And I awoke and found me here on this cold hill's side.
The words, dragged up from some high school English class, flashed through his mind before he could open his eyes and realize where he was. Then came the pain. It shot through his body, every muscle screaming as he pulled himself back into consciousness.
The ground was hard under his back. Small rocks dug into his skin. In his rush to get away from Heaven, he hadn't bothered with his helmet, and it was a miracle that the stone that left the goose egg on his head hadn't split his skull open.
Whatever had happened to his body was nothing to compare with the damage to his bike. The sun was just cresting the mountains as Matt managed to force his eyes open, and in the gentle, golden light of dawn the roadway twinkled like a sea of stars. It was tiny shards of metal that had once been a motorcycle now reflecting the new day.
Matt pulled himself to his feet and staggered down the berm to the road, staring at the wreckage and realizing what would have happened to him if he'd been a second slower. Did the driver even stop? Or had he decided that what he'd hit had been just one more bug to smear his grillwork?
Where the hell did that thing come from? Matt wondered. This road isn't long enough for a truck to build up that much speed.
Except, he realized, he had no idea how long the road was or where it went. The person who'd told him it ended right after the Heaven town limit had been Joan. It hardly seemed like the most egregious of the untruths she had told him.
There were scraps of metal and plastic scattered along the roadway over the length of three football fields. That was what was left of the Blast, which had gone out in a way that suited its name. A shred of nylon told him his pack had met the same fate.
How far was it back to the highway? Matt tried to remember how long the ride had taken him. He hadn't been paying attention as he enjoyed the scenery, but it had been hours, certainly. Even if he'd been taking the curves as slowly as thirty miles per, walking back would take days. Days without food, water and shelter. All his supplies had been in his pack; now they were atoms.
And that was days of walking if he was in perfect shape. But as Matt took the step from the berm onto the asphalt, every inch of his body screamed out in pain. He'd twisted his right ankle severely – at least he hoped it was only a twist. His left wrist throbbed where he had slammed it into a rock on his landing. And he was pretty sure he'd cracked a couple of ribs.
He could start walking – limping, really – and hope for a ride, of course. Somebody could come along.
But the truck that had smashed his bike had been the only vehicle he'd seen on this road. Even if there were other loggers heading to the highway, if they drove like this one, they'd never stop to pick up a hitchhiker.
He couldn't fault them. If he had to drive through Heaven, Washington, on a regular basis, he'd go as fast as his wheels would take him, too.
If Matt tried to walk back to the highway, he might well die on the way. Even if he made it, he'd be so hungry and thirsty and freezing by the time he got there he wouldn't be able to do anything more than pray someone would pick him up and drop him off at the next motel. But Labor Day was long gone, and traffic was thin through the mountains. He might make it to the intersection only to die there.
That left him only one choice.
One terrible, hateful choice.
The sun broke free of the mountain and as it poured its light on the road, Matt could see it burning back up even more brightly. He staggered down the tarmac and kicked away a piece of fender. His axe lay underneath, astonishingly untouched by the crash. There was still some black ooze on the edge of the blade, but the rest of the head shone brightly in the new day's sun.
Matt picked up the axe and hefted it in his hand. Then he turned around. A hundred yards in front of him he could see the first houses that marked Heaven's boundary. And the bright, cheery banner that hung over Main Street:
Welcome home, Matt.
CHAPTER TEN
The main street was as deserted as it had been when he'd ridden in yesterday. Matt stood in the middle of the road, the axe dangling from one hand, and wondered what he should do next.
He didn't have to wait long. The front door of the general store cracked open and a pair of dark eyes peered out. Then it was flung open. The same little girl who had led the procession the day before ran out into the street.
"It's Matt!" she shouted, twirling in a circle to make sure her voice penetrated the buildings on both sides of the street. "He's back."
Matt stared at the little girl, as if hoping to see through her skin and learn if there were tumors there waiting to take her over. The axe was comfortable in his hand, but he would have used it on himself before he could raise it against a child.
"You know me?" he said.
"Know you?" she squealed. "I've been praying for you to come." She turned back to the general store, to the door that had swung closed after her. "Everybody come out! It's Matt! He's come, just like I dreamed he would!"
The general store's door fluttered as if it was trying to make up its mind. Then it opened slowly. An old woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed like one of the town's men, dirty jeans and a flannel shirt, but she wore a faded calico bonnet over her gray hair. Her skin was sun-browned and leathered; Matt thought she looked like a walnut in a hat. But her eyes were coal-black and diamond hard, and as she stepped out into the center of the street she never took them off his face.
"No one gave you permission to leave the store, girl," the woman said in a voice as weathered as her skin. "Get back in. I'll tell you when it's safe to come out."
"But he's here," the girl said. "He left with Joan and he came back whole. You know what that means."
"Could mean a lot of things," the woman said, her eyes still fixed on Matt's face. "Could mean he had a night of whoopee with that thing and came here to help out with the dirty work. Could be the bitch queen's found herself a stud."
That settled one question in Matt's mind. They knew about Joan. Knew what she'd planned for him. And they let him go with her anyway. Because they were scared? Or because they'd rather see her take a stranger than one of their own?
"It could," Matt said. "But it doesn't."
The old woman's eyes had never left his face, but somehow they seemed to intensify their glare. "And I'm supposed to believe your word, just like that?" she said. "Because someone – some thing – that's going to join up and do what she does, he's not going to scruple a lie or two on the way."
"I don't care what you believe," Matt said. "I just want to get back to the highway."
"Look at his axe, Orfamay," the little girl squealed. "Look at his axe."
The old woman pulled her eyes away from his face and glanced down at the blade. Then took a step closer, bent forward and ran a finger through the black slime on its edge. Her eyes shot back to his face, then she allowed them a second to examine the ichor she now rubbed between her fingers.
"That's from her, Orfamay," the girl said. "You know it is."
Still keeping her eyes locked on Matt, the old woman smeared the slime off onto her jeans. "That true what the little one says?" she said.
"Go out and look for yourself," Matt said.
"Don't be so tetchy, boy," the woman said, the faintest hint of a smile curling her lip. "You been through what these good folks have endured, you'd be a little cautious, too."
"Is that what you call it when you let an innocent man go off with a monster to save your own asses?" Matt said. "Cautious?"
"We wanted to warn you, Matt," the little girl said, her eyes filled with terror at the thought he might leave again. "We wanted to. But she showed up right behind you. There was nothing anyone could do."