Ed Miller stood in the middle of the clearing, his hands raised skyward, his gaze focused in front of him. Next to him, Samuel and Joan Friedman stood like stone sentries, their heads turned up toward the sun. On the other side of Ed stood Douggie and Pamela. And there was a tall, lanky teenager. Mick! Behind them was another group, Rory couldn't tell how many. Kneeling in front of the little a.s.sembly were a man and two women. He didn't recognize any of them. Maybe if he was closer. He started forward, placing his foot carefully. A sudden keening howl stopped him cold.

He sank to his haunches, speechless. His mind scrambled to process the bizarre scene. He knew instantly he was watching some kind of ceremony. But of what?

He continued to observe as Ed's disembodied voice carried over the still air, guttural sounds like a rabid wolf. He listened intently, not recognizing the sounds.

Then Ed touched one of the women with his mangled hand. The woman rose up. Something about her flickered in Rory's memory. The spiky gray hair. Then he knew. It was Lillian Chadwick. As he watched, her back arched and she screamed.

Ed finally backed away, raising his hands again. He howled, the sound gaining strength and volume, until it took on a frenzied tone. The others joined him, their cries low and methodical, but instilled with a menacing quality. Then darkness descended over the clearing and a tornado-like wind, embodied with a tangible horror, swirled overhead. It swooped down on the three in the inner circle, an ethereal sword piercing their fragile flesh. And out of the gloom he heard a sound, a voice speaking, calling to the clan in the woods and naming Lillian in particular. He felt the hair on his neck go stiff.

He blinked hard, as if that could make what he saw disappear. But the images stayed there, the very essence of h.e.l.l swirling around the group in the clearing. Then the vortex retreated into the black sky and a hush fell over the woods.

Rory took a step back, then another. Tree branches clutched at his shirt and poked his head. He continued to move cautiously, fear clutching at his chest. Then his foot connected with a branch and in the next instant a cracking sound split the air. He froze, staring into the clearing.

Ed spun around, looking in his direction. Rory stayed right where he was, his muscles rigid, his gaze locked with Ed's. He didn't breathe as Ed continued to stare. In a moment's time, but what seemed infinite, Rory puzzled over why Ed didn't come after him. Then Rory gradually lowered his gaze and noticed his shadow stretching out before him.

The sun's in his eyes! Rory thought. He took a cautious step backward, still focused on Ed. The others in the clearing had turned around, all of them now peering in his direction.

He moved his other foot, backing away slowly. He had taken a few steps when Ed shifted position and suddenly pointed right at him. The others stood at attention. But Rory's gaze was riveted on Ed.

Ed ran toward him. A horrendous scream echoed across the mountains. Rory turned to run, took a couple of steps, and tumbled into empty s.p.a.ce.

CHAPTER 42.

Anna was pleasantly surprised when the door opened and Myrtle poked her head into the store.

"Where's Jimmy?" Myrtle asked.

"He's napping in the back room," Anna said.

"Do you mind if I bring Boo in?"

"No, that's fine. It's been pretty quiet today, so he won't be a bother," Anna answered the odd request. Myrtle always left Boo outside.

Myrtle came over to a plastic chair by the counter and sat down. Boo curled up at her feet, panting loudly. "I'd feel better with him by me right now," she said in explanation.

"Why?" Anna put down the magazine she'd been reading and focused on Myrtle. She suddenly looked older than her years. Her gray hair flew in runaway strands, and her face had taken on more wrinkles in the last day or two. Anna had to remind herself that Myrtle was only in her late sixties.

"I don't think I could explain it right now," Myrtle said, fidgeting. "I hope I'm wrong about things, though."

"What things?"

Myrtle shrugged. "All that's been happening. It doesn't make sense. But we'll know something soon."

"What'll we know?" Impatience crept into Anna's tone. It wasn't like Myrtle to talk cryptically. That was her father, she thought ironically.

Myrtle turned and gazed out the window. "Soon." She swiveled the other way as the front door opened.

Anna waved at a heavyset couple. "How are you, Virgil?" Virgil Evans and his wife Gretchen were renting one of the larger cabins outside of town.

"Okay," Virgil answered. He went to the refrigerated section and came up to the counter with a handful of sodas. "Need some rations for the road." His smile held little warmth.

"Going for a long drive?" She rang up his items, plus bags of potato chips and peanuts that Gretchen brought up.

"We're leaving," Gretchen said. "Going back to Ohio."

"I thought you had the cabin until after Labor Day," Myrtle piped up.

Virgil stole an uneasy glance at Gretchen. "That's true, but you know how things come up."

"We really like it here," Gretchen interrupted. "It's just that since those kids disappeared, it's been," she paused, "creepy around here. I keep thinking I'm hearing things out in the woods. I don't even want to let my own kids outside to play. And when the Robinsons left..." Her voice trailed off.

"They're gone?" Anna especially liked them, a blended family, two boys from the wife's first marriage, three girls from the husband's.

Virgil nodded. "They took off last night." He scooped up his purchases. He exuded tension. "Thanks. You take care."

"You too." Anna watched them leave. "That's odd. You wouldn't think everyone would just up and leave like that."

She looked over at Myrtle whose face was as gray as her hair. "What's the matter?"

Myrtle opened her mouth to answer, but turned at the sound of the storeroom door. Jimmy came shuffling in. He seemed so frail, his jeans and shirt hanging on scrawny bones. And his walk seemed slower today, his breathing more labored. But he looked at them deliberately.

"Everything okay, Dad?" Anna asked him.

He waved at them and made his way over. Myrtle grabbed another chair for him. He lowered himself slowly into it. "Don't move as well as I used to," he said to her with an ornery grin.

"I hear that." Myrtle had been on the edge of her seat, so she settled back into the chair. Anna thought she still looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"Let me get you some water, Dad." Anna came around the counter. "It's so hot out there, you'll likely get heat stroke." She went to the back of the store and returned shortly with a cold bottle from the refrigerated section. She handed bottles to both Jimmy and Myrtle.

"Can't remember when we've had so many scorching days in a row like this," Jimmy said, taking the bottle she'd opened and handed to him. "Seems like stuff happens when it's either cold as the South Pole or hot as Hades."

"Mmm." Anna returned to her customary spot behind the counter. Her father seemed like he had something to say, and she didn't like the ominous tone in his introduction.

"What's on your mind?" Myrtle asked him. That's more like her, Anna thought. She's always been a direct lady.

Jimmy gnawed at his lip and stared into the shelves of food. Then he turned and directed his gaze at Anna. "I've got something to say, and this time I want you to hear me out."

"Of course." Anna was taken aback. A flash of guilt went through her, for all the times she'd dismissed him without much thought. He'd obviously taken note of that.

"Promise?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

She nodded. "Promise."

"There's been funny things going on around here. Doesn't make much sense, I know. But there's something strange in the air, and I'm not just talking about this unbearable heat."

Anna nodded, and noted that Myrtle was paying particular attention to him.

"I've had this feeling before, ten years ago."

Not this again, Anna thought. She opened her mouth but remembered her promise. Just as Jimmy's fiery eyes locked with hers, she clamped her jaw shut. She would give him his say.

"I know you think I was just an old fool when I went across the lake that winter. That I was talking nonsense, losing my mind." He took in a few deep breaths, as if he were gathering more strength. "Lord, if I could change all that, I would. I never meant for anything to happen to Paul. But I had to get across the lake."

"Why?" Anna asked. It came out in a whisper that barely carried through the still air.

"I was told to."

"We've been over this," she muttered to herself, feeling her anger rise. Jimmy glared at her. To her surprise, he'd heard her. She avoided his stern gaze.

"Let's hear him out," Myrtle interjected calmly.

Anna threw up her hands. She looked back at Jimmy. He suddenly seemed so old, so frail. Yet his need to speak to her was clear. She exhaled slowly, put her palms on the counter, and tried to look interested. She owed him that.

Jimmy sensed the resolution of her inner struggle and he tipped his head at her. "For a number of weeks before that day, I'd been hearing voices. The longest time, I thought it was just my prayers taking on more life than usual. Like the Lord was focusing especially on me. The voice kept saying 'Come to me, come, I have a message.'" He beamed at the recollection. "I kept wondering what kind of a message the Good Lord would have for an old man like me. The voice got stronger. It talked about water; 'Water was the answer.' I prayed about that, what did that mean, other than baptism, which I'd already had. And the voice spoke again. 'The answer was in the chronicle.' That puzzled me for days. What did Chronicles have to tell me? I read those books in the Bible over and over, but I didn't get any discernment. And I kept getting a strange feeling, like bad tidings were going to come to the Crossing. Something that had to be stopped. Then the voice said the answer was at the cabin across the lake. I knew this wasn't G.o.d talking anymore. But I also knew just as clear as I'm sitting here that the voice was real, that there was something at the old Barton place that I was supposed to find. I knew it that cold day. That awful day." He shook his head sadly.

Anna's stomach tightened and the room spun for a second. She felt the iciness of that day right now in the midst of the hundred-degree heat. It was all so close, right there in her mind.

"Barton had the chronicle. I needed to get to it, bring it out into the open. Then I could stop what was going to happen in town." Jimmy smacked one hand into the palm of the other, startling both women. "I had to go. Do you understand? I had to go. It wasn't just me losing my mind. What I heard was real, and I had to do something about it. Do you understand?" he repeated.

"Yes," Myrtle said.

Anna turned, surprised that Myrtle had spoken up. But she could tell that Myrtle believed every word Jimmy said. "What do you know?" she asked Myrtle.

Myrtle's face took on color. "You're not crazy, Jimmy. And you aren't either, Anna, to be skeptical. But I think we'll have some answers soon."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Anna felt left out of some cosmic loop. An old folks' senility loop.

"Wait. We'll know something soon," Myrtle said. "And we'll have to decide what to do."

"This had better make more sense, or I'll commit you both," Anna said jokingly. It didn't lighten the mood in the room. And the skin on her arms crawled. She didn't like not knowing. Not at all.

CHAPTER 43.

After seeming to fall forever, Rory finally hit cold, damp earth with a sickening thud, his breath ripped from his body. He lay gasping, disoriented and frightened. His mind raced, asking where he was, and then just as quickly, he realized he must have fallen into a mineshaft on the side of the hill he'd climbed. And the people from the clearing were coming for him.

His left leg lay wrenched underneath his body. With a groan, he pulled the leg out. It didn't seem to be broken. He rolled into a sitting position, his hands touching cold, damp rock. Although his left ankle throbbed, other than that, he was okay. He looked into the darkness, finally seeing tiny pinpoints of light coming from above. It was hard to tell how far down he'd fallen, but he guessed it was fifteen feet or so. His vision slowly focused, trying to penetrate the gloom. He could see nothing but the opening above. It appeared to be covered by overgrown bushes and bramble. He heard noises outside the opening, faint sounds of feet stirring the earth and tree branches snapping.

They're searching for me!

A faint rattling sound carried down the shaft, and dirt spattered his face, landing in his eyes. They've found the hole, he thought as he brushed himself off.

Sweat broke out all over his body. He stood up quickly, b.u.mping his head on rock. He stifled a curse and thrust his hands out, feeling for the roof of the shaft. His hands connected with jagged rock, wet with moisture. He glanced up at the opening, seeing nothing but the tiny strands of light. They hadn't found the mineshaft yet. Using his hands to guide him, he stumbled further along the pa.s.sageway into total darkness, not knowing where he was going, only that it was taking him away from the madness that he'd witnessed just moments before. At first his ankle cringed under his weight, but after a few minutes, he didn't notice it anymore.

He breathed in ragged gasps as he lurched along. He hoped they wouldn't find the mineshaft, marveling at how obscure the opening had been. Had he been facing forward when he was running from Ed and the others, he likely would've avoided the bushes covering the opening and never would've fallen in. As it was, it may have saved him from them.

But it may have also sealed my fate, he thought with a grimace. His back was beginning to ache from the fall, and he stopped to catch his breath. He touched a spot on his forehead that was wet. In the darkness he couldn't see his hand, but it was a sure bet that there was blood on it. He quieted his breathing and listened for sounds of pursuit. All he heard was the pumping sound of his heart, the echo in his ears. An eerie realization swept over him: this was like his dreams about the mine.

He pushed those thoughts aside and hurried on, feeling with the hands of a blind man. The tunnel shifted direction and continued on. The blackness disoriented him, left him directionless. His hands served as a compa.s.s, running along the walls of the tunnel in Braille-like fashion. He had no way of knowing there was a cave-in until he staggered right onto it. He groped at the pile of rocks and dirt with his hands and determined the rubble was blocking the pa.s.sage. Now what?

He didn't want to go back, didn't want to face whatever that was. He fought panic as he felt along the pile, following it from the floor on up. It sloped away from him, so he crawled gingerly onto the pile. Dirt and rock fell away beneath his feet, but he clambered onto the pile, fear spurring him on. He fully expected to hit the ceiling of the tunnel with his hands, signifying that the tunnel was blocked. And his hands did just that. But he also felt a small hole between the top of the rubble and the tunnel roof, an area he explored with his hands. He could get through.

He took a deep breath, wiggled through the opening and slid down the other side of the rubble. His hands skidded on the floor of the tunnel and he breathed a sigh of relief. In the dark he heard a rumbling sound, and he scrambled away from the noise. The sound of rock and debris falling filled the confines of his dark prison. Stones. .h.i.t his legs as he shoved himself backwards. He began coughing as grit a.s.saulted his nostrils and blinked hard as his eyes watered from the dust.

With a sickening feeling he realized what had happened. More rock had caved in. He stood up and felt his way back to the pile of rubble, to check and see if the pa.s.sage was completely blocked. But as he started to climb the pile, he dislodged debris, causing additional rocks to fall. He jumped back just in time as more crashed down. He could see nothing in the void, but he knew just the same. The way back was closed.

He forced himself away from the rubble he couldn't see, into a new unknown. He started forward again, his hands sc.r.a.ping the rough-hewn walls. He winced a time or two when the rock cut his flesh. The tunnel smelled like his grandmother's dirt cellar, musty and damp. It was oddly comforting. He became singularly focused on moving ahead. He did not think about where the pa.s.sageway was taking him, or if it would dead-end. That thought did not enter his mind until the tunnel narrowed, and the roof became so low that he had to get on his hands and knees. Tiny pools of water soaked through his jeans. His shirt clung to him like wet paper and the cuts in his hands stung. He panted from the exertion.

He stayed in a crouch for a few minutes, the enormity of his situation suddenly breaking its way into his befuddled brain. He had no idea where the tunnel led, and he couldn't go back. Even if he were able to move the rock and debris, they would likely be waiting for him.

He fought an urge to throw up. He hung his head, sucking in great gulps of air, trying to stave off the panic that enveloped him. He was doomed. There was no way out. He sunk down on his elbows, ready to give up. Why had he listened to Myrtle in the first place? Because he had wondered if the Nephilim really had returned. And they had. But what would happen to the rest of the people in the Crossing? What would be their fate? Would anyone believe Myrtle? What about Anna?

He sat up, his mind filled with a new determination. Maybe he would die here, trapped in this mineshaft. But he wasn't going to go down without a fight. If the tunnel went nowhere, so be it. But if it did lead to the outside world, he would find it.

He moved forward cautiously, wary of rock grazing his back. It didn't take long before his hands and knees ached, sc.r.a.ped raw. But he kept going, using his ragged breathing as a mantra to continue. After a while he paused again, totally winded. The tunnel was wet and humid. Sweat dripped from his pores, soaking his clothes, stinging his eyes.

He started on again, and a few feet farther down he felt a brush of cool air hit his damp flesh. He stopped to let this soothe him, his wheezing echoing in the tiny confines. His tired brain finally snapped to attention.

The coolness. It's from a breeze. And where could a breeze come from? From the outside! Rory sat up and b.u.mped his head, but the pain didn't distill his elation. He put up his hands to discern where the draft was coming from. It felt like it was a little ahead, so he crawled onward. The flow of air became more noticeable. He stopped where it was strongest and felt around the rocks. His hands. .h.i.t open s.p.a.ce. He explored this, realizing that he'd come upon an offshoot in the tunnel. And the breeze was even stronger.

He found he was able to crawl into a new opening that slanted upward. He inched on with a new resolve, and a faint feeling of hope. He hurried, head bowed, his mind solely focused on moving forward. One hand in front of the other. Keep moving. His hands were bleeding. He could see the dirt on them.

He could see!

He halted and lifted his head. The tunnel was bathed in deep shadow. But it wasn't completely black. He almost whooped in relief. He had to be getting close!

He moved faster and sensed the slope becoming steeper. Then suddenly the rock walls took on color and he could see a brilliant shaft of light ahead. He crawled like a man possessed, and soon he came to an opening that was covered in wire mesh. He pushed at it furiously, using his shoulder, dislodging it from the nails holding it to the rock. With one last shove, the mesh ripped from the nails. He edged out of the hole and into the daylight. While still on his knees, he wiped his eyes and looked around. Aspens and evergreens loomed over him, and wildflowers dotted the mountainside. He didn't see the mine, or the clearing. He didn't recognize the area at all, but more importantly, he didn't see anyone.

He left out a sigh and rolled over on his back, basking in the warm of the day. He inhaled deep breaths. He had made it out. He lay that way, staring through the branches into the blue sky, lost in the moment. Then the terror of his plight finally consumed him. He began shaking all over and started laughing hysterically. He clamped a hand over his mouth, but continued a m.u.f.fled chuckle.

He had made it out. He was alive!

But now he had to get back to the Crossing. He had to talk to Myrtle about what he had seen.