'Want for me to come with you, Frey?'
'No, son. You stay here. Look after your sister.'
Gathering up the rifle, she passed it to the boy. 'It's a mite long for you, Oz, but it'll do no harm to get used to the feel.'
Zerah left the cave and walked back along the ledge. From this height, more than a thousand feet, she could see vast area of the plains below. There was no sign of pursuit. But then, she reasoned, they could be in the trees, beneath the vast dense carpet of green below and stretching far away to the east.
Leaning back, she stretched the muscles around her lower spine. They ached like the devil, but she took a good deep breath and walked back into the shadows of the trees. Night was falling fast, and the temperature would soon drop. Zerah gathered an armful of dead wood and walked back to the cave, returning for five more loads before weariness called a halt. From the pocket of her old sheepskin coat she took a pouch of tinder and carefully built a small fire.
Oz moved in close to her. 'They won't find us, will they, Frey?' he asked again.
'I don't know,' she told him, putting her thin arm around his shoulders and drawing him to her.
One of the men who had killed Oz's father had ridden up to the house and stopped at the well for water.
He had seen Oz and Esther playing by the back fence. Zerah, not knowing the man, had walked from the house to greet the newcomer.
'Nice kids,' he said. 'Your grandchildren?'
'They surely are,' she told him. 'You passing through?'
'Yep. Well, thank you for the water, Frey,' he said, reaching for the pommel of his saddle.
Esther, looking up and seeing him, screamed and jumped to her feet. 'He shot my daddy!'
The man dropped to the ground, but in that moment Zerah had dragged her pistol clear and pulled the trigger, the shell hammering into his thigh. His horse had reared and run, he grabbed for the pommel and was dragged for thirty yards. Zerah fired twice more, but missed. She had watched him haul himself into the saddle and ride off.
Knowing he would return, Zerah had packed some food and supplies and taken the children back into the mountains, heading for Purity. But the pursuers had cut her off and were camped across the trail as she reached the last rise. Luckily Zerah had not ridden over the rise, but had left the buckskin with Oz and had crawled to the lip to check the road.
Now they were deep in the mountains and, Zerah was pretty sure, they had lost their pursuers.
With the fire blazing Zerah rose and moved outside the cave-mouth, checking to see if any reflected light was flickering there. A carelessly laid camp-fire could be seen for miles. However, once outside the cave no light could be seen, and high above what little smoke there was had been dissipated by the undergrowth and trees on the cliff-top.
Satisfied, Zerah walked back inside. Oz was curled up alongside Esther, and both were fast asleep.
'Makes you feel young again, woman,' said Zerah, covering the two children. And she felt a sense of pride. She had saved them from killers. 'You're not so useless,' she whispered.
Tomorrow they would be safe in town, and the Crusaders would be hunting the villains.
It had been a long time since she had visited Pilgrim's Valley, and she wondered what changes she would see.
In the distance a wolf howled. Zerah settled down to sleep alongside the children.
Sarento strolled through the wooded hills above the Atlantean ruin, enjoying the cloudless blue sky and the sounds of early morning birdsong. The wind was cool upon his red-gold skin, and for the first time in years he had no sense of hunger. With a thrill of intense pleasure, he recalled the gathering in the colosseum, the anticipation and, at the last, the inflow of life. Rich and fulfilling and infinitely warming. .
Below him was the camp of his elite, the five hundred Hellborn warriors he had sent through ahead of him. With them, and men like Jacob Moon, he would feed in this new world, and dream.
The Gateway was a desperately needed boon. His hunger in the old world had been painful, agonising, its clawing demands dominating his days. But here he could appreciate once more the beauty of a blue sky. His golden eyes focused on the ruined city. This was no fit place for a god, he thought as he gazed upon the derelict palace. Before it was two fallen pillars and a smashed lintel.
'Up!' he said. The distant stones groaned and raised themselves, powdered sections re-forming into shaped stone, the shards of the lintel flowing back into one whole and rising through the air to settle into place. Tiny remnants of paint grew, spreading out over the motifs on the lintel — fierce reds, vibrant blues, golden yellows. Golden tiles reappeared on the roof of the palace, catching the sunlight.
Trees flowered in the palace gardens, rose-bushes sprouted. Cracked and broken walkways repaired themselves, fallen statues climbing back to their plinths, their stone limbs as supple as the warriors who in ages past inspired them.
Gold leaf decorated the windows of the palace, and long-dry fountains sent sprays of water high into the air in the gardens.
Sarento gazed down on the city and smiled. . Then the smile faded.
The hunger had returned. Not great, as yet, but a gnawing need. Glancing down at his naked torso, he saw that the thin black lines across his skin had thickened, the red-gold was fading. Raising his arms, he reached out with his mind.
The birds of the forest flew around him, foxes awoke and emerged from their holes, squirrels ran down from their tree-top homes. A huge bear let forth a roar and padded from his cave. Sarento was almost hidden from sight by the fluttering birds and the scrambling mass of furred creatures scurrying around his feet.
Then, in an instant, all was silence. The birds fell lifeless to the ground, the bear collapsing in on itself to crumble like ancient parchment.
Sarento walked across the corpses, which cracked underfoot like long-dead twigs.
His hunger was almost gone.
But the seed of it remained.
His Devourers were roaming the countryside, and he could feel the steady trickle of sustenance. Not enough to satisfy, yet adequate for the present. Reaching out he sought other Wolvers, ready to draw them to him for the change. But there were none within the range of his power. Curious, he thought, for he knew such beasts existed in this world; he had plucked their image from the dying memories of Saul Wilkins, and read them again in the sadistic mind of Jacob Moon. A tiny flicker of concern touched him.
Without new Devourers his task in this new world would be made the more difficult. Then he thought again of the Gateway. If there was one, there must be more.
He pictured the teeming cities of the old world: Los Angeles, New York, London, Paris.
In such places he would never know hunger again.
Beth covered the dead man with a blanket and took hold of the weeping Meredith's shoulders. 'Come on,' she said gently. 'Come away.'
'It's my fault,' he said. 'I don't know why I shouted. I just. . panicked.'
'Damn right!' said the Deacon.
'Leave it alone,' Beth told him icily. 'Not everyone is like you — and thank God for it. Yes, he panicked.
He was frightened. But even his friend told him not to blame himself.' She patted Meredith's shoulder and stepped in closer to the Deacon. 'Blood and death is all you know, Deacon. Murder and pain. Now leave it be!'
At that moment there was a splintering of wood upstairs, and the sound of a rifle booming. 'Are you all right, Wallace?' shouted Beth.
The young man appeared at the head of the stairs. 'One of them jumped up to the window. It's all right now. There's more coming across the meadows, Frey McAdam. Maybe fifty of them.'