam and Stephanie’s death, the invisible barrier and the dead birds. When he was finished, he broke down into uncontrollable sobs, leaned forward and buried his face in his sister’s lap. She wrapped her arms around him, lay her cheek against his back and shared his grief. Donny rubbed her back and tried to comfort them both.

“That poor boy,” Myrtle whispered. “Those poor children. Randy and Marsha are good kids, and their parents were fine people. This is such a shame.”

“It’s terrible.” Esther nodded in agreement. “What do you think really happened, Levi?”

He glanced up at them, appearing distracted.

“I’m sorry?”

“Out there. What do you think really happened with Randy tonight?”

“I think it happened exactly like he told us.”

Esther flinched. “But some of the things he said, birds changing into humans and invisible force fields…”

“You haven’t been outside. We have. I believe the boy is telling the truth. In fact, I know he is. We’ve seen some of the same things he saw.”

Myrtle grew pale. “Is it the apocalypse? Are these demons?”

“I don’t know what they are yet. That’s what I need to figure out.”

They fell silent again and listened to Marsha and Randy weep.

Levi folded his fingers into a steeple, closed his eyes and concentrated. Randy’s sudden appearance outside had badly distracted him. The youth clearly had the gift, but seemed almost completely oblivious to it. In some ways, Levi envied him for that. He thought back to when he was Randy’s age—that fateful summer when everything had changed and he’d learned just what high a price magic had—and wished that he’d been oblivious, as well. Maybe if he hadn’t known, things would be different. Maybe the girl he had loved would still be alive. Maybe he’d still have a home, a real home, with people who welcomed him and a family that he could always turn to, no matter how bad things got.

He needed to focus. Growing maudlin over the past wouldn’t help their present situation. What did he know so far? Brinkley Springs had been attacked by supernatural entities with the ability to change shape. They had appeared as both a crow and human. In their human guise, they appeared clad in antiquated, Puritan-style clothing. Their speech was a curious mix: outdated colloquialisms mixed with more modern terms and slang. They had inhuman strength, speed and abilities. They were systematically slaughtering every living thing. They devoured their victims’ souls, leaving an empty husk behind, as a locust in summer leaves its desiccated shell clinging to a tree. Their victims’ bodies turned to dust shortly after death, leaving no trace save for a small pile of ash.

Levi shuddered at the thought of such a fate. To have one’s soul eaten, to lose all sense of self or being, to not travel to the levels and planes of existence beyond this one, to become the sum total of null with no chance of ever being reborn or reconstituted— that was the worst fate he could imagine. Better to end up in hell than to be completely eradicated.

What else did he know? The entities seemed impervious to various workings and magical disciplines. His binding spell had been only partially effective, serving to slow his antagonist down rather than actually binding it to his will. They’d sealed off Brinkley Springs from the outside world by means of a mystical barrier, which would have taken an enormous force of will and an incredible amount of energy to construct. It was possible that the barrier was some sort of soul cage, though Levi had never heard of one so massive in size. It was a stunning achievement. And then, finally, there was the word Randy had seen carved into the trunk of a tree—Croatoan. It was obvious from their reactions that Randy, Marsha, Donny, Esther and Myrtle hadn’t recognized the word or its significance, but Levi did. He just didn’t know how it fit into all of this.

Yet.

Croatoan. The word had several different meanings, and not all of them were related to occult lore. At best, it was a location and nothing more, but Levi was fairly certain its association with tonight’s events was something more sinister.

He opened his eyes, unfolded his fingers and cleared his throat. The others all turned to him.

“The highway leading into town… How many cars and trucks use it at night?”

“Not many,” Donny said. “Traffic is usually pretty light at night. Maybe one or two cars and a few tractor trailers all night long. That’s it.”

“But a few will pass through?”

“Yeah, probably. Why?”

“I’m thinking about this barrier that Randy told us about,” Levi said. “We can’t leave—can’t contact the outside world. But if an oncoming car hits it, and the driver is uninjured or able to call for help, others might become aware of our situation.”

Myrtle sat up straight. “Can we hold out until then?”

Levi shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Does that mean you have a better idea of what’s going on?”

“Perhaps,” Levi answered. “At the very least, I’m starting to connect the dots. How many of you have heard of Roanoke?”

“I’ve been there many times,” Esther said. “They have some lovely antique shops.”

Marsha nodded. “It’s not that far from here. Just over the border in Virginia.”

“I don’t mean the city of Roanoke. I’m talking about the original version—Roanoke Island. Are any of you familiar with it?”

Donny, Marsha and Randy shook their heads. Esther frowned.

“Oh.” Myrtle snapped her fingers. “That’s where all those people disappeared, back during the colonial days, right?”

“Correct. At least, partially. This Roanoke, unlike the Roanoke you were all referring to, is an island off the coast of North Carolina.”

“I know that place,” Donny said. “It sits right off of Highway 64. We passed through there on our way to the Outer Banks.”

“And if you blinked,” Levi replied, “then you probably missed it. In many ways, Roanoke is much like Brinkley Springs. It’s small—about eighteen square miles—and it’s fairly remote, even with the highway access. I’d guess less than seven thousand people live there, and many of them are probably seasonal.”

“I don’t know,” Donny said. “I seem to remember there were a lot of tourists there when we went through. Of course, it was summer and all.”

“Oh, no doubt there were tourists. Roanoke is a historical site, after all. As Myrtle said, it was a place of some importance in this country’s past. But… I also think it might have some significance concerning tonight’s events.”

Marsha leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“Bear with me. It’s a long story, but I’ll do my best to be brief. Near the end of the sixteenth century, the English tried several times to establish a permanent settlement on Roanoke Island. Had their attempts been successful, Roanoke would have been the first English colony in the New World. Keep in mind that this was before the American Revolution, of course, and the English had claimed the area as their own. In fact, at the time, there was no North Carolina as we know it today. Roanoke Island was simply a part of Virginia. They named it after Queen Elizabeth I, who was also called the ‘Virgin Queen.’ “

“And was she?” Donny asked.

“Who knows?” Levi shrugged, and then continued.

“Sir Richard Grenville was the first person to attempt to create a permanent settlement on the island. In 1585, at the behest of Sir Walter Raleigh, Grenville transported a group of English colonists to Roanoke Island. He left them under the guidance of a man named Ralph Lane, and then he sailed back to England for more supplies. At first, things went well, but Grenville’s return was ultimately delayed, and the settlers reportedly found themselves running out of supplies. Soon, they were in pretty dire straits. They eventually had to abandon the colony altogether and return back to England with Sir Francis Drake, who had anchored at Roanoke after attacking the Spanish colony of Saint Augustine.”

“So the settlement failed,” Marsha said.

“Indeed. But a second attempt to colonize the island was made in 1587, and many of the original settlers returned with that second group of their countrymen, determined to make a go of it. Men. Women. Children. Families. Sadly, they fared no better. They brought livestock with them, but many of the animals died in transit. They brought seeds and tools but had trouble raising enough crops to sustain themselves. The seeds withered. The tools broke. Once again, they began to run low on supplies, so a man named John White sailed for England to retrieve more. He left behind his daughter Eleanor and her daughter, Virginia, who was the first English child to be born in the New World. She was named after the queen, I would imagine. It couldn’t have been easy for White to leave his friends and family behind, let alone his granddaughter, but apparently, he only expected to be gone three months. He told his fellow colonists that if the situation grew dire, and they had to abandon the settlement for any reason while he was gone, that they should carve the name of their new destination, and mark it with a Maltese cross under the carving so that he’d be sure to notice it. That way, he’d know where to find them upon his return. And with that final instruction, he left.”

Donny tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck and shoulders. “No offense, Levi, but I don’t see how this helps us.”

“You will in a moment. Patience. White made it back to England safe and sound, but when he got there, he found his country embroiled in a war with Spain. Despite his protestations, White’s ship was confiscated by the authorities for use in the war effort. White was full of despair, and he argued for the ship’s return, but to no avail. The settlers were on their own. He didn’t make it back to the colony until 1590—three years after his departure.”

“Three years instead of three months,” Esther said. “Those poor people. They must have thanked God when he finally arrived.”

Levi shook his head. “On the contrary, as Myrtle said earlier, the settlement was empty. There was no one left to thank God. When White stepped off the boat, he found that all of the colonists had simply vanished. Their valuables and money and clothing still remained. Indeed, in many homes, rotting food sat on cobweb-covered plates, as if the inhabitants had left halfway through their meal. But there was not a single living soul to be found. None of the inhabitants remained behind. There were no bodies and no signs of foul play. It was as if they’d disappeared into thin air.”

Esther made a noise in her throat.

“Desperate to find them,” Levi continued, “White and his men searched the colony for clues to their whereabouts. Remember what White had told them before leaving—that if they had to abandon the settlement, they were to carve the name of their new destination somewhere and mark it with a Maltese cross? Well, White didn’t find any signs of a Maltese cross, but he did find two carvings. The first was the letters C-R-O, which had been etched into a tree. The second word was carved in a fencepost. That word was Croatoan—the same word Randy saw carved into a tree tonight.”

“Cro,” Marsha said. “Crow?”

“Perhaps,” Levi said, “or maybe we’re seeing connections where there are none. But it is curious, don’t you think?”

“But what’s Croatoan?” Randy asked, sitting up. “What does it mean?”

“It is a name for many different things. White knew it as the name of an island to the south of Roanoke. Today, that island is called Hatteras, but back then, it’s name was Croatoan, and it was inhabited by a friendly tribe of Native Americans. Based on this, White logically assumed that his people had decided to take shelter with the natives until his return, though his assumption didn’t account for the half-eaten meals and other signs that the colonists had left in a hurry. Convinced they were at Croatoan, White intended to go after them, but he was delayed yet again. Several hurricanes prevented him from reaching the island, and he had to return to England instead. He never made it back to the New World, and the settlement remained abandoned. It’s said that he went mad with grief and guilt.”

“So the lost colonists settled Croatoan… Hatteras?” Myrtle asked.

“No. White, and all of the historians, archeologists and scientists who have come along since then and assumed the same thing, were wrong. The truth is not widely known, other than to certain individuals like myself, but it’s a truth nonetheless.”

Esther frowned. “Individuals like yourself?”

“Magicians. Powwow doctors. Priests. Warlocks. Witches. Call us what you will. They are different names for the same thing. Our disciplines and methods may differ, but in the end, we’re all on the same path.”

“So, you’re not Amish?” Esther’s expression was one of disappointment.

“No, I’m not Amish. I was at one time, but not anymore.”

“I see.” Her frown deepened. “Myrtle and I discussed it, when you were upstairs in your room. I just assumed, judging by how you dress and the buggy outside, that you were either Amish or Mennonite. I would certainly never have pegged you for a…”

“A what? A pagan?”

“That’s a nice way of saying it.” Esther looked away. “Sounds like Devil worship to me.”

“I’m not a Satanist, Esther. I was once a part of the Amish faith, but I was forced to leave the community many years ago. What you need to understand is that the decision wasn’t mine. I still hold on to my moral upbringing. I’m not Amish or Mennonite, or Protestant or Catholic. But really, those are just labels. If you need me to explain my beliefs, I’m just trying to live my life right and do God’s work, the way that feels right to me.”

“By using witchcraft.”

“I told you before,” Myrtle said, “it’s not witchcraft. He’s using powwow.”

“Not just powwow,” Levi corrected her. “Powwow is ineffective against the things outside. The wards I placed over the door, for example, are powwow based but infused with other disciplines, as well.”

“What kind?” Myrtle’s eyes shone, and Levi cringed at the eagerness in her voice.

“I’d rather not say.”

“Powwow,” Esther said. “Witchcraft. Seems like the same thing to me.”

“Be that as it may,” Levi said, “right now, it’s the only thing keeping us alive.”

“God is keeping us alive, Mr. Stoltzfus.”

“You’re a religious woman, Esther. I’m sure you prayed tonight. Has it occurred to you that perhaps God sent me to safeguard all of you? Perhaps I am the answer to your prayer.”

“I don’t—”

“Look,” Donny interrupted. “I don’t reckon this is the time for a religious debate. Those things are still out yonder, and I for one would like to know what we’re dealing with. I don’t know shit about magic, but I do know what I saw tonight, and I do know that Levi saved our asses. I’d like to hear him out.”

“Yeah,” Marsha agreed. “Me, too. Finish the story. What happened to the colonists, and what does it have to do with tonight?”

“The settlers never went to Croatoan. In fact, they never abandoned the colony. Something else happened to them—something far worse than simply running out of supplies. I told you that Croatoan has different meanings. Among them, it is also one of the names of an entity known as Meeble.”

“Meeble…” Donny frowned. “I’ve heard that name before. In Iraq, I think. Can’t remember where or why, exactly.”

“It’s certainly possible,” Levi said. He was about to continue, when his attention was drawn to the window. He sensed a presence outside. He stood up, walked to the window and looked into the darkness. Seeing nothing, he returned to the chair and sat down again.

“What is it?” Esther asked. “What’s wrong? Are they out there?”

“I believe so. At least one of them was. If my theory is correct, then they’re searching for us, and they won’t leave until they’ve killed us all. But I’ve taken steps to mask our presence inside these walls. We’ll be safe. They can’t enter. Not without my permission.”

“But why do they want to kill us?” Marsha’s tone was exasperated. Panic flashed in her eyes. “I don’t understand this.”

“I don’t either,” Levi admitted. “At least, not all of it. At this point, I’m still just connecting the dots and seeing what picture they make. All I have is a theory, and that theory is tied into Croatoan, Meeble and the lost colony of Roanoke. As I said before, the settlers never abandoned the island. What White didn’t know—and couldn’t have known—was that after his departure for England, five of the colonists began dabbling with the occult. Keep in mind, they were in an already-bad situation. The crops were failing, much of their livestock was dead or sick. Things looked grim. Perhaps these five men prayed to God for help. Perhaps, when their prayers weren’t answered to their satisfaction, they turned to other means and methods. Other gods. Perhaps they prayed to someone else, all in an effort to help their fellow man.”

“How is that any different from what you and I do?” Myrtle asked.

Levi hesitated. He wanted to tell her that there was a world of difference between what he did and her crystal-gazing, pseudo-New Age nonsense, but this was neither the time or the place. Instead, he simply smiled as politely as he could and continued.

“It’s not any different, except that these men were amateurs. They didn’t understand the forces they were dealing with, nor how to bend them to their will. In the end, they didn’t even invoke the right entity. Instead of summoning a nature spirit or something helpful, they accidentally began worshipping something else, and eventually, they brought that something else into our world.”

“A demon,” Donny guessed. “Meeble.”

“It was indeed Meeble, but Meeble is not a demon. He’s something different. And here is where things might get difficult for you to believe—especially for you, Esther. All I can say is that I believe them with the utmost sincerity.”

Randy laughed. “Shit, dude. I saw what these fuckers could do with my own eyes. I’ll believe pretty much anything at this point.”

Donny and Marsha nodded. Esther scowled. Myrtle leaned forward, staring at him with rapt attention.

Levi took a deep breath and exhaled. “Much of what we think we know about the history of our planet and the development of the human race is wrong. Our history books and oral traditions are full of inaccuracies. This is especially true of our religious texts. The primary doctrines of Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Jainism, Hinduism, Shinto, Satanism, Wicca and all of the others have been tampered with and rewritten by mankind so much over the years that none of them reflect the original works. Instead, they are filled with inaccuracies and falsehoods. It takes many years of study and searching to learn the real truths. You might believe, for example, that the Bible is the inspired word of God, but it isn’t. You’ve been taught to believe that it is, but what you believe is a lie. The Bible is not God’s word. Neither is the Koran or the Torah or any of the other holy books.”

“Then whose word is it?” Esther challenged.

“They are the words of men, edited, parceled, snipped and changed countless times to reflect the will of the men in charge, rather than God’s will. If you truly want to know God’s word and seek His will, then you’ve got to look beyond the Bible, because the book we’ve been taught to call the Bible is not the complete text. Do you know how many books and scrolls and interpretations were excised over the years? Hundreds. It’s not the inspired word of God. It is composed only of the books men decided should be in it. It doesn’t give us the complete picture. For that, you have to turn to other texts. Perhaps they aren’t in the canon, but they were written at the same time and they are just as valid. Those texts give us a true understanding of God. For example, the Bible we all grew up reading tells how God created the universe, but it says nothing about the universe that existed before ours, or about the enemy that came from that other universe.”

“You mean Satan?” Myrtle asked.

Levi shook his head. “No, I mean the Thirteen. In the beginning, the entity we know as God or Yahweh or Allah, or hundreds of other names, created the heavens and the Earth. That much is in the Bible. What the Bible doesn’t tell us is that in order to create this new universe, He needed a lot of energy. So God destroyed the universe that existed before ours. He reduced it down to the very last atom and utilized the harvested energies as building blocks to create our universe. The old universe ceased to exist and ours was born. However, in addition to God, there were thirteen other denizens of that previous universe who somehow escaped the destruction. Nobody knows how. Suffice it to say, when our new universe sprang forth, they were still here, and they were enraged by what had happened. These entities are collectively known to us as the Thirteen, and they’ve been the enemies of God and all of His creations— human and otherwise—ever since. They’ve sworn to destroy anything created by God. After all, He destroyed their universe. Perhaps they merely seek revenge, or maybe they plan to build a universe of their own—a third universe, in which they are the ones in charge. Whatever the case, they are not gods or demons, though they’ve often been mistaken for such. They are not susceptible to all of the same magicks, workings and laws that govern, banish or bind demons, angels and other supernatural entities. Very specific—and dangerous—magic must be used when confronting them. That magic is known only to a few, of which I am one.”

“And this Meeble dude is one of the Thirteen,” Randy said. “Right?”

“Exactly!” Levi couldn’t hide his enthusiasm. His impressions about the boy, founded when he first saw Randy’s aura, had been correct. Despite having no teaching, or indeed, any inkling of his gifts, the boy was attuned.

Randy grinned, clearly pleased with himself despite the evening’s grim events.

“Meeble is indeed one of the Thirteen,” Levi continued. “He is not as calculating as Ob, the Obot, who commands the Siqqusim, nor is he as big as Leviathan, Lord of the Great Deep, or as powerful as He Who Shall Not Be Named, but Meeble is just as dangerous, cruel and committed to our eradication as any of them. His physical form is bestial. He appears as a hulking, white-furred cross between a cat and an ape and stands almost sixteen feet tall, according to those few who have seen him and lived to tell about their encounter. While the rest of the Thirteen seem to focus their destructive energies on a global scale, Meeble seems to delight instead on destroying humanity one town at a time. That’s what happened at Roanoke. And until tonight, I and many others like me assumed that’s what was happening in many of the cases where entire populations seemingly vanished overnight—ghost towns out west and such. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“But I thought you said Meeble was behind this?” Marsha clenched the sofa cushion tightly with both hands. “Now you’re saying he might not be?”

“Perhaps not directly. This is still all just a theory. There’s one more piece of the puzzle to put into place.” He stood up and placed his hat back on his head. “And so, I’ve got to go back out for a little while.”

“Like hell,” Donny said, jumping to his feet. “If you’re going back out there, then I’m going with you.”

Marsha reached up and grabbed Donny’s arm.

“Oh no you’re not.”

Donny pulled away. His eyes remained focused on Levi. “Seriously. You can’t face those fuckers by yourself.”

“I’m not. God is on my side.”

“You just got done telling us that God blew up an entire universe of people to make this one instead.”

“Indeed. Can you think of a more powerful ally to have standing with you?”

“Even so, I’m coming along.”

Marsha protested again, and the others all began to talk at once. Levi whistled, getting their attention.

“It’s not open for debate, Donny. I appreciate your offer. I really do. But somebody needs to stay behind and watch over the others. Randy is still weak, and—”

“I am not.” Randy swayed as he tried to stand.

“Look, I’m fine.”

Myrtle wagged a finger at Levi. “That’s a very sexist thing to say.”

“I’ll have you know,” said Esther, slowly rising to her feet, “that I knew how to shoot a rifle before I learned to read. I used to go hunting with my father all the time, Mr. Stoltzfus. That was how things used to be in these parts. I reckon I’m capable of defending myself. Myrtle and Marsha, too.”

“You people seem to think I’m making a request. I’m not. This is an order.”

“I’m not in the army anymore,” Donny said. “And I don’t take orders.”

“No?” Levi glanced at Marsha and then back to him. “Would you like to know what I think, Donny? I think you’re afraid to be left alone with Marsha. I think there’s something unsaid between the two of you, and whatever it is, it scares you to death.”

Donny opened his mouth to respond, but said nothing. He stared at Levi. The tips of his ears turned red.

“I want all of you to remain here. Remember, as long as you stay inside the house and don’t try to leave, you’ll be safe. You have my word on that.”

Before any of them could argue anymore, Levi turned and hurried into the foyer. Sensing nothing outside, he opened the door, stepped outside onto the porch and closed the door behind him. The coast was clear. He whispered a fervent prayer, reciting from memory a benediction against enemies, sickness and misfortune that his father had taught him long ago.

“The blessing that came from Heaven, from God the Father, when the true living Son was born, be with me at all times. The holy cross of God, on which He suffered His bitter torments, bless me today and forever. The three holy nails which were driven through the holy hands and feet of Jesus Christ, bless me today and forever. The spear by which His holy side was pierced and opened, protect me now, today and forever. May the blood of Christ and the Holy Spirit protect me from my enemies, and from everything which might be injurious to my body and my soul. Bless me, oh you five holy wounds, in order that all my enemies may be driven before me and bound and banished. All those who hate you must be silent before me, and they may not inflict the least injury upon me, or my house or my premises. And likewise, all those who intend attacking and wounding me either spiritually or physically shall be defenseless, weak and conquered. The cross of Christ be with me. The cross of Christ overcomes all water and every fire. The cross of Christ overcomes all weapons. The cross of Christ is a perfect sign and blessing to my soul. Now I pray that the holy corpse of Christ bless me against all evil things, words, and works.”

When he was finished, Levi made the sign of the cross four times, to the north, south, east and west.

“Guide my hand. Your will be done, as always.”

He took a deep breath and stepped off the porch.

He felt naked and exposed. The prayer was the last of his powwow. From this point on, to defeat his enemy, he’d have to rely on methods and benedictions that were far older and far less holy than the one he’d just used.

Marsha slowly unclenched her fist and let go of Donny’s arm. He winced. She glanced up and gasped. She hadn’t realized it until just now, but her fingernails had dug into his skin, leaving angry red marks.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay.”

The group stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Then Myrtle tiptoed over to the window and cautiously looked outside.

“Is he gone?” Esther asked.

“I think so,” she whispered. “I don’t see him, at least.”

“Well, good riddance then.”

Myrtle let the blinds fall closed and spun around.

“Esther! There’s no call for that. He’s your boarder.”

“And he can leave here come sunup. I won’t have him under my roof another night.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Marsha bristled at this. “He’s fighting for you. For all of us. How can you say that about him?”

“Because he’s not doing this for us. You get to be as old as me, Marsha, and you’ll see. I know how people are. I see through them. That man may think he’s fighting for us, but if you really look at him, you’ll see he’s fighting for himself—and the way he’s doing it is simply un-Christian. I won’t have it here. Better to end up dead than in concert with the Devil. I know that you’ve been through a lot tonight, but trust me. Levi would sacrifice every single one of us if it meant defeating the enemy. I can see it in him.”

“Listen to you,” Myrtle said. “Do you hear yourself? This is a far cry from what you were saying about him earlier.”

“Earlier, I didn’t know. He’s not what he seems.”

Myrtle shook her head. “But he was praying, right before he left. I heard him whispering a prayer to God—the same God you believe in.”

“Not my God.”

“Fuck this shit.” Donny started for the foyer. “I don’t need to hear this crap.”

“What are you doing?” Marsha grabbed for him again, not caring if she hurt him or not, but Donny shrugged her off. When he responded, he didn’t look at her.

“I’m going with him. Somebody needs to watch his back.”

Marsha put her hands to her face and stared at him, the realization sinking in.

“He was right, wasn’t he? Levi was right. You’re afraid to be left here with me.”

Without a word, Donny strode toward the foyer. Seconds later, they heard the door open and close.

“It doesn’t matter,” Randy said. His tone was sullen. “None of us are gonna escape anyway. Nobody ever gets out of this town. Not before, and especially not now.”

With Donny’s silent departure confirming her question, Marsha collapsed onto the couch and put her arm around Randy. They comforted one another as best they could and waited to see who would return— Levi, Donny… or the crows.