The Remnant (20 page)

"Why not you and Cole?" he asked, afraid of
the answer.

She stared at him for a long moment. "I never
wanted anyone but you."

The words were like a sword stabbing into his
midsection. "Then why-"

"You knew why. I couldn’t forsake my faith.
Until my faith forsook me...us..."

He sighed. Slowly he reached out and placed
one hand gently atop hers. She stared at it, and he wondered for a
moment if she was going to pull away. But she didn’t.

"Not one day has gone by that I haven’t
thought of you," he said. "That I haven’t missed you."

"It was the same for me."

"Then why didn’t you contact me? I could have
taken you away from this. I didn’t
have
to write that book.
I didn’t have to piss off the Angels."

She shook her head. "It’s not that easy. We
have a deal with the Angels. We don’t reveal the plates or the
affidavit or our copies and files, and none of us leave the valley.
They allow a couple of us to go into town once a month for
supplies. But they monitor those two closely. If one of us tries to
leave or make contact with anyone on the outside the truce is over.
That’s why your being here is so troubling. We just don’t know how
the Angels are going to react."

The radio squawked. At first Trace couldn’t
make out the rush of words. It sounded like a terrified young girl
calling for help, and then he realized it was Marie’s voice. Ashley
drew her hand away and stood, and he noticed for the first time
that she was wearing a pistol in a holster in the small of her
back.

"I’ll be right back," she said.

Trace jumped to his feet. "Not on your life,"
he said, following her and Maxie out the door.

By the time Ashley had parked her car beside
Stan’s Jeep in Paulie’s drive five other vehicles were already
there. A pack of Paulie’s shepherds milled around the porch where
Marie sat in one of the chairs staring out into space. She didn’t
acknowledge Ashley or Trace’s presence as they rushed through the
gate, and the fact that none of the dogs even glanced at them
bothered Ashley almost as much. The shepherds seemed lost, and
Ashley’s heart sank in her chest as Paulie’s words echoed in her
mind.

Animals can get weird sometimes. Don’t read
something into it that isn’t there.

Only she was reading something now that
was
there, something that stilled her breath. Paulie’s dogs
were trained guardians, but they didn’t guard places or things.
They guarded Paulie. The reason none of them barked or growled was
that they sensed there was nothing left here for them to protect.
Suddenly her knees felt weak, and her hands began to shake. Trace
wrapped an arm around her shoulder, buoying her up.

Other Brethren, standing around the foot of
the stoop all regarded her and Trace. Some nodded. Some just
stared. None moved as Ashley ran up to wrap her arms around Marie’s
shoulders.

"He said it was safe," muttered Marie. "He
kept saying it was safe."

"He didn’t tell you what he’d done with it,
Sweetheart?" asked Stan.

"That’s all he said," Marie insisted. "It’s
safe. But he didn’t say where it was. The hole was empty."

Ashley caught a glimpse of Cole, stepping out
from around the side of the house, carrying a shotgun, and for just
an instant she tensed. But when their eyes met, he looked away
first. She released Marie and drew Stan aside.

"What happened?" she asked.

Stan shook his head. "Marie found him in the
cellar, almost dead. By the time I got here he
was
dead."

She sagged and Trace caught her, but this
time she shrugged off his hands, fighting back tears.

"There’s an empty hole in the cellar floor,"
said Stan, "but from the looks of it, I don’t think it held the
Casket to begin with. I think someone forced him to dig it up
thinking they had him to rights, and finding it empty they killed
him when he wouldn’t talk."

"Killed him how?" croaked Ashley.

Stan shrugged. "There weren’t any wounds on
him. But he was an old man. For all I know his ribs are crushed. Or
maybe he just had a heart attack."

"Why would the Angels do something so crazy?"
said Ashley, her voice tight, but just barely under control.
"Paulie set it up so that even if all of us died the evidence would
automatically be released."

"How’d he do that?" asked Trace.

Stan glared at him, but Ashley answered the
question, anyway.

"Paulie has an old friend on the outside who
expects a letter from him once a month. Mailing that letter was
part of the truce. If the letter failed to arrive this person had
the authority to release all the evidence to the press."

Stan sighed loudly.

"I have a sneaking suspicion now that either
the Angels found out who the man was and his purpose and eliminated
him," he said, "or they simply deciphered Paulie’s code and will
continue sending letters to him forever. Knowing the Angels, which
would you bet on?"

Trace just nodded.

"Damn them," Ashley muttered. "Damn them, and
Joseph Smith, and Brigham Young, and all the others."

"I’m scared," said Marie, beginning to
shiver.

Ashley hurried back to the girl and wrapped
her arms around her again.

"It’s going to be all right, darling."

"No," said Marie, shaking in her arms. "It’s
getting dark, and I need to see the light."

"If the Angels know we don’t have the plates
anymore and they
have
gotten their hands on the other
evidence it won’t take them long to attack again," said Cole,
sauntering closer.

"Right," said Stan. "You get up to the
crossroads and make sure the guards are ready for anything."

"Use the radio," said Cole.

"Get up there!" said Stan. "You think we’re
the only ones who have radios?"

"Okay, okay," muttered Cole. But he still
gave Trace another nasty look in passing.

"What should the rest of us do, Stan?" asked
one of the men nearest the porch.

"See to your homes. Keep your radios
charged."

"Why not have everyone go to the meeting
house now?" asked another man.

Stan shook his head. "That’s where we make
our last stand. I don’t want to get surrounded there by the whole
mass of Angels. If they do come they’ll have to break through the
crossroads first. They can’t slip over the hills because of our
electronic surveillance, and they know it. You’ll all have warning
time, and you’ll be safer slipping through the woods like I’ve
taught you. Now get moving. We’ve only got a few hours until dark,
and I want everyone home and safe."

"I can stand guard at the crossroads," said
Trace.

There was more murmuring, but Stan held up a
hand to still it.

"We aren’t even sure you can stay here, much
less pull guard duty."

"Then send me out and be done with it," said
Trace, irritably.

"Don’t push your luck, Mister Wentworth,"
said Stan. "For all we know you’re the cause of all our
troubles."

"Me?" said Trace, snorting. "Until I knew you
people I was a happy man. I had a promising career. My love life
was fine. Since I first got dragged into an association with the
Brethren not only has all that changed, but I have a bunch of nuts
trying to kill me. I don’t think
I’m
the cause of your
troubles."

"I want to see Paulie," said Ashley, ignoring
both of them.

"Ash," said Stan, "he’s still in the cellar.
Let us get him out and cleaned up-"

She shoved him aside and strode through the
door. Trace followed as she nudged past a couple more men inside.
She led the way down into low-ceilinged basement where another man
in his fifties nodded deferentially. Ashley gasped and Trace
hurried to her side. She knelt beside the old man’s body, gently
stroking his gray hair, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Oh, Paulie," she sobbed.

Trace felt worse than useless. What action
could assuage her grief? What words were there to say? She glanced
up into his eyes, and he felt more than just ineffective. Was it
possible that he had truly brought this all crashing down on them?
If he had kept out of the whole affair could they have gone on
living peacefully here in remote anonymity? Would the old man still
be alive? Trace recalled a different Paulie in Mexico, a man prone
to laughter and long tales of travel and adventure. Seeing him now,
like this, Trace could understand how the years of hiding had
changed him into a man who could contemplate the exiling of another
man into danger or death.

"I’m sorry," he blurted.

"I want them all dead," she whispered, her
face darkening. "I want them all dead and burning in Hell."

Trace nodded. He knew the feeling. In fact
he’d muttered the same words standing on the banks of a muddy
Mexican river five years before.

"What can we do?" she sobbed, turning back to
stare at Paulie. "How can we make them pay?"

"I don’t know," Trace admitted, finally
kneeling beside her. "They seem to be holding all the cards right
now."

"I want them all dead," she repeated.

He finally lifted her and led her back to the
ladder. She glanced over her shoulder and Trace nodded.

"Stan will take care of him," he said,
quietly.

Outside Stan waved for the rest of the
Brethren to move on, and he waited until they were all in their
cars before turning to Trace.

"I don’t have time to make a final decision
about you right now. Perhaps tomorrow. If we’re all still
alive."

As he started across the lawn Trace followed
him.

"How do we find out if the Angels really have
the evidence Paulie secreted away outside the valley?" he
asked.

Stan stopped short, his head hanging. "I
already know, Mister Wentworth." He glanced back at Marie who was
still standing beside Ashley on the porch. "I don’t know where the
plates are hidden, but Paulie told me who the friend was in case
anything ever did happen to him. I called Paulie’s friend an hour
ago to check on that evidence."

"And?"

"The phone was answered by the man’s
secretary. He’s missing."

As sunset washed across the lowering sky
outside and darkness dyed the curtains Ashley sat on one end of the
sofa, Trace on the other, an ocean of death and horror between
them.

"They’ll come now," she said, silently wiping
another tear on a tissue. "I don’t know what they’re waiting
for."

"Rendt wasn’t with the others that shot at
me," said Trace. "My bet is he’s either still in New York for some
reason, or he went back to California City."

She nodded. "He’ll want to be personally
involved. He likes washing his hands in the blood of the
unworthy."

Trace frowned. "He wasn’t at Mexachuli. Or at
least he had an airtight alibi that day."

Ashley smirked, but there wasn’t the faintest
sense of humor in the expression. Trace felt chilled by it.

"Oh, yes," she muttered, nodding to herself.
"He always has an excellent alibi."

"I don’t understand why Stan doesn’t want to
hole up at your meeting house," said Trace, trying to break through
her grief and turn it back into rage.

Ashley shrugged. "The meeting house is our
last resort. The Brethren were all hunkered up pretty much together
in Mexachuli. That didn’t save them. Stan’s tactic is to force the
Angels to hit us in dozens of different locations. Everyone here is
heavily armed and trained. When they come, it’s going to cost
them."

Suddenly Maxie growled at the back door, and
Trace held his breath. Ashley climbed wearily to her feet and
flipped the light off, sliding aside the curtain on the window in
the door. Trace slipped beside her as the dog continued to grumble
under his breath.

"See anything?" whispered Trace.

Ashley shook her head. "I thought maybe I saw
a flash of something in the trees."

She crossed into the bedroom and grabbed her
radio. "Stan. Ash. Maxie’s acting uptight, and I thought maybe I
saw some movement in the trees out back."

"You didn’t see anything specific?"

Ashley moved back to the door and peeked out
again. "No. But Maxie’s riled."

"Just stay put."

Trace could see she really didn’t want to do
that.

"Ash?" squawked Stan.

"Yeah, fine," she replied, hanging the radio
back on the hook.

But she unlocked the door. Maxie rushed past,
took a couple of steps away from the stoop, then stood facing the
woods, still growling. Trace couldn’t make out anything but trees
and brush and shadows, but a platoon could have hidden in those
woods, and he might not have been able to spot them.

"What if he runs off?" asked Trace, staring
at the dog.

Ashley snorted. "Not very likely. I’m more
afraid of his getting shot right there. Maxie! Come back in,
boy."

Finally the dog trotted back into the house.
She closed the door and bolted it, but Trace didn’t like the look
in her eyes.

"You’re not going out there," insisted
Trace.

"You’re going to stop me?"

"If I have to."

She chuckled under her breath. "I could take
you down before you even knew what hit you."

She brushed past him into the murky den,
jerking open the gun cabinet and choosing the 44 magnum carbine.
Then she opened the drawer and dumped a bunch of loose cartridges
into both pants pockets. Trace stood in the doorway.

"Ashley, this is crazy."

"My whole life is crazy. If someone is out
there more than likely its one of Paulie’s killers."

When Marie stepped into the room both Ashley
and Trace started. The girl was always so quiet that Trace found
himself forgetting she was around. But now she stared at the gun in
Ashley’s hand with a look of determination on her young face.