"Because he's a necessary one," Brewster answered before Rory could say anything. "Your daddy," he said as he gestured at Anna, "and others, too. The blood was spilled for the necessary ones."

"Wait. You mentioned necessary ones and roles earlier. What about them?" Anna asked.

"They got to have certain hosts performing specific ceremonial tasks," he replied. "In order to get their enlightenment."

"And my dad had a role," she said flatly.

"He was a preacher, right?" It was not a question.

"Yes." She wiped at tears, aware of Brewster watching her. "He drowned in the lake," she said to him.

"I know," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "He did the right thing, not letting them get his blood. Keeps them from getting another necessary one in the future." The truth of that was a buoying force to Anna. Her father was thinking of her, of them, right down to his last act.

"That's what Gino D'Angelo called Jimmy," Clinton interjected, looking at Anna. He turned to Nicholas. "Right? You heard your father call Jimmy 'the preacher'."

"Uh huh," Nicholas answered.

Brewster nodded and continued. "They need a gatherer. That's the first one to come."

"Ed," Rory said. "He was the first one to go missing." Brewster beamed that Rory had figured this out. "But the person from the picture in the newspaper, Ed's counterpart, was a miner."

"Another drunk," Nicholas said, half mockingly, motioning with one hand like he was putting a bottle to his lips.

Myrtle hid a faint smile behind her hands. "That's not quite the whole story," she said, recovering herself. "Ed was once a missionary."

"He was?" Rory was clearly shocked.

"Yes," Anna said, nodding with Myrtle. Everyone looked surprised. "He worked in the jungles of Brazil for many years, but then his wife and child died of some kind of fever. He never recovered and turned away from his faith. He's lived up here for so long, no one really cares anymore about what his past was."

"Wow," Rory said.

"What?" Anna asked.

"In the articles I read about Taylor Crossing, the miner who looked like Ed was once a missionary."

Brewster was nodding his head the entire time he spoke. "A gatherer of men," he said when Rory had finished. A wary silence ensued. Eyes darted from one to another as if a.s.sessing what role each might be fulfilling.

"What other roles do they need?" Nicholas finally asked.

Myrtle came over and took the journal from Rory. "They need the four elements to begin to harness their power. The journal then says that one has to prepare the host bodies, the dead, he called them." She lost her voice, finally looking up at them with dawning realization. "One of the hikers who disappeared was a mortician, wasn't he?"

"What else?" Brewster prodded.

She consulted the journal again. "One has the message or the words, which a deliverer imparts. One prepares the host bodies, or the dead, for their ascension. One who knows the law, is in charge of it, meaning this host verifies that all is correct with the ceremony. And one records it all for the future."

"Who are the rest of us?" Anna barely managed to speak.

"You got the preacher," Brewster pointed with his knife at her. "The one with the law." The hand waved at Clinton.

"But why Clinton and not the deputy," Rory asked. "They're both lawmen."

"Clinton's a sheriff," Brewster said. "He's the one in charge, not the deputy. Plus, Clinton's blood was spilled before."

"And Rory records the chronicle," Anna said.

"Who delivers the message?" Clinton asked.

"Lillian," Rory said, the pieces falling into place. "She delivered the mail."

"This is too weird," Anna mused as she twirled a strand of her hair. No one argued with that sentiment.

"And the four elements, earth, air, fire, and water, remember?" Brewster studied them all.

"Douggie," Myrtle said. "He was an artist on the side, sculpted in iron and clay."

"Earth," Anna said.

"In the picture, a guy that looked like Samuel was a bartender. He served liquids," Rory said. "You know, water." The others nodded. "So Samuel..." his voice faded away.

"Earth and water," Brewster nodded. "Fire "

"Mick." Nicholas' whispered voice made them all turn in surprise. "His dad was a fireman."

"So they didn't get him, but they got the son. The same blood," Brewster said.

"My father was a pilot," Nicholas said. Old Man Brewster continued his knowing nod. "Earth, water, fire, and air," he said. "The four elements."

"We're all here." Anna's voice shook.

"All gathered," Brewster continued. "Ready for them."

"What about the others, like the one you killed today? And Joan and Pamela?" Myrtle asked.

"There's lot of spirits out there, not all of them are necessary ones," Brewster answered. "The more hosts they have, the more of them that can be released."

"What happens if some of the necessary ones are destroyed?" Clinton interjected.

Brewster sighed. "They can't make it work without all of them. But who knows how many times the blood of the necessary ones has been pa.s.sed down, here or elsewhere. They could be anywhere, and a gatherer just has to get them all together." He peered out the window again, his brow furrowed. "I've been out in the woods, and they're there, still preparing. That spirit in Ed is a strong one, desperate to be released." He started cutting rope again.

"But if Jimmy " Myrtle couldn't finish the sentence.

"There's still his blood here." Anna's stomach churned when she realized Brewster meant her. "If they can't use Jimmy, they'll get her. Just like they did with that boy, Mick." Brewster was oblivious to the possibility of offending or scaring the others.

"Barton mentioned in the journal that he wasn't able to kill off the gatherer before he broke his leg," Myrtle said.

"They can continue in future ages," Brewster said. "As long as Nephilim are out there."

"There's more?" Nicholas asked.

"Not around here, but they're out there."

"We have to get Ed, then." Rory gave a slight shrug of his shoulders in surrender. "The gatherer is the key."

"But how?" Anna asked.

"Like I told Rory and Clinton before, we call them down here," Brewster said. He motioned at them all. "We got necessary ones. They need you. We make noise out on Main Street, let those d.a.m.n things know we haven't left. They'll have to come running."

"And then what?" Myrtle gave voice to the question on everyone's mind.

"We'll draw them into town, to the old well," Brewster said, mapping out a plan. "We'll fill the trough with well water. The weak ones will go straight for the water in the trough and drink it because they think the pure water will release them. Only it won't, so that'll take care of at least some of them."

"But how can we be sure?" Nicholas asked no one in particular.

Myrtle held up the journal. "We have to believe he's right."

Anna clutched at the knot in her stomach. "What about the others? The role players?"

"They're gonna be harder," Brewster said, his lips a hard line. He explained about taking down the hosts without spilling blood.

"While the lesser ones are at the old well, I'll sneak up behind Ed and strangle him, with a garrote or noose...or something," Rory said. "He should be paying attention to the others at the well, so I can go around the store. He won't see me then."

"He'll be too strong for you," Nicholas muttered.

Rory ran a hand over his face. "Look, isn't there a hose on the side of the store?" he asked Anna.

"Sure, it's on the west side."

"I'll go around the store, then, while he's distracted, and I'll spray him with water. If he's like that one on the trail, the water should divert him, keep him occupied. Then I'll try and get close enough to strangle him."

"But he'll look to where the water's coming from. He'll see you," Clinton said.

"That's a chance I'll have to take," Rory said. "At least he won't be focused on you all."

"But what about the others?" Anna asked again. "They won't all go after the well water."

"Maybe they won't care if their leader is dead," Rory replied.

"I'll go with you," Clinton said.

"No. You have to stay. Once I get Ed, you and Brewster can slip around and take care of the others."

A clamor arose among them, as they voiced their objections. "That's insane," Myrtle said.

"It's a suicide mission," Anna breathed in the same instance.

"Brewster can't do it," Clinton said hotly, dismissing the fact that the old man was standing right there.

"He's got a couple of them already," Rory turned on Clinton, his voice rising. "He knows more than the rest of us."

"Then why doesn't he try and strangle Ed?" Anna asked.

"Because he knows the most about these " Rory searched for the word, finally settling on "things," spitting it out. He stared at her. "If I don't make it, you need his knowledge."

She bit her lower lip. "You'll never make it. This won't work."

"Agreed," Myrtle said. "Even if you get Ed, who's to say the others won't attack you?"

"You got any better ideas?" Rory snapped at them.

All eyes went to the floor. Then they began looking up, slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid of what they might see. Brewster was nodding at Rory.

"If all else fails, you may have to shoot the others." Rory paused. "But at least I'll have gotten the gatherer."

"There isn't another way?" Anna whispered.

Rory softened. "No." He knew it was a suicide mission, but he didn't know what else to try.

"He'll make it," Brewster seemed to hear his thoughts. The old man glanced out the window. "We'll have to sink the bodies in the lake when we're done."

"We need something heavier than rocks, something that's easy to tie the rope to," Rory said.

"There's a pile of cinder blocks behind the store," Anna said.

"That'll do." Brewster resumed cutting rope. "Let's get going."

CHAPTER 61.

It was time for the final preparation. The Nephilim gathered in the clearing in the woods. Ed tipped his head toward the sky and began to channel. His spirit called out to the ethereal, beckoning the blackness to come to this destined site. And soon something joined the heat in the woods, wrapping itself around the group of hosts like a ghost in the night.

As sinister forces tainted the very air, the Nephilim fed off the festering remains of thousands of years of evil. They consumed it, drawing the darkness to them. As the cloud enveloped them, a piercing noise suddenly echoed from the east, cracking through the mountains.

Ed jerked his head toward the sound. His face drew together tightly, his eyes slits. He knew immediately the source of the interruption. It was the chronicler. He was out there, daring the spirits to come for him. Ed raised his hands and harnessed all the substance in the air. Then he turned to his little army. They would get the chronicler now.

Dusk was only a few hours away. The glare from the sun nearly blinded Rory as he positioned his Jeep on Main Street in front of the general store. A tidy stack of cinder blocks and long pieces of rope were piled near the dock. The chairs from the cafe were stacked up on the store porch to create a wall to keep Anna and Myrtle shielded from view. The two knelt behind the chairs, Anna with the .38 Special, Myrtle with the Colt. They knew not to shoot at the Nephilim unless absolutely necessary, to minimize any spilling of blood. Whether either of them could fire a gun if need be, and on target, remained to be seen.

Rory cut the engine and sat for a moment, watching up the road, but thinking about Anna. He tried to talk her and Myrtle out of this, tried to get them to take Nicholas and leave town like they'd originally planned, but they would not be swayed. Myrtle, feisty old lady that she was, would not hear of hiding out in the general store with Boo. "If they get you all, I don't want to be left behind," she'd said with her typical candor. Anna wanted to be a part of this, whatever this would end up being, for her dad. "He never gave up on me; I won't for him either. He wanted to defeat these things, and I want to try and do that for him." They finally compromised and the two women were stationed on the porch, where they could get inside quickly. It might buy them a few seconds, if need be. Clinton, Nicholas, and Brewster would stay across the road, ready to draw the Nephilim in their direction, away from the women. Rory had wanted Nicholas on the porch, but it was clear that Clinton wanted to protect Nicholas. It was also clear that Clinton had taken a liking to him, treating him almost like a son.

They were as prepared as they could be, and no one allowed their fear to show. But Rory noticed that Anna's hands shook when Clinton showed her how to use the revolver. As the day waned, her composure threatened to crack, but he also noticed a calmness in her brown eyes, at odds with her trembling hands.