She towered over her captors.

They were children.

all of them were thin and dirty, the youngest about nine or ten and the oldest maybe sixteen - and all of them stared as one at the pulsing glass ring.  

Fifty-six

Herded before a yelling, rowdy gang of twenty-seven boy bandits, Paul, Sister and Hugh were prodded with the barrels of rifles and sharp spear tips through the snowy woods. about a hundred yards from the road, they were commanded to stop, and they waited while a few of the boys cleared brush and branches from the mouth of a small cave. a rifle barrel pushed Sister inside, and the others followed.

Beyond the opening, the cave widened into a large, high-ceilinged chamber. It was damp within, but dozens of candles were set about and burning, and at the center of the cavern a small fire glowed, the smoke curling up through a hole in the ceiling. Eight other boys, all of them skinny and sickly-looking, were waiting for their compatriots to return, and when the bags were flung open the boys shouted and laughed as Sister's and Paul's extra clothes were scattered. The bandits grabbed up ill-fitting coats and sweaters, draped themselves with woolen scarves and caps and danced around the fire like apaches. One of them uncorked a jug of the moonshine that Hugh had brought along, and the snouts grew louder, the dancing wilder. adding to the raucous clamor was the noise of wood blocks clapped together, rattling gourds and sticks beating a rhythm on a cardboard box.

Hugh balanced himself precariously on his crutch and single leg as the boys whirled around him, stabbing at him with their spears. He'd heard stories of the forest bandits before, and he didn't like the idea of being scalped and skinned. "Don't kill us!" he shouted over the tumult. "Please don't - " and then he went down on his rump as a tough-looking ten-year-old with shaggy black hair kicked his crutch out from under him. a gale of laughter followed him down, and more spears and guns poked at Paul and Sister. She looked across the cave and saw through the haze of smoke a small, thin boy with red hair and a chalky complexion. He was holding the glass ring between his hands, staring at it intently - and then a second boy grabbed it away from him and ran with it. a third boy attacked that one, trying to get his hands on the treasure. Sister saw a throng of raggedly dressed boys jostling and fighting in the exhilaration of the hunt, and she lost sight of the glass ring. another boy shoved her own shotgun in her face and grinned at her as if daring her to make a move. Then he whirled away, grabbed the jug of moonshine and joined the victory dance.

Paul helped Hugh up. a spear jabbed Paul in the ribs, and he turned angrily toward his tormentor, but Sister grasped his arm to hold him back. a boy with the bones of small animals tied in his tangled blond hair thrust a spear at Sister's face and drew it back just short of impaling an eyeball. She stared at him impassively, and he giggled like a hyena and capered away.

The boy who'd taken Paul's Magnum danced past, hardly able to hold the heavy weapon in a two-handed grip. The jug of moonshine was being passed around, inflaming them to further frenzy. Sister was afraid they were going to start firing their guns at random, and in a confined place like this the ricochets would be deadly. She saw the glimmer of the glass ring as one boy grabbed it from another; then two boys were fighting for it, and Sister was sick at the thought of the glass ring lying shattered. She took a step forward, but the darting of a half-dozen spears kept her back.

and then the horrible thing happened: one of the boys, already dizzy with moonshine, lifted the glass ring over his head - and he was tackled from behind by another boy trying to grab it. The ring flew from his hands and spun through the air, and Sister felt a scream welling up. She saw it falling, as if in terrible slow motion, toward the stone floor, and she heard herself shout "No!" but there was nothing she could do. The circle of glass was falling... falling... falling.

a hand grasped it before it hit the floor, and the ring glittered with fiery colors as if meteors were exploding within it.

It had been caught by the figure in the cowled coat who'd landed on the Jeep's hood. He was taller than the others by at least a foot, and as he approached Sister the boys around him parted to give him room. His face was still obscured by the cowl. The shouting and noise of clapping wood blocks and drumbeats faltered and began to fade as the tallest boy walked unhurriedly through the others. The glass circle flared with a strong, slow pulse. and then the boy stood in front of Sister.

"What is thisi" he asked, holding the ring before him. The others had stopped dancing and shouting, and they began to crowd around to watch.

"It belongs to me," Sister answered.

"No. It used to belong to you. I asked you what it is."

"It's - " She paused, trying to decide what to say. "It's magic," she told him. "It's a miracle, if you know how to use it. Please - " She heard the unaccustomed sound of pleading in her voice. "Please don't break it."

"What if I didi What if I was to let it fall and breaki Would the magic spill outi"

She was silent, knowing the boy was taunting her.

He pulled the cowl back to reveal his face. "I don't believe in magic," he said. "That's just for fools and kids."

He was older than the others - maybe seventeen or eighteen. He was almost as tall as she was, and the size of his shoulders said that he was going to be a large man when he grew up and filled out. His face was lean and pallid, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of ashes; in his shoulder-length dark brown hair were braided small bones and feathers, and he looked as dour and serious as an Indian chief. The fine, light brown hairs of a beard covered the lower part of his face, but Sister could see that he had a strong, square jawline. Thick, dark eyebrows added to his stern countenance, and the bridge of his nose was flattened and crooked like a boxer's. He was a handsome young man, but certainly dangerous. and, Sister realized, he was neither a kid nor a fool.

He regarded the glass ring in silence. Then: "Where were you goingi"

"Mary's Rest," Hugh spoke up nervously. "We're just poor travelers. We don't mean any - "

"Shut up," the boy ordered, and Hugh's mouth snapped closed. He locked stares with Paul for a few seconds, then grunted and dismissed him. "Mary's Rest," the boy repeated. "You're about fifteen miles east of Mary's Rest. Why were you going therei"

"We were going to pass through it on our way south," Sister said. "We figured we'd get some food and water."

"Is that soi Well, you're out of luck, then. The food's almost gone in Mary's Rest. They're starving over there, and their pond went dry about five months ago. They're melting snow to drink, just like everybody else."

"There's radiation in the snow," Hugh said. "Drinking melted snow will kill you."

"What are youi an experti"

"No, but I'm - I was - a doctor, and I know what I'm talking about."

"a doctori What kind of doctori"

"I was a surgeon," Hugh said, pride creeping back into his voice. "I used to be the best surgeon in amarillo."

"a surgeoni You mean you operated on sick peoplei"

"That's right. and I never lost a patient, either."

Sister decided to take a step forward. Instantly the boy's hand went to a pistol at his belt under the coat. "Listen," Sister said, "let's cut this screwing around. You've already got everything we own. We'll walk the rest of the way - but I want that glass ring back. I want it now. If you're going to kill me, you'd better do it, because either you give me the ring or I'm taking it from you."

The boy remained motionless, his hawklike stare challenging her.

Here goes! she thought, her heart hammering. She started to reach toward him, but suddenly he laughed and stepped back. He held the ring up, as if he might drop it to the cavern's floor.

Sister stopped. "Don't," she said. "Please don't."

His hand lingered in the air. Sister tensed, ready to go for it if the fingers opened.

"Robini" a weak voice called from the back of the cave. "Robini"

The boy looked into Sister's face for a few seconds longer, his eyes hard and shrewd; then he blinked, lowered his arm and offered the ring to her. "Here. It's not worth a shit, anyway."

She took it, relief coursing through her bones.

"None of you are going anywhere," the boy said. "Especially not you, Doc."

"Huhi" Terror lanced him.

"Walk to the back of the cave," the boy commanded. "all of you." They hesitated. "Now," he said, in a voice that was used to being obeyed.

They did as he said, and in another moment Sister saw several more figures at the rear of the chamber. Three of them were boys with Job's Mask in varying stages of severity, one of them hardly able to keep his misshapen head upright. On the floor in a corner, lying on a bed of straw and leaves, was a thin brown-haired boy of about ten or eleven, his face shining with the sweat of fever. a dressing of greasy-looking leaves had been plastered on his white chest, just under the heart, and blood had leaked out around it. The wounded boy tried to lift his head when he saw them, but he didn't have enough strength. "Robini" he whispered. "You therei"

"I'm here, Bucky." Robin bent beside him and brushed the wet hair from the other boy's forehead.

"I'm hurting... so bad." Bucky coughed, and foamy blood appeared at his lips. Robin quickly wiped it away with a leaf. "You won't let me go out where it's dark, will youi"

"No," Robin said quietly. "I won't let you go out where it's dark." He looked up at Sister with eyes that were a hundred years old. "Bucky got shot three days ago." With gentle fingers, he carefully peeled the plaster of leaves away. The wound was an ugly scarlet hole with puffy gray edges of infection. Robin's gaze moved to Hugh, then to the glass ring. "I don't believe in magic or miracles," he said. "But maybe it's kind of a miracle that we found you today, Doc. You're going to take the bullet out."

"Mei" Hugh almost choked. "Oh, no. I can't. Not me."

"You said you used to operate on sick people. You said you never lost a patient."

"That was a lifetime ago!" Hugh wailed. "Look at that wound! It's too close to the heart!" He held up a palsied hand. "I couldn't cut lettuce with a hand like this!"

Robin stood up and approached Hugh until they were almost nose to nose. "You're a doctor," he said. "You're going to take the bullet out and make him well, or you can start digging graves for you and your friends."

"I can't! There are no instruments here, no light, no disinfectants, no sedatives! I haven't operated in seven years, and I wasn't a heart surgeon, anyway! No. I'm sorry. That boy doesn't have a - "

Robin's pistol was cocked and pressed against Hugh's throat. "a doctor who can't help anybody shouldn't be living. You're just using up air, aren't youi"

"Please... please..." Hugh gasped, his eyes bulging.

"Wait a minute," Sister said. "Hugh, the hole's already there. all you have to do is bring the bullet out."

"Oh, sure! Sure! Just bring the bullet out!" Hugh giggled, on the edge of hysteria. "Sister, the bullet could be anywhere! What am I supposed to stop the blood withi How am I supposed to dig the damned thing out - with my fingersi"

"We've got knives," Robin told him. "We can heat them in the fire. That makes them clean, doesn't iti"

"There's no such thing as 'clean' in conditions like these! My God, you don't know what you're asking me to do!"

"Not asking. Telling. Do it, Doc."

Hugh looked to Paul and Sister for help, but there was nothing they could do. "I can't," he whispered hoarsely. "Please... I'll kill him if I try to take the bullet out."

"He'll die for sure if you don't. I'm the leader here. When I give my word, I keep it. Bucky got shot because I sent him out with some others to stop a truck passing through. But he wasn't ready to kill anybody yet, and he wasn't fast enough to dodge a bullet, either." He jabbed the pistol into Hugh's throat. "I am ready to kill. I've done it before. Now, I promised Bucky I'd do whatever I could for him. So - do you take the bullet out, or do I kill all of youi"

Hugh swallowed, his eyes watering with fear. "There's... there's so much I've forgotten."

"Remember it. Real quick."

Hugh was shaking. He closed his eyes, opened them again. The boy was still there. His whole body was a heartbeat. What do I rememberi he asked himself. Think, damn it! Nothing would come together; it was all a hazy jumble. The boy was waiting, his finger on the trigger. Hugh realized he would have to go on instinct, and God help them all if he screwed up. "Somebody's... going to have to support me," he managed to say. "My balance isn't so good. and light. I've got to have light, as much as I can get. I need - " Think! " - three or four sharp knives with narrow blades. Rub them with ashes and put them in the fire. I need rags, and... oh, Jesus, I need clamps and forceps and probes and I cannot kilt this boy, damn you!" His eyes blazed at Robin.

"I'll get you what you need. None of that medical shit, though. But I'll get you the other stuff."

"and moonshine," Hugh said. "The jug. For both the boy and myself. I want some ashes to clean my hands with, and I may need a bucket to puke into." He reached up with a trembling hand and pushed the pistol away from his throat. "What's your name, young mani"

"Robin Oakes."

"all right, then, Mr. Oakes. When I start, you're not to lay a finger on me. No matter what I do, no matter what you think I ought to be doing. I'll be scared enough for both of us." Hugh looked down at the wound and winced; it was very, very nasty. "What kind of gun was he shot withi"

"I don't know. a pistol, I guess."

"That doesn't tell me anything about the size of the bullet. Oh, Jesus, this is crazy! I can't remove a bullet from a wound that close to - " The pistol swung back up again. Hugh saw the boy's finger ready on the trigger, and something about being so close to death clicked on the faiade of arrogance he had worn back in amarillo. "Get that gun out of my face, you little swine," he said, and he saw Robin blink. "I'll do what I can - but I'm not promising a miracle, do you understandi Welli What are you standing there fori Get me what I need!"

Robin lowered the pistol. He went off to get the moonshine, the knives and the ashes.

It took about twenty minutes to get Bucky as drunk as Hugh wanted him. Under Robin's direction, the other boys brought candles and set them in a circle around Bucky. Hugh scrubbed his hands in ashes and waited for the blades to cook.

"He called you Sister," Robin said. "are you a nuni"

"No. That's just my name."

"Oh."

He sounded disappointed, and Sister decided to ask, "Whyi"

Robin shrugged. "We used to have nuns where we were, in the big building. I used to call them blackbirds, because they always flew at you when they thought you'd done something wrong. But some of them were okay. Sister Margaret said she was sure things would work out for me. Like getting a family and a home and everything." He glanced around the cavern. "Some home, huhi"

It dawned on Sister what Robin was talking about. "You lived in an orphanagei"

"Yeah. Everybody did. a lot of us got sick and died after it turned cold. Especially the really young ones." His eyes darkened. "Father Thomas died, and we buried him behind the big building. Sister Lynn died, and then so did Sister May and Sister Margaret. Father Cummings left in the night. I don't blame him - who wants to take care of a bunch of ratty punksi Some of the others left, too. The last to die was Father Clinton, and then it was just us."

"Weren't there any older boys with youi"

"Oh, yeah. a few of them stayed, but most took off on their own. Somehow, I guess I got to be the oldest. I figured that if I left, who was going to take care of the punksi"

"So you found this cave and started robbing peoplei"

"Sure. Why noti I mean, the world's gone crazy, hasn't iti Why shouldn't we rob people if it's the only way to stay alivei"

"Because it's wrong," Sister answered. The boy laughed. She let his laugh die, and then she said, "How many people have you killedi"

all traces of a smile left his face. He stared at his hands; they were a man's hands, rough and callused. "Four. But all of them would've killed me, too." He shrugged uneasily. "No big deal."

"The knives are ready," Paul said, returning from the fire. Standing on his crutch over the wounded boy, Hugh took a deep breath and lowered his head.

He stayed that way for a minute. "all right." His voice was low and resigned. "Bring the knives over. Sister, will you kneel down beside me and keep me steady, pleasei I'll need several boys to hold Bucky securely, too. We don't want him thrashing around."

"Can we just knock him out or somethingi" Robin asked.

"No. There's a risk of brain damage in that, and the first impulse a person has after being knocked unconscious is to throw up. We don't want that, do wei Paul, would you hold Bucky's legsi I hope seeing a little blood doesn't make you sick."

"It doesn't," Paul said, and Sister recalled the day on I-80 when he'd sliced open a wolf's belly.

The hot knives were brought in a metal pot. Sister knelt beside Hugh and let him lean his feeble weight against her. She laid the glass ring beside her on the ground. Bucky was drunk and delirious, and he was talking about hearing birds singing. Sister listened; she could only hear the keening of wind past the mouth of the cave.

"Dear God, please guide my hand," Hugh whispered. He picked up a knife. The blade was too wide, and he chose another. Even the narrowest of the available knives would be as clumsy as a broken thumb. He knew that one slip could cut into the boy's left ventricle, and then nothing could stop the geyser of blood.

"Go on," Robin urged.

"I'll start when I'm ready! Not one damned second before! Now move away from me, boy!"

Robin retreated but stayed close enough to watch.

Some of the others were holding Bucky's arms, head and body to the ground, and most of them - even the Job's Mask victims - had crowded around. Hugh looked at the knife in his hand; it was shaking, and there was no stopping it. Before his nerve broke entirely, he leaned forward and pressed the hot blade against an edge of the wound.

Infectious fluids spattered. Bucky's body jackknifed, and the boy howled with agony. "Hold him down!" Hugh shouted. "Hold him, damn it!" The boys struggled to control him, and even Paul had trouble with the kicking legs. Hugh's knife dug deeper, Bucky's cry reverberating off the walls.

Robin shouted, "You're killing him!" but Hugh paid no heed. He picked up the moonshine jug and splashed alcohol in and around the oozing wound. Now the boys could barely hold Bucky down. Hugh began to probe again, his own heart pounding as if about to burst through his breast.

"I can't see the bullet!" Hugh said. "It's gone too deep!" Blood was welling up, thick and dark red. He plucked away bone chips from a nicked rib. The red, spongy mass of the lung hitched and bubbled beneath the blade. "Hold him down, for God's sake!" he shouted. The blade was too wide; it was not a surgical instrument, it was a butchering tool. "I can't do it! I can't!" he wailed, and he flung the knife away.

Robin pressed the pistol's barrel to his skull. "Get it out of him!"

"I don't have the proper instruments! I can't work without - "

"Fuck the instruments!" Robin shouted. "Use your fingers, if you have to! Just get the bullet out!"

Bucky was moaning, his eyelids fluttering wildly, and his body kept wanting to curl into fetal a position. It took all the strength of the others to restrain him. Hugh was distraught; the metal pot held no blades narrow enough for the work. Robin's pistol pushed at his head. He looked to one side and saw the circle of glass on the ground.

He saw the two thin spikes, and noted where three more had been broken away.

"Sister, I need one of those spikes as a probe," he said. "Could you break one off for mei"

She hesitated only a second or two, and then the spike was in his palm and aflame with color.

Spreading the wound's edges with his other hand, he slid the spike into the scarlet hole.

Hugh had to go deep, his spine crawling at the thought of what the probe might be grazing. "Hold him!" he warned, angling the piece of glass a centimeter to the left. The heart was laboring, the body passing another threshold of shock. Hurry! Hurry! Hugh thought. Find the bastard and get out! Deeper slid the probe, and still no bullet.

He imagined suddenly that the glass was getting warm in his hand - very warm. almost hot.

another two seconds, and he was certain: The probe was heating up. Bucky shuddered, his eyes rolled back in his head and he mercifully passed out.

a wisp of steam came from the wound like an exhaled breath. Hugh thought he smelled scorching tissue. "Sisteri I don't... know what's happening, but I think - "

The probe touched a solid object deep in the spongy folds of tissue, less than a half inch below the left coronary artery. "Found it!" Hugh croaked as he concentrated on determining its size with the end of the probe. Blood was everywhere, but it wasn't the bright red of an artery, and its movement was sluggish. The glass was hot in his grip, the smell of scorching flesh stronger. Hugh realized that his remaining leg and the lower half of his body were freezing cold, but steam was rising from the wound; it occurred to him that the piece of glass was somehow channeling his body heat, drawing it up and intensifying it down in the depths of the hole. Hugh felt power in his hand - a calm, magnificent power. It seemed to crackle up his arm like a bolt of lightning, clearing his brain of fear and burning away the moonshine cobwebs. Suddenly his thirty years of medical knowledge flooded back into him, and he felt young and strong and unafraid.

He didn't know what that power was - the surge of life itself, or something that people used to call salvation in the churches - but he could see again. He could bring that bullet out. Yes. He could.

His hands were no longer shaking.

He realized he would have to dig down beneath the bullet and lever it up with the probe until he could get two fingers around it. The left coronary artery and the left ventricle were close, very close. He began to work with movements as precise as geometry.

"Careful," Sister cautioned, but she knew she didn't have to warn him. His face was bent over the wound, and suddenly he shouted, "More light!" and Robin brought a candle closer.

The bullet came loose from the surrounding tissue. Hugh heard a sizzling noise, smelled burning flesh and blood. What the hell... i he thought, but he had no time to let his concentration wander. The glass spike was almost too hot to hold now, though he dared not release it. He felt as if he were sitting in a deep freeze up to his chest.

"I see it!" Hugh said. "Small bullet, thank God!" He pushed two fingers into the wound and caught the bit of lead between them. He brought them out again, clenching what resembled a broken filling for a tooth, and tossed it to Robin.

Then he started withdrawing the probe, and all of them could hear the sizzling of flesh and blood. Hugh couldn't believe what he was witnessing; down in the wound, torn tissue was being cauterized and sealed up as the spike emerged.

It came out like a wand of white-hot fire. as it left the wound there was a quick hissing and the blood congealed, the infected edges rippling with blue fire that burned for four of Sister's rapid heartbeats and went out. Where a hole had been a few seconds before was now a brown, charred circle.

Hugh held the piece of glass before his face, his features washed with pure white light. He could feel the heat, yet the hottest of the healing fire was concentrated right at the tip. He realized it had cauterized the tiny vessels and ripped flesh like a surgical laser.

The probe's inner flame began to weaken and go out. as the light steadily waned Sister saw that the jewels within it had turned to small ebony pebbles, and the interconnecting threads of precious metals had become lines of ash. The light continued to weaken until finally there was just a spark of white fire at the tip; it pulsed with the beat of Hugh's heart - once, twice and a third time - and winked out like a dead star.

Bucky was still breathing.

Hugh, his face streaked with sweat and a bloody mist, looked up at Robin. He started to speak, couldn't find his voice. His lower body was warming up again. "I guess this means," he finally said, "that you won't be killing us todayi"  

Fifty-seven

Josh nudged Swan. "You doing okayi"

"Yes." She lifted her misshapen head from the folds of her coat. "I'm not dead yet."

"Just checking. You've been pretty quiet all day."

"I've been thinking."

"Oh." He watched as Killer ran ahead along the road, then stopped and barked for them to catch up. Mule was walking as fast as he was going to go, and Josh held the reins loosely. Rusty trudged alongside the wagon, all but buried in his cowboy hat and heavy coat.

The Travelin' Show wagon creaked on, the road bordered by dense forest. The clouds seemed to be hanging right in the treetops, and the wind had all but stopped - a merciful and rare occurrence. Josh knew the weather was unpredictable - there could be a blizzard and a thunderstorm the same day, and the next day calm winds could whirl into tornadoes.

For the past two days, they'd seen nothing living. They'd come upon a broken-down bridge and had to detour several miles to get back to the main road; a little further on, that road was blocked by a fallen tree, so another detour had to be found. But today they'd passed a tree about three miles back with TO MaRY'S REST painted on its trunk, and Josh had breathed easier. at least they were headed in the right direction, and Mary's Rest couldn't be much further.

"Mind if I ask what you're thinking abouti" Josh prodded.

She shrugged her thin shoulders beneath the coat and didn't reply. "The tree," he said. "It's that, isn't iti"

"Yes." The apple blossoms blowing in the snow and stumps continued to haunt her - life amid death. "I've been thinking about it a lot."

"I don't know how you did it, but..." He shook his head. The rules of the world have changed, he thought. Now the mysteries hold sway. He listened to the creaking axles and the crunch of snow under Mule's hooves for a moment, and then he had to ask it: "What did... what did it feel likei"

"I don't know." another shrug.

"Yes, you do. You don't have to be shy about it. You did a wonderful thing, and I'd like to know what it felt like."

She was silent. Up ahead about fifteen yards, Killer barked a few times. Swan heard the barking as a call that the way was clear, "It felt... like I was a fountain," she replied. "and the tree was drinking. It felt like I was fire, too, and for a minute" - she lifted her deformed face toward the heavy sky - "I thought I could look up and remember what it was like to see the stars, way up in the dark... like promises. That's what it felt like."

Josh knew that what Swan had experienced was far beyond his senses; but he could fathom what she meant about the stars. He hadn't seen them for seven years. at night there was just a vast darkness, as if even the lamps of Heaven had burned out.

"Was Mr. Moody righti" Swan asked.

"Right about whati"

"He said that if I could wake up one tree, I could start orchards and crop fields growing again. He said... I've got the power of life inside me. Was he righti"

Josh didn't answer. He recalled something else Sly Moody had said: "Mister, that Swan could wake the whole land up again!"

"I was always good at growing plants and flowers," Swan continued. "When I wanted a sick plant to get better, I worked the dirt with my hands, and more often than not the brown leaves fell off and grew back green. But I've never tried to heal a tree before. I mean... it was one thing to grow a garden, but trees take care of themselves." She angled her head so she could see Josh. "What if I could grow the orchards and crops back againi What if Mr. Moody was right, and there's something in me that could wake things up and start them growingi"

"I don't know," Josh said. "I guess that would make you a pretty popular lady. But like I say, one tree isn't an orchard." He shifted uncomfortably on the hard board beneath him. Talking about this made him jittery. Protect the child, he thought. If Swan could indeed spark life from the dead earth, then could that awesome power be the reason for PawPaw's commandmenti

In the distance, Killer barked again. Swan tensed; the sound was different, faster and higher pitched. There was a warning in that bark. "Stop the wagon," she said.

"Huhi"

"Stop the wagon."

The strength of her voice made Josh pull Mule's reins.

Rusty stopped, too, the lower half of his face shielded with a woolen muffler under the cowboy hat. "Hey! What're we stoppin' fori"

Swan listened to Killer's barking, the noise floating around a bend in the road ahead. Mule shifted in his traces, lifted his head to sniff the air and made a deep grumbling sound. another warning, Swan thought; Mule was smelling the same danger Killer had already sensed. She tilted her head to see the road. Everything looked okay, but the vision blurred in and out in her remaining eye and she knew its sight was rapidly failing.

"What is iti" Josh asked.

"I don't know. Whatever it is, Killer doesn't like it."

"Could be the town's just around the bend!" Rusty said. "I'll mosey ahead and find out!" His hands thrust into his coat pockets, he started walking toward the bend in the road. Killer was still barking frantically.

"Rusty! Wait!" Swan called, but her voice was so garbled he didn't understand her and kept going at a brisk pace.

Josh realized that Rusty wasn't carrying a gun, and no telling what was around that bend. "Rusty!" he shouted, but the other man was already taking the curve. "Oh, shit!" Josh unzipped the wagon's flap, then opened the shoe box with the .38 in it and hastily loaded it. He could hear Killer's yap-yap-yapping echoing through the woods, and he knew that Rusty would find out what Killer had seen in just a matter of seconds.

around the bend, Rusty was faced with nothing but more road and woods. Killer was standing in the center of the road about thirty feet away, barking wildly at something off to the right. The terrier's coat was bristling.

"What the hell's bit your butti" Rusty asked, and Killer ran between his legs, almost tripping him. "Crazy fool dog!" He reached down to pick the terrier up - and that was when he smelled it.

a sharp, rank odor.

He recognized it. The heady spoor of a wild animal.

There was a nerve-shattering shriek, almost in his ear, and a gray form shot from the forest's edge. He didn't see what it was, but he flung an arm up over his face to protect his eyes. The animal slammed into his shoulder, and for an instant Rusty felt entangled by live wires and thorns. He staggered back, trying to cry out, but the breath had been knocked from his lungs. His hat spun away, spattered with blood, and he sank to his knees.

Dazed, he saw what had hit him.

Crouched about six feet away, its spine arched, was a bobcat almost the size of a calf. The thing's extended claws looked like hooked daggers, but what shocked Rusty almost senseless was the sight of the monster's two heads.

While one green-eyed face shrieked with a noise like razor blades on glass, the second bared its fangs and hissed like a radiator about to blow.

Rusty tried to crawl away. His body refused. Something was wrong with his right arm, and blood was streaming down the right side of his face. Bleedin'! he thought. I'm bleedin' bad! Oh, Jesus, I'm -

The bobcat came at him like a spring unwinding, its claws and double set of fangs ready to rip him to pieces.

But it was hit in mid-air by another form, and Killer almost took one of the monster's ears off. They landed in a clawing, shrieking fury, hair and blood flying. But the battle was over in another instant as the massive bobcat twisted Killer on his back and one of the fanged mouths tore the terrier's throat open.

Rusty tried to get to his feet, staggered and fell again. The bobcat turned toward him. One set of fangs snapped at him while the other head sniffed the air. Rusty got a booted foot up in the air to kick at the monster when it attacked. The bobcat crouched back on its hind legs. Come on! Rusty thought. Get it over with, you two-headed bas -

He heard the crack! of a pistol, and snow jumped about six feet behind the bobcat. The monster whirled around, and Rusty saw Josh running toward him. Josh stopped, took aim again and fired. The bullet went wild again, and now the bobcat began to turn one way and then the other, as if its two brains couldn't agree on which way to run. The heads snapped at each other, straining at the neck.

Josh planted his feet, aimed with his single eye and squeezed the trigger.

a hole plowed through the bobcat's side, and one head made a shrill wailing while the second growled at Josh in defiance. He fired again and missed, but he hit with his next two shots. The monster trembled, loped toward the woods, turned and streaked again toward Rusty. The eyes of one head had rolled back to show the whites, but the other was still alive, and its fangs were bared to plunge into Rusty's throat.

He heard himself screaming as the monster advanced, but less than three feet from him the bobcat shuddered and its legs gave way. It fell to the road, its living head snapping at the air.

Rusty scrambled away from the thing, and then a terrible wave of weakness crashed over him. He lay where he was as Josh ran toward him.

Kneeling beside Rusty, Josh saw that the right side of his face had been clawed open from hairline to jaw, and in the torn sleeve of his right shoulder was mangled tissue.

"Bought the farm, Josh." Rusty summoned a weak smile. "Sure did, didn't Ii"

"Hang on." Josh tucked the pistol under one arm and lifted Rusty off the ground, slinging him over his back in a fireman's carry. Swan was approaching, trying to run but being thrown off balance by the weight of her head. a few feet away, the mutant bobcat's fangs came together like the crack of a steel trap; the body shook, and then its eyes rolled back like ghastly green marbles. Josh walked past the bobcat to Killer and the terrier's pink tongue emerged from its bloody mouth to lick Josh's boot.

"What happenedi" Swan called frantically. "What is iti"

Killer made an effort to rise to all fours when he heard Swan's voice, but his body was beyond control. His head was hanging limply, and as Killer toppled back on his side Josh could see that the dog's eyes were already glazing over.

"Joshi" Swan called. Her hands were up in front of her, because she could hardly see where she was going. "Talk to me, damn it!"

Killer gave one quick gasp, and then he was gone.

Josh stepped between Swan and the dog. "Rusty's been hurt," he said. "It was a bobcat. We've got to get him to town in a hurry!" He grasped her arm and pulled her with him before she could see the dead terrier.

Josh gently laid Rusty in the back of the wagon and covered him with the red blanket. Rusty was shivering and only half conscious. Josh told Swan to stay with him, and then he went forward and took Mule's reins. "Giddap!" he shouted. The old horse, whether surprised by the command or by the unaccustomed urgency of the reins, snorted steam through his nostrils and bounded forward, pulling with new-found strength.

Swan drew the tent's flap open. "What about Killeri We can't just leave him!"

He couldn't yet bring himself to tell her that the terrier was dead. "Don't you worry," he said. "He'll find his way." He snapped the reins against Mule's haunches. "Giddap now, Mule! Go, boy!"

The wagon rounded the bend, its wheels passing on either side of Killer, and Mule's hooves threw up a spray of snow as the horse raced toward Mary's Rest.  

Fifty-eight

The road spooled out another mile before the woods gave way to bleak, rolling land that might have once been plowed hillsides. Now it was a snow-covered waste, interrupted by black trees twisted into shapes both agonized and surrealistic. But there was a town, of sorts: Clustered along both sides of the road were maybe three hundred weather-beaten clapboard shacks. Josh thought that seven years ago a sight like this would've meant he was entering a ghetto, but now he was overjoyed to the point of tears. Muddy alleys cut between the shacks, and smoke curled into the bitter air from stovepipe chimneys. Lanterns glowed behind windows insulated with yellowed newspapers and magazine pages. Skinny dogs howled and barked around Mule's legs as Josh drew the wagon up amid the shacks. across the road and up a ways was a charred pile of timbers where one of the buildings of Mary's Rest had burned to the ground; the fire had been some time ago, because new snow had collected in the ruins. "Hey!" Josh shouted. "Somebody help us!" a few thin children in ragged coats came out from the alleys to see what was going on. "Is there a doctor around herei" Josh asked them, but they scattered back into the alleys. The door of a nearby shack opened, and a black-bearded face peered cautiously out. "We need a doctor!" Josh demanded. The bearded man shook his head and shut the door.

Josh urged Mule deeper into the shantytown. He kept shouting for a doctor, and a few people opened their doors and watched him pass, but none offered assistance. Further on, a pack of dogs that had been tearing at the remains of an animal in the mud snarled and snapped at Mule, but the old horse kept his nerve and held steady. From a doorway lurched an emaciated old man in rags, his face blotched with red keloids. "No room here! No food! We don't want no strangers here!" he raved, striking the wagon's side with a gnarled stick. He was still babbling as they drew away.

Josh had seen a lot of wretched places before, but this was the worst. It occurred to him that this was a town of strangers where nobody gave a shit about who lived or died in the next hovel. There was a brooding sense of defeat and fatal depression here, and even the air smelled of rank decay. If Rusty hadn't been so badly hurt, Josh would have kept the wagon going right through the ulcer of Mary's Rest and out where the air smelled halfway decent again.

a figure with a malformed head stumbled along the roadside, and Josh recognized the same disease that both he and Swan had. He called to the person, but whoever it was - male or female - turned and ran down an alley out of sight. Lying on the ground a few yards away was a dead man, stripped naked, his ribs showing and his teeth bared in what might have been a grin of escape. a few dogs were sniffing around him, but they had not yet begun feasting.

and then Mule stopped as if he'd run into a brick wall, neighed shrilly and almost reared. "Whoa! Settle down, now!" Josh shouted, having to fight the horse for control.

He saw that someone was in the road in front of them. The figure was wearing a faded denim jacket and a green cap and was sitting in a child's red wagon. The figure had no legs, the trousers rolled up and empty below the thighs. "Hey!" Josh called. "Is there a doctor in this towni"

The face turned slowly toward him. It was a man with a scraggly light brown beard and vague, tormented eyes. "We need a doctor!" Josh said. "Can you help usi"

Josh thought the man might've smiled, but he wasn't sure. The man said, "Welcome!"

"a doctor! Can't you understand mei"

"Welcome!" the man repeated, and he laughed, and Josh realized he was out of his mind.

The man reached out, plunged his hands into the mud and began to pull himself and the wagon across the road. "Welcome!" he shouted as he rolled away into an alley.

Josh shivered, and not just from the cold. That man's eyes... they were the most awful eyes Josh had ever looked into. He got Mule settled down and moving forward again.

He continued to shout for help. an occasional face looked out from a doorway and then drew quickly back. Rusty's going to die, Josh feared. He's going to bleed to death, and not a single bastard in this hellhole will raise a finger to save him!

Yellow smoke drifted across the road, the wagon's tires moving through puddles of human waste. "Somebody help us!" Josh's voice was giving out. "Please... for God's sake... somebody help us!"

"Lawd! What's all the yellin' abouti"

Startled, Josh looked toward the voice. Standing in the doorway of a decrepit shack was a black woman with long, iron-gray hair. She wore a coat that had been stitched from a hundred different scraps of cloth.

"I need to find a doctor! Can you help mei"

"What's wrong with youi" Her eyes, the color of copper pennies, narrowed. "Typhoidi The dysenteryi"

"No. My friend's been hurt. He's in the back."

"ain't no doctor in Mary's Rest. Doctor died of typhoid. ain't nobody can help you."

"He's bleeding bad! Isn't there someplace I can take himi"

"You can take him to the Pit," she suggested. She had a sharp-featured, regal face. "'Bout a mile or so down the road. It's where all the bodies go." The dark face of a boy about seven or eight years old peeked through the doorway at her side, and she rested a hand on his shoulder. "ain't noplace to take him but there."

"Rusty's not dead, lady!" Josh snapped. "But he's sure going to be if I don't find some help for him!" He flicked Mule's reins.

The black woman let him get a few yards further down the road, and then she said, "Hold on!"

Josh reined Mule in.

The woman walked down the cinder block steps in front of her shack and approached the rear of the wagon while the little boy nervously watched. "Open this thing up!" she said - and suddenly the rear flap was unzipped, and she was face to face with Swan. The woman stepped back a pace, then took a deep breath, summoned her courage again and looked into the wagon at the bloody white man lying under a red blanket. The white man wasn't moving. "He still alivei" she asked the faceless figure.

"Yes, ma'am," Swan replied. "But he's not breathing very good."

She could make out the "yes," but nothing more. "What happenedi"

"Bobcat got him," Josh said, coming around to the back of the wagon. He was shaking so much he could hardly stand. The woman took a long, hard look at him with her piercing copper-colored eyes. "Damned thing had two heads."

"Yeah. Lots of 'em out in the woods like that. Kill you for sure." She glanced toward the house, then back at Rusty. He made a soft moaning noise, and she could see the terrible wound on the side of his face. She let the breath leak out between her clenched teeth. "Well, bring him on inside, then."

"Can you help himi"

"We'll find out." She started walking toward the shack and turned back to say, "I'm a seamstress. Pretty good with a needle and catgut. Bring him on."

The shack was as grim inside as it was out, but the woman had two lanterns lit, and on the walls were hung bright pieces of cloth. at the center of the front room stood a makeshift stove constructed from parts of a washing machine, a refrigerator and various pieces of what might have been a truck or car. a few scraps of wood burned behind a grate that was once a car's radiator grille, and the stove only provided heat within a two or three foot radius. Smoke leaked through the funnel that went up into the roof, giving the shack's interior a yellow haze. The woman's furniture - a table and two chairs - were crudely sawn from worm-eaten pinewood. Old newspapers covered the windows, and the wind piped through cracks in the walls. On the pinewood table were snippets of cloth, scissors, needles and the like, and a basket held more pieces of cloth in a variety of colors and patterns.

"It ain't much," she said with a shrug, "but it's better than some has. Bring him in here." She motioned Josh into a second, smaller room, where there was an iron-framed cot and a mattress stuffed with newspapers and rags. On the floor next to the cot was a little arrangement of rags, a small patchwork pillow and a thin blanket in which, Josh presumed, the little boy slept. In the room there were no windows, but a lantern burned with a shiny piece of tin behind it to reflect the light. an oil painting of a black Jesus on a hillside surrounded by sheep hung on a wall.

"Lay him down," the woman said. "Not on my bed, fool. On the floor."

Josh put Rusty down with his head cradled by the patchwork pillow.

"Get that jacket and sweater off him so I can see if he's still got any meat left on that arm."

Josh did as she said while Swan stood in the doorway with her head tilted way to one side so she could see. The little boy stood on the other side of the room, staring at Swan.

The woman picked up the lantern and put it on the floor next to Rusty. She whistled softly. "'Bout scraped him to the bone. aaron, you go bring the other lamps in here. Then you fetch me the long bone needle, the ball of catgut and a sharp pair of scissors. Hurry on, now!"

"Yes, Mama," aaron said, and he darted past Swan.

"What's your friend's namei"

"Rusty."

"He's in a bad way. Don't know if I can stitch him up, but I'll do my best. ain't got nothin' but snow water to clean those wounds with, and you sure as hell don't want that filthy shit in an open - " She stopped, looking at Josh's mottled hands as he took off his gloves. "You black or whitei" she asked.

"Does it matter anymorei"

"Naw. Don't reckon it does." aaron brought the two lanterns, and she arranged them near Rusty's head while he went out again to get the other things she needed. "You got a namei"

"Josh Hutchins. The girl's name is Swan."

She nodded. Her long, delicate fingers probed the ragged edges of the wound at Rusty's shoulder. "I'm Glory Bowen. Make my livin' by stitchin' clothes for people, but I ain't no doctor. The closest I ever come to doctorin' was helpin' a few women have their babies - but I know about sewin' cloth, dogskin and cowhide, and maybe a person's skin ain't too much different."

Rusty's body suddenly went rigid; he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but Josh and Glory Bowen held him down. He struggled for a minute, then seemed to realize where he was and relaxed again. "Joshi" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"Bastard got me, didn't hei Old two-headed bastard of a bobcat. Knocked me right on my ass." He blinked, looked up at Glory. "Who're youi"

"I'm the woman you're gonna de-spise in about three minutes," she answered calmly. aaron came in with a thin, sharpened splinter of bone that must have been three inches long, and he laid it in his mother's palm along with a small, waxy-looking ball of catgut thread and a pair of scissors. Then he retreated to the other side of the room, his eyes moving back and forth between Swan and the others.

"What're you gonna do to mei" Rusty made out the bone needle as Glory put the end of the thread through the needle's eye and tied a tiny knot. "What's that fori"

"You'll find out soon enough." She picked up a rag and wiped the sweat and blood from Rusty's face. "Gonna have to do a little sewin' on you. Gonna put you together just like a fine new shirt. That suit youi"

"Oh... Lord" was all Rusty could manage to say.

"We gonna have to tie you down, or are you gonna be a man about thisi Don't have nothin' to kill the pain."

"Just... talk to me," Rusty told her. "Okayi"

"Sure. Whatcha wanna talk abouti" She positioned the needle near the ripped flesh at Rusty's shoulder. "How 'bout foodi Fried chicken. a big bucketful of Colonel Sanders with them hot spices. That sound good to youi" She angled the needle in the precise direction she wanted, and then she went to work. "Can't you just smell that Kentucky Fried heaveni"

Rusty closed his eyes. "Yeah," he whispered thickly. "Oh, yeah... I sure can."

Swan couldn't bear to watch Rusty in pain. She went to the front room, where she warmed herself by the makeshift stove. aaron peeked around the corner at her, then jerked his head out of sight. She heard Rusty catch his breath, and she went to the door, opened it and stepped outside.

She climbed into the back of the wagon to get Crybaby, and then she stood rubbing Mule's neck. She was worried about Killer. How was he going to find themi and if a bobcat had hurt Rusty that badly, what might one do to Killeri "Don't you worry," Josh had said. "He'll find his way."

"You got a haid inside therei" a small, curious voice asked beside her.

Swan made out aaron standing a few feet away.