Prophecy (21 page)

From the boat landing where Rob’s car was parked, they drove along a narrow, little used road through the forest toward the Indian village. It was overgrown with foliage and mined with jagged boulders; the ten miles they traveled took well over an hour.

When they arrived at the outskirts of the village, the leaves on the surrounding trees were rippling with a light wind that brought the smell of rain from the mountains. Rob hurriedly unpacked his medical gear and allowed Romona and Hawks to precede him into the village to explain to their people what was going to take place. Rob could not hear their words, but from their gestures and the reactions of the people they spoke to, he saw that it was not going to be easy to convince them. Hawks returned and summoned Rob forward.

“We’ll visit the sick men first. They will not resist.”

“They’re afraid?”

“They have known only one doctor. He treats them as though they are animals.”

Rob and Maggie followed Hawks and Romona into

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the center of the village. It did not look like anything that could be called an Indian village. It was more like a slum on the outskirts of a major city; poorly built shacks, made from cast-off materials, that stood at odd angles, surrounded by rusted machinery parts that littered the ground. The opened carcasses of drying salmon were spread out on canvas platforms, the flies buzzing about them in profusion. There were skeletons of defunct automobiles, a dozen or more, scattered throughout the surrounding trees.

To Rob, it all had a familiar feel. The people followed him in a horde, and crowded around him as he entered the first dwelling and examined a man felled with what they called the katahnas.

Rob made sure that his actions were smooth, efficient, and without hesitation. He used Maggie as he would use a nurse, calling for instruments that she pulled from his kit. The man they examined was raging with fever and suffering febrile tremors. His pupils were dilated and his sensory reflexes were almost nil. And on his face was a muscle contortion that looked like a grin, the same kind of demented grin that Rob had seen in the photographs of the methyl-mercury victims in Minamata.

Rob gave him an injection of phenobarbital to reduce the fever, then strapped his arm with rubber tubing and drew the first blood sample. In the tenements in Washington, this procedure would have drawn oohs and ahhhs from the crowd of onlookers. Here he was watched in stoic silence. Even the children remained expressionless.

They next visited the two other men suffering the same symptoms. Rob repeated the procedures, then moved outdoors, instructing Romona and Hawks to bring a table into the center of the clearing and select ten men, ten women, and ten children to have their blood drawn. He especially wanted the two women who he saw were pregnant. If their blood toxin level was lower than that of the nonpregnant women, it would be further proof that methyl-mercury was at

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work. If it acted here as it had in Minamata, the poison would be concentrated in the blood of the fetus, not in that of the mother.

But the villagers were still reluctant. Hawks and Romona had to submit to blood tests themselves before the others would begin to step forward. An old man came first, hobbling on bent legs; then a mother with an infant in her arms. Then they all came forward, holding out their arms and those of their children, realizing, from Rob’s manner and gentle tone of voice, that he was there to help. In all of his experience, Rob had never seen such stoicism. They submitted, all of them, without wincing, without making a sound.

Rob was flanked by Romona and Hawks on one side, by Maggie on the other; they worked in an efficient routine. Hawks asked name and age; Romona wrote it down and labeled each vial. Maggie worked with the medical accessories, sterilizing alternating needles and storing the vials. An Indian girl of about twelve stood beside Maggie, watching her with unabashed admiration. She and Maggie exchanged smiles; Maggie reached out and held her hand. The human contact was as important to Maggie as it was to the little girl.

Romona looked on with approval. “You’ll be a good mother.” Maggie stifled a sudden impulse to cry.

Within twenty minutes Rob had filled his vials, but there were dozens of people still waiting, wanting to take part.

“Get the slides,” Rob said to Maggie. “We’ll do finger pricks.”

She turned toward the bag.

“They’re in the car,” Rob said.

Maggie moved quickly, and as she did, she heard the sound of car motors approaching them from the forest. There were several of them, and they were converging fast from all sides, their machinery grinding as they bumped and lurched cross-country through the trees.

Romona exchanged a frightened look with Hawks.

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Rob instinctively took a defensive stance in front of them. They were sheriff’s cars, and they emerged with a rush, deputies jumping out with rifles drawn to quickly surround the village.

“What’s happening?” Rob gasped.

“They’re going to kill us,” Hawks answered.

The sheriff stepped forward, holding a piece of paper that fluttered in the rising wind. “I want everybody out of the houses!” he called. “I want everybody right out here.”

“What’s going on?” Rob demanded. The sheriff was shocked to see a white man there.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I asked you what’s going on!”

“Just step back-”

“I want an explanation-”

“Step back!”

Another car pulled in. It was a car from the Pitney Paper Mill; Bethel Isely got out from behind the wheel and joined the sheriff in the center of the clearing. He caught sight of Rob and was plainly pained to see him here.

“I want the women to my right and the men to my left!” the sheriff ordered.

“I want to know what’s going on here!” Rob shouted.

Isely quickly approached him. “You’re at the wrong place at the wrong time, Mr. Vern,” he said quietly. “I suggest you pack your things and get out.”

“I demand to know what’s happening.”

“There were more killings in the forest last night. We’re not waiting around for any more.”

Hawks overheard, stiffening with the knowledge that the moment he most feared had finally come. The battle with the Pitney Paper Mill would end with the persecution of every man, woman, and child in his village.

“I’ve got a list of names, and I want the following people to step forward as their names are read,” the sheriff shouted.

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?Who was killed?” Rob demanded of Isely.

?A family up at Mary’s Bend.”

?You have some reason to think these people did

it??

“They’re guilty as hell, Vern!”

“You have some evidence?”

“The evidence is at the hospital. It’s in baskets.”

“Russell Windraven, step forward!” the sheriff shouted.

The Indian villagers remained immobile, frightened and confused.

“I said step forward.” the sheriff commanded.

A man moved slowly from the crowd; Rob recognized him as one of the men who had stood with Hawks at the blockade. Rob turned to Hawks and saw that Hawks was no longer beside him. He was slowly fading back toward the trees.

“Chester Pinot!” the sheriff shouted, and another man came forward.

Four deputies converged on the two men, locking them into handcuffs. “Raphael Nightwalker!” the sheriff called. There was a hint of ridicule in his voice, as though he were announcing the winners of a contest. “Mr. John Hawks! Mr. Steven Sky!”

Hearing Hawks’s name, Rob hurried to the center of the clearing in an effort to draw attention away from him. “I want to see your arrest warrants! Right now!”

The sheriff turned to him. “I told you to stay back.”

“I demand to know by what right-”

“Somebody take this man away.”

The entire circle of deputies converged, giving Hawks the moment he needed. He spun on his heel, bolting toward the trees.

“Stop that man!” the sheriff bellowed, and three deputies ran toward the forest to cut Hawks off. Hawks whirled, changing directions in mid-stride and charged into one of the cabins. A burst of splintering glass signaled his trajectory through a window at the rear. The deputies raced behind the cabin just a mo-173

ment too late. Hawks had disappeared into the thick tangle of trees.

“He’ll outrun you on foot!” the sheriff called to his men. “Go after him in the car.”

Three deputies raced by Maggie and jumped into their car; its motor whined as it bumped off through the trees. From where she stood Maggie could see that Hawks had not run into the forest but rolled into a gully behind the cabin.

“Everybody stay where you are!” the sheriff warned. “When you next see your friend Mr. Hawks, you’ll be very happy that you did!”

Rob turned to Romona, who stood in a state of shock. “Mary’s Bend,” he said urgently. “Do you know where that is?”

She nodded.

“Just follow me to the car,” Rob said as he quickly packed his things. “Don’t look right or left, just stay right beside me.”

“They’ll kill these men,” Romona implored.

“Maggie?”

Maggie ran forward and Rob handed her the rack of vials. “You and Romona get in the car.”

“I’ve got two men here, I’m looking for five!”

Rob strode to the sheriff. “I want to tell you something,” he warned. “You’re not alone here. I’m a witness to this. When you charge these men, you’d better set bail, because I’m coming back and posting it. And if they don’t come out of that jail in exactly the same condition they went in, you’re going to be very sorry about it. If there’s one mark on any of them! Do you undertsand me?” Then he turned on his heel and went to the car. Its gears groaned as it lurched away into the forest.

The place called Mary’s Bend was inaccessible by road; it could be reached only on foot along ten miles of difficult wilderness trails. Burning with anger and frustration, Rob headed for the airport, hoping to

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requisition the Forest Service helicopter they’d seen carrying the bloodhound when they arrived. He was desperate to get to Mary’s Bend by nightfall. It looked as if the rains were going to begin again, and if they did all evidence might be washed away by morning. If he could find some trace of the animal that he suspected was responsible for the killings, he would have the tools he needed to act swiftly and efficiently. Without such evidence, his theories would be no more than alarmist speculation that would be attacked because of its dramatic proportions. The word monster was not in the vocabulary of a credible man. Yet it was the word, Rob was becoming more and more convinced, that applied.

“Where’s the hospital?” Rob asked hurriedly as they sped through town on their way to the airport.

“Where the main street ends,” Romona replied.

Rob made a quick stop there to look at the so-called evidence Isely had talked about: the bodies of the family that had been killed at Mary’s Bend. He wanted to make sure they would not be disposed of before he had a chance to examine them.

The “hospital” was not a hospital at all. It was a small emergency facility located among a cluster of houses at the edge of town, a one-story green stucco structure comprising seven rooms. One was an operating room, one was an office, four had beds, and the seventh room was for storage. It was in the storage room that the remains of the Travis Nelson family were being held. The larger pieces had been put in a deep-freeze, the smaller pieces had been packaged for incineration. Rob had gotten there just in time.

There was no doctor on duty, only a nurse; she summoned Dr. Pope, who lived two doors away.

Pope was a tall, gaunt man in his late sixties. He was bald and looked physically weak, and was instantly intimidated by Rob’s urgent manner. Acceding to Rob’s demands, he opened up the storeroom and spread out the remains on two long wooden tables. Some of the pieces had hardened from the freezing;

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others were soft and mushy from being wrapped in plastic. It looked like a grotesque jigsaw puzzle in disarray. In all Rob’s years of practicing medicine, he had never before been seized with such revulsion; the sight he faced now was beyond his tolerance. The bodies were broken and disemboweled, as if someone had opened the belly of a cow and dressed what spilled out in men’s clothing.

“Will there be anything else?” Pope asked.

“What makes you think this was done by men?” Rob demanded.

“I don’t know what else would have done it.”

“Why not an animal?”

“Bears, you mean?”

“Could a bear do this?”

“A bear wouldn’t do this. Not to four people at once. I’ve seen at least a dozen bear attacks. It never looks like this. When a bear attacks a group of people, it settles for one.”

“These bodies are ripped and torn! Men wouldn’t do this!”

“Unless they tried to make it look like an animal.”

“You believe that?”

“Animals kill to protect themselves. Or to protect their young. Once that’s accomplished, they don’t have any interest in killing any further. This was an act of vengeance. This was the act of a sick mind.”

“Men are going to be accused of murder based on your statements. You better know what you’re talking about.”

Pope didn’t respond.

“I want everything frozen,” Rob ordered. “Every piece there is. I’m going to have it autopsied. I’ve got blood samples I want frozen too. I’ll be back to pick it up tonight.”

Pope accompanied Rob to his car and took the blood samples; Rob, Romona, and Maggie headed fast for the airport. By the time they arrived, a light rain had beeun to fall and the trees surrounding the landing strip were beginning to sway in the rising

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wind. Two helicopters were on the ground, both bearing the emblem of the Forestry Service. Rob’s government credentials were sufficient to summon a pilot from his home ten miles away.

The pilot’s name was Huntoon. He was a large and muscular man, with an abrasive manner and was clearly resentful about having been called out on such a bad day. He told them that the trip to Mary’s Bend would take only thirty minutes but warned that if the wind rose any higher, he’d be unable to land. The shoreline at Mary’s Bend was surrounded by high cliffs; a chopper could lift off in winds up to thirty miles an hour, but not if it ran the risk of being blown against a cliff side.