The Rock: Rites of Betrayal

By Michael R Stark

Silence haunts the desolate world left in the wake of the Fever. The nights are dark, the days a stumbling venture from one horror to the next. In one place, William Hill stands in the center of a town where the scattered remains of the dead lie next to the road like litter tossed from passing cars, where the search for the living fails to turn up even one soul.

Infected by a parasite destined to steal his mind, hunted by the Chosen, and dogged by a beautiful woman who claims to be an elf, he sometimes wonders if life can get any stranger. Then Daniel offers a glimpse of the coming world, a place where cavorting beasts feast upon the dead, where dragons haunt nearby forests, where the hordes crawl from the ground by the millions and sweep across the earth.

The elf says she needs his blood to repair the rift between worlds, to finally put an end to the madness. He doesn't mind donating a little to the cause, but the more he hears, the more he doubts her intentions and the more the ceremony sounds like a full-scale sacrifice.

In the end, William discovers that he can count on nothing, not even his sanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael R Stark
• Release date: Dec 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370531547

Michael R Stark

Trying to figure out when I started writing is like trying to decide when I started walking. The stories have always been there, rummaging around in my mind. Some went on paper. Most didn’t. I wrote my first novel when I was 22. Thankfully, I left it to the dustbin of history where it shall always remain.Imagine the grin, yes, it was that bad.As for influences on my latest story, The Island, that one has been up there banging away in my head for a long time. Parts of it were told at bedtime. Though honestly, those who heard the parts wouldn't recognize them in the story. By the time we get to the second book in this series, they will find some recognizable moments. They'll also probably be upset that the adventure turned into something of a horror story.Ahh, well, most of them are old enough now to read it for what it is.I grew up in North Carolina, which is why part of the story is set there. I’ve been to exotic parts of the world, many countries, and most states. None of them I know as well as the one I called home for most of my life. It makes it easy to write about it, and the people in it.I hope you enjoy the stories.MS

Book preview

The Rock

Rites of Betrayal

by

Michael R. Stark

The Rock - Rites of Betrayal

Volume Seven

Fallen Earth

Copyright © 2016 by Michael R. Stark

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced without the author’s written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Dedications:

To Samantha, Ashley, Emily, Aleah, Elijah, and Kaleigh—the angels who gave me reason to tell stories at bedtime.

And to my brother Steven and my nephew Aaron, both of whom stepped through that final door way too early in life. I miss you more than I can say.

Note to the reader:

First things first, if you haven’t read The Island or The Rock – Exodus, then grab those first.

You’ll need them to understand much of what happens in this book.

MS

Table of Contents

Chapter I - Little & Company

Chapter II- Decisions

Chapter III - Illusions

Chapter IV - Balancing Act

Chapter V - Myth and Legend

Chapter VI - Hell on Earth

Chapter VII - The Battle for Oriental

Chapter VIII – A Boy and His Halo

Chapter IX - Intermission

Chapter X - Devils in the Details

Chapter XI - Cycles of Life

Chapter XII - Detours

Chapter XIII - Portents and Omens

Chapter XIV - Zoology

Chapter XV - Strike Three

Chapter XVI - Clarity

Chapter XVII - To Build a Fire

Chapter XVIII - Crossroads

Chapter XIX - Enemy Mine

Chapter XX - The Rock

Chapter XXI - Magic

Chapter XXII - Rites of Betrayal

Epilogue

The Rock – Rites of Betrayal

Chapter I - Little & Company

I knelt beside the footprints, not wanting to believe the outlines in the snow. At least three, maybe four people had crossed the road and walked up into the tall pines that bordered Highway 12. The hodgepodge of tracks stood out clearly against the white background. That humans had crossed the road at some point during the night didn’t bother me as much as the fact that maybe half wore no shoes.

Food, safe drinking water, a warm shelter, all of those things might be hard to find in the new world, but not footwear, not when hundreds of millions of pairs would rot in the coming years before anyone ventured by to put them on.

Elaysia moved up beside me and studied the tree line with night vision markedly superior to mine. I waited, giant axe balanced across my knees, while she passed judgment on the shadows ahead. An eddy in the cold night air swept the heavy scent of pine and turpentine across the road, the odor strong enough to beat back the rank smell of the nearby salt marsh.

The weapon felt feather-light in my hands and perfectly balanced. Even more, it fit my grip like a well-worn walking stick, smooth and comfortable. The woman looked down and hissed her disapproval. I ignored her and nodded toward the trees.

Anything?

Nothing I can see, she replied in a low voice. She swung her head around to look behind us. Falling snow caught in her long tresses, speckling the dark chestnut curls with white crystals. I couldn’t see her eyes, but expected they’d look just as icy.

They usually did, though in the sunshine or near water, enough blue stained her irises to give them some color.

Denise shifted behind me. She sounded scared when she spoke. Let’s get out of here.

I turned and nearly bumped into her. She hovered just over my shoulder, blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her eyes looked black in the dim light.

The two women had morphed into entirely different people over the past few months, just in different ways. My initial impression of Denise in the weeks following the travel ban ventured along lines of pretty enough, but flighty, self-absorbed, and honestly, a bit selfish. I admit, most of that assessment came from what amounted to a three-day tryst that began with waking up to the woman naked in my bed and ended abruptly during a ride down the beach. A savage winter, the constant worry over what might lurk just outside the door, and an ever-present hunger had tempered her personality, maturing her in ways that would’ve been impossible prior to the Fever. Our relationship had also evolved, far beyond the types normally associated with ex-lovers, and maybe even jilted lovers. I liked her. I depended on her.

And hell, I respected her.

Elaysia, for all her beauty and intelligence, flat-out irritated me. She’d spent the bulk of the winter tiptoeing around everyone at the station. I could think of a lot of words I could use to describe her. Things like, shy, demure, and introverted topped the list. For the most part, she’d existed as a barely noticeable spot in the background noise of daily life.

Only in the last few days had her true nature become apparent. I can’t say I liked the transformation much and, even worse, I didn’t know when to believe her.

I needed her though. We all did.

I’ve never seen anything like this, she breathed and nodded at the ground.

I said nothing, though the tracks generated the same sense of uneasiness in me. No one in their right mind would walk through snow in bare feet. Not many could tolerate the cold even if they were mentally sound. The prints showed no exaggerated signs of haste. They mostly looked like people walking at a normal pace. Memories of half-naked men racing around the station while it burned rose up in my mind. Elaysia had cut one of the bodies open the following day to expose the black worm inside. I stared at the perfect outlines of naked feet and wondered if Gorgol had created another set of zombie-like followers on the mainland.

The thought had barely surfaced when another slid right along behind it.

Why wouldn’t he?

Still, I hesitated. Back when the old radio poured out the daily helpings of news and opinion, reports of patients attacking their providers and losing all contact with reality had laced every segment. Only a few months before, we’d witnessed the transformation first hand when one of the younger men blew a hole through a lifelong friend.

I rose and glanced back and forth between the two women. Denise wore her signature ponytail, a heavy jacket, and carried a Russian-made SKS with a banana clip curving out of the bottom. I couldn’t decide if she looked more like a commando or a terrorist. Beside her, Elaysia waited in a black coat, jeans, and the soft boots she usually wore. The woman looked like she always did, which was mostly like the goddess Aphrodite come down to earth to mingle with the mortals.

The more I thought about it, the more the entities in the Greek Pantheon fit. At least they embraced their petulance and narcissism.

Let’s move, I said and motioned down the road. Atlantic, as best I remembered, lay approximately fifteen miles from the Cedar Island Ferry. We’d traveled three hours already. Somewhere between six and eight miles of snow-covered road and icy cold remained before we could settle down for the night. I figured we could do it in two hours. Truth was, we’d passed several houses that would serve as a perfect shelter to ride out both the storm and the night.

I didn’t want to stop, though, and neither did the women. I could see the worry strong on both their faces. We’d parted ways with Elsie and the others early that morning. I think everyone expected a ride to be waiting on us when we arrived at the ferry terminal.

No one came - no one except the Hunter.

I hefted the axe. Well, at least he had nowhere to go. Proof of the fire that destroyed the thing swirled around me every time Elaysia drew near. Her long, luxurious hair had trapped the smell of the smoke like a sponge soaking up water.

The little woman slid out in front and started down the road. I motioned for Denise to follow and brought up the rear. Snow fell straight and hard, sifting down from a dark sky so thick and heavy at times I couldn’t differentiate between road and forest for much more than fifty feet. Beyond that, everything faded into what looked like a dim white fog.

The miserable conditions grew worse as the miles slid by. I didn’t know about the other two, but my face felt numb, my fingers frozen, and my feet like blocks of ice. Still, I kept at it, trudging away. An hour passed, and then another. I’d just about decided to pick a deserted house and hole up for the night when Elaysia stopped and held up a hand. I moved up beside her. The storefront loomed ahead, little more than a black and bleak outline against the new fallen snow.

I touched her sleeve to get her attention and pointed toward a small stand of trees. She and Denise followed me into the shadows. I opted for a tall fir, knowing the sweeping boughs would keep much of the ground clear underneath. Denise found a patch that looked dry and settled down with a groan as if grateful for the chance to rest. Elaysia slid in next to me. We sat for maybe half an hour, studying the store and looking for any sign of people.

Morgan’s General Merchandise hadn’t changed much since the last time I saw it. The front door appeared to be intact. Rocking chairs still dotted the cedar porch, still perfectly positioned, still waiting for a couple of old men to rock the afternoon away and talk about fishing. Snow glazed the roof and blanketed the large parking area that curved around the front and shot down both sides. The few windows I could see carved dark rectangles down the side of the long, low building.

Not one betrayed any hint of either light or movement.

One fear had dissipated half a mile up the road when we passed the Ark. The bulky little boat lay moored to the tiny dock where I’d loaded Angel, its portholes empty and decks abandoned. The sight lifted my spirits considerably. At least Elsie and crew had made it across the sound. We stopped long enough to make sure the boat sat as empty as it looked. Hope buoyed the last ten minutes of the walk from the dock to the store, only to be dashed by the apparently vacant building in front of us. The thought of simple explanations for them missing the connection at the terminal faded at that point while the specter of Dwight Little took on a new and depressing prominence.

Maybe they’re asleep, I said in a voice that sounded like a man grasping at the last hope he had left. I took a deep breath and forced more conviction into my tone.

Maybe the guards are set far enough back that we couldn’t see them from here anyway.

Elaysia shook her head, killing the notion. I don’t think so. The place looks dead to me.

A small avalanche cascaded down through the branches of the fir leaving a mist of icy particles drifting through the shadows. Wet, heavy flakes that looked as big as quarters rained down on the little town. At least five inches already clung to the ground, turning the road into a ribbon of white that stretched through the surrounding forests. I couldn’t make out details on the homes and buildings behind the store, recognizing the presence of most only by the straight lines that formed dark silhouettes against the soft, white background.

The elf’s assessment could cover the entire village, or at least what I could see of it. No lights flickered in the windows or blazed from front porches. Electricity drove security lights, televisions, and pretty much everything else society had taken for granted before the Fever. Somewhere, power from the grid might still light up the night, but not here. Even if it did, anyone still living in the small community most likely would be tucked into a warm bed.

Honestly, I didn’t believe that to be the case either. Aside from crazy footprints an hour north, we’d seen nothing during the trip south. Six hours of walking down fifteen miles of snow-covered roads and we heard nothing that pointed to human habitation. No dogs barked. No tires scrunched up snow underneath them. No voices filtered out of the houses we passed.

Regardless of how they looked, Cedar Island and Atlantic sounded as dead as a cemetery.

Denise edged up close to me, What now?

Her voice came out soft, the whisper barely discernible. I wondered why she bothered. We’d left a line of tracks right in the middle of the road. A deputy as bumbling as Barney Fife could’ve followed the prints up into the trees and sat down next to us. If the snow kept falling, they’d eventually lose their shape. I put no faith in the weather, however. The coast of North Carolina had never been known for its harsh winters. I didn’t expect much more snow would fall.

The parking lot lay smooth and undisturbed, looking more like a small lake that had frozen over than a place where shoppers left their vehicles. We couldn’t cover our tracks in the snow, but we could avoid leaving a clear trail up to the front door. The tree line hugged the edge of the lot all the way to the back of the store. That seemed the best approach. If Dwight Little cruised by, at least he’d have to nose around a bit before figuring out where we’d gone.

I motioned toward the far end of the building.

We’ll go in the back. Elaysia will lead. I’ll hang in close behind her. Denise, you bring up the rear.

The smaller woman looked up when she heard her name. She glanced toward the building and then back to me. Why do you want me in front? You know this place better.

I gave her a wry smile. Because elves can see in the dark.

The trek went by easier than I’d imagined. The miles of swamp and brambles on Portsmouth had drained my appetite for trudging through low-country forests. Dozens of gouges and scrapes still marred my legs from the trip across the island in the dead of night. Elaysia had navigated through the forest well enough, but even she couldn’t avoid all the needle-tipped thorns. The things had pierced my jeans with ease and clung like vicious little teeth when I’d tried to pull free.

The mainland offered an easier route. The initial reluctance to edge through the trees next to Elsie’s store disappeared quickly. Instead of miles of razor-edged briers, the undergrowth gave way to wide-spaced pines, live oak dripping with Spanish moss, and the sterile trees some landscaper had planted along the curb. Snow laid atop the forest floor offered a soft and silent passage. All in all, the quarter mile felt more like a stroll through a park than sneaking through brush.

The dark-haired woman paused near the back of the building and studied the shadows for a while before motioning us forward. I fell in behind her and immediately saw the Durango when we rounded the corner. The big SUV sat 20 yards behind the store, Angel’s trailer still attached. A thick layer of snow clung to the vehicle and stood several inches high on the trailer frame, confirming the fact that neither had moved in at least the past six or seven hours.

Another piece of damning evidence waited at the back entrance. The door looked like someone had beaten it loose with a battering ram. Shards of broken casing poked though the snow. The knob dangled uselessly from its mount. Massive dents cratered the steel shell. Oddly, though, someone had taken the time to close up the entrance as best they could. The thing hung crazily in its frame, jammed into place haphazardly as if the burglar spent his childhood trying to shove round pegs into square holes. The sight crushed what little hope remained. Elsie would have put the men to work shoring up the back door as a first order of business.

I forced it open enough for the three of us to squeeze through. Once inside, we paused again to listen and let Elaysia eyeball the interior. Jokes about her ability to peer through darkness vanished when she described what she saw because the inside dissolved into one big pool of black for me.

The place is a mess and looks like it’s been ransacked, she whispered after a moment. But, it’s empty. There’s no one here.

The utter silence that followed confirmed her assessment. I even held my breath to listen for no other reason than the simple act of inhaling and exhaling sounded loud enough to echo off the walls.

Elaysia stood close enough that I could feel the heat wafting up from her body. Each wave carried the harsh scent of smoke and oil. Underneath it, however, lavender again swirled faint and distant. I edged away from her, not because I disliked the contact, but because I suspected that she would end up with a decidedly less pleasant olfactory experience. I’d sweated gallons in the toll booth, particularly in the last few minutes. For all I knew, heightened senses didn’t stop with her eyes. The woman might be the human equivalent of a bloodhound.

Her initial survey confirmed my earlier suspicions. I’d suspected the food would be long gone. If memory served me right, Elsie hadn’t carried much more than the basics anyway - bread, milk, eggs, and a shelf devoted to cans and dry foods. The fact that whoever raided the store had taken time to close the broken door behind them impressed me as much as anything. The one business we’d seen on Ocracoke stood out as a testament to looting run wild. Evidently, Atlantic possessed more polite thieves.

We worked our way through the interior with the little woman picking her way around items in the floor and between aisles. I’d learned to trust her senses on the trip across the island and moved with her. Denise stumbled a few times over debris she couldn’t see, but by the time we’d made it halfway to the front, she’d caught on and stepped aside when we stepped aside.

Ten minutes later, we stood near the big windows up front, breath sliding out in long pale plumes. Outside, snow still fell and darkness still reigned. My internal clock failed when it came to the time, but the night felt old, the sense backed by taut skin crinkling at the edges of my eyes and exhaustion seeping through my bones. I looked east, half expecting to see gray filtering up from the horizon to paint the sky with the promise of a new day.

The same thought evidently occurred to Denise. She pressed a button on her wrist. A faint glow cast her features in green light.

What time is it? I asked after the light faded.

Three a.m., she replied in a whisper.

We’d left the terminal around nine the night before. A quick nod to division told me we’d covered ground at roughly two and half miles an hour.

We needed rest, warmth, and food. Barring the last item, at least we could manage the first two.

I led them to Elsie’s office. Walking into the room felt like stepping into a fridge. The air hung cold and still. Across the room, a faint gray rectangle scored in the dense black marked the lone window. A line of objects that looked like bulky black teeth rose up out of the darkness. Maybe fifteen seconds passed before my brain turned thoughts of fangs and gaping maws into a row of candles perfectly spaced across the sill below. I started to head for them and thought better of it. My memory failed in the details, but conjured up a room cluttered with boxes and filing cabinets.

Elaysia, I said. Can you grab a candle from the window?

She slid by in a swirl of flower-scented air that left me desperately wanting a bath. I waited, reveling in my own discomfort. The events of the night had somehow managed to leave me feeling both sweaty and cold or, in blunter terms, stinky and borderline hypothermic.

She brought two back with her. I groped through my jacket pockets until I found the lighter I’d used to light the lantern and flicked the wheel with fingers that felt stiff and cold. The candles, thankfully, caught quickly. Heat and soft yellow light rose from first one, then the next, providing just enough illumination to avoid breaking my neck when I moved. Only then did I bother to attempt a survey of the room. Scents of cinnamon and vanilla wafted up behind me while I studied the office.

Elsie’s desk occupied a spot near the door, close enough that I wondered how all three of us made it through without banging against the edge. A couple of chairs, a bookcase full of ledgers and paperwork, and two metal filing cabinets comprised the rest of the furnishings. True to memory, at least a dozen boxes hunkered down against the wall with a huge calendar stretched out above them.

I stepped closer. The old woman had filled the rectangular slots marking off the days with notes for the month of September. Completely mundane entries highlighted deliveries, a baby shower the old woman had planned to attend, birthdays of people I didn’t know, bills, and a host of items related to running the store. A little circle at the bottom contained the simple legend: Hill, William, storage, $50/week.

I stared at the date, unable to pull my eyes away. So much had changed in the intervening months. We’d made it through two seasons, autumn and most of winter. The span felt more like decades had elapsed instead of a few months.

Denise moved up beside me.

What is it?

Thoughts raced through my mind. Mom, Dad, boats, and diseases, all of it coalesced at that single point on the calendar.

I feel like I just looked at the dividing line between normality and insanity, I said and turned back to study the room. I liked the setup. With a little rearranging, the floor provided enough space for the three of us. The door and window offered escape routes in different directions. Unfortunately, the window also presented the most immediate security risk. The faint light spilling through the opening would be visible for miles in clear weather. The snow cut that distance down considerably, but either way, anyone passing would know the store housed people long before we knew they existed.

We needed a shade, blinds, something along those lines. The big calendar with its cardboard backing fit that need perfectly. I worked the nail out that held it in place above the desk. Denise pulled the other candles off the sill while Elaysia positioned it over the window. I used the butt of the axe to nail the thing to the wall in its new spot.

The heat rising up from the candle prompted another idea. The trip through the store had felt like groping along in a cave blindfolded. I couldn’t see what items lay in the floor or which remained on the shelves. Still, I could recall the layout and the relative placement of goods from my first visit months before. The back wall had housed a small home and gardening section. I remembered gazing across bins of seeds situated next to a display full of flower pots and tools designed for outdoor work. I couldn’t be sure what items the old woman stocked, but she’d devoted another section on the opposite side of the building to house wares.

I sent Elaysia back out with a shopping list, the contents of which raised her eyebrows. I left her to wonder and set about clearing space in the office for the three of us. Denise and I moved both chairs into the main room. The filing cabinets followed, though with more effort and a lot more noise. We slid both against the wall near the office, hoping the position would look natural to anyone who walked in the front. I carried out a few boxes of receipts and tally sheets. After studying the haphazard mess strewn across the floor, I stacked them next to the door.

Elaysia walked up, arms loaded, while Denise and I cleared the floor of papers that had spilled from one of the boxes.

Here you go, she said in a voice that sounded like she thought I’d lost my mind. Two clay flower pots of different sizes and a bread tin. Now, care to tell me what you’re going to do with it?

I grinned.

Make magic. At least it should feel like magic.

I set four of the smaller candles inside the loaf pan, arranging them in a small square, and lit them. Once the flames gained enough strength that I felt certain they wouldn’t wink out, I balanced the smaller clay pot atop the pan, turning it upside down and positioning the edges to cover the candles. Light and heat spilled up toward the ceiling, emerging from the hole originally intended to drain off excess water.

Denise sidled up close and put her hand over the contraption. That’s warm, but why bother with the pots and pans?

Check Elsie’s desk and see if she has any change in the drawer, I said, ignoring her question. I need a quarter.

She took the candle we used for light and disappeared. After a few seconds of pawing through the desk, she returned and held out the coin.

Here you go.

I took it and slid it over the drainage hole.

This is the heater core, I explained. The candles superheat the air inside. All we need now is a chimney.

I picked up the larger pot, turned it over, and carefully set it over the smaller one, again balancing the edges on the pan.

It works like a convection heater. The hotter the core, the more air it draws in around the base of the chimney. That air passes over the core, gets heated and exits the drainage hole at the top.

Elaysia eyed the setup dubiously.

Give it a bit, I told her. This is the same design used in commercial products like kerosene heaters. It should raise the temperature in a room this size by fifteen or twenty degrees at least.

The woman still didn’t look convinced. Soft yellow light played across her features, lending a bronzed look to her eyes. Something dark, soot or dirt, drew a long shadow down one cheek. Limp, wet hair etched dark curlicues in the pale skin on the opposite side. Lines at the corners of her eyes punctuated the weariness I felt. We’d been moving since sunrise and no one had slept well the night before. Despite all of the imperfections, Elaysia still looked incredibly beautiful.

She pushed herself to her feet and motioned toward the back. I’m going outside to check the window to make sure it is shielded well enough. When I come back, I’ll see if I can seal off the rear door a little better.

I started to rise. She waved me off. Don’t bother. I’ll be done in the time it will take to lead you through the store again.

Denise slid down the wall, her gaze flickering over to study Elaysia as the self-proclaimed elf headed out into the main room. I turned back to the little heater and started working through the watch in my mind. The office could act as either safe haven or final stand. Much of that depended on how quickly we recognized potential threats. In another four hours, the sun would rise. I figured at least two more would pass before we needed to worry about visitors - assuming anyone still lived in the tiny community. Dawn increased the danger of being spotted by neighbors if we ventured outside.

Still, sunlight flipped the coin when it came to hunkering down and staying out of sight. We needed the calendar to block off lights in the room when night reigned outside. The instant the sun rose, the dark recesses inside switched to our advantage, effectively turning the big windows up front into giant two-way mirrors. Anyone outside would need to press up against the glass to peer inside, while we could see them approaching a mile away.

A sudden boom echoed through the cavernous room next door. Denise jerked her head up. Fear shot across her face for an instant, the emotion clear in the soft yellow light. I shot her a wry grin.

Her brother can walk through a forest like a ghost. She goes outside and makes enough noise to wake the dead.

The joke fell flat. The pensive look remained. I turned back to my figures. Six hours between three people worked out to two hour stints and one person ending up with their rest period split into two sections. I decided to take the broken watch and let the other two enjoy as much uninterrupted sleep as possible.

I looked up to find the woman studying me with a thoughtful expression on her face. I explained the schedule and why I wanted her to go first. She nodded when I finished, but the speculative look remained.

She’s pretty, she said suddenly.

I shot her a sideways glance, unsure where she might be headed and not exactly comfortable with the direction. Denise and I had discussed a lot of things since our brief fling back on the island, but for the most part, avoided any topic linked to love, sex, or the emotions related to either. The memory still carried an out-of-body feel to it. One day she’d occupied a safe and somewhat distant spot in my mind as part of a couple. The next, I woke with her lying naked beside me. I couldn’t conjure up a name that adequately described the relationship. I couldn’t call it a one-night stand. She’d slept in my bed over the course of several nights. I’d spent a while wrapped up in what Elsie would call lust and debauchery in each of them.

The only emotions I could attach to the time fell into the camps of worry and regret. It wasn’t that I regretted the act as much as the tension it caused at the station. The woman hadn’t fully disengaged from her last relationship and the subject of those feelings sat across from me at the dinner table. Awkward didn’t even begin to describe those few days.

Nor had I ended the affair in a particularly tactful fashion. The last conversation that brooked the subject left her looking chastised and me feeling as old as I sounded.

I guess so, I said finally.

The woman threw her head back and laughed. That’s one of the things I like about you, William. There’s no pressure. You make a woman feel like a person, like what she thinks and feels matters. Do you know how refreshing that is?

I gave her a cautious look. As opposed to what?

She shrugged indifferently, the movement not exactly callous, but more like someone explaining the obvious to the unenlightened.

An object? A lesser being? A direction finder for a penis?

Elaysia returned from her sojourn outside. I heard the door slam shut with authority. Seconds later, something heavy slid toward the back in an abbreviated journey that ended with a metallic thud. The hope that she might return quickly faded when another object skidded across the floor.

I chose my words carefully. That’s a perspective I’ve not heard in a while.

The abrupt turn in the conversation left me standing in what felt like a verbal minefield. A step in the wrong direction might not leave me dead or dismembered, but could definitely end up on explosive ground. The best option seemed to defuse the topic before it gained enough strength to go nuclear.

What do you mean? she asked.

I felt my lips twist into a sardonic smile. My ex used a similar description once to accuse me of flirting.

The questioning look on her face prompted an indifferent shrug of my own. You had to know her. Becky was a beautiful woman. Maybe she grew up with men using her as a personal compass point. Either way, she had a daily need for that type of attention.

The raised eyebrows sent me scurrying back over my words, trying to figure out where I stumbled. The implication at the end of my sentence jumped up as the most obvious.

I didn’t mean we did it every day, I said, the explanation sounding botched and bumbling. I meant that if I didn’t compliment her constantly she took it for either a lack of interest or started looking for competition. We fought over everything, but I learned early on to watch what I said around other women.

Denise’s eyebrows arched even higher.

She said I was trying to make them feel special, I said spreading my hands out in an I-don’t-know gesture. I never understood how listening to someone made them feel special. Maybe now I do.

She sounds insecure.

I grinned, despite myself. Ever seen the end of a glacier? Think split up, cracked, and full of crevasses. That was Becky’s security field. If you weren’t careful, you’d end up at the bottom of a deep hole, not sure how you got there and eyeing a long climb back out.

I shook my head. It’s also part of the reason she ended up as my ex. Got old, you know.

Outside in the store, Elaysia’s approaching footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor. Denise looked at the door for a moment.

Two things, she said, lowering her voice. Be careful. Those aren’t words from a jilted lover. She has an agenda and you’re part of it.

She paused and sighed. As for me, I’ve never apologized.

I stared at her, groping for a response. The moment obviously meant a lot to her, though the reasons it needed to occur in that instant escaped me.

She offered a faint smile. Don’t worry. This won’t turn into a tear-fest. I was wrong.

Elaysia sounded close. I needed to say something that contained at least a degree of empathy or highlighted my understanding of what it took for her to make that statement. Try as I might, nothing witty or even borderline intelligent surfaced.

Things happen, I said finally. In this case we both walked away and remained friends.

I shot her a crooked grin. Not that we really had a choice.

The woman cocked her head to one side. Behind her, the ponytail swished across the wall. I know. I just want the air clear between us. I don’t want you looking over your shoulder wondering if I’m going to cause a problem.

Elaysia stepped back into the room before I could find a response. The moment not only seemed odd, it felt odd, like her words overshadowed something bigger that I’d missed entirely. My mind latched onto the hint of things unspoken and refused to budge.

A look of surprise spread across the elf’s face.

"It is warmer in here. Your heater actually works, William."

The condescending tone in her voice irritated just enough to pull my thoughts away from the confusing little scene that played out in the moments before she arrived. I grunted and explained the watch schedule, still struggling with the weird feeling that I’d missed something obvious.

The conversation faltered at that point. Too many miles lay behind us with too little sleep. I could feel the weariness settling so deep it seemed like it slid into my bones. The warmth exacerbated the effect. Elaysia picked a spot not far from the makeshift heater and promptly fell asleep. I stretched out on the opposite side with my coat spread out over my chest like a blanket and my arms behind my head, the recent conversation playing back through my mind. It seemed I’d just closed my eyes when I felt a hand shaking me awake.

It’s time, Denise whispered. She’d let her hair down while I slept. A golden shower fell down around her face. She looked exhausted. Bags too deep and dark for a 25 year-old face hung under red-rimmed eyes.

The heater had raised the temperature enough that I didn’t need the coat any longer. I offered it to her and watched her roll it up for a pillow when she settled down on the floor. I don’t think two minutes passed before her breathing evened out and took on that deep, rhythmic sound of sleep visited upon the weary.

I spent the next two hours waiting for dawn and thinking about Elaysia’s supposed agenda. I knew she had one. I just wondered where Denise’s version ventured beyond the simple concept of find the rock and defeat the bad guys. The warning carried a personal tone rather than a general watch-yourself type of comment one might offer a friend embarking on a journey or adventure. She aimed it specifically in my direction and the reasons slid by without explanation.

What did she see that I didn’t? No matter which way I turned, I felt like a dolt sitting in the idiot corner and wearing a dunce cap. Everyone knew more than me. Daniel lived inside his visions. Elsie used her insights into people. Elaysia and her brother knew more about the rock than I did. Now, Denise evidently saw something in the woman that I’d missed, or more likely, would never recognize. Becky called me clueless. Maybe I was. Maybe I’d learned how to communicate, but not how to understand because the deceptions and plans of others usually took me by surprise.

The more I thought about it, the more that analysis failed. I could see the bad in people. I just expected the opposite. The mental gymnastics proved too much for my tired brain. The only conclusion I reached in the entire watch devolved to a simple fact. In a world where madmen ruled islands and everyone scrounged for basic necessities, expecting good, sane, and rational could end up getting us all killed.

I woke Elaysia to gray light spilling around the calendar we’d hung over the window. She turned over the instant I touched her and looked up with bloodshot eyes. I waited until clarity and focus swam into her gaze before stepping away. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, looking almost as tired as she had when she first lay down. The coat she’d used for a blanket fell away. So many wrinkles scored the shirt she wore, the thing looked like it had spent the last few days wadded up in a corner.

She yawned, deep and hard, and then scrunched her nose and licked her lips as if tasting something horrible. I knew the feeling. Two items sat atop my personal gotta-have list. Coffee ranked number one. Toothpaste came in a close second.

Elaysia rubbed at her eyes. The effort didn’t help. They looked just as red and just as puffy afterward. She took a deep breath.

Anything?

I shook my head wearily, swaying with exhaustion and trying to come to grips with the odd feeling that my brain was bouncing around in my skull every time I moved. Honestly, I’d planned on staying awake when I set the watch rotation. Years of rising early had ruined my ability to sleep past sunup.

Not that morning. When she walked over and climbed atop the desk, I headed for the floor.

Thanks to the little clay-pot heater, the perch in Elsie’s chair had felt warm enough to not regret giving Denise my jacket. That degree of comfort vanished near the floor. At least 15 degrees separated the two elevations. It didn’t take long to find the culprit. Cold air slid in under the door, enough to bend the flame on the candle we used for light.

I let it come knowing that in more ways than one, we’d been playing with fire. A kid I’d known in high school died from carbon monoxide poisoning sitting in his car on a cold night doing nothing more than trying to keep warm. I didn’t know how much oxygen the heater consumed. Somewhere deep in my brain, another factoid insisted we shouldn’t be lying on the floor either. With both of those potential threats looming, I figured a bit of a chill beat the hell out of a frigid night outside or drifting off into a sleep that never ended.

The next time I woke, Elaysia held her finger pressed to my lips, warning me to keep quiet. It took a minute for the gears in my head to latch onto each other and formulate a coherent thought. A thud outside followed by what sounded like a dozen different voices spurred that process along immensely.

I scrambled to my feet. Denise stood near the window peeking around the edge of the calendar.

They’re here, she whispered, "but they’re not alone.

I eased up next to her. She moved aside far enough that I could press my eye against the tiny slit between calendar and window frame. Elsie stood beside James Reynolds, the top of her head barely reaching up to the man’s chest. Both of them stared at someone I couldn’t see. The fact that Reynolds looked up instead of down told me who. The big man stood maybe six feet, four inches. The only person I’d seen since September tall enough to tower over him was Dwight Little.

The vehicle behind them carried the stark white lines of a prison bus. The view from the narrow slot revealed a driver’s seat segregated from the passenger compartment by what looked like a steel cage and security door. Foot high black letters stretched down the side. I couldn’t make out the entire line of words, but the last two appeared to be Detention Center.

Snow still swirled in the early morning air. Elsie’s boots nearly disappeared into at least eight inches on the ground. The old woman looked cold, tired, and furious. Beside her, Reynolds’ face betrayed no emotion. He stood rock still, eyes gleaming from the shadow of his flat-topped ball cap, looking like a statue carved out of black granite. The wall muted Little’s voice enough that I couldn’t make out the words. I could recognize the arrogant, lecturing tone, though.

I eased back from the window. Elaysia and Denise stared at me as if waiting for instructions. I pointed to the heater and slid a finger across my throat. The elf nodded and seconds later snuffed out the candles. The swirl of smoke rising in the thin air brought a grimace to my face. We could hide the evidence in a couple of minutes. We couldn’t erase the smell. If Little and company walked into the store, they’d know instantly that someone had spent the night inside.

The tiny office that seemed a godsend when we arrived suddenly felt like a trap. So did the entire store for that matter. Any self-respecting lawman would station a sentry at every exit before entering a building he suspected of harboring a criminal. For all I knew, a deputy already waited at the rear door. I stood motionless, brain running in overdrive, but muscles locked into position. Any sound from inside would turn the man into a William-Hill-hunting demon. With the store in such disarray, the risk of making too much noise while trying to find a less exposed position seemed to outweigh sitting still and waiting.

The brief list of options in front of me provided no bright spots. I could hide, fight, or give up. For the second time in as many days, I imagined bullets ripping through buildings and people dying. The sigh that slid out sounded tired and defeated. Alone, I’d fight to my last breath. I wouldn’t risk the lives of the other people with me, though. In that brief segment of rationalization, I realized that if he came into the building, the choices would vanish. I’d give up and go with him.

For the moment, however, he seemed more intent on arguing than setting up to storm the building. The voices outside rose and fell, alternating between his deep, liquid boom and Elsie’s sputtering anger.

I hovered as close to the window as I dared. Even then, I managed to make out part of the conversation only because Little raised his voice until he sounded like he was shouting into a megaphone.

I’ll find him, he said, his voice sounding dangerously close to breaking. Or by all that’s holy, old woman, I’ll be back here to find out why. It’s 70 miles down the sound to Cape Lookout and nowhere to hide. You better damned well hope I run across his crappy little boat.

Silence descended outside. I turned and let my gaze roam over the far wall. The rifle stood in the corner. A lot of thoughts crossed my mind in that instant, most of which ended with someone lying dead in the snow.

In the end, the one option I failed to consider surfaced. I watched with my eye pressed to the slit in the window as Little’s vast bulk swam into view. He climbed up inside the bus and paused on the first step to deliver another warning. I couldn’t hear the words this time, but the accusing finger and the authoritative tones told me he’d issued another ultimatum.

Then the door closed behind him and the bus pulled out toward the main road. A few seconds later, Elsie walked into the General Merchandise. Feet clumped in behind her, enough that the parade across the porch sounded like a herd of stampeding buffalo. The door had no sooner closed behind her than she yelled at me.

You can come out now, Hill William. He’s gone.

Chapter II- Decisions

Life improved dramatically once Elsie walked into the store. She took one look at the mess, frowned, and immediately started issuing orders. No one complained. Not one face carried a put-out look or any hint of rebellion. In fact, everyone seemed to vacillate between excitement and downright eagerness, a situation I attributed to the old woman announcing that she intended to silence the growling bellies around her. The resolute statement generated plenty of curious looks that needed no explanation. Everyone, including me, wondered where she’d hidden a cache of food.

I wanted answers, a ton of them. The Ark sat empty a half-mile or so up the road, moored to the same dock I’d used when I launched my ill-fated voyage across the sound. The old woman had apparently never made it to the store, which meant someone had arrested her and the others the instant they tied up. She noted the questioning look on my face, but shook her head.

Instead, she led us toward the back, pausing along the way to survey a wall full of glass doors that housed what once held eggs, milk, bacon, and other perishables. Empty steel shelves glittered behind the beverage section. Whoever trashed the rest of the store had cleaned out the beer department so thoroughly it looked like they’d used a giant suction hose. The soda coolers fared almost as badly. Empty racks stretched back into the darkness. A hint of color against the far wall noted where a couple of cans had fallen through to the floor and rolled to the back.

The view behind the last set of doors looked ugly. Several gallons of milk still sat in their cradles, swollen up like balloons. Two tubs of margarine occupied the next shelf, looking like they’d just been placed there the day before. Crushed shells, broken egg cartoons, and a dried brown drool leaked around the wire shelf next to them. On the bottom rack, a dark slurry occupied Styrofoam containers in the meat section. A row above housed the remains of a block of cheese. Competing colonies of black slime and mold sprouted from both.

The old woman grimaced at the sight. Let’s leave these closed for now.

She headed on around the corner where another series of doors waited. One led up to what looked like a loft. A sign above another noted the store’s restroom. The last one reminded me of a mop closet. She paused in front of it and ran her hand above the frame. A second later she grinned and hauled a small silver key down from the header.

The space, indeed, turned out to be untouched. Visions of a vast storeroom brimming with pre-Fever goods disappeared when she opened the door. An optimistic real estate agent might term the enclosure a pantry. To me, it still looked like a mop closet, just one with shelves and food.

Even so, the little room bristled with more flavors than we’d seen in months. Just inside, I found the cache where Elsie’s check-out girl had fetched her goodies the day we left for the island. The old woman liked her coffee as much as I did and apparently possessed more refined tastes. Several bags of Kona Reserve occupied a spot sectioned off from the normal grocery store brands.

Another discovery in the tiny space elicited universal whoops of delight. Six tubes of toothpaste, unopened, untouched, and ready for use lay squeezed between boxes of macaroni and cheese and a two bottles of mouthwash. A handful of toothbrushes encased in hard plastic shells rounded up the dental supplies.

Hundreds of cans lined the shelves, many of which revolved around camp-type foods like baked beans, deviled ham, and chicken noodle soup. I figured most of that went on the racks in the store. Elsie apparently used the little room for her own reserves as well, though. Corn, greens, different types of beans and a host of other vegetables graced one wall. Boxes of pasta, cereal, flour, cornmeal, and sugar sat on the back wall. Another shelf held jam, peanut butter, canned cheese, and several bottles of liquid margarine. The final item in that list sported a spray pump as a delivery system and most likely a back panel full of chemicals and words I couldn’t pronounce. I also expected I’d eat the stuff with relish given the chance.

Anyone hungry? Elsie asked. Humor glinted in her eyes. There’s more upstairs – I hope anyway.

The hushed pall that had held the group in thrall exploded into a cacophony of voices. Some even cheered. Questions abounded as well, but the old woman pushed for conversation over breakfast and coffee. A chorus of growling stomachs agreed, backed by some enthusiastic nods.

She turned to Reynolds. You reckon you an’ Tyler can fetch a sheet of plywood from one of the sheds to fix the backdoor? I don’t like the thought of just anyone bein’ able to walk in.

The big man nodded. Tyler rose, his face unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he disliked being told what to do or just didn’t care. I started out with them, but Elsie shooed me back.

Dwight is keepin’ the town under watch. He’s got a man holed up a couple of streets away. Name’s Sperling Moss, she said the warning evident in her voice. I waited for her to fill in the blanks. She did so with her usual paring of excess words.

The Fever didn’t do the world a favor when it came to Sperling. It left him alive. You go out there and our favorite sheriff will be back before we get done eatin’ breakfast.

The old woman took a deep breath. She looked tired and worn, enough so that pressing her for information left me feeling a little guilty. Still, I needed to know.

What happened?

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. One of his deputies pulled into the landin’ as we were tyin’ up. He ordered us off the boat. We sat there next to the launch ramp for a while. Then that prison bus came barrelin’ down the highway.

Elsie grimaced. The effort puckered lines around her lips. We spent the night at a detention center that looked like it had been set up to deal with Fever victims. They separated us.

She eyed me for a moment. They took Daniel and that Maddy girl off by themselves, too. Sarah had a fit.

As much as she protected the boy, I expected both women had some choice words for their jailers. Elsie put that notion in the dustbin quickly.

Daniel walked off with them without even looking back. I swear, that boy will be the end of me someday.

She shot me a steely look once she’d regained her composure. Dwight came in a little after dark. Me and him? We had us a long talk, most of which was about you. Then this morning, he comes in and tells us he’s gonna let us go for now.

The old woman smiled tightly. I reckon that’s because he expects you to come here. Oh, he’ll send boats out into the sound to look for you cause I told ‘em that story you cooked up. But, this here, it’s a trap. He’s figurin’ that he’ll find you here or there and he don’t care which one.

I offered a wry grin. At least he’s not a complete idiot then.

She shook her head. No, he’s not, but this won’t last. He’ll be back here in a few days. Life won’t be good then.

I didn’t have time to respond. Elsie turned and eyed the remaining people behind me.

I’ll get the cookin’ done, she said in a voice loud enough to hear outside. Y’all clear us out a space behind the cash register. We’re gonna need some room down here.

She waited while they broke up into groups. I poked Raelenok when he started off with Vince and the farmer. When he turned, I pointed toward the back door.

Take a look around. We know we have one set of eyes trained on us. Let me know if you discover any others.

I hesitated, and then told him about the naked footprints we’d seen on the way down. The little man raised an eyebrow on the ruined side of his face. A literal wasteland of fleshy canyons and gullies erupted on the mangled skin. I struggled to keep from staring, not because of the disfigurement, but because I knew why the scars existed.

Yeah, I said finally. I don’t know if they’re brain-damaged from the Fever or if Gorgol has a set of spies on this side of the sound, too. Either way, we need to know if they’re hanging around.

Elaysia glanced my way and opened her mouth as if to add something to the conversation. She held her peace, though, despite the frown on her face. Moments later, I saw her following her brother toward the back of the store and wondered what she might pass on to him that she didn’t want to relate in front of me.

Elsie poked my shoulder at that point and motioned for me to follow. She led me back past the empty glass cases to the little storeroom. She didn’t stop though. Instead, she rounded a corner just past the stash of food and started up a staircase. The door at the top opened up into a small apartment that looked about the size of a suite in one of those extended-stay hotels. A small kitchen clung to one wall with the dining area situated directly across on the opposite side. The long room continued and morphed into a living room, complete with a sofa, easy chair, and widescreen TV. A long row of windows at the far end looked down on the front of the building. Another set to my left opened to a view of the parking lot.

A quick glance down the abbreviated hall beyond revealed a pair of bedrooms and bath. At the far end, a toy robot stood guard, one arm extended with what looked like a Gatlin gun for a hand, the other raised high in a metallic fist.

This is home, she said simply.

I pointed toward the robot and tried to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

Daniel likes those things?

She shook her head. He never played with much of anything. I bought him that one because all the kids his age seemed to want them.

The old woman smiled wistfully. He likes books. He could read by the time he was four.

The expression on her face baffled me for a moment. A child reading at such an early age seemed like an accomplishment that left families beaming, not sad. Then I glanced around the room again. Understanding dawned like the sun, slow but bright.

In some respects, the apartment looked like it belonged to a woman in her twenties. One side of the refrigerator literally bristled with hand-drawn pictures and cards. Big crayon letters on one read To Grandma. Boats, sunny days, and even the occasional flower adorned many of the pictures. Next to a coffee table, a children’s book lay open to a page depicting llamas in red pajamas. Another beside it carried the odd title of The Gruffalo.

The nod to youth stopped there, though. The old woman had mounted antique plates above the stove – the kind that could have sat in my own grandmother’s house. One depicted a log cabin scene, complete with horse and buggy sitting outside. Another framed an iconic image of Jesus staring up into light descending from heaven.

An extra pair of wire-rimmed spectacles sat in the center of the kitchen table. Darning needles and yarn occupied a wicker basket near the sofa.

The apartment housed more than objects. It represented a life neither would probably ever see again and drove home the 76 year span separating their ages. The odds of her seeing him safely into adulthood hadn’t fared well before the Fever. In the aftermath, they’d reached the status of astronomical. I wanted to tell her then and there, that I would take care of him. I couldn’t, though, not with my own future so clouded and so uncertain.

Don’t worry, I told her. We’ll beat Gorgol.

The words sounded pitifully inadequate in the somber silence and pointed to the wrong subject. Her fears centered on a six year-old, not an ancient man-demon. Unfortunately, the circumstances demanded I deal with the latter before I could address the former.

I nodded at the pictures stuck to the fridge to shift her focus. Looks like a wall in a first-grade classroom. It tells me that Daniel is happy here.

She scrunched up her nose. Those all took place before he turned five. Let me show you the rest.

I followed her down the hall. She pushed the door open to the bedroom on the right and moved aside. Thoughts of elementary school vanished. The paintings taped to the wall contained such rich detail they could’ve graced the canvas of a Renaissance master. Cavorting demons feasted on the dead. Great horned beasts soared through the air. In another, a slobbering