“Easy, fella.” Nate patted it. “Calvin?” he called out but got no answer. He reined around but didn’t ride back down just yet.
Sister Edith was hurrying toward her wagon. The others were still by the Pawnee, who was stirring.
“Brother Calvin? Can you hear me?” Now only ten yards separated Nate from the mist. He peered into its depths but saw only white.
Then out lurched young Calvin. His hands were pressed to his fear-struck face. Mouth agape, he gasped and gurgled and made sounds Nate never heard a human throat utter. Calvin saw Nate and thrust out his hands in appeal. Then he screamed and pitched forward. A second more and the mist passed over him, hiding his twitching form.
Nate felt a spike of fear. The mist was almost on him. With a slap of his legs he flew toward the Conestogas. Sister Edith was on her wagon and attempting to turn it, but the other Shakers were rooted where they stood, transfixed by the horrific spectacle. “
The four of them broke into motion. But they didn’t do as Nate had urged. Instead, they ran for their wagons.
“Run!” Nate tried again. He came to the bottom.
Sister Edith had her Conestoga around and it was lumbering off but oh so slowly.
Nate reined toward the other woman. She was almost to her wagon. Bending, he held out his hand and shouted, “Climb on behind me!”
The woman shook her head. Grabbing hold of the seat, she pulled her herself up and frantically began to goad her team.
Down off the mountain flowed the mist, silent save for the slight hiss that was like the hiss of steam and yet wasn’t.
Nate got out of there. He galloped up to Sister Edith’s Conestoga, ready to have her ride double with him if the mist overtook them. She turned on the seat to look back and he glanced around, too.
The Pawnee had sat up and was looking every which way in confusion. He saw the mist. With a sharp cry of fear he was on his feet and running, but he tripped after only a few steps and the mist poured over him. There was another piercing scream.
“Oh, God!” Sister Edith cried, and used her whip.
The white blanket was about to enfold the other Conestogas. One of the men had halted and faced it with his head high and his arms outspread. Exactly why eluded Nate. The mist closed about him and a shriek rent the night.
Two of the Conestogas were starting to turn and the last man was climbing onto his when the mist swept over them. This time there was a wail and a screech, and the mist flowed on.
“Ride with me!” Nate yelled to Sister Edith. Her Conestoga wasn’t moving fast enough. The mist would overtake her.
She shook her head and went on urging her mules.
“You won’t make it!”
Edith cracked the whip and bawled at her team. The Conestoga rolled faster, the wheels clattering over the rock, the bed swaying with every bounce. Edith glanced back again and smiled, apparently confident she could outrun the macabre destroyer.
“Look out!” Nate roared. She was making straight for a large hot spring. She heard him and saw her peril and wrenched to turn the team before it was too late—but it already was. With a terrible screech, the Conestoga swerved so sharply that two of its wheels came off the ground. The whole wagon tilted. It was going over. Sister Edith did the only thing she could. She sprang clear of the seat. But her leg caught, upending her, and instead of tumbling to the ground she did a complete flip—and landed in the hot spring.
With a rending crash the Conestoga came down on its side and rolled.
Nate reined toward the hot spring just as Sister Edith broke the surface. She screamed. Her face was blistered, her skin already being sloughed off like the leaves of boiled cabbage. Her eyes found his and she raised a beet-red hand. Then she went under a second and final time.
Nate galloped like a madman. It was nearly half a mile to the buildings. Behind him, borne by the wind, crawled the deadly mist, the Reaper in flowing white.
The freighters had been busy turning their wagons and lining them in a row. Nate figured that the racket explained why no one heard the screams. Most of the Shakers were standing around talking and were startled half out of their wits when he rode in among them bellowing at the top of his lungs.
“Run for your lives! Now! Or you are as good as dead!”
They all looked at him either in confusion or as if they thought he must be mad.
Arthur Lexington materialized, saying, “What is this you’re yelling about, Brother King? Why have you come back? I thought you were helping the burial party.”
“They’re dead.”
“Who is?”
Bending, Nate grabbed Lexington by an arm and shook him, hard. “Listen to me. Do you see that mist?” Nate pointed. “It killed them.”
An uncertain grin split Lexington’s face. “You’re joshing me, I take it? Since when is a mist deadly?”
“
“I think you’re pulling my leg.”
Nate wanted to hit him. “You have maybe four or five minutes before it reaches here. Get your people out before it’s too late.” With that Nate raced to the freight wagons.
Jeremiah Blunt had heard the commotion and was at the last wagon in line, Haskell and Maklin on either side. “What’s all the fuss about? Why all the shouting?”
Nate said, and got it out in as few words as possible, ending with, “Listen to me, Jeremiah. If you don’t get your men out of here right this instant, you’ll all die. Please believe me.”
Jeremiah Blunt gazed down the valley. Unlike Arthur Lexington, he didn’t scoff. “The mist, you say? He turned his horse and thundered for the wagons to move out. To Nate he said quietly, “Thanks for the warning. Are you coming with us?”
Nate jabbed a thumb toward the Shakers and shook his head.
“There are none so blind as those who will not see,” Blunt said sadly, and spurred toward the head of the train.
Haskell nodded and followed.
That left Maklin. “I’ll stick with you.”
“Not this time.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“Lexington. Knowing you, you might shoot him.”
“I might at that,” the Texan admitted, a twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t be long,” he said, and galloped away.
Nate reined toward the buildings and couldn’t believe his eyes. The Shakers hadn’t moved. They were still standing around talking.
To the west the mist had spread and was bearing down on Second Eden.
Arthur Lexington turned as Nate vaulted from the saddle with the bay still in motion. Running up, Nate seized him and shook him as a riled bear might a marmot. “What in hell is the matter with you? I told you to get your people out of here.”
Lexington indulged in his ever-ready smile. “Really, now, Brother King. Did you seriously expect me to believe your far-fetched claim? What do you take me for?”
