Table of Contents
He listened to the howling wind outside, knowing that it was bringing with it many inches of snow that would be covering the entrance to the shelter. But it was a warm shelter, so much better than the hastily erected lean-tos down the hillside in the clearing. A good place from which to do work.
Yes.
A good place to become something more. He looked around at the tools hanging from lumber nail hooks; sharp tools, unused for many decades. On the floor beneath them nestled an ancient-looking flintlock weapon, from another time, perhaps even a previous century - no good to anyone now. The tools, however, he could use.
You are strong.
The voice inside him made him shiver with delight.
I hope so.
He looked down at the canvas sack of bones; daring to pull open the threaded mouth of the bag, he glimpsed the small cluster of dark-coloured, almost black bones inside.
You came to me.
Yes. I chose you.
Preston.
You are a good man.
I try so hard to be.
Alex Scarrow lives a nomadic existence with his wife Frances and his son Jacob, their current home being Norwich. He spent the first ten years out of college in the music business chasing record deals and the next twelve years in the computer games industry. Visit his website at www.scarrow.co.uk.
By Alex Scarrow
October Skies
Last Light
A Thousand Suns
October Skies
ALEX SCARROW
Orion
www.orionbooks.co.uk
Mum and Dad, a small offering of thanks for everything.
Most of all... thanks for the writer genes - theyve come
in very handy. This one is for you.
Acknowledgements
As with my previous two books, theres the matter of a thank you to a small group of beta readers who have helped me turn a first draft into a novel. I think a pretty decent one this time.
A big hug of thanks to Robin and Jane Carter and John Prigent for giving both drafts an extensive walkthrough; to Mike Poole for some very well-targeted comments, and my oldest brother Scott, for pinpointing some pretty key issues in a concise way. This was a bloody hard book to pitch right, the hardest for me yet, if Im honest.
My thanks also to Dad for his encouragement. That came when I needed it most.
And of course, the biggest helping of gratitude goes to Frances, who with every book I write carefully moves those commas to where they should actually sit. (Truth be told... I punctuate as if Im doing a William Shatner, pausing dramatically, and putting a, comma often where, it shouldnt, really, go.)
I also need to thank my new little laptop for doing such a good job, not crashing and trashing some important files like the previous little bugger did. Also to thank Starbucks in Borders for many coffees and chocolate chunk cookies - without those two ingredients, this book would not have been written.
Finally, thanks to my agent, Rowan Lawton and my editor, Jon Wood, for direction and guidance.
Prologue
The two little girls, playing in the meadow by the stream, were the ones who saw it first: a pale form moving along the edge of the wood, just inside the tree line. They saw it at a distance, moving slowly; appearing, disappearing, reappearing amongst the foliage, a chalk-white stick-man with no face and two dark holes where his eyes should be.
It turned to gaze at them for a moment, swaying slightly as it studied them intensely across the stream surging with recent snow-melt from the peaks above and the tail end of a hard winter.
This was more than enough for the two girls. They turned and ran. As they stumbled up the incline of the meadow towards the edge of town, they thought they heard the thing scream after them - a sound both frightening and pitiful.
They ran across the small town, down the closest thing to a main street, busy with the mid-morning, mid-week trade, to their home, whimpering in broken, garbled sentences, each talking over the other, that they had seen a skeleton walking in the woods.
The skeleton was next seen by Jeffrey Pohenz a short while later. Jeffrey, a willowy teen, was outside by the back door of the traders store, enjoying a crafty ten-minute reprise from hefting bags of cornmeal, leaning against the wall and savouring the unseasonably early warmth of sunshine on his face.
His mind was elsewhere... on a particular promise made to him by a certain young lady last night. Anticipation of that was making the day at work drag interminably; his concentration was shot to hell.
Of course, when he saw the skeleton suddenly emerge from a cluster of trees and thick tufts of untamed briar just across the yard, littered with broken and being-mended chassis and wheel spindles, the thought of this evenings exciting promise was instantly dismissed. Like some creature from Hieronymus Boschs visions of hell, it shambled towards him with a lurching clumsiness, bony arms and hands glistening brightly in the sunlight, reaching out to him.
Jeff decided not to dive through the back door into the store and run the risk of getting entangled with the clutter of goods within. Instead he ran around the back of the low wooden building towards the busier thoroughfare at the front, stumbling out into the dusty open space and tripping over hard-baked wheel ruts that only a few days ago had been mud, churned into grooves and ridges by large steel-rimmed wheels.
Jesus, help me! he screamed as he scrambled to his feet again. Theres a... theres a... theres a skeleton man round the back!
The nearest people to Jeffrey were bemused at the sight of the mop-haired, lanky teenager stumbling over his own clumsy feet and bellowing with fear.
Jeff turned to look back at the side of the wooden fencing around which hed just sprinted, expecting to see that shuffling bone-white creature emerge.
Oh, Jesus, its... its...
Gordon Palmer, a loader who worked out the front, shook his head at Jeffs delinquent craziness. The boy was prone to goosing around at work - a practical joker rather than a real grafter.
Whatve you seen, lad?
Jeff looked up at him. A skeleton! It just charged out of the woods at me!
Gordon straightened up, sensing that maybe this time the boy might not be playing the fool. It could be some goddamned Nez Perce. Hed heard that tribe sometimes wore chalk-white body paint on raiding parties.
What exactly did you see?
Jeff pointed to the wooden wall leading round to the rear of the compound. His finger wobbled uncertainly. Just there... I swear I saw someth
And then Gordon saw it for himself.
The skeleton staggered forward, one bony hand held out and running along the wooden slats of the wall for support, for guidance. Gordons first impression was identical to Jeffs, identical to the two little girls.
But then his eyes picked out other details on the shambling form: the tattered scraps of clothing, fluttering like ragged pennants on a washing line, boots tattered and torn and held together by strips of vine or leather.
What the hell... ? he muttered, his terror replaced with horror of a different sort.
Jeff, standing beside him, now began to pick out those same details and realised his error.
Oh shit. Its a man.
