Rory and Anna had watched with alarm as the bridge collapsed, and Clinton's squad car disappeared around the bend in the road. They ran up to the bridge.

"Now what will we do?" Anna took a tentative step toward the edge of the ravine and peered down. Rory didn't like the worried edge in her voice, not because of the tone itself, but because it fed his own growing feeling of desperation.

The far end of the bridge had torn clean away from the rock, creating a ten-foot gap, the cross beams broken and falling away. Pieces of support beams poked into the air like pickup sticks, jagged edges hopelessly mangled. What are we going to do? He'd barely thought this when a rending creak made him jump. The bridge heaved further to the side. Weathered boards fell down to the bottom of the chasm.

He was about to answer when another disembodied cry echoed from higher terrain. Ed was calling again. Rory pulled Anna to him, covering her head.

"Will we be able to cross over?" she wailed.

He bit his lip. "We don't have much choice." But he didn't relish the thought. The sides of the chasm were steep, with jagged outcroppings and very little foliage; it would be rock climbing, without the carabiner gear. And now the ravine was bathed in deep shadows, hinting at the coming darkness.

He wiped damp hands on his jeans. "We'll worry about that later," the sentence reminding him of Scarlett O'Hara. Hey, she survived, he thought derisively. Let's hope we're that lucky. He turned back toward town. "Let's take care of the other." He didn't want to say out loud what they had to do, as if not addressing it would make the task easier.

They hurried back into the Crossing, wary of the Nephilim returning. But they saw no one. A tranquil breeze rattled the aspen leaves as they neared the general store, adding to the uneasy hush. For a moment, the town seemed at peace, as if people were enjoying an afternoon siesta inside, away from the heat. Then the fetid smell of death drifted to them, a stark reminder of the evil that had befallen the town. Rory glanced to the east, to the road out of town, then to the lake. The silence was so void of normal human sound that it was deeply disturbing.

"Where are they?" Anna asked. He shrugged. He didn't have an answer, but an urgency loomed before them. When would Ed and the others come back? Or would they?

"Let's get started," Rory said. He retrieved Myrtle's .38 Special from the porch of the general store and tucked it into his belt. Then he stalked across Main Street, past the Jeep, still parked in the middle of the road. The body of a man lay flopped at an awkward angle between the Jeep and the store porch.

"I don't know if I can do this," Anna whispered, moving up beside Rory. Her anxiety was obvious.

He grabbed her hand to rea.s.sure her and went to the body. A clean bullet hole right in the forehead stared at Rory like a third eye. A thin trail of blood ran down past the man's nose and onto the ground. "d.a.m.n," Rory frowned. "His blood has been spilled." He cursed sourly.

"We didn't have any choice," Anna said defensively. "He was coming at us, so Clinton shot him."

He stared at a second body, that of Gino D'Angelo, who had a dark spot on his chest. "Blood there, too."

Anna nodded. "I did that." Her voice cracked, but she quickly regained her composure. "We had to shoot them."

"I know." Rory grimaced. "It just feels...hopeless."

The words settled like scattered ashes around them.

Anna took a closer look at Gino's body, his face twisted in a terrible grimace, the lips pulled back, exposing yellowish teeth. The corpse was well on its way toward mummification.

"What's happened to him?" she asked, clearly shocked.

"The same thing happened to the one I killed up in the woods," he answered with a shrug. "It's like the body's been dead for a long time, and once the spirit leaves, it shrivels like that."

"I recognize his face," Anna said, pointing to the first body. "He came up here a lot to hike." She stared down at the body. "We don't need to put him in the lake. The spirit's gone. I saw it leave."

Rory shrugged. "Let's get the others."

Anna's trepidation was visible as she followed him to the well. Rory stooped next to the body of a heavyset woman who had drunk the pure water. She was lying near the cistern, a tortured expression on her puffy face, her eyes glazed over. Even with all that, they immediately recognized her as Mary D'Angelo.

Anna blinked a couple of times and wiped a tear from her cheek. Rory fought against a feeling of surrender that pulled at him. He rubbed at the grit in his eyes, then squeezed Anna's hand, willing her to stay strong. They had a job to do, whether they wanted it or not. Then he let go, bent down, and grabbed Mary's shirt collar. "Let's get her over to the dock. We can weigh down the body there, then dump it in the lake."

She moved to action, carefully grasping Mary by the arm. Anna scrunched up her face in revulsion, but she pulled the body along with him. "Ugh!"

The body emanated a gut-churning smell of body odors and rotting flesh. Rory breathed through a slit in his mouth as they dragged the body across the road and up onto the dock.

"The cinder blocks," he instructed. They went to the pile that they had prepared, what seemed so long ago, and each brought two blocks back to the body. He took the rope attached to his cinder blocks and tied the loose ends around Mary's neck. Anna did the same with other bricks, lashing them to the ankles.

When they finished, Anna bent down and helped Rory push the body over the edge of the dock. It hit the lake with a crack, followed by a couple of smaller spatters of water as the blocks went down. Rory jerked back as drops splashed on him, but he watched with a childlike fascination as Mary's body slipped beneath the surface, creating a stir of bubbles and ripples.

"That's one." He leaned back on his haunches and wiped his face. Anna turned to him, and he didn't like the bleak expression there. "Don't think about it," he said, standing up. "One at a time." As he stood up, the revolver in his belt fell out, landing with a clatter. Anna jumped. "It's okay," he said. "I'll leave it here for now."

Anna quietly followed him to the next body, a thin man who had drunk the pure water. She scowled, but reached for the man's arm. They had an easier time with his body than with the bulkier Mary D'Angelo, but were still breathing heavily once they'd gotten him into the lake.

"Come on," Rory said, hurrying back down the dock. "Just a few more." He was worried about the coming twilight because the dark would make the journey across the ravine almost impossible. Anna was behind him, but as he stepped onto the dock, a murky mist that appeared over the trees to the west of town startled him. It was just like in New York City, the mist that had pulled him into this madness.

"Oh no!" Anna said, b.u.mping into him. "They're doing something. The Nephilim are preparing again, aren't they?" Her voice bordered on hysterical.

"Hurry," he urged her. "Let's get these bodies in the lake, now!"

"We've got to get out of here," Anna clutched at his arm. "Leave the bodies! Let's go!"

The cloud grew thicker, a ma.s.s of blackness centered over one small spot above Taylor Crossing. As Rory watched, a sudden rush of force overwhelmed him. He thought of the bodies. Bodies and strewn blood. Blood from wounds mingled in the dirt. The cycle would continue, a part of his destiny. Stars crossed his vision and his head tingled. His muscles tensed.

"Rory, what's wrong?"

Would this madness ever end? he thought. He was the chronicler; they would come for him, relentless, unyielding. Did he have any hope of conquering them? He should've let the cloud win, should've surrendered in the first place. He felt his will going. "Submit," a voice rattled in his head. It was vile, horrid, and very real.

Then Rory saw a vision. Ed was standing in the clearing, seething, the spirit pent up with rage. The Nephilim had lost their moment in time, and enlightenment would wait again. All because of him. He had resisted the calling, but the spirit in Ed vowed that this would not happen again. Ed would find the chronicler, and he would annihilate him.

Ed worked the dark forces, conjuring them to seek out the will of the chronicler.

"Submit," Ed chanted. "Submit."

There was another presence, a Strong One, the One from before. Ed raised his hands, working against it. He would not let the chronicler succeed.

"Submit."

Just as quickly, Rory saw another image, as clear as a photograph, of Burgess Barton, a rugged man, a fighter. He had battled to the end, taking as many necessary ones as he could. And he chronicled it, so the generations to come would know, so that Rory would know. So he could keep the evil from invading the earth. "You are that one," Rory heard an old voice say. It was timeless. But very clear. Then the other force a.s.saulted him, as if his insides were being rendered in two. Darkness and light waged war in the battlefield of his body and soul. Evil clawed for him, but he fought against it, knowing he didn't want it to end that way.

From somewhere far away he heard Anna's voice calling to him. "Come back. Rory, listen to me. Come back." He willed himself to breathe, and his eyes focused again. Anna was holding him by both shoulders, speaking calmly but urgently to him. "Stay with me."

"I'm okay," he muttered.

"What happened?" She appeared calm, but her hands trembled as she held him.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He noticed the dark mist had vanished. But his vision was clear now, and he knew his purpose. He turned to her. "The Nephilim will return. And we have to stop them."

"It's hopeless, then," she said tersely, looking around carefully.

"No," he shook his head and forced a smile. "And you know it's not. There's always hope." Anna stared at him. "Barton fought them, and so can we. They win if we give in to them. You're father knew it. Brewster knew it. I don't know what all this is about, but it's bigger than us. And we can't let it win. We can't let it go on. It's up to us."

He watched a myriad of emotions cross over her face: confusion, pain, anger, and finally resolve. "All right. Let's get this over with. Just don't let anything happen to you. I can't do this alone."

Rory shrugged and grabbed the shirt of another poor soul who drank from the cistern water. "Smells awful," he gasped, noticing that Anna had grimaced at the odor. But she took part of the shirt and with some effort they managed to get the body onto the dock. They weighted this one in a similar fashion to the other bodies, dumped it into a deeper part of the lake, and returned to the road.

They worked fervently, barely aware of the dry heat and utter stillness around them. Rory noticed that Anna's initial trepidation had mostly gone. But when they got to Mick Hull's body, she finally broke. "Why is this happening," she groaned as she helped Rory drag Mick's body across the road. "Look at him." Rory was trying not to see Mick's already mummifying body. "He was just a boy. He didn't deserve this."

Rory felt a surge of sadness for the loss of such a young life. "None of them did," he replied.

They weighted the body and pushed it into the lake. "I can't believe this is happening," Anna murmured, hanging her head.

He gave her a moment to regain her composure. He was beginning to feel numb to the madness of it all. He looked up into the mountains and noticed that the sun was now low on the horizon, etching scarlet strokes in its wake. Where had all the time gone? He stared down the dock. There were still a few bodies left. He swallowed, his throat like sandpaper.

"Sorry," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "Let's finish this." She boldly walked down the dock. Dusk was chasing the light away, casting a gloomy pall over the buildings. They had only a few more minutes of daylight, before the spirits would leave the host bodies.

He hurried past her and as he stepped onto Main Street, movement slithered on the periphery of his vision. He turned toward the bridge. A man was walking down the road in the slow, plodding way he had come to know meant that the person had been inhabited. Rory didn't recognize him, but he knew it was a Nephilim.

He stopped, and Anna b.u.mped into him. "What..." she started, then moaned. "Oh no, not more." Even as she said it, two more men materialized out of the trees, trumping down the road. They met up with the first man and continued coming. Rory made a quick decision. It was time to get Anna away. He could come back and deal with the Nephilim later, after she was safe. He grabbed her arm. "Let's go." He started to cross the road, and again pulled up short. A man and a woman were coming around the corner of the cafe: Samuel and Joan. He looked the opposite way. Douggie and two more men were walking down the road into town.

"They've outflanked us," he said. He began to back up, keeping Anna behind him.

"What do we do?" she choked out. He looked around frantically. They couldn't get past the Nephilim. He glanced behind him, at the lake and the boats. They could cross the lake, but the Nephilim could, too, in the safety of a boat, especially since the lake water wasn't as harmful to the necessary ones as he originally thought.

"Here." He grabbed the hose from the well pump and thrust it into her hands. "Start spraying at them."

"What?" She stared at him in panic and confusion. "It won't stop them!"

"It'll slow them down!" He grabbed her hands and pointed the hose into the road. Then he worked the pump, creating pressure for her. Anna suddenly nodded her head and aimed the spout at the oncoming Nephilim. She twisted the handle and a stream of water arced into the air. The two men who had neared Rory's Jeep stopped, shying away.

"Keep it up," he yelled at her as he splashed into the lake and slogged through the waist high water. He quickly scuttled two lightweight Ranger canoes that were pulled up on the sh.o.r.e.

"Hurry!" Anna urged him on. "They're coming fast." She pumped frantically, pointing the hose at the approaching evil.

Rory swam farther down the dock, to another aluminum skiff. "Watch them!" he chided her, pointing at the Nephilim who were trying to approach from different directions. He grabbed the side of the skiff. Now his feet couldn't touch the bottom of the lake anymore, and it was much more difficult to capsize the boat. He rocked it until it leaned precariously on its side, then managed to upend it. He kicked away with his feet but the boat capsized onto him, the edge hitting his arm painfully as the boat went over on top of him. He took in a lungful of water and came up in the hollow hull, coughing and spitting. He dove under the surface and swam out from under the boat, emerging to hear Anna's frenzied shouting.

"It's not fast enough!" She worked the pump more.

Rory looked down the dock. Ed had appeared, and he was coming down the road, slowly, cautiously, letting Anna spray at the others like target practice. But he still approached, staying out of range of the water. Rory looked at the remaining boats. His st.u.r.dy rowboat was moored in his usual spot; Myrtle's boat was next to it. Further down, four wooden dinghies rocked gently in the stirred-up water.

"The water pressure's going," Anna shrieked. "What do I do?"

Rory spied a gas can in Myrtle's boat. A last desperate idea formed in his mind. "Get Myrtle's boat started!" He swam to the nearest ladder and crawled out of the water. Anna ran down the dock and hopped into the boat, too scared to question him.

He pa.s.sed her on his way to the boat shed, his wet clothes heavy on his body. He grabbed two full, ten-gallon gas cans and staggered back down to the remaining boats, feeling the weight of the cans pulling at his shoulder sockets, sensing the presence of Ed drawing nearer.

"I can't get it started!" she screamed.

"Then soak her boat with gas." Anna looked around, found the gas can and emptied it onto the hull of Myrtle's boat, then scrambled back onto the dock. She helped Rory use the other two cans to soak the remaining vessels.

"Get in my boat," he yelled at her. He noticed the revolver lying on the dock. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and handed it to Anna. "Get going!" As she stepped past him, he looked back toward the Crossing. Ed was already on the dock, a dark figure silhouetted against the gray backdrop of the general store. Rory jumped into Myrtle's boat and grabbed the flare gun and extra flares out of her emergency kit. He slipped getting out of the boat and slammed onto the dock. The flare gun and flares cluttered away from him.

"Rory!"

He stood up, brushing at his sc.r.a.ped hands. "I'm all right." He ran for the flare gun, aware of Ed closing in on him, near enough for Rory to see his eyes burning malevolently. Rory bent down and seized the flare gun, but as he turned, Ed grabbed his arm.

"Rory!" Anna screamed again.

Then Ed attacked him, his fingers clawing at his neck. Rory felt the evil sink into his being. It wrapped itself around his soul and he knew that he was going to die. "Anna," he whispered. As he gasped for breath, he heard the sound of thumping on wood, and Old Man Brewster appeared in his vision. He came up behind Ed and with a quick motion wrapped the garrote that Rory had planned to use earlier around Ed's throat. Ed's grasp slipped and Rory fell to his knees.

"Run," Brewster roared at him, even as he and Ed staggered backward on the dock.

Rory looked around frantically, found the gun and flares, and crawled a few feet away from them. He scrambled to his feet and rushed back to his boat, conscious of an overriding fear, the screams of Anna, and the evil that surrounded them.

"Here." He shoved the flares and gun at her, then took the oars. Ed was within a few feet of the dinghies, clawing at Brewster and the rope choking his neck.

"What do we do?" Anna was hysterical. By now other Nephilim had come onto the dock, making their way toward Brewster and Ed.

"Get out of here!" Brewster shouted at them, and then he and Ed stumbled off the dock. Rory and Anna watched in horror as they fought, thrashing in the water. The chaos continued for a moment, until they both disappeared beneath the surface. The waters calmed.

"Where'd they go?" Rory asked as he pulled with all the strength he had left. The boat slipped slowly away from the dock.

"Look," she pointed.

He glanced up and saw the Nephilim on the dock. A bold one was stepping into one of the boats. Before he could say another word, Anna cried out as an arm gripped the side of their boat. Rory lifted an oar, then stopped as Brewster's head emerged from the gloom.

"Help me in," he growled.

They quickly moved into action and pulled him into the boat. He lay in the bottom, gasping for breath. "They're coming after us!" Rory scrambled for the oars. "Use the flare gun! Shoot at the boats!" he yelled as he began rowing. Anna did as instructed, aiming the flare gun at the dinghies. The red ball of flame sliced through the dimness and hit the boat just as the Nephilim was stepping into it. Flames leapt up, showering them and the dock in sudden brightness. In seconds the flames reached the Nephilim, catching his clothes on fire. An unearthly sound emanated from him as he staggered for a moment, then toppled over the side of the boat.

Anna looked in shock for a second, then quickly reloaded the flare gun and shot at the other boats. Already the heat generated from the fire was severe, loaded with gas fumes. Rory pulled on the oars and they put distance between themselves and the growing blaze. Other Nephilim, including Samuel and Joan, stood near the flames, watching.

Rory suddenly noticed Brewster huddled between them. "Is Ed gone?" Rory asked him. As the words left his mouth, both noticed a disturbance in the water where Ed had gone under.

"Ed won't be coming back," the old man said. "I snagged his clothes to an old anchor on the lake bottom. d.a.m.n near killed myself doing it. That spirit's being eradicated right now."

Rory wasn't so sure of that, but he kept rowing, not expressing his doubts about Ed's fate.

"What happened to you?" Anna asked Brewster.

"You fell in the mine," Rory said through short breaths. "I heard the shotgun go off."

"Yep," Brewster said. "The gun went off into the air. Scared me half to death." He paused to catch his breath. "That mine shaft doesn't fall straight down. It's more like a steep slope. A ledge stopped my fall. Hurt myself pretty good, was groggy for a bit. And that d.a.m.n Nephilim was lying somewhere in the dark, too. I felt him sneak right past me as he climbed out of the shaft. I stayed very still, let me tell you. I knew if I made a peep, he'd have cooked my goose." Anna chuckled uneasily. "I musta pa.s.sed out for a bit. Then I come into town and see you fighting him."

Suddenly, an explosion tore the air and rocked the boat.

"Whoa," Anna said, clutching the sides of the boat.

The inferno had found its way to the engine in Myrtle's boat. Now the fire roared between all the boats, a thick wall of flames that lit the darkness with an eerie orange glow. A second explosion shook them as another engine blew. The Nephilim still remained where they were, arms at their sides, staring after them, oblivious to the destructive fire. A few other Nephilim had joined Samuel and Joan. Douggie lingered a few feet back, as if awaiting instructions. Then, they all slowly turned and began to walk back to sh.o.r.e.