Ghostwalkers

by Jonathan Maberry

“I’m sorry,” he said, but no one responded to that.

  Instead Grey said, “Tell me the rest. What happened after that?”

  “After that? Paradise Falls was destroyed,” said Brother Joe. “Most of it, anyway. Three-quarters of the homes and buildings. Nine tenths of the people. Gone. We would learn later that this was not a judgment leveled against us but against many. Most of what had been California had been rent apart and thrown down. Like a bandage removed to reveal a terrible wound, we saw what lay beneath our land. Pits. Great caverns where the foul things of the earth long dwelt in shadows. Bottomless holes and endless caverns from which the earth exhaled a breath of brimstone and ash. Men have come to call it the Maze, but it is the landscape of Satan’s burning kingdom revealed.”

  Jenny poured him more of the wretched coffee.

  “Paradise Falls nearly died on that day. I do not know why any of it survived and I do not pretend to understand God’s mysteries. Like many of the survivors did, I left. I went down to Mexico and made a confession to the Cardinal.”

  “What happened?” asked Grey.

  Brother Joe almost smiled. A rueful, twisted little smile. The kind never associated with a happy memory. “He spat on me.”

  “He spat on you?”

  “And I do not blame him,” the monk said quickly. “If he’d had a knife at hand I believe he would have plunged it into my breast, and he would have been right to do so. There are some sins that go beyond any tolerance. I had broken faith with God and with my flock, and I had crawled across my Savior to—.”

  “Bullshit,” said Grey, and it brought Brother Joe up short. “Far as I can tell you’re an ordinary human being. I’m no Catholic and I’m not much given to attending church, but I seem to remember from having been there once or twice that priests and parsons are no different than anyone else. You’re flesh and bone, man. You’re not an angel or God Himself.”

  Brother Joe shook his head. “No, you don’t understand what it means to be a priest of the church. It was my duty to protect my flock.”

  “What, like Jesus protects everyone who calls themselves a Christian? No, don’t look so shocked. You can’t sit there and tell me that faith alone is any kind of shield. It never has been. The Romans nailed Jesus to the cross, and they whipped him bloody before they did it. And I read enough of the Bible to remember that most of the apostles and saints got themselves tortured and killed. John the Baptist lost his damn head. They crucified Peter upside down, and millions of good Christians have died since then. You want to sit there and tell me that none of them—including some of the saints—weren’t afraid? That they didn’t want to bargain their way out? You think all of them went willingly to their deaths? People think that because that’s how the Bible’s written, but didn’t Jesus ask God to let that cup pass by?”

  “He still went to the cross.”

  “Sure. He was Jesus. You’re not. You’re only a man like the rest of us. If it had been me in that church, I’d have crawled over more than a wooden cross to get out of there.”

  The monk kept shaking his head, and Grey let it go. He flapped a hand at Brother Joe.

  “Whatever. Tell me how that walks us all the way to right now.”

  “Very well,” said Brother Joe. “After I made my confession I was defrocked. My robes were torn, my surplice cut to pieces and my holy orders rescinded. The cardinal stopped short of excommunicating me because another priest interceded on my behalf. A good and righteous man who had been in seminary with me. He begged that I be allowed to work for my reclamation by returning as a brother of the Order of Outcasts. The order was formed after the Quake and is made up of brothers and a few priests who have each survived the destruction of their churches.”

  “Like I said, you’re not the only one.”

  “I am the only coward,” said Brother Joe.

  “I doubt that,” said Grey unkindly. Then he amended it. “I mean, I doubt you’re the only one who did what he had to do to survive.”

  Brother Joe chose not to comment on that. Instead he picked up the thread of his narrative. “When I returned to Paradise Falls, I expected to find only scattered people. Or perhaps no one at all. Instead I found that a leader had risen among them. A good man who, though not a Catholic, was clearly doing God’s work. He had gathered the survivors and organized them into work parties to search for other survivors, to gather food and water, and to begin rebuilding the town.”

  “You’re talking about Jenny’s dad,” said Grey. “Lucky Bob Pearl, am I right?”

  “Yes,” said Brother Joe. “Bob Pearl saved this town. He protected it the way I should have. He was a great, great man and if he is indeed dead, then I know that he sleeps in the arms of the Lord.”

  Jenny smiled a sad little smile.

  “Brother—?” prompted Looks Away, “at the risk of being indelicate, we are straying from the point.”

  “No he’s not,” said Jenny. “This all started with the Quake, and the people here in Paradise Falls are what’s left of a good town. Brother Joe may have done wrong as he sees it, but he came back. He worked right alongside my pa to rebuild. He worked hard, day and night. Since he’s come back he’s bled for the people here.”

  “Miss Pearl, please—,” began the monk, flushing with embarrassment.

  “Hey,” said Grey, “you don’t need to defend this man to me. I’m not in any position to throw stones, God knows. I have enough check marks on my own soul to buy me a front seat in Hell, and that’s not a joke.”

  They all looked at him. The rain rattled against the windows and lightning burned the night.

  “Maybe these days there’s no one pure as a babe,” continued Grey. “So let’s not waste a lot of time on confession or absolution. Let’s talk about what the hell is going on.”

  “What’s going on, old chap,” said Looks Away, “is that as soon as the dust settled from the Quake they discovered ghost rock.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Ah,” said Grey. “Now we’re getting to it.”

  “You know about that,” said the Sioux. “Everyone does. And you know that the supplies of it are becoming scarce very quickly. Prospectors found several large pieces of it in the caves just over the cliffs from where we’re sitting. Enough of it to make those gentlemen enormously wealthy. They hired other men to continue mining.”

  “If there was so much of the rock around then why is the town so damn poor?”

  “Ah, well there’s the crux of it,” said Looks Away. “You see Lucky Bob and the good Brother Joe here weren’t the only people offering to help out the good citizens of Paradise Falls. A certain gentleman from the East came and offered to provide start-up capital and loans for rebuilding. At a modest rate of interest, of course.”

  “And—?”

  “And instead of being charged interest, the people here signed away their mining rights.”

  “Well, that was goddamn dumb.”

  “It was a timing issue, don’t you see?” said Looks Away, looking pained. “The offer was made before ghost rock was discovered. Just before, in point of fact. The ink was barely dry on the loan papers when the prospectors found the first veins.”

  Grey leaned back in his chair. “How soon before?”

  “One week,” said Jenny.

  “Now isn’t that mighty interesting timing,” said Grey.

  “Isn’t it just?” agreed Looks Away. “The people here had barely enough money or liquid capital to build the few homes and stores you see. Not enough for anything else.”

  “What makes it worse,” said Jenny, “is that since the Quake the ground doesn’t grow much that you’d want to eat. More than half of the crops that we can grow are either too bitter to eat or they’re infested with worms or bugs or other critters. We’re surrounded by ten thousand farmable acres and everyone’s slowly starving to death. And forget about raising cattle. They drink from the wrong well or eat some of a strange new kind of grass that has been growing wild these last few years. T
he farmers try to weed it out, but it’s more ornery than crabgrass and it seems to spring up overnight. Everyone has some in their fields. Any cow or sheep that eats it either keels right over or goes mad and runs off the cliffs.”

  “Christ,” said Grey.

  “Which resulted in people having to borrow more and more money and to pay for food brought in by rail from other towns,” said Looks Away. “Mr. Nolan Chesterfield—of the Wasatch Railroad—controls all supplies being brought in, and he has been trying to acquire the mineral rights. Not only for the veins of gold and silver exposed by the quake, but for ghost rock. A few folks didn’t sell their rights, but they’re on land where no ghost rock has been found. So far Chesterfield has picked everyone’s pockets but hasn’t gotten much in the way of rock. Such a pity because his wife, Veronica, is quite a lovely person who has tried to help.”

  “Help—how?”

  Brother Joe said, “She’s donated money and some barrels of grain to my church.”

  “Why would she do that if her husband was squeezing the town?”

  Grey saw the monk look down and Jenny cut a sly and mildly accusing glance at Looks Away. For his part, the Sioux wore an expression of bland and entirely artificial surprise.

  “Why, I suppose,” he said, “it’s because she has a—oh, how should I phrase this?—a generous nature.”

  “Generous is right,” Jenny said in a sharply disapproving tone. “Humph.”

  Grey grabbed the conversation and brought it back to the topic. “Chesterfield’s the son of a bitch who hired those Apaches, isn’t he?”

  “Indeed. They were his muscle.”

  “Were?” asked Jenny. “Did something happen to them?”

  “Someone decided to—how should I put this?—cut short their term of employment.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means, Miss Pearl,” said Grey, “that someone cut their heads off and left ’em in the desert with a sign that pretty much says ‘get lost.’ Words to that effect.”

  Brother Joe went pale, but Jenny snorted. “Good. Those men were sons of bitches and they’re better off as coyote meat.”

  “Dear me,” said Looks Away, pretending to be shocked. Then he turned to Grey and arched his eyebrows. “Would you care to venture a guess as to the name of the other party involved in our little Shakespearean drama? Namely the philanthropist who owns the bank and holds title to every viable mine where ghost rock has been found?”

  Grey Torrance felt his lip curl. “Aleksander Deray,” he said. Flat. Not a question.

  “So,” said Looks Away, spreading his hands, “now you see the shape of it. The townspeople are buried to their eyeteeth in debt, which ties them to the land by legal and moral obligation. Deray and Chesterfield are like a pair of vultures.”

  “They’re worse than vultures,” snapped Jenny. “They’re monsters. They won’t be happy until he owns us body and soul.”

  Brother Joe nodded. “I fear that they are both in concert with the Devil.”

  Grey wanted to ignore that, but the screams of the wind made it hard to easily dismiss any such comments.

  “When the townsfolk had no more mining rights to sell,” said Looks Away, “Deray offered new loans in exchange for their water rights. Some of those rights, by the way, had already been sold to Chesterfield to pay for seeds, medicine, and bulk goods, like dried beans and salt beef. Before you ask, no, the terms were far from equitable, but then no one here is in a position of strength when it comes to bargaining.”

  “Which is damned unfair,” declared Jenny, “since around here water’s the only thing worth as much as ghost rock.”

  “And both of them worth more than gold,” agreed Looks Away. “Funny old world.”

  “So,” said Grey, “while Nolan Chesterfield has been competing with Aleksander Deray to suck this town dry, Veronica Chesterfield has been trying to help? You said she gave extra food and such to the church?”

  “She is a generous woman,” said Brother Joe. “I think she would be even more so if she could.”

  “I take it her husband disapproves?”

  “Her husband doesn’t bloody well know about it,” said Looks Away. “Veronica has to make secret arrangements to get supplies out to Brother Joe. And she risks much in doing so.”

  “She’s afraid of her husband?”

  “Very,” said Looks Away. “And with good cause. Nolan Chesterfield is a fat, obnoxious, short-tempered, violent, greedy parasite.”

  “Don’t dress it in lace, son. Tell us what you really think.”

  Looks Away sneered. “I can say without reservation that if he went the way of his Apaches, I would shed so very few tears.”

  “Please, brother,” cautioned the monk. “We should not wish ill on anyone.”

  “Bollocks.”

  The sound of the rain changed and they all looked up.

  “The storm’s passing,” said Jenny. “Thank God.”

  It was true. The hammering rain had diminished to a few pings and the awful screams were only whispers on the wind.

  “Still might wait a piece before we go out,” suggested Grey.

  “Did you see any of us bolting for the door?” asked Looks Away.

  “Need to find our horses.”

  “Mm. However horses are easier to replace than one’s skin. Just a thought.”

  Grey nodded and sipped his coffee. “Now, that brings us around to you and your boss, Doctor Saint. If Deray owns all the mining rights, then why’s Saint have a laboratory out here?”

  “No, I said Deray has almost all the mining rights,” corrected Looks Away.

  “Right, but the rights he doesn’t have are for land without ghost rock.”

  “Yes and no. You see here in the Maze there are traces of ghost rock in much of the substrata and—.”

  “In the what?”

  “Let me back up a bit. Paradise Falls is in what was once the San Joaquin Valley. Hard to tell that anymore, but there it is. Geological explorers, like some of my teachers, believe that this whole area was once a great inland sea many, many years ago. Probably millions of years ago. Water erodes all forms of rock and mineral, and moving water tends to spread it all around, don’t you know. When the mountains were formed—probably by some ancient earthquakes every bit as powerful as the Great Quake—the sediment left traces of every rock it eroded. Are you following me?”

  “I think so,” said Grey slowly. “So if ghost rock was already down there in the Maze, and if some of it eroded, then…”

  “Then traces of it are everywhere,” said Looks Away, nodding his approval. “Not chunks, not pieces you could easily spot.”

  “Then so what? How’s that worth anything to anyone? I never heard of anyone panning for ghost rock and making much more than beer money off of it.”

  “It’s not about money,” said Looks Away, although from the expression on Jenny’s face it was clear she didn’t entirely agree. “Doctor Saint developed a process to extract trace particles of the rock from sediment. It’s a time-consuming process, though, and still very much in the experimental stages.”

  “Again—so what?”

  “So, Doctor Saint was able to process enough of it to power some of his weapons.”

  “Ah,” said Grey, nodding.

  “Ah, indeed. When he returns here, Doctor Saint will continue his extraction process, and that will give us something more than fisticuffs, harsh language, and the odd bullet or two to help us in our campaign.”

  “Campaign?” asked Jenny, Brother Joe, and Grey, all at the same time.

  Looks Away’s lips curled into a thoroughly devious smile. Very nearly malicious.

  “Oh yes, my friends,” he said. “Between Nolan Chesterfield and Aleksander Deray this little town is being squeezed dry and crushed flat. They are clearly willing to brutalize men of the cloth and innocent women to protect their property, and the property in question is water necessary for basic human survival. Is it really a debatable point that they
’ve crossed a line in the sand? This is no longer about property. These men are trying to either drive us all out, or insure that everyone here dies. As a Sioux, I believe I understand that kind of thinking better than anyone else at this table. Before we formed our own nation my people were being driven to the edge of extinction. We fought back. We made a stand. Not because we think we’re better—though, I have my own thoughts on that subject—but because we believe that being born comes with certain rights. Your Declaration of Independence has, I believe, some verbiage to that effect. Inalienable rights. Life is notable among them. Chesterfield and Deray want to take that away from us. I do not believe they have that right. So, I think it is high time we stop bending our collective necks to the chopping block and make our own stand.”

  There was a heavy, thoughtful silence following his speech. Brother Joe was the first to break it.

  “I can’t agree to anything that involves killing. My vows—.”

  “—are all very admirable, Brother,” said Looks Away. “We’re not asking you to do any actual fighting. You are skilled in medicine, I believe?”

  “I’m not a doctor, but I know something about herbs and healing draughts.”

  “Good enough. You can fix us if we get dented.”

  “I’ll damn well fight,” declared Jenny Pearl, her eyes blazing. “Those bastards took everything I have, including my pa.”

  They all looked at Grey.

  “You already know where I stand,” he said. “But before we—.”

  Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by a terrible high-pitched scream. It was not the spectral howl of the demon storm.

  This was the scream of a child.

  Human.

  Close.

  Screaming in fear and in pain.

  Outside in the rain.

  Chapter Thirty

  Grey and Looks Away launched themselves from their chairs and ran through the house to the front door. Grey whipped it open but stinging rain struck his face, driving him back. Even though the storm had slackened, the raindrops still felt like acid.

  “You can’t go out there!” cried Brother Joe, pushing past him to close the door.