A Gift Upon the Shore (24 page)

His tone was flat, emotionless, yet Mary felt an intangible electric link spanning the small distance between them, felt her mind opened, if only briefly, to his mind and to endless hours of dark terror. She said, “I don't know how you kept your sanity.”

Luke looked at her and caught his breath. Then he turned away. “Well, I prayed a lot. Talked to Jesus like He was right there in the room with me. Maybe He was. Finally one day the head man came in. I called him Prophet Lucifer. . . .” Luke stopped, frowning. “You know, the funny thing is, he looked a lot like the Doctor. Anyway, he said he'd decided maybe I wasn't a spy after all, and he was going to let me go. He led me outside, and that was the only chance I had to see the settlement. There were five big buildings, all half-underground, built of cement blocks. This was in a valley, and in the distance I could see barns and fields. Maybe thirty people were gathered, even a few women and a couple of children, and there were two or three big dogs. They looked kind of like Aggie.”

Mary stroked Agate's shaggy back. “German shepherds, probably.”

“I guess so. Then the prophet gave me my rifle and pointed to a backpack, said my things were in there, along with some pemmican and jerky. I asked about Amos, but he said, ‘We need the mule.' I didn't argue. I just hope they took care of ol' Amos. The prophet led me to the main gate. There was a road leading up out of the valley, and I took off at a trot. I must've been a mile away before it came to me
why
he let me go. He figured I'd head for home, and he could track me and find out where I came from. I climbed a hill above the road, and sure enough, after a while I saw two men and a dog coming my way. I headed north into the woods, trying to figure out how to get free of them. About sundown, I made camp. Once, I heard the dog bark in the distance. The next day I kept going till evening, when I came to a little lake. Well, that's what I'd been looking for, that or a river. The dog couldn't track me into water. Late that night I swam across the lake. Used a log to float my pack. Cold!” He laughed ruefully. “Dear Lord, that water was cold. When I left the lake, I walked up a creek maybe a quarter of a mile so the dog couldn't pick up my scent where I came out of the lake, then I climbed up on the bank and rested till sunup. When I had enough light, I set off through the woods till I came to a highway and headed east on it. Must've been three days later when I came on another lake, and I was so tired and hungry by then, I had to stop. Caught some fish and lit a fire to cook them. First fire I made since I left that settlement. I found a limb for a new walking stick—the prophet kept my old one— and I cut my first notch in it. I wonder what happened to it. Must've dropped it while I was sick. Anyway, I guess I outfoxed those men. Never saw them or the dog again.”

Mary sighed, looking at Luke in amazement. Then she realized that Rachel was watching her, and Mary found her knowing regard unnerving. She asked Luke, “Where were you by then?”

He took a swallow of mead. “I didn't find out till a couple of days later when I came to a junction with some road signs. I was on the west side of Upper Klamath Lake, according to my map. Most of the lake had dried up, but there was still some water and fish. I built my first beacon fire since I was captured, but I slept a good ways from it. Well, I knew if I was going over to the east side of the Cascades, I had to do it then. I didn't know how much time I'd lost, but the vine maples had turned, and it was cold at night.

So, I went north to Crater Lake. It was a wonderful, strange place. The color of the water . . . I couldn't describe it.”

Rachel nodded. “You don't have to. I've been there. Crater Lake is one of the sacred places of the Earth. Was it . . . changed?”

“Well, I don't see how it
could
change.”

Rachel smiled at that. “Where did you go from there?”

“East till I came down out of the Cascades, then north toward Bend.” Again, his eyes were haunted by disquieting memories. “It was another desert. I guess it always was dry over there, but this was blowing dust and dead pine trees sticking up out of the dunes, and I nearly died for lack of water before I reached Bend. The town was burned out, but there was a river there. I stayed for a while to lay in food, and every night I burned a beacon fire, but I never saw any smoke. Didn't expect to, really. Finally I decided I'd better get back across the mountains before winter set in, so I headed west and came to what was left of a town called Sisters. There'd been forest fires through there and to the north, so I took the south fork of the road west of town. The ground was already covered with snow, but the weather stayed good, and I got over the pass. The highway followed a river, so I had fish and water for a while, but after a couple of days I ran into another burn. I never got out of it till after I left Eugene.”

Rachel asked anxiously, “Was there anything left of Eugene? The university? The library?”

“Nothing in the whole city. Everything had been burned.”

Rachel let her breath out wearily. “Probably firestorm from the bombs that hit Salem.”

“Must've been. Anyway, I realized then that I had a better chance of finding somebody alive on the coast than anywhere inland. It was a long way round and a long time traveling for me to come to that.”

Mary's eyes were burning. “Yes, we came to the same conclusion. But we didn't find anyone.”

“I did.”

She stared at him. “You found someone
else
?”

“Yes.” He shifted, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. “Two days west of Eugene, I stopped to camp, and I was laying out my bedroll when I saw two men standing by the fire. Lord help me, I had my rifle up ready to shoot before I even thought about it. That's what those people in the Siskyous taught me. But I didn't shoot. I went over to them and saw they were both old. At least, they looked old. I never did know how old any of them really were.”

“Any of them?” Rachel asked sharply. “How many
were
there?”

“Six, altogether. Three couples, husbands and wives. They lived on a farm south of the road. Before Armageddon they lived near Eugene. They were neighbors, and they stayed together when they ran away after the fires came down on the city. There'd been sixteen to begin with. The three couples, eight children, and Martin's mother and aunt. All the children and the two elder sisters died in the Long Winter, and no babies had been bom since. They were all weak and half-sick, and I think they'd given up caring about anything. They didn't even seem to care much about living. One of the women—her name was Ann, and I've never known a kinder woman—she said to me, ‘To every thing there is a time.' Quoted me the verses from Ecclesiastes. She said that's the way it is with life. You have to take what comes. I asked her if she believed in God and Jesus Christ, and she said . . . it didn't make any difference.” Luke shook his head, bewildered still. “They were so good to me, so peaceable. But I didn't understand their peace. Not one of them ever prayed; they never had services. Martin said once if God could let Armageddon happen, he didn't see any reason to praise Him.”

Rachel asked, “How did you answer that?”

“Well, it was hard to answer. I mean, when I was with those people . . .” He pulled his shoulders up and back in an unconscious gesture Mary had noticed before. “I told Martin that Armageddon was part of God's plan, that it meant the Second Coming. But he just smiled and went on with his work. They asked me if I wanted to stay the winter. It was the middle of December, and walking day after day in rain or snow didn't sound so good. Besides, I knew they could use some help with the farm. So I stayed. For seventy-two days. I notched my stick every night. Two weeks before I left, Ann died. She . . . had a lot of pain. I helped dig her grave, and I was the only one who prayed for her, though I know the others grieved for her. I decided I had to leave; I had to keep searching. Martin told me he'd once seen smoke in the hills farther south, so I figured I'd better go see what I could find that way. Well, I wandered those hills for a couple of weeks and didn't find any sign of people, so finally I decided to head for the coast again. The rain set in about then, and it seemed like I could never get dry or warm. I reached the coast at a town called Reedsport, but it was just like all the other towns I'd come across—half-burned, all grown over with weeds. Nobody there. By then I wasn't feeling good, but I didn't stop. The Lord was still guiding me, but my body wasn't up to His guiding. I don't remember much of the last few days. I just knew I had to keep going north. I didn't know why.” He smiled, first at Rachel, than at Mary. “I've been gone from the Ark for nine months and walked over a thousand miles, and I saw nothing but desolation. The only people I found—well, in their own ways, they were crazy. But now I understand: this was God's testing of me. He meant for me to finally come here.”

The fire had burned down to flame-licked coals, and its gilded light drew them together in a span of warm silence. At length, Rachel said, “A remarkable journey, Luke. Thank you for sharing it with us. But I think it deserves sharing with others, too.”

Luke stared at her. “What others?”

Rachel didn't answer that. She rose, went to the mantel for one of the candles, lighted it in the coals of the fire, and took it with her when she left the room. “I'll be right back.”

The dogs and cats stretched themselves, and Mary started to rise, but her right leg responded with a spasm of cramping. “Damn, I've been sitting still too long.” She looked up to find Luke standing above her, hands extended.

“Let me help you, Mary.”

She surrendered her hands to his and let him pull her to her feet. And why, she wondered, should that leave her trembling like a silly adolescent? She flexed her leg to restore the circulation. “You must be exhausted, Luke.”

He laughed. “Don't worry about me, Sister.”

“I
won't
worry about you anymore—not after hearing that story.”

“It's the story,” Rachel said as she returned, “that you must get down in writing.” She handed him one of her small, bound sketchbooks. He opened it, but couldn't seem to make sense of the blank pages.

“There's nothing
in
this book.”

“Not yet. Luke, you must put your story in it. I have a good supply of India ink, and you can use my pens.”

He still frowned at the book. “I . . . I wouldn't know what to say.”

“You said it for Mary and me.”

“Yes, but that was just talking.”

“Then write it as if you were just talking.”

“But why do you want me to write it down? If anybody wants to hear it, I can
tell
it to them.”

“Not after you're dead,” Rachel replied flatly. “Luke, your story is important to your people and your children and
their
children, to let them know what the part of the world you saw was like. If nothing else, it will warn them to stay away from the Siskyou Mountains.”

He laughed at that, then, “Well . . . maybe I
could
write it, like you said, as if I was talking to somebody, but you'll have to help me.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

Luke turned, sought in the shadows for the books on the shelves. “Did anybody else ever write anything like this?”

Rachel took up the poker and began teasing the coals of the fire together. “Thousands of people have, Luke. I don't know offhand what I have here.” She straightened. “Well, I do have a facsimile edition of the diary of William Clark. I'll find it tomorrow.”

“Who's William Clark?”

“Half of Lewis and Clark.” Then when he still looked blankly at her: “Lewis and Clark were nineteenth-century explorers.” She finished banking the fire and turned the damper. “And now I'll say good night. Morning comes early. Come on, Shadow.” She lifted the dog and put her down on the floor, then departed, the candle lighting her way, Shadow limping behind her.

Mary felt an uncertain tension, standing in the near darkness with Luke. She was sharply aware of the difference in his smell and hers or Rachel's. She had long ago learned to accept the natural odors of their bodies, and she didn't find Luke's offensive. Only different.

She turned and lighted two more candles, handed him one. “Here, you'll need some light.”

“Thanks. Mary, I know I'm sleeping in your room. Let me sleep here on the couch tonight. I'm well enough now.”

She smiled, but shook her head. “You still need another good night's sleep. Go on, now.”

He shrugged, started to walk away, then looked back at her. The words came hesitantly: “Do you understand why I'm here? I mean, what I left the Ark to search for?”

She did, although it was only at this moment that she recognized it, and she chose not to acknowledge it. There were potentials there she couldn't deal with yet. “It's late, Luke. We'll talk about it another time.”

He nodded, moved away in a circle of golden candlelight. “Good night, Mary Hope.”

“Good night, Luke Jason. Sleep well.”

When she heard the bedroom door close, Mary stood motionless in the dim silence, feeling the beat of her pulse, and again she wanted to cry and didn't know why. Changes. She was only now beginning to sense their dimensions.

She went to the greenhouse door and saw the light behind the glass door that opened into Rachel's room. She crossed the greenhouse in the silver-blue moonlight and slid the door open, saw Rachel in her narrow bed, propped up with pillows, a book open in her lap, an oil light burning on the table. Shadow lay beside her.

Mary sat down on the end of the bed. “That was quite a story.”

Rachel nodded. “The stuff of epics. Think how quickly we've sunk back to a time when a journey of a thousand miles is an epic.”