Valley of the Shadow (16 page)

THE AFTERNOON DREW OUT
toward evening as Mitch followed the Ferrari west. Or at least what he assumed was west. Without reference to the sun, it was impossible to be sure which direction he was headed.

    The highway cut a straight path through miles of farmland, past the occasional cluster of drab houses and through several abandoned towns. Before long, everything along the road began to look alike to Mitch, like they were traveling the same section of highway over and over. It was as if Indiana were stretching on for eternity. They traveled for more than three hours until at last Nathan pulled to a stop in a secluded wayside.

    “Mind telling me exactly where we’re headed?” Mitch said as he pulled up alongside the Ferrari.

    “West,” Nathan said, pointing ahead.

    “I know west. I mean west where? Where specifically?”

    Nathan got out of the car and stretched. Then he stared into the distance for a moment and breathed a sigh. “To the edge of the world. The only place you can get back to your body from here.”

    “The edge of the world, huh?” Mitch snorted. “And I thought Howard was a little crazy.”

    Nathan flashed a smile. “I know you’re still having some trouble getting your head around this whole thing. That’s why I thought we’d take a slight detour.”

    “Nice. Where to?”

    “Someplace that should provide you a little perspective.”

    “Dude, why can’t you just give me a straight answer? Like ‘Hey, we’re going to Kansas’ or something. ’Cuz all this oooh-I’m-so-mysterious-and-insightful stuff is starting to get a little old.”

    “Sorry, Mitch.” Nathan looked as if he was repressing a laugh. “It’s just that some things you really do have to see for yourself in order to understand. Besides, this place I want to show you doesn’t have a name.”

    “Whatever.”

    Nathan glanced at the sky. “It’s going to be dark in a little while. We should get going.”

    “You do know those creatures all come out at night, don’t you?”

    “Yep. But they can’t really do anything to you.”

    “Oh, really?” Mitch’s eyebrows went up. “Because you obviously haven’t encountered the same ones I have.”

    “I mean they can’t drag you away like the others,” Nathan said as he climbed back into the Ferrari. “See, if it’s not your time to go yet, they can’t do anything to you. Not until you reach the final stage.”

    “Final stage?”

    “That point where you’re beyond any hope of revival. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they can put on a pretty scary act, but they can’t really touch you. Not yet.” Nathan fired up the car, gunned the engine, and grinned. “Until then, it’s all just a show.”

    He stomped on the accelerator and tore out of the wayside. Mitch watched him go and rolled his eyes.

    “Oooh, I’m so mysterious,” he muttered and swung a leg over his bike.

    Mitch pulled onto the highway and accelerated to eighty-five but still wasn’t closing the gap on Nathan. He pushed his speed to ninety and slowly found himself gaining. After several minutes, he was close enough to see Nathan lift his hand and point to the left.

    Mitch glanced in that direction, then slowed the bike and peered over his glasses. The horizon was hazy, but he could see a long, jagged mountain range to the south. Dark purple against the gray sky. Most of the peaks looked so tall that they disappeared into the canopy of clouds.

    Mitch frowned. Mountains?

    In Indiana?

    He knew they had come a long way, but they hadn’t traveled that far. And while he was no geography whiz, he did recall that Indiana had no mountains.

    Up ahead, the Ferrari’s brake lights flashed. The car skidded through a sharp left turn, kicking up a cloud of dust, and proceeded south along a side road. Mitch pulled to a stop at the intersection and stared down the road. The red Ferrari was now just a cloud of dust headed into the mountains. The terrain that spread out before Mitch was flat and low, peppered by miles and miles of stubby sagebrush.

    Mitch’s frown deepened. One thing was clear.

    They weren’t in Indiana anymore.

CONNER FOUND HIMSELF
once more fighting his way through the black forest of his nightmares. Trees loomed like sentries, tall and blackened, their barren branches twisted and gnarled. Ahead of him, the cabin sat amid the shadows, its orange light shining dimly in the woods.

    Conner fought his way through the undergrowth and stood at the entrance. Again.

    
Help me!

    He could feel the voice calling out to him, more than he actually heard it. It was like some invisible force drawing him toward the cabin. Always back to the cabin. His heart pounded and his palms felt cold and moist.

    He slipped inside and glanced around. “Mitch?”

    Nothing moved. All he could hear was his own heart pounding inside his chest. The wind moaned through the trees outside, rattling the windowpanes and the door. But Conner could feel a presence outside. As if someone was watching him.

    The cabin’s porch creaked and a dark shape moved past the front window. A second one followed it. Then a third.

    “What’s going on? What do you want?” His voice sounded weak and shaky.

    He could see them now. Dark shapes huddled outside the window. There must’ve been dozens of them out there. Surrounding the cabin. They just stood there, as if watching him silently.

    Conner crouched in the corner. “What do you want?”

    Then the voice came again.

    
He’s coming!

    Outside, Conner could hear the snapping of sticks underfoot. A wave of terror descended on him and he pressed further against the wall, away from the door.

    The footsteps drew closer. The floorboards of the porch creaked. A shadow moved outside the bottom of the door. The old brass knob turned and the door swung open.

    Conner caught his breath. A tall figure loomed in the doorway, a motionless silhouette.

    Conner could manage only a hoarse whisper. “Mitch?”

    But the figure didn’t move. After a moment, the stranger stepped inside and the glow from the stove fell on his face.

    Conner stammered. “H-Howard?”

    Howard Bristol stared down at Conner with white, lifeless eyes. His gray hair was disheveled. He looked thinner than Conner remembered. His cheeks were sunken and his mouth drooped in loose folds at the corners. His jeans and red flannel shirt hung loose over his gaunt frame.

    A stench filled the tiny room. The odor of rot overwhelmed Conner. “What do you want?”

    Howard’s thin lips parted in a demented smirk and a voice whispered, “There’s a hole in the sky.”

    At that, the other figures outside began to crowd into the room behind the tall farmer. Howard just stood there grinning as they scurried around him. These weren’t the hideous gray creatures that Conner remembered. They were human. Men and women. More than a dozen of them, moving with lurching, jerky movements. Their eyes too were white and soulless. They were upon him in a moment, clutching his arms and legs. Hands closed around his throat.

    Conner tried to scream.…

    He sat up in bed, sucking air into his lungs. Heart pounding.

    Gray, early morning daylight shone in around the edges of the window blinds.

    Marta rolled over. “You okay?”

    “Yeah.”

    Conner tried to slow his breathing. Another nightmare. Though this one was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before. Howard had never invaded his dreams before. What had he meant about a hole in the sky? And what about all of the other people in the cabin? Conner wondered if these things had any significance or if it was just his subconscious playing tricks on him. Or if there was something he was supposed to figure out from it.

    Conner felt completely alone. Like he was in a foreign country, trying to understand a new language. A country where everyone seemed to be talking earnestly—their faces showing urgency but their language remaining incomprehensible to him.

    Did this mean something? What was he supposed to do?

    He lay back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He closed his eyes and tried to pray. It was an entirely new experience for him, and after two months, he still didn’t feel comfortable with it. Marta often encouraged him to pray with her. And he had to admit, she was much better at it. More comfortable with talking to an invisible God. It seemed like she was carrying on an actual conversation. Like talking to a friend. But Conner still found it difficult to pray out loud. Especially in front of her.

    He could speak in front of juries and judges, even improvising as the occasion warranted. But he couldn’t for the life of him get the hang of prayer.

    He believed. At least he knew he wanted to believe. But in so many ways, he felt ill-equipped to handle talking to the Creator of the universe. A God who could see right through him. Who knew his thoughts.

    Maybe that was the problem. Conner’s career had trained him to be so polished. So rehearsed. Even his improvisation was still for the sake of performance. All just to elicit an emotional response from his audience and direct them to make the decision he wanted. Not that it was all fake, but it was often an act. Trials, after all, were about who could put on the best show.

    But with God it was different. Conner knew God didn’t want any of that. No pomp or pretense. Just simple, sincere communication. Just come and talk to Him. Humble and trusting like a child.

    Conner had forgotten what that was like.

    Marta had fallen back to sleep and Conner could hear her rhythmic breathing. He sighed and tried again to speak with God in the quiet of his thoughts.

    
Look, I apologize if I sound a little unpolished. I know You know what I’m thinking. I just feel like I’m going crazy. I know You saved me for a reason, but I don’t get why You’re making it so hard to figure out what it is. I feel like I’m at the end of my rope here. I want to be useful. I want to be obedient. Just give me a sign. Give me something. Some kind of direction.

    Conner closed his eyes again. He didn’t know what more to ask. Even his talk with Pastor Lewis hadn’t given him any concrete direction.

    Then it struck him. What had Lewis said? That God’s plan might not be about Mitch, but maybe it had something to do with Howard?

    Conner sat up. Each of his nightmares had been about the cabin. On Howard’s farm. And now he’d dreamed about Howard himself. A sickening realization was starting to gel inside Conner. It was a thought—an idea so completely ludicrous and frightening that up until now he’d managed to keep it well at bay. Locked away deep inside the realm of impossibility. But somehow Lewis had unlocked the door and that idea had crept out. And now it was sitting there. Just sitting there, waiting for him to notice it.

    He had to go to Indiana.

    He had to go back to the farm.

IT WAS NEARLY DARK
by the time Howard arrived back at the farm. He’d spent the better part of the day driving aimlessly, unsure of his next move. But as the afternoon wore on, his frustration had only grown. He stormed into the house and slammed the door. He paced across the kitchen, muttering curses. After everything he’d done for that kid, all those years of watching over him, this was the thanks he got. No appreciation, no acknowledgment, not even the courtesy of an explanation.

    He slammed his fists into the cupboards, flung open the pantry door, and hurled cans across the room, sending them crashing through the plaster and the windows. He whipped boxes of oatmeal and granola off the shelves, showering the linoleum with their contents. He threw plates onto the floor, shattering them into pieces.

    His tirade lasted for several minutes until every drawer and every cupboard lay open, empty, or broken. He stood in the middle of the mess, red faced, his chest heaving.

    His gaze beat a trail across the room until it came to rest at last on the cribbage board on the table in front of him. The wall held the tally of five years of games. He had yet to win a single one.

    Howard picked up the board and hurled it at the wall, where it embedded in the plaster. Then he sank into the chair and put his face in his hands. He was alone again. He had been alone before, though now he felt it more keenly. After the last five years, the farm seemed all the more empty.

    A breeze wafted through the broken window, fluttering the curtain slightly. A soft voice followed on its heels. Nearly a whisper.

    “Beloved.”

    Howard looked up and shook his head. “I tried. I . . . I really did. I thought the Keeper had scared him outta leaving. But he just up and left anyway.”

    “We cannot let him go.”

    “What do you want me to do? I couldn’t force him to stay. I couldn’t chain him up here. He went and got one of them motorcycles running and just took off.”

    “He’s not alone.”

    “What?” Howard caught his breath. “What do you mean?”

    “The Enemy is moving again. Helping him. We feel it.”

    “The Enemy?” Howard stood. “He . . . He’s back?”

    “He has sent a surrogate.”

    “So . . . you think Mitch knows the truth now? Do you think they showed him?”

    “Perhaps, but it will not matter. They cannot help him in time. We must see that he does not go back. We must follow him.”

    Howard frowned. “We? What do you . . . ?”

    “Come to us, Beloved.”

    “But . . . but . . .” Howard’s voice broke as he stammered. “You don’t need me to go after him.”

    “With you he may yet be persuaded.”

    “But the Keeper won’t let him leave. It’ll follow him to the edge of the world.”

    “If it fails, we cannot allow him to escape. Not with the Enemy helping him.”

    “Are . . . are you sure? I mean, as long as the Keeper—”

    “The Keeper could fail!” The voice flared into a biting tone. The cupboards and walls rattled. “We cannot allow him to go back! We cannot allow the Enemy to succeed.”