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

was nearly ten o’clock. Grey nodded
toward the church and started off. Doc followed.
    Inside
it was warmer, with the heat of the building’s wood furnace intensified by the
body-heat of a hundred locals settling in the long pine pews. The church’s
interior was lit by a wash of color from the stained glass behind the pulpit,
and the narrow windows piercing each sidewall above head height. Foot-thick
wooden supports walked in a double row the length of the building, the pews
clustered between. The scuff and rumble of boots on the floorboards was
constant and the air was thick with the pungent smells of sweat, leather,
tobacco and pot.
    Some
of those attending were openly armed, but no more than usual, Grey thought.
    Reverend
Dove stood just below the pulpit, his hands clasped behind his back, his head
down. He remained, unmoving, as the crowd gradually took its seats. Doc pulled
Grey to the front left pew and sat down.
    The
crowd quieted on its own, eyes going to the figure silhouetted against the
great round window, imposing in his austere black and in his immobility. Voices
dropped to whispers and the scuff and rumble of footsteps died out.
    Dove
raised his narrow face and his voice boomed through the church, with the
rolling, practiced tones of a professional speaker.
    “Friends
and neighbors. Welcome.” There was a smattering of responses, and Dove nodded
distantly. “I am pleased so many could come and attend our meeting this day,
and I hope to see some of the new faces attending the church come Sunday.”
There were a few snickers, a few agreements and a few obscenities.
    “That
aside, today we are not here for you to hear me, but to hear news that will
impact us all.” The crowd noise abated again. “You’ve come because you’ve heard
word that the valley faces trouble, and we are here to explain just what that
trouble is. You are here to decide what to do about it.
    “Doctor
Lawson has asked to speak first, and I’ll give the floor to him now. I have
something to add later that I hope you’ll hear,” Dove said, stepping down.
    “Wonder
what he has to add?” muttered Grey as Doc rose and turned to face the room. Doc
ignored him and smiled at the assembly.
    “Good
morning. I think you all know me, or at least who I am. Many of you have been
to visit, or I’ve come by your place. I’d thought about starting off by talking
about why our valley is special, and how we’ve built something in a world that
was broken, but I guess you all know that.”
    Grey
grinned at the cross that hung behind the pulpit. Assume they agree and keep
going. That was a lesson he’d learned many years ago.
    “Some
of you know Grey. He brought me some news a few weeks ago, and saved me from
some unwanted visitors.” Grey quit listening and waited for the questions to
start. When Doc finished after five or ten minutes, they did.
    “So
you never saw these raiders?” Grey knew the voice, but couldn’t place it until
he stood and turned. It was Harwold, a fat old man whose three sons ran a small
lumber mill a few miles up Mission Creek, west of the valley settlements.
    “He
didn’t. I did,” Grey said. “You have a question?” Grey heard Doc sigh as he set
down.
    “Well,”
Harwold paused and Grey realized with faint amusement that the mill owner had
no actual question; he just wanted to look important and be involved in the
conversation.
    “How
do we know they were raiders?” Grey was further amused by the few actual groans
that rose from the crowd and one pithy “Shut the fuck up, Harry” from somewhere
in the back. Amusement would lighten the mood, and Grey didn’t want that, so
his response was carefully deadpan and intentionally cruel.
    “You
calling me an idiot, Harwold? You think I’m the kind of fat-ass townie who
can’t tell the difference between a wolf and a coyote?” Harris looked like he’d
been slapped. Grey noted that eyes had widened and grins had disappeared around
the room.
    “I
don’t