Alex Scarrow - October skies

‘Who’s with her now?’ asked Vander.

‘Mrs Zimmerman.’

There was a murmur of approval amongst them. The woman had lost a daughter, Emily had lost her mother. Mrs Zimmerman was the best person to sit with her.

‘They may still be alive,’ said Ben. ‘All we have is Emily and some blood — most of it I’ll wager came from the Indian boy. They could still be out there.’

Preston nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, you’re right, Lambert. We should send out a search party to-’

‘We ain’t headin’ out tonight, Lambert,’ Keats cut in, ‘and that’s final. I ain’t riskin’ the lives of anyone else lookin’ for dead people. First light tomorrow we will look.’

Ben turned round to him swiftly. ‘What? We can’t leave them out there overnight!’

‘I ain’t leadin’ out a party in the dark!’

‘They’ll die of the cold!’

‘Reckon them to be dead anyways,’ muttered Keats. ‘We go at night, we’ll miss the tracks and we’ll not find them.’ He looked around at the others. ‘Sky’s clear tonight. Don’t expect no snow, so we go at first light. That way we can follow the blood up to where whatever happened… happened.’

Preston nodded. ‘That seems sensible, Mr Keats.’

Ben shook his head, knowing the guide was probably right that poor Sam and his mother were gone and there was nothing they could do about it but try and find their bodies. The small, unlikely hope that Sam might be lying somewhere wounded and pleading for help was nothing more than a wish that he knew was going to torment him through the night.

‘And I shall come with you, Mr Keats.’

Vander turned to him. ‘Are you well enough, William?’

‘I’ll be fine, Eric.’ Preston offered Ben a courteous nod. ‘Mr Lambert has strapped me up well.’

‘First light, then,’ said Keats. ‘Reckon we want to have at least two dozen men with guns readied to fire. Might want to be ready if we bump into ’em Paiute. They’re out there nearby for sure.’

There were murmurs of agreement amongst the gathered men.

‘What are we going to tell the others?’ asked Mr Larkin. ‘About what did this to the Dreytons?’

‘Reckon we’ll tell ’em it’s a bear for now,’ growled Keats, ‘till we know better.’

Preston cocked his head. ‘You may tell your party what you wish.’

‘So what’re you goin’ to tell yours?’

‘It was the work of those demons out there!’ snapped Vander.

‘You forget,’ replied Ben quietly, ‘that one of those demons died bringing Emily back to us.’

‘The Devil likes to play games with the innocent, Mr Lambert. ’ Preston spoke softly. ‘There’s sport in that for him. For now, until we know a little more, we shall tell our people to pray for Dorothy and Samuel. We shall assemble a party in the morning.’

Preston stood up, his head dipped beneath the low ceiling. ‘This meeting is done now.’ He uttered a short prayer, then dismissed them. The men filed out into the weakening sunlight. Vanilla rays lanced through the tree tops, bathing their small world in cream where they landed, and leaving violet shadows where they didn’t.

Preston touched Ben lightly on the arm as he followed in Keats’s wake.

‘Mr Lambert.’

‘Yes?’

‘Might I have another dose of your medicine tonight, for the pain?’

Ben studied his pale features. ‘Is it that bad?’

Preston nodded. ‘It gives me a merciful release from it.’

He thought about it for a moment. ‘A small dose then.’

‘Whatever you think is correct.’ Preston smiled.

‘I’ll return with the bottle after I have checked in on Emily,’ he said and then turned to catch up with Keats.

Preston watched them go, then stepped back inside the church, shuddering at the transition from bitter cold to the pleasant warmth left behind by the accumulated bodies.

‘I’m worried about Saul,’ said Vander from the gloom inside.

Preston’s eyes slowly adjusted and found him sitting on the cot. He sighed sadly.

‘William, you know it was necessary. She would have spread doubt amongst the others about you.’

Preston slumped down wearily beside Vander. ‘I know. They need me now, more than ever. But I wish in my heart it had been anyone other than Dorothy who was troubled with doubt. She was so devoted.’

Vander nodded.

‘And now we have to wonder what has happened to Saul,’ said Preston. ‘Perhaps it might have been the bear, perhaps the Indians.’

‘And Emily? What did she see?’

Preston nodded regretfully. ‘What might she say?’ He turned to Vander. ‘I love her too, like all my children.’

‘God needs you strong, William.’

‘I know.’

Ben ducked down and entered the shelter. Its frame was sturdier than the one he shared with Keats and Broken Wing. The Mormon men had constructed, for Dorothy and her children, a firm lumber frame from their wagon, large enough for three or four people to sit together in, but only tall enough to kneel in.

By the light of a single candle he could see Emily huddled away from the entrance, wrapped in several blankets, her knees pulled up to her chest, and staring blankly into space. Lying beside her was Mrs Zimmerman, sadly stroking the girl’s forehead and singing a lullaby. She stopped to look up at him.

‘Mrs Zimmerman,’ Ben said politely, nodding. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s gone far away from here.’

He knelt down next to the girl. ‘God only knows what she witnessed.’

Ben looked closely at her face, moving his hand to and fro in front of her dilated pupils, with no reaction.

‘She’s not spoken?’

‘Not a word. Not a single word,’ she replied, studying Emily’s pale face. ‘Truth be, Mr Lambert, I have never seen fear so bad as that in my life.’

He shuffled closer to her, unwinding his poncho and draping it over Emily’s blanket-covered body.

‘I’ve seen shock like this before: industrial accidents brought into the London hospital where I was studying. Shock… the mind closes down to shut out the pain, and yet can still function amazingly well. I once witnessed a man walking in carrying his own arm under the other. Machinery had wrenched it out at the shoulder.’

Mrs Zimmerman made a face.

‘The point is, the mind is very resilient. Emily’s has shut down for now… from what she’s witnessed. I can only presume it was something quite horrific. And now, her mind is in a dormant state, hiding… hibernating somewhere safe.’

‘But she’ll come back to us eventually, won’t she?’

Ben nodded. ‘Eventually.’

‘What happened, Mr Lambert? Do you know?’

‘Eric Vander thinks it was the Indians did this. Keats says it might have been a bear.’

Mrs Zimmerman nodded tiredly.

‘Tomorrow morning there’ll be a search party and we’ll find out all that we need to know,’ he said.

Ben knew it would be a hard find, chancing across their bodies. Hard, in as much as he would see Sam in a horrible way. If it had been a bear, their bodies would be horrendously disfigured. It was not a final image he wanted to have in his mind of the lad.

I’m so sorry, Emily. So sorry.

He stroked her pale cheeks, remembering a cheerful face around the campfire, delighted with the loan of a doll.

‘I’ll look in on her again soon,’ Ben said to Mrs Zimmerman. ‘Will you be with her tonight?’

Mrs Zimmerman nodded. ‘All night.’

Ben smiled. ‘Good.’

Tuesday

Fulham, London

The phone rang only a couple of times before a deep voice answered it. ‘Dr Thomas Griffith.’

‘Tom, it’s Julian Cooke.’

A moment’s hesitation passed. ‘Julian…’ Then, ‘Julian! How the hell are you?’