Neal Barrett Jr. (34 page)

It suddenly struck Howie that the hill didn’t seem so steep anymore; his horse was holding his footing well. It dawned on him then that they were onto the plain. He yelled and shook his fist in the air. The ground was still wet, soaked by the rain, but it was flat as a board, stretching out toward the west. Howie kicked his mount and trotted back to Chan and the boy, urging them forward through the rain. He stopped then and peered back up the hill. He couldn’t imagine he’d ever had the nerve to try it, or that he’d gotten them all down through the storm. Chan was right. It was a damn fool idea, and he was relieved it was over and done.

The rain didn’t stop until morning, and even then the dark clouds hung ominously low, sweeping nearly to the ground. Howie didn’t let them rest until the rain was completely gone. He knew every mile he put behind them made it that much harder for the troopers. They’d have to guess now—give up the trail and send riders out in every direction, hoping to catch sight of their prey. Howie figured he’d put ten, maybe fifteen miles at their backs. And every inch without leaving a single mark. The country was big, and the troopers would have to cover it all.

He’d let the mounts rest for an hour or two, no more than that. Then they would head for the coast. For the first time since Howie had left the compound at High Sequoia, he knew they could make it, that the ship wasn’t simply in Chan’s mind, it was real.

He woke and looked up at the sky. Clouds still masked the sun, and he guessed it was maybe noon. He felt a moment of alarm, knowing he’d slept longer than he’d planned. They needed to get moving, eat up some more miles.

When Howie stood, everything hurt. He tried to remember how it felt to be dry. Chan had found a grove of trees that morning, a spot slightly higher than the flats. There was no standing water, but the earth was anything but dry. He felt hollow and light-headed, and wondered where they’d find any food. Most likely they’d do without for a while.

Chan was still as death, and Howie let him sleep. He couldn’t find Tommy and Carolee, and guessed they’d found a reasonably dry spot farther back in the trees. He checked the horses, and saw they were doing fine. They wouldn’t be anxious to get to work, but there was nothing he could do about that. He’d have to try to run them easy, keep them alive till they reached the coast.

Walking to the edge of the grove, he looked west. The land sloped slightly to the north, and he could see white croppings of stone in the earth. Good. The ground would be dry enough and hard enough to ride. They would make good time.

As Howie started back, he spotted color in the trees and saw it was Carolee. She was sitting under a stunted pine, talking to her doll. When Howie approached, she looked up and smiled.

“Well, I hope you got some sleep,” Howie said. Carolee’s hair was half dry, but her dress clung to her like skin. She didn’t know what modesty was all about, and the thin skirt hiked up to her thighs.

“That was some rain we rode through last night. I’m real proud of you, Carolee. You did good.”

Carolee stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “My baby got all wet. It doesn’t look nice anymore.

“Say, now, I bet we can get her all dry.” Howie held out his hand. Carolee hesitated, then handed him the doll. There wasn’t much left except a patch of wet cloth. Most of the dry grass stuffing was gone.

Howie made a show of patting the grass in place, and handed the doll back to Carolee. “There. That’s a little better. We’ll find some nicer clothes for her soon. Get her all fixed up.”

Carolee made a face. “It’s not a her, it’s a
he
.”

“Oh, well, see, I didn’t know that,” Howie said. “Boy babies are better than girls.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘Cause boys don’t have to lie down and do bad things, and get all swole up.”

Howie felt his throat go dry. He wanted to reach out and hold her, bring her close, tell her everything would be fine, that everything she’d seen, everything they’d done to her, would go away. Only that wasn’t so. She’d always be what she was right now, that wouldn’t ever change.

“Your eye’s
real
scary,” said Carolee. “Only I’m not as ’fraid of it now as I was.”

“I’m sure glad you’re not,” Howie said. “I don’t want you being scared of me. I don’t want you to ever be scared of anything again.”

“I
like
riding a horse now. I’m not afraid any at all. Tommy says I might learn to ride all by myself.”

“You just might.”

“Are you scared of anything, Howie?”

“Well, I guess sometimes I am.”

“Like the dark?”

“No, not the dark. But I—”

Howie froze as he heard a twig snap behind him. Carolee’s eyes went wide, and she brought a hand to her mouth.

“Don’t even move, boy. Don’t even think about it.”

Ritcher Jones stepped quickly to the left where Howie could see him. He held the long-barreled silver gun in one hand. His robe was dark with mud, and the white hair was plastered across his face. Howie felt his gut twist up in a knot.

“Where are the others?” Jones said sharply. “That Chinese fella and the boy?”

Howie’s mind raced. Jones had spotted the two horses. He hadn’t been up in the grove. Howie had loosed all the other mounts at the compound, and Jones didn’t know how many they’d ridden off. His trackers had likely told him three or four, but he didn’t know for sure.

Howie forced an easy grin, “They rode on ahead. You just missed ’em, preacher.”

Jones frowned at that. He gave Howie a piercing look, as if he might see right into his head. He backed away a foot, and glanced quickly to the west. Howie knew he was figuring how far ahead Chan and the boy might be, when they’d likely come back.

Jones studied Howie another moment, then smiled at Carolee. “You caught me napping with the girl, son. I guessed you’d lost family at Silver Island. But finding her, out here …” Jones shook his head. “Now that’s a miracle of the Lord’s own making. Your sister, I’ll bet. Looks like you.”

“Leave her be,” Howie said. “I won’t give you no trouble. Just leave her be. You bastards done enough to her!”

Jones didn’t seem to hear. “You have caused me a great deal of grief, Howie Ryder. A great deal of anguish and pain. I have prayed long and hard these last few days, prayed that God would allow me to make amends for the mistakes I’ve made with you. And last night, He gave me that chance. The rains came down from the heavens, and all the men about me were dismayed. But I knew. The Lord let me see that you would
use
that rain, that you would flee at once to the sea.” Jones smiled again, “The Chinese take pride in their ships. They covet their fine craft and love the water more than the land, and I knew the heathen would take you there, guided by Satan himself.”

That goddam heathen’s going to sleep all day, Howie thought miserably. That’s what he’s going to do.

“All I’m askin’ is you leave the girl alone,” Howie said. “That’s all. You got no need of her, it’s me you—”

“Shut up!” Jones said sharply. “Move away from her, over there. I’ll decide about the girl in time.” Jones thumbed back the hammer of his weapon and aimed it at Carolee’s head. “Do it, Howie Ryder. Or I’ll come to that decision right now.”

Howie stood, He made himself move slow, thinking what it might take to get to the gun. Ritcher Jones would get off a shot, and likely hit him true. He was too damn good to miss. But the shot would rouse Chan, and maybe Chan could save Carolee.

“Don’t consider anything foolish,” Jones said. He backed off another step and leveled the gun at Howie’s chest.

Carolee began to cry. “It’s all right,” Howie said, keeping his eye on Jones. “Just sit still, Carolee.”

“Now that’s a right fine thing to do,” Jones said solemnly. “A good man takes care of his kin. And I feel you’re a good man, Howie Ryder. We’ve had our differences, you and me, but we’ve served the Lord together, and that’s the thing. When you stand before Him, boy, you’ll see what I’ve been saying all along. That true glory comes to a man when he steps from this life to the next, when he—”

Howie saw him a split second before Jones. Tommy came out of the trees, firing the rifle as fast as he could, going through the steps he’d practiced every night—fire, lever another shell in the chamber, fire again. Ritcher Jones jerked up straight, a startled expression on his face. Bullets whined all about him, slicing off twigs and digging dirt. Jones danced aside, snapped off a shot and missed. Tommy kept coming, squeezing the trigger every second, doing everything right. The only thing Howie hadn’t taught him was to aim. Lead hit everything but Jones. The preacher bent his knees and fired again. Tommy cried out and went down; without pausing an instant, Jones swept the long barrel toward Howie.

Howie threw himself at the preacher. White fire blinded his eye and a sound like thunder filled his head. His shoulder struck Jones solidly in the gut and sent him sprawling. Howie heard the pistol hit dirt. Jones cursed him and pounded him with his fists, cutting Howie’s cheek and bringing blood to his eye. Howie couldn’t see Jones but he knew he was there, knew when his hands got past the hurting fists and found the preacher’s throat. Ritcher Jones kept fighting, lashing out wildly at Howie’s head. Howie didn’t care. All he could feel was the rage in his heart, the sorrow for Lorene and Marie, for his mother and his pa, for boys he’d seen die in the war, and everyone else who was gone that he wouldn’t ever see anymore. All the hurt and the pain flowed through his hands, and when Chan tried to pull him away, he saw there was nothing he could do but turn away and take care of Carolee, and see what could be done about the boy….

EPILOGUE

C
han said Tommy would likely make it, that it was fortunate indeed Chinese doctors were the best in the world.

“He would not have a chance if he were left to the butchers in your country who call themselves physicians,” Chan explained. “If one is shot in the toe in America, the leg will most probably be amputated at once. If a finger is afflicted, the arm itself must go. On the other hand, I have seen miracles of healing in China. Even if a limb is nearly severed—

“Fine,” Howie said, “as long as you get him back on his feet. He’s a good kid and worth saving, and I sure ain’t anxious to give Carolee had news.”

Howie sat up and stretched, left Chan below, and made his way to the forward deck. The sky was an awesome shade of blue, and a gentle wind swept in from the east. A giant of a man who belonged to Chan’s faction back home was sitting cross-legged on the deck, facing Carolee. He had taught Carolee a game that involved colored marbles. It made no sense to Howie, but seemed to delight Carolee.

When the Chinese saw Howie, he stood and bowed solemnly, and walked back along the deck. Howie knew he wouldn’t go far. Chan had carefully explained to the man that Carolee was a sacred person, as anyone could see from her innocent manner. Chan’s friend took his job quite seriously and seldom let Carolee out of his sight.

“Hello, Howie,” Carolee said. “You want to play?”

Howie eased himself down on the deck. “Not me. You’re too good. You doing all right?”

Carolee leaned forward. Sharing secrets was one of her favorite things to do have been
trying
to make Mr. Huan smile. I don’t know if I can.”

Howie grinned. “You keep trying. He’ll come around.” He looked at Carolee, at the tine mist of hair across her face, then past her to the east. Chan assured him California was a good four hundred miles away, but this failed to set Howie’s mind at ease. High Sequoia was still there. Lawrence was there too. He had the power and the will; he’d do whatever he wanted with the country, until someone else got big enough to stop him, and do something different. Things would get better or worse. Howie wondered if that was the way things had to be. Maybe it was. It seemed like you could fix things good sometimes, get everything going real fine, and then someone else would come along and tear it down. Like they did in the Great War. Everything was supposed to be nice before that, but you couldn’t tell it now. There wasn’t much left to show.

“You want to tell me a story?” said Carolee. “Huan tells me real good stories.”

“I ain’t much good at telling stories,” Howie said
.

“
Please!
” said Carolee.

“All right,” Howie said. “But don’t expect a whole lot.” He stretched his legs out on the deck and leaned against the high wooden rail. “There was these two people, and they had ’em a real nice farm. There was all kinds of stuff growing, wheat and corn and everything. They worked real hard. And one day they got the notion to get all dressed up, and take the younguns to the Blue-vale Fair. They figured on having a whole lot of fun.”

“Was the younguns girls or boys?” asked Carolee.

“One of each,” Howie said. “There was a boy, and he had a real pretty sister who looked just like her ma.”

“A boy
and
a girl!” Carolee clapped her hands in delight. “Just like you and me.”

“That’s right,” Howie said. “Kinda like you and me.”

Afterword

A
writer grows attached to his character. I lived with Howie Ryder through the trials and tribulations of
Through Darkest America
, and the ever-increasing pain he endured in the book you’ve just read. A lot happened to Howie. He suffered, nearly lost his life more than once. He survived, he learned—but at a terrible cost. The secrets he uncovered at the beginning of his quest shook him to the core, but they paled at his discovery of an even more inhuman crime about to be unleashed upon the world.

Howie’s story is more than a tale of his adventures. If I have done my job as a writer, he has grown, become more than he was before. He has escaped with Carolee. He has found a new friend, but he will always be scarred by the years that led him to his journey to China. Now, the strength, the wisdom, he has gained will be sorely tested as he faces new, even more deadly foes in the Chinese faction eager to begin a horrifying breeding program of their own.