Chapter 11 - The Refugees

It's a good thing we get along! - The Swiss Family Robinson

In moments we had reached the other side of the government building, dropped Thad like a load of bricks, and waited, hands on our knees, for the train to pass. Jonathan kept his face peeked around the edge of the building, waiting to sight the locomotive.

“Good times, Dewey,” he called back at me, as he leaned against the corner of the building. “I'm so glad you've invited us to join you in this grand adventure.”

I ignored Jonathan and looked to Kenzie. “What do we do now?” I asked.

Kenzie thought about it for a moment, then said, “Well, we get back to the cart, and then we start heading north again, once that train is out of sight.”

“Sounds good,” I replied.

Aly had been sitting in the grass, leaning against the government building. She spoke now, “Do you think they are all gone?”

“Who?” asked Kenzie.

“All of the people in this town. Do think the train just gobbled them up?”

Kenzie bit her lip and glanced nervously at me. “I don't know,” she said. “I don't know what else might have happened to them.”

Aly frowned. “Did you see when the next train was supposed to arrive?” she asked Kenzie.

“Not until tomorrow morning,” Kenzie replied, “but I don't think that means we need to stay around and look for people. By tomorrow morning I want to be as far away from those tracks as possible.”

“Ditto,” said Jonathan, not turning his head from the corner. Aly chose not to reply.

“Do you see it?” I asked him.

“Yup,” he said. “You know, just looking at it still gives me the willies, but at the same time I can't help thinking, 'Hey, it's just a train. What's the big deal?'”

I did not reply. His point was a good one. Had I really just been acting childish earlier, when we ran across that main street? The voices, the signs, the empty buildings all suggested one very sinister thing, but there was no reason to think that the train would just jump its tracks and try to eat people.

A few minutes later, Jonathan turned away from the corner and indicated that the coast was clear. Breathing a sigh of relief, I grabbed my piece of Thad, and my cousins did the same. Now that the threat had vanished in the distance, we felt much safer and proceeded slowly to our cart, taking breaks as necessary to relieve the strain of the surprisingly heavy Thad.

When we reached the cart, Heppy flew up into the air with joy and, I suppose, relief, then settled himself on Thad's chest and would not move. We heaved the man into the back of the cart. Jonathan, Aly, and I lumbered up onto the seat, and Kenzie took the fore, pulling at Nestor the mule's bit.

As the wheels began to move, Aly spoke up. “Guys,” she began, “I just don't feel right, leaving this place. Can't we at least take one quick look around?”

Kenzie and Jonathan said nothing. I sighed and thought of Madison. She would agree with Aly. To leave this town without making sure there were no people we could help would be wrong. I imagined the face of Maddy contorted into stern disapproval. I wanted to leave this place with all of my soul, but to do so would have been wrong. I spoke up. “She's right, guys. To just leave now without at least taking a few seconds to look around would be exactly the opposite of what Abraham wants us to do. We are out to save lives. Leaving now might do exactly the opposite.”

Kenzie groaned. “The key word there, Dewey, is 'might.'” She kept walking for a few moments, but I already knew I had her. If she disagreed, she would not have said anything at all. Finally, she stopped. “OK. If this is what we have to do, we'll do it. You've got one hour, Dewey. I may be stupid, but I'm not suicidal.”

Somehow, I knew an hour would be more than enough. Aly and I climbed down from the cart. Grumbling, Jonathan followed. The four of us walked through another alley between houses, and this time found ourselves in a town that was empty, but no longer evil and terrifying. It simply seemed like a place where everyone had decided to pack up and leave one day.

“So what do you suggest we do?” Kenzie asked me.

I thought about it for a second, then said, “Where is the one building in this town that is guaranteed to have bars, heavy doors, locks, and possibly a few weapons?” Kenzie and Jonathan looked at one another, then looked north. Aly and I followed their gazes. “The government building,” I said.

Jonathan replied, “If you had said the train station, I would have punched you.” He did not sound like he was joking.

As we walked up the dusty street, I got my first good look at the government building. Like the bar Thad had been staying at, it was two stories. The similarities ended there. Where the bar had been open and inviting, this building looked stern, businesslike, and dark. Every window had thick, wrought iron bars. The front doors were a dark, solid oak that must have been imported. The rest of the buildings in town were made of cracked lumber. This one was stone. In other times it might have been an high security prison, guaranteed to keep the inmates in. Now it looked like an imposing fortress or castle, buttressed against the evil onslaught of Dekancy Cagree.

When we neared the mighty oak doors, I was reminded of The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy Gail and her companions arrived at the great gate of the Emerald City. Except the Emerald City was made of stone and wrought iron; we were still in Kansas; and Kansas had creatures that could bite far more viciously than any bunch of flying monkeys could ever hope to. I thought of the train again and shuddered.

“How do we get in?” Jonathan asked, after a few moments of fruitless pushing on the oak door.

I blinked. “I have no idea,” I said, feeling my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

Aly spoke up. “Why don't we just knock?” she suggested. She climbed the two steps that led to the door and rapped her tiny fist three times against the massive doors. They made a small, muffled sound.

The doors did not open. Jonathan started to scoff. Then, from the other side of the door came three massive booms. Jonathan jumped back. Aly stared calmly at the door in front of her.

After a moment, we heard a voice. “Who's there?” The words were short and deep.

“My name is Aly. What's yours?”

A beat and then, “Henry?” The voice seemed nervous and surprised.

“Well, Henry, we are here to save you,” Aly said. “We're headed north. We have a cart of supplies. You and whoever you might have with your are welcome to come along.”

Jonathan started making strangling sounds during this speech. I could not blame him. Henry did not sound like Dekancy Cagree or the old man, but that did not necessarily mean he was a great guy.

The pause this time from behind the door was lengthy. Perhaps he was as startled as we were by Aly's announcement. It suddenly dawned on me exactly how Aly's world worked. I had known for quite some time that everyone loved her, but I never knew why. The simple answer was everyone loved her, because she expected them to love her. They had no other choice. To harm her after she shoved her trust and her life into your hands would be almost worse than harming yourself. I wondered if she had any idea how special she was.

When Henry spoke again, he sounded hesitant, but no longer fearful. “So... so you are the... you aren't with the... the train?” The word “train” sounded harsh and strained, like a forbidden word uttered in a church.

“What? You mean Dekancy Cagree?” Aly said innocently.

“SHHHH! You can't say that name! You've gotta keep quiet! It... he could hear you at any moment!” As the man frantically whispered these words, he threw open the thick, oak door, almost as if he had forgotten that he was guarding them.

Aly had a knack with people.

Henry realized his mistake the moment he saw the four of us, but Jonathan had propped the door open with his foot, barring the man from closing the doors again. Knowing that he was caught, the man put up a brave front and called, “If you folks are with that blasted locomotive, you may as well try and kill me. That's the only way you're getting through these doors.”

Kenzie rolled her eyes. She was good at this and had been perfecting it since she was five. “Look, buddy, we were telling the truth. The train is gone for the day. We're heading north. We decided to take a look around town, just to see if anyone else wanted to come along.”

Henry furrowed his brow for a moment, thinking about this and staring suspiciously at Kenzie and the rest of us. After a few moments he said, “OK. I guess there's no point in arguing any more. If you really were with the train, you'd have taken me and probably everyone else in this building. Follow me, and close the door when you are through.” His voice strained as he said this last part, and I felt the hairs on my back jump up. Henry did not sound relieved that the train had left for the day. There was something the four of us did not know.

After locking and barring the door from the inside, we followed Henry into the foyer. We introduced ourselves and briefly explained everything that had happened to us today, while I looked around. The room opened into one hallway on the left side of the room and one hallway on the right. Also on the right side of the room was a stairway leading to a second floor balcony with four doors, two on the north wall and one each on the east and west walls. The room itself seemed as dry and windswept as the rest of the town. As I looked at the wooden walls that were suffering from dry rot, I realized that I had had nothing to drink that day since breakfast. My mouth felt leathery and parched.

Henry led us into the left hallway, which had three doors on the right side and a blank wall on the left. We stopped at the first door.

Kenzie whispered, “How many are there of you here?”

“One family left,” Henry replied.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The Denver-Kansas City,” he said simply and opened the door. The room was small and reminded me of the turf home shared by Jim and Madison. Two beds lay in the rear left corner of the room. Two children sat upon one of the beds and played quietly together. On a dresser beside them rested a pocket watch. Along the right wall stood an open chimney. A woman with tired brown hair stood in front of a pot that hung in the chimney. As I had not seen smoke rising from the building as we approached it from the outside, I assumed a fresh fire had just been lit. Perhaps these people knew the train schedule as well as we did. Near the top of the back wall, well above anything we could reach, stood a single window.

When she saw us, the woman started and backed into the corner, her eyes wide like a deer, frantically passing from us to her children. Henry rushed to calm her. “It's fine, dear. They're just children. They aren't with the train. We're not in any trouble.” After a few moments soothing her, Henry pulled away. The woman seemed more relaxed, but still tense.

“Honey,” Henry began, “These children claim to be heading north. They offered to give us a ride, if we liked.” He introduced us. The woman was his wife Ruth. His children were named Isaac and Jacob. They were six and seven. It was at that time that I realized something had happened to me. These children were the same age as me, and yet they looked so much younger. Though my body was still that of a child, I felt aged inside. In another world the game of patty cake they were playing might have seemed fun. Now I felt pity and sadness well up within me. These children had lost and seen so much. Yet that pity did not extend to me. I too was a child, but I did not feel the need to return to the little games of patty cake and hide and seek. The world had changed. I had changed.

I looked at Ruth and began to explain our plan, but she cut me off. “You four must be thirsty and famished,” she said. “Would you like a bit of lunch before we move on to more serious business?”

Much as I felt the pressing need for swiftness, I found that I could not say no to the woman. She reminded me too much of my own mother. My cousins had already rushed over to her pot, which was now wafting the strong scent of beef stew. I eagerly followed. As Ruth handed me a bowl and ladled in some of the stew, an uneasy stirring of recognition struck me.

While Henry and Ruth displayed only a passing physical resemblance to my parents, their mannerisms and words matched almost frighteningly. As I sat, leaning against a wall and staring at the two sharing their bowls, I could not help imagine my own parents in their place. My eyes began to well up, and then the tears started to roll down my cheeks. I hid my pain by looking down into my stew.

Only now did I realize how much I missed my parents. I missed the comfort and solace that my mother could give with a simple smile and hug. I missed the silly confidence of my father's grin. The time passed quickly out in these open plains. I could not remember now how long it had been since we walked through that door at three A.M. The amount of time did not matter. My parents and I were separated by something far more terrible than time. A universe stood in the way. A galaxy, a door way, a swarm of grasshoppers, and a train barred my passage home. Until my time in this place was done, I could not go home.

When I had gotten control of myself, I looked up again. No one noticed my momentary weakness. I looked at Henry and Ruth again and was struck again by a wave of sadness, but this was a different kind. It must be truly terrible to hid within these stout walls, knowing that your children could be snatched away at any moment. Once again I saw my parents sitting there, sharing their soup, occasionally glancing with love and sadness at their own children: Isaac, Jacob, myself.

What kind of world was this? Why had nothing been done to help these people? How could that evil old man overcome the good will of Abraham so terribly? As I watched Henry and Ruth at their meager meals, a new resolve filled me. This journey was about more than saving Matty. I wold make this journey now to save the people of this beautiful, windswept prairie. I would make this journey for Maddy and Jim, for the Prairiea, and for Henry, Ruth, Isaac, and Jacob. And I would make this journey for myself.

When we finished eating and Ruth cleared our bowls, Henry signaled for everyone's attention. “Kids, Hon,” he said, “I think it's time to leave this place.”

Ruth interrupted, “Leave!” Her eyes grew wide. “Henry, it's out there still. It ain't left. You know it ain't left. It got the Badens. It got the Carswells. They thought they were safe too. They thought it would be fine this time. They were wrong, Henry!”

Henry struggled to respond to this. I opened my mouth to help him, but he signaled me to stay quiet. “I know, Ruthy. I know 'bout them. We all know 'bout them. They was wrong. But this time I ain't. This time we got something they ain't got. This time we got them.”

Henry waved at the four of us. I was startled. What was special about us? “Hon, do you know what they did? They saw the train! They saw it, Ruthy. They saw it, and they ran! And they lived!” At these words I glanced sharply at Henry. What did he mean by, “They lived.”

Jonathan asked this question. “What? What are you talking about?” he said.

Henry looked at us. “This is Newton,” he said. “This used to be the Port of Kansas. There was a time when this town thrived, when people came from all around to trade, to sight see, to get a new start. Newton was rich with the mining and cattle trade. Then something happened. Something bad. The train changed. I don't know how long ago this was. Some days it seems like forever. Some times, like it was only yesterday.”

For a time no one spoke. My cousins and I watched Henry, waiting for a story with what we knew would be an unhappy ending. Henry in turn watched us, his mind hidden somewhere within his own thoughts. After a while he seemed to come to a decision. He began.

Chapter 10 - Newton

Oww! Stupid apple! - Sir Isaac Newton

For a Kansan the howling of the wind is often a comfort. It is a sign that the world is normal, and all is well. The problem was that this wind did not feel like any ordinary wind. This was a wind that seemed to speak, to call out my name as it sped across the plains.

I did not sleep well. Perhaps it was the thought that last night's dream would return. I feared the devil children of my mind. They were ruthless and vicious and would not let go, even after you cried uncle.

It may have been the children, but I believe it was Thad. There had been a gleam in his eyes that evening. It was the terrible shining in the eyes of broken men who cannot continue. Even Heppy acted nervous around the man. Something had happened as we approached Newton that changed Thad. I was afraid of him.

When sleep did come, I did not dream of children. For the most part, I cannot remember my dreams from that night, save for the white and caste iron face of an ominous clock that tolled the many hours of my troubled thoughts.

Once again, I woke before dawn. This time Heppy's frantic pecking roused me. “What is it boy?” I muttered. A random joke fluttered into my mind. “Did Timmy fall down the well again?”

As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. It was a joke that felt somehow far too dark for the circumstances. The threat of falling down wells existed in this world. The very notion of falling down such a black pit terrified me in a way it never had before. I could see the little boy, unable to swim the the deep pool, clinging to the rocky wall of a narrow, chilly shaft, crying, calling out for help, receiving none.

Hephaestus stopped pecking me and cast about, as if to make sure no one else was listening or watching. Then he brought his beak close to my ear. “The Man is gone,” he whispered.

I started out of bed. “You can talk!” I gasped.

“Please!” the crow whispered, “Hush. You mustn't tell the others. It is very important.”

“But why?” I asked.

“Please,” responded the crow.

Though I hated to make promises without knowing reasons, I nodded my head. Heppy's statement had filtered through. “He's gone? Where did he go?”

“I don't know,” said Hephaestus. “I fell asleep among the tall grass, and when I woke up to find some breakfast, he was gone. I don't think he liked Mackenzie's decision to camp for the night.”

“But he surely could have waited one more day,” I replied exasperated.

“I would have thought so too,” said Heppy. “This isn't like him. He's been pushed much harder than this in the past.”

“I'd better wake the others,” I said. “Kenzie will know what to do.”

I roused my cousins and explained the situation calmly. Jonathan’s response was not quite so pleasant.

He cursed Thad and said, “I knew he'd do this. That lazy, sniveling good for nothing has been trouble from the start! When I get my hands on him, I'm going to wring his neck. He's probably gone straight to someone or something terrible and given away our location.”

Jonathan’s exclamation troubled me, but I did not argue. We did not know what awaited us in Newton. Something was happening to these grasslands that the grass, the wind, and even the dirt seem malevolent and angry.

Kenzie interrupted Jonathan’s tirade. “That's enough,” she said. “There's not much we can do about it now. We'll do as we planned last night and enter Newton during the day. If Thad was right and there was nothing to worry about, we'll meet him somewhere. I'm sure the town can't be that large. But if he was wrong..., we'll just have to deal with that when the time comes.”

So saying, Kenzie stood up and began to pack. No one argued with her, because there was very little to argue about. With no way to know what was in front of us, there was no reason to spend a lot of time worrying about it.

As the sun broke the horizon, I was reminded of the Prairiea's song. It was strange how the world could change so profoundly in one day. With our belongings packed and Kenzie electing to walk alongside the cart herself, we began the trek into Newton.

The miles were short, and before long I could see a building and a flagpole rising up from the grass. As we crested a ridge, the cowboy town spread out before us. It looked much as western movies presented such places. Along a single street, a church, a general store, a few saloons, and a number of houses stood facing one another. At the north end of the street stood the government building and prison. At the south end - the end we would have to cross first - stood the train station and tracks, along with a few silos for grain storage. And parked at that station like a smoking iron dragon was the Denver-Kansas City cattle and grain train. It looked hungry. My eyes watered as I stared at it. The engine, coal bin, and cars were all made of a dull gray iron, dirtied by smoke and prairie dust. The engine made a slow, grinding sound that seemed to rumble like an angry lion eyeing a dying gazelle.

“That's an evil looking creature, isn't it?” said Jonathan, mostly to himself.

“I don't like it, Kenzie,” said Aly. “It looks angry.”

Kenzie said nothing She stared at the train for a moment, then trudged onward, tugging at the bit of the hesitant mule Nestor.

As the sun beat down on us and we approached this unpleasant town, a thought occurred to me. “Where are all the people?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Aly.

“The people. No one is walking around. The streets are bare. I can't see an engineer working on the train. There are no horses, no dogs, no animals of any kind. Where is everyone?”

No one spoke. No one knew what to say. Heppy had burrowed underneath some bags in the cart, plainly terrified. We continued on, approaching the town from the southwest. The train was facing east, and we hoped to cross the tracks behind it. None of us wanted an up-close view of the coal-burning grill.

Before crossing the tracks, we all climbed down from the cart. First, Kenzie and Aly stepped across. Then, Jonathan and I followed, pulling Nestor's tackle hard. The mule stared at the tracks with bulging eyes. We finally had to cover his face with a spare shirt before he was willing to step forward at all.

We quickly pulled Nestor and the cart across, moved behind one of the houses, out of the sight of the train, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived. We attempted pulling the cover from Nestor's face, but the creature grew wild-eyed the moment we did so. Uncertainly, I returned the blinder to his face, and he quieted.

We examined the house we were hidden behind. Jonathan spotted a sign painted jaggedly upon the building, as if the graffiti artist was working quickly and nervously.

“Beware: Dekancy Cagree,” he read. “Who do you suppose that is?”

I shrugged, but could not get the name out of my head. Dekancy Cagree. He sounded like a mean, hungry killer from the bayou. I imaged a man with scars on his face and missing teeth, grinning at me and hiding his hands in his long, black, leather trench coat. It was a ravenous grin.

Kenzie ignored the question. “We'd better find Thad and get out of here,” she said. “This place is giving me the creeps.”

I agreed.

“One of those saloons looked like it had some upstairs rooms,” suggested Aly. “Maybe it's an inn.”

Kenzie said, “Seems like a good enough place to start,” and motioned for Aly to lead the way. Aly walked north past three more buildings, then walked around the north side of the fourth. She pointed at a two-story bar that stood across the street.

Jonathan glanced nervously south along Main street, and I followed his gaze to the smoking train.

“Do we really want to cross this street?” Jonathan asked. “I know it sounds dumb, but I don't want that train to see us.”

Just then, as if from all around us, a jazzy piano began to play. It was loud, rollicking, and maniacal. It bore down upon us, shutting out all possible conversation. It seemed as though loudspeakers had been placed at every corner of the town. Then a voice that sounded just like a prerecorded, old-time announcer began to speak.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, good morning. This is the voice of the Denver-Kansas City railroad company, encouraging you to buy your ticket now for a cross-country train-ride you won't want to miss. That's right! Parents, bring your children. Children, bring your pets. There's room for one and all. It's the thrill of a lifetime.”

We all exchanged glances. Then a new voice began. It was a strong, laughing, pleasant voice. “Hey there, folks. This is the Denver-Kansas City. We're just about ready to go here. It looks like we've only got room for five more people, so come on down. Ha! We're going to give these seat away at a great discount!” I listened to the voice a little more closely. It sounded familiar. The more I listened, the more I began to realize something. The laughter in that voice was not friendly. It was violent. It was calling us, cajoling us, ripping into us. “Come on, folks. Just five seats left. Need to get to Kansas City quick? Ha! Need to meet a loved one? Family emergency? Climb aboard and help save Matty.”

I blinked. Aly gasped. The voice turned silky smooth. “Come on, Dewey! Better hurry, better hurry! Ha! Have you guessed my name, yet?” Then the voice began to laugh. It started warm and mellow, but began to climb octaves until it was a shriek. Then the recording ended and the speakers died.

I looked at my hands and was surprised to see that they were shaking. Kenzie walked over and hugged me hard and tight. “It's ok,” she whispered. “It was just a recording. He isn't here. We're fine.”

“We've got to get out of this place,” I could hear my voice crack. “We've got to go north. That train is evil. This place is dead because of that train. We need to leave.”

“I know,” she replied, “but first we have to find Thad. You heard that recording. There are still five seats left. It doesn't have Thad yet. We need to find him, before it does.”

Jonathan cut in, “But that recording could be old! Thad could be long gone.”

“It doesn't matter,” Kenzie said. “If he is still around, we have to find him.”

Jonathan looked at me imploringly. My first inclination was to agree with him, but I knew I couldn't. How could I save Matt from what he faced, if I couldn't look down the muzzle of a single train? I closed my eyes for a moment, composed myself, then opened them. “Kenzie is right,” I said. “We need Thad, but more importantly, Thad needs us right now. We've got to cross that street.”

Jonathan looked helplessly at the two of us, then sighed and nodded.

Kenzie spoke. “On the count of three, we go,” she said. “Run as fast as you can. Don't stop. Don't look around. Keep your eye on that tavern door. If you hear anything behind you, no matter what it is, run faster. Don't stop until you are inside and away from the entrance.”

We nodded.

“On the count of three,” she said. I could not believe what I was about to do. I was terrified. I shivered, though I did not feel cold.

“One,” she said. My breath got raspy. My heart pounded in my ears.

“Two.” I thought of Madison, lying in her bed, then running through that field. I could feel the warm sun of that day and the assurance in her smile.

“Three,” Kenzie shouted. And I began to sprint. All of the others were in front of me. We flew out from behind the building and into the street. My vision had tunneled now and I could not see anything to my left or right, but I was reminded of that day, so recently, that I met Maddy and her grandfather. The threat of those grasshoppers was as nothing compared to the malevolence raging at my back and side. I could feel the hatred and greed, like an oven. The world lost its color and seemed to go gray. I knew the train – Dekansey Cagree – was off its tracks now. I was sure it was rushing to meet us and welcome us aboard, bound for a destination of fire.

My cousins began to pull away from me, and I started to get scared. My father had told me stories about African beasts who trailed the herds, waiting for the sick, the weak, and the young to fall behind so they could pounce. They had been three feet away. Now they were ten. I did not call out to my cousins, for I knew I would be lost in doing so. The train - Dekansey Cagree – was behind me and getting closer. I could feel the chug, chug, chug, chug, grind, tear, nash, can you hear me, Dewey? I'm comin' for you! I'm comin' old boy! And I'm hungry! I'm so hungry!

I tried to run faster.

I was almost there now, but I could feel the power draining away from my limbs. I would not be able to keep this pace up for very much longer. My eyes began to water, and my step faltered.

Then a voice in my head cried out, “Run, Dewey! Run faster!” It was Maddy. It was Abraham. It was, and this last one was the strangest of all, my father. I could feel the fear in his voice as well. The voices gave my strength I did not know I had. I ran faster.

My cousins were now through the door, and I was alone on the street. I could hear the hungry rumble of the locomotive behind me. Then I burst through, leaped into a corner, hid my face in my hands, and began to sob.

I was alive.

After a time, I calmed myself and looked up. My cousins were leaning against walls well away from the entrance, still gasping for breath. The bar was empty, but a staircase did lead to the second floor.

“I guess,” gasped Aly, “we made it.” Her eyes bore into the door we had passed through. I looked, and saw nothing but the dirty, sandy street.

“Looks like it,” said Kenzie, who was in basketball shape and had been quicker to cool down. She eyed the door we had come through thoughtfully, then squared her shoulders and stood up. “Now let's see if we can find Thad.”

When we had all composed ourselves, we crept upstairs. After a few moments of searching, we found Thad relaxing in the second room on the left.

“What took you guys?” he asked, reclining in his rocking chair.

With a war cry Jonathan leaped at the unsuspecting man in the chair. Kenzie and I leaped after him and wrestled him away from Thad. Jonathan continued to hurl curses as the man for several moments before we could get him under control.

When he had recovered, Jonathan said, “You lunatic! Do you have any idea what is going on around you? Have you been outside? Do you hear that train? Did you notice how everyone in the town is gone!?”

Thad blinked at Jonathan, then his gazed drifted curiously toward me. “Dewey,” he began, “what is Jonathan... talking... about....” As he spoke, Thad's eyes grew unfocused. He slumped in his chair. His breathing grew ragged.

Then is eyes focused again and turned to me. The look of hatred in his glare burned me like a fire. The room seemed to brighten by the force of those eyes. He pointed a finger in my direction. I noticed a metal band around it. “You ran again,” Thad whispered, “Ha! Run all you want, boy. We're coming, and you won't be there in time. Your friend is alone, and soon you will be too.”

With that, Thad collapsed, sliding out of his chair and falling to the ground. Kenzie ran to him and put her ear by his mouth. “He's still breathing,” she said. She shook him and called his name, but he did not wake up. “We've got to go, and he's not going to move himself,” she said. “We're going to have to carry him out of here. Jonathan, you and Aly grab his feet. Dewey, you and I can take his head.”

The oppressive weight of this town was getting to us. None of us complained. We grabbed Thad by his shoulders and legs and dragged him back downstairs. Jonathan dropped his portion on the floor. “What do we do now?” he asked. “The cart is on the wrong side of the street. We barely made it across last time. How in the world are we going to cross it with this lump of junk?”

Kenzie peaked out the window facing the street. “We may be able to go around,” she said. “The police station on the far end of town looks like it may be able to block us from the train's view. If we can find a back way out of this building, we may not have to do any running.”

She instructed us to put down Thad and begin looking for a back door. Kenzie and Aly followed a doorway that seemed likely to lead to some sort of latrine. Jonathan and I walked behind the bar and into a kitchen.

At the back of the kitchen stood a door that was cut cross-wise with a ledge resting on the lower half, as if to cool pies after baking. We opened this door and were greeted by the sight of wide, open plains, as far as we could see. Jonathan sighed with relief.

“There was nothing back there but more rooms.” Startled, Jonathan and I turned at the voice. Kenzie and Aly stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

“No problem,” I said. “We've got an exit right here.”

The four of us returned to the main dining room, picked up Thad, and returned to the back door. Kenzie stuck her head out the door and checked both sides, then gave the thumbs-up to indicate the coast was clear. We dragged Thad back out into the day-light and proceeded to slink north.

As we walked, staying close to the buildings and hurrying past the spaces between them, Jonathan muttered, “Your friend is a real sweetheart, Dewey.”

“Thad?” I asked. “I don't know that I'd call him my...”

Jonathan cut me off. “No, not stupid Thad. Your other friend. The angry one.”

“Oh,” I whispered. “Him.”

Aly asked, “Have you guys noticed how he always seems to follow a pattern?”

Kenzie glanced back at her curiously. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Aly screwed up her eyebrows in thought, then said, “Well, obviously there's that sound he makes, like he's clearing the back of his throat all the time, but there's something else. I noticed it a bit ago, but now it seems to have slipped away.

“His name,” I said with a dead voice. “He keeps asking if I've guessed his name.”

“Why would he say something like that?” Jonathan asked.

“I don't know,” I replied, “that's just what he asks.”

For the rest of the brief trip to the north end of town, none of us say anything. I was lost in my thoughts about the angry old man and wishing I could bounce ideas off of Madison. Why did the old man's name matter? Was it some kind of intimidation, or was there something more? Abraham had only called the old man his brother. He had never used a name. That fact seemed strange now. He had called us all by our names. He had, in fact, be very liberal with names of all kinds. Why had he left out his brother's?

As I contemplated this, we reached the north end of town. We rounded the corner of the last building and stood facing the Newton police station, city building, and prison. Upon the wall facing us was a schedule for the railroad. We all saw it at the same time. At the top of the schedule was an advertisement.

Denver-Kansas City Cattle And Grain Exploration Exhibition

(Come, one and all, and ride the Dekancy Cagree!)

Dekancy Cagree was not a who. Dekancy Cagree was the train itself. To our south, I heard the its rumbling, hungry growl.

Kenzie had been looking at the schedule. As we stared at the words “Dekancy Cagree,” the train's rumbling seemed to grow louder.

“Do you hear that?” Kenzie asked. “The board says the train will be departing at noon. It's getting ready to leave!”

I closed my eyes with relief, then frowned. Kenzie did not sound happy about this. “That's a good thing, right?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she said. “Look at the track. It heads east and north. If we don't get to the other side of this building by the time that train clears town, it's going to see us. He is going to see us.”

With those words we heard a whistle sound and then that horrible noise that meant the engine wheels were starting to turn. We grabbed Thad and for the second time that day, we started to run.

Chapter 9 - The Trail

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
'Tis the wind, and nothing more." - Edgar Allan Poe

That night I dreamt of the library. A year ago my parents thought it might be nice to invite a few kindergarten classmates of mine to play, though I’m sure my father’s true motive was to show off. The children would see the Library and tell their parents. My father would mentally preen.

For all that I loved him, my father managed to embarrass me in most social situations. “Dad! Stop doing that! People are looking at us,” was a common statement of mine. My father paid very little attention to my complaints. Looking back on it now, I think he found them amusing. At some point in his life, he had decided that the notion of embarrassment was a waste of time and proceeded to ignore it.

In my dream that day had not yet turned sour. The children were still marveling at the many shelves. No one had thought to point out that I and my family could be a bunch of nerds. Everything was too new. I knew all of that was about to change.

Jordan, the boy I had always considered a friend, turned to face me. He was grinning a wide, hungry, violent grin. Adults never remember these grins, even though they haunt our deep-down memories. We put them in stories about murders and werewolves. We forgot that these are the grins of little girls and little boys who have discovered the power of cruelty.

“Nice house, dork!” shouts Jordan, his teeth flashing. I find my hands tugging at my mother’s shirt, but she does not hear me or feel me. She is turned away and oblivious.

Sammy turns at Jordan’s words and instantly understands. Children know about power. “Yeah, dillweed!” he cries.

Quickly, the remaining children turn and start shouting insults. In moments I can no longer comprehend the words, I only feel the rage, the heat blazing from their bodies. Then, from the ranks, Jordan steps forward. The crowd goes silent. He stands inches away from me and stares down into my eyes. “Boys,” he says to the children behind him. “Let’s go. It’s time to leave this loser and his loser father with their loser books.”

My eyes water at this point, but I manage to hold back the tears. Jordan curses at me, puts his hand upon my chest and shoves me down. I fall against a bookshelf and crack my head on a corner. Then they are gone. When my parents ask me where my friends went, I tell them I asked them to go. My father is irritated at this and walks away. My mother looks concerned, but does not press me.

It is a dream I have often had since that day. Until that night in the plains, the pain had been dulling. I was a child, and children can forget. Now it was back, vivid and ghastly. However, I had little time to deal with it as I awoke. Something more pressing was happening.

Jonathan was shaking me. “Dewey,” he whispered. “the others are awake. You have to see this!”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and pushed the pain into an unused corner of my mind. “What? What’s going on?” I asked.

“It’s..., I don’t know what it is. I’m not sure if it’s amazing or funny or both. You just have to see.”

With that Jonathan hurried away. Curious, I got up and followed him. The sky was dark, as the dawn sun had not yet risen. In a few moments, we reached a small rise. He crouched down, waited for me, and whispered, “They’re just over this hill.”

I peaked over the grass and was astounded. There, as far as the eye could see, stretched a single row of prairie dogs, starting as far as I could see to the north and ending just as far to the south, facing east. Each one stood on his or her hind legs and stared intently at nothing that I could see, each one’s tail wagging furiously. I recognized Herrenfeld nearby. For a time, nothing happened, then the Patros began to hum. The hum followed the line of the Prairiea both north and south, until it seemed an immense sounding board stood in front of me. The earth seemed to buzz in counterpoint to the creatures’ rumble.

And then the sun broke the eastern horizon. The humming swelled and minute changes appeared along the line. Harmonies floated atop harmonies. The underlying current held steady. In its tones I thought I heard flashes of the song Aly sang the night before. As the sun rose, the prairie dogs went totally still, save for their vast song. Then, at the edges, the song seemed to dim. Younger voices fell away. The song grew deeper, more ancient.

I felt in that hum, the song shooting back thousands of years and shooting forward thousands more. The Prairiea had greeted the dawn in this way since time immemorial.

Yet more voices quieted. The line of song got smaller and smaller, until only one voice could be heard, the hum of Herrenfeld. In a moment he too went silent. Jonathan and I exchanged glances. We had witnessed the morning song of the Prairiea. We did not speak as we returned to the camp. What could be said? Having witnessed the event from other points, my cousins and Thad trailed in from other directions, obviously stunned by the enormity of the prairie dogs’ choir. I returned to my blanket and remained quiet for some time.

It was not until that afternoon that we finally returned to our journey. In the intervening moments, discussions occurred, plans were set, hands were shaken, and a wheel was fixed. I rode in the cart with Kenzie and Aly, and Jonathan walked along with Thad as we departed. The many prairie dog pups trailed us for several hundred yards before returning to their parents.

“So that was something this morning, huh,” ventured Jonathan, as he kept pace with us.

“I’ll say,” said Kenzie. “Speaking of which, what happened to you last night, Aly? I had no idea you had that in you.” Aly only shrugged and looked embarrassed.

“Seriously, Aly, I’ve never heard you sing like that before. Where did it come from?” added Jonathan.

Aly looked down at her hands, then said, “I’m not sure, guys. It felt strange. It was like the words were coming from my voice and were being lifted from my mind, but they didn’t feel like my words. It was like someone else was singing through me… No, that isn’t right. It was like someone else had told me what to sing years ago, and I was just remembering the words.”

“You know,” I said, “I’ve felt the same way since we began this quest.” As I said it, I realized it was true. “I’m a kid. I’m seven! I should be watching cartoons and learning to color, but I talk like I’m Kenzie’s age and act like I'm as old as my father. Heck, we all do. What is happening to us in this place?”

Before the cousins could say anything, Thad called out. “We’re here! Dewey! Kenzie! We made it!”

Startled, we all looked at him, then looked around. Not a lot had changed. Prairie grass continued to ripple in every direction like a vast ocean. Kenzie and Jonathan exchanged exasperated glances.

I spoke up. “Um, Thad, it looks pretty much the same here as everywhere else. What are you talking about?”

“It is, lad, it is. But it’s also something more! Come see.” Having said this, he trotted over to a point a few yards further and gestured at the ground. Grumbling, I climbed down and went to see what he was pointing at.

When I was about three feet away from Thad, I tripped. Surprised, I looked at where my foot had been. There was a wide rut. My hands had fallen into another one near where Thad was pointing.

“This is it!” he hooted. “This is the trail! This, my good friend, is when our travails get easier and our step livens.” Thad began to do a little jig.

I turned back to my cousins and shrugged. Thad was correct. This was a trail. I still did not understand what made it so fantastic, and said as much.

Jonathan tried to clarify things. “What’s so great about this trail?” he asked.

“What’s so great?! What’s so great?! Children, this is the Chisholm Trail! The is the great cattle-driving trail of Texas! This is the Roman Highway of Kansas. This is the Autobahn of the plains. This is the path to your friend Matty,” Thad said and poked me in the ribs. He grinned. “Everything is going to get easier now.”

Very few statements have been more false.

For a time after we turned onto the trail, it was as Thad said. Everything was easier. The bumps and bruises of the open plains disappeared as our cart stopped jostling and jerking the lot of us. Even the mule seemed content and pulled with extra vigor. At some point, Aly had named the mule Nestor, after some cartoon donkey. She encouraged Nestor’s new energy with a few extra carrots. That whole day we made excellent time.

As the evening came upon us, we started to make out a light in the distance.

“What is that?” I asked Thad, pointing toward the light due north of us that seemed to intersect with our trail perfectly.

“That is Newton, the international port of Kansas,” said our guide, proudly.

“Port?” I asked. “How can Kansas have a port? It's a prairie in the center of a continent without a single major lake.”

“Newton,” said Thad, “is home to the Train Station. It's Kansas's connection to the world. The next port is Kansas City, and that train station is on the Missouri side.”

“Are you saying there’s a train from Newton to KC?” interjected Jonathan.

“Yes,” said Thad.

Aly got very excited at this. “Does that mean we can take the train?! Oh, I’ve always wanted to take the train.” She turned to Kenzie. “Can we please, Kenz? It would be so much fun!”

Kenzie glanced from Aly to me and back, then said, “I don’t think so, Sis. The old man told us to avoid cars and the like. We could take that train, but…” she turned to me for support.

“Something real bad might happen,” I said. I knew Kenzie was right too. I could feel it. I could hear the scream of the gears. I could see the train’s hunger. “Real bad,” I repeated, almost to myself.

The discussion ended with that, and, shortly thereafter, so did that day’s journey.

“We should camp here, tonight, before we hit Newton,” said Kenzie.

Thad began to complain at this. He had been looking forward to a warm bed. Kenzie interrupted him. “I’m sure it’s a wonderful town,” she said, “but something about those lights makes me feel uneasy. I don’t want to run into trouble tonight. It’ll be far better and easier to deal with any problems in the morning.”

Thad said nothing at this. He simply shrugged and set to building the fire for camp. His silence made me nervous. Such behavior was unlike Thad. Before now, a simple explanation had never been enough to stop his wheedling. Usually, it took threats of violence.

After camp had been set up and dinner finished, Thad stood to perform yet another poem. It had taken little time for him to overcome any moodiness Kenzie might have forced on him. He began.
Twelve strokes around and I am the same
Yet different.
Twelve strokes around and the sky is dark
And I’ve reset.

Twelve strokes around and the world is turned
But I am not spent.
Twelve strokes around and my soul is burned
And the night is dark and the moon is red.
Twelve strokes around and twelve again
And the flames fly high and the world is dead.

Twelve strokes around and my gears are shot.
Twelve strokes around and it was all for naught.
Twelve strokes around and twelve strokes around.
And twelve strokes around and twelve strokes around.

Thad was finished, but there were no sighs or moans of embarrassment. For the first time, he had left us speechless. This was not his usual poem of love and loss. This one was different. This one felt unpleasant. This one felt wrong.

I tried to fall asleep that night, but the words haunted me. It was not until well past midnight that I drifted away. Until then, Thad's voice echoed in my head.

And twelve strokes around. And twelve strokes around. And twelve strokes around.

That night the wind howled.

Chapter 8 - The Prairiea

If you go down in the plains today,
You're sure of a big surprise.

If you go down in the plains today,
You'd better go in disguise.

For ev'ry bear that ever there was,
Won't gather there for certain, because

Today's the day the Prairie Dogs have their picnic. – An Alternative Folk Song

The rest of that day we said little and paused only to water the mule at a creek we passed around noon. Each of us seemed lost in thought. I could not keep my mind away from Maddy, her morning run, and the gift of her ring.

The ring drew my eyes from our surroundings to the point that I did not notice the creek until we were fording it. It was a beautiful piece of gold. It was elegant. It looked fragile but felt immensely strong. I held it in the palm of my right hand and twirled it about, using my left forefinger.

While our mule drank from the stream, we took lunch. I do not recall eating, though I was not hungry later, so I assume that I must have. All I could think was that Maddy had flown.

It was not until that evening that my thoughts came crashing back down to the real world. It happened suddenly.

“Umph!” grunted Aly, who was sitting on the right side of the cart.

Aly, along with the cart, had dropped a few feet on the right. I had been sitting in the middle, between Jonathan and Aly, but was now lying atop my youngest cousin.

Jonathan, who had caught hold of the left rail in time, stood up. “Kenzie!” he called. “Can you see what’s happened?”

Kenzie, who had been leading the mule, had turned back when the mule stopped walking. She examined the left side of the cart. “Um,” she said. “It doesn’t look good. Hey, Thad! Come here.”

Thad had been walking well in front of us. He trotted over to Kenzie’s side. “That doesn’t look good,” he echoed Kenzie.

“What doesn’t look good?” asked Jonathan.

I had managed to climb off Aly and down out of the cart. I was astonished. “Wheels fall off?” I asked.

“The wheel fell off!” exclaimed Jonathan.

“Yup, front-right,” said Thad to Jonathan, then he turned to me. “Not very often,” he said. “In fact, I’ve never been near one that has, and I am especially surprised that a wheel might have fallen off one of Jim’s carts. He’s a very careful man. He should have caught this.”

I agreed. A chill breeze blew from the southwest, where we had been and where I had been dreaming all day. Something happened back there that I had missed, that we all had missed. Jonathan was the first to notice the sound riding the wind toward us.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered. He was gazing southwest in the direction of the stream we had forded. “It’s some kind of ant or bug… maybe not. It’s a sort of chittering.” He looked to Kenzie for advice.

“I don’t hear anything,” she said.

Jonathan turned his face back in the direction of the breeze. His brow furrowed then rose in alarm. “It’s coming closer!” he said.

Kenzie looked at me, and I shrugged back. “Better safe than sorry,” she said. “Everyone up. Get on the cart. Heppy?” She turned to the bird. “Could you try scouting back? Maybe you’ll see something.” The bird cawed in acknowledgement and flew back in the direction we had come.

The rest of us piled aboard the broken cart and waited.

“Being with you children is certainly a bit nerve-racking,” said Thad to no one in particular. I don’t know why the boss thought I was up for this gig. I’m a poet, not an adventurer.”

Aly patted the man on the head, trying to calm him down. Kenzie said nothing, while Jonathan tried to listen for new noises. I kept my ears open and fingered Maddy’s ring.

For a time nothing happened, and my eyes started to droop. I began to dream, and in my dream I could see Maddy sitting on her bed, her legs swung down and her toes nearly touching the floor.

“Dewey,” she seemed to say.

“Yes,” I said, noting that her voice lacked the laughter that seemed always ready to burst out.

“You will not be with me long,” she said, “so say nothing and listen. The ones you are about to meet are important. You must enlist their aide or all of our efforts will be wasted. Without them even your friend Matt will not be able to stop the angry old man. Do what you can. Trust your cousins. But know that the only one who can truly win them over is the one with the strength to do so.”

I felt confused. What was going on? Was this a dream? “Maddy,” I said. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

She interrupted me. “It’s fading already, Dewey. I’m sorry. I will try to tell you more, later, but for now, just know that I miss you.” She closed her eyes, and the image jerked away.

Thad was shaking me. “Wake up!” he shouted. “Do you hear that?”

I blinked and was awake. The sound that Jonathan had called a chittering was now a rumble. The earth shook around us. “What is that? What’s happening?” I shouted back.

“I don’t know. He hasn’t come back yet!” said Thad, his eyes seeming to roll around in his skull as he glanced around.

“Who?” I called.

“His bird,” said Jonathan. “His bird isn’t back.”

“Where is he?”

“We don’t know,” said Kenzie. The rumbling had grown steadily louder. I could barely hear Kenzie’s voice now. “He’s been gone a half hour, at least,” she yelled, and then there was silence. The word “least” echoed through the plains around us. The rumbling had stopped.

We all looked at one another, confusion written plainly on our brow.

“What…” began Jonathan. He was silenced by the appearance of a prairie dog in front of us. This one was, however, like no prairie dog that I had ever seen. It stood at least three feet tall on its hind legs and with lidded eyes examined us in our cart. Its black-tipped tail waved calmly back and forth. We gaped at the animal. Thad was making choking sounds.

I do not know how, but I could sense a vast age in the creature before me. His whiskers were graying and his back sloped mildly, but something more existed. This prairie dog was a grandfather and a leader. His eyes spoke of sadness and wear. In a slow, measured voice that was both masculine and nasal and that exuded wisdom, the prairie dog spoke. “You have ridden over our land,” he said. “You have rumbled the caves and frightened the pups.” His sentences were accusatory, but his tone was more confused than angry. “What is worse, you have brought a machine, a… vehicle,” his voice trembled at the word, “into a peaceful place. Why? Why have you done this?”

His question was a weak one, a pitiful one. I could feel a hidden strength in his spirit that had somehow been crushed away. What was happening to the people of this world?

Kenzie climbed down off the cart and stood before the ancient prairie dog. Though Kenzie was a tall girl at nearly six feet, the prairie dog did not back away. He stood as though the two were equal in every way. I did not know what Kenzie would say. I did not know if she would take the small creature seriously.

“My name is Mackenzie, and I am sorry,” she said in a voice nearly as measured as the prairie dog before her. “We did not know this was your land. In another world and another time we might never have taken a vehicle across and above your homes. Such was not an option today.” Kenzie turned away from the prairie dog and indicated me. “This boy is named Dewey. A great conflict approaches. He, along with myself and my brother and sister, has been sent by Abraham to the place where the Kansas and Missouri rivers meet to help a boy named Matthew in the coming struggle. Even now, the battle has begun. It is with this terrible assignment in mind that we travel across and over your land.”

Jonathan and I exchanged glances. Kenzie had never spoken like this before. “Weird,” murmured my cousin.

The ancient prairie dog stood silent, appraising the woman in front of him. Then he smiled. “You are wise and courteous. You do your party honor. My name is Herrenfeld. These are my people. These are the Prairiea.” Out of his throat came a chittering call, then the world quaked around us.

From the fields in every direct hundreds of prairie dogs emerged from unseen burrows. Each stood at least two feet high, though none quite managed the height of the wise Herrenfeld. Thad fainted. Aly squeaked with delight. The vast sea of prairie dogs surged in a joyful tide toward us, calling out in a high pitched, brassy language that I could not understand, but thought sounded beautiful.

Herrenfeld made another sound, and the masses quieted. “I know about this conflict. Even we sheltered Prairiea have heard the rumblings in the earth.” He turned toward the west. “The sun sets. The night begins. Take shelter here, and let us speak of these matters.”

Kenzie nodded and thanked Herrenfeld. I felt frustration at the need to stop again, but quashed the urge to lash out. I could still hear the voice of Madison in my dream. Were these the creatures of which she spoke? This night might be an important one.

After Kenzie and Herrenfeld had finished complementing one another and shaking hands, we began setting up the tents. Thad had come out of his faint and was bullied by Jonathan into lending a hand. When the first tent was almost set, a loud caw filled the air. Thad looked up and released the brace he was holding. The tent collapsed. Thad did not care. He was running toward the sound. I followed. At the edge of the encampment he and Heppy were reunited. The crow landed on his shoulder and made a second caw.

“Really?” said Thad. “You don’t say.” I was curious and asked Thad to translate. “He says,” said Thad, “that the sound is just some prairie dogs. They’re friendly, so we shouldn’t worry.”

I looked at the bird on Thad’s shoulder who was preening himself for a job well done, and sighed.

When camp had been made and a fire lit that could comfortably warm my cousins, Thad, Herrenfeld, and myself, the wise and ancient Prairiea spoke.

“You have come far, and yet traveled very little,” he said, staring into the flames. “Your journey is barely begun, yet Change already wraps the four of you in her protective chrysalis. I do not see an easy time to come.” He sighed. “However, that is not what we shall speak tonight, is it?” He turned his eyes from the fire, skipped Kenzie, and looked directly at me.

I felt trapped in the headlights. Until he spoke, I had not realized my intentions. Now they were as clear to me as they obviously had been to Herrenfeld.

Kenzie followed the prairie dog’s gaze to see me squirming on the other side of the fire. “What is he talking about, Dewey? Is there something I don’t know?”

I looked down at my hands and was startled to discover how small they still were. I was a kid. How had all of this become my responsibility? Slowly, I nodded. “Herrenfeld…,” I blinked. Calling the leader of the Prairiea by his first name seemed inappropriate right now. I interrupted my sentence. “Is that what we should call you?”

“You may if you choose,” he said. “There are those of my children who call me the Patros, though I rarely attend to such formality.”

I nodded. “Patros Herrenfeld,” I began. “Though such was not our intent as we traveled over your land, I find it is my duty today to ask you for a gift you have every right to refuse.”

Jonathan, who had been dozing off, jolted up at this. He gazed suspiciously at me. I could not meet his eyes.

“As you have said, the earth rumbles. Forces are mounting. Our friend Matthias stands at the center of something larger than any of us, but he cannot afford to stand alone. He needs us. And he needs you.”

A burst of air escaped Jonathan’s lungs. I do not know how, but he could see where this was going.

“He needs the Prairiea.”

The Patros Herrenfeld stared into the fire and said nothing. Then he turned to me. “I feel you have been misinformed, lad. The Prairiea have heard the distant thunder. They have witnessed the trampings of the multitudes. Yet we stand alone. We are sheltered in our homes. The battles above the surface do not affect us in our burrows. We are peaceful and intend to remain so. We do not take sides.” Having said his lot, the Patros returned his gaze to the fire.

I turned helplessly to Kenzie who only shrugged. Thad, who sat between Jonathan and me, whispered, “This is the way of these creatures. They have stood alone for centuries, perhaps millennia. They take no sides, have never taken sides, and will never take sides. They exist with the earth, shiftless and resolute. They are the Prairiea.”

With nothing left to discuss, the gathering fell away. Kenzie stayed to contemplate the fire with the Patros Herrenfeld. Aly attempted to befriend the many young Prairiea girls, who found her giggles and ability to talk about anything fascinating. Though these creatures had a language of their own, they all seemed entirely conversant in ours.

Feeling embarrassed and frustrated at my failure in turning the mind of the Prairiea leader, I walked back to the broken cart and sat up front. The mule sat in the grass, fast asleep. I heard a rustle behind me, then Thad’s voice. “Don’t feel disheartened, kid,” he said. He sat in the seat beside me. “It was not meant to be. No matter how hard you talk, these people will not change. I’m a little surprised the boss gave you this task.”

At that, my shoulders and head slumped. Thad looked at me curiously. “He did give you the job, no? Kid, tell me you didn’t decide to do this on your own.”

“It wasn’t on my own,” I said, “but it wasn’t the boss, either. You know how I just sort of fell asleep, right before Herrenfeld showed up?”

Thad nodded.

“Well, I had a dream. In my dream, Maddy was calling to me. She told me we would need these people. She said I needed to trust my cousins. I don’t remember it very well now. I think I remember something about strength, but I can’t place it.”

“Oh Dewey,” Thad said, “Did you ever think maybe it was just a dream? Not everything is magical here. Look at Jonathan over there, wrestling with those prairie dog pups. Do you think a few tumbles are going to change any minds? And look at Aly. Did you think adolescent prairie dog girl giggles were going to alter the world?”

I looked at Jonathan and then at Aly and looked away. Thad was surely correct. Herrenfeld had sounded implacable. There was nothing we could do.

Thad rambled on for a time, sounding nearly depressed enough to write another poem. Then his voice changed, and his words trailed off, mid-sentence. I had nearly fallen asleep, but was startled awake by his silence. I looked at him and saw that he was staring off at something. I followed his eyes.

There was Aly and her gaggle of girls. But they had stopped giggling. In fact, the prairie dog children were totally silent. Every last one of them was staring in wonder and astonishment at Aly, who had begun to sing. Even Jonathan’s rough-housing had ceased. The entire camp was silent, save for the crackling of the flames, the slight gusting of wind, and the beautiful sound of a little girl who sang with the breathy whisper of a child’s heart.

I had never heard the song before, and I knew that I never would again. It was far too perfect to be reproduced. At first, Aly sang of simple things: waves of grass and wheat, the glorious dawn and vivid sunsets.

Then her tone changed. Her words became stronger; her song became a tidal wave. She sang the stories of children and parents, of husband and wife, of cousins, of connections seen and unseen. She sang a story that began with a lone infant and ended with the world, with the universe, with the family, with the windswept plains of Kansas.

And just I began to feel crushed by the enormity of this world that we live in, Aly’s tone changed. It grew hollow and empty and cold. It spoke of creaks and cracks, of lost connections, of homeless children, of empty societies that have lost touch with the world and in the same breath with themselves.

Once again, Aly’s melodies changed. The empty societies truly emptied. Lives were lost, senselessly. Murders happened in the night. Parents never came home again. The world had been lost, not by those who had fought to keep it, but by those who had chosen to let it go.

Tears fell into a puddle at Aly’s feet as she sang of a loss more tragic and bitter than the loss of the moon or the stars. The loss she sang of was that of love, of beauty, of empathy and understanding. She sang of a race that could lose its soul.

But as her words and her tune sharpened and stretched taught that bleakest moment, the hope in her eyes and in her own heart fought back. The melody struggled with itself, for a soul once lost is almost impossible to find again by any ordinary individual. Aly, though, was no ordinary individual.

In our minds, we witnessed a pitched battle, as Aly struggled – cut, bloodied and bruised – with the shadows of emptiness. Her song was thick with the cries and screams, for nothingness does not like to return what it has claimed.

Then we felt it. A tear across the fabric of everything bit into us. From the shadows of separation, of loneliness, of despair and hatred, Aly pulled a brilliant sliver of light and love, joy and exultation. Aly had managed pull back a small patch of soul with her song and her compassion. And as the shadows slunk away and the emptiness drew back, the soul in her hands grew in an explosion of rejoicing and light.

As the light sped to eternity, it was possible to see for a moment what had been hidden within that soul. It was a lone infant, and it was a world.

Aly’s song ended as it had begun, as a breathy, childlike whisper that grabbed at the heart and would not let go.

The camp stood silent, save for a few sniffles coming from Thad. As if in a dream, I stood and walked back to the fire. Every eye followed me. As I approached, Herrenfeld stood, his brilliant eyes reflecting the firelight and tears streaming down his furry cheeks.

I said nothing as the Patros wept, unaware that I was weeping as well. When the ancient Prairiea had collected himself, he said, “My people are your people. My people are the world’s people. We shall reach out. We will help.”

I held out my hand, and he grasped it with his own. “Please,” he said. “allow me to adopt you as my own. From this moment on, I and the world shall be honored to know you all as one with the Prairiea.”

Off in the distance, one of the pups that had been tumbling with Jonathan let out a joyful call to the moon, and the silence was shattered by the celebration of all.

The festivities lasted past midnight. Drunk with happiness, I failed to notice Thad until the merriment had died away. Wandering back to the wagon, I spied him shaking his head. I returned to the seat I had occupied several hours before and asked him what the matter might be.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s just, well, your cousin has shamed me. How can I continue to be a poet, when I know my ventures can never approach the beauty that she brought us tonight?”

For a time I said nothing, choosing only to consider Thad’s words. Finally, I said, “That isn’t really what poetry is for, is it?” Thad gave me an uncomprehending look. “What I mean is,” I continued, “that poetry is never intended to be beautiful itself. It is meant to reflect the beauty of the world around it.”

We both considered Aly, who was once again giggling with a few of the Prairiea girls. “You know, you might be right,” said Thad. He shook his head as he continued to stare at all. “And, if so, there sure is an awful lot of beauty to reflect out there.”

I looked up at the stars and then at the plains around us. “Without question,” I said.

Chapter 7 - A Kansas Farmer

Ad astra per aspera – The Kansas state motto, which means “To the stars, through difficulties.”

The five of us stared quietly at the man, whose gun was pointing at Thad’s head. What was there for us to say? The shock of the run, of the terrifying hail of grasshoppers against the wall, of being in this strange and ancient land had finally caught up to us. Thad was too busy swallowing the frog in his throat to speak. Even Heppy, standing on Aly’s shoulder, was uncharacteristically free of bird calls.

The stand-off stretched into a minute before an unknown and unexpected voice rose from one of the darkened corners of the hut. “Oh, Grampa, what are you doing? When you invite someone into your home, you can’t very well threaten to kill them the next second.”

None of us spoke, nor dared move while the gun remained pointed at Thad’s head. The wrinkled, old man squinted, squared his shoulders, made as if to squeeze the trigger, then sighed and lowered the barrel.

“I reckon Maddy is right. More to the point, I couldn’t go killin’ no one in cold blood while she was watchin’.” Thad, relieved, began to speak, but was interrupted. “That don’t mean I like you, boy. I still ain’t heard no reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” Heppy cawed. “And don’t think I like you much either, bird. I warned you not to consort with his likes. Now look what happened.”

Having learned his lesson, Thad hung his head and said nothing. Instead, it was Kenzie among the five of us who spoke. “Please, mister. We don’t mean to intrude. The moment that storm outside ends, we’ll be on our way.”

The old man looked at Kenzie. “What’s your name, girl?” he asked.

“My name is Mackenzie,” she replied, “and this is my brother Jonathan, my sister Aly, and my cousin Dewey.” She indicated each of us respectively. “I assume you’ve already met Thad and Heppy.”

“You can assume right,” the man replied.

“Grampa!” called out the voice in the corner. I could not make out a shape among the deep shadows. “Don’t be a dunder. You gotta tell’em your name.”

The old man gave Kenzie an embarrassed smile – I relaxed at this – and said, “You can call me Jim. I farm around these parts. Wasn’t expecting any visitors today. On the other hand, I guess you weren’t expecting to visit, were you?” The man laughed. “Anyway, sorry about the state of things. It’s hard to keep everything in its place.”

Now the farmer named Jim picked up his lantern and walked over to the corner of the room where the voice had issued from. I could see a girl sitting up in a bed that could easily have been fashioned of bits of twigs and branches that came from the river we had camped at the night before. “And this,” continued Jim, “is my granddaughter Maddy. She’s doing real good today; aren’t you, girl?” He smiled with shining eyes at the girl in the bed.

The girl reached up and hugged Jim around the neck. “Yes, Grampa.” She let go and gave him a serious look. “And if you let me up, I can help you out with these guests.”

The old man smiled fondly, patted Maddy on the back, and said, “No, no. That’ll be alright, girl. I’m sure I can manage.”

Maddy sighed and looked at us. “So what brings you all out this way?” she asked.

I answered. “We’re headed to Kansas City, but those grasshoppers drove us your way.”

The old man frowned curiously at me and asked, “Kansas City? What might send four children, a crow, and a thief to Kansas City?”

Jonathan spoke up. “A thief? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Now see here…” Thad began, but was interrupted again by a quick gesture from Jim to his gun. Becoming hesitant, Thad attempted to placate our host, “I mean, I may have made some transgressions in the past, but I’m a reformed spirit, I am.” He sent a quick glance in Jim’s direction and stepped behind Aly.

Turning back to the old man and his granddaughter, I replied, “We have to reach a friend of mine. Honest Abe told us he was in trouble.”

“Abraham?” asked Jim, sharply. “What’s so important that the old man of the sea would get moving?”

“Um,” I turned to the others for support, but they watched me and said nothing. “Well, see, my friend Matty is pretty special. He and I ran into this other old man a few days ago, and I guess that man isn’t as nice as Honest Abe. I guess he might try to hurt Matty. Abraham said Matty could protect himself, but he needed our help to do it.”

“Really?” said Jim. He sat at the corner of the bed, near Maddy’s feet, and regarded me thoughtfully. “This ‘other man’… Did he look very much like Abraham?”

Again I looked at Kenzie, who shrugged, and then I turned back to the old man. “Yes. At first, I thought they were the same person, then I noticed that Abraham didn’t…,” I hesitated. What exactly had I noticed? How could I put it into words? Finally I said, “He didn’t smell as bad.”

Jim threw back his head and laughed, hard and hoarsely. With tears streaming down his face he said, “Yes. That’s a wonderful way to put it. I think I’m going to have to tell Abe that one. ‘Didn’t smell as bad!’” He chuckled a moment longer.

When he had finished, he continued. “Well, if Abraham says you need to go to Kansas City, you need to go to Kansas City.” He turned to Thad. “You’ll be taking them along the Trail?” Thad nodded, mutely.

“Good. Once these grasshoppers pass by you can be on your way. I haven't been up that way in twenty odd years, but I'm sure everything is still fit. In the meantime, make yourselves at home. These hoppers are…,” he paused. His eyes had been wandering the ground. He crept back to the front door. When he was about two paces away, he flung himself to the ground, his right hand opening wide and quickly closing. He stood up, brushed himself off, and smiled at me. He held out his hand and opened the fingers to reveal the grasshopper within.

“Ever had chocolate covered hoppers?” he asked, grinning. I blanched.

Over the next hour, Jim prepared a stew that he assured all of us was free of any bugs, “Intentionally, anyway,” he added. This gave me little comfort, but the stew smelled wonderful, so I blanketed my unease. I realized we still had not eaten lunch, and my stomach was not happy.

My cousins had arranged themselves around Jim and the stew cauldron. Thad and Heppy were sulking in the corner opposite Maddy’s. I sat in a wooden rocking chair, staring at the front door.

After a time, Maddy called out to me, “Was it Dewey?” she asked. I did not respond immediately. Something about her made me very nervous. Contrary to popular belief, little boys do indeed develop crushes, and they do so very early. There had been a girl in school that I very carefully kept as far away from as possible. She sometimes wore a little red dress with flowers. Maddy reminded me of her – they were about the same age, but there was something else. I could not put my finger on it.

After pretending like I had not heard her for what seemed an appropriate time, I stood up, backed against the wall and said, “Yeah. What do you want?”

Her cheeks went red, and she said, “Nothing.” We eyed one another. “I was just hoping to talk to someone other than Grampa. He’s really nice, but all he wants to do is talk about wheat and barley and milo.”

I digested this, decided her request was a safe one, and said, “Ok.” I walked over to her bed, pulled up a chair that Jim probably sat in to read to her, and said, “So… what do you want to talk about?’

Maddy smiled at me, then quickly looked away. “Maybe you could tell me about how you got here,” she said from behind the hair that had fallen in front of her face. My heart skipped for a second.

“Ok,” I said. Until the stew was ready, I talked, recounting the old men, the wave, the water, and our path into this strange other-Kansas. Maddy listened and said nothing, snatching glances at me when she thought I was not looking.

After about half an hour, Jim walked over and said, “Stews ready.” He gave me a funny look and a smile, then walked back to start ladling out portions. Outside, the thundering continued.

We ate around a table that had also been drawn near Maddy’s bed. Thad continued to sulk as he ate his, but Heppy seemed in much better spirits. He pecked the stewed meat out of his bowl with gusto and cawed happily to himself.

As we ate, Jim turned business-like. “Children,” he said, “I’ve been thinkin’ about it, and I’ve decided that Kansas City is just too far to a walk. So,” he looked at Maddy, and then turned to the rest of us, “around the back of the house, I’ve got a cart and a plow horse. I’m gonna' give you more than you can fit in the cart, but it shouldn't be a problem if you're will to take turns walking along and guiding the horse. That way we can load up some noncombustibles and jugs of water and make sure no one gets too hungry or thirsty along the way.”

“Awesome!” said Jonathan.

Aly looked worried. “But won’t you two need that cart?” she asked.

“Eventually,” said Jim, evasively. “Just be sure to bring it back, and I guess we’ll be fine.” I knew there was something he was not telling us, maybe several somethings, but I decided not to say anything for now.

The pounding of grasshoppers continued for the next two days. In that time we all tried to prepare ourselves as well as we could for the next leg of our journey. Jim provided Kenzie with a map he had drawn. Between the lectures of Thad and Jim, Jonathan learned the fundamentals of horse driving. And Aly used all her charm to reconcile the two grown men. For a time it seemed her efforts would be futile, but to my great astonishment, she had persuaded Thad to recite a poem for us by the end of the second day, and Jim did not shoot him on the spot at its conclusions.

As for myself, I grew attached to Maddy. We would talk. I would tell her stories, and she would laugh. When I told the story about how I got my name, she giggled for several hours. Until that time, I had not considered the story particularly funny, but under Maddy’s ears it became a riot. Yet for all that I told her about myself, she seemed reticent to speak of her past. At first, I ignored this, but by the end of the second day it was like an itch I could not scratch.

Thad’s poem that evening was as strange as the first one, if not more so. He grunted, looked around the room nervously, and began.

“Sometimes, even
when I look at
something entirely
unlike you
my chest hurts.

How can beauty
cause such
an unusual contraction
in vision,
lungs, and hearing?

Why do I skip
a beat
and harden my mind
at skin
and bone and blood?

Cartilage stretching a face
in unusual designs
provides for an interesting
response.”

After the embarrassed coughs, sighs, and groans – and unexpected clapping from Maddy – had ended, we prepared for bed. When everyone else had drifted off to sleep, I got up and walked over to Jim, who seemed never to sleep, as he rested in the chair facing the front door with his shotgun on his lap. The thunder of grasshoppers had died away now. The farmer's home stood peaceful among the plains.

“Jim?” I whispered.

For a moment he said nothing and continued to stare at the door in front of him. Then he sighed and said, “I know what you are going to ask me, Dewey. I want to tell you. I want to explain.” He pulled his eyes from the door and looked at me. “I’m going to say as much as I know, but you won’t be pleased.”

As he spoke, I became aware of the soft sounds of breathing around us. I listened for Maddy's tremulous sighs and nodded. “Something is wrong, then, isn’t it?” I breathed.

“To say the least,” the farmer said. “When you’ve spent as many years as I have working the ground, clearing weeds and watching for rain, you start to feel your crop. A mother will know hours before the first cough that her child is sick. A farmer can tell almost the moment he’s finished planting how plump his yield will be.

“Madison has been stuck in that bed for a long time. In my dreams I can still see her running through the clean rows of wheat, laughing as her hands pass over the stalks. I’d be surprised these days to see her walk twenty feet, much less run a thousand.”

He stood and rested himself and his gun against a wall to better contemplate the young girl in the corner. “Things are different here, you know. This isn’t the world you grew up in. This is a place where all times coincide, where the very essence of a thing shines brightest in an almost everlasting moment. In my dreams I see Maddy running, but not in my memory. We’ve lived in this home for what could as easily be a hundred seasons as it could be five. We exist in an almost infinite time in which we live our lives unchanged. I read the Farmer’s Almanac. I toil with the seasons. I look with pride upon the harvest and anger upon those pirate so-called “cowboys” who rob my livelihood and destroy my land’s work.

“And Maddy is a tired girl, stuck with some unknown illness that has her wasting away in a permanent, painful, and – God help me – cheerful malaise. I don’t despair, because she doesn’t despair.” Jim’s eyes began to water.

“I once took her to Abraham and pleaded with him to somehow help her. For a time he had me stand outside, waiting, but when he ushered me back in he told me…” Jim paused. For a moment I thought he would break down into tears. He did not. Instead he did the opposite. His shining eyes dried. His bowed back straightened. He did not cry. He became a rock. He was a Kansas farmer, solid through it all. “He said there was nothing he could do. He said that it was Maddy’s lot in life to be as she was and that only she could change it. I asked him how she might do that… how I could help her.

“But he said that wasn’t up to me. Abraham could not help her. I could not help her. Dewey, you can do nothing either. Only Maddy can help herself.”

I stared at Jim, and Jim continued to stare at the girl in the corner. For several minutes, neither of us said anything. I suppose that was Jim’s way. He only said what he needed to. When the silence became unendurable, he turned back to me. “It’s time to sleep, Dewey. Tomorrow will be a long and difficult day for you. You’ll need your rest now.” That said, Jim took up his shotgun, returned to his chair, and became silent and immobile, like a boulder, ready for whatever flood may come his way.

I returned to my place on the floor and tried to sleep, but could not. The tragedy of this implacable land had struck my gut like a brick. How could these two tired souls exist like this on a frontier land that should not be a frontier any longer? A deep sense of shame swept through me, as I imagined my beautiful, easy life with parents who cared for me, with cousins who would throw off all fetters just to be with me. Most of all I felt weakness and shame in knowing how powerless we all were to cure a little girl of an empty, meaningless sickness.

Jim did not cry that night. I did it for him.

In the morning it was as if our conversation had never happened. Jim was pleasant and energetic. He had risen before dawn and already packed the cart with everything we might need, save our personal items. With his help and guidance Kenzie, Jonathan, Aly, and I fit the rest of our things into the back of the cart.

My cousins worked quickly. They seemed pleased and ready to be off. I could not seem to work with their speed. I felt wrong, like we were not finished with this place. The problem was obvious, when I thought about it. Maddy was still asleep. How was I to leave without saying good-bye?

As we packed and stowed away our supplies, I dragged my feet. While the rest wolfed down their breakfasts, I toyed with mine. In every possible way I lingered, hoping that Maddy might move so I could hug her farewell.

With our repast over, the cart packed, the mule jumpy, and Thad and Heppy antsy to depart we stepped outside. The cousins all climbed into the cart, as I had volunteered to walk first. Jim shook our hands and gave the mule a slap on the backside. With that we began to move. I looked back at the house for what I resigned myself to be the last time and turned away.

There came a shout. “Wait!” I heard Maddy cry. I turned again, terrified and grateful. There she stood, outlined by that solid doorframe that had protected us from a storm of grasshoppers. Then Maddy did something that shocked both Jim and myself. She hiked up her skirts and ran.

As she laughed, tears coursing down her eyes, she seemed to fly. All around her wheat stalks that had already been harvested then ravaged by the past few days seemed to bend away. A brisk breeze from the southwest picked up, causing her hair and skirts to billow around her, as if she were an angel speeding through the heavens. Then she was upon us.

“Dewey,” she said, bent over, trying to catch her breath. “I’m so tired. I must get back to bed. It hurts. Oh, it hurts.” She paused, spent another few moments gasping, then caught her breath and stood up straight. “It hurts, but I couldn’t let you go. Not yet. Not without saying good-bye.” Then she flung herself at me. I closed my eyes as she hugged me so close that I could barely breathe.

“I have something for you,” she whispered in my ear. She released me and took my hand. “When are tired or uncertain, think of me and hold this to your heart.” Into my hand she placed a ring upon a chain. “This was my mother’s and her mother’s and her mother’s. It is nearly as much of me as my own little finger.”

She smiled a quiet smile at me and said, “It doesn’t feel like just two days, does it? I will miss you.” Then to my surprise she kissed me on the corner of my mouth and ran behind Jim.

I focused my attention on the farmer, who smiled the sad smile he had given me before. “Well?” he asked.

I stammered and said, “I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss you both.” I looked again at the ring in my hands. “Thank you, Maddy,” I whispered and turned back to the wagon, where my cousins and Thad were grinning at me. “Shut up, you guys,” I muttered.

The four of them returned their gazes to the northeast, and we were off: the sun at our faces, the world at our backs.

Chapter 6 - A Troubled Horizon

Have you ever tried to eat a chocolate covered grasshopper? Has a chocolate covered grasshopper ever tried to eat you? – Crazy Steve, at the gas station

In the morning, after a breakfast generously donated by Thad and Heppy, we broke camp and continued the trek northeast, but with Thad now breaking the way. As we walked, I broached a question that had been dogging us all the previous day.

“Thad,” I said, “where are we?’

For a time the man said nothing, continuing in his strange, three-step gait of leg, walking stick, leg… leg, walking stick, leg. I almost asked the question again, when he spoke. “Have any of you ever heard of the synaptic cleft?” I looked to Kenzie, who shrugged. When none of us responded, the man continued, “It doesn’t matter. We are in the chaotic pool of the mind. We are in that critical juncture between one thought and another. On the other hand, we are still in Kansas. In fact, we camped only a few miles north of your home, Dewey.”

“But I don’t recognize any of this,” I protested.

“As well you shouldn’t,” said Thad. “This isn’t the Kansas you can see or touch. This is the Kansas you can hear in your dreams. This is the Kansas that comes out at night, when everyone is asleep and the wind is howling sharply at the moon. This is the Kansas of rampaging cowboys, of God-fearing farmers, of buffalo and Indians. This is Bloody Kansas. And this is a Kansas before all that. This is the land when the oceans dried away and were pulled into the hard ice of the north. The world you know exists here to, but it is as an eye blink to the millennia.”

Aly spoke up. “What do you call it?” she asked.

“What’s that song? The one with the deer and the buffalo?” Thad asked. Heppy cawed out an answer. “Oh yes, Home on the Range. That’s an apt title.” The man, obviously feeling that the time for questions was over, at least for the present, picked up his pace and began to whistle.

For a time we walked in silence, save for the whistling of our strange guide, the sounds of tall grass rustling in the wind, and the occasional caw of Heppy. As we walked, I took some time to examine our poetic scout. His clothes looked like throwbacks of silent movies. If it were not for his build and face, Thad could have been confused for the loveable tramp played by Charlie Chaplin. His shoes were too big. His pants seemed to be made out of some kind of scratchy wool. He wore a too long jacket as well, like the ones professors wear in movies about college with the leather pads on the elbows. On his head, resting like the losing cat who slouched away from the fight, slumped a beaten, patched, wool bowler.

Over his shoulder he carried a brown canvas bag, like the ones potatoes are kept in. I could not discern what was in that bag, but the bulges could have easily been mistaken for potatoes at any other time.

When the sun reached its zenith, I began to sweat. I was tired and hungry and did not know how much longer I could walk without falling over. Just as I thought my lips were beginning to crack, Thad called a halt.

Instead of preparing for lunch, though, he crouched down and whispered for us to join him.

“Do you see there,” he said, pointing toward the north. I saw nothing, squinted, and breathed a little faster.

“What is that?” I asked. Before us I could see some sort of dusty haze, rising from the earth like a cloud of smoke.

“Don’t know,” said Thad. “Could be stampeding buffalo. Could be a cattle train, though I don’t know why it would be heading south.” He eyed the four of us. “Or it could be real bad…” Abruptly, he turned and called out, “Heppy, go up high. See if you can’t see what that is.”

Heppy, being a little quicker than Thad, had already begun his ascent. Up he flapped, until he looked like a ball with wings, and then he was only a point of black against the blazing blue sky.

Jonathan had been looking around nervously. “Um,” he began, “that old man, your boss…”

“Abe,” Aly said helpfully.

Jonathan looked at her irritably, then continued, “Yes, Abe. He said something about me being the muscle. I, uh, I don’t think he meant anything about fighting stampeding buffalo…” He trailed off, looking nervously between Kenzie and Thad.

Thad grinned and said, “Don’t worry, lad. If it’s buffalo, we can just move out of the way. On the other hand, if it’s…” At that moment, Heppy returned, diving in as fast as he could and cawing madly. Thad’s eyes opened wide. His pupils flicked rapidly among the four of us, and he broke down again.

“Oh no!” he wailed. “Now I’ve done it! Now the boss is going to have a real fit. ‘Keep them safe,’ he says. ‘Don’t get them into any trouble,’ he says. Now we’ve done it. I’ve sent them in the path of the grasshoppers!”

Aly and I looked at one another, nonplussed. Grasshoppers? What was wrong with grasshoppers? Kenzie, on the other hand, became very alarmed. “Oh no,” she said. Thad blubbered at the sky. She darted over to the man, grabbed him by his lapels, and shouted, “Get a hold of yourself!” She slapped him. I began to hear a strange rumbling buzz, like a train with wings.

Thad stopped blithering. He looked at Kenzie with a crinkled forehead and terrified eyes. “You are a guide, no?” Kenzie asked. “Then guide us. If you know this land so well, point us to a house or a cabin or something. We’ve got to go.”

“But,” Thad began, his eyes even wider than before.

“No!” screamed Kenzie. “No ‘buts’. A house. A hovel. A lean-to. NOW!”

Thad stood up and began to run due west. We raced behind him. As we ran, the rumbling grew louder, deeper, more alien. It was how I imagined an avalanche or mighty rock fall to sound. The blurry haze of earlier had gotten bigger and closer. It seemed composed of tiny, flickering particles.

Then I remembered something. It may have been a movie or a dvd or just something I imagined while my mother read me some book or another. In my head I saw the plague of Egypt, of Cairo, of the Pharaoh’s lands. It was the plague of locusts, brought down by the god of the Israelites to prove a terrible and awesome point. Those locusts had been everywhere, eating plants, animals, people. Flying so densely that to breathe was to risk choking to death. The sound those locusts made was the same sound echoing at my feet, the sound of a million, million insects swarming, calling for your soul.

I ran. I grabbed Aly’s sleeve, pulling her as fast as I could, trying to follow Thad and Heppy, Kenzie and Jonathan.

As I ran, I thought I saw a speck against the sea of grass in front of us. Thad turned his head, pointed, and shouted something that was drowned out by the droning rush of insects. I could feel my heart hammering against my chest. The edges of my vision darkened, as the horizon behind me became more and more densely populated by a living bringer of doom.

Then I could see the sod house in front of us. A wrinkled, old man in overalls stood directly in front of the entryway and glared at us, his hand resting upon a double-barrel shotgun. Thad raised his arms in the air, calling out some treaty that I could not hear. The man in the overalls glared at us for a moment longer, then stepped aside and motioned us in.

More of my peripheral vision disappeared.

Then we were passing the old man, flying into his worn shelter. The man quickly followed, slammed the door behind him, bolting it closed in the process, and shoved a bit of sod securely into the one crack at the base of the door.

For a moment, we were encased in a false silence. In the small hut our dulled gasps were the only sound to be heard. Then I heard a thunk against the door. Moments later, another thud registered against the wall. Then a sound that was half rain, half thunder slammed into the sod house from every direction.

The wrinkled man who had been facing the door turned to us. He grimaced, picked up his shot gun, aimed it at Thad’s head, and rumbled in a dry, cracked voice, “Now tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”