Neal Barrett Jr. (24 page)

T
he caravan left for High Sequoia just after first light, four closed carriages accompanied by ten Brothers on horseback. Ritcher Jones acted as if nothing had happened between them the night before. He greeted Howie at breakfast with a smile and seemed to be in high spirits, eager to get on the road. Still, when it came time to go, Howie saw Jones would be riding with Lorene and Camille and Brother Harmon, and he himself was assigned to a carriage with three Brothers he didn’t know.

Being left out didn’t bother him at all. It sure wasn’t worth being close to Lorene if it meant having Harmon on hand for several days. After two or three minutes with the little bastard, Howie was sure he’d either strangle Harmon or get out and walk. Maybe Lorene or Camille had put a bug in the preacher’s ear, let him know that he and Harmon didn’t exactly get along. That made sense. Maybe it was true that Jones had forgotten about their quarrel, that he wasn’t just pretending everything was all right.

Howie didn’t believe that for a minute.
He
hadn’t forgotten, and it wasn’t likely Jones had either. Still, if the preacher wanted to play it that way, Howie was glad to go along. The truth of the matter was, he was more than a little relieved to see the preacher’s breakfast smile— real or otherwise. Lying awake the few hours before the dawn, he had cursed himself for losing his temper with Jones, threatening not to go to High Sequoia. Lord, what if Jones had taken him at his word? He’d lose Lorene, and his chance at Harriver Mason—the only two reasons he had for
being
in California in the first place, It was a fool thing to do, spouting off when you ought to be thinking instead.

T
he road ran nearly due east along the coast. The Pacific was a magnificent sight, a deep and translucent blue. A Brother named Jonas said the mountains to the right were named the Santa Ynez. He seemed proud of the fact that the smooth gravel highway had been rebuilt from one that had existed before the Great War.

“Enjoy the ride,” he told Howie. “You won’t see many roads like this where we’re going.”

Half an hour later, the highway turned abruptly north, away from the sea. Brother Jonas pointed out the somber, gray-green heights of the Sierra Madre range to his right. They were pretty to look at, but Howie didn’t care about mountains.

“We going to see the ocean again?” he wanted to know.

“No, that’s it,” Jonas said. “We’ll be heading inland from now on.” He pointed straight ahead. “North and east to High Sequoia.”

Howie felt as if a dark cloud had covered the sun. He knew from the map at the house that High Sequoia wasn’t near the sea at all, but he had hoped they wouldn’t leave it so soon.

T
he smell reached the caravan close to noon. Howie knew at once what it was—the all too familiar, unmistakable stench of stock. Still, it was a full half hour before the pens themselves appeared. Long before that, Howie was certain he’d throw up. The Brothers in his carriage dipped handkerchiefs in a clay jar they’d brought along, and Jonas offered one to Howie. The water was saturated with cloves, and when he held the cloth up to his nose, the awful odor nearly disappeared.

Howie had thought the pens near the docks were immense, but they were nothing compared to this. The complex seemed to stretch out forever on either side; it took close to an hour to pass it by. Howie was grateful for the cloth, but there was no way to blot out the sight of the stock, the vast herds of meat that he knew weren’t really meat at all, but a lie that had lived a hundred years. He thought of Elena and her handful of hopeless wards, far to the south in Nueva Panama. Had she ever seen a sight like this? It wouldn’t much matter, he knew. Elena didn’t care if her task was impossible or not. She didn’t think about that. Howie wished he could believe in something that much, and knew he likely never would.

In spite of his distaste for the pens, Howie was once again struck by the contrast between the wealth of California and the poverty he had witnessed in the rest of the country.

“Everybody’s starving, and you got plenty here to feed ’em,” he said, not truly intending to speak aloud.

Two of the Brothers exchanged a look at that, but Jonas seemed to understand.

“It’s the way of the material world, I’m afraid. If those who hunger can’t pay, they go without. It is not the Lord’s way, but it’s a fact.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Howie said.

“Most of the meat here isn’t sold in this country at all,” Jonas said. “Practically all of it is bought by the Asians. They ship stock live overseas.”

The Brother’s statement puzzled Howie. “What for? Why don’t they raise their own?”

“They are not agricultural, I understand,” Jonas said. “And they pay a good price—better than the merchants can get here.” He gave Howie a knowing look. “And even if they
did
want to raise their own meat, the merchants make it hard for them to get a good start on our herds. Every buck that leaves California is cut—and the females as well.”

Howie looked quickly away to hide the disgust he was certain Brother Jonas would see. That’s what a merchant would do, all right, protect every copper he could. It was likely, too, that the Asians were smart enough to build herds of their own. There were other ports besides those in California state, and ranchers who would gladly sell the Asians a whole fertile herd for a price.

And there was the other way, too, Howie thought grimly. He felt a slight chill at the picture in his head. The Silver Island way. There was likely someone in Asia greedy enough for that, too….

T
he caravan stopped early in the evening at an inn on the outskirts of a town with the peculiar name of Rust. Jonas said Howie might like to walk over and see it. The old name of the place was Santa Maria, and there were some interesting ruins to see, some buildings nearly intact from before the Great War. Howie thanked Jonas for the offer and begged off, saying the ride had tired him out.

That was mostly true, as he hadn’t slept more than an hour the night before. And he was a lot more concerned about finding Lorene than seeing ruins. She had hardly glanced at him at breakfast, and the few looks he got weren’t good. Which meant she was mad about some-thing, and it likely had to do with the night before. Maybe she did come to his room, and found he wasn’t there. Or worse than that, she’d decided to up and quit. Howie didn’t want to think about that.

At supper, he saw Lorene across the room with Camille. Harmon was there too, mooning at the girls and stuffing meat down his throat. Howie ate quickly and walked outside, trying to appear as if he was taking in the sights. The inn was built in the shell of a ruin, and there were arches and columns standing about, and gray stone paths that no longer went anywhere at all.

Lorene finally appeared. Howie was relieved to see Camille wasn’t tagging along. He stepped into the shadow of a column and called out her name when she passed.

Lorene nearly jumped out of her skin. “My Lord, Cory—you tryin’ to give me a heart attack or what?” She glanced warily over her shoulder. “We can’t stand talking like this, you know that. Someone’ll see.”

“There isn’t anyone around,” Howie assured her. “Listen, I just want to know ’bout last night.”

“What about it?” Lorene absently studied the arched stone ceiling, as if Howie weren’t there. “You apparently had some other … engagement.”

Howie felt relieved. “You did come, then.”

“Yes, Cory, I did.” She turned on him so quickly long hair flew into her eyes. “Only you weren’t there. I—felt like a perfect fool!–

“I’m real sorry. I went down into town for a while. I figure maybe Jones has already told you that.–

“No, no one told me anything, Cory. And don’t give me that
look
of yours, either. We can’t see each other on the road, so don’t ask. Besides, I’m not too sure I even want to anymore. Not if you—”

Lorene froze, and her eyes went wide. Howie heard the sound too, like something scraping hard on stone. Lorene turned and disappeared into the dark. Howie ran in the direction of the sound, and caught a glimpse of something round and repulsive as it vanished through a door.

Harmon
, Howie thought, and clenched his fists at his sides. Looking back at where he and Lorene had been standing, he tried to guess where Harmon might have been. Close enough to see, but not nearly close enough to hear, he decided. And anyway, they were both whispering low and standing close. And of course, he realized at once, that was all Harmon needed. Whispering and standing close. He didn’t have to hear a thing.

T
he trip was long and tiring, with nothing much to see that he hadn’t seen before. There were hills, valleys, stretches of empty country, and farms. The farms were green and lush, and Howie wondered if they ever had a drought out here. Apparently even the weather did what it was supposed to do in California.

The second day out on the road from New Los Angeles, Howie noticed with interest that the caravan’s outriders were carrying arms—brand-new rifles, and cartridge belts full of brass shells. So much for the ironclad rule against weapons the preacher had lectured him about. Evidently the rule didn’t apply here, or the Brothers chose to break it. And why carry guns at all—unless you thought you might need them?

“Bandits,” Jonas said. “They hit travelers now and then this far from a big settlement.” He gave Howie a reassuring grin. “Don’t be concerned. We’re too large a party, too well armed. They like to hit poor farmers, folks that can’t fight back.”

“You ever
see
any of these bandits?” Howie asked. “Just the dead ones,” Jonas said. “Hanging from a tree.”

T
he third night out was the last night they stopped at an inn. Ahead, there were no settlements at all of any size, only open country and the ruins of century-old towns. As Jonas had predicted, the good highway disappeared; the road turned abruptly into a dusty, rutted path that frequently vanished in the weeds. The land looked fertile everywhere, but there was no one here in the wilderness to till the soil. Jonas said folks simply didn’t need the land; there was plenty closer in toward the coast, all the farmers could handle at the moment.

Howie tried to keep his mind on the scenery, but there was nothing real interesting to see. He didn’t want to think about the girl in the tavern or the song, or the kids with black patches on their eyes. He didn’t want to brood on Brother James, and how he might change his mind and tell the preacher what he knew. Or Harmon—what Harmon might have seen. It was a wonder he hadn’t run straight to Ritcher Jones with his tale. It was clear that he hadn’t, and Howie couldn’t guess why. Or maybe he had. And the preacher was simply waiting till High Sequoia to give him hell. There was Lorene, of course. He was more than a little worried about her. Lord, he hoped she didn’t mean what she said.

He tried to toss these worrisome thoughts aside and replace them with something more pleasant. For nearly half a day, he replayed every moment he and Lorene had shared in bed. That first hot and sultry afternoon in Alabama Port, the happy days at sea. After that, he made up things he’d like to do but hadn’t. There wasn’t much left on the list. Lorene was real good at putting aside yesterday’s sins, and trying out something new.

E
arly on the fourth morning out, as they crossed a narrow valley, bandits hit the caravan hard. It was over almost before it began. Shots rang through the hills on either side, sounding like the cracks of a whip in the morning air. Howie reached for his weapon and remembered it wasn’t there.

The riders came in from both sides, their mounts trailing red plumes of dust down the hills. Howie thought there were six or eight; there might have been more or less. Before the Brothers on horseback could get their wits together, the riders were in their midst. Two Brothers dropped from their saddles. Howie saw Ritcher Jones leap from a carriage ahead. Grabbing a riderless mount, he rode among the Brothers shouting orders, waving his silver pistol in the air. The Brothers quickly dismounted; one man held the reins of several horses, freeing the others to fight. When the bandits regrouped and came again, Ritcher Jones was ready. The Brothers held their fire till the last moment, then laid down a withering volley. Four bandits flew from their horses. The others turned and fled.

The encounter had lasted nearly eight minutes. Four bandits were dead, and two badly hurt. Jones hung the two wounded men at once. Three of the Brothers were dead. One, driving a carriage, had caught a bullet in the leg.

When the attack began, Jones had left his carriage to take command, and Lorene, Camille, and Harmon had dropped to the /Safety of the floor. A bullet had whined through the front of the carriage, missed the driver by half an inch, struck a metal bracing in the roof, turned at a perfect right angle, ignored Brother Harmon—who was screaming and trying to burrow under the girls—and buried itself deep in the back of Camille’s head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

F
or a good two days after the tragic event on the road, Howie watched the mountains rise up in the east. The pale lavender peaks were capped with snow, and when the afternoon sun touched the heights, the whole range seemed afire.

“It’s the Sierra Nevadas,” Jonas said. “That’s the old name for them. Lawrence calls ’em the Pillows of God.”

“Looks kinda like the Rockies,” Howie said. “I seen some of those. But not up real close.”

“You’ll get to see plenty of these.”

Howie blinked at that. “We gotta
cross
’em?”

Jonas grinned and shook his head. “No, thank the Lord. We’re stopping just this side. You’ll see.”

T
he caravan had been traveling through heavy stands of pine, spruce, and fir for some time, the forests growing thicker as the carriages and riders reached the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. On the morning of the sixth day out from New Los Angeles, Ritcher Jones called a halt. Brother Jonas and the others in Howie’s carriage scrambled eagerly to the ground. Howie joined them, wondering what the fuss was all about. There was forest on every side, and clusters of light green fern against the trees. He knew Jones liked to keep moving and stopped the caravan only for meals.