CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Neala sat under a candle, her back against a wall, and watched Johnny search the cabin.

He checked the walls, first. They were hung with deerskins, probably to keep the winds out. He lifted each pelt, and looked beneath it.

When he finished the walls, he stepped to the fireplace. A black pot hung over the dead coals. He swung it out, took off the lid, and sniffed. Gagging, he jammed the lid into place.

Sherri, asleep on her pile of furs, groaned and rolled onto her side.

“What is it? ” Neala whispered to Johnny.

“Spoiled. ”

He returned the pot to its hook. He pushed his hand into the ashes beneath it. “Cold, ” he said. Brushing off his hand, he stood. He hefted a metal fireplace poker. It looked solid and heavy, to Neala. He swung it a few times as if testing its weight, then put it back. For a few moments, he inspected the sooty billows, a broom, a stool with a wicker seat. Then he turned away.

He wandered the cabin floor, his feet silent on the thick layers of fur that covered it.

“What’re you looking for? ” Neala asked.

“Anything we can use. ” He shook his head. “The place is bare. Except for that. ” He nodded toward the covered pot.

“What do we need? ”

“Food and water. A couple of guns would be nice. ”

From the corner came Sherri’s voice. “While you’re dreaming, how about a chopper to haul us the fuck outa here? ”

“Maybe there’s another room, ” Neala suggested.

“I already checked. No other doors. ”

“Another shack? Out back, maybe? ”

“I’ll take a look. ” He went to the door, picked up his rifle, and raised the latch. He pulled the door open.

His body was a black, strong shape against the pale darkness outside. He looked alert and dangerous, peering into the night. Then he glanced back. “See you later, ” he said, and Neala heard in his voice the bravery of a frightened boy.

He reached in to pull the door shut.

“Just a second, ” Neala said.

He waited while she got to her feet and joined him outside.

Her eyes wandered over the dozens of frail crosses and heads. She saw the path Johnny had battered through them.

“Let’s go around back, ” Johnny said.

They walked close to the cabin. At its corner, Neala saw more crosses, more heads. At the rear, still more. But no other buildings. The small, square cabin stood alone.

They completed the circle, and stopped by the door.

“I’ll stay out for a while, ” Johnny said. “You go on in, and get some sleep. ”

Neala hesitated. Maybe the man wanted time by himself. More likely, though, he was just trying to be nice, offering to stand guard while she slept.

“I want to stay with you, ” she said.

“Well…”

“If you want to be alone…”

“No, it’s all right. ” He grinned. “You think I want to be alone with all this? ” He eyed the field of heads. “What if they start talking to me? ”

“Do you think they might? ”

“Not if we keep the conversation up. ”

“Can we sit down? ”

They sat on the ground. Neala crossed her legs, and leaned back against the logs of the cabin. They felt round and scratchy through the thin cloth of her shirt. She kept her eyes down as she talked. “I want to thank you, ” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on, or why you did it, but you saved our lives. ”

“Well…”

She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more. “Why didyou come back for us? ”

“Who knows? ”

“You must. ”

“Yeah. I guess I do. ”

“Tell me. ”

“I guess I didn’t want to see you die. ”

She eased sideways until she felt him against her shoulder. She was strongly attracted to this man; it confused her. He was part of the scheme that brought her into this nightmare. Perhaps she ought to loathe him for that. She couldn’t. He was powerful and deadly, but vulnerable in a way that made her want to hold him close.

“Why me? ” she asked.

“I don’t know. There’s something. I knew what they’d do to you. The thought of you being hurt…”

“What about Sherri? Suppose I hadn’t been alone. Would you have left her to be killed? ”

“Yes. ”

“Why? ”

“It’s the way things are done in Barlow. It’s the way we’ve always done things, from the start. ”

“How did it start? ” She looked at him. He met her eyes, then turned away to scan the area.

“I’m not sure anyone knows, ” he said. “The Krulls were here first. Nobody seems to know where they came from. Plenty of theories, though. Some say they’re the Devil’s children, some say a Stone Age tribe of some land. ”

“If they’re Stone Age, where’d they get the steel weapons? ”

“From us. We give them what they want. Except guns. ”

Neala shook her head.

“Anyway. My high school history teacher had a theory that the Krulls are descendants of a band of Vikings that came up the Pacific coast and worked their way up the delta. ”

“What do you think? ”

“I think they might’ve descended from some crazy old mountain man–a demented Daniel Boone. ” She saw a wry grin as he shrugged. “What the hell, nobody knows. I’ve got a neighbor, Joanne Early, who thinks they’re Martians. Whatever they are, they’re in control. They used to raid town about once a month, but then our forefathers got smart and started delivering strangers to them. That worked out nicely, because the townspeople robbed the folks before taking them out. ”

“They’re still at it, ” Neala said, looking down at one of her bare, bloody feet.

“Both sides get something out of it. And as long as the Krulls get eight or ten victims a month, they leave us alone. ”

“Hasn’t anyone ever tried to stop them? ”

“There’ve been a few attempts. Not many, though. A fellow named MacQuiddy went in, once, with a bunch of men from town. They called themselves the Glorious Fourteen. That was back in the thirties. For a time, back then, word was out that Barlow was a good place to avoid. Travelers stopped coming through, and our people stopped taking victims out to the forest. So the Krulls came into town, one night. They snatched a dozen of our women and children. The Glorious Fourteen went in to rescue them, and never came out. ”

Neala watched his eyes roam over the field of heads. “Nobody ever comes out, ” he said.

“Will we? ”

“We’ll sure give it a try. ” Johnny put an arm across her shoulders, and she leaned her head against him.

She felt good, being with Johnny.

Better than she’d felt with any man since Derek. That was nearly two years ago. The breakup had left her stunned. She spent six months living like a hermit: hating Derek, hating all men, yet dwelling on the times they’d had together and dreaming of his return as if she enjoyed the twist of pain that such thoughts brought.

When the loneliness finally drove her from the house, she met only desperate men. They wanted her body close to them in the night, because they had the loneliness, too. Many tried to be cool: they talked big, and drove Porsches, and pretended. Others displayed their sensitivity like a raw wound, whiners pleading for attention. Few and far between were the normal guys, the confident ones she might want to know better.

She suspected most were already married‑ busy raising children and dogs.

And now, here was Johnny Robbins. You couldn’t say he was normal, not after growing up in a town like Barlow and doing the terrible things he’d done. But he was strong and confident. He could be gentle. And he spoke straight.

He was so different from those other men–so solid. Someone to rely on.

Someone she might love.

Her eyes filled with tears. She sniffed, and Johnny looked at her.

“I’m sorry, ” she said.

“Don’t be sorry. ”

“It’s just all so horrible. ”

“I know. ” His hand stroked her hair, the side of her wet face.

“We’ll never get a chance to know each other, Johnny. I mean, to spend time and do things. ”

“We’ll get the chance, ” he said.

She shook her head. A sob wracked her body.

“We will. You can count on it. ”

His face moved close to hers. He looked into her eyes, and smiled gently, and pressed his mouth to hers. They kissed for a long time. Neala wanted it never to end.