"I hope so," I said, leafing through a section called Ancient Man's Spiritual Beliefs. "I have a feeling I have a few nights of research ahead of me."

Martin was silent for a moment as he drove. I skimmed the text. It was fascinating stuff, and the subject deserved my full undivided attention. I closed the volume and selected another one. There was no guarantee I'd find anything useful in these books. Even if the G.o.d of the New World, or whatever it was, had been written about and doc.u.mented by anthropologists, it might be in a volume I didn't have. I couldn't think about that now, though. I had to plow ahead, learn what I could with what I had. Perhaps even the scant information I picked up from several sources could give us enough information to deal with this.

"Do you think that guy Stuart was telling us the truth last night?" Martin said finally, breaking the silence.

"I think so," I said. I closed the book I was purusing. "He sure sounded happy to be talking to us."

Martin said nothing as he piloted the SUV north. I could sense Martin hadn't made up his mind yet about Stuart and he confirmed it to me a minute later. "I don't know," he said, his voice giving a sort of sigh as he admitted this, a confused guilty tone. "Part of me wants to believe him. But I'm an atheist. I don't believe in G.o.d or the Devil, and to believe that an old G.o.d of primitive man has reawakened... that's very hard for me to swallow."

"I know what you mean," I said. "But we've seen the drawings. We've felt the presence. Surely you can't deny that you felt it."

Martin sighed. "You're right. I did feel something. I just..." His voice faltered. He was at a complete loss for what to say.

"I'm keeping an open mind about this," I said. The books rested in my lap. "I've learned to trust my instincts and feelings. I felt that presence back in California and Nevada. I saw those drawings. I saw how the primitives have been behaving, and I've heard anecdotal evidence from Wesley, and now from Stuart. That all tells me something's out there. I don't know if it's a G.o.d, or an alien creature. But it's there. It's there, and it's real, and we have to learn as much as we can about it if we want to stop it."

"Stop it?" Martin cast a curious glance my way. "How are we going to stop it?"

"I don't know," I said, feeling the weight of those implications crash down on me. Indeed, how could we stop it? "But we have to do something."

We were silent for twenty minutes or so, each of us digesting our own thoughts. It was true that even then I was thinking of ways to defeat this thing, whatever it was. My mind raced with a thousand scenarios. Maybe the thing was a real anthropomorphic being that could be killed. If so, all we had to do is blast it with a rocket launcher and be done with it. Maybe there was more than one of them. In that case, we'd have to communicate with others of our own kind, possibly through ham radio, to encourage them to take up arms and kill as many of the creatures as we could. I wondered if the thing was some kind of prehistoric creature modern anthropology never discovered and, for some weird reason, had been regenerated through means still unknown. I imagined organizing large ma.s.ses of hunting parties via ham radio and killing hundreds of these things. I imagined things ten years in the future, where society was beginning to rebuild after killing the creatures and doing something about the primitive problem-either ma.s.s executions or imprisonments in laboratories to study them, to find a possible cure to flip the Neanderthal DNA strain back. Yes, I wanted things back the way they were. I wanted to unf.u.c.k what had been f.u.c.ked up. I wanted to go back to the political bulls.h.i.t, the wars, the economic instability and insecurity, the polluting of the air and water by large corporations; I wanted to go back to my career as a writer of screenplays and novels which really wasn't as glamorous as most people used to think it was, nor always financially stable. I wanted my life as father and husband, family nights at the house watching some Disney movie with Emily and Eric and Tracy, all snuggled up on the sofa together, quiet dinners with Tracy while the kids spent the evening at my parents house, then a night of slow lovemaking while the evening sky stretched on outside our bedroom window.

I wanted our old world back with all its beauty and horrible flaws.

Forty minutes away from the cabin, Martin interrupted my thoughts. "We need to warn Stuart to be careful in his communications to us. Wesley has a point about not being entirely trustworthy of the radio bands. If there's Stuart, and us, there's bound to be other survivors. And some of them might be hostile. Some might be run by little tin pot dictators with delusions of sweeping through the country and taking over just because they think they can."

"You're right, and I agree," I said. "We'll bring this up to him when we get back."

Little did we know that when we arrived back at the cabin we'd learn there really were more people like us. And they were closer than we thought.

Fourteen.

We had just pulled the SUV up to the cabin when Lori rushed out on to the porch. "We've got a visitor," she said. She looked excited and scared.

"A visitor?" Martin asked as he stepped out of the driver's side.

"We've got him tied up in the garage," Lori said. Her face was flush with adrenaline. She was a bundle of energy as she stepped toward us and grabbed Martin by the arm. "Come."

"Is everything okay?" I asked, instantly worried about Tracy and Emily.

"We're okay, Tracy and I got him," Lori said. She smiled. "I think I may have hit him over the head too hard, but he was f.u.c.king trespa.s.sing as far as I'm concerned."

With that, Martin and I sprinted toward the garage where Tracy and Emily met us outside the side door. Tracy looked worried, too, and we were led inside the s.p.a.cious garage, which housed a Hummer that Wesley had jump started and driven once. Martin and I kept asking what was going on. Emily had a confused look on her face and I could see Wesley standing near the corner talking to somebody who was sitting on the floor. Through the excited babble coming from Lori and Tracy, I managed to decipher the following: a young man had come across the cabin grounds, actually managing to get on the front porch before being tackled by Lori. During the ensuing fight, Tracy joined in when she heard the ruckus (Tracy had been in the kitchen with Emily and was no doubt acting on the instinct to protect our daughter when she went out to a.s.sist Lori). Together, the two women managed to subdue the man and Wesley ran out of the radio room a moment later. The three of them got the man tied up, and he'd been in the garage ever since, where he was undergoing questioning by Wesley.

As we stepped closer to the man in the corner I got my first good look at him. He was in his mid to late twenties with a slight build, about five foot four, shoulder length dirty blonde hair and a beard framing his face. He was a good-looking guy, yet rugged enough to pa.s.s for an outdoorsman type. He was dressed in knee-length shorts, hiking boots, and a tan tank top. The left side of his head was caked in blood and he was beginning to sport a large bruise near his temple where Lori had smacked him. He was sitting on the floor, his wrists bound behind his back, his ankles lashed together with rope. Wesley stood over him, hands on hips, a figure of authority.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Wesley turned to us, then turned back to the guy on the floor. "Let me go into the house and get you a washcloth to clean that blood up and find some first aid stuff for you, okay? I'll be back in fifteen minutes." Then Wesley turned and gestured for us to step outside. "Come on, let's go."

As he herded us out of the garage I made sure Emily was in tow and Lori closed the side door to the garage behind us as we exited. "Okay, what the h.e.l.l happened?" Martin asked. "Who is he?"

Wesley said nothing as he led us to the porch. "Tracy, can you get the first aid kit and bring it to the porch? We'll need a damp cloth to clean him up before we go back to the garage."

"I didn't hurt him that badly, did I?" Lori asked as we stepped onto the porch.

Wesley shook his head. "Scalp wounds bleed like a b.i.t.c.h. He's fine, just a little banged up."

We found our way to our respective favorite seats. Emily sat on my lap while Tracy went into the house for the first aid kit. Emily had a more mature look about her as she listened to us grownups talk. She'd had to grow up a lot in the past month, and I felt bad about that.

Tracy returned a moment later with the first aid kit and sat down in the wicker chair. "Okay, who is he?"

"He says his name is Alex," Wesley said, looking pensive as he addressed us all. "Last name Haskins. He claims he lives about five miles northeast of here, on the outskirts of a very small town called Manning."

"What's he doing here?" Tracy asked. She still looked and sounded shaken up by everything.

"He says he's trying to find other people," Wesley said.

A reasonable enough answer. Part of me felt that need, too. Yet another part of me was wary of hooking up with more people.

"So he's been living by himself for the past month in Manning?" I asked.

"So he says," Wesley said, his eyes lighting on each of us. "He said he lives in a small house about a mile or so outside of town and that he's stayed put ever since learning what happened from watching TV the day the virus. .h.i.t."

"He looked pretty well fed and groomed," Martin said, immediately looking suspicious. "Somehow I don't buy that."

"I didn't either at first, and when I brought that up to him he said he'd been out once to gather provisions from Manning's one general store." It was hard to read Wesley's features. Something told me that he didn't entirely trust what Alex had told him. "Again, that sounds reasonable enough. I started a pride and ego up interrogation on him and he immediately opened up to me. Told me that aside from that one trip into town, he hasn't been out of his immediate living area, and has been essentially holed up by himself in his home. Says he has a couple rifles and ammunition, has been washing his clothes in a creek near his home, and that he decided to head west to see if anybody else was still alive."

"Did he have prior knowledge of this cabin?" I asked. The sudden fear that perhaps others had knowledge of our location suddenly worried me.

"Not sure yet," Wesley said. "I literally have not had enough time to properly question him. This all happened ten minutes or so before you guys got back."

"We're the first people he's come across?" Martin asked.

"Yes."

"Do you believe him?"

"On that, yes, I do." Wesley regarded us. "On other things, I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?" Tracy asked him.

"When I started questioning him I used the pride and ego up technique," Wesley explained. "It's one of several interrogation methods used by the military. You basically use it when the subject is already shattered emotionally. You build up their morale, say they acted like a hero, and that helps put them at ease. It gets them to open up. Alex was already scared and I wanted to put him at ease. He readily gave me some basic information: his name and age, where he lived, what he was doing the day the virus. .h.i.t, what he used to do before it hit. He told me what the population of Manning was, about how it was basically deserted when he went there for food, but that he did see some bodies. When I asked him if he'd seen any primitives he told me no right away, and I capitalized on that. Told him he had remarkable wits and instincts, and that laying low was the best thing he could have done to survive. I kept it up, remarking that for one guy he had a h.e.l.l of a tenacious will to survive and seek out others, that his skills at tracking were excellent. He let loose a little, and that's when he slipped up."

Wesley leaned forward, his voice lowered. We leaned closer to get a better listen. "He said to me, 'Yeah, we just laid low and lived by our wits. Went into town, got food and supplies, came back and just waited around until today when I decided it was time to head out and see if there was anybody else.' I asked him again if he'd seen any primitives, and he said no. Then I asked if he'd seen any other people beside us, and he said no real quickly. I didn't want to tip my hand too soon, so I remarked again on how skilled he was, and was just starting to b.u.t.ter him up by inviting him to come in and share with us what he'd learned, when you guys came home."

"So he's seen other people," I asked, picking up on what Wesley was insinuating right away. "He said 'we' instead of 'I'."

"Yeah," Wesley nodded. "He only said it the one time, and he acted real casual about it after that. And like I said, I didn't want to lay into him right away about it. And besides, you guys came back."

"So there's more than one of them," Martin said, that look of worry on his face again. "He could be part of another party like us."

"That's what the word 'we' denotes in my book," Wesley said. He looked grim.

"So what do we do?" Tracy asked.

Wesley picked up the first aid kit and damp washcloth. "Let's tend to his injuries. And then I want Martin, Tracy, and David to come with me to the garage. Tracy, I want you to help me treat his wounds. Ask him if he wants something to eat. If he does, go back to the house and get it for him. David, I want you to a.s.sist and observe. I'll introduce you. Just be nice and friendly with him but don't say anything personal. I'll resume my questioning of him and get him to tell us everything he knows."

"What about me?" Martin asked.

"I want you to remain outside," Wesley said. "Just in case we need some muscle."

"He's tied up," Lori said.

"I plan to untie him," Wesley said. "Part of my interrogation technique."

Lori raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe I should be present, then," Martin asked.

"No," Wesley said. "No offense, Martin, but you might come across as intimidating to him. I don't want that."

"Something tells me you've done this kind of thing before, Mr. Smitts," Tracy said. She was looking at Wesley as if she were seeing him for the first time. "What exactly did you do in the military?"

"That's cla.s.sified," Wesley said. The way he said that was the first time I'd heard him use a tone of voice that bordered on official.

Before the silence could get uncomfortable, I broke it. "Okay, let's do this."

Tracy, Wesley, Martin, and I went back to the garage. Martin remained outside while the rest of us went in. Tracy had a damp cloth and a clean towel, and I carried the first aid kit. Alex looked up at us from the corner as we entered. He was slumped against the wall, worry etching his bearded face.

As we approached him I made out more details. His clothing was scuffed and dirty and his beard was untrimmed, as if he hadn't been able to shave for several weeks. Likewise, his long hair was tangled. As we approached him Wesley said, "Again, I'd like to apologize for what happened."

"I'm sorry too," Tracy said. She scrunched down and gently applied the damp cloth to the side of his head. "I know Lori didn't mean to hit you so hard."

Alex winced as Tracy gently cleaned the blood off his face. "It's okay. I probably would've done the same thing."

"Of course you would've," Wesley said. "I mean, you'd just be trying to survive, right? I can understand why you'd want to try scoping the area out to see if anybody else was out here. Non-primitives, if you know what I mean."

"That's a good word for them," Alex said. "Primitives. Those things are like a bunch of cave people."

"Yeah, they are." Wesley gestured to me. "This is David."

"h.e.l.lo, Alex," I said. I set the first aid kit down on the floor near Alex's feet and opened it.

"Hey," Alex said in greeting. He was relaxing. He watched as I started rummaging through the first aid kit. Tracy got the wound clean and I saw that it was more a nasty sc.r.a.pe than anything deep and ugly. The bleeding had stopped and the blood and grit had been wiped from his face. Tracy turned to me. "Got some peroxide in there?"

"Yeah," I said. I pulled out the bottle and handed it to her and then rummaged for a bandage. "That'll probably need a big bandage."

Wesley stood slightly behind us as Tracy and I cleaned Alex's wound with the peroxide and bandaged him up. Alex winced slightly as the peroxide was applied. "Stings," he said. "How bad is it?"

"Not bad," Tracy said. "Just a real nasty sc.r.a.pe and a bruise. You'll survive."

"You hurt anywhere else?" I asked him.

"Not really," Alex said. "A little banged up along my left side when I was tackled."

"Let's see." Tracy said. She reached for his shirt and pulled it up over his ribcage. With gently probing fingers, she explored Alex's ribcage. "Hurt?" she asked him.

"A little," Alex said, wincing slightly.

"Nothing feels broken," Tracy said. She concluded her examination and pulled his shirt back down. "It'll probably feel sore and tender for a few days and it might bruise up. You don't feel any shortness of breath?"

"No," Alex said.

"You hungry? I can bring you something to eat."

"That would be great," Alex said. "I'm starving."

"Wonderful. How about a sandwich?"

"Sounds great."

"Ham and turkey on rye?"

"You got real meat? Nothing canned?" Alex looked like he'd just been offered a filet mignon at a five star restaurant.

"That's what the lady said," Wesley said. "We got ourselves a nice generator here and are able to power a freezer. Guy that lived here had plenty of frozen meat. We've been thawing it out gradually, got about another month or so left before we're going to have to start hunting."

"That would be great," Alex said. "With mustard and mayo if you got that?"

"I've got that." Tracy stood up, boxed up first aid kit and washcloths in hand. "You want American or Swiss cheese?"

"Swiss!" Alex looked ravenous, as if he hadn't had a good meal in weeks. He probably hadn't.

"Coming right up." Tracy exited the garage. "I'll bring you something to drink, too. Ice tea? Water?"

"Water would be great," Alex said.

"Okay."

Tracy exited the garage and closed the side door behind her.