The Servants of Twilight

well, demanding. rough. But I'm not embarrassed by the way I was, and you shouldn't be, either. We've got something special, something unique, and that's why we both felt able to let go the way we did. At times it was maybe crude-but it was also pretty terrific, wasn't it?"

"God, yes."

They kissed again, but it was a brief kiss interrupted by a distant growling-buzzing.

Charlie cocked his head, listening.

The sound grew louder.

"Plane?" she said, looking up at the narrow band of sky above the tree-flanked lane.

"Snowmobiles," Charlie said." There was a time when the mountains were always quiet, serene. Not any more. Those damned snowmobiles are everywhere, like fleas on a cat."

The roar of engines grew louder.

"They wouldn't come up this far?" she asked worriedly.

G'Might."

"Sounds like they're almost on top of us."

"Probably still pretty far off. Sound is deceptive up here; it carries a long way."

" But if we do run into some snowmobilers — "

"We'll say we're renting the cabin. My name's. Bob. mmm. Henderson. You're Jane Henderson. We live in Seattle. Up here to do some cross-country skiing and just get away from it all. Got it?"

"Got it," she said.

"Don't mention Joey."

She nodded.

They started downhill again.

The sound of snowmobile engines grew louder, louder-and then cut out one at a time, until there was once again only the deep enveloping silence of the mountains and the soft crunch and squeak of snowshoes in the snow.

When they reached the next break in the tree line, at the top of the lower meadow, they saw four snowmobiles and eight or ten people gathered around the Jeep, almost three hundred yards below. They were too far away for Christine to see what they looked like, or even whether they were men or women; they were just small, dark figures against the dazzling whiteness of the snowfield. The station wagon was half buried in drifted snow, but the strangers were busily cleaning it off, trying the doors.

Christine heard faint voices but couldn't understand the words.

The sound of breaking glass clinked through the crisp cold air, and she realized these were not ordinary snowmobile enthusiasts.

Charlie pulled her backward, into the darkness beneath the trees, off to the left of the trail, and both of them nearly fell because snowshoes were not designed for dodging and running. They stood under a gigantic hemlock. Its spreading branches began about seven feet above the ground, casting shadows and shedding needles on the thin skin of snow that covered the earth beneath it. Charlie leaned against the enormous trunk of the tree and peered around it, past a couple of other hemlocks, between a few knobcone pines, toward the meadow and the Jeep. He unsnapped the binocular case that was clipped to his belt, took out the binoculars.

"Who are they?" Christine asked as she watched Charlie focus the glasses. Certain that she already knew the answer to Lier question but not wanting to believe it, not having the strength to believe it." Not just a group of people who like winter sports, that's for sure. They wouldn't go around busting the windows out of abandoned vehicles."

"Maybe it's a bunch of kids," he said, still focusing." Just out looking for a little trouble."

"Nobody goes out in deep snow, comes this far up a mountain, just looking for trouble," she said.

Charlie took two steps away from the hemlock, held the binoculars with both hands, peering downhill. At last he said, "I recognize one of them. The big guy who came into her office at the rectory, just as Henry and I were leaving. She called him Kyle."

"Oh Jesus."

The mountain wasn't a haven, after all, but a dead end. A trap.

Suddenly the loneliness of the snow-blasted slopes and forests made their retreat to the cabin appear short-sighted, foolish. It seemed like such a good idea to get away from people, where they would not be spotted, but they had also removed themselves from all chance of help, from everyone who might have come to their assistance if they were attacked. Here, in these cold high places, they could be slaughtered and buried, and no one but their murderers would ever know what had happened to them.

"Do you see. her?" Christine asked.

"Spivey? I think. yeah. the only one still sitting in a snowmobile. I'm sure that's her."

:'But how could they find us?"

'Somebody who knew I was part owner of the cabin. Somebody remembered it and told Spivey's people."

"Henry Rankin?"

:'Maybe. Very few people know about this place."

'But still… so quickly!"

Charlie said, "Six… seven… nine of them. No. Ten. Ten of them."