Valley of the Shadow (11 page)

    “Praying?”

    “For your soul. Your salvation.”

    This was a new thought for Conner. He knew Marta loved him, but it never dawned on him that she had actually been praying for him. And what was more, had even gotten her whole church involved. He felt a brief flash of annoyance at the idea of all these strangers imposing on his private life this whole time. Knowing personal details about him. Praying for him without his permission.

    But then another thought struck him. The story of the Prodigal Son that he’d read recently. How the father had longed for his child and yearned for him all the while he was gone. Watching for him, praying for him, even while he was off living the high life. Before he’d even repented. That wasn’t imposition. It was just… love.

    Lewis cleared his throat. “You know, Conner, I was once an agnostic myself.”

    “You were?”

    Lewis nodded. “I taught philosophy at Notre Dame. Like you, I didn’t become a Christian until later in life. I was thirty-six.”

    “So what happened?”

    “My conversion wasn’t nearly as dramatic as yours—although I did nearly die in a car accident. That’s what helped me turn the corner, so to speak. But really, my conversion was the product of pure grace.” His smile broadened. “And thirty-six years of a faithful mother’s prayers.”

    “That’s perseverance.”

    “You have no idea.” Lewis chuckled. “So you and I are pretty similar. Both former agnostics. Both of us prayed into heaven by the women who loved us.”

    Conner’s lips curled up slightly. Then he grew serious again. “So when you had your accident… did you… experience anything? see or hear anything?”

    “No. My heart never stopped. I never lost consciousness. But as I was pinned inside that car waiting for someone to come along and find me, I felt a sense of fear. I mean an overwhelming feeling of pure dread. Like someone had dropped a huge blanket over me. Just covering me in complete darkness. Smothering darkness.”

    Conner swallowed. A chill skittered down his back for a moment as he recalled standing at the edge of the abyss, gazing into that vast, unending darkness. A darkness that could almost be felt. More than just an absence of light, as though it were a physical thing. He shuddered.

    Lewis went on. “It was like getting a peek into a place where you were completely alone. A place void of even the presence of God.” He breathed a deep sigh. “I knew then and there that I needed to get serious about my agnosticism.”

    Conner looked up. “What do you mean?”

    “I realized I’d been a lazy agnostic. I had convinced myself it was impossible to know God without making sure it really was impossible.”

    Conner nodded. “You can never be sure you can’t know something.”

    Lewis chuckled. “Exactly. I came to the realization that all my arguments against God’s existence were purely…” He seemed to search for a word. “Purely operational. I saw all the evil and tragedy going on around me and thought that if God existed, He wouldn’t allow any of this to occur. And since it was occurring, He couldn’t be real.”

    “That was me, too,” Conner said. “That’s exactly where I was.”

    “My entire argument was based on an emotional reaction to what I saw happening. I didn’t like the way God operated, so I decided He must not exist. But I was imposing my own values onto God, thinking that God had to behave like I would—according to my logic and values. I wasn’t open to the possibility that maybe God might allow evil to succeed for a time in order to fulfill a greater goal. He can allow tragedy to occur because He has a higher purpose. One I couldn’t see because I’m a finite human being.”

    This was getting a little too close to home. This pastor was no longer describing his own feelings but Conner’s as well. “But why doesn’t He just let us in on it? Why does everything have to be such a secret?”

    “His mysterious ways?” Lewis shrugged. “Maybe in part to build our faith. To teach us to trust Him. Like a parent forcing a child to learn how to swim. It’s scary and unpleasant for the child at the time, but in the end it’s better for that child to know how to swim than to…” He stopped midsentence. His face went white. “I’m… I’m sorry, Conner. I wasn’t thinking. That was a terrible analogy.”

    Conner found his hands clenching the armrests. His jaw had tightened, and his chest. He took a breath. An image flashed in his head—Matthew’s face beneath the water, his eyes vacant and dead…

    “No,” Conner said softly. “It’s all right.”

    “I just wasn’t thinking.…”

    “Actually it’s a perfect analogy. God allows these things ultimately for our own good. We just don’t always understand it at the time.”

    “Or maybe for someone else’s good,” Lewis added. “Or sometimes just for His own glory. You remember the story of Job? God allowed terrible suffering into a faithful man’s life, all to prove a point to Satan. And He never once explained to Job why He allowed it. Job accepted it initially, but soon he began to plead for an answer. Then he ended up demanding one.

    “And when God finally responded . . . it wasn’t a gentle answer. He didn’t speak in a still, small voice or in a soft, motherly tone. He spoke with power. Out of a storm. He invoked His sovereign prerogative: He is God and He will do as He pleases. He may choose to let us know the reasons… or He may not.”

    Conner shook his head. “That won’t win Him any popularity contests. Not these days.”

    “You’re right. It’s definitely easier to talk about His kindness and love. But the subtle danger there is that before you know it, if that’s all we focus on, we start to think that maybe, in some way, we must be kind of lovable. That maybe there’s something good in us and maybe we deserve His love.”

    Conner rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t thought of that before.

    Lewis went on. “Now in the end, God did show His love to Job. He restored everything twofold. But not until Job came to a place where He recognized God’s rightful authority and bowed down in humility and repentance. We can never fully appreciate God’s love until we understand how completely undeserving we are of being loved.”

    They both fell silent for a moment as that thought sank into Conner. Was he demanding answers from God as well? or some kind of explanation? And was he expecting God to respond on Conner’s timetable? What right did he have to demand anything from the Almighty?

    Conner shook his head. It was an easy trap to fall into. Perhaps he could use a little humility. At length, he spoke up. “So let me tell you what happened during my heart attack.”

MITCH SPENT THE NEXT TWO DAYS
inside the farmhouse, refusing to talk or to even go outside. He barely ate and stopped playing cribbage altogether. Instead, he spent most of the time just sitting in the living room, staring out the front window.

    He felt numb inside, like his brain was shutting down. He had seen dozens of people get dragged away by the aliens before, just like Jason had been. And he had never gotten used to it. They were always violent, terrifying events that paralyzed him with fear. Frozen and unable to help, and feeling strangely detached as if he were in a dream, trying desperately to flee only to find he couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t walk. He could barely even crawl.

    It was like that every time. In fact, he had come to dread the sight of any visitors because he knew invariably they would meet a gruesome end. One way or another. And so Mitch had stopped being friendly to them at all. He refused to allow himself the risk of becoming even slightly attached. It was bad enough watching this happen to strangers; he couldn’t bear to watch it happen to a friend. So he simply determined not to let anyone become a friend.

    Until now.

    Somehow Jason had wormed his way through Mitch’s defenses. Maybe it was the experience of having someone around who was closer to his own age. Maybe it was the guy’s incessant jabbering. Mitch wasn’t sure. But somehow, without even realizing it, over the week Jason had been here, they had become friends.

    Mitch grunted. Some friend. He hadn’t even been able to muster the courage to help the kid. He had relived the event in his mind during the last two days. Over and over, he watched the creatures grab Jason and carry him off, arms flailing, screaming for help. And Mitch watched himself running to save him, only to freeze at the last minute. Just like a frightened child.

    Like a coward.

    Mitch ran his hand through his hair. He hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time. His dreams were haunted by visions of Jason. And slowly a grim resolve began to grow inside him.

    He had to leave.

    The other image haunting his thoughts was that of the stranger he’d encountered the week before. This Nathan guy who seemed to know Mitch. Who had warned him to leave the farm. To get away from Howard.

    At the time, Mitch was still doubtful. Still unsure. Maybe still afraid to leave. But now? Now he was afraid to stay. It was as if this farm were cursed. Anyone who came here disappeared one way or the other. Mitch knew these creatures weren’t going to leave them alone. They weren’t going away. And it was just a matter of time until they came for him.

    Mitch went to the kitchen window and glanced outside. It was only midmorning, and Howard was busy in the barn, changing the oil in the generators. The milk truck was parked next to the barn. It had been their main source of transportation over the last five years, but Howard also had a pickup in the garage next to the house. He’d use it occasionally when they needed supplies on a non-gas-run day.

    Mitch went to his room and threw a few items into his duffel bag. Then he grabbed the keys to the pickup from the drawer and stole out the front door. He slipped into the garage and carefully rolled up the main door, wincing at every loud squeak and rattle. The noise seemed intensified against the eerie stillness of the gray, overcast world around them.

    Mitch peeked back at the barn but couldn’t see any sign of Howard. He didn’t know why he was worried. It wasn’t like the guy would be much of a challenge in a fight. But still, something urged him to be as quiet as possible.

    He slipped the truck into neutral and pushed it out of the garage. He recalled that the thing was in need of a new muffler and thought he was better off not starting it up until he came to the end of the long driveway.

    Mitch pushed it slowly down the driveway and winced again. The dry crunch of the tires on gravel seemed as loud as gunshots. The driveway ran on a slight decline toward the road, and Mitch hopped inside once the truck began rolling on its own.

    He kept one eye on the rearview mirror until he reached the road. Then he took one last look at the farm. The old clapboard house and outbuildings stood like a dismal oasis against the gray skyline. Flat, brown fields stretched out in all directions, broken only by occasional patches of barren, skeletal trees.

    Mitch turned the key and the engine chugged and sputtered. A chill swept over him. “C’mon,” he whispered.

    He tried again. The engine chugged to life, fired a moment, then died with a loud pop.

    Mitch swore and tried it again. He glanced at the barn.

    Howard was standing in the doorway. Hands on his hips. Staring at him.

    The old truck sputtered to life and Mitch gunned the accelerator. The tires kicked up gravel as the pickup fishtailed out onto the road. Mitch took off south, toward Harris. Back to where he had met Nathan. He could get one of the Harleys, find the key, gas it up, and be gone again within minutes.

    The truck rattled and squeaked as it barreled down the narrow county highway. Mitch kept a constant watch on the rearview mirror. No doubt, Howard would pursue him in the milk truck. Try to talk him out of leaving. Probably scold him for being so foolish.

    Above the din of the engine, Mitch could hear a low rumble. Deep and sustained, it seemed to grow louder every second. The steering wheel began to vibrate.

    As he approached an intersection, he spotted movement in his rearview mirror. Something was coming up behind him. He craned his neck to get a better view. Something big and black rumbled across the sky just overhead. It overtook him quickly. A huge, black mass—like a meteor—tumbled and rolled through the air, leaving a billowing trail of smoke in its wake. The whole truck rattled as it passed him with the roar of a jet. It was no more than a hundred feet in the air and descending quickly.

    It smashed into the ground in the middle of the intersection, spraying chunks of asphalt and rock into the air. Thick, black smoke billowed around the crater. Mitch swore and slammed on the brakes. The pickup swerved sideways as it skidded to a stop.

    Mitch could barely see the object itself amid all the smoke. But he glimpsed something that looked like a huge, charred mass of tangled branches and limbs—as if someone had uprooted an entire tree and rolled it into a ball, like crumpling up a piece of paper. Mitch peered at it, his heart pounding. Then his eyes widened.

    Inside the smoke and debris, something moved.

NORMAN LEWIS GAZED
at Conner without expression as Conner finished recounting the details of his experience. The storm, the creatures, the seizures and visions. All of it. The guy might think he was crazy, or maybe just tell him to leave, but Conner didn’t care anymore. He was desperate for help. In for a penny, he thought, in for a pound.

    Lewis shook his head. “That is without a doubt the most incredible story I’ve ever heard.”

    “You don’t believe me, do you.”

    “Of course I do. There’ve been plenty of hellish near-death experiences reported by people.” Lewis shrugged. “But I’ve never heard anything this detailed before. It’s pretty amazing. And your revival at the hospital sounded nothing short of miraculous.”

    “That’s my thought exactly,” Conner said. “So God obviously brought me back for a reason. I think He wants me to do something.”

    “You mean saving Mitch?”