Behind the Ruins (Stories of the Fall) by Michael Lane Read Free Book Online Page A

his mouth then closed it, shaking his head. “People need to know,” he
said.
    “Then
we can all feel better when we have to count the bodies, since everyone was
involved?” Maggie asked, raising an eyebrow.
    “Yes.
In the end, yes. That’s why,” Grey said, flushing. His brow furrowed, and his
hands gripped the table edge hard enough that his fingertips went white. “Even
if it is you, and me, and Doc, and the trader council at the Port that really
decide this, people have to feel like they’re a part of it, or they’ll break
and run. Either before the killing, or after.”
    “There
you go Grey, that’s better,” Maggie said in her sweetest voice. “You’re an
honest sort, for a man with no past. But you have a hard time taking
responsibility. I wonder why that is?” She rose, offering the men a goodnight.
    “I’ll
send the boys out. You decide what they ought to say,” she said over her
shoulder as she left.
    Badger
and Clay exchanged glances.
    “She
likes to get to me,” Grey muttered, releasing the table and rubbing his
fingers.
    “She
likes her truth direct,” Clay offered. Badger nodded.
    “Sometimes
the truth doesn’t help anything,” Grey said. No one offered anything to this,
and Grey excused himself to the bunkhouse for the night.
     

Chapter 4: Revival
     
    The
church was a survivor from the valley’s early days; a mission-style stone
chapel with attached rectory and a long low building that had once served as
classroom where indigenous children, some taken forcibly from their families,
were taught about a new white God. Jesuits had built the original and its bell
tower overlooked the width of the valley. It had been repaired and rebuilt
seventy-five years later as a historic site, and now the wheel had come full
circle and Saint Augustine’s was again an active place of worship and
education.
    Grey
liked the old church, nearly as much as he disliked its resident preacher.
    The
church was overseen by Archibald Dove, known to the valley as The Reverend, as
there were no others. Dove’s history was vague. He knew his Bible - Old more
than New, some said. He wore an oft-patched black coat with collar. He had the
lean, unforgiving face one associated with prophets or hangmen, and that gave
his sermons a certain threatening weight. Where he’d come from, and why,
remained well-worn bits of gossip with no answer.
    Grey
had left the organizing of the meeting to Josie, and stayed clear of the church
until the day dawned.
    People
came on horseback, in carts, in converted garden trailers yoked to ponies, on a
few aging bicycles and on foot, both overland and from the Port. Most families
who lived near the lake kept a sailboat, rowboat or canoe. With the church just
a few miles from the Port, most arrived by water and walked the remaining
distance.
    Grey
tried to take a headcount, but the crowd milled about until he gave up. A
carnival atmosphere pervaded the meeting, with people seeing acquaintances they
rarely saw, and farmers and traders making off-the-cuff deals. Children were
everywhere, running and shouting, pursued by yipping, tumbling packs of dogs.
Trappers and hunters talked business with fishers and scavengers. Hillman, the
Port dentist, was peering intently into a bearded man’s mouth and shaking his
head. Josie followed Big Tom through the mix, giving Grey a nod.
    Tom
had dressed for the occasion, digging up a grey suit from somewhere and smoking
a hand rolled cigar.
    Doc
eased out of the crowd to stand at Grey’s shoulder. He followed his gaze and
chuckled.
    “Ah,
our Tom. He’s always got to dress for success,” Doc observed.
    “Yeah.
I wonder which way he’ll jump?”
    Doc
shrugged. “A bunch of murderers is bad for business, so he’ll want to do
something?”
    “I
hope. He’s a politician, so he’ll find an angle. If not right now, then later.”
    Doc
shivered. Despite the sun, it was barely above freezing. The sun had just
cleared the encircling mountains, though it