screwdrivers, a pack of tissues and empty fast-food cartons were strewn about haphazardly. He’d meant to clean it out in the morning. Now he had more pressing concerns.
Levi crawled forward through the debris on his hands and knees, careful to keep his head down and out of sight as much as possible. The night had grown dangerous. As if to punctuate this, a gunshot echoed through the night. Judging by the sound, the shooter was only a few blocks away. If the echo was any indication, the weapon was a large-caliber rifle rather than a handgun. He listened carefully, but heard no police sirens—just more screams and shrieks.
A man peeked out of a house across the street and then ducked back inside, slamming the door behind him. As Levi reached the rear of the buggy, he heard footsteps coming toward him. He turned around and saw two men, each carrying a hunting rifle, running his way. They appeared nervous and unsure of where to go. He raised a hand in greeting and they stopped.
“You know what’s going on?” one demanded.
Levi shook his head. “No, but it sounds bad, whatever it is. Perhaps you gentlemen would be safer inside, with your families.”
The second man scoffed, looking at Levi as if he’d just offered them a rabid dog.
“Screw that noise,” he said. “I reckon the best thing we can do for our families is to find out what the hell’s going on. First the power goes out. Then all the damn dogs start acting crazy. Making a fuss. Now everybody’s screaming and shooting.”
“I bet it’s the Al-Qaeda,” muttered the first. “Reckon they could be going after Herb Causlin’s beef farm.”
“You think so, Marlon?”
“Yeah. I figure they’re hitting America’s food supply. Herb’s cattle would be a good place to start.”
“That’s true.” The second man adjusted his grip on the rifle. “Reckon you could be right.”
“I really don’t think it’s Al-Qaeda,” Levi said. “And if it was, why would they go after a small beef farm in West Virginia?”
The men stared at him, frowning. One spat a brown stream of tobacco juice onto the street. The other let his eyes travel up and down, taking in Levi’s garb.
“You’re a weird fucker, aren’t you?”
Levi smiled. “You have no idea.”
“Haven’t seen you around town before, come to think of it. What’s your name, fella?”
“You may call me Levi Stoltzfus. And you’re right, I’m not from around here. I was passing through on my way to Virginia Beach. You should be glad that providence brought me here.”
“Provi-what? That place in Rhode Island?”
The second man nudged his friend in the ribs as another, more distant gunshot echoed through the streets. “Come on, Marlon. Let’s see what’s doing.”
The two ran off without another word. Levi watched them go. When they were out of sight and the street was empty again, he pulled a dirty canvas tarp off a long wooden box at the back of the buggy. He laid the tarp aside and wiped his hands on his pants. The box was padlocked and covered with powwow charms to protect its contents from thieves, witchcraft and the elements. The sigils were painted onto the wood, and in some cases, carved deep into the surface. There were holy symbols and complex hex signs, as well as words of power. Levi ran his fingers over the two most dominant etchings.
He’d carved them himself, just as his father had taught him, carefully inscribing the words from
There was no way of knowing, of course. It would remain a mystery until the day when Levi saw him again. The day when the Lord called him home. Sometimes, Levi prayed for that moment. Yearned for it. But he feared it, too. Feared what the Lord’s answer might be when he finally stood before Him in judgment.
“Your will be done,” he whispered. “That’s what it’s all about, right, Lord? Your will?”
Another scream pulled him from his thoughts. Levi shivered. The night air was growing chilly and damp. He reached into his pocket, produced a key ring and removed the padlock. Then he opened the box and, despite the growing chaos around him, sighed in a brief moment of contentment. The interior of the box smelled of kerosene and sawdust and dirt. They were comforting smells. They spoke to Levi of hard work and effort and honesty. Many people had boxes like this on the backs of their buggies or in the beds of their pickup trucks. Usually, they held tools of some kind. Chainsaws, shovels, screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, spare engine parts, oil or gasoline cans. Levi’s box held tools, as well, but they were different tools, the ones of his trade.
A rapid volley of gunshots erupted. Levi could tell from the sound that it was two different weapons—a rifle and a handgun. They were far enough away to not immediately concern him, but close enough to tell him that whatever was happening was coming closer.
He reached into the box and sifted through the contents. Normally, a duct-tape-wrapped bundle containing a dried mixture of wormwood, salt, gith, five-finger weed and asafedita—a charm against livestock theft—was at the top of the box, to protect Dee during those times when Levi left the buggy unattended. He’d had her since she was a foal, and the horse—along with his dog—was Levi’s closest companion. She was descended from an old line, and her family had aided his family for a very long time. Her safety was of paramount importance to him. Since she was stabled beyond the town’s outskirts, he’d tied the bundle around her bridle. No harm could befall the horse as long as the bundle remained with her. He felt satisfied that Dee would be safe. He wished that he could say the same for the people of Brinkley Springs.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his slim, battered copy of
The Long Lost Friend
A Collection
of
Mysterious & Invaluable
Arts & Remedies
For
Man As Well As Animals
Just holding the volume in his hand made him feel better. This was his primary weapon—an unabridged
