gaze and then, just as quickly, returned to a glass-like sheen.
The Preacher continued to grin his wise, but feral, grin. “For you see, Malkin is ancient and wise and swift- but my judgment was even more so.”
I had my hand on my saber before I knew it. I didn’t draw it; in fact, I doubt I could have drawn it before he could swing. He moved so quickly with that axe, it was far from natural. So I stared at him, meeting his gaze with my own. After a few seconds, he nodded and idly put away his living weapon. The axe seemed reluctant to go. I thought to myself,
The Preacher continued as if he had never threatened my life. Perhaps in his mind he hadn’t. “I nicked Malkin,” he said, “and his essence both blessed and cursed my weapon. Since that moment, it has been warped in shape and nature, but not in purpose. I still use it to judge the wicked lost ones and free them from their torment.”
“Have you found any yet that could be redeemed and still live?” I asked suddenly. It had always been his position that some could be. He was the only person I knew of who didn’t completely condemn the monsters we fought, he was the only one who still held out hope for them.
He lowered his head sadly. “No,” he said, “but I will keep seeking such a creature.”
“John,” I said. “I’ll tell you one more thing and then I’ll ask you one last question about your travels.”
I told him then about my walk down through the waters to Elkinsville, about my encounters with the Captain and the Hag. I told him of our escape, and of our fight on the beach, and of the brass lantern we carried up from that dark place. I did not tell him why we fought or of how I had died briefly down there, clutching the prism in one hand.
He glanced at the hand I still had jammed in my pocket.
“Is that all you have to tell?” he asked me, and I almost told him all of it then, but I couldn’t.
“Yes,” I said.
He sighed, as if a great weight had been placed upon his shoulders. I watched him with some wariness. He spoke with high words, but was his mind as intact as his philosophies?
“What about the lantern? You just left it there on the beach?”
I nodded.
“She will come for it, you know. And she will come here,” he said.
“Why here?” I asked.
He turned and pointed. I followed the gesture and squinted in the sun. The daylight was just beginning to fade behind the growing storm clouds that blew overhead. I shaded my eyes with my good hand. There were two figures approaching from the northeast. They both appeared to be favoring sore feet. It took me a moment to recognize them. It was the Captain, and Doctor Wilton. Wilton had something wrapped in a dark cloth.
The dark cloth she carried was my own coat. It flapped up in the growing winds. The thing hidden beneath it shot out a beam of crimson light in my direction. It was blinding and beautiful all at once.
It was the Hag’s lantern.
Thirty-Four
I looked back at the center. I realized that there were several faces glued to various windows. I saw Holly Nelson’s, and Nick Hackler’s and Monika’s. My talk with the Preacher had not been as private as I’d assumed. I doubted they had heard the words, but they had gotten the gist of it, I was sure.
The Preacher and I stood side by side quietly as the Captain and Wilton approached us. We had our hands ready. Vance came out too, casually holding his rifle at waist-level. I saw no sign of the Captain’s M4 and felt relieved. Perhaps he had lost that weapon. Or perhaps he had stashed it somewhere for a special occasion.
They reached the gate and Wilton called out. “Let us in, I think we might be followed!”
The three of us walked toward the gate, which was chained tight. Barbed wire wound around the top of the fence now, and the empty guard tower built of plywood and two-by-fours loomed mutely over them.
“Well, Captain?” I said, eyeing them both.
The Preacher had been opening his mouth, and seemed startled that I had beaten him to it. He watched me with interest, but did not object or interrupt.
“Gannon,” the Captain greeted me. He had his knife at his side, but his hand was on the hilt. Both he and Wilton looked dirty and tired. I could only wonder what they had been up to while I slept.
“Do we still have a truce?” I demanded.
“Of course,” he said, attempting a smile. “There are worse things out here than you or I.”
I nodded, not buying his friendly show entirely, but finding his point hard to argue.
“And what about Wilton and the thing from the beach?” I demanded, coming up to the gate to face him. “I never meant to let either of them into the center.”
Wilton opened her mouth to speak, but the Captain waved her to silence. Wilton looked worriedly from face to face, but took the hint and held her tongue. I imagined it was difficult for her. She kept glancing over her shoulder and scanning the houses and streets behind them.
The Captain came up to the fence and clawed his hands in the chain links. “Look, Gannon, things are bad out here. I’ve seen bad things. You know what I mean. We are all going to have to work together tonight I think and use everything we have, or we’re all dead. Or worse.”
I eyed the Captain. “Explain what you mean.”
“Okay, but let us in first.”
I glared at them, undecided for a moment.
“If we let you in, you’ll bring it all right here, just like she did before,” said Vance, his eyes narrowly upon Wilton.
“Let them in,” said the Preacher at my side.
I glanced at him, and then nodded to Vance. With a lot of muttering and cursing, he fumbled with the keys and got the locks off the chains. We shook open the makeshift, sagging gates far enough to let them slip inside, then sealed them up again with twists and braids of rusty chain.
When they got inside, we eyed one another with suspicion for a second, and then the Preacher broke the mood by offering his hand to the new arrivals. We all shook hands around in a circle. The familiar act of trust relieved some of the tension, but not all of it.
“Welcome back,” said the Preacher, smiling and locking eyes with each of them in turn. “It’s hard not to be suspicious of one another on this dark day. We must try to remember our humanity, and to forgive. Everyone loses their way, at times, but it is never too late.”
I could see the words had some impact on Wilton, and even the Captain wasn’t immune and aloof to the sentiment. His words made me think of my secret burden. It was odd how easy it was to forget about it. In fact, I found it easy to pretend my hand didn’t have black talons that threatened to tear apart my pocket. Had I lost my way?
I thought of all the movies I’d seen where people had changed into monsters. They always tried to hide it. They always felt shame and gave angry denials. It was so strange to be the monster. I felt like the good man who commits a crime accidentally, and who is then forced to live a lie, sure that at any moment someone would figure it out, that everyone would learn of his secret shame. They had to figure it out eventually. Who was I to try and judge these others with their own failings? What had Wilton or the Captain done that I hadn’t?
“I think I’ll wash up,” I heard myself say, and I marveled at my normal tone of voice. I was becoming good at covering. “Make sure you try some of Nick Hackler’s cooking, he’s quite proud of it.”
They laughed and I left them out there in the parking lot. I had been driven away by self-doubt, I knew. In a way it was a relief, I wanted the Preacher to take over leadership and manage our defenses. When tonight came, I would fight on the side of the humanity. But I kept having another thought, a dark thought about pulling out of here. I might be able to survive better if I just left, if I struck out on my own. What stopped me was the thought of everyone I cared for. I thought of them in turn, Monika and Holly Nelson and my younger brother Vance, who even now excitedly told whoever would listen about his traps and where he’d found the barbed wire bails and a dozen
