The Hallowed Ones

jeweler’s apprentice. He grew wealthy and successful, eventually learning to read. The text of the peasant boy’s letter was different than mine, but the idea of the Himmelsbrief was the same: it was a blessing from God, and it was to be carried with one always.

Hexenmeisters had the ability to craft such letters, working their prayers into the words—much like the magic of the hex signs they created. I had never known anyone else who had possessed one, had never seen or touched one.

And the Hexenmeister had given one to me.

I stared back at the house. How much did he suspect about my disobedience? How much did he know, through his strange connection with God?

I carefully folded the letter back along its original creases and placed it in my apron pocket. Perhaps the old man, having heard of the devastation on the Outside, had begun making them for the community. Maybe it wasn’t just me he’d singled out to receive one.

Maybe.

* * *

Since no one would miss me from the afternoon’s socialization at the Miller house, I decided to check up on my patient in the kennel. I went to the house to gather some things to take with me. Mrs. Parsall, exhausted from last night, was snoring in my room. I smiled and prepared her a sandwich and fruit on a plate in the kitchen for when she awoke. I could understand her reluctance to attend our church services, but if she was to remain here for any length of time, I thought it might be good for her to get out a bit and mingle with the others, so they would not fear her or feel awkward around her. But not today.

Carrying my supplies in a wicker laundry basket, I walked through the back field to the old barn. Copper met me halfway; I could barely distinguish his coat from the golden grass. I noticed that there were white chicken feathers stuck to his tongue.

“I see that you’ve been busy.” I gave him a disapproving look that was lost on him. There was no use in telling a dog not to chase chickens. It was simply in their nature. Not evil. It just was.

Copper wagged his tail and sniffed my laundry basket vigorously.

“Yes, there’s food in there. In good time.”

Copper fell into step beside me, his tail slapping at my skirt as we walked.

The dilapidated barn looked undisturbed, and I set my burden down to haul open the doors. The dogs had their own dog door cut into the side, covered with canvas flaps. Sunny squeezed herself through the door, panting from the effort.

“Hello, sweet girl.” I put my arms around her, and she licked my face. It felt good to bask in the unconditional warm slobber of the dogs, who would love me no matter whether I was baptized or not.

I rose and carried the basket into the dimness of the barn.

“It’s Katie,” I announced.

A voice echoed from the shadows in the back stall. “I’m glad it’s you.”

I was heartened to hear that Alex was conscious. I could tell that he’d been moving around in the barn; the straw was disturbed and the waste bucket I’d discreetly left for him had been emptied. He was sitting up in his stall with his hands folded in his lap, watching me with his blue eyes.

“I brought food.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Well, I’m glad for that. And for someone to talk to. The dogs aren’t good conversationalists.”

I reached forward to examine the wound on his head. He winced when I touched it, but it seemed as if the redness was beginning to recede.

“Did you take your antibiotic this morning?”

“Yes. And a fistful of ibuprofen. And I used part of the hydrogen peroxide.”

I wrinkled my nose. I could smell a bit of the peroxide on him, but I mostly smelled the sour odor of someone who hadn’t bathed in a few days.

“I brought you some things,” I said. “Including soap.”

Alex sighed happily. “I would really love a bath, Bonnet.”

I frowned at him calling me “Bonnet” but decided to let it slide. He didn’t say it with sarcasm; it was said with the affection of a nickname. “There isn’t a spring room in the barn,” I said. “But there is a pump out back. I’ll bring you a washbasin before I leave this afternoon.”

I set about unpacking the contents of the laundry basket: sandwiches, apples, a thermos full of cider, a fresh block of soap, a battery-powered flashlight, a toothbrush, baking soda, and a straight razor.

Alex picked up the straight razor. “Ouch. I’ve only seen these in the movies.”

“Don’t cut yourself. There are no more antibiotics.”

I also handed him a set of men’s clothes. “These are for you. They will make you less obvious if you are seen.”

He grimaced. “Yeah. I know that I reek.” He took the bundle and shook out a shirt, britches, socks, undergarments, and Plain shoes.

“I hope that they will fit. The shoes may be a bit tight on you, but they’ll do until I can find something better.”

He held the shirt up to his chest and lifted a chiding eyebrow. “Where did the clothes come from? Your husband? Your brother?”

My mouth flattened, and I said quietly: “I’m doing laundry for a family that lost two young men to Outside. I expect that the dead are less likely to miss them.”

“Oh.” His hands lowered the shirt to his lap. “Sorry.”

I shook my head, ashamed for taking out my bad temper on another. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’ve had a bad morning.”

His eyes widened. “You didn’t go back to town, did you?”

“No. I went to church.”

“Ah, well. That explains it,” he blurted. “I mean . . . well . . . Two hours of sermons is enough to dim anyone’s sparkle.”

I frowned, changed the subject. “I have news from Outside.”

He stopped chewing, dropping crumbs onto his stubble. “Yeah?”

“Ja. I took some cell phone batteries with me yesterday.”

He smirked. “Took or stole?”

I was silent for a moment. “I left money. Do you want me to tell you?” I wasn’t sure if he wanted information or to simply continue goading me.

“Yes. I want to know.” He lifted his hands in surrender, but his eyes burned hungrily for the news. “Tell me.”

“The Englishwoman staying with us has a husband in the military. She spoke to him. The . . . the contagion has spread.”

“How far?”

“Far enough that he estimates that two-thirds of the people everywhere are just . . . gone.”

Alex set down his sandwich.

I continued, the words falling over each other. “There are people who have survived . . . he said in places like Vatican City. Stonehenge. Religious sites.” I shook my head. “I don’t believe it. Not all of it, anyway.”

He looked up. “I was right. They offer some protection against the vampires.”

“God cannot be with everyone. Not everyone is right.”

“Maybe, in your view. But it seems like whoever’s left standing will demonstrate his approval the most.” His mouth turned down. “Short of hiding in monasteries, are they any closer to finding a way to stop them?”

“It doesn’t sound like it. They are working on it. But . . . Mrs. Parsall says that they may be forced to use nuclear weapons to stop the spread.”

His jaw dropped. “They can’t. They can’t do that. If they nuke us back into the Stone Age, to nuclear winter, no one will survive.”

I cocked my head. I knew that nuclear weapons were poison, but I hadn’t heard that term. “Nuclear winter?”