back into the picnic basket. She assigned him the duty of shaking out and folding the tablecloth. While he was occupied with that, she reorganized the contents of the picnic basket.
Jesse caught her at it and gave her another long look. He raised an eyebrow. 'You know, I thought we were into that whole Yogi Bear and Boo-Boo thing. Didn't know neatness counted.'
'Neatness,' she said, lifting the picnic basket with a little embarrassment. 'It's not an option. It's a way of life.'
Jesse nodded. 'I'll try to remember that.' He walked around the table and took the picnic basket from her hand. 'I'll carry this.'
'It was heavier when it was full,' Isabel pointed out. She'd gotten out of her father's offices before Jesse had. By the time Jesse had arrived at the rest stop, she'd already had the meal laid out.
Without a word Jesse leaned down and kissed Isabel. She felt his lips on hers, then the familiar excited tingle thrilled through her. Maybe the sensation wasn't like the near-hallucinogenic experiences Max talked about having with Liz, and there were no explosions of her past life revealed, but the kiss was nothing short of wonderful.
Slowly, tenderly, Jesse pulled back. 'Am I going to be able to see you tonight?'
Isabel looked at him. How could she not see him? Lunch the next day was almost twenty-four hours away… an intolerable length of time. 'I don't know,' she answered. 'Maybe. Thinking of things we're suddenly out of at home is getting almost impossible.'
'I'll try to help you think of a good excuse,' Jesse offered, taking her by the elbow and guiding her back to the parked cars. 'If I do, I'll e-mail you.'
Before Isabel could reply, tires suddenly squalled out on the highway. She looked up, watching as a black van suddenly veered from the highway and barreled into the rest stop. They were trapped out in the open, twenty feet from their cars or from anything they could take shelter behind.
The careening van came closer, bearing down on them like a blood-maddened predator.
6
'The legend was handed down to our people throughout the generations. None of the shamans who told the story knew for certain what the legend was about. But in the end, after the crash of the spaceship that brought you to our world, the shaman who trained me decided that the Visitors could cause the return of our ancestors from the ghostlands.'
Max walked at River Dogs side as they approached the Mesaliko village. 'Had the Mesaliko people seen'… even after everything he'd seen, Max still hesitated over the term… 'had they ever seen ghosts of their ancestors before?'
River Dog had told him that several people in the tribe over the past few days had begun having visions of dead family members. At first, those visions had been elusory, vaguely glimpsed shadows that could have been a trick of the light. But none of them had manifested physically as River Dog's ancestor had.
'In those long-ago days,' River Dog said, nodding, 'they saw the ghosts.'
'What did they do to make them go away?'
'At first,' the shaman said, 'they didn't. My people picked up and moved from these hills. After a time, when hunting grew scarce and life turned hard in the areas they'd traveled to, my people sent scouts back into the area. The ghosts were gone, and people moved back into the territory.'
'Why were the ghosts gone?' Max asked.
River Dog lifted his shoulders and dropped them. 'No one knew. One of the shamans tried to take credit for their absence. He had prayed and danced for such a thing to happen, and in the end he said it was his efforts to get the favors of the gods that took the ghosts away.'
'How long was the tribe gone before they came back and found the ghosts had disappeared?'
River Dog shook his head. 'My people have never measured time the way the Europeans did. They didn't care to mark the years, much less weeks, days, or hours. There was only before and after. I know considerable time had to have passed, because several scouts were sent to these lands again and again to learn if the ghosts still walked.'
'Do you believe that my friends and I are responsible?' Max asked, watching River Dog carefully.
River Dog shook his head, then grimaced. 'No. I don't think you and your friends are malicious or mean my people any harm.'
'Then why did you send for me?'
A smile twisted River Dog's lips. 'Just because I don't think you're responsible doesn't mean I don't think you can be of some help.'
Max stared at the man. 'I've never seen anything like this.'
'Then we will learn together of the misfortune that has befallen my people.' River Dog headed toward one of the small houses on the outside of the small village. A carefully tended herb garden grew beside the house. Two folding lawn chairs occupied a small wooden porch that stuck out from front of the house. Shelves bearing small ceramic pots that contained more herbs stood on the porch as well.
Max followed River Dog up onto the porch. The jutting roof blocked the heat of the sun.
'Sit,' River Dog instructed, pointing to one of the lawn chairs.
His mind whirling, Max dropped into one of the chairs. He was worn out and hovering near exhaustion. Worrying about his son and his relationship with Liz had occupied his waking hours and his dreams. Nightmares plagued him constantly. Tess had killed Alex. She'd planned to take him, Isabel, and Michael back to become prisoners.
What would she do with his son?
River Dog disappeared into the house. The screen door slammed behind him.
Max sat in the lawn chair, feeling the straps give under his weight. As he looked out at the nearby houses, all of them pretty much replicas of River Dog's home, he saw that a number of people were watching him with suspicion.
River Dog returned only a short time later. He carried two Mason jars of dark tea and ice. 'It's sweet and strong,' the shaman warned. 'I like it that way, but if you drink it too fast in the heat like we have today, it'll make you lightheaded, maybe even make you pass out.'
Max sipped the tea, finding it almost too sweet for him to drink. He wished he had a bottle of Tabasco sauce to tone the flavor down. 'What makes you think I can help with this?' he asked.
'I had a vision,' River Dog answered. 'You were part of it.'
'In the vision?'
'Yes.' River Dog settled into his chair. An old, arthritic hound came up from under the porch and settled at the shamans feet. River Dog kicked off his shoes and massaged the animals back with his callused toes.
'Tell me more about the prophecy,' Max suggested.
'It has been with my people since the dawn of memory. One day, when they first settled into this area, Raven tried to eat the sun.'
'Who is Raven?' Max asked.
'He is the Trickster,' River Dog explained. 'He was the person that could travel between the earth and the places of the gods. In other tribes of the People, Raven is sometimes known as Coyote. He's always portrayed as a man more than human but less than one of the gods. His agenda is always his own.'
Max listened as politely as he could. He tried to concentrate on the sweat beading up on the glass of iced tea in his hands. He wished he could pull the numbing chill into himself so he couldn't feel the anxiety that rattled through him.
'On that day, so the story handed down through our tribe goes,' River Dog said, 'Raven went forth among men and watched them dying of old age. Raven never aged and he didn't understand how men could die, or why the gods would let them.'
Max nodded, not knowing how what River Dog was telling him applied to him. There was also the whole unresolved issue of how he was supposed to help. But he waited.
'Raven thought for a long time,' River Dog said, 'and he decided that since the sun was necessary for all life,
