relegated such ideas to the realm of B-grade horror movies and backwoods tent revivals.
'Or a dybbuk in Jewish lore,' Sarah said. 'Not that I'd know anything about that.'
'Maybe that's a question for Gordon Smith,' Odus said. 'He's the one with all the smarts on that stuff. Come to think of it, I won der why he's never talked about it much.'
'Ashamed, maybe,' Sarah said. 'It's the same bloodline. And we all got some kin that we don't talk about much.'
Sister Mary stepped forward, onto the stage defined by the headlights, and Sue dropped the reins so the horse could reach Odus. Sister Mary brushed Odus's satchel with her nose, and he unzipped it and brought out an apple. As she munched it with a cu rious, sideways twist of her jaws, Odus was reminded of the goats and their increasing numbers, how they were being born outside their natural gestation period.
'Flock,' he said, dimly recalling material from Sunday school, when the class leader sold the kids on religion with coloring books and posters. Jesus was often pictured with a flock of some kind, whether it was sheep, children in robes, or grown-ups whose skin colors were varied enough and in the right proportions to make you think that, sure, black folks could get to heaven, too, only there probably wouldn't be too many of them, and God would surely give them a place off to themselves. The common theme was that gathering of creatures around Jesus, as if the Son of God would get lonely if he didn't have living things milling around him, waiting for a wise word or a bit of free food.
'Flock what?' Sarah said.
'The goats made me think of it,' Odus said. 'They've been breeding like rabbits in the past year, especially on Gordon's farm. I could hardly walk through the field without hearing them rutting in the weeds. Made me think that Gordon was on some kind of power kick, like he needed to be the king of the heap. Like he needed a flock so he could feel good about himself. I figured that was why he married a woman who had a kid, too.'
'What's that got to do with the Circuit Rider?' Sue said.
'He wants a flock, too. And we're it.'
Sarah looked around, as if afraid of what might lurk beyond the false security of the headlights, the shotgun tilted to the ground. 'What in the world does he need with
'Maybe he needs something different this time,' Odus said. 'Notice we both said
'And maybe that's why we feel like we're on some sort of mis sion,' Sue cut in, her voice excited, reminding Odus of just how young she was, and how new to Solom and its strange ways. But she seemed to be a fast learner, or else was as loopy as the rest of them. Odus had sometimes wondered if there was some mineral missing from the local water sources, or if some element was too rich in the underground springs, and that it had slowly poisoned the minds of everyone who stayed here too long. After generations, no doubt the madness was inherited. But if cheap bourbon had never clouded his mind for less than a day at a time, then why should plain water have that power?
'Others will be coming along shortly,' Odus said realizing how pitiful and small his lone effort had seemed, riding into the moun tains like the long arm of justice.
'Well, we ain't serving nothing by just standing here,' Sarah said. 'I guess we ought to go hear our sermon.'
'Where do we look first?' Sue asked.
Odus stroked the lean, sinewy neck of Sister Mary, who nuz zled against the flannel of his shirt. 'I think our animal friend here knows the way.'
Animals.
Alex Eakins sensed their presence as he threaded his way up me narrow mountain trail. This path had been marked by buffalo and elk, which had walked these ridges in great numbers before European hunters had permanently removed them from the landscape. Bears, bobcats, deer, foxes, raccoons, opossums, and other creatures had used the route in their stead. Mountain lions had once lurked in me branches above, waiting for easy game. Alex could feel the power of all those thousands of feet, hooves, and paws that had passed here before. But mostly, he could smell the raw musky funk of goat shit.
As daylight had failed, he'd relied on the flashlight to follow the goats' trail. When night had finally pulled its dark sheet over the sky, his other, more primitive senses had emerged at their keen est. The air was chilly, ripe, and moist, full of the fecundity of fall's decay. The forest had a taste that lingered with each breath, the acidic tang of oak, the bitter bite of wild cherry and birch, the muddy richness of a hundred seeping springs. His power at detect ing scent had also heightened, until he found he could smell not only the goats' spoor, but their fur and their ripe rutting aromas as well. Several times he thought he'd heard dozens of them moving through the unseen trees ahead, and wondered what he would do if he stepped into a clearing and found them all staring at him.
Alex patted the bow. He'd handle it, by the grace of God and the pissed-off fury of a man who had suffered trespassing.
His footing had grown more treacherous, the soles of his boots slick with the offal of those he pursued. The soil, though packed down by the centuries of use, had been scarred and tilled by the goat hooves. They were mountain creatures by nature, browsing the high forests when left in the wild, where their sure footing gave them an advantage over predators. But Alex felt his weapons and determination made him equal to the task.
The degree of the slope leveled out a little, allowing him to catch his breath. Near the peak, the trees thinned and moonlight spilled over the gleaming protrusions of granite. The gray boulders were scarred by moss, worn smooth by the slow work of a hundred thousand rains. The path narrowed as it wound between the rocks, and the hoot of an owl made the mountaintop seem like the last outpost on an alien boundary. Alex didn't contemplate the danger of breaking a leg or falling from a ledge. His path was sure and righteous. Revenge always delivered its own justification.
Below, through a gap in the trees, he could see the few twinkling lights of Solom. The bulb on the porch of the general store cast its pumpkin-colored glow, the center of a constellation of houses. The river road was like a dark black snake winding through the valley, and icy moonlight glinted off metal barn roofs. The trees thinned and Alex came to a clearing. He paused and listened, the wind playing through the dead and dying leaves. A soft murmur arose, like the babbling of a brook. After a moment, he recognized the sound as that of lowering goats, their bleats muted but uneasy. The bastards were just ahead, probably milling around in stoned- out glory, chewing bark and rocks in their advanced stage of mari juana munchies.
Alex slipped an arrow into the Pearson bow and made a stealthy approach. The ridge seemed brighter here, as if a last finger of day light held a tentative grip. Alex eased his way through a stand of laurels and saw what was in the clearing.
Weird Dude Walking stood in the center, on a large slab of stone. The goats knelt around him, their heads tilted up as if await ing words of capricious wisdom. Car headlights glared from behind the opposite stand of trees, moths swirling in the twin beams. Three people stood in silhouette among the trees.
Alex drew back the bowstring, intending to send an arrow through the dude's heart.
Weird Dude Walking turned to where Alex was hidden in the vegetation. 'Welcome, friend,' he said his voice like smoke.
Chapter Thirty-three
A chauffeur for the dead.
Katy guided the Subaru off the highway onto the old logging road, sure that the last bit of sanity had slipped from her, leaving the nerves of her brain raw and exposed.
Why else would she be taking directions from a ghost? Her in stinct had been to stay on the highway and make time to Florida, maybe stopping at a Holiday Inn halfway between. Anything that would have put distance between Jett and Solom. But Rebecca's lost voice had connected with her on some primal, feminine level. They were two women who had traveled the same path, though Rebecca's had ended too early and violently.
'Well, Mom, this is just great,' Jett said. 'You brought me here to get me off drugs and then you drop me right into the biggest bad-acid trip in the universe.'
