The church stood in the distance, one of the first buildings erected in Abandon, though after a decade of scant upkeep, it needed whitewashing, and the windows on the north side had been boarded up since a blizzard had blown them out in the winter of 1890.
A crowd was gathering on the steps, and as Lana looked up at the wood cross, black against the copper sky, it began to teeter and she startled, thought for half a second the world was ending.
Then the iron bell began to clang, faster and faster, and she saw the preacher, Stephen Cole, pulling the tolling rope, not with the leisurely announcement of a wedding or a Sunday service, but with all the ominous urgency of a warning, so hard that it shook the belfry and made the cross stand crooked.
2009
FORTY-NINE
H
e reached into his parka, pulled out a lighter and a pack of Kools. “You wanna smoke?”
“That that menthol shit?”
“Of course.”
“What the hell.”
Isaiah slipped two cigarettes between his lips, lit them both, handed one to Jerrod.
“Ain’t this some shit.”
They sat perched on a four-foot ledge, midway down the icy head wall.
“You got the first-aid kit in your pack?” Jerrod asked, his voice straining with pain.
“Nah, it’s in one of the duffel bags back at the mansion.”
“Fuck.”
“Hurts bad, huh?”
“Holy shit, man. A little morphine would really hit the spot.”
“It looks bad.”
“I haven’t looked.”
“No? You can see the bone—”
“Shut the fuck up. I don’t wanna hear that.”
It was snowing so hard, Isaiah had to cup the end of his cigarette to keep the ember dry. Jerrod took an aggressive drag, leaned back against the rock he’d slammed into feetfirst on his fall down the mountain. Both legs were stretched out, but the right one had rotated almost ninety degrees, so at a passing glance he appeared to own a pair of left legs.
“You think Lawrence is lying?” Jerrod asked.
“Did at first. Now I’m not so sure. I think he may be just as pissed as we are.”
“So no gold.”
“Nada.”
“Fuck, this hurts, man. Talk to me. I gotta keep my mind off it. What were you gonna do, say we actually found it, managed to get the gold out of these mountains?”
“So, say it turned out to be twenty-four mil, right? That’s eight apiece. Well, first off, I’m in debt over two hundred thousand. I was gonna pay that shit off, put enough aside to send the kids through school, set me and Shari up so we didn’t have to work. Then after that, say I got four mil left to play around with. We were gonna build this tight palace, man. In one of those upper-class all-black suburbs of Atlanta. We’d already sketched a design. Shit. Home theater. Exercise room. Huge master bedroom. Twelve-foot ceilings. Big pool. Jacuzzi. Basketball court. Giant grill out back. Kind of place my kids would wanna come back to after they were grown and gone. Christmas or Thanksgiving, it’d be me and Shari, our three kids, about a hundred grandbabies running around. I’d have liked that.”
“Shari knows what you’re doing out here?”
“Me and Shari, we synced, man. No secrets. That’s the only way. She’s my partner in all things. So how ’bout you? Any big plans for your share?”
Jerrod tossed his cigarette over the ledge and groaned.
“Come on, baby, you gotta keep talking. Chase that pain away. You seen worse.”
“No, actually, we have a winner.” Jerrod closed his eyes, tucked his gloved hands into his armpits, shivering violently. “I didn’t even need eight million,” he said.
“You’d have stayed in Colorado?”
“No, I was gonna head up to Alaska. Last frontier, right? Find some land out in the middle of bumfuck. Where there wasn’t even a road in.”
“You Daniel Boone motherfucker, you.”
“Maybe in the Chigmits, the Aleutians. Put a cabin on a big lake. Always wanted to get my pilot’s license. I’d buy a little floatplane, and the only time I’d ever leave would be to go for supplies. Just live out there and fish and hunt. Forget about all the shit I’ve seen.”
