Kyle said, "Mother Grace meant well. She just got confused there toward the end. Confused. And, God help me, I went along with her even though I had my doubts. Almost went too far. Almost. God help me. almost used the knife on that little boy. See, what it is. I think maybe your Joey. maybe he has a little psychic ability of his own. You know? Have you ever noticed it? Any indications? I think he must be a little like Mother Grace herself, a little bit clairvoyant or something, even if he doesn't know it, even if the power hasn't become obvious yet. and that was what she sensed in him. but she misunderstood it. That must be it. That must explain it. Poor Grace. Poor, sweet Grace. She meant well. Can you believe that? She meant well, and so did I, and so did everyone in the church. She meant well."
Chewbacca left Kyle and came to Charlie, and he let the dog nuzzle him affectionately. He noticed blood in its ears, and blood matting the fur on its ears, which meant Barlowe had hit it very hard with the butt of the rifle, terribly hard indeed, and yet it seemed completely recovered.
Surely it had suffered a severe concussion. Yet it was not dizzy or disoriented.
The dog looked into his eyes.
Charlie frowned.
"She meant well. She meant well," Kyle said, and he put his face in his hands and began to cry.
Cuddling with his mother, Joey said, "Mommy, he scares me.
What's he talkin' about? He scares me."
"It's all right," Christine said.
"He scares me."
"It's okay, Skipper."
To Charlie's surprise, Christine found the strength to sit up and hitch backward a couple of feet, until she was leaning agenst the wall. She had seemed too exhausted to move, even to speak.
Her face looked better, too, not quite so pale.
Still sniffling, wiping at his nose with his sleeve, wiping his eyes with one small fist, Joey said, "Charlie? You okay?"
Although Spivey and her people no longer posed any threat, Charlie was still quite certain that he would die in this cave. He was in bad shape, and it would be hours yet before help could be summoned and could reach them. He would not last that long. Yet he tried to smile at Joey, and in a voice so weak it frightened him, he said, "I'm okay."
The boy left his mother and came to Charlie. He said, "Magnum couldn't've done better than you did."
Joey sat down beside Charlie and put a hand on him. Charlie flinched, but it was all right, perfectly all right, and then for a couple of minutes he lost consciousness, or perhaps he merely dropped off to sleep. When Charlie came to, Joey was with his mother again, and Kyle Barlowe seemed to be getting ready to leave." What's wrong?" Charlie asked." What's happening now?"
Christine was obviously relieved to see him conscious once more. She said, "There's no way you and I can make it out of here on our feet. We'll have to be carried in litters. Mr. Barlowe is going for help."
Barlowe smiled reassuringly. It was a ghastly expression on his cruelly formed face." The snow's stopped falling, and there's no wind. If I stay to the forest trails, I should be able to make it down to civilization in a few hours. Maybe I can get a mountain rescue team back here before nightfall. I'm sure I can."
"Are you taking Joey with you?" Charlie asked. He noticed that his voice was stronger than before; speaking did not require as much effort as it had done a few minutes ago." Are you getting him out?"
"No," Christine said." Joey's staying with us."
"I'll move faster without him," Barlowe said." Besides, the two of you need him to put wood on the fire every now and then."
Joey said, "I'll take care of them, Mr. Barlowe. You can count on me.
Chewbacca and me."
The dog barked softly, once, as if in affirmation of the boy's pledge.
Barlowe favored the boy with another malformed smile, and Joey grinned at him in return. Joey had accepted the giant's conversion with considerably greater alacrity than Charlie had, and his trust seemed to be reciprocated and well placed.
Barlowe left them.
They sat in silence for a moment.
They did not even glance at Grace Spivey's corpse, as if it were only another formation of stone.
Clenching his teeth, preparing for an agonizing and most likely fruitless ordeal, Charlie tried pulling himself up into a sitting position. Although he had possessed insufficient strength to do it before, he now found the task remarkably easy. The pain from the bullet wound in his shoulder had dramatically subsided, much to his surprise, and was now only a dull ache which he could endure with little trouble.
His other injuries provided a measure of discomfort, but they were not as bothersome or as sapping of his energy as they had been. He felt somewhat. revitalized. and he knew that he would be able to hold onto life until the rescue team had arrived and had gotten them off the mountain, to a hospital.
He wondered if he felt better because of Joey. The boy had come to him, had laid a hand on him, and he had slept for a couple of minutes, and when he had regained consciousness he was… partially healed. Was that one of the child's powers? If so, it was an imperfect power, for Charlie had not been entirely or even mostly healed; the bullet wound had not knitted up; his bruises and lacerations had not faded; he felt only a little bit better. The very imperfection of the healing power-if it existed at all-seemed to argue for the psychic explanation that Barlowe had offered them. The inadequacy of it indicated that it was a power of which Joey was unaware, a paranormal ability expressed in an entirely unconscious manner. Which meant he was just a little boy with a special gift. Because if he was the Antichrist, he would possess unlimited and miraculous power, and he would quickly and entirely heal both his mother and Charlie.
Wouldn't he? Sure. Sure he would.
Chewbacca returned to Charlie.
There was still blood crusted in the dog's ears.
Charlie stared into its eyes.
He petted it.
The bullet wound in Christine's leg had stopped bleeding, and the pain had drained out of it. She felt clear-headed. With each passing minute she developed a greater appreciation of their survival, which was (she now saw) a tribute-not to the intervention of supernatural forces, but-to their incredible determination and endurance. Confidence returned to her, and she began to believe, once more, in the future.
For a few minutes, when she had been bleeding and helpless, when Spivey had been looming over Joey, Christine had surrendered to an uncharacteristic despair. She had been in such a bleak mood that, when the angry bats had responded to the gunfire and had attacked Spivey, Christine had even briefly wondered if Joey was, after all, what Spivey had accused him of being. Good heavens! Now, with Barlowe on his way for help, with the worst of her pain gone, with a growing belief in the likelihood of her and Charlie's survival, watching Joey as he fumblingly added a few branches to the fire, she could not imagine how such dark and foolish fears could have seized her. She had been so exhausted and so weak and so despondent that she had been susceptible to Spivey's insane message. Though that moment of hysteria was past and equilibrium restored, she was chilled by the realization that even she had been, however briefly, fertile ground for Spivey's lunacy.
How easily it could happen: one lunatic spreads her delusions to the gullible, and soon there is a hysterical mob, or in this case a cult, believing itself to be driven by the best intentions and, therefore, armored against doubt by steely selfrighteousness. There was evil, she realized: not in her little boy but in mankind's fatal attraction to easy, even if irrational, answers.
From across the room, Charlie said, "You trust Barlowe?"
"I think so," Christine said.