Once the anger had passed, I felt incredibly foolish. I had never felt such strong hostility, even with Mr. Martin. I thoroughly disliked him, but this was different; it was nearly uncontrollable and all consuming. With Martin, I’d always been in command of my emotions, except when Thomas had sucked me in. Even so, this was more intense.
“I…I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Think nothing of it. I know this can all be overwhelming and a little hard to believe. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real even to me.”
“I don’t know how you can sit here so calmly with that thing out there,” I blurted.
“I never said I was calm,” she replied.
“How do you know it won’t attack?”
“I don’t. They just haven’t bothered me in years. I’m never fully at ease; but I’ve decided if it happens, then it happens. I just prepare the best I can and try not to worry about what I can’t change. Besides, we’re not totally unprepared. First off, we know it’s there. Secondly, we don’t have to worry about an attack from the other direction; they’re afraid of the water and the animals get jumpy if they get too close. Lastly…”
Sarah unbuttoned her vest, revealing two large, strange-looking pistols.
“They’re especially made for them,” she said, gesturing toward the monster. “I contrived them myself—at least some parts. I heard a traveler a long time ago boasting that if you add groves to the barrel and spin the ball, it becomes more accurate at a farther distance. These pistols have that design, making them much more exact and have a greater range.”
Sarah drew one of them and extracted from it a narrow, cylindrical object, a little over half the length of my finger.
“See? They also use paper cartridges containing both the powder and balls. They are quick to reload, and powerful, too. Unfortunately, the paper needed to make the cartridges is hard to come by, so I only carry them for emergencies. Otherwise, you load them like any other pistol.”
She looked at me expectantly, obviously proud of her work.
“They’re wonderful!” I exclaimed. “How in the world were you able to create them?”
“I have my friend, Angus, to thank for that. He’s an old blacksmith and he helped make the plan of my pistols work. I also have a few muskets with the same design—he calls them rifles.”
I had to admit I was impressed, and I told her so. She looked pleased and I felt a little more secure.
I was intrigued by the weapons and wanted to try them out, but decided that could wait. Especially since my shooting skills were less than impressive.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how come you stayed here after the attacks?”
“I didn’t, at least not initially. Just those of us who lived around the lake were hit during the raid. Along with Michael Wolfe and his girls, I loaded up my belongings, and we fled to Marysvale. The news of our assault spread fast; and most of the families who lived in other parts around Marysvale moved into town as well.”
“And what of the ones who didn’t leave?”
“They, too, were eventually attacked. Those who survived moved to Marysvale in the end.”
“But you’re not there anymore….”
“No. After living there for a few years, it was agreed that it would be best if I left. You see, I didn’t get along with many of the town leaders; I was a bit of a troublemaker for them. So, they gave me the option of leaving peacefully, with their aid and supplies; or staying, and they would make it very unpleasant for me.”
“You obviously chose to leave.”
“Yes, but it was a hard decision. I was terrified about living alone out here with the Brean, and wasn’t at all convinced that I would survive. Neither were the town leaders. In fact, they expected my demise. I suspect they gave me everything I needed, with the plan that, after I was dead, they would come and take it all back. Only problem is…”
“You didn’t die,” I finished for her.
“No. But there were many sleepless and nightmare-filled nights in the beginning. I finally decided that if I died, then I died; and I stopped worrying about it.”
I looked up and the monster was gone.
Without having to ask, Sarah offered, “It left only a few minutes ago.”
I felt relieved and we lapsed back into a comfortable silence.
***
I was back in the dream, running through the woods toward the cabin nestled deep in the forest; only it wasn’t so strange now—it was familiar, much like Sarah’s home. As before, I was struck with a great sense of dread. There was someone I needed to see, but I didn’t want to. I held a secret; but I was forbidden to share it. Again, I crept up the stairs and through the front door. I made my way deeper into the cabin until I could hear women’s voices. They were strained and tense—panicked. Something I did caused them this fear. I hesitated, unsure of what to do. Eventually, I gently pushed the door open and entered a small kitchen. Two women were sitting there, one looked like Sarah. They turned and stared at me. In that instant, a tremendous roar split the air, and the cabin burst into flame. Black smoke choked my lungs and clouded my vision. I heard a woman scream, and then fall silent. A huge Brean emerged from the thick smoke. Its long, sharp teeth dripped with blood. Red eyes fell upon me. With a snarl, it lunged—its mouth wide, ready to devour me. I cried out in terror, struggling to flee. Strong hands gripped me from behind and drug me backwards out of its reach…and back into consciousness.
The blankets were soaked with sweat. Shaking with fear, I threw them off and sat up on the edge of the bed. I buried my face in my hands, trying to gain control. It was just a dream, I told myself; but the horror still felt very real.
I sat for a long time, shivering and fearful. Finally, somewhat calmer, I got up and crept down the stairs. There were still a few embers from the night’s fire glowing in the large stone fireplace. I retrieved some logs and gently laid them across the brightest of the coals. After a few minutes of smoke, flames leapt from the smoldering wood and began spreading their warmth. From a chair, I watched the golden firelight mix with shadows and perform their intricate dance across the walls and objects in the room.
Slowly, the darkness outside melted away before a new morning.
“Are you making up for sleeping in late yesterday?” asked Sarah softly.
She stood in the doorway, dressed in a long nightgown, with her loose hair pulled over in front of one shoulder—and not a bit embarrassed to be seen in such circumstances. She truly was an odd woman. I hadn’t noticed her arrival, and wondered how long she’d been there. Nevertheless, I smiled at her, grateful for the company.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I replied.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything wrong? Did you get cold?”
“No, I’m fine. Just a bad dream is all.”
“Ah. Anything you want to talk about?”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing; just one of those where going back to sleep is impossible.”
“Mmm, that sometimes happens—especially around these parts. I’ll get dressed and then make us some breakfast. A good meal and a bright morning always help; and it looks like we may have another warm, clear day.”
The prospect lightened my mood considerably.
“Is there anything I can do to help? My shoulder is getting better, and I feel like I should be doing something. I’m not accustomed to sitting around so much.”
“It’s not just your shoulder I’m worried about. You had a rough time getting here. You may feel fine now, but if you push it, it will take longer to fully mend. However,” she added, “I suppose collecting eggs from the chicken coop won’t put you under, if you feel up to it.”
I did.
We dressed and I carried out my assignment while she got breakfast ready.
After our meal, Sarah spent the rest of the day with chores. I tried to help as much as possible, but got scolded for doing so. She was funny when riled, and I sometimes worked just to tease her. Finally, Sarah threate
ned bed rest if I ignored her anymore. And when I ignored that, she threatened to throw me out, saying something like, “If you’re so dead set against healing, then you might as well just get on your way and let the Brean finish the job.”
The latter threat was in jest, the first was not.
The following day was much the same, except, she removed the stitching from my shoulder. The process consisted of snipping the thread and pulling each stitch out one by one, with the next feeling progressively more painful than the last—though, perhaps it was just the anticipation of the sting that gave me that impression.
The next afternoon, Sarah decided to go fishing, and invited me to join her. I looked at the small, ancient row boat, sagging slightly to one side in the water, and respectfully declined. The dog, who somehow understood what she said, was already halfway down to the little vessel.
Looking doubtfully at the boat, I warned, “Be careful.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. I managed before you came; I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
I shrugged. “Your funeral.”
She laughed.
Turning toward the lake, she said, over her shoulder, “Stay out of trouble.”
I watched her row away, and then went to check on Smoke. I found him irritable at having been left in a stable for so long. He kept nudging and trying to knock me off my feet every time I turned my back on him.
“Fine,” I growled. “Have it your way.”
I turned him loose in the pasture where he immediately went over and tried to harass the cows. They didn’t even notice.
Feeling drowsy, I went back inside, sunk into a rocking chair by the fireplace, and drifted off to sleep.
***
What was that noise? I couldn’t tell if it was in my dream or a reality. I listened…nothing. Had I dreamt it? No, there it is again. I kept my eyes closed, still listening. The porch squeaked. Someone, or something, was out there. Is it Sarah? I had no idea how long I had been asleep; but it didn’t feel long. Again the porch squeaked—this time right outside the front door.
Wouldn’t Sarah come up from the dock at the back of the cabin? Experience told me that slow men sometimes found themselves dead. I sprang out of the chair with a little more force than intended, knocking it over, and sending it crashing to the floor.
I grabbed a gun from over the fireplace and spun around, just in time to see the door fly open. Two large, black pistols aimed at my chest.
Chapter Seven: Stalking the Stalker
THE guns looked just like Sarah’s and were held by a dark-haired female, about my same age, who glared at me through deep green eyes. She, too, was dressed like a man, in brown breeches and black boots.
We stared at each other over the tops of our pistols.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Who are you?” I replied neutrally.
“Since I have two pistols to your one, I’ll do the questioning.”
“It only takes one shot,” I pointed out.
“If you’re so sure you’ll win, then why don’t you try?” she asked, with what I imagined to be the most threatening voice she could manage.
Time to find out what I’m really up against.
I read her soul. She was confident and sure of her abilities. She was also scared; but it wasn’t for herself, it was for Sarah. She was also a good person and had no more of a desire to hurt me than I did her. I started to dig deeper, to pick more from her thoughts. Surprisingly, a veil closed over her soul, just like Sarah had done to me not four days ago. A curious expression crossed her face and the tips of her pistols dipped slightly.
Taking advantage of her sudden confusion, I decided to disarm her, before either one of us got hurt.
“Mister, I wouldn’t,” said a young girl’s voice, coming from behind me. “You better just drop your pistol.”
I stopped and started to turn, so I could see who else I was dealing with.
“No…don’t turn, just do,” ordered the new girl.
I flipped the pistol in the air, grabbed it by the barrel, and offered it to her.
“I’d better not drop it; it might go off,” I suggested.
She bought the excuse and took the weapon by the handle. Her companion came to her senses and screamed, “No, Hannah! Don’t!”
But it was too late. With lightning speed, I seized the girl, Hannah, by the wrist, twirled her around, and grabbed her from behind. Quickly, I twisted the pistols out of her hands. Both girls were stunned, and they seemed scared. I leaned over and put the guns down on a nearby piece of furniture. Then I released Hannah, who immediately dashed behind her friend.
“There,” I said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The older one still held her pistols up, nonetheless.
With both girls now in front of me, I had a better look at them, and predicted they were sisters. Both had clear skin, rich green eyes, and long, flowing, dark brown hair, which almost looked black (though the older one’s had a hint of red). I guessed Hannah to be around fourteen. Both were pretty; but they were gaunt, dusty, and haggard.
Hannah turned to her companion, “I couldn’t see her out back.”
“What have you done with her?” demanded the older girl.
“If you mean Hannah, I let her go,” I replied coolly.
“Do you think I’m stupid? And if you think that stunt you did with my sister is going to buy you some goodwill, it won’t. I don’t trust you,” she said flatly.
So they were sisters after all.
“No,” I sighed. “I don’t suppose I blame you; trusting strangers can be a risky venture.”
Raising the pistols slightly to emphasize her point, she demanded, “Let’s try this once more—and I am not going to ask again. Is she hurt?”
“I don’t know, probably…have you seen the boat she takes fishing?”
Hannah giggled, obviously aware of its condition. The older girl shot a warning glance at her sister, conveying the message to keep quiet.
I looked into Hannah’s soul and found it still open. She was amused by this exchange and felt measurably more relaxed. She was also pure in heart. Once I knew she was innocent, I felt guilty for invading her, and I stopped.
I walked over to the overturned chair I’d been sitting in, and sat it upright.
“What are you doing?” snapped the older girl.
“Straightening the furniture; this may take a while to resolve. Besides, you two look tired.”
I sat down.
Hannah liked the idea and moved for a chair of her own. Her older sister glared at her again, and she sighed to express her disapproval, but stayed put.
It turned out we didn’t have long to wait.
“Hannah! Jane!” cried an excited Sarah.
The older one, Jane, flinched. I cringed and braced for the impact of not one, but possibly two shots from her pistols.
Nothing happened.
Sarah swept into the room and embraced them both, forcing Jane to lower one of her weapons, as she and Hannah were squeezed together like little dolls.
Sarah released them. “My goodness, you look starved! We must fix that.”
Then turning to me, she said, “I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”
“Yes…that. Well, I suppose I’m just gifted when it comes to trouble.”
She broke into a smile then looked at Jane.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, either shoot him or put away your pistols.”
I shot Sarah a dirty look, and she laughed.
“She wasn’t really going to shoot you. Were you Jane?”
Jane didn’t answer, but slowly put the pistols back in their holsters.
Hannah giggled and said, “She’s just sore because she knows we were had when you grabbed me, and she doesn’t like to lose.”
Sarah broke in before Jane could retort, “Well…you’ve all met; but have you been introduced?”
I answered, “The young, pleasant one is Hannah; and the one who still wants to
kill me is Jane.”
Hannah beamed and said, “That about sums it up.”
“Except for who you are,” snorted Jane.
Sarah introduced us.
“John, this is Jane and Hannah Wolfe.”
My eyes went up in recognition of the name, and I remembered the story and the loss of their mother. Knowing their heartache, and seeing the condition they were in now, I felt compassion for them.
“Girls, this is John Casey. He’s my guest here while he heals up.”
Jane looked questioningly at Sarah and was about to ask something when Hannah broke in.
“Healing? Healing from what? I bet I can guess.”
“You’re quite right, Hannah,” said Sarah. “John was attacked by three Brean.”
“That’s amazing! And you lived! You have to tell us what happened,” exclaimed Hannah excitedly. “It must have been a terrible fight.”
Even Jane softened. She looked impressed for a moment, but quickly regained her contemptuous look, though it was not as hard as it was before.
“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. If I hadn’t come across Sarah, I’m sure they would’ve got me.”
“Oh, there’s quite a bit more to tell,” Sarah refuted. “But, before we discuss all that, I want to know what under heaven made you girls risk such a dangerous journey? You know they’re watching you.”
Jane replied, “We know; but things are getting worse…there’s not enough food.”
“We’re starving to death,” piped in Hannah. “And not just us; everyone is suffering. Except for ‘the almighty’ and his puppets,” she spat.
I looked quizzically at Sarah.
“I’ll explain later,” she said. “First, let’s have some tea, and I’ll make us something to eat. We don’t want you to collapse after such a long journey.”
“Oh, yes!” exulted Hannah, her eyes widening at the prospects of food.
Jane added, “Thank you. We are very hungry.”
“Come sit in the kitchen with me, while I get things ready,” invited Sarah.
Marysvale Page 8
